i I
CAREY AM HART,
SPECIMENS
OF
THE POETS AND POETKT
-
OF
GREECE AND EOME,
BY VARIOUS TRANSLATORS.
EDITED BY WILLIAM PETER, A.M.,
OF CHRIST-CHURCH, OXFORD.
"II n'y a pas de plus eminent service a rendre ft la Litte"rature, que de transporter d'une langue a 1'autre
les chefs d'oeuvre de I'esprit humain. II existe si peu de productions du premier rang ; le genie, dans quelque
genre qne ce soil, est un ph^nomene tellement rare; que si chaque Nation moderne en etoit reduite ft ses
propres tresors, elle seroit toujours pauvre. D'ailleurs, la circulation des id6es est, de tous les genres de
commerce, celui dont les avantages sont les plus certains." MAD. DE STAEL.
PHILADELPHIA:
CAREY AND HART
1847.
(MM*
PHEUN
ENTERED, ACCORDING TO ACT OF CONGRESS, IN THE TEAR 1846, BT
CAREY AND HART,
THE CLERK'S OFFICE OF THE DISTRICT COURT FOR THE EASTERN DISTRICT
OF PENNSYLVANIA.
STEREOTYPED BY JOS. C. 0. CHStSTMAN.
T. K. AND P. G. COLLINS, PRINTERS.
TO
AT WHOSE SUGGESTION THE WORK WAS UNDERTAKEN,
BY WHOSE ENCOURAGEMENT IT HAS BEEN CONTINUED,
AND WITH WHOSE AID IT IS NOW COMPLETED,
(Eljesc Selections,
FROM THE POETS OF GREECE AND ROME,
ARE, WITH SINCEREST AFFECTION,
INSCRIBED.
776023
PREFACE.
" THERE are," says a late accomplished scholar, in his introduction to the study of the classic
poets, "certain peculiar properties characterizing the Greeks and Romans, and contradistinguishing
them from the present natives of Europe, which must be known, felt, and borne in mind, by those
v/ho would study the classic literature aright. The most essential of these consist in the facts, that
the old Greek and Roman poets were I. Pagans ; II. Southerns, or Inhabitants 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 philoso-
phers we may, for the most part, recognise the Greeks and Romans for our own contemporaries
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 actua} 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 human 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
1 is also. With him the eternal dwellers of Olympus spoke, and moved, and had a being; with
1 im 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 sacrificial wine were
thank-offerings 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
e xperience, 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
E.nd sacrificed in the face of heaven. By a natural impulse of gratitude and admiration, which
.cted in the absence of a revealed knowledge of the true God, the early shepherd or herdsman
would fain deify the fountains and rivers which purified 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 from his .-ight. He therefore
wanted a visible and tangible Form, which, with various light symbolically represent
them all which he could believe might sympathize with humanity, and ti which he might raise
his eyes in adoration witboi. ient. ( Where could he find such a Form ? His own was the
only one. He laboured 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 could be wrought into shapes worthy,
as it seemed, of that Immortal and Beautiful, of which they WIT- cither the symbols or the images,
accordingly as the Imagination of the spectator was more or less purified by philosophy. After
this epoch, tht- creations of the art were multiplied, somriim"- rmbodying the alrea.lv exi-ting
notions of a Divinity, at others boldly chiselling a new figure of the Sky, or the Sea, or the Wood,
and setting it nj> lor as much worship as admiration or superstition would reiuler it. The
'Simulacra Deorum" were sacred essentials in the popular and actual religion of the nation. No
doubts of philosophy, no ridicule of satire, availed in later ages to weaken that co ulness
for corporeal exhibition of the gods, which their laws saii.-ti.uied. and their taste made delightful.
* In illustration of the argument, see those glorious lines of Wmfownrth's Excursion, Book iv., commencing
"Upon the breast of new-created earth,
Man walked," &c.
PREFACE.
This incontrollable tendency to what has been called in one word Anthropomorphism, or a
passion for representing the 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 the national character. In almost all the great
poets of whom we are speaking, the inability to spiritualize, and the power to paint, seem in equal
proportions ; and though it be true that on the given plan of the representations of the regions of
the dead in the ^Eneid and the Divine Comedy ^Eneas 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 different conception of the same awful subject by Milton is of the predominance of a con-
trary tendency in a people of a Northern origin.
III. 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 and 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 priesthood, 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
there 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 qusedam 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 he was himself wont to receive the greatest pleasure. But with
the larger number of ancient authors the case was altogether different, 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 OF COITEITS.
FROM THE GREEK POETS.
Translators. Page
HOMER 1
Contention of Achilles and Agamemnon -Pope. 2
Ulysses and Thersites Pope apd Sotheby.
Helen with Priam and the Elders ibid, 7
Juno's Coursers Pope. 8
Minerva arming herself for battle Sotheby. 8
The Race of Man Pope. 9
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
Phoenix's endeavour to appease Achilles Cowper. 10
Attack on the Greeks Auguries, &c. Sotheby. 1 1
Sarpedon Pope. 1 1
Deeds of Hector ibid. 12
Neptune hastening to the relief of the Greeks
W.Peter. 12
The Girdle of Venus Sotheby. 12
The same paraphrased Pope. 12
Achilles at the head of the entrenchment- -ibid. 12
The Shield of Achilles Sotheby. 13
Grecian Army going forth to Battle- Chapman. 14
The Battle of the Gods Pope. 15
Wrestling 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 rolling Billows ibid. 16
Of a Forest on fire ibid. 16
Of Cranes and Swans ffobbes. 16
Another of the same Pope. 16
Of Flies round a milk-pail Sotheby. 16
Of a Shepherd gathering his flock ibid. 16
Of the gathering 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 Cowper. 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 fallinir Snows Cowper. 17
Of rollinf,' Waves Chapman. 17
Of a Courser breakins from his^tall Sotheby. 18
Of an Equestrian leaping from horse to horse
Pope. 18
Of an autumnal Storm ibid. 18
Of an uprooted Olive-tree ibid. 18
Of Hesper amid the host of Night ibid. 18
Elysium ibid. 18
Hermes sent to the Isle of Calypso ibid. 18
Ulysses pining for his native Ithaca Coicprr. 1 <)
Ulysses' raft ibid. 19
Shipwreck of Ulysses Pope. 19
The Garden of Alcinous ibid. 20
The Bard ibid. 20
Ulysses in the cave of Polypheme ibid. 20
Ulysses' descent into Hell ibid. 24
The Dog Argus 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.
HESIOD
Creation of Pandora Sir C. A. Elton.
Dispensations of Providence ibid.
Winter ibid.
Summer Enjoyments Quarterly Review.
Honest Poverty W. Peter.
Virtue and Vice, Wisdom and Folly Quur. Rev.
The Battle of the Giants ibid.
Jupiter and Typhous ibid.
From the Shield of Hercules Sir C. A. Elton.
Cerberus ibid.
A Battle-piece ibid.
CALLINUS
A Fragment
H. JV. Coleridge.
ARCHILOCHUS
Equanimity H. JV. Coleridge.
On an Eclipse of the Sun Sir C. A. Elton.
Patience under Suffering J. H . Merivale.
On the loss of his Shield H. JV. Coleridge.
A pair of military Portraits J. H. Merivale.
The Mind of Man ibid.
The Storm ibid.
A Fragment ibid.
Life and Death ibid.
36
TTBTJBCfl
Courage and Patriotism-
ALCMAN OR ALCMvEON-
Megalostrata
A Fragment
37
Hodgson. 37
J. H. Merivale. 38
Thos. Campbell. 38
STESICHORUS 38
Voyage of the Sun J. H. Merivale. 38
The Sacrifice of Tyndarus H. JV. Coleridge. 39
The Procession J. H. Merivale. 39
A Fragment ibid. 39
JESOP 39
Death the Sovereign Remedy Robert Bland. 39
SOLON
"I gave the People Freedom" H. JV. Coleridge.
Justice J. H. Merivale.
The Constitution of Athens ibid.
Remembrance after Death ibid.
A Fragment Langhorne.
ALC^EUS
The Spoils of War
Convivial
The Poor Fisherman
Convivial
Poverty
Convivial
The Constitution of a State
J. H. Merivale.
ibid.
W. Hay.
J. H. Merivale.
ibid.
ibid.
Sir Wm. Jones.
Convivial J. H. Merivale.
The Storm ibid.
SAPPHO
Hymn to Venus Ambrose Philip*.
Another translation of the same J. H. Merirale.
To the Beloved Ambrose Philips.
The Deserted Wife Blackwood.
On a Hi loved Companion Charles Merivale.
On an Illiterate Woman Robert Bland.
62 vii x
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
Translators. Page
TIMOCLES 204
A Balm for our Cares Cumberland. 204
DIPHILUS 205
Law against Spendthrifts ibid. 205
APOLLODORUS OF GELA-
Fragment I
Ill
IV
V
205
ibid. 205
ibid. 205
ibid. 206
ibid. 206
ibid. 206
CLEARCHUS
On Drunkenness
206
J. H. Merivale. 206
THEOPHILCJS 206
On Love Cumberland. 206
NOSSIS 206
In praise of Love J. H. Merivale. 206
On an Image of her Daughter ibid. 207
On Rhinthon ibid. 207
On the picture of Thymarete ibid. 207
ANYTE 207
On the Maid Antibia W. 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 Virgins 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
DIOTIMUS 208
On two aged Priestesses Charles Merivale. 208
On a Duenna J. H. Merivale. 208
On a Flute player Charles Merivale. 208
ASCLEPIADES OF S AMOS 208
On the picture of Berenice J. H. Merivale. 208
The enjoyment of Love ibid. 208
The Virgin's triumph ibid. 209
The power of Wine ibid. 209
On Hesiod Haygarth. 209
SIMMIAS OF RHODES 209
A Fragment Charles Merivale 209
SOTADES 209
Man's Fate on Earth Cumberland. 209
PHJEDIMUS -.
Heroic Love-
210
Charles Merivale. 210
THEOCRITUS 210
Thyrsis and the Goatherd Fawkes. 21 1
-j- Pharmaceutria ibid. 212
f Amaryllis Dryden. 215
The Cyclops J. H. Merivale. 216
Hylas Fawkes. 217
Character of Ptolemy ibid. 218
The Syracusan Gossips ibid. 218
Liberality to Poets Polwhcle. 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 ^Esculapius Polwhele. 228
Another of the same Fawkes 228
A Vow to Priapus Sir C, A. Elton. 228
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 Eurymedon Blackwood. 239
An Offering to Pan Fawkes. 229
To the Muses and Apollo ibid. 229
Orthon's Epitaph ibid. 229
NICI AS 229
The Bee jt non . 229
The Grasshopper jtnon. 229
On the Tomb of an Infant Charles Merivale. 229
Translators. Page
LEONIDAS 230
Home Robert Bland. 230
The Dying Shepherd W. Hay. 230
Offering to the Rural Deities J. H. Merivale. 230
To the same ibid. 230
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 W. Hay. 231
On Homer Hodgson. 231
On a Statue of Anacreon Charles Merivale. 231
On an aged Fisherman W. Hay. 231
On Himself J. H. Merivale. 231
POSIDIPPUS 232
A picture of Human Life W. Peter. 232
Metrodorus' Parody on the above ibid. 232
On the Tomb of a Shipwrecked Mariner- Anon. 232
On a Child W. Hay. 232
ARATUS 232
Proem to the Phenomena Sir C. A. Elton. 232
Prognostics of Weather ibid. 233
LYCOPHRON 233
From the Cassandra ibid. 233
HEGESIPPUS 234
The Right hand Road to Hades- -J. H. Merivale. 234
On a Shipwrecked Person Hodgson. 234
EUPHORION 234
On Tears J. H. Merivale. 234
On a Corpse washed ashore ibid 234
An Offering to Apollo ibid. 234
ANTAGORAS 235
Cupid's Genealogy Charles Merivale 235
The two Cynic Philosophers J. H. Merivale. 235
CALLIMACHUS 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 W. Peter. 236
The Death of Cleombrotus J. H. Merivale. 236
The Virgin's Offering to Venus S. Trevor. 237
On Heracleitus H. JV. Coleridge. 237
NIC^NETUS OF SAMOS 237
Precept of Cratinus Thos. Moore. 237
The F6te Champetre Charles Merivale. 237
DIOSCORIDES 237
The Persian Slave to his Master ibid. 237
Spartan Virtue J. H. Merivale. 238
APOLLON1US 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
CLEANTHES 244
Hymn to Jupiter Sir C. A. Elton. 244
RHI ANUS 245
On Human Folly ibid. 245
A Lover's Wish ibid. 245
DAMAGETES 245
On two Theban Brothers slain in Thrace
J. H. Merivale. 245
On a Wife dying in her Husband's absence ibid. 245
ALCJEUS OF MESSENE 246
On the Expedition of Flaminius ibid. 246
On the Macedonians slain at Cynocephalae- 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.
xi
BION. Translators. Page
Hymn to the Evening Star J. II. Mericale. 248
The Lament of the Cyclops ibid. 248
The Seasons Fairkr*. 248
Fragments land II ibid 218
THEODORIDES 249
Oa an Ancient Monument of Heraclitus
J. H. Merivale. 249
Epitaph on an Usurer ibid. 249
Maxim Anon. 249
TYMN^EDS 249
Spartan Virtue J. H. Merivale. 249
On one who died in a foreign Country ibid. 249
MOSCHUS 249
The Contrast Robert Bland. 249
Alpheus and Arethusa ibid. 250
- Europa Fawkes. 250
\ Cupid proclaimed - W. Shepherd, 251
' Cupid turned Ploughman Prior. 251
Lament for Bion Chapman. 252
A Mother lamenting her Children Fawkes. 253
Capricious Love Polwhele. 253
POLYSTRATUS 253
Destruction of Corinth J. H. Merivale. 253
ANTIPATER OF SIDON 254
On a Poplar J. H. Merivale. 254
On Wine Robert Bland. 254
Under the Rose J. H. Merivale 254
On a Mother and Daughter Robert Bland. 254
Conjugal Affection ibid. 254
On Erinna J. H. Merivale. 254
On the destruction of Corinth Robert Bland. 254
On Sappho Hodgson. 254
On Homer's Birth-place J. H. Merivale. 254
On Orpheus Robert Bland. 255
On Pindar J. H. Merivale. 255
I On Anacreon Robert Bland. 255
The same paraphrased Thos. Moore. 255
II On Anacreon ibid. 255
The Cure for Misery Hodgson. 255
The Honest Shepherd Prior. 255
Against Water-drinkers J. H. Merivale. 255
The Widow's Offering ibid. 255
MELEAGER 256
Cupid wounded B. Keen. 256
The Tyrant Love ibid. 256
The Kiss J. H. Merivale. 256
The Din of Love Thos. Moore. 256
Beauty compared with Flowers CA. JVortA. 256
The Gifts of the Graces B. Keen. 256
The Garland W. Peter. 256
The Light 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 ^sigenes ibid. 257
The Morning Star ibid. 257
The Gifts of the Graces ibid. 257
A Kiss within the Cup ibid. 257
The Sailor's Return ibid. 257
rupid's Pedigree B. Keen. 257
The ( 'aptivc J. H. Merivale. 257
To Bacchus ibid. 258
The Lover's Message ibid. 258
The Vow Charles Merivale. 258
Love proclaimed B. Keen. 258
Tin- Sale of Cupid Thos. Moore. 258
To the Bee J. if. Merivale. 258
To his Mistress sleeping ibid. 258
Love, the Tennis-player Sir C. A. Elton. 258
To Zenophile playing on the Lyre H'. /fin/. ~2:>\\
The Return of Spring Robert BUunl. "2',herd. 260
On Meleager of Gadara J. H. Merivale 28
Pleasure and Pain J. B Merimir. 268
An Enigma W. Hay. 268
Epitaph on a Child W.Peter. 268
D1ONY8IU8
To his Mistress-
Hymn to Apollo
The Kiss
PHILOSTRATUS
To Celia
Thos. Moore. 268
n'.Jfny. 268
. Thos. Moore. 268
269
Ben. Jonson.
STRATO
Love not extinguished by Age-
J. II. Merivale. 269
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
Translators. Page
RUFINUS 269
Maiden Reserve Hodgson. 269
The Garland W. Peter. 269
Enjoyment of Love J. H. Merivale. 269
Exhortation to Pleasure Hodgson. 270
The Warning Robert Bland. 270
The Denial of Love J. H. Merivale. 270
The Cure of Disdain Robert Bland. 270
Enjoying Life Fawkes. 270
CARPHYLIDES 270
On a stppy Old Man Robert Bland. 270
LUCILLIUS 270
The Good Physician ibid. 270
Envy Hodgson. 270
Fortune Robert Bland. 270
On long Noses ibid. 271
False Friendship ibid. 271
Fear of Death ibid. 271
GREGORY OF NAZIANZEN 271
On a Youth of fair promise Boyd. 271
Another on the same ibid. 271
PALLADAS 271
All the World's a Stage J. H. Merivale. 271
Marriage The Taller. 271
On the Shortness and Evils of Life R. Bland. 272
On the same J. H. Merivale. 272
On the same Robert Bland. 272
Spartan Virtue J.H. Merivale. 272
Anacreontic Robert Bland. 272
The Spirit of the Age W. Hay. 272
On a celebrated Actor J. H. Merivale. 272
JULIAN, PREFECT OF .EGYPT 272
On Democritus ibid. 272
Love and Wine W. Peter. 272
On a Young Bride Wrangham. 272
Offering of Lais to Venus Ogle. 272
MUS.EUS 273
Hero and Leander Fawkes. 273
AGATHI AS 277
Anchises to Venus J. H. Merivale. 277
On Death Robert Bland. 277
On a young Bride W. Peter. 277
Maiden Passion J. H. Merivale. 277
The Lover's Device Robert Bland. 277
The Torments of Love J. H. Merivale. 277
Client and Lawyer ibid. 278
The Philosopher ibid. 278
On an Image of Eustathius Wrangham. 278
Love and Wine J.H. Merivale. 278
The Revenge of Love Robert Bland. 278
The Mother's Offering J.H. Merivale. 278
MACEDONIUS 279
The Poet's Offering Robert Bland. 279
Anacreontic J. H. Meriimle. 279
Remembrance and Forgetfulness -Robert Bland. 279
PAUL, THE SILENTIARY 279
Why does she so long delay ? Thos. Moore. 279
To weave a Garland ibid 279
The Victory of Venus J.H. Merivale. 280
Absence insupportable ibid 280
Ona Daughter Robert Bland. 280
Garden Scenery ibid. 280
On the same ibid. 280
Twin'st thou Thos. Moore. 280
' When the sad Word ibid 280
An Epitaph w. Hay. 281
Offering of a Deserted Lover- ...J.H. Merivale. 281
Love not extinguished by Age Robert Bland. 281
The Drenched Lover J. H. Merivale. 281
The Chain of Love ibid. 281
The Picture ibid. 281
MARIANUS SCITOLASTICUS
Inscription on a Bath
Translators. Page
281
Ogle. 281
DEMOCHARE8 282
On the Picture of Sappho Hodgson. 282
UNCERTAIN AUTHORS 282
Hymn of Arion Charles Merivale. 282
Epitaph J. H. Merivale. 282
On a Corpse washed ashore ibid. 282
Ulysses on his Return ibid. 282
On a Statue of Niobe Robert Bland. 282
On the same W. Peter. 282
On a Shipwrecked Person Hodgson. 283
On Erinna J. H. Merivale. 283
Bis dat, qui cito dat Hodgson. 283
Funeral Honours J. H. Merivale. 283
On the same Robert Bland. 283
On a Poor Man becoming Rich Anon. 283
On Death Robert Bland. 283
On a Murdered Corpse Hodgson. 283
On the nine Lyric Poets J. H. Merivale. 283
On one who slew his Mother Hodgson, 2S3
On a Happy Old Man ibid. 283
On a Miserable Old Man Robert Bland. 283
On Friendship J. H. Merivale. 284
On an Infant R. Bland, Jr. 284
Another on the same ibid. 284
Inscription on a figured Gem Robert Bland. 284
The Grasshopper's Remonstrance W. Peter. 284
On a Grasshopper in a Spider's Web- W. Hay. 284
To a Locust ibid. 284
On Menander W. Shepherd. 284
On the same Robert Bland. 284
On the Statue of the same ibid. 284
The Gardener's Offering ibid. 284
Offering to Venus Wrangham. 285
x/ Song of the Crow Mitchell. 285
Song of the Swallow Anon. 285
The Rose Sir C. A. Elton. 285
Lais J. H. Merivale. 285
On Erinna w. Hay. 286
Inscription on a Bath Robert Bland. 286
The Olive to the Vine ibid. 286
Epitaph Thos. Moore. 286
The same paraphrased ibid. 286
On a Friend J. H. Merivale. 286
Loves of Sappho and Anacreon Thos. Moore. 286
Loves of Sappho and Alcfeus Edin. Review. 286
On Sappho J. H. Merivale. 286
Diogenes to Croesus Hodgson. 286
Fragment J. H. Merivale. 286
To a Friend ibid. 287
Love Thos. Moore. 287
Life and Death Charles Merivale. 287
To Rome J.H. Merivale. 287
Flowers Ch. North. 287
Reason Thos. Moore. 287
Foreknowledge W. Peter. 287
*The Dead w. Hay. 287
Death, the universal lot Hoda-son. 287
Fragment Ch.jforth. 287
The Lover's Wish J. H. Merivale. 288
Exclamation of Venus ibid. 288
On a Statue of Envy w. Hay. 288
On an Infant ibid 288
The Invitation Thos. Moore. 288
The Trysting Tree w. Hay. 288
Under a winged Cupid Fawkes. 288
Pan's Retreat ibid , 2 88
On a Fountain sacred to Pan W. Haii 2S8
On a Laurel J. H. Merivale. 288
On Erinna Wart on. 2S8
On Ibycus \y //,,. 2 ^8
Dialogue between a Suitor and his Mistr
Maid J.H. Merivale. 2S8
Epitaph W . Hay. 238
J
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
FROM THE ROMAN POETS.
Translators. Page
ENNIUS 291
Telamon on the Death of Aj;ix W. Peter. 291
Pyrrhus to the Roman Ambassadors Moir. 291
Fil.ins Dunlop. 291
A Roman Tribune Wilson 2 Soldier ibid. 292
The calm of Evening W. Peter. 292
On the same subject ibid. 292
On the revival of Ilium in Rome Dunlop. 292
The character of a Friend ibid. 292
I'LAUTUS 292
Amphitryon Bonnel Thornton. 293 |
The Captives Richard Warner. 309
The MIS.T B. Thornton. 324
Tin- Shipwreck ibid. 338
The Twin Brothers B. Thornton and R. Warner. 357
The Treasure B. Thornton. 374
From the Merchant ibid. 391
TERENCE 391
The Andrinn Colman. 391
Glorious uncertainty of the Law ibid. 408
How to avoid Disappointment ibid. 408
The ills of Love ibid. 408
A Lover taking leave of his Mistress ibid. 408
The Parasite ibid. 408
Kind Feeling for others ibid. 408
The Mind is its own place ibid. 408
Profiting by the Faults of others ibid. 408
Wives and Mistresses ibid. 408
S inn m ii in jus summa injuria ibid. 409
Custom ibid. 409
Like Parent like Child ibid. 409
Women ibid. 409
Iirnorance of approaching Evil ibid. 409
Quarrels about Trifle s ibid. 409
< Miaracter of the two Brothers in the Adelphi ibid. 409
Old Men Worldly-minded ibid. 410
The Unfortunate too apt to think themselves
neglected ibid. 410
LUCRETIUS 410
Address to Venus Dryden. 411
The Evils of Superstition Sir C. A. Elton. 412
Vernal Showers Mason Good. 412
In praise of Philosophy Dryden. 412
Animals and their Young Gilbert Wakefield. 413
Against the Fear of Death Dryden. 413
Rustic Deities and Superstitions- -Mason Good. 416
Fruits of Illicit Love ibid. 416
The new-born Babe Dryden. 416
Primeval Life Mason Good. 416
Fil-' and true Piety ibid. 417
Origin of Music ibid. 417
A guilty Conscience Hodgson. 417
The Plague at Athens Mason Good. 417
CATULLUS 419
On the Death of Lesbia's Sparrow
/Am. G. Lamb. 420
Upon Mamurra ibid. 420
To Lesliia W. Peter. 420
A Message to his Mistress Thos. Moore. 420
To the Peninsula of Sirmin -ibid- 421
Hymeneal Sir C A. Klton. 421
To Cicero Hon. G. Lamb. 421
To Lesbia Anon. 422
On the approach of Spring W. Peter. 422
The Comparison Sir C. A. FMon. 422
On the Death of Quintilia Hon. G. Lamb. 422
Another of the same Sir C. A. Klton. 422
II iti'-i at his Brother's Grave Hodgson. 422
A Picture Sir W. Jones. 422
Perfidy of Man Sir C. A Klton. 422
Atys Hon. G. l.amh 422
Lesbia's Disgrace ibid. 424
To Lesbia That. Moore. 424
Translators. Page
LABERIUS 425
A Prologue Weaves anj .lyton. 425
VIRGIL ...-426
TitvniB and Melibceus Dryden. 426
Poflio ibid. 428
Pharmaceutria ibid. 428
Callus ibid. 430
Invocation of the Rural Deities Advice to Far-
mers, etc Sotheby. 431
A Storm in Autumn ibid. 432
Prognostics of Weather Prodigies that followed
the death of Cesar Horrors of Civil War ifcid. 432
Praises of Italy ibid. 433
Spring ibid. 434
On a Country Life ibid. 434
Horses, Chariot Race, etc ibid. 435
On Bees ibid. 439
Orpheus and Eurydice ibid. 442
Hector's Ghost Dryden. 443
The Death of Priam ibid. 4 13
Dido's Passion for JEneas ibid. 444
Visit of JEneas to the Shades below ibid. 448
Juno stirring up strife between the Trojans
and Latians ibid. 455
Camilla brings aid to Turnus ibid. 455
The Shield of ^Eneas ibid. 456
Nisus and Euryalus ibid. 457
Death of Pallas ibid. 460
Death of Lausus ibid. 460
History and Death of Camilla ibid. 461
The Death of Turnus ibid. 463
HORACE 464
Book I 465
Ode III Dryden. 465
Ode V Milton. 465
Ode IX Dryden. 405
Ode XXII Hon. W.Herbert. 465
Ode XXIV Francis. 466
Ode XXXV W. Peter. 466
Book II 466
Ode III J.H. Merivale. 466
OdeX Cowper. 467
Ode XII Sir Jeffrey Gilbert. 467
Ode XIV Ralph Bernal. 467
Ode XV J.Mitford. 468
Book III 468
Ode I Covley. 4ii."
Ode II Dean Swift. 468
Ode VI Earl of Roscommon. 469
Ode IX Atterbury. 4fi9
Ode XIII J. War'
Ode XVI J. Milford. 470
Ode XVIII J. Warton. 470
Ode XXIX Dryden. 470
Book IV 471
Ode IV Lord Lyttlelon. 471
Ode VII Dr. Johnson. 472
Ode IX Fraud*. 472
Epode Dryden. 47S
Bookl
From Satire I Cowley. 474
From Satire III Francis. 474
From Satire IV Francis. 475
From Satire VI ibid. 475
From Satire X ibid. 475
Book II 476
From Satire I ibid. 476
From Satire III ibid. 476
From Satire VI ibid. 476
From Satire VII ibid. 477
Bookl 477
From Epistle I ibid. 477
From Epistle II Covley. 478
From Epistle III Francis. 478
From Epistle V ibid. 478
From Epistle VI ibid. 478
From Epistle VII ibid. 478
From Epistle VIII ibid 478
C
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
HORACE. Translators. Page
From Epistle X Cowley. 478
From Epistle XVI Francis. 479
Book II 479
From Epistles I and II ' ibid. 479
From the Art of Poetry ibid. 480
TIBULLUS 482
To Delia Lord Lyttleton. 483
The Golden Age Grainger. 483
War and Peace ibid. 483
Nerera Robert Bland. 484
Sulpicia Grainger. 484
On Cerinthus ibid. 484
To Sulpicia Thos. Moore. 484
PROPERTIUS 485
From Book II 485
Elegy I Gray. 485
E\esy IX Sir C. A. Elton. 485
From Book III 486
Elegy III Gray. 486
Translators. P
Page
. 511
OVID
From inn Metamorphoses
Creation of the World
The Golden Age
The Silver Age
The Brazen Age
The Iron Age
The Deluge-
Dryden.
ibid.
-.ibid.
ibid.
ibid,
ibid.
Transformation of Daphne into a Laurel- -ibid.
lo transformed into a Cow ibid.
'f~ 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 jEneas Dryden.
487
MANILIUS 500
Connexion of the Universe Sir C. A. Elton. 500
On Fate ibid. 500
SENECA
From the Thyestes-
501
Andrew Marvel. 501
PERSIUS 501
From Satire III Gifford. 501
From Satire IV ibid. 502
From Satire V ibid. 503
LUCAN 504
Ruin occasioned by the Civil Wars Rowe. 504
Pompey and Caesar ibid. 505
The Druids ibid. 506
Caio arid Martia ibid. 506
Meeting between the Soldiers of the two Camps
ibid. 507
Cfesar in the Tempest ibid. 507
Parting of Pompey and Cornelia ibid. 510
Lament over the lost Liberties of Rome ibid. 511
LUCAN.
The General Conflagration .............. Rowe.
Pothinus instigating Ptolemy to destroy Pompey
ibid. 511
Cato's Praises of Pompey .................. ibid. 511
Cato in the Deserts of Africa, and his Address to
Labienus ............ Rowe and Lord Lyttleton. 512
Alexander the Great ..................... Rowe. 513
SILIUS-ITALICUS ................................ 513
Hannibal's Passage over the Alps
Sir C. A. Elton. 514
STATIUS ......................................... 515
From the Thebaid ........................ Gray. 515
To Sleep ............................. Hodgson. 515
MARTIAL ......................................... 516
To Cato .............................. Spectator. 516
To Decianus ............................. Hay. 516
Arria and Paetus ....................... Hoadley. 516
To Julius ................................. Hay. 516
Rufus ................................ Spectator. 516
ToCatulla ...................... Hon. G. Lamb. 517
On An'.onius, a Good Man ............ W. Peter. 517
The Parasite .......................... Hodgson. 517
Generosity to Friends ..................... Hay. 517
To Quinc.tilian ......................... Cowley. 517
To Fronto ................................. ibid. 517
To Maximus ............................... ibid. 517
To Julius Martialis .................... Hodgson. 517
To Postumus ........................... Cowley. 518
On the Mausoleum of Augustus J. H. Merivale. 518
To Avitus .............................. Cowley. 518
To Julius Martialis ...................... Anon. 518
An Odd Fellow ....................... Spectator. 518
JUVENAL ........................................ 518
Domitian and the Turbot Gifford and Hodgson. 519
Mortifications of the Poor .................. ibid. 519
The Poet .................................. ibid. 519
Ancestry ................................... ibid. 520
The approach of Age .................. Hodgson. 521
Vanity of Human Wishes .............. Gifford. 521
Know Thyself ............................. ibid. 522
Poet's own Domestic Economy
Wisdom and Experience
Atheists and Sceptics
Revenge
Education of Children ..................... -ibid. 525
The Origin of Civil Society ................. ibid. 526
CLAUDIAN ....................................... 527
The Phoenix ................... Sir C. A. Elton. 527
The Old Man of Verona ................ Cowley. 528
AUSONIUS ....................................... 529
Roses .......................... Sir C. A. Elton. 529
On a Shipwrecked Friend ....... J. H. Merivale. 529
AVIENUS ......................................... 530
The Oak and the Reed ......... Sir C. A. Elton. 530
A Quiet Life ............................... ibid. 530
Country Retirement ...... . ................ ibid. 530
ibid. 523
ibid. 523
ibid. 524
ibid. 524
PART I.
FKOM THE GREEK POETS,
15
HOMER.
FROM THE ILIAD OF HOMER.
Book L
CONTENTION OF ACHILLES AND AGAMEMNON .
IN the war of Troy, the Greeks having sacked some of
th.'j neighbouring towns and taken two beautiful cap-
ti\>e, Cbryse'is r*i<* lirisp'Ls allotted the first, to Aga-
memnon and the 'ast c icrur hh >od, who inflicts a
pestilence on the Greeks. Achilles calls a council and
encourages 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 commander of the Greeks, seizes
on Brise'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 Agamemnon sensible of the wrong done to her son
by giving victory to the Trojans.
ACHILLES' wrath, to Greece the direful spring
Of woes unnumber'd, heavenly goddess sing!
That wrath which hurl'd to Pluto's gloomy reign
The souls of mighty chiefs untimely slain ;
Whose limbs unburied 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, 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 camp 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 his 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 Atreus' 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 Chrysei's to these arms again:
If mercy fail, yet let my presents move,
And dread avenging Phoebus, son of Jove.
The Greeks in shouts their joint assent declare,
The priest to reverence, and release the fair.
Not so Atrides : he, with kingly pride,
Repuls'd the sacred sire, and thus replied :
Hence, on thy life, and fly these hostile plains,
Nor ask, presumptuous, 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, priest, and shall remain ;
And prayers, and tears, and bribes,shall plead in
Till time shall rifle every youthful grace,
And age dismiss her from my cold embrace,
In daily labours at the loom employ'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 the anguish of a father mourn'd.
Disconsolate, 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 the world his rays
O Srnintheus ! 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 s.ilver 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 was his bow the Grecian hearts to wound 5
Fierce, as he mov'd, his silver shafts resound.
Breathing revenge, a sudden night he spread,
And gloomy darkness roll'd around his head.
The fleet in view, he twang'd his deadly bow,
And hissing fly the feather'd fates below.
On mules and dogs th' infection first began,
And 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,
Achilles 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 some 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 Phoebus dart his bulling shafts no more.
He said, 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 :
Uprising slow, the venerable sage
Thus spoke the prudence and the fears of age :
Beloved of Jove, Achilles ! wouldst thou know
Why angry Phoebus bends his fated bow ?
First give thy faith, and plight a prince's word
Of sure protection by thy power and sword.
For I must speak what 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 though we deem the short-lived fury past,
'Tis sure the mighty will revenge at last.
To whom Pelides : From thy utmost soul
Speak what thou know'st, and speak without
control :
E'en by that god I swear, who rules the day,
To whom thy hands the vows of Greece convey,
And whose blest oracles thy lips declare ;
Long as Achilles breathes the vital air,
No daring 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 unpaid, 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^hrysa send the black-eyed maid.
Perhaps, with added sacrifice and prayer,
The priest may pardon, and the god may spare.
The prophet spoke, when with a gloomy frown,
The monarch started from his shining throne :
Black choler fill'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 priestly pride provoke thy king ?
For this are Phoebus' 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 beauteous 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 complain,
That ho alone has fought and bled in vain.
Insatiate king! (Achilles thus replies)
Fond of the po\\-'r. but fonder of the prize !
Would'st thou the Greeks their lawful prey should
yield.
The due reward of many a well-fought field?
The spoils of cities ra/.'d and warriors slain,
We .-hare with justice, as with toil we gain :
But to resume whatever 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.
Then thus the king. Shall I my prize resign
With tame consent, and thou possess'd of thine ?
Great as thou art, and like a god in fight,
Think not to rob me of a soldier's right.
At thy demand shall I restore the maid 1
First let the just equivalent be paid
Such as a king might 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 some other captive dame.
The mighty Ajax shall his prize resign,
Ulysses' spoils, or e'en thy own be mine.
The man who suffers, loudly may complain;
And rage he may, but he shall rage in vain.
But this, when time requires It now remains
We launch a bark 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,
And 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' self conduct her o'er the main:
Let fierce Achilles, dreadful in his rage,
The god propitiate, and the pest assuage.
At this, Pelides, frowning stern, replied :
tyrant, arm'd with insolence and pride !
Inglorious slave to interest, ever join'd
With fraud, unworthy of a royal mind !
What generous Greek, obedient to thy word,
Shall form 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 remov'd, the hoarse resounding main,
And 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' avenge a private, not a public wrong ;
What else to Troy th' assembled nations draws,
But thine, ungrateful, and thy brother's cause ?
Is this the pay our blood and toils deserve ;
Disgrac'd and injur'd by the man we serve ?
And dar'st thou threat to snatch my prize away,
Due to the deeds of many a dreadful day ?
A prize as small, O tyrant! match'd with thine,
As thy own actions if compared to mine.
Thine in each conquest is the wealthy prey,
Though mine the sweat and danger of the day.
Some trivial present to my ships I bear,
Or barren praises pay the wounds of war.
But know, proud monarch, I'm thy slave no more ;
My fleet shall waft me 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 ! fly!
Thy aid we need not, and thy threats defy.
There want not chiefs in such a cause to fight ;
And Jove lijmself shall guard a monarch's right.
Of all the k|ngs (the gods' distinguished care)
To power superior none such hatred bear :
HOMER.
Strife and debate thy restless soul employ,
And wars and horrors are thy savage joy.
If thou hast strength, 'twas heav'n that strength
bestow'd ;
For know, vain man, thy valour is from God.
Haste, launch thy vessels, fly 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 Brisei's, with the radiant eyes.
Hence shalt thou prove rny 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 swell'd 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 unsheath'd 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 sudden 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 fated 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,
5 Tis just, 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 :
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,
Are tamed to wrongs, or this had been thy last.
Now 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, form'd by temper'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, fluslrd with slaughter, Hector comes to
spread,
The purpled shore with mountains of the dead,
Then shalt thou mourn th' affront 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 return'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 skill'd,
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 reign'd,
And now the example of the third remain'd.
All view'd with awe the venerable man;
Who thus with mild benevolence began:
What shame, what woe is this to Greece!
what 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 than mortal might, Along the shore whole hecatombs were laid,
Or Polyphemus, like the gods in fight?
With these of old to toils of battle bred,
In early youth my hardy days I led;
Fir'd with the thirst which virtuous envy breeds,
And smit with love of honourable deeds.
Strongest of men, they pierc'd the mountain boar,
Rang'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 prize the Greeks by common suffrage gave :
Nor thou, Achilles, treat our prince with pride ;
Let kings be just and sovereign power preside.
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;
Rule thou thyself, as more advanced in age.
Forbid 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 unconquerd soul,
No laws 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 bear a rival in his sway?
Grant that the gods his matchless force hath giv'n,
Has foul reproach a privilege from heav'n?
Here on the monarch's speech Achilles broke,
And furious thus, and interrupting, spoke:
Tyrant, I well deserv'd thy galling chain,
To live thy slave, and still to serve in vain,
Should I submit to each unjust decree :
Command thy vassals, but 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 forgive the past,
But let this first invasion be the last:
For know, thy blood, when next thou dar'st
invade,
Shall stream in vengeance on my reeking blade.
At this they ceas'd: the stern debate expir'd:
The chiefs in sullen majesty retir'd.
Achilles with Patroclus took his way,
Where near his tents his hollow vessels lay.
Meantime Atrides launrh'd, with numerous oars,
A well-rigg'd ship for Chrysa's sacred shores:
High on the deck was fair Chrysei's plac'd,
And sage Ulysses with the conduct grac'd :
Safe in her sides the hecatomb they stow'd,
Then swiftly 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 th' ablutions in the main.
And bulls and goats to Phoebus' 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 the good.
Haste to the fierce Achilles' tent (he cries)
Thence bear Brisei's as our royal prize :
Submit he must ; or, if they will not part,
Ourself, in arms, shall tear her from 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 aspect, 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 imperious lord I blame.
Patroclus, haste, the fair Brisei's 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,
Unmov'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,
Unskill'd 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 back, 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 :
parent goddess ! 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 this 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 thy 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
.-hare,
Reveal the cause, and trust a parent's care.
A2
HOMER.
He, deeply sighing, said : To tell my woe,
Is but to mention what too well you know.
But goddess ! thou thy suppliant son attend,
To high Olympus' shining court ascend,
Urge all the ties to former service ow'd,
And sue for vengeance to the thundering god.
Conjure him far to drive the Grecian train,
To hurl them headlong to their fleet and main
To heap the shores with copious death, and bring
The Greeks to know the curse of such a king :
Let Agamemnon lift his haughty 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.
Unhappy 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?
So short a space the light of heaven to view !
So short a space ! and fill'd with sorrow too !
O might a careful parent's wish prevail,
Far, far from Ilion should thy vessels sail :
And thou, from camps remote the danger slum
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 with 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 Phoebus' sacred fane;
Where at his solemn altar, as the maid
He gave to Chryses, thus the hero said :
Hail, rev'rend priest ! to Phoebus' awful 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 who 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 fair Chrysa with distinguish 'd rays!
If, fiYd 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 thy bow.
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 ; indulgent gales,
Supplied by Phoebus, 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 part, 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 the 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 could 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 heav'nly promise due
To life so short, and now dishonourd too.
Avenge this wrong, ever just and wise !
Let Greece be humbled, and the Trojans rise;
Till the proud king, and all th' Achaian race,
Shall heap with honours him they now disgrace.
Thus Thetis spoke : but Jove in 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 domestic rage,
The gods' complaints, and Juno's fierce alarms,
While I, too partial, aid the Trojan arms?
HOMER.
Go, lest the haughty partner of my sway
With jealous eyes thy close access survey ;
But part in 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 fulfils thy vows.
He spoke, and awful bends his sable brows;
Shakes his ambrosial curls, and give's the nod,
The 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.
TJLTSSES AJTD THERSITES.
The Greeks, in despair of taking Troy, resolve on return-
ing 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 mov'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 council 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 controll'd,
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 such as might his soul proclaim ;
One eye was blinking, and one leg was lame;
The gibbous load, that either shoulder prest,
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 possest,
And much lie liatrd all, but most, the best.
Ulysses or Achilles still his theme;
But royal scandal his deliuht supreme.
Long had ho lived, the scorn of every Greek,
when he spoke, yet still they heard him
speak.
Sharp was his voice; which, in the shrillest tone,
Thus with injurious taunts attacked the throne:
"Amidst the glories of so bright a reign,
What 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 gold, those heaps to
raise,
Which for his rnnsom'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:
Let 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:
His now the vaunt to guard Brisei's' 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, factious 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 profane 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 disown 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 ten
The host, though grieved, his moans with laugh-
ter heard ;
While burst from lip to lip the scornful word:
"Great deeds and oft Laertes' son has wrought,
To war renown, to council wisdom, brought;
But this far all transcends ; the scoffer's jest,
And base garrulity, at once represt.
Such just examples, on offenders shown,
Sedition silence and assert the throne."
Book 1IL
HELEW, WITH PRIAM AXD THE EIDERS, BEFORE
THE SC-KAJT-GATE.
******
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 rear'd her, and the hearth that
blest :
HOMER.
She rose, her snowy veil around her spread,
And tears of tenderness beneath it shed ;
Then onward pass'd and sought the Screan-gate,
Where sate the elders of the Trojan state ;
Chiefs, who no more in bloody fights engage,
But wise through time, and narrative with age,
Like grasshoppers, that in the woods rejoice,
Or send from summer bowers their slender voice.
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 heaven ! 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 ?
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 thou requir'st: that form, that air,
Great Agamemnon, Atreus' son declare,
A king, a warrior, scarce surpassed 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 word
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 Atreus' son harangued the listening train
Fust was his sense, and his expression plain;
rlis words succinct, yet full; without a fault;
rle spoke no more than just the thing he ought.
3ut when Ulysses rose, in thought profound,
rlis modest eyes he fixed upon the ground
A.S one unskilled or dumb, he seemed to stand ;
r raised his head, nor stretched his sceptred
hand;
3ut 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,
r 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 how the Cretans gather round their lord.
reat 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 csestus-nghf?
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.
JUNO'S COURSERS.
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.
MINERVA ARMING HERSELF FOR BATTLE.*
BUT the stern daughter of all-mighty Jove
Cast off the veil her tfand 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 YEgis round her shoulder drew,
Where Terror, wreath'd throughout, came forth
to view,
* According to Eustathius, 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 the field,
And Jove's dire omen nameless horrors spread,
Th' appalling monster, the Gorgonian head
Then brac'd her casque, all gold, whose four-
coned height
Spreads, o'er an hundred hosts, o'ershadowing
night.
Thus, in her 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 RACE OF MA5T.
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 successive rise:
So generations in their course decay,
So flourish these, when those have pass'd away.
From Hippolochus I came,
The honour'd author of my birth and name ;
By his decree I sought the Trojan town,
By his instructions learn 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 OP HECTOR AJTD AKDROMACHE.
"Too daring prince! ah, whither dost thou run?
'Ah, too forgetful of thy wife and son!
And think'st thou not how wretched we shall 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!
Oh, 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,
f fit'fixi'f , xai tx tov
& pea Tpot^v, xai /itot /waxa rtoM,'
Aiev aptoT'fvfti', xai vrtfipo^ov i-'juuf
ytVoj IlaT'fpwv aiazwifuV ot
iytvovto xai tv Avxiy fvpfiy
oi yfviijs ff xai al'/juttos tii^o^ac tlvai.
2
His radiant arms preserved from hostile spoil,
And laid him decent on the funeral pile.
Then raised a mountain, where his bones were
burn'd,
The mountain nymphs the rural tomb adorn'd,
Jove's sylvan daughters bade the elms 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 :
Redeem'd too late, she scarce beheld again
Her pleasing empire, and her native plain, .
When ah ! opprest by life-consuming woe,
She fell a victim to Diana's bow.
"Yet, while my Hector still survives, I see
My father, mother, brethren, all in thee :
Alas ! my parents, brothers, kindred, 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 the walls of Troy :
Thou, from this tower, defend th' important post;
There Agamemnon points his dreadful 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 guard 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'd,
And Troy's proud dames, whose garments sweep
the ground,
Attaint the lustre of my former name,
Should 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 wounds my mind,
My mother's death, the ruin of my kind,
Not Priam's hoary head defil'd with gore,
Not all my brothers gasping on the shore,
As thine, Andromache ! thy griefs I dread;
I see thee trembling, weeping, captive led !
In Argive looms our battles to design,
And woes, of which so large a part was thine !
To bear the victor's hard commands, or bring
The weight of waters from Hyperia's spring.
There, while you groan beneath the load of
life,
They cry, Behold the mighty Hector's wife !
Some haughty Greek, who lives thy tears to see,
Embitters all thy woes, by naming me.
The thoughts of glory past, and present shame,
A thousand griefs, shall waken at the name !
10
HOMER.
May I lie cold before that dreadful day,
Prest with, a heap of monumental clay !
Thy Hector, wrapt in everlasting sleep,
Shall neither hear thee sigh, nor see thee weep."
Thus having spoke, th' illustrious chief of Troy
Stretch'd his fond arms to clasp the lovely boy.
The babe clung crying to his nurse's breast,
Scar'd at the dazzling helm, and nodding crest.
With secret pleasure each fond parent smil'd,
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,
Thus to the gods preferred a father's prayer :
"O 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 with 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'e-rflows 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,
Hush'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 1 ?
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 indulged her woe.
There, while her tears deplored the godlike man,
Through all her train the soft infection ran ;
The pious maids their mingled sorrows shed,
And mourn'd the living Hector, as the dead.
Book IX.
EMBASSY OF PHO3NIX, AJAX, AND ULYSSES TO THE
TENT OF ACHILLES.
THROUGH the still night they march, and hear
the roar
Of murmuring 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 ./Eacides.
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 he soothes his angry soul, and sings
The immortal deeds of heroes and of kings.
Patroclus 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.
HOSPITALITY 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 Automedon, with dext'rous art :
Achilles' self divided part from part.
Fixed on the spits the flesh, where brightly
blaz'd
The fire's pure splendour, by Patroclus 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 now Patroclus, at his lord's desire,
The hallowed offering cast amid the fire :
The guests then feasted, and, the banquet o'er,
When 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 soul detests him as the gates of hell.
Another translation of the Same.
LOATHED as the gates of Hades, I despise
The lip that utters what the heart denies.
PHCENIX'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 offered, turn their wrath away.
HOMER.
11
Prayers are Jove's daughters, wrinkled, lame,
slant-eyed,
Which, though far distant, yet with constant pace,
Follow offence. Offence, robust of limb,
And treading firm the ground, outstrips them all,
And over all the earth before them runs,
Hurtful to man. They following, heal the hurt;
Received respectfully when they approach,
They yield us aid, and listen when we pray.
But if we slight, and with obdurate heart
Resist them, to Saturnian Jove they cry
Against us ; supplicating that offence
May cleave to us for vengeance of the wrong.
Thou, therefore, Achilles ! honour yield
To Jove's own daughters, vanquish'd as the brave
Have often been, by honour done to thee.
Book XII.
ATTACK OF THE TROJANS OX THE GREEKS
AUGURIES HECTOR'S REPLY TO POLYDAMAS.
WAR raged at every gate, and deeds were
wrought,
None but a god can sing : deeds passing human
thought.
The battle burn'd : the stones, a missile shower,
Rung round the wall, and smote each batter'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,
Mid 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 incurred ;
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 scut.
And thus my mind expounds 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, dishcart.-ii'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 Grapcia 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 :
Some worthier frame if this advis'dly 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 cJeave their way.
Jove I obey, who, on th' Olympian throne
O'er mortals and immortals 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 rush'd: Troy's dense
array
Pursued, loud clamouring, where he led the way :
From Ida's topmost brow the Thunderer, Jove,
O'er all the fleet thick dust in whirlwinds drove,
Quell'd in the Greeks the spirit of the brave,
And added fame to Troy and Hector gave.
SARPEDOJf.
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 Sarpedon 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 with ductile
gold:
And while two pointed javelins arm his hands,
Majestic moves along, and leads-his Lycian bands.
So, pressed with hunger, from the mountain's
brow
Descends a lion on the flocks below ;
So stalks the lordly savage o'er the plain,
In sullen majesty, and stern disdain:
In vain loud mastiffs bay him from afar,
And shepherds gall him with an iron war;
Regardless, furious, he pursues his way ;
He foams, he roars, he rends the panting prey.
Resolved a.like, divine Sarpedon glows
With generous rage that drives him on the foes.
He views the towers, and meditates their fall,
To sure destruction dooms th' aspiring wall:
Then, casting on his friend an ardent look,
Fin-d with the thirst of glory, thus he spoke:
Why boast we, Glaucus! our extended reign,
Where Xanthus' streams enrich the Lycian plain,
Our numerous herds that range the fruitful field,
And hills were vines their purple harvest yield,
* Et'j ouovoj opttftfoj a,pvvaO . yr
So stood old Nestor in debate,
HOOK -AY.
two thoughts at once on wing. . . .
OF CORN FALLING IN ROWS, TO MEN SLAI.v IV
BATTLE.
BUT as keen reapers,*band opposed to band,
Toil in the harvest of a grateful land,
* They are true to the last of their blood and their breath,
And like reapers descend to the harvest of death.
Campbell.
3 n2
18
HOMER.
Book XV.
OF HECTOR, TO A FIERY COURSER BREAKING FROM
HIS STALL.
As when, high-fed with grain, a stall-bound steed
Snaps his strong cord, and flies, from bondage freed,
Strikes with resounding hoof the earth, and 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 o'er his shoulders spreads his stream of
mane,
And fierce in beauty, graceful in his speed,
Snuffs his known fellows in the distant mead.
Thus Hector.
OF AN EQUESTRIAN LEAPING FROM HORSE TO
HORSE, TO AJAX STRIDING 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 XV I.
OF AN AUTUMNAL STORM AND DELUGE, TO THE
RUIN OF A ROUTED ARMY.
As when, o'er canopied with night of clouds,
The autumnal storm the face of nature shrouds,
When vengeful Jove, in fury uncorifin'd,
Pours down the^veight of waters on mankind,
Who right and wrong confound, 'gainst heaven
rebel,
And injured Justice from their courts expel :
Then swoln with floods, their rivers all overflow,
Then cataracts shatter many a mountain brow,
Roar as they rush, hurled headlong from the steep,
And, 'neath th' empurpled main, man's wasted
labours sweep.
Book X VII.
OF YOUNG EUPHORBUS, TO AN UPROOTED OLIVE
TREE.
As a young 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, whirled around,
Low lies the plant, extended on the ground :
Thus in his beauty young Euphorbias 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.
, ELYSIUM.
BUT oh, beloved of heaven ! reserved for thee
A happier lot the smiling fates decree:
Free from that law, beneath whose mortal
Matter is changed, and varying forms decay ;
Elysium shall be thine ; the blissful plains
Of utmost earth, where Rhadamanthus reigns.
Joys ever young, unmixed 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 fragrant 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
O'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.
She 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 nodding 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 vine's the shelving cavern screen,
With purple clusters blushing through the green.
Four limpid fountains from the clefts distil,
And every fountain pours a sev'ral rill,
In mazy windings warul'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.
10
ULYSSES, IX THE ISLAND OF CAtYPSO, PIXIXG FOB
HIS KATIVE ITHICA.
On the shore
She found him seated ; tears succeeding tears
Deluged his eyes, while, hopeless of return,
Life's precious hours to gnawing cares he gave,
Continual ; for the nymph now charmed no more.
Yet, cold as she was amorous, still he pass'd
His nights beside her in the hollow grot
Constrained, and day by day the rocks among,
Which lined the shore, heart-broken sat, and oft,
While wistfully he eyed the barren deep,
Wept, groan'd desponding, sigh'd and wept again.
Then drawing near, thus spake the nymph divine :
" Unhappy ! weep not here, nor life consume
In anguish ; go ! thou hast my glad consent.
*******
Farewell ! I pardon 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 immortal, howsoe'er thy wife
Engage thy every wish, day after day.
Yet can I not in stature or in grace
Myself suspect inferior aught to her,
Since competition 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."
ULYSSES' 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 sought her home again. Then slept not he,
But, swinjriiiLr with both hands the axe, his task
Soon finish'd ; trees full twenty to the ground
He cast, which, dext'rous, with his adze he
smooth 'd,
The knotted surface chipping by a line.
no the lovely goddess to his aid -
Sharp augers brought, with which he bored the
beams,
Then placed them side by side, adapting each
To other, and the seams with wadding closed
Broad as an artist, skill'd in naval works,
The- bottom of a ship of burthen spren
Sii'-h 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 Calypso brought him for a sail
Fittest materials, which he also shaped,
And to it all due furniture annex'd
Of cordage strong, foot-ropes, and ropes aloft,
Then heaved her down with levers to the deep.*
SHIPWRECK OF ULYSSES.
HE spoke, and high the forky trident hurl'd,
Rolls clouds on clouds, and 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 resigned,
And questioned thus his yet unconquer'd mind.
Wretch that I am ! what farther fates attend
This life of toils, and what my destin'd end ?
Too well alas ! the island goddess knew,
On the black sea what perils should ensue.
New horrors now this destin'd head enclose ;
UnfiU'd is yet the measure of my woes.
With what a cloud the brows of heaven are
crown'd !
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'd in Atrides' cause the Trojan plain :
Oh ! had I died before that well-fought wall ;
Had some distinguish'd 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 head,
Unwept, unnoted, and for ever dead !f
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, effused the briny tide.
* What is chiefly valuable in the above passage, is the
insight which* it gives us as to the degree at which the
art of ship-building had then arrived.
t Plutarch in his Symposiacs relates a memorable story
relating to this passage. When Memmius, the Roman
general, had sacked the city of Corinth, and made slaves
of those who survived the ruin of it, he commanded one
of the youths of a liberal education to write down some
sentence in his presence, accordin" to his own inclina-
tions. The youth immediately wrote this passage from
Homer. Memmius burst into tears, and gave the youth
and all his relations their liberty. Virgil has translated
this passage in the first book of his yEneis. Both heroes
lament not that they are to die, but only the inglorious
manner of it. Drowning was esteemed by the ancients
an accursed death, as it deprived their bodies of the rites
of sepulture.
20
HOMER.
E'en then, not mindless of his last retreat,
He seized the raft, and leaped into his seat;
Strong with the fear of death. The rolling flood,
Now here, now there, impell'd the floating wood.
As when a heap of gathering thorns is cast,
Now to, now fro, before the autumnal blast ;
Together clung, it rolls around the field ;
So rolled the float, and so its texture held.
And now the south, and now the north, bears
sway, .
And now the east the foamy floods obey,
And now the west-wind whirls it o'er the sea.
******
While now his thoughts distracted counsels hold,
The raging god a watery mountain roll'd;
Like 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.
Book VII.
THE GARDEN OF ALCINOUS.
CLOSE
A gates a spacious garden !i 'S ;
skies:
Four aci'cs vas tlr allotted space of ground,
FencVi with a green enclosure all around,
Tall thriving trees confessed the fruitful mould;
The redd'ning apple rip^n.-: here TO arold.
Here the blue fig with luscious juice o'erflows,
With deeper red the fall pomegranate glows,
The branch ,here bends beneath the weighty
pear,
And verdant olives ilouvish 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 fertile 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 fountains the whole prospect
crown'd
This through the gardens leads its streams
around,
Visits each plant, and waters all the ground:
While that, in pipes, beneath the palace flows,
And thence its current on the town bestows;
To various use their various streams they bring,
The people on.e, and one supplies the king.
Book VIII.
THE BARD.
Demodocus
The sacred master of celestial song:
Dear to the muse! who gave his days to flow
With mighty blessings, mix'd with mighty woe :
With clouds of darkness quench'd his visual ray,
But gave him skill to raise the lofty 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 demigods 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 affliction 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 list'ning train
Again with loud applause demand the strain:
Again Ulysses veil'd his pensive head,
Again unmann'd a shower of sorrow shed :
Conceal'd he wept.
Book IX.
ULYSSES' ADVENTURES IN THE CAVE OF POLY-
PHEMUS. ^
WHEN to the nearest verge of land we drew,
Fast by the sea, a lonely cave we view,
High, and with dark'ning laurels 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.^ 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 :
* It has been generally thought that Homer represents
himself in the person of Demodocus.
HOMER.
21
With only twelve, the boldest and the best,
I seek th' adventure, and forsake the rest.
Then took a goatskin fill'd with precious wine,
The gift of Maron, of Evantheus' line, '
(The priest of Phoebus at th' Ismarian shrine)
In sacred shade his honour'd mansion stood
Amidst Apollo's consecrated wood ;
Him, and his house, heaven mov'd my mind to
save,
And costly presents in return he gave ;
Seven golden talents to perfection wrought,
A silver bowl that held a copious draught,
And twelve large vessels of unmingled wine,
Mellifluous, undecaying, and divine!
Which now, some ages from his race conceal'd,
The hoary sire in gratitude reveal'd ;
Such was the wine: to quench whose fervent
steam,
Scarce twenty measures from the living stream
To cool one cup sufficed : the goblet crown'd
Breath'd aromatic fragrancies around.
Of this an ample vase we heav'd aboard,
And brought another with provisions stord.
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 flock the giant tended on the greert)
But round the grot we gaze, and all we view
In order rang'd, 6ur 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 fall'n young here bleating for their
dams;
The kid distinguish'd from the lambkin lies:)
The cavern echoes with responsive cries.
Capacious chargers all around were laid,
Full pails, and vesifcls 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 off to sea.
Their wholesome counsel rashly I declined,
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 with sacrifice and prayer.
The loaden shelves afford 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 thuucler'd as it fell. We trembled thru,
And sought the deep recesses of the den.
Now driven before him, through the arching
rock,
Came tumbling, heaps on heaps, th' unnumbered
flock:
Piicr-udclrr'd ewes, and goats of female kind,
(The mains \vere 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-wheel'd cars, compact and
strong,
The massy load could bear, or roll along.)
He next betakes him to his evening cares,
And sitting down, to milk his flocks prepares;
Of half their udders eases first the dams,
Then to the mother's teat submits the lambs.
Half the white stream to hard'ning cheese he
press'd,
And high in wicker baskets heap'd : the rest
Reserv'd in bowls, supplied his nightly feast.
His labour done, he fir'd the pile that gave
A sudden blaze, and lighted all the cave.
We stand discover 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 1 ?
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 confounds,
Appaird at sight of more than mortal man !
At length, with heart recover'd, I began.
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 to.ss'd,
And forc'd by storms, unwilling, on your coast;
Far from our destin'd course, and native land,
Such 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' unhappy owe ;
'Tis what 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 blazing 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 good ship that brought ye o'er,
Where lies she anchor'd? near or off the shore?
Thus he. His meditated fraud I find, *
Vers'd in the turns of various humankind)
And, cautious, thus Against a dreadful rock,
Fast by your shore the gallant vessel broke :
Scarce with these few I 'scap'd; of all my train,
Whom anpry Neptune whelm'd beneath the
main ;
The smtter'd wreck the winds blew back again.
22
HOMER.
He answer'd with his deed. His bloody hand
Snatch'd two, unhappy! of my martial band;
And dash'd like dogs against the stony floor :
The pavement swims with brains and mingled
gore.
Torn limb from limb, he spreads his horrid feast,
And fierce 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 ample maw with human carnage fill'd,
A milky deluge next the giant swill'd;
Then 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 siumb'ring 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-finger'd morn arise,
And shed her sacred light along the skies.
He wakes, he lights the fire, 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 pleas'd 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 flocks, 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 work'd my
breast;
But this of many counsels seem'd the best :
The monster's club within the cave I 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 shorten'd of its top, I gave my train
A fathom's length, to shape it and to plane
The narrower end I sharpen'd 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 roll'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 approach'd him reeking with their gore,
And held the brimming goblet foaming 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 thy 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 shalt thou taste this nectar more.
He heard, he took, and pouring down his
throat
Delighted swill'd 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 climes 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 abodes,
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 cover'd with the dozy fume ;
While thus my fraudful speech I reassume.
Thy promis'd boon, O Cyclop ! now I claim,
Arid plead my title : Noman is my name.
By that distinguished 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 the 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 flesh, 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 my 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 ;
Sing'd are his brows ; the scorching lids grow
black;
The jelly bubbles, and the fibres crack.
And as when arm'rers temper in the ford
The keen-edg'd pole-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 dash'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 repair,
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
aifright
Thus breaks our slumbers, and disturbs the night?
Does any mortal, in th' unguarded hour
Of sleep, oppress thee, or by fraud 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, oppresses 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 cried, and instant strode away.
Joy touch'd my secret soul and conscious heart,
Pleas'd with th' effect 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 we 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
Securd each side : so bound we all the crew.
One ram remain'd the leader of the flock ;
In his deep fleece my grasping hands I lock,
And fast beneath, in woolly curls inwove,
There cling implicit, and confide in Jove.
When rosy*tnorning glimmer'd o'er the dales,
He drove to pasture all the lusty ma!
The ewes still folded, with distended thighs
Unmilk'd, lay bleating in distressful cries.
But heedless of those cares, with anguish stung,
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 the gate,
Charg'd with his wool, and with Ulysses' fate.
Him while he past the monster blind bespoke :
What makes my ram the lag of all the flock?
First thou wert wont to crop the flowery mead,
First to the field and river's bank to lead,
And first with stately step at evening hour
Thy fleecy fellows usher to their bower.
Now far the last, with pensive pace and slow
Thou mov'st as conscious of thy master's wo !
Seest thou these lids that now unfold in vain 1 ?
(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 the hollow rock
Dismiss'd the ram, the father 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 retum'd,
And hail us living whom as dead they mourn'd.
Big tears of transport stand in every eye :
I check their fondness, and command to fly.
Aboard in haste they heave the wealthy sheep,
And snatch their oars, and rush into the deep.
Now off 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.
Thy barb'rous breach of hospitable bands,
The god, the god revenges by my hands.
These words the Cyclop's 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,
Roll'd back the vessel to the island's side :
Au r ain I shoved her off; our fate to fly,
Each nerve we stretch, and every oar we ply.
Just 'scaped impending death, when 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, when the dreadful rock he threw,
Old ocean shook, and back his surges ilew.
The sounding voice directs his aim again;
The rock o'erwhelms us, and we 'scaped in
vain.
24
HOMER.
But I, of mind elate, and scorning fear,
Thus with new taunts insult the monster's ear :
Cyclop ! if any, pitying thy disgrace,
Ask, who disfigur'd thus that eyeless face ?
Say 'twas Ulysses ; 'twas his deed, declare,
Laertes' son, of Ithaca the fair ;
Ulysses, far in fighting fields renown'd,
Before whose arm Troy tumbled to the ground.
Th' astonish'd savage with a roar replies :
Oh heavens ! oh faith of ancient prophecies !
This, Telemus Eurymides foretold,*
(The mighty seer who on these hills grew old ;
Skill '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 relight my eye ;
And only his, of all the gods on high.
Oh ! could this arm (I thus aloud rejoin'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 skies.
Hear me, oh Neptune! thou whose arms are
hurl'd
From shore to shore, and gird the solid world.
If thine 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 sufferings, 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 suff 'rings freed,
More near and deep, domestic woes succeed !
With imprecations thus he fill'd the air,
And angry Neptune heard th' unrighteous prayer.
A larger rock then heaving from the plain,
He whirl'd 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 our 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 dis-
simulation 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, beholds 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 and flowing bowls invite ;
Till evening Phoebus roll'd away the light:
Stretch'd on the shore in careless ease we rest,
Till ruddy morning purpled o'er the east.
Then from their anchors all our ships unbind,
And mount the decks, and call the willing wind.
Now rang'd in order on our banks, we sweep
With hasty strokes the hoarse-resounding deep ;
Blind to the future, pensive with our fears,
Glad for the living, for the dead in tears.
Book XI.
FROM ULYSSES' NARRATION OF HIS DESCENT INTO
HELL.
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 towering 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 bounds,
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?"
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 bear
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."^
*******
Now, without number, ghost by ghost arose,
All wailing with unutterable woes.
Alone, apart, in discontented mood,
A gloomy shade, the sullen Ajax stood ;
* Antilochus. f Tiresias.
t Contrast this gloomy picture with that of the Elysian
plain in the fourth book :
Thee to the Elysian plain, earth's farthest end,
Where Rhadamanthus 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 shrill spirit of the western wind.
A. Moore.
HOMER.
25
For ever sad, with proud disdain he pin'd,
And the lost arms for ever stung his mind ;
Though to the contest Thetis gave the laws,
And Pallas, by the Trojans, judg'd the cause.
O why was I victorious in the strife ?
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 ? And can brave souls
resent
E'en after death ? 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 \
Turti 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, tremendous to behold,
Stern Minos waves a mace of burnish'd gold ;
Around ten thousand thousand spectres stand,
Through the wide dome of Dis, a trembling
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 vultures, 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 lip applies,
Back from his lip the treach'rous water flies.
Above, beneath, around his hapless head,
Trees of all kinds delicious fruitage spread ;
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 fruit he strives to seize : but blasts arise,
Toss it on high, and whirl it to the skies.
I turn'd my eye, and as I turn'd survey'd
A mournful vision ! the Sisyphian shade ;
With many a weary step, and many a groan,
Up the high hill he heaves a huge round stone ;
The huge round stone, resulting with a bound,
Thunders impetuous down, and smokes along
the ground.
Again the restless orb his toil renews,
Dust mounts in clouds, and sweat descends in
dews.
Now I the strength 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 quaffs, and Hebe crowns his joys.
Here hovering ghosts, like fowl, his shade sur-
round,
And clang their pinions with terrific sound ;
Gloomy 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,
There 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.
"O exercis'd in grief! by arts refin'd!
taught to bear 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 !)
Down to these worlds I trod the dismal way,
And dragg'd the three-mouth'd dog to upper
day;
Even hell I conquer'd, through the friendly aid
Of Maia's offspring and the martial maid."
Thus he, nor deign'd for our reply 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,
Resolv'd I stand ; and haply had survey'd
The godlike Theseus, and Perithous' shade ;
But swarms of spectres rose from deepest hell,
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 rising from th' infernal lakes,
With horrors arm'd, and curls of hissing snakes,
Should fix me, stiffen'd at the monstrous sight,
A stony image, in eternal night !
C
20
HOMER.
Book XVII.
THE DOG ARGUS.
THUS, near the gates, conferring as they drew,
Argus, the dog, 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 ah ! 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 this abandon'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," (Eumseus 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, arid
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 f
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
Makes 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 faithful Argus' eyes!
Book XIX.
PENELOPE LAMENTING THE ABSENCE OF HER
HUSBAND.
As when the months are clad in flowery green,
Sad Philomel, 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 MERCURY.
" 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
connected 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
icre plays off against the sagacious and truth-
oving Apollo, is a very curious characteristic of
the popular religion of the Greeks ; and, indeed,
the matter is so managed by the poet, that
most readers get fonder of this little born-rogue
than of any other of the ancient dwellers on
Olympus.
In this hymn Hermes is gifted with the char-
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-break; by noon he
HOMER.
27
had made a lyre out of the shell of a tortoise
which he caught crawling at the entrance of the
cavern, and had learnt to play upon it; and that
same evening he stole and drove away a matter
of fifty cows belonging to Apollo and grazing on
the Pierian hills. The description of the ancient
lyre in this hymn, has been followed by almost
all writers in mentioning the subject:
And through the stone-shell'd tortoise's strong
skin,
At proper distances small holes he made,
And fasteri'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
Symphonious 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 tumult sweet
Of mighty sounds, and from his lips he sent
A strain of unpremeditated wit
Joyous, and wild, and wanton such you may
Hear among revellers on a holiday, &c. &c.
As to the cows, he makes them walk back-
ward and does so himself, taking the additional
precaution of throwing away his sandals and
wrapping up his feet in the leafy twigs of shrubs.
He meets one old labouring man, and recommends
him to be blind and deaf to present objects, or he
may suffer for it. When he comes to the Al-
pheus, 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 tfiat 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 mountain bent his 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
Methinks even you must grow a little older :
Attend, I pray, to this advice of mine,
As you would 'scape what might appal a
bolder
Seeing, see not and hearing, hear not and
If you have understanding understand.' 1
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, neither man nor god
Had met him, smce he killed Apollo's kine,
Nor had a housedog 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 about 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 suspects him of some roguish ad-
venture, and predicts 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 talents, for the
comfortable maintenance of his mother and him-
self; and as for Apollo, if he 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 might 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 help 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 sucked his fill,
And now was newly washed, and put to bed,
Awake, but courting sleep 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!
Speak quickly ! or a quarrel straight 'twixt us
Must rise ; and the event will be that I
Shall hurl you into dismal 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 light of day
To rule the ghosts of men unblest as they !"
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
With the wild oxen which it seems you miss ?
I have not seen them, nor from any one
Have heard a word of the whofe 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 :
My business is to suck, and sleep, and fling.
The 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 !
I 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 did ;
Whatever things cows are, I do not know,
For I have only 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.
Apollo 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 out !" Thus saying, Phoebus 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 Phosbus on the
grass
Him threw, and whilst all that he had 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 will 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 swaddling clothes, and "What mean you
to do
With me, you unkind god 1 ?" 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 person, and
Totally unacquainted with untruth.
At sun-rise Phoebus came, but with no band
Of gods to bear him witness, in great ruth,
To my abode, seeking his heifers there,
And saying I must show him where they are,
Or he would hurl me down the dask 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 and 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 repays for ever, day and night,
Devising schemes for the affairs of worlds
That I am guiltless ; and I will requite,
Although my enemy be great and strong,
His cruel threat ! Do thou defend the young !"
Mercury accompanies this speech with divers
winkings 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
fit of laughter, at hearing the roguish child " give
such a plausible account, arid 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 gratifies
him with the gift of the lyre. Apollo is trans-
ported with delight at the possession of this in-
strument, and thereupon they swear eternal
friendship.
HTMIf TO VEJOTS.
{( 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 eve::
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 conceived in an older and more Homeric
spirit than any of the other Hymns ; and it is re-
markable for being founded entirely on the loves
of Venus and Anchises, and for containing a
repetition of the prophecy of the Iliad, that ^Eneas
and his posterity should reign over Troy. It is,
indeed, quite Trojan in its subject and sentiments,
and there is one passage in it, by which we
learn that the Phrygians spoke a language en-
tirely different 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. Lucretius
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 ; arid 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 without 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 with fear oppress'd,
In winged words he thus the queen address'd :
-When first, O goddess! I thy form beheld,
Whose charms so far humanity 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 father, segis-bearing Jove,
Compassion on my human state to show,
Nor let me lead a lift' infirm below!
Defend me from the woes that mortals 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 dauirhtrr 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 ^Eneas give.
As one, for whose conception I must grieve !"
"After telling the story of Tithonus, Venus goes
on in a strain of real human affection for An-
chises :
"On terms like these, I never can desire
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 dread the day,
When I must mourn thy loss and life's decay :
But thou, alas ! too soon and sure must bend,
Beneath the woes which painful age attend ;
Inexorable age ! whose wretched state
All mortals dread, and all immortals hateF'
"In no Greek or Latin classical poem, that I
remember, is Venus represented wjth such con-
summate dignity, tenderness and passion, as in
this Hymn; and in this particular it certainly
differs a great deal from the more popular con-
ception of the goddess of love in the Iliad. Dif-
ficult as the story was to tell, it is told with un-
broken decorum, and constitutes a striking ex-
ample of that intuitive propriety of manner and
words, in the display of which the Greek poets
set all others at defiance."
HTMK TO CERES.
"THE manuscript of the Hymn to Ceres, which,
in some parts, is in a very fragmentary state, was
discovered in the last century by C. F. Mathaei,
in the library of the Holy Synod at Moscow, aud
communicated by him, together with a few lines
in a lost Hymn to Bacchus, to David Ruhnken, a
professor at the University of Leyden, by whom
it was published. There has been much diversity
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 consider the poem in the
same point of view, as we do the other hymns
commonly attributed to Homer ; and though it is
not equal in vigour and beauty to the hymns be-
fore mentioned, it is still a very lively and pictur-
esque poem, smooth and flowing 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 off
secretly, with the connivance and the aid of Ju-
piter. Ceres wanders over the earth with blaz-
ing torches, in search of Proserpine. Having
learned 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 the house of Celeus, the king, by
his daughters, whom she had met at a fountain,
where they had gone with their pitchers to fetch
water. Meantime, she has blasted the earth
with sterility, and Jupiter sends repeated mes-
sages to induce her to remit her anger and return
to Olympus; she, however, refuses all reconcilia-
tion, till Jupiter despatches Mercury to Hades to
order Pluto to give up Proserpine. Pluto obeys,
but gives her a pomegranate seed to eat, and the
conclusion is, that Ceres is pacified upon an un-
derstanding that Proserpine is to pass two-thirds
c2
30
HOMER.
of the year with her, and the remaining third
only with her husband.*
The poet says that Pluto seized her, whilst
In- Nysia's vale, with nymphs a lovely train
Sprung from the hoary father of the main,
Fair Proserpine consum'd the fleeting hours,
In pleasing sports and plucking gaudy flowers.f
Around 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 enamell'd mead ;
The fair Narcissus, far above the rest,
By magic for^'d, in beauty rose confest,
So Jove to insure the virgin's thoughtless mind,
And please the Ruler of the Shades design'd,
He caus'd 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 joy-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 widely yawn'd a gulf profound !
Forth rushing from the black abyss arose
The gloomy monarch of the realm 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 : and 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.
f gathering flowers,
Herself, a fairer flower, by gloomy Dis
Was gathered. Milton.
was born in Crete. This brings the KpjjT 1 ? ? d
' "the Cretans are always liars," of Epi-
menides, quoted by St. Paul, (Titus i. 12,) to our
recollection, 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
effects 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 Metanira's breast amazement reign'd ;
Silent she stood, nor long her knees sustain'd
Their tottering weight ; she sunk in grief profound;
Her child neglected, shrieking 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 pomegranate
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 his domain.
In this Hymn we have probably the earliest
mention of the Eleusinian mysteries now extant:
Those sacred mysteries, for the vulgar 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 different 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 914 B. C.]
FROM various passages in his "Works and
Days," we learn that Hesiod was born at Ascra,
a village at the foot of Mount Helicon, in Bceotia;
that he was left by his father joint heir to an un-
divided estate, his share of which 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
FROM THE WORKS AND DAYS.
CREATION OF PANDOBA.
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 soul,
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 deceiv'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 5
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 with the brows of love.
He bade Minerva teach the skill that dyes
The web with colours as the shuttle flies:
He call'd the magic of love's charming queen
To breathe around a witchery of mien :
bounty of him he had injured ; further, that on
one occasion he crossed the strait of Euripus for
the purpose of attending a poetical contest at the
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 WORKS AND DATS THE THEOGONY AKD
THE SHIELD OF HERCULES.
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 twin'd of Spring's purpereal 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 deepening thunder, will'd:
Then, by the feather d messenger of Heaven,
The name PANDORA to the maid was given:
For all the Gods conferr'd a gifted grace
To crown this mischief of the mortal race.
The Sire commands the winged herald bear
The finish 'd nymph, th' inextricable snare :
ToEpimetheus was the present brought;
Prometheus' warning vanish'd from his thought,
That he disdain each offering 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,
And misery's pressure turns the temples gray.
The Woman's hands an ample casket bear;
She lifts the lid she scatters ills in air.
31
32
HESIOD.
Hope sole remain'd within, nor took her flight,
Beneath the vessel's verge conceal'd from light.
Issued the rest, in quick dispersion hurl'd,
And woes innumerous roam'd the breathing
world :
With ills the land is full, with ills the sea,
Diseases haunt our frail humanity;
Self-wandering through the noon, the night they
glide,
Voiceless a voice the power all-wise denied:
Know then this awful truth it is riot given
T' elude the wisdom of omniscient Heaven.
DISPENSATIONS OF PROVIDENCE TO THE JUST
AND THETTNJUST.
WITH crooked judges, lo ! the oath's dread God
Avenging runs and tracks them where they trod,
Rough are the ways 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, while corruption on their sentence waits,
They thrust pale Justic^ 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 citizen, the stranger aid;
They and their cities flourish ; genial peace
Dwells in their borders, and their 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 \vhom 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 moulder 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, judges! in your inmost thought
The retribution by his vengeance wrought.
Invisible, the Gods are ever nigh,
Pass through the midst and 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 her 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.
BEWARE the January month, beware
Those 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-branck'd pines the moun-
tain dells:
He stoops to earth; the crash is heard around;
The depth 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 suppling wateis 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 EXJOYMEXTS.
WHEX 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 >h;ill brightly shim-.
While in three parts of water glows my wine!
HONEST POVERTT.
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
health
Of heart, than knaves with all their wines and
wealth.
VICE AXi) VIRTUE; WISDOM AND FOLLY.
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 GIAXTS.
ATSTD 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, incens'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.
Forthwith 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
Hud met; whereat upsprang the winds of air,
And whirl'd the dust-clouds mid the lightning's
glare :
*A similar sentiment may be found amongst the
maxims of the Chinese. " The highest order of men (say
they) are virtuous and wise, independently of instruc-
tion ; the middle class are so after instruction; the lowest
order are vicious in spite of instruction." Quarterly
Review, Vol. XLL p. 90.
34
HESIOD.
Winds, thunder, lightnings, from the hand of Jove
Their track of ruin through mid battle 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, through mid ranks pierce ;
From their strong arms three hundred rocks they
throw,
And with these monstrous darts o'ercloud the foe
Then forc'd the Titans deep beneath the ground
And with afflictive chains the rebels bound ;
Despite their pride, beneath the earth they lie,
Far as that earth is distant from the sky.
THE CONFLICT OF JUPITER WITH TYPH03US.
BUT when from Heaven Jove had his foes exil'd
Great Earth Typhoeus bore, her latest child,
In Hell's 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 lick'd 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 thundered 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 affright,
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 his 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,
Abhorr'd by men, and dreadful e'en to gods.
Homer's Battle of the Oods, II. xx.
FROM THE SHIELD OF HERCULES.
But next arose
A well-tower'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 wide
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 fill'd 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 quaff 'd
The foaming must.
But in another part
Were men who wrestled, or in gymnic fight
Wielded the ctEstus.
Elsewhere men of chase
Were taking the fleet hares ; two keen-too tli'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.
:Iigh o'er the well-compacted chariots hung
CALLINUS.
35
The charioteers; the rapid horses loos ? d
At their full stretch, and shook the floating reins.
Rebounding from the ground, with many a shock,
Flew clattering the firm cars, and creak'd aloud
The naves of the round wheels. They, there-
fore, toiled
Endless ; nor conquest yet at any time
Achiev'd they ; but a doubtful strife maintain'd.
In the mid course the prize, a tripod huge,
Was plac'd 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 suffers not that they with backward step
Repass : 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 for your part.
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 with 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 in 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, high 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 Apzito%ov rtaf et$ 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-
EQUANIMITY.
MY 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
All-suffering 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.
Relictd. non bene parmula.
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
struction. His lampoons are lost, and nothing
remains of him but some few fragments of a
grave and philosophic 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.
A PAIR OF MILITARY PORTRAITS.
BOAST me not your valiant captain,
strutting fierce with measur'd 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.
BEHOLD, my Glaucus, how the deep
Heaves, while the sweeping billows howl,
And round the promontory-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'ling
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.
JOYE 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.
Applause awaits us only while we live,
While we can honour take, and honour give :
Yet, were it base for man of woman born,
To mock the naked ghost with jests or scorn.
TYRT^US.
[About 681 B. C.]
TYIIT.EUS was the son of Archimbrotus, and Pausanias, however, does not call him General,
presided over a school of some kind probably of , but Counsellor, (2 iytj3ou?w>$,) adding, that his exer-
tions were confined to composing the dissensions
and rousing the fallen spirits of his new allies.
He left three kinds of poems ; first, his Military
Elegies ; second, his Eunomia, or political ones ;
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, Tyrtaeus.
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,
Tho' 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 flight, and fall
Beloved, lamented, deified by all.
His household gods, his own parental land
High in renown, by him exalted stand ;
Alike the heirs and founders of his name
Share his deserts and borrow from 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 his 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 not with the mighty d.
And living laurels wreathe his honour'd head,
By old, by young, adored, he gently goes
Down a smooth pathway to his long repose,
and third, his Embateria or marching songs. Only
a few of the first have descended to our times.
Unaltering friends still love his hairs of snow,
And rising elders in his presence bow.
Would ye, like him, the woiid'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 hurl'd ;
Known to all future ages by his shame,
A blot eternal on the rolls of fame !
But let us firmly stand, and scorn to fly,
Save all we love, or with our country 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 unequal blows;
Or in the van lie slain, with blood besmear'd
His wrinkled forehead and his snowy beard,
Stript of his spoils through many a battle worn.
And gay assumed, that inauspicious morn,
Brentliing 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 the fair, and friendships of the brave.
D 37
ALCMAN OR ALCM^ON.
[About 680 B. C.]
ALCMAN is said to have been born at Sardis,
and numbered amongst the fathers of lyric poetry.
His Partheriia, composed in praise of women,
and sung by chorusses of virgins, were very
popular amongst the Spartans, and procured for
him the title of rhvxv$ the sweet. Nothing
but a few scattered sentences, and disjointed
lines affording the most inadequate materials
for any judgment of his merits have come
down to us.
MEGALOSTRATA.
AGAIN 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.
[Born 633 Died 556, B. C.]
A NATIVE of Himera in Sicily, and contem-
porary with Sappho and Alcaeus. 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 GeryonSis,"*
of which the titles, with a few scattered frag-
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 who will not join in the regret expressed by
a modem one for the loss of them. " Utinam
profecto (says Lowth,) Stesichorum non invidis-
set nobis vetustas, cujus gravitatem et magnifi-
centiam omnes prsedicant; quern prse caeteris
laudat Dionysius quod et argumenta sumeret
grandia imprimis et splendide, et in iis tractan-
dis mores et personarum 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 GeryonSis 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 let.rned
criticism, than any other cup, heathen or Christian, {,'lass,
metal, or wood, ever fabricated or dreamed of.
jESOP. SOLON.
39
Whilst onward through the laurel-shaded grove,
Moved, with firm step, the hew son of Jove.
FROM "THE DESTRUCTION OF TROY."
THE SACRIFICE OF TYXDARUS.
.... 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.
BEFORE the regal chariot, as it past,
Were 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.
VAIJT 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.
.ESOP.
[About 620 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. JEso? now turned
his attention to foreign travel, partly to extend
the sphere of his own knowledge, and partly to
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 fly as to endure?
Whate'er is sweet without alloy,
And sheds a more exalted joy,
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.
Yon glorious orb that gilds the day,
Or, placid moon, thy silver ray,
Earth, sea, whatever we gaze upon,
Is thine, O Nature, thine alone ;
But gifts, which to ourselves we owe,
What are they all, but fear and woe ?
Chance-pleasure, hardly worth possessing,
Ten curses for a single blessing !
SOLON.
[Born 638, Died 559, B. C.]
IT was the opinion of Plato, that if Solon hml
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
predominant political 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 dignity of
manner a plain grandeur in his sentiment that
seems to flow from a mind reposing in conscious
40
ALC^EUS.
satisfaction after an honest performance of the
most difficult and solemn duty, which can fall to
the lot of man the new-modelling of a political
constitution for his country; in doing which he
had not been unmindful of the genius and utility
of the ancient institutions of the state, nor played
any base game for personal power; but, alike
imseduced by aristocratic influence or mob adu-
lation, had impartially assigned to all orders such
measures of power as reason and experience
taught him to believe most conducive to a total
result of good : " I gave," (says he,)
" I gave the people freedom clear
But neither flattery nor fear ;
I told the rich and noble race
To crown their state with modest grace,
And placed a shield in either's hand,
Wherewith in safety both might stand."
" The people love their rulers best,
When neither cringed to nor opprest."
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 sad ruin all the lovely scene,
Till it reveals the clear celestial blue
And gives the palace of the gods to view;
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; though it long may lie,
Wrapt in the vast concealment of the sky ;
Yet never does the 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 wings 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 sun outshine again
The sinking billows of the main,
And the blue ether fair to see,
Sleepeth in deep tranquillity.
H. JV. Coleridge.
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,
Oft 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 floors,
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 wife endears,
Whose hours a smiling offspring cheers.
ALC^EUS.
[About 620 B. C.]
ALCJEUS 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, from which, in conjunction with
himself, he had deposed a former tyrant, Alcseus
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. Alcseus 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 tlae evils of exile and war,
"Dura navis,
Dura fugae mala, dura belli."
Antiquity is full of his praises ; but a few frag-
ments only of his poetry remain, though its echo
may be sometimes heard in the strains of his
successful imitator and admirer, Horace.
ALC^EUS.
41
THE SPOILS OF WAR.
GLITTERS with brass my mansion wide )
The roof is deck'd, on every side,
In martial pride,
With helmets rang'd in order bright,
And plumes of horse-hair nodding white,
A gallant sight
Fit ornament for warrior's brow
And round the walls, in goodly 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 cast away.
Euboean falchions 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.
GLAD 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 hours.
THE POOR FISHERMAN.
THE fisher Diotimus had, at sea
And shore, the same abode of poverty
His trusty boat; and when his days were 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 Sparta told,
Aristodemus old,
"Wealth makes the man.'' On him that's poor,
Proud worth looks down, and honour shuts the
door.
CONVIVIAL.
WHY wait we for the torches' lights?
Now let us drink, while day invites.
In mighty flagons hither bring
The deep-red blood of many a vine,
That we may largely quaff and sing
The praises of the God of wine
The son of Jove, and Semele,
Who gave the jocund grape to be
A sweet oblivion to our woes.
Fill, fill the goblet one 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 moated 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 excel cold rocks and brambles rude-
Men, who their duties know, I
Know too their rights, and, knowing, dare main-
tain ;
Prevent the long-aimed blow,
And crush the 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 downy pillow spread.
THE STORM.
Now here, now there, the wild waves sweep,
Whilst we, betwixt them, o'er the deep,
In shatter'd tempest-beaten bark,
With labouring 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 first,
And doubles all our toil to save.
D2
SAPPHO.
[About 620 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 whom 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 jpoetry, very little re-
mains to us except the Hymn to Venus, and her
Ode to the Beloved ; but these alone suffice 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 unaffected grace
and sweetness, her concentrated force, passion,
and beauty of expression, are unsurpassed in the
Greek tongue, arid 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 Alcseus, who, in a sweet, though un-
connected line, (found in one of his few remain-
ing fragments,) addresses her as his 'lortTiox', d/yva,
jUftko^o^fi&x 2a7toi 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 befreyt."
HYMN TO VENUS.
O VENUS, beauty of the skies !
To whom a thousand altars rise,
Gaily false in gentle smiles,
Full of love-perplexing wiles,
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 smil'd,
And ask'd what new complaints I made,
And why I call'd you to my aid 1
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, he 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.
IMMORTAL 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,
Thy listening ear thou didst incline,
To my rude lay, the starry shine
Of Jove's court leaving,
In chariot yoked with coursers fair,
Thine own immortal birds, that bear
Thee 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 fly, he'll soon return
Himself shall give, though now he spurn ;
Heed not his coldness soon he'll burn,
E'en though thou chide."
SAPPHO.
43
And said/st thou this, dread goddess 1 0,
Come thou once more to ease my woe !
Grant all ! and thy great self bestow,
My shield and guide !
TO THE BELOVED.
BLEST as the immortal gods is he,
The 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 gonr, my voice was lost.
My bosom glowed; a subtle flame
Ran quick through all my vital frame;
O'er my dim eyes a darkness hung;
My ears with hollow murmurs rung.
In dewy damps my limbs were chill'd,
My blood with gentle horrors thrill'd;
My feeble pulse forgot to play,
I fainted, sunk, and died away.*
THE DESERTED WIFE.
THE moon has set, and o'er the seas
Throw their last glance the Pleiades ;
The weary night is waning fast,
The promised hour is come and past;
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.
f, unheeded, shalt thou die,
And no memorial shall proclaim,
That once, 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
* Longinus, to whom posterity is indebted for the pre-
servation of this ode, attributes much of its beauty to the
judicious choice which sh: has made of the various feel
ings attendant on jealous love, and the skilful manner in
which she has brought and connected them together.
Long. a. x.
t The fire and enthusiasm of Sappho's character (says
Mr. Bland) appear in none of her works more unequivo-
cally than in this little fragment. 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 sun,
Or like sweet flowers, of earliest bloom,
And Cleis is her name : for whom
I Lydia's treasures, were they mine,
Would glad resign.
COME, gentle Youth, and in thy flowing locks
With delicate 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.
in.
CLIITG to the brave and good the base disown
Whose best of fortunes is to live unknown.
IV.
THROUGH 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 dangerous guest ;
Who holds them mingled, is supremely blest.
HESPER! every gift is thine
Thou bring'st the kidling from the rock;
Thou bring'st the damsel with the flock;
Thou bring'st us rosy wine.
BEAUTY, fair flower, upon the surface lies;
But Worth with Beauty soon in aspect vies.
MAIDEN LOVE.
[THE following fragment, as Warton remarks,
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 wildered are my heart and brain
With thinking 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 stigma of
contempt with which they are branded by Sappho, is
mercy to what they are sentenced to undergo by Dante
"Questi sciaurati, che mai non fur vivi," &c.
"Those miserables, who never truly loved.
No record of their names is left on high ;
Mercy and Justice spurn them and refuse.
Take we no note of them look, and pass by I"
44
ERINNA. PITTACUS.
YES, yes, I own it true
Pleasure's the good that I pursue.
How blest is then my destiny,
That 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 Alcseus, Stesichorus, &c., her pre-
eminence in every lyric quality, is incontestable ;
her music, her passion, her imagery, her truth,
are all transcendant; and, after 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 :
xahav
fy&tvvbv tlSoj,
av rt^otcra
Fay
The stars, that round the beauteous moon
Attendant wait, cast into shade
Their ineffectual lustres, soon
As she, in full-orbed majesty array'd,
Her silver radiance showers
Upon this world of ours.
ERINNA.
[About 610 B. C.]
a native of Lesbos, and friend of
Sappho, died at the early age of nineteen. She
is described as a girl of extraordinary beauty
and genius, but her works, all except two or
three epigrams, have unfortunately perished.
The ode to Rome, or to Fortitude, as some will
translate it, which has been attributed to her, is
evidently the 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 bride's 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.
PILLARS 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 her 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.]
OSTE of the Seven Sages of Greece, and Tyrant of Mitylene.
FORESIGHT AND COURAGE.
THE Wise with prudent thought provide
Against misfortune's coming tide ;
The Valiant, when the surge beats high,
Undaunted brave its tyranny.
MIMNERMUS.
[About 590 B. C.]
MIMNERMUS was a native of Colophon, in
Ionia, and eminent both as a musician and a
poet. Judging of him from the few fragments
of his writings which have descended to us, he
was anything but the joyous spirit described by
Horace, Propertius, and others. He complains
of the transiency of human enjoyment, of the
briefness of youth, and the vanity and wretched-
ness of life. But such was the prevailing creed
of Greece, of her gayest poets, no less than of
her gravest philosophers.
YOUTH AND AGE.
WHAT were life, and where its treasure,
Golden Venus, wert thou flown ?
Ne r 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,
" Who, therefore, seeks in these
True wisdom, finds her not; or, by delusion,
Far worse, her false resemblance only meets,
An empty cloud."
In the Love Elegy, Mimnermus is said to have
reigned supreme, throughout all antiquity; (plus
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.
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 Parcoe 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 protracted hope and vain desires
For children longs and, as he longs, expires;
Another groans in sickness; sufferers all,
Condemn'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-
moa. He is styled by Suidas the most love-mad
(fputfouavfatatos) of poets, and the short frag-
ments of his writings, that remain to us, seem
fully 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
(according to ^Elian) is, that, being attacked and
wounded to death by robbers, and seeing, in his
dying moments a flight of cranes, he cried out:
"Those birds will be my avengers!" And so
they were ; for one of the murderers happening
* See Schiller's
'Kraniche des Ibykus."
45
46
THEOGNIS.
soon afterwards to see a flock of the same birds
flying over the market place of Corinth, inad-
vertently exclaimed to his comrades : " Behold
the avengers of Ibycus !" His words were over-
heard, suspicions arose, inquiry followed, truth
came to light, and Ibycus' dying prophecy was
accomplished in the execution of his murderers.
Hence the proverb of 'l&xov sxSixoi, in cases of
criminals unexpectedly found out and brought to
justice.
TO EURYALE.
THOU, the bright-haired Graces' bud and care,
Euryale! Sure Venus fair
And sweet Persuasion, with her eyelids mild,
In rose-flower cradle nourished thee a child.
THE INFLUENCE OF SPRING.
IN- 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, burneth with desire,
As with the lightning fire ;
Black, as the Thracian wind,
He seizes on my mind,
With dry delirious heat
Inflames my reason's seat,
And, in the centre of my soul,
Keeps empire for a child, and holds
uricheck'd control.
THEOGNIS.
[About 544 B. C.]
THEOGXIS was born in the 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. All 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 flowing 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 flutt'ring 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 terrors stop, nor vows, nor tears
Life's mournful evening, and the gloom of years.
EXHORTATION TO ENJOYMENT.
MAT peace and riches crown my native towers,
Nor war nor tumults break our festive hours ;
May glorious Jove, embracing earth and sky,
Exulting view our mortal harmony ;
Thou, 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 gods below :
In pleasant converse wrapt, the social soul
Heeds not the wars 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 whate'er is mine of power or place ;
THEOGNIS.
47
And o'er the mournful spot regardless go,
Where my bones mingle with the earth below !
But ever shall my conscious heart rejoice
At Pleasure's breath, and Music's heavenly voice
Pleased will I sport, while fragrant draughts in-
spire,
Or sing symphonious 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 pulses beat,
While throbs my heart with youth's delicious
heat,
Charm'd will I yield to every new delight,
Ere mournful age shall tear it from my sight.
REASONABLE EXPECTATIONS.
COULD wealth with 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.
FIRE 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 this world thou'rt pleased to sway;
No difference none, for aught I see
"J'wixt 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 land, and title brags,
And quaffs his wine, and drives his nags,
Whilst toil-worn Virtue dies in rags.
LIFE'S FIRST BLESSING.
KTRXUS ! 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, and I for you.
TO KYRXI'S.
I'VE given thee wings o'er boundless earth and sea
To speed thy easy flight :
And thou, for ever dear, shall voiced be
f delight.
The mellow flute, by fairest youths inspired,
Shall sweetly breathe thy name;
And when within earth's covert dim retired,
Thou'rt lost to heaven's pun.- flame.
Glory shall wait thee in thy native home
Alive though in th.- trravr!
Through Greece and all her islands thou shalt
roam,
Above the oroan wave
Nor borne on steed-, but by the Mn-es led.
Wln.se temples violets wr-
For whilst earth lasts, and day's glad light is shed,
This SOUL; all breathe.
Yet yet 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
That 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 height !
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 old age, or wearisome disease,
Is Poverty. From Poverty to flee,
From some tall precipice into the sea,
It were 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 the 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 FRIENDS,
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 tip ilished, I n.uld gladly close
My term of life a fair requital made
My friends rewarded, and my wrongs repaid!
Gratitude and revenge, before I die,
Might make me deemed almost a deity.
Yet hear, O mighty Jove ! and grant my prayer,
Relieve me from affliction and despair !
48
ANACREO.N.
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.
EXJOT 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 Euboea's 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,
[Born, 554 Died, 469 B. C.]
I 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 lay.
AWACREON was born at Teos in Ionia; but on
the invasion of that country by Harpagus, 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-
tseus. 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
Alcoeus, 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 breathe the 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;
She gave the lion fangs of terror,
And o'er the ocean's crystal mirror,
Taught the unnumbered scaly throng
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 ?
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 ki
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 !
ANACREON'S DOVE.
LOVELY 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.' r *
CURE FOR CARE.
WHEW my thirsty soul I steep, ^
Every sorrow's lulled to sleep.
Talk of monarchs ! I am 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 never read any thing in the same lan-
guage since, that pleased me more." He then added
that the above verses "were planned and even begun,"
when he was sixteen years old, yet had he never found
"time to make an end of them before he was sixty-
eight."
E
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 1
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 wljen 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 heavenly 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 for sordid ore.
Since that devoted thirst began,
Man has forgot to feel for man ;
The pulse of social life is dead,
And all its fonder 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 the following lines :
Nothing in Nature 's sober found,
But an eternal health goes round.
Fill up the bowl, then, fill it high,
Fill all the glasses there ; for why
Should every creature drink but 1 ?
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,
And waked "me with a piteous prayer,
To shield him from the midnight air.
"And 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 boaorn 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.
UNDERNEATH this myrtle shade,
On flowery beds supinely laid,
With odorous oils my head overflowing,
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,
Vigorpus health, and gay desires.
The wheel of life no less will stay
In a smooth than rugged way :
ANACREON.
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 sd.
Crown 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.
Bens of roses, virgin flowers,
Culled from Cupid's balmy bowers,
In the bowl of Bacchus steep,
Till with crimson drops they weep.
Twine the ro^fi, the garland twine,
Every leaf distilling wine;
Drink and smile, and learn to think,
That we were born to smile and drink.
Rose ! them art the sweetest flower,
That ever drank the amber shower 5
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,
ir 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 effects I do not know ;
But this I know, without being told,
ne tf> live, if I grow old;
i.ort pleasures now to take,
Of little life the be-t tn make,
And manage widely the last stake.
SPRI
DKHOLD the y<>ui y Spring,
i ted wing;
While virgin Graces, warm with .May.
Fling ro:.i-s o'er her dewy way.
The murmuring !)ill"W- f the deep
Have 'ito >ilent
AIL! mark ! the flittinj lave
Their plumes in the relleeting wave;
While cranes from hoary winter fly,
To ilutter in a kinder sky.
Niw the genial star of day
Dissolves the murky clouds away;
And cultured field and winding streajg,.
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 creeping,
Through the velvet foliage peeping,
Little infant fruits we see
Nursing into luxury.
THE GRASSHOPPER.
HAPPY 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 happiest 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 danc'd and sung
Thy fill, the flowery leaves among,
(Voluptuous and wise withal,
Epicurean animal !)
I 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 ce tves that roar
,-t the billow-beaten shore,
Thou sufficient skill hast proved,
Thou shalt count the name-, I've loved.
At Athens first, Minerva's town,
Full five-and-thirty write me down;
Bnt oh! at Corinth, rieh and fair,
What hosts of loved ones 1 had there!
For 1. 'lears the sway,
~o 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 thy tablets : One by one,
I'll count 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 with 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 j
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 j
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.
TIMOCIUTUS 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 know,
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.
[Bora 53&-Died 467, B. C.J
SIMOITIDES, "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
afterwards removed to Syracuse, where he was
high in favour with King Hiero, and is said to
have died in the ninety-first year of his age. To
him is attributed the invention, or, at least, the
establishment of the Funeral Elegy. But it was
for his Epigrams, 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 otyeteiu 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 Thermopylae") he bore away the
prize from ^Eschylus.
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.
DAUGHTER 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 LEONIDAS AT THE PASS
OF THERMOPYLAE.
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 THERMOPYLAE.
IJT dark Thermopylae they lie ;
Oh death of glory thus to die !
Their tomb an altar is, their name
A mighty heritage of fame:
Their dirge is triumph; 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.
GREATLY to die, if this be glory's height,
For the 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 Lacedaemon tell,
That here, obedient to her laws, we fell.
Another translation of the Same.
STRANGER, to Sparta say, that here we rest
In death, obedient to her high behest.
Another.
Go, tell the Spartans, thou who passest by,
That here, obedient to their laws we lie.
* Q |fif', ayytfottv AaxtSai/jiovioif, oft, iffie
tots xfivuv pjjjucwt
Christopher North, in one of his delightful articles on
the Greek Anthology, has given us no less 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? Here it Is the Greek with three Latin
and eighteen English 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.' "Blackwood, Vol. xxxiv, p. 970.
E2 53
54
SIMONIDES.
ON CIMOIi'S LAND AND SEA VICTORY.
NE'ER since the olden time, when Asia stood
First torn from Europe by the ocean-flood,
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 flowers,
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
Ariacreon 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 still 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 pleasure every passing day :"
"Live while you live" the sacred Preacher cries
"And give to God each moment as it flies :"
Lord, in my views, let both united be
I live to pleasure, while I 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'ER of virtue or of power,
Or good, or great, we vainly call,
Each moment eager to devour,
One vast Charybdis swallows all.
in.
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.
IV.
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 prepar'd to strike,
Good and bad will feel alike.
DANAE.
WHEN the wind, resounding high,
Blustered from the northern sky,
When the waves, in stronger tide,
Dashed against the vessel's side,
Her care-worn cheek with tears bedewed,
Her sleeping infant Daniie 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 heavy 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 couhTst 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,
Daniie clasped her sleeping child ;
And "alas" (cried she) "my dearest,
What deep wrongs, what woes, are mine ;
But nor wrongs nor woes thou fearest,
In that sinless rest of thine.
Faint the moonbeams break above thee,
And, within here, all is gloom;
But fast 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, Babe, slumber ;
Slumber, Ocean-waves ; and you,
My dark troubles, without number,
0, 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.
JOVE 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.
O NATIVE Sparta! when we met the host,
In equal combat, from the Inachian c<
Thy brave three hundred m:\vr turu'd
But where our feet t, 'here we died.
The words, in blood, which brave Orthryades
Wrought on his herald shield, were only these
"Thyrea is Lacedamion's!" If there fled
One Argive from the slaughter, be it said,
Of old Adrastus he hath learn'd to fly ;
We count it death to falter, 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 gift approve,
Me for myself exchanging, love for love "?
Lost are my fabled bow and magic dart;
But, only 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.
ENCIRCLED 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 spurn each sensual, low desire,
Must never falter, never tire,
But ox, with sweat-drops of the soul.*
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.
CLOUD-CAPT Geraneia, rock unblest!
Would thou had'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.
* Hesiod has a similar sentiment in his " Works and
Days."
Where Virtue dwells, the gods have placed before
The dropping sweat that springs from every pore ;
And ere the feet can reach her bright abode,
Long, rugged, dark th' ascent, and rough the road :
The ridge once gain'd, the path, so hard of late,
Runs easy on, and level to the gate. Elton.
So also Spenser
In woods, in waves, in wars, She wont to dwell
And will be found with poril and with pain,
Necan the man, who moulds in idle cell,
Unto her happy mansion e'er attain ;
Before her L'ate Hi'.'li (Jrxl did sireat ordain
Ami wakeful watches ever to abide ;
But easy is tin; way ami passage plain
To Pleasure's palace ; it may soon be spied,
And, day and night, her doors to all stand open wide.
Faerie Queen, B. ii. c. 3.
TIMOCREON OF RHODES,
[About 471 B. C.]
TIMOCREON-, the Lyric Poet and Satirist, is
classed by Suidas (but, as Mr. Clinton thinks,
without sufficient reason,) among the writers
of the old Comedy, and by Plutarch and
Athenoeus, among the Pentathletes, as well as
RICHES.
BLIKDED Plutus ! didst thou dwell
Nor in land nor fathom'd sea {
Poets, of his age. For his satires on The-
mistocles and Simonides he drew down upon
himself the vengeance of the latter in an
epitaph, which the reader will find in page 53
of this volume.
But only in the depths of hell,
God of riches ! Safe from thee,
Man himself might happy be.
^SCHYLUS.
[Born 521, Died 456, B. C.]
,/ESCHYLTJS, 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
Platcea.
For not alone he nursed the poet's flame,
But reached from Virtue's hand the patriot steel.
It was at this time he rose to the 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.
FROM THE CHAINED PROMETHEUS.
"THE Chained Prometheus" is a representation
of constancy under suffering; 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 latter days of j^Eschylus 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 the
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, (450 B. C.) and in the sixty-ninth year of
his age. Out of more than seventy tragedies
which he composed, seven only have come down
to us.
EPITAPH FOR HIMSELF.
Athenian ^Eschylus, 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.
the drama opens with Vulcan, under 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.
AESCHYLUS.
57
Now, Vulcan, to thy task; at Jcve'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.
Hiejh-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 forrri
Shall meet thine eye ; but where, parched in the
sun,
Thy bloom shall wither ; where thou'lt 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, unreclining, shalt 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,
Tor waste thy breath on what avails him nought.
Vulc. 0, that my hand, for 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 enring 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 gift
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 complain, alike
Is unavailable. For favours shown
To mortal man I bear this weight of woe.
Hid in a hollow cane the fount 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
AESCHYLUS.
Abhorred by Jove, and all who tread his courts,
For my fond love of man. Ah me J 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 Mseotian 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."
Prom. 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,
Advanced 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
Diffused 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
Till 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 sufferings, 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 by 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.
Chor. What but eternal empire, is his fate ?
Prom. Ye may not know it now ; inquires no
further.
^SCHYLUS.
Chor. Is it of moment, that you thus conceal it ?
Prom. Think of some other subject ; 'tis no time
For this, requiring, as it does, the seal
Of strictest secrecy. By guarding it,
I may, one day, escape this shameful bondage.
The rejoinder of the Chorus is singularly 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
which is contrasted the present mournful strain
of the Chorus with that which 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 thn 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 Qreeks were so
attached. He prophesies of the wanderings to
which she is still 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 which Mercury
arrives, commands 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 CHORUS.
Chor. How ! fear you not to utter words like
these 1
Prom. What should / 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 vi'iip-amv !
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 kinu
Approaches; what fresh tidings will he bring us ?
Enter MERCURY.
Mu-r. To thee. old Sophist, quintessence of gall's
Black bitterness,* offender of the gods,
<>aler, boastful lavisher of gifts
On men, to thee would I :i -elf.
The Father bids thee say what nuptials these
Thy tongue thus vaunts, as threatening his hi-h
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 way to pacify 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 soul.
Then hence ! the way thou cam'st ! To thine
inquiries
From me thou wilt obtain no other answer.
Merc. 'Twas insolence like this, which on thy
head
Drew down this punishment.
Prom. My 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. You seem to me delighted with your
woes.
Pram. 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 them 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 wouldst
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 informed by me.
Not all his tortures, all his arts, shall move me
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 weighed, all
long considered.
+ Uranus dethroned by bis son Saturn; and Saturn
by his son Jupiter.
t Jupiter was about to marry Thetis, the daughter of
Oceanus; but it was in the Fates that she should have a
son who was to be greater than his lather. Prometheus
alone, hy his divine foresight, could open the danger to
Jupiter; but this he refused to do, till he should be re-
leased from the rock. After that Hercules, by permission
of Jupiter, had slain the tormenting 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
JESCHYLUS.
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 disdain
Shall e'er relent, e'er suffer 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,
The 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'er weening 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 vollied 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 setherial 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 sufferings, from this place remove,
Lest the tempestuous roar of Jove's fierce 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.
Would'st 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
Unthought 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 ;
Loud thunders roar, thick-flashing lightnings blaze,
The eddying 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.
O venerated Mother, wide ,. But to lament,
._h. or -he- 1 a tear, becomes me not,
Lest more intolerable grief arise.
Be Polynices told, ill-omened name,
That we'll soon see h<>\\- tar his blazoned shield
Avails: how far inscriptions wrought in gold,
With all their fertile vaunting*, will restore him.
If Justice, virgin daughter of hi-h 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 fit? 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 chose
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 are ripen-
ing to their fruit, and that the last storm is yet to
break upon the house of CEdipus. 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 Eteoclee, but to
withhold the sacred rite from Polynices. 63
Herald. My office leads me to proclaim.
mandate
Of the great rulers of the Theban 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 unburied,
Cast out to ravening birds and dogs a prey.
These are the mandates of our Theban rulers.
* "At the mention of each of the other chiefs," says
Potter, "Eteocles had shown himself unmoved, and
f:iven his ordi-rs with calmness and prudence; nay, his
reflections on Amphiaraus have a solemn air of religion;
but no sooner is his brother named, than he loses all
temper. He begins indeed as if he would lament the
unhappy fate of his family, hut soon starts off from that,
and, though himself the aggressor, reviles his brother,
as insolent, outrageous, and unjust from his infancy :
then, in th spirit of a man that has done an injury, who
never forgives, works himself up to that ungoverned
rage, which destroyed his brother, himself, and all the
unhappy family of CEdipus.
64
JESCHYLUS.
Jlntigone. 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.
"L* Agamemnon," says Schlegel in his elo-
quent lectures on Dramatic Literature, "it was
the intention of ^Eschylus 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.
MAILED 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,
VTen with strong hands and ruthless force,
10 lift from earth that maiden fair,
Vhere she had sunk in dumb despair,
And lay with robes all cover'd round,
lush'd in a swoon upon the ground,
And bear her to the altar dread,
dke a young fawn or mountain kid :
Then round her .beauteous mouth to tie
)umb sullen bands to stop her cry,
Jest aught of an unholy sound
3e heard to breathe those altars round,
on the monarch's house might hang a
deadly spell.
Vow as she stood, and her descending veil,
Jet 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.
ike 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 j
When feast, and sacrifice, and song,
Led the glad hours of lengthen'd day along.
Clytemnestra now announces to the Chorus the
capture of Troy. They, half-incredulous, demand
of her what 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,
All-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 Cithseron'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 ^giplancton leaping,
High it soar'd, a beard of flame,
High in renew'd strength elate
O'er the far Saronic strait
^SCHYLUS.
65
To Arachne's answering pyre ;
Thence towards Argos nigher nigher
O'er Agamemnon's roof down swoops the Idoean
Fire.*
Chor. Hereafter to the gods, queen! I'll pray.
But now, in wondering pleasure at thy words,
I fain would stand, and hear them o'er again.
Clyt. This very day the Greeks 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 fates.
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
Won 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 fortune 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 ancient writers. See Homer,
II. xviii; Herodotus, Call. 3; Thucydides, ii. 91; Virg.
.Sneid, ii. 256; Polyb. x. 43, &c. There is a pretty story
in Pausan. Corinth, of Lynceus, after the dreadful mar-
riage night, which he alone of the fifty brothers survived,
making fire-signals to Hypermnestra of his safe arrival
at Lurceia, and of her answering him by like signals from
Larissa. As to the possibility of transmitting a signal 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.
Chor. queen! no man more sagely could
have spoken,
Or utter'd graver sentiments ; but I
Now being possess'd of thy confirmed tidings.
Prepare me rightly to address the gods ;
For by our toils a glorious crown is won.
[Exit CLTTEMNESTRA.
CHORUS.
monarch Jove ! gracious Night !
Mother of these glories bright;
Who flung'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,
And her warlike men of might ;
That none could 'scape the mighty throw
Of Ate's hideous net, which compass'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 sanctuary of grace,
And judging Gods defied.
So said the impious ; but the Gods
Have shown themselves in dreadful view
E'en to the children of aspiring kings,
And to these hosts of war in armour bright,
Steel'd and caparison'd for lawless fight.
Whilst plumed Mars breathed horror on their
helms :
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 and woes that guard the
regal gate.
The Chorus then revert to the elopement of
Helen, to the agony and despair of Menelaus on
discovering her flight, and to the calamities en-
dured by the Greeks in their efforts to recover
her :
Ah ! woe the halls, and woe the chiefs,
And woe the bridal bed!
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,
The form beyond the ocean borne,
Shall start the lonely king!
And thought shall fill 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 beauty gone?
Why loathe his looks the breathing stone?
rl
66
AESCHYLUS.
Alas ! the foulness of disgrace
Hath 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 welcom'd 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 Grsecia's land
See Mourning on each threshold 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 with many a tear,
Sad relics of the fiery bier.
Round the full urns the general groan
Goes, as each their kindred own.
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 round 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 unconcern'd from high,
When smoking slaughter mounts the sky,
The mighty murd'rers of the direful plain.
For then the 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 1,rue, 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,
Before the event is clearly known,
To solemnize the joy :
The female mind too quickly moves,
Too apt to credit what it loves ;
But short-lived is the fame
Which female heraldries proclaim.
CHORUS AND CLYTEMNESTHA.
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 : rny 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 HEHALD.*
Her. Ho ho ! my native and paternal soil !
Ho ho ! 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.
much I fear'd I ne'er should 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 brought 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 Trachinije a more glaring example, in the
mission of Hyllus and his return, (a distance of 120 Italian
miles,) which takes place during the acting of a hundred
lines. In the Eumenides ^Eschylus opens the play at
Delphi, and ends it at Athens. Aristotle, as Twining
properly remarks, does not lay down the unity of time as
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 ihe
spirit of those days, and differing from ours. Cato, in a
didactic work, recommends the farmer on his return,
' Primum larem salutato.'
^SCHYLUS.
67
Now Earth, all hail ! all hail, thru Sun of light !
And Jove, this realm's great paramount ! and thou,
O King of Pytho, hurling from thy bow
Thy shafts no more against us ; full enough
We felt thy ire by sad Scamander's banks :
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 conies,
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 5
But it has spann'd them with a hand as large
As their offendings : 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, prythee ? let me understand thee !
speak.
Chor. Some long'd for you, much as ye long'cl
for them.
Her. We were then both re^rettin^ and re-
gretted ?
Chor. Ay, we regretted, but with smother'd
groans,
Stifled in secret.
Her. Whence this secret sorrow ?
* Paris.
Chor. Hush ! silence is a balm that cures mis-
hap.
Her. Ha ! were there any then that 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 hardships and inclement watches ;
Cribs and close-pent up hatches; beds on plank;
Our labours, rather call them sufT'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 winterings, 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 unruffled 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.
CLYTEXXKSTRA (u'ho had been apart during the
previous conversation, now approaching,)
I have rejoiced already, in that hour
When the first midnight messenger of fire
Rode throuirh the dark, proclaiming Troy was
taken.
Some arguod me. of lightness of belief:
'.>ure dost thou think Troy sack'd, by midnight
fires
Too easily p.-r-uadeil? Ah! fond woman,
Thou bear'st a buoyant and believing heart.'
68
AESCHYLUS.
I, thus perplex'd, yet, woman as I was,
Commanded sacrifice, and through the city
The solemn choirs of ululation rang.
But now enough ! I'll hear no more from thee ;
The king comes shortly ; from his 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 fitly ? blest day !
Fairest of earthly days to her whose 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 will 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 CLYTEMSTESTRA.
Her. 'Tis bravely spoken, like a noble woman.
How fair her lips spoke vaunts of conscious truth!
Ckor. 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 Menelaus safe? comes he with you 1 ?
Dear sovereign, ever honour'd 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. All 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 roll'd.
But when the bright light of the sun arose,
We saw the wide JEgean effloresce!
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."
fThe word in the original conveys the idea of the sea
flowering with bodies and wrecks, rising from it as
flowers and plants from a Held. The metaphor is very
common in Greek authors.
And saving Fortune sat upon our ship
Doing a seaman's duty, till we came
e into harbour from the seething sea,
Vor stranded on the rough stone-ribbed coast.
3 how the day look'd lovely, when ashore
We crawl'd, escaped from the wat'ry jaws
Df a sea-death ! but yet our sense so stunn'd,
We scarce could credit it : then our fresh loss
mote heavy on us, and thick-coming fancies
We fed upon in musing, as we thought
Of our lost comrades, and our shipwreck'd host.
A.nd 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 ;
3ut be't the best it may. For Menelaus,
Look for his coming first, our chiefest care,
[f 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 friend,
Thou hast heard all, and all thou hast heard is
true.
[Exit HERALD.
CHORUS.
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 glowing 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 the feasting throng,
Amidst the revelry and 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 crown'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,
AESCHYLUS.
69
And though his race was blest before,
'Twill bud with sorrows weeping sore,
And never ending onoe begun.
But I think not, as think the crowd :
The impious doer still begets
A brook of impious doers more,
Children and heirs of all his wicked deeds :
Whilst from the house of righteous men,
Who even-handed 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 prophectic 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^oom.
CLYTEMJTESTHA, CASSANDRA, CHORUS.
Clyt. Go in go in ! Cassandra ! thee I mean,
Enter thou too ! since in this mansion Jove
Has placed thee, nothing wruthfully, 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-stoniaeh'd for thy lot;
Such once was that of great Alcmena's son.
Chor. be persuaded ; come down from thy
car.
Clyt. I have no time for dallying here ; already
The victims, ransr'd i""r sarritire. demand
Our presence. Wouldst thou do our bidd:
Take no long time in doing it. If thy tongue
* KTHT/CU &(*<>. The altar placed in the buttery, o
place where provisions were kept, was consecrated t
Ctesian Jove, or Jove the Guardian of Property.
nows 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 I shall waste no further words upon her.
[Exit CLYTEMHESTIIA.
Chor. Sad one, 'tis ours to pity, not upbraid,
thee.
Then come down from thy car ; submit to fate
And put 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-
pheming!
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! O Apollo! my Apollo!
Ah! whither hast thou brought me? To what
house ?
Chor. Ask'st thou what house ? It is the royal
house
Of the Atridee 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 !
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, prophetess, of thy
great name ;
Ay but we want no prophets in this house.
Cass. Alas! ye Gods, what is she thinking on?
And what is this that looks so young 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 waxing past all cure !
Where's Pity? dead! Where's Succour? far
n way.
Chor. What means she ?
Cass. \V retell! ah. what art thou about?
A man's in the bath beside him there stands
One wrapping him round the bathing clothes
drop,
Like shroud- they appear to me, dabbled in
blood !
Yet 'twill be quick 'tis now upon the stroke !
A hand is stretch'd out and another too !
As though it were a grasping look, look, look!
70
^SCHYLUS.
Choi: Tis yet al] 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 woman ? she, the very she
Who slept 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 enchafed 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 1
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. O sure thou art one of a deep-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 ! Scamarider, 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 At& 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 movest 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.
Clior. 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.t
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 woes !
* The crime in the family of Atreus, here alluded to,
was the adultery of Thyestes with A&rope, his brother's
wife, which formed the subject of Euripides' Cressse.
Otherwise the first crime upon record of this unfortunate
family was the treacherous murder of Myrtilus 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 intrigue of Thyestes and ASrope is alluded to aiso
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. Lycophron, in his Alexandra,
makes her give the same history of it.
AESCHYLUS.
71
Chor. How then? And didst thou 'scape
Apollo's wrath ?
Cos*. For my transgression, none believed my
words !
Chor, To us thy words seem worthy of belief.
Cass. 0! 0! hu! hu! alas!
The pains 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, 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 lolling lion turns,
And keeps house close, until the coming of
My muster! 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 amphisboena,
Or some dire Scylla dwelling amid rocks!
Ingulphing 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 trumpet's rage.
O 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!
MS 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 in
Chor. But they arc dark, and hard fur us to find.
Cass. what a mighty fire comes rolling on
me!
Help! help! Lycean Apollo! Ah me! ah me!
She there, that twn-lo^'d lioness! lying with
A wolf, tlit' highbred li"ii brinir away.
Will kill me! woeful creature that I am!
And like one busy mixing poi-on up,
She'll till me such a cup tc> in her ire!
She cries out, whetting all the while a sword
-t him. 'tis me. and I-T my bringing here
That such a forfeit must be paid with death!
O 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! himself! 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 despite,
And many a bad name had I for thy sake ;
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, the gods have sworn that he shall come.
His father's corse (his crest lies on the 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 high-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 as she is about to enter.
I pray ye. let me have a mortal stroke,
That without struggling, all this body's blood
Pouring out plenteously, in gentle stream
Of easy dying, I may close my eyes !
Chor. woeful creature, woeful, too, and wise !
maid, thou hast been wand'ring 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 there some advantage in delay.
Cass. My day is come, by flight I should gain
little.
Chor. Know then, thou'lt suffer from being
over bnld.
Cvavra (ruv&roKri Olymp. IT.
'Beneath mine elbow a full quiver lies
Of fleetest arrows, sounding to the wise ;
But for the crowd they need interpreters.
His skill is most who learns in Nature's school ;
All else, expert by 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 Cynocephalse, 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 pupil 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 Theban 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
OLYMPIC I.
TO HIERO, KING OF SYRACUSE, 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 victory,
Soul, through wastes of ether gazing,
Than the sun no brighter star
Seek ; nor deem this earth supplies
A nobler than th' Olympic prize.
Thence doth the many-voiced hymn arise,
Which in their thought wise minstrels frame,
To warble forth the great Saturnian's name
Round Hiero's blest hearth with plenty stor'd
Rightful sceptre who retains
76
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.
O'er Sicilia's pastoral plains ;
Culling the top of every flower
That blossometh in Virtue's bower :
Nor less he knows the 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 latter of these captures that Milton has
alluded, in a noble sonnet, written when the city of Lon-
don was threatened with a like calamity.
"Lift not thy spear against the Muses' bower;
The great Emathian conqueror bade spare
The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower
Went to the ground!"
PINDAR.
77
Of Pisa, and the steed
Pherenicus, he whose speed,
As with ungoaded side
He rush'd by Alpheus' tide,
With mighty triumph, blended
His Syracusan lord, the courser-loving king.
For him a light of glory doth upspring
Amid the land with heroes teeming,
Lydian Pelops' colony,
Whom Neptune chose to be his joy ;
When from that cauldron pure,
Clotho did him secure,
Deck'd with an ivory shoulder whitely beaming.
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 throw
On all that charms the sense below,
By lustre not his own relieved,
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.
son of Tantalus, not as of yore,
Will I record thy story:
That when to gods, invited guests,
At Sipylus, thy sire
Spread in return his ample feasts,
Then, smitten with desire,
Thee the trident-ruler bore
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 whispering said
That they thy limbs had with a blade,
In seething water, hewn ; and set
Upon the board thy sodden flesh, and eat.
That impious thought be 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 ahvay from his In-ad
Endeavouring to remove,
U.- is to joy a stranger.
Surh life hi- hath ; with endless danger,
And toil insullerable. 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 'gainst the power of heaven.
Therefore his son, the gods again
Sent to the short-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 Pisan sire, the glorious maid
To win, Hippodameia, sought.
He came ; and by hoar ocean's flood
Alone in darkness stood,
Then call'd amid the sullen 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 thou at all hast held
The gifts of Venus dear,
Of brave (Enomaus be quell'd
By thee the brazen spear.
In swiftest chariots speed me on
To Elis, and with triumph crown.
Thirteen hero-suitors slain,
His daughter's wedding he delays.
The mighty conquest, ne'er will gain
A man whom fear of peril frays.
And why, of those with death their doom,
Should 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 him, the god
A golden car bestow'd,
And winged steeds that never tire.
(Enomaus 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 by 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 forces,
And the toils of champions stout.
O'er the victor's life, the balm
Of triumph sheds a holy calm.
The good supreme, that mortal knows,
Still from to-day's contentment flows.
For such behoves me now to breathe
^olian 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 da?dal songs.
God is thy guardian, Hiero ; and shares
In these thy princely cares.
And, if he fail not soon,
I trust with yet a sweeter tune,
o2
78
PINDAR.
To sound in chariot swift thy praise ;
Finding a prosperous journey for my lays ;
And stand beside the Cronian height,
That shines in evening's ample light.
Therefore for me the Muse
Doth in her strength a mightier weapon feed.
Manifold 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 their locks with never-fading flowers.
FROM OLYMPIC IV.
THE BIRTH OF IAMUS.
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 brought,
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 releas'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.
STILI, 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 words ; 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 TH11
BOT ASOPICHUS.
O YE, 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 suppliant's song.
For all delightful things below,
All sweet, to you their being owe ;
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 has plac'd her sacred stool
By the golden-bo w'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.
Tuneful Thalia, to look down
On this joyous rout, and own
Me their bard, who lea'd along,
For Asophichus, the throng
Tripping light to Lydian song ;
And Minya for thy 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 SYRACUSE, VICTOR IN THE
CHARIOT RACE.
O THOU, whom Phoebus 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,
Possess'd by thy enchanting numbers ;
On either side, his rapid wii.ir.
Drops, entranc'd, the feather'd king;
Black vapour o'er his curved head,
Scaling his eyelids, sweetly sla-d ;
Upheaving 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 charm'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
bound,
Hundred-headed 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,
JEtna, 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 with umbrage black,
And soil, do hold him bound ;
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 garlands 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, whate'er is best
In mortal virtues; all the wise are sprung,
And all the stout in hand, and eloquent in tongue.
Intent this man to praise,
I trust to whirl my javelin, brazen tipt,
Not out of limit, yet that all who raise
A rival arm, shall be by far outstrip!.
80
PINDAR.
So may time, still heaping more,
His blissful measure fill ;
Directing, with increase of store,
Forgetfulness 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 Hellenian 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 Paean, who destroyed
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 JEtna. 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 ./Egimius' Dorian laws
Are duly kept by each, who draws
His lineage, or from Pamphilus,
Or th' Heraclidoe ; they who bide
Near banks of steep Taygetus,
And to Amyclae, from the side
Of Pindus 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 theirs,
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
Phoenicia'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 Sparta, of Cithseron'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 earn'd, 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 guide ;
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 way,
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 remain
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 APPEARANCE AMONGST THE CITIZENS OF
IOLCOS.
BUT whence that voyage ? what necessity
Bound on their hearts its adamantine chain ?
Twas Pelias' doom, through fraud or force to die,
By yolus' 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 with all his kingly care
The single-sandalled, wight bev^are,
Come when he should, stranger or citizen,
Down from his mountain-hold to famed lolcus'
glen.
All at the appointed time, with ported spears,
In either hand, appeared the dreadful man ;
Shaped in Magnesian guise a garb he wear-,
That round his noble limbs compacted ran.
O'er which a pard-skin from the storm
Sheltered his stout, unshuddering form.
His mantling locks, unshorn, unbound,
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, arid Ephialtes, daring prince,
Iphimedeia's ofTspring, 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. Astounded, 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 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 urn-haste,
From that sage intercourse displaced,
My home I visit, to require
The ancient honours of my sire;
Which erst to ruling /Kolas 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 sceptre from my parents wrung,
Which they by right, with justice, swayed.
11
They on my birth's eventful day,
Dreading that lawless ruler, in dismay,
My death pretended, and prepar'd
Domestic semblance 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 people, tell me true
My lathers rode the milk-white steed
where stand
Their stately towers? 'Tis jEson's son ye
view ;
I come no alien to a stranger's land ;
My godlike host, the Centaur-seer,
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 1 heart with joy to find
His lost illustrious boy the comeliest of man-
kind.
Thither, in haste, allured by Jason's fanie,
His reverend uncles ; from their neighbour-
ing towers
By Hypereia'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 x
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 artful son,
Spontaneous rose to meet the martial throng;
When, with mild air and soothing tone,
Dropping sweet words that melted from his
tongue,
Jason the conference raised on wisdom's base :
" Hear thou, Petroean 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 sun.
But. when affection 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 5 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 JEson, when the law divine
His horsemen hosts received these, Pelias, 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 e'en Pelias 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 AKGO.
AND 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 strikingly
painted his frank answer to the crafty Pelias the ten-
der joy of the aged JEson 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
and honourable 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 ; arid 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 PHAISE 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,
In yellow 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 roll'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.
They 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 Cadmean 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 bear ; -
But the woes, that home 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 turn'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 land,
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 smcar'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 iu rapturous joy
His feats of strength essny'd.
Aloof, like wind, his little javelin flew :
The lion and the brindled boar he slew
Then homeward to old Chiron drew
Their printing 08
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 GUILELESS AND
BENEVOLENT DISPOSITION.
HATEFUL of old the glozing plea,
With bland imposture at his side,
Still meditating guile ;
Fit I'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 j
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 Therapnse.
Such their equal doom dispensed j
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
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 tln-ir father's tomb,
Stood to bide his coming on.
Snatchincr thence a carved stone,
The scutcheon of the dead,
They, 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 Lynceus' 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 fare
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 5
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 wouldst flee,
And in Olympus still abide 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.
THEY, 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.
MAIIRIAGE OF PELEUS AND THETIS.
AJSD 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
Upon 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 .rfEacus, renown'd
O'er lolcos' ample 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 empurpled gore
Of Telephus, bedew'd;
And for th' Atridoe bridged their homeward way;
* Compute the chances,
And deem there's ne'er a one, in dangerous times,
Who wins the race of glory, but than him
A thousand men more gloriously endowed
Have 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 singular few
Who, gifted with predominating powers,
Bear yet a temperate will and keep the peace.
The world knows nothing of its greatest men.
Taylor's Philip Van Artevelde.
PRATINAS.
85
And ransom'd beauteous Helena ;
And cut the nerves of Troy in twain,
That erst amid 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 Proserpine's dark abode,
In lustre gave alike to shine
^Egina and his noble line.
Nor when in death himself he lay,
La.ck'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 FRAGMENT.
TO THE SUX UJTDER A3T 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 ?
Lo ! on thy chariot-track
Hangs midnight pitchy-black ;
While thou, from out thine ancient path afar,
Hurriest thy belated car.
But thee, by mightiest Jove, do I implore
O'er Thebes thy fleet steeds' flight
To rein, with presage bright
Of plenteousness and peace for evermore.
Fountain of Light ! O 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 ;
Or faction, shatterer of the state ;
Or breaching seas poured o'er the plain ;
Or frost that fettereth land and spring ;
Or summer 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 PELOPOXESIAN 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 more 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, by 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, opposed themselves violently against
the innovation, when, in the midst of the tumult,
Pratinas appeared on the stage in person, and,
in a kind of Salian song, accompanied with
dancing, addressed his audience to the following
effect :
What means this tumult 1 ? 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 measured 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 crown'd,
Bacchus appears ! he speaks in me
Hear, and obey the God's decree.
* Pratinas had been the first to introduce satyrs and
dryads with these lively songs and movements, and was,
therefore, regarded as the inventor of the satiric drama.
H
EPICHARMUS.
[About 500 B. C.]
A NATIVE of Cos, and an inhabitant of Sicily ;
called by Theocritus the Inventor, and by Plato
the "Homer," of Comedy. His dramas were
partly mythological, and partly political ; and the
style and language as varied as the subjects of
them j sometimes full of moral and gnomic sen-
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 gadding, 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 his who never tried it.
GENEALOGIES.
GOOD gossip, if you love me, prate no more ;-
What are your genealogies to me ?
timent, and. at others, degenerating into wildest
buffoonery. The " Mensechmi" 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.
Away to those who have more need of them ! '
Let the degenerate wretches, if they can,
Dig up dead honour from their fathers' 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 mpulded from an ^Ethiop's
loins,
Is nobler than your pedigrees can make him.
ONOMACRITUS.
[About 500 B. C.]
OUOMACRITUS was a priest and soothsayer of
Athens, who professed to be in possession of cer-
tain oracular verses of the poet Musams. He
stood high in favour with Hipparchus ; but being
at length convicted of interpolating his own verses
amongst those of Musseus, 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
FROM THE ARGONAUTICS.
VISIT OF THE AHGOXAUTS TO THE CAVE OF
CHiaosr.
with a whistling breeze
did Juno fill the sail,
And Argo, self-impell'd,
shot swift before the gale.
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.
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 rear'd
their beacon midst the sky.
The helm, with both his hands,
the pilot Tiphys held ;
The vessel cut the wave,
with quiet course impell'd;
Then swift they near'd 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 snadowing 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 Phoebus' 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 followed 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 served,
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, applauding hands,
they urged my minstrel's art :
That I, in contest -match'd
againsfthe 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 join'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 Lapithue
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 roll'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-sufficing, wrought
Creation's differing 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 lofty oaks
ivmurmur'd to the sound.
His oaks uprooted rush,
and all tumultuous wave,
Around the darken'd mouth
of Chiron's hollow cave.
88
ONOMACRITUS.
The rocks re-echo shrill;
the beasts of forest wild
Stand at the cavern's mouth,
in listening trance beguil'd :
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 extasy the rock
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 from the mountain high ;
The aged Centaur spread
his raised hands tow'rds the sky :
And call'cl on all the gods
a safe return to give,
That, fam'd in ages yet unborn,
the youthful 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.
HEAVENLY 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 !
thou 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 through the sky :
Clothed in brightness ! mighty mother
of the rapid years that fly !
Fruit-dispenser ! amber- 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-diffusing ! 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.
OSTE 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 j
He, and no other. Open to thy sight
Were all the chain of things, could'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,
All-heavenly 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.
II.
JOVE 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 ;
the 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 found ;
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 boughs bespread :
As the tree agate, thus, to mortals known,
In part a branchy wood ; in part a stone.
If on thy oxen's horns this gem be bound,
When with the cleaving share they turn the
ground ;
Or on th' unwearied ploughman's shoulder borne,
Then shall thy furrows spring with thickening
corn :
Full-bosom'd Ceres, with the wheaten crown,
Shall lean from Heaven and scatter harvests
down.
Son
SOPHOCLES.
[Born 495, Died 405, B. C.]
PHOCLES 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 Paean around the trophy of Sa-
lamis. In 468, being then twenty-seven, as well
as in many subsequent years, he bore off the first
prizes in Tragedy, on one occasion, from ^s-
chylus himself, whose vast but rugged grandeur
was less in harmony with the reigning taste than
the artful and polished genius of his younger
rival. In 440, Sophocles was amongst the col-
leagues of Pericles and Thucydides in the Sa-
mian war, an appointment said to have been
the reward of his political wisdom, as displayed
in his Tragedy 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 that of Goethe, has in it something
of enviable, rather than honourable, indifference. He
owed his first distinction to Cimon, and he served after-
wards under Pericles; on his entrance into life, he led
State, but it was by his Tragedies, and not by
his military or political services, that he earned
for himself the immortality which is so justly his
due, and which can only cease with the divine
language in which he wrote. The story of his son
lophon having attempted to remove him from
the management of his property on the ground
of dotage or lunacy, and of his having repelled
the charge by reading to the Judges his beautiful
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 foundation.
Sophocles died at the age of 90, leaving behind
him upwards of one hundred Tragedies, of
which only seven have come down to our times.
the youths that circled the trophy of Grecian freedom,
and, on the verge of death, he calmly assented to the sur-
render of Athenian liberties. In short, Aristophanes
perhaps mingled more truth than usual with his wit,
when, even in the shades below, he says of Sophocles,
'He was contented here he is contented there.' A
disposition thus facile, united with an admirable genius,
will not unfrequently effect a miracle and reconcile pros-
perity with fame " -Bulwer Lytton's Athens.
FROM KING (EDIPUS.
LAIUS, king of Thebes, having learned from
the Oracle, that he was destined 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, (Edipus goes to consult the
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 Lains, and in a dispute which
ensues, ignorant of the name and quality of his
opponent, slays him. He then proceeds to
Thebes, destroys the Sphynx, a monster which
was infesting the land, and, in reward, is raised
to the throne and honoured with the hand of the
widowed queen. (Edipus reigns, for a while,
powerful and beloved ; but a pestilence at length
1
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 until 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.
(EDIPUS, TIRESIAS, CHORUS.
CEd. 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, O 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 Phoebus. 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.
(Ed. 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 ?
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. Til 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 more 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
Phoebus is mighty, who will work the whole.
(Ed. Didst thou, or Creon, frame these sage
inventions ?
Ti. Not Creon wrongs thee, thou dost wrong
thyself.
(Ed. 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 designing wizard,
This scheming specious sorcerer, skilled alone
To seek his profit, sightless in his art.
When didst thou ever prove a faithful prophet?
Why, when 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 could st thou learn ;
Nought did the gods inform thee : then I came,
This unexperienced 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,
When 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. I 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 whom 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 prophetic lore.
{Exeunt TIRESIAS ABTD (EDIPUS.
CHEOST, 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 thy
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 gods
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
them ?
Cr. Know'st thou what thou wouldst do ? To
our reply
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.
(Ed. So thou reply not thus, " I am no villain."
Cr. If thou dost deem this self-willed senseless
pride
Will aught avail thee, thou art most unwise.
(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 obscurely 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
With 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 we 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 thou know'st,
And, if true wisdom guide thee, will disclose it.
Cr. Name it ! I will not aught I know 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 ask 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 would prefer the terrors of a throne
To fearless sleep, with equal power combined ?
Nor I, nor any whom true wisdom guides,
Would seek the empty pageant of a crown,
Before the real potency 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 not 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 solicited, 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 work thee wrong, 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 day suffices 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 shalt 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 ! from out the palace
Jocasta comes ; her presence may appease
The growing rancour of this desperate strife.
SOPHOCLES.
93
Enter JOCASTA.
Joe. Why, unhappy princes! have 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 slight cause excite severer ills ?
Cr. My sister, (Edipus, thy husband, wills me
Foul wrong. One of two ills awaits my choice ;
Or death, or exile from my native land.
(Ed. I own it ; for I have detected him
In basest practices against my life.
Cr. 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 (Edipus, believe him;
Revere the solemn test that seals his truth ;
Regard me, too, and these thy faithful friends.
Strophe 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 request, 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 powers above,
Low may I fall, a godless, friendless wretch,
If e'er my bosom harboured thought like this.
Tis 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 hence/though 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 imlulgfd, most fearful. Souls like thine
Are the just authors of their own remorse.
(Ed. Wilt thou not leave me, and depart?
Cr. I go,
Unknown by thee, but still by these deemed
righteous.
[Exit CIIEOK.
Antistrophe I.
Ch. Why, lady, dost thou pause
To lead thy lord away?
Joe. First tell me what inflamed their wrath?
Ch. Suspicion from dark words
Arose ; and e'en a groundless charge offends.
Joe. By both preferred ?
Ch. E'en so.
Joe. And what the cause ?
Ch. Enough, enough I deem it, when the State
Is plunged in grief, to cease where they too
ceased.
(Ed. Mark how thy speech, although I know
thee worthy,
Tends but to trouble and depress my heart!
Antistrophe II.
Ch. My lord, I spoke not once
Unmeaning words alone.
But deem me void of wisdom, 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.
O, if thou canst, be thus our pilot now !
Joe. Nay, by the gods, inform me too, O 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 wi|h 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 Phoebus self denounced,
But by his ministers,) that fate ordained him
To perish by a son whom I should bear ;
And yet, as rumour tells, where three ways meet,
By foreign ruffians was the monarch slain.
Our child was born, but ere three days had past,
Piercing the joints, he bound the infant's feet,
And cast him forth by menial hands to die
On an untrodden rock. In nought the word
Of Phcebus was fulfilled ; nor was the child
His father's murderer, nor did Laius meet
The doom he dreaded from a filial hand ;
Yet thus the doughty oracles declared.
Then heed them not. If Phoebus wills the
search,
He will himself the latent truth disclose.
(Ed. 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 three ways meet.
Joe. So rumour whispered then, and still pro-
claims.
(Ed. What region was the scene of this dark
deed?
Joe. Phocis the realm is called, the parted road
From Delphi and from Daulia blends in one.
(Ed. 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.
(Ed. Almighty Jove! to what hast thou re-
served me ?
Joe. My CEdipus, what means this wild dis-
may?
(Ed. Oh, ask not, ask not, tell me of this Laius.
What was his aspect, what his age, speak !
Joe. His port was lofty, the first snows of age
Had tinged his locks ; his form resembled thine.
(Ed. 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.
(Ed. 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.
(Ed. Went the king private, or with many
guards
Encompassed, as became his regal sway 1 ?
Joe. His followers were but five a herald one ;
Sole rode the monarch in a single car.
(Ed. 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 in 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.
(Ed. How can we bid his instant presence
hither ?
Joe. Soon shall he come. 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,
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 ;
I, 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 ; Phoebus, reckless of my prayer,
Dismissed me thence dishonoured; butdenounced
A long, long train of dark and fearful sorrows ;
That I, 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 onward 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 wretched 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, howe'er 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 rightly judge who deemed these
woes
The work of some inexorable god ?
Never, 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, O king! are fearful; yet retain
Thy hope, till from this herdsman thou hast
heard.
(Ed. 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 will 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,
'Tis but too plain the deadly act was mine.
Joe. But this, be well convinced, 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, but 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 (EDIPTTS.
Joe. Princes of Thebes, v/e deemed it meet to
seek
The temples of the gods, and in our hands
These votive wreaths, this odorous incense bear.
The soul of CEdipus 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, Lyca>an 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 COBIXTHIAX.
Cor. Can ye inform me, strangers, where your
king,
Great (Edipus, 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 dut.' return of courtesy. But say,
Whence cam'st thou to our Thebes, and what
thy tidings'?
Cor. Joy to thine house, O lady ! and thy lord.
Joe. What joy? and from what region art
thou come ?
Cor. From Corinth. At my words thou wilt
rrjoire :
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.
Joe. 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 bodings now? My CEdipus,
Fearing to slay this man, forsook his country ;
Now Fate, and not his hand, had laid him low.
Enter (EDIPCS.
(Ed. Why, my beloved Jocasta, hast thou sent
To bid my presence hither ?
Joe. Hear this man
Attend his tiding?, 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 tear, when for-
tune's sway
Rules all, and wariest foresight nought avails?
Best to live on unheeding, as thou mny'st.
And dread not thou thy mother's lawless
couch ;
Oft is the soul dismayed by hidcnux dr.
Of guilt like this, but life's rough path is found
Smoothest to him, wlio spurns su-ii wild illusions.
(Ed. I should admit the justice of thy plea,
Save that my mother lives; while she survive,
Though t!>< ' well, I cannot choose but
fear.
Joe. Proof strong and sure thy father's fate
;i (lords.
(Ed. Strong, I confess ; my fears are for the
living;
Cor. And by what woman are these terrors
(Ed. By Merope, the wife of Polybus.
96
SOPHOCLES.
Cor. And what, to her relating, thus alarms
thee?
(Ed. Stranger, a dark and hideous oracle.
Cor. May it be told 7 or shouldst thou not
disclose it
To other's ears ?
(Ed. I may and will disclose it.
Phcebus foretold that I should wed my mother,
And shed with impious hand a father's blood.
For this I fled my own Corinthian towers
To seek a distant home that home was blest ;
Though still I languished to embrace my parents.
Cor. This fear then urged thee to renounce thy
country ?
(Ed. Old man, I would not be a father's mur-
derer.
Cor. Then wherefore, since thy welfare I re-
gard,
Should I forbear to rid thee of this terror ?
(Ed. Do so, and rich shall be thy recompense.
Cor. This hope impell'd me here, that when
our State
Hails thee her monarch, I might win thy favour.
(Ed. Ne'er will I seek the authors of my birth.
Cor. 'Tis plain, my son, thou know'st not what
thou doest !
(Ed. How! how! old man, by heaven, unfold
thy meaning.
Cor. If this preclude thee from returning
home
(Ed. I fear lest Phoebus saw, alas! too clearly !
Cor. If thou dost dread pollution from thy
parents
(Ed. That restless dread for ever haunts my
soul.
Cor. Know, then, thy terrors all are causeless
here.
(Ed. How so? if of these parents I was born 1 ?
Cor. But Polybus is nought allied to thee.
(Ed. How say'st thou? was not Polybus my
father ?
Cor. No more than I our claims are equal
here.
(Ed. Had he who gave me life no nearer claim
Than thou, a stranger ?
Cor. Nor to him or me
Ow'st thou thy birth.
(Ed. Then wherefore did he grant
A son's beloved name ?
Cor. He from my hand
Received thee as a gift.
(Ed. With such fond love
How could he cherish thus an alien child ?
Cor. His former childless state to this impelled
him.
(Ed. Gav'st thou a purchased slave, or thy
own child ?
Cor. I found thee in Cithseron's shadowy
glades.
(Ed. Why didst thou traverse those remoter
vales?
Cor. It was my charge to tend the mountain
herds.
(Ed. Wert thou an herdsman, and engaged for
hire?
Cor. I was, my son, but thy preserver too.
(Ed. From what afflictions didst thou then
preserve me?
Cor. This let thy scarr'd and swollen feet attest.
(Ed. Ah ! why dost thou revive a woe long
passed?
Cor. I loosed thy bound and perforated feet.
(Ed. .Such foul reproach mine infancy endured.
Cor. From this event arose the name thou
bear'st.
(Ed. Was it a father's or a mother's act ?
By the good gods inform me !
Cor. This I cannot
He may know more, perchance, who gave thee
to me.
(Ed. Thou didst receive me then from other
hands,
Nor find me as by chance ?
Cor. No ; to my hand
Another herdsman gave thee.
(Ed. Who was he ?
Canst thou inform me this ?
Cor. He was, I believe,
A slave of Laius.
(Ed. What ! of him who erst
Ruled o'er this land ?
Cor. The same ; this man to him
Discharged an herdsman's office.
(Ed. Lives he yet
That I may see him ?
Cor. Ye, his countrymen,
Are best prepared this question to resolve.
(Ed. Is there of you who now attend our
presence,
One who would know the herdsman he describes,
Familiar erst or here, or in the field ?
Speak for the time demands a prompt disclosure.
Ch. He is, I deem, no other than the man
Whom thou before didst summon from the fields.
This none can know more than the Queen.
(Ed. Think'st thou, Queen, the man whose
presence late
We bade, is he of whom this stranger speaks ?
Joe. Who spake of whom ? Regard him not,
nor dwell,
With vain remembrance, on unmeaning words !
(Ed. Nay, heaven forfend, when traces of my
birth
Are thus unfolding, I should cease to follow.
Joe. Nay, by the gods I charge thee ! search
no more,
If life be precious still. Be it enough ,
That I am most afflicted.
(Ed. Cheer thee, lady,
Though my descent were proved e'en trebly
servile,
No stain of infamy would light on thee.
Joe. Ah yield, I do conjure thee seek no more.
(Ed. I will not yield, till all be clearly known.
Joe. 'Tis for thy peace I warn thee yet be wise.
(Ed. That very wisdom wounds my peace
most deeply.
Joe. Unhappy never may'st thou know thy
birth.
(Ed. Will none conduct this shepherd to our
presence ?
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 that
Alone for ever.
[Exit Jo CAST A.
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.
(Ed. Let the storm burst, I reck not. I will on
To trace my birth, though it be most obscure.
Pride swells her 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.
* * * * * * *
(Ed. 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 whom 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.
(Ed. First I ask
Of thee, Corinthian is this man the same
Whom thou didst row describe ?
Cor. This is the man.
Enter HEHDSMAIT.
(Ed. 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.
(Ed. What office didst thou hold ? What task
discharge ?
Herd. My better part of life was passed in
tending
The monarch's flocks.
(Ed. What regions wert thou then
Wont to frequent?
Herd. Citha>ron, 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 mean this man
Here present; hadst thou converse with him
there ?
Herd. Not such, that I can instantly retrace it.
Cor. No marvel this, king ! But I will soon
Revive events forgotten, for I know
He cannot but recal what time he fed
Two flocks, I one, in green Cithneron'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?
(Ed. Reprove him not, old man, for thine own
words,
Far more than his, demand a stern reprover.
Herd. In what do I offend thee, my good lord?
(Ed. In that thou speak'st not plainly of the
child
Of whom he ask thee.
Herd. But he speaks in darkness,
Mere empty babbling
(Ed. 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 wouldst
thou learn ?
(Ed. Didst thou commit to him the child he
spake of?
Herd. I did : 0, 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. 0, by the gods! my lord, inquire no
further.
(Ed. If I repeat th' inquiry, thou art lost.
Herd. The palace of King Laius gave him 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 of Laius ;
here
Thy royal consort can inform thee better.
(Ed. Didst thou from her receive him ?
Herd. Yea, king!
(Ed. 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 ?
I
SOPHOCLES.
Herd. That he should prove the murderer of
his parents.
(Ed. Why, then, to this old man thy charge
consign ?
Herd. From pity, my lord, I deemed that he
To his own land would bear the child afar.
He saved him to despair. If thou art he
Of whom he spake, how dark a doom is thine !
(Ed. Woe ! woe ! 'tis all too fatally unveiled.
Thou, Light ! 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.
(EDIPUS, 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 farewell !
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 arms ?
Speak speak I do not dream !
Creon. They 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 god than I have. Ye, where are ye?
My children come ! Nearer and nearer yet.
FROM (EDIPUS AT COLONOS.
THIS 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 solicits and obtains the pro-
tection of King Theseus. In the meantime, Creon
having learned from the oracle, that prosperity
awaits the country which should possess the
bones of (Edipus, endeavours to remove him
from Colonos, but is prevented from effecting his
purpose by Theseus. At this juncture Polyriices
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 him. 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 the reigning monarch of the
country. Then taking leave of his daughters,
and being left alone with Theseus, he calmly
resigns himself to his fate.
(EDIPUS, ANTIGONE.
(Ed. 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 (Edipus, 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 we hear, perform.
Ant. 0, (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, while, 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.
Jint. 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
What 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
power ?
Ath. From mortal touch and mortal dwelling
pure
Is that mysterious grove, the awful powers,
Daughters of Eartji 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.
Ath. What may this mean ?
(Ed. A symbol of my doom.
Ath. '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.
Ath. Speak ; and from me thou shalt not meet
disdain.
(Ed. What is the region, then, which now re-
ceives us ?
Ath. 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, i 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?
Ath. Yes, they who from the God their name
derive.
(Ed. Is there a king, or bear the people sway?
Ath. The king who rules the city rules here
also.
(Ed. Stands his high throne in equity and
might ?
Ath. His name may answer this. ; Tis The-
seus, son
Of JEgeus, late our lord.
(Ed. Is there of you
One who will bear our message to his ear?
Ath. Aught to recount, or ask his presence
hither?
(Ed. That, for a trivial succour, he may reap
A rich reward.
Ath. 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.
Ath. Know'st thou, stranger,
That thou art not deceived? and yet thou
seemVt
In all. except thy fortunes, truly noble.
Remain where now I see thee, till I seek
Those who inhabit the encircling meads,
Not the f;ir city, and relate my tale.
Be it their task to judge, if in this grove
Thou mayest remain, or must a-ain depart.
[Exit ATHF.XIATT.
(Ed. My daughter, is the stranger now de-
parted ?
Ant. He is. my father; all around is still.
v what thou li was he ? where abides he
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 unconquered 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,
:ig not the laws,
Whom I have sought with keen observant
glance
Throughout the sacred grove,
Yet still he mocks my search.
100
SOPHOCLES.
Enter (EDIPUS and ANTIGONE.
(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. 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
Thou 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 between 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, 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
~>f her father and 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!
Ant. 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 (Edipus !
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 thine unhallowed presence blast the city.
Ant. 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 (Edipus, 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 my wretched parents name
For whom ye thus contemn me. This I know
Full 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 they
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 thy 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 5 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 words 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 the 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 spood.
(Ed. O! be his coming prosperous to his Starr,
Prosperous to me. What man of virtuous deeds
Befriendeth not himself?
Ant. Almighty Jove !
What shall I say, and whither lead my thoughts?
(Ed. What mean'st thou. my Anti-one?
Ant. 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.
(Ed. What hast thou said, my daughter ?
Ant. That I see
Thy child, my father, my dear sister too.
A moment and Her',acp&n4s wHl assme thee*.
Enter ISMENE".
Ism. ye, die names rrx>%t; , Jay j-e.counting, woes.
My errand here was to relate the ills
( - In whic-h.tby hapics.s so>.is ,y,ve now immersed.
It seemed. &'i iirst tlici" oa } y 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, arid 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.
(Ed. 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 1
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. Which 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 this,
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 wretched father, from his country spurned
With foul dishonour ; but, assenting, joined
In the stern edict which 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, all 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 Phoebus breathed *f old.
And let them send their Creon, or some chief
As potent and as base, to seek me here ;
If ye, strangers, with these awful Powers,
Your tutelary gods, will here stand forth
To grant me succour, much will ye promote
Your country's welfare and my foes' despair.
Enter THESEUS.
Thes. Long by the voic-3 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.
I too was nurtured in a foreign land,
As thou art now ; an exile's woes 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 my 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 saddest boon of life is all
Thy prayer regards. The care of all between
Is unremembered, or contemned by i;
(Ed. In this one prayer are these concentred all.
Thes. Yet 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. 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 ?
(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.
Thes. 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?
(Ed. Discomfiture and death from this fair land.
Thes. Whence shall such fatal feud between
us rise ?
(Ed. Most honoured son of ^Egeus, the great
gods
Alone the high prerogative may claim
To shun the 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 thee 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 death
Entombed, shall drink their warm and vital blood.
If Jove be mightier still, and Jove-born Phoebus
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 (Edipus, 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 proffered to fulfil.
Thes. Oh, who would spurn the warm bene-
volence
104
SOPHOCLES.
Of one like him, to whom this altar first
Common to all, its friendly refuge lends.
Then, though a suppliant to these Powers he came,
To me 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 your charge. If thou prefer
With me to quit the spot, O CEdipus,
Choose which thou wilt, I my assent.
(Ed. 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
(Ed. How wilt thou act ?
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 rny breast.
(Ed. 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.
CHOBUS.
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 wintry whirlwinds rushing ;
Where, with his fostering nymphs, amid the grove,
The sportive Bacchus joys to revel or to rove.
dntistrophe 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 this 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.
Jlntistrophc 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/xa/ j
lence Jupiter, who had an altar there as protector of the
place, had the name of "Morian."
SOPHOCLES.
105
(En I PUS cursing his son Polynices.
Hearken now our firm response
Oh most abandoned ! when the very throne
Was thine, which 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 wake
Thy worse than parricide. Thou didst enfold me
In all 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 this 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 ;
Such 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 in 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 CEdipus repays
To his abhorred and most unnatural offspring.
THE DEATH OF (EDIPUS.
(Edipus 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 the Thorician rock,
The old man sate him down, and, having
called
His daughters to his side, he bade them bring
A pure libation from the living stream,
And holy layers : 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 " 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 !" Thus 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, (Edipus,
Why linger we so long?"
CEdipus then solemnly consigns his children to
Theseus, dismisses them, and Theseus alone is
left with the 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 him 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 upon the sun,
Opened, in mercy, to receive him.*
FROM THE ANTIGONE.
THE curses of CEdipus have been fulfilled ;
Etenrles and Polynices have fallen by each
other's hands, and the Argive army defeated
before the walls of Thebes. Creon, who has ob-
tained the tyranny, interdicts, on the penalty of
death, the burial of Polynices. Antigone, how-
ever, mindful of her brother's request to her in
their last interview, resolves to brave the edict
and perform those rites so indispensably sacred
in the eyes of a Greek. Acting on these resolu-
*The description here has been highly extolled by
Longinus. 8. 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.*
CKEOX, ANTIGONE, 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 ?
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 ?
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 I 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 ?
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 thou 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,
Through all its line what ceaseless miseries
flow !
As when from Thrace rude whirlwinds 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,
Struck by the swollen tide, reverberates the roar.
Jlntistrophe I.
I see the ancient miseries of thy race,
Labdacus ! arising 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.
Jlntistrophe 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,
Hjvmou advances comes he wrung with grief
For the impending doom
Of his fair plighted bride, Antigone,
And mourning much his blasted nuptial joys?
Enter H.EMOX.
Cr. We soon shall need no prophet to inform us.
Hearing our doom irrevocably ]>
On thy once-destined bridf, rnm'st thou, my son,
Incensed against thy father? Or, thus acting,
Still do we share thy reverence?
Hee. 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 well requite their wrongs,
And, as their father, honour 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. And 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 with age,
Thy words, King, seem well and wisely urged.
Ha. The gods, my father, have on man be-
stowed
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 thee
His cutting censure. Thine indignant eye
Appals the people, when their uttered thoughts
Mi^ht haply wound thine ear. But to observe
These darkly-whispered murmurs is my office.
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 1 ?"
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 children 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 Wisdom's balance, is found
wanting.
It cannot shame a mortal, though most wise,
To learn much from experience, and in much
Submit. Thou seest the pliant trees, that bow
Beneath the rushing torrent, rise unstripped ;
But all, that stem erect its onward course,
Uprooted fall a^d 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 wise.
Ch. If he hath spoken wisely, my good lord,
'Tis fit to weigh his reasoning. Thou, too, youth,
[To HJJMON.
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 boy?
Hce. 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?
Ha. Ne'er would I ask thy favour for the guilty.
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 ?
Hce. Do not thy words betray a very youth ?
Cr. Should I, or should another, sway the State ?
Has. That is no State, which crouches to one
despot !
Cr. Is not a monarch master of his State ?
Hce. 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.
Hce. Art thou a woman ?
I strive for none, save thee.
Cr. Oh thou most vile !
Wouldst thou withstand thy father ?
Hce. When I see
My father swerve from justice.
Cr. Do I err,
Revering mine own laws ?
Hce. Dost thou revere them,
When thou wouldst trample on the laws of
heaven ?
Cr. thou degenerate wretch ! thou woman's
slave !
Hce. Ne'er shall thou find me the vile slave
of baseness.
Cr. Thou ne'er shalt wed her living.
Hce. If she die,
Her death shall crush another.
Cr. Daring villain,
Dost thou proceed to threats ?
Hce. 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.
Hce. Wouldst thou then speak
Whate'er thou 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.
Hce. 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.
[Exit HJJMOIT.
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.
*****#
AjfTiooifE 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 will be my bridegroom now.
Ch. Therefore, with endless praise renowned,
To those drear regions wilt thou pass ;
Unwasted aught by slow disease,
Unwounded by 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 Sipy lus' bleak brow sublime;
Whom, in its cold embrace,
The creeping rock, like wreathing ivy, strained.
Her, in chill dews dissolved,
As 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 mine! to fall like
those
Of ancestry divine !
Strophe II.
Ant. Ah me ! I am derided. Why, oh why,
3y 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 Dircaean streams !
Thou sacred grove of car-compelling Thebes!
1 here invoke you to attest my wrongs,
How, by my friends unwept, and by what laws,
.. sink into the caverned gloom
Of this untimely sepulchre!
Ale 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.
Antistrvplie 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 eruslied. in one wide wreck
: 'ieil Labdaeida- !
Woe for the withering curse
Of those maternal nuptials, which 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,
.\Inst never, never, be contemned.
Thine own unbending pride hath sealed thy
doom.
Ant. Unmourned, unfriended, 'reft of bridal
joys,
Despairingly I tread
The path too well prepared.
N'o more for ever must 1 hail thy beams,
Thou glad and holy sun !
Yet to my doom no sorrowing friend accords
The tribute of a tear.
Enter CREOIT.
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 ! O bridal bed ! O 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 the 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 ;
Which 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 doom 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 rulers of imperial Thebes,
The last sad daughter of a royal line,
What fearful wrongs I suffer, and from whom;
My only crime a pious deed.
is led off.
TIRESIAS, CREOX, CHORUS.
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
Aright the helm 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 hallowed 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 were dispersed ; the thighs,
Stripped of th' involving caul, lay bare around.
These fearful 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 hearths
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 human 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, who, 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 1 ?
I speak with soul benevolent to thee ;
'Tis sweet to learn from one who 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 traffic, 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, I 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 thou 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 traffic in my
purpose.
Ti. And know thou, too, proud monarch, ere
the car
Of yon bright sun his destin'd course fulfil,
Thou of thine own loved offspring 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 slai i
The dogs, and beasts, and ravening birds, havs
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 die-
charged,
For thou hast roused my wrath ; and from th>;
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 TIRESIAS.
CREOX, CHORUS.
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.
Cr. I know it too ; and therelbre doubts dis-
tract me.
To yield bespeaks a coward, yet I fear
To rush upon destruction, if I cross him.
Ch. Son of Menoeceus, thou hast need of pru-
dence.
Cr. What wouldst 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. 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
[ 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,
Whatever 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 fun
I deemed the royal Creon greatly Mr--
Who from her ii>es the Tin-ban state preserved-
Assumed the sole dominion of her realms;
Bore sway, and nourished in a generous race.
And now all all is lost. For when the joys,
The sweet delights of life are reft for ever,
I scarce can say man lives; though still he
breathe,
The soul of life is fled.
Ch. Of what new ills
Com'st thou a herald to the royal house ?
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 Haemon
lies.
Ch. Slain by his own rash hand, or by his
father's 1
Mess. Incensed against his father, for the death
Of his loved bride, by his own hand he fell.
Ch. How true, O 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 EURYDICE.
Eur. Your conference we have heard, 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 the verge
Of that far plain, 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. We 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 unhonoured tomb one haply heard,
And hastening told our monarch. He approached,
And still the muttered meanings 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 rock's obstructing barrier; look within :
I hear the voice of Hrcmon.'' We obeyed
The bidding of our half distracted lord,
And looked. Soon in the c-avenfs dim recess
We see the virgin lifeless hanging there
In noose enwoven of her linen robe.
There too lay Hncmon, clasping his pale bride,
Mourning his plighted consort, to the Powers
Of Hell espoused his father's act severe
And his most joyless nuptials. When the king
Beheld him, deeply sighing to the tomb
Entering, with loud lament he thus exclaimed :
112
SOPHOCLES.
" my unhappy child, what hast them done?
What fearful purpose sways thee ? By what woes
Art thou thus plunged in anguish 1 ? O my son
Come forth, a suppliant 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 his 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 EURYDICE.
CHOHUS, MESSETTG-ER.
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 CREDIT, bearing his Sons 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,
O my lord,
One source of bitterest grief thy hands sustain ;
One waits within which 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.
jlntistrophe II.
Cr. Alas ! I gaze upon a second woe.
What doom, ah ! 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-mastering 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 ! 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
Of suffering ! Come, O come,
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 crisis.
Let those direct on whom such charge devolves.
Cr. What most my soul desires, I did but make
My first and warmest prayer.
Ch. Pray now for nothing
There is no refuge for devoted man,
When fate consigns him to a doom of woe.
Antlstrophe IV.
Cr. Lead hence this lifeless shade, far, far
away.
Who, though unwilling all,
Slew thee, my son ! thee too, O 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.
THEY 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 (Enian'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 Crissnran plain
Was, sea-like, strewn with wrecks; the Athenian
saw,
Slacken'd his speed, and, wheeling round the
marge,
15
Unscathed and skilful, in the midmost space,
Left the wild tumult of that tossing storm.
Behind, Orestes, hitherto the last,
rlad yet kept back his coursers for the close ;
Vow 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.
rle nears he reaches they are side by side ;
Vow one now th' other by a length Jhe 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
irash'd the frail axle headlong from the car,
iaught and all meshed within the reins he fell;
A.nd, masterless, the mad steeds raged along!
*******
Loud from that mighty multitude arose
A. shriek a shout ! But yesterday such deeds
To-day such doom ! Now whirled upon the
earth ;
N"ow 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,
ould in that mangled corpse have traced Orestes.
FROM THE AJAX.
AJAX'8 DYING 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 the 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 i? not! Beautiful 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 together
Fountains and rivers, and ye Trojan plains,
I loved you as my fosterers, fare ye well !
Take in these words, the last Earth hears from
Ajax
All else unspoken, in a spectre land,
I'll whisper to the dead.
K3
CRATES.
[AboTrt 450 B. C.]
Aw Athenian actor and writer of Comedies,
whereof the titles of twenty-six have come
down to us. He was the first, according to
OLD AGE.
THESE shrivelled 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.
Aristotle, who departed from the satirical form
of Comedy, and framed his plots from gen-
eral stories.
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 j
Then sinking slowly down from worse to worse,
Find heaven's extorted boon our greatest curse.
EURIPIDES.
[Born 480 Died 406, B. C.]
the Athenians who sought refuge in
Salamis from the invading army of Xerxes, was
Clito, the wife of Mnesarcruis, 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 minds of his parents to the
stirring events of that momentous crisis. By his
father, a man of family and fortune, Euripides
was 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
Phocian sung some fine anastrophics from a chorus of the
"Electra" 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 Emathian conqueror bade spare
The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower
Went to the ground : and the repeated air
Of sad Electra' s poet had the power
To save the Athenian walls from ruin lare.
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 Athenians,
though unable to obtain his ashes, 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
FROM THE ALCESTIS.
ADMETUS, king of Pherae, 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 that some near relation
would consent to die for him ; but neither his
father 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,
Hercules arrives at Phone, and being hospitably
entertained there, and informed of his host's 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 the
arms of her husband.
THE CHORUS 1ST TWO DIVISIONS.
1st Semich. Why this silence so profound,
In the house, and all around 7 ?
2d Semich. Why is there none to let us know
If for the dead 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 plain she is not i_ r ne.
[A female servant is seen coming from the palace.
Ch. But from the house a weeping woman
com
What shall we hear ? when our lords suffer aught,
Our mournful sympathy is jnstiiied ;
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 appointed her to die.
Ch. Are not the lilting preparations made?
Serv. The pomp is ready for her burial.
Ch. Let her then know she dies with best
renown,
As noblest wife of all beneath the sun.
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-comedies, and a satirical drama, with seve-
ral fragments of lost plays, have come down to us.
Serv. Who will deny it? Oh! what must
she be
That can outparagon her excellence ?
low can a wife show greater proof of love
Than giving her own life to save her lord's ?
3ut 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 them 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 about to die :
The servants, pitying 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 master's house!
But had he died, 'twould have been o'er with
him ;
Escaping death he has a lifelong grief.
Ch. Surely Admetus groans, with grief opprest,
If he must lose so excellent a wife.
Serv. He weeps indeed, sustains her in his
arms,
116
EURIPIDES.
And prays her not to leave him, asking for
What cannot be ; for she is going fast,
And visibly droops and sinks, passing away.
She hangs a languid burden on his arm ;
Yet still, though faintly gasping out her breath,
She would behold the 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. I'll 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 ADMETUS, and ac-
companied by their two children.
Me. Oh sun ! and light, and clouds of heaven,
In fleecy rolls revolved and driven !
Mm. Cheer up, unhappy consort ; leave me not,
But pray the sovereign gods to pity us.
Me. 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?"
Jldm. Wretch that I am ! oh crudest voyage
to me!
My dearest, doomed wife ! what woe is ours !
Me. 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 !
Jldm. Path dismal to thy friends, and most
to me.
And to these children, sharers of my grief.
Me. 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 !
Jldm. 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.
Me. 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 stepdarne 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?
Oh, 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 thy groans of childbirth comfort thee !
For I must die.
Ch. I'll answer that he keep
Thy last injunctions, if he keep his senses.
Jldm. 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.
Me. My children, ye have heard your father's
pledge.
Jldm. Again I give it, and will keep it too.
Me. So pledged, receive these children from
my hand.
Jldm. A precious gift from dear hand I receive.
Me. Be thou a mother to them in my stead.
Jldm. Ah ! what shall I do, widowed and
forlorn ?
Me. Time will console thee, for the dead are
nothing.
Jldm. Oh Fate ! of what a wife thou spoilest
me !
Me. Speak of me as no more, as nothing now.
Jldm. Lift up thy face, abandon not thy
children.
Me. Not willingly my children, oh ! farewell!
Jldm. 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 the 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,
Both 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
Would that it did on me depend
That thou should'st to the light ascend!
From the realm 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 them dared to go,
As his 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 HEHCULES.
Her. Phereans, is Admetus now at home ?
Ck. He is within; but tell us, Hercules,
What brings you to this part of Thessaly ?
Her. Eurystheus has appointed me a task.
Ch. Where must you travel, and for what
exploit?
Her. To Thrace, and for the steeds of Diomede.
Ch. How can you do this ? do you know the
man?
Her. No! I was ne'er in the Bistonian land.
Ch. Those steeds cannot be won without a
battle.
Her. Whom does their trainer boast of as his
sire?
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 with Lycaon, and with Cycnus next,
Now with a third, this king and his fierce steeds.
But none shall ever see Alcmena's son
Shrink from encounter with a hostile hand.
Ch. And, lo ! Admetus from the palace comes.
Enter ADMETUS.
Jldm. Hail, son of Jove, prince of the blood
of Perseus!
Her. Admetus, prince of the Thessaliane, hail !
Jldm. Would that your "hail"' was suited to
my state,
For your good will toward me well I know.
Her. Why are your locks in sign of mourning
shorn ?
Jldm. To-day I have to bury somebody.
Her. 'Tis not one of your children? Heaven
forbid !
Mm. My children are within, alive and well.
Her. If 'tis thy father, he went full of years.
Jldm. My father and my mother are alive.
Her. It cannot be Alcestis that is dead ?
Jldm. Of her I have to speak a twofold tale.
Her. Speak you of her as living, or as dead ?
Jldm. She is and is not ! but she is my grief.
Her. I am no wiser, for you speak in riddles.
Jldm. Do you not know the doom imposed on
her?
Her. I know she undertook to die for you.
Jldm. How is she living then, if bound to this ?
Her. Weep not beforehand; wait until the
event.
Jldm. 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.
Jldm. You judge in one way in another I.
Her. But wherefore are you weeping? Who
is dead ?
Jldm. A woman: we were speaking of a
woman.
Her. One of thy blood, or of no kin to thee ?
Jldm. Not of my blood, but to my house most
dear.
Her. And did she in thy house depart this life?
Jldm. Her father being dead, she lived with us.
Her. Oh, that you were not mourning!
Jldm. With what aim
Do you say this ?
Her. To seek another host.
Jldm. That must not be ; let not such ill occur.
Her. A guest is grievous to a house in grief.
Jldm. The dead are dead : come, go within at
once.
Her. To feast with mourners is a shameful
thing.
Jldm. The guest-rooms are apart.
Her. Nay ! let me go,
I'll owe you thousand thanks.
Jldm. It must not be ;
Elsewhere you must not go : lead on, and throw
(to 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.
[HERCULES goes into the palace.
Ch. What means this? When so great mis-
chance has fallen,
Is it a season for receiving guests
Jldm. Had I driven from my house a new-come
guest,
Would you have praised me? No! I had not lost
My grief, but rather hospitality ;
And such impeachment of my house had been
Another added to my present ills.
Besides, when I to thirsty Argos go,
Then this my truest is my most worthy host.
Ch. Why did you then from such a friend
conceal
Your present trouble ?
118
EURIPIDES.
JLdm. Had he known my grief,
He never would have gone within my doors.
Yet will he 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 SERYAJTT.
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?
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 not 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 ?
I know right well the wine-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.
Serv. We know it ; but the feast, laughter, and
mirth,
Are quite unsuited to our present state.
Her. But who is dead? 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 sunless 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,
W.ho 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 HERCULES.
ADMETUS and tJie company of mourners return.
jJdm. Oh, sad aspect, and entrance drear
Of my poor widowed house ! Oh, where
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 bom !
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.
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 ! how can I dwell in thee,
Since this sad change has fall'n on me?
'Twixt life before, and that behind,
Oh, what a difference I find !
With light of many a Pelian torch
I whilom passed 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.
Mm. 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 these 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.
HERCULES enters icilh a lady, whose face is conceal-
ed under a thick veil.
Her. 'Tis risht 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 win her,
And not by theft ; you will perchance, hereafter,
Yourself commend me for the pains I took.
Mm. 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! methinks 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.
Jldm. And with her
Lost sense of joy, and relish of my life.
Her. Time will compose the swelling grief yet
new.
Mm. 'Twill do it, if time be death.
Her. Another wife
Will comfort you.
Jldm. Hush, hush ! how can you speak so?
Her. Will you then live a lonely widower?
Mm. No woman e'er shall be my bed-fellow!
Her. Think you this of advantage to the dead?
Mm. I'm bound to honour her, where'er she be.
Her. Right, right ! I say ; but you'll be thought
a fool.
Mm. That let them call me, but a bridegroom
never !
Her. I praise you for your loyalty in love.
Mm. If ever I betray her, may I perish !
Her. Take now this noble dame into the house.
Mm. Pr'ythee, excuse me, by thy father Jove.
Her. But not to do this is not for thy good.
120
EURIPIDES.
Jldm. And doing it will cut me to the heart.
Her. Do it ; you'll not repent it ; be persuaded.
Jldm. Alas! would you had never won the
prize !
Her. Yet in my triumph you participate.
Jldm. Thanks for your nobleness ; but let her go.
Her. Yes ! if it must be so, but look to it first.
Jldm. It must be so, unless you would incense
me.
Her. From knowing what I do, I'll run the risk.
Jldm. Prevail then, but I like not your pro-
ceeding.
Her. Some time or other you will praise me
for it.
Jldm. Conduct her in then, if it must be so.
[To his attendants.
Her. I will not give her over to your servants.
Jldm. Then lead her in yourself.
Her. Into your hands,
And into yours alone, will I commit her.
Jldm. I will not touch her but she may go in.
Her. I trust in you, and in your hands I place
her.
Jldm. Against my will you force me to this act.
Her. Boldly advance thy hand, and touch the
stranger.
Jldm. As though it were to touch the Gorgon's
head!
Her. Hast hold of her.
Jldm. I have.
Her. Then hold her fast j
Hereafter will you call me generous guest.
But look on her (he lifts her veil] and see if she
resembles
Thy lost Alcestis.
Jldm. My wife, my own wife !
Or do you mock me ?
Her. 'Tis your very wife.
Jldm. My wife ? My buried wife ?
Her. Yes ! it is she ;
I do not wonder at your unbelief.
Jldm. Sweet face and person of my dearest
wife !
When I did think to see thee never more,
Beyond all hope do I possess thee now ?
Her. You do ; all envy of the gods keep hence !
Jldm. 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 JEetes, 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 r 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, Hies through the air with her slaugh-
tered children, in a chariot drawn by winged
dragons.
NURSE OF MEDEA.
O, 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,
Medea, 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 hour
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.
Affliction 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
In deep repose, she steal into the house,
And plunge into their breast the piercing sword;
Or murder ev'n the monarch of the land,
Or the new-married 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 o? 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 Medea wish'd to be alone ?
Nur. Thou good old man, attendant on the sons
Of Jason, faithful servants with their lords
Suffer in their afflictions, 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. I wonder at thee : no, these ills but now
Are rising, to their height not yet advanced.
Tut. Unwise, if of our lords we so may speak;
Since she knows nothing of more recent ills.
Nur. What may this be ? 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 \\omler, then, if these,
Of his new nuptials loud, their father love not?
Nur. Go in, my children, go: all will be well ;
And take thou heed, keep them aloof, nor let
them
Come near their mother while her griefs are fresh :
16
Cruel her eye, and wild ; I mark'd 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 I am, what anguisk rends
my heart ! [within.
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 wild
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 spirit 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 ? 0, 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 fix'd; and, when misfortune comes
Enraged, 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 unhappy mistress
In her lone chamber melts her life away
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
122
EURIPIDES.
Engraved too deep : Jove will avenge thy wrongs
Let not thy sorrows prey upon thy heart.
Med. O 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 height.
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,
That 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?
The table richly piled hath in itself
A cheerfulness that wakes the 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 call'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 light 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 down upon himself the indignation of the
latter goddess, which cannot be appeased but by
his ruin. For this purpose she inspires Phcedra,
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 thrown from his chariot, and dies, but
not until his innocence had been made clear, and
reconciliation effected between him and his 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.
SCENE AT TRJEZENE.
HIPPOLYTUS 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 again
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 mead, where never shepherd dared
To feed his flock, and the scythe never came ;
But o'er its vernal sweets unshorn the 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, honour'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 with 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.
Att. Know'st thou the common law to man
prescribed ?
Hip. I know not; nor thy question, what it
means.
Att. To hate whate'er of haughty scorns to
please.
Hip. And justly, for the haughty all must hate.
Alt. 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.
* Jilt. Why then this haughty goddess not ad-
dress ?
Hip. What goddess? But be 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-
no wn'd.
Hip. Each different gods reveres, and different
men.
Alt. Were thy thoughts 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
My coursers dress'd, that after my repast
I well may breathe them harness'd to the car :
But to thy Venus here I bid farewell.
Alt. But we, with better thought, (for from
young men
We 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.
CHORUS.
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.
Antistrophe.
There first from her the tidings came
That, languishing away,
On her sick couch, the royal dame
In her apartments lay ;
And, every eye avoiding, spread
The light veil o'er her golden head.
Three days from food, through pining grief
Have her ambrosial lips refrain'd ;
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, unhappy queen,
The transient bloom is faded from her cheek.
PH.EDRA, NURSE, CHORUS.
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.
PA. 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 tliese crisped tresses flow. 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.
Ph. O, 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, speak 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! O, by the gods
I long to cheer the dogs of chase, to wave
O'er my bright tresses the Thessalian dart,
And grasp the pointed javelin in my hands !
124
EURIPIDES.
'Nur. Whence this desire, this fondness for the
chase ?
Why from the limpid fountain wouldst thou take
The cooling draught? Beside the citadel
Headlong the gushing waters roll along
The living stream : thence mayst thou slake thy
thirst.
Ph. Diana, goddess of the sacred lake,
And of the equestrian coursers, in thy field
how I long to tame the Henetian steeds!
Nur. Why are thy words again thus wild?
Ev'n now
The mountain and the chase was all thy wish 5
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 god hath wrought this ill.
Ah me, unhappy! Let thy friendly hand
Cover my head again: I am ashamed
Of what I said : 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. Thy head again I cover ; when will death
Cover my body ? From this length of life
Much have I learn'd : best suited to the state
Of mortal life are mutual friendships form'd
With moderation, such as take not root
Deep in the soul; affections that with ease
May be relax'd, or closer bound at will.
Ch. Thou aged matron, faithful from her youth
To the imperial Phaedra, 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 thee.
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 she conceals it all.
Ch. Beneath her malady she wastes away.
Nur. No food for three long days hath 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 must be displeasing to her lord.
Nur. She hides it all, and speaks not of her
illness.
CA. 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 the words,
We each have spoke ; do thou recall thy sweet
And gentle nature; 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 rich inheritance of their father's house.
This by the warlike Amazonian queen
I swear; for she hath left a son to lord it
Over thy sons, of spurious birth indeed,
But now legitimate thought, thou know'st him
well,
Hippolytus
Ph. Ah me !
Nur. Doth it then touch thee?
Ph. Thou hast undone me ; by the gods I beg
thee,
never let me hear 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 hands are guiltless, but my heart's
defiled.
Nur. Some foreign ill, brought on thee by thy
foes?
PA. I by a friend, unwilling both, am ruin'd.
Nur. By some misdeed hath Theseus injured
thee?
PA. Would I were found not to have injured
him?
Nur. What dreadful thing makes thee thus
wish to die?
PA. Ill would beRill thee, should I tell thee all.
Nur. Can worse befall me than the loss of
thee ?
PA. Go; by the gods, forbear, and quit my
hand.
Nur. Never, till thou indulge me this request.
PA. That suppliant hand revering, I will tell
thee.
Nur. 'Tis mine in silence to attend thy words.
PA. Ah, wouldst thou tell me what is mine to
speak ?
Nur. I am no prophetess in things obscure.
PA. Ah, tell me what is this which men call
love.
Nur. The sweetest pleasure and severest pain.
PA. Taught by experience, one of them I feel.
Nur. What says my child? Dost thou then love
some man ?
PA. Who is this son of the Amazonian queen?
Nur. Hippolytus.
PA. By thee he's named, not me.
Nur. Ah me! What wouldst thou say? O thou
hast 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.
PA. Trcezenian dames, who 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 righ't ; but my reflections lead me
To this conclusion ; what is good 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
My pains ; my next resolve was to o'ercome it
With chaste austerity. When these avail'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.
O, 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
Affects 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 leizes,
And, as too well thou know'st, chastises him.
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 1 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-powerful 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 soul ; 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 peopled town, this glorying speech.
Behoves us now no blandishment that charms
The ear, but what excites to virtuous deeds.
Nur. Wherefore this lofty 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 tongue ! 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'er 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 ruled 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, some relic of his vest,
Of two in union 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 much, I fear, thou trustest to thy
wisdom.
Nur. Fear every thing, be sure : what dost thou
fear?
PA. 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.
[Exit NURSE.
L2
126
EURIPIDES.
, CHORUS.
Strophe I.
Love, O Love, that through the eyes
Instillest softly warm desire,
Pleased in the soul, with sweet surprise,
Entrancing rapture to inspire ;
Never with wild, ungovern'd sway
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.
dntistrophe I.
In vain at Alpheus' stream, in vain
At bright Apollo's Pythian shrine,
Doth Greece, the votive victim slain,
With reverence offer rites divine:
To him who holds the high employ
To unlock the golden gates of love and joy,
No honours we 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, (Echalia'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.
Jlntistrophe 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, 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
Of sorrow ? Tell us, lady, what thou nearest,
That with this sudden terror strikes thy heart.
Ph. O ruin, min ! 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 1 ?
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 art betray'd. What counsel shall I give thee 1
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, wilt thou do ?
Ph. I know not, save one thing; forthwith to
die.
Death is the only cure of all my ills.
PHJEDRA, HIPPOLYTUS, NURSE, CHORUS.
Hip. O 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. Affairs 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, Jove, beneath the sun's fair
light,
That specious mischief, woman, didst thou place ?
For with the human race if thou wouldst 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 offering; 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 her, bred her up,
Gives her a dowry, to another house
Consigning her, to rid him of the ill ;
He who receives the baleful ill rejoices ;
Adding each splendid ornament, bright gems
And robes, and all the riches of his house
On her exhausting. Is the alliance fornrd
With those of noble rank ? 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 could 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 HIPPOLTTUS.
Pna?DRA, NURSE, CHORUS.
Ch. How wretched, how unfortunate 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 Earth!
Light!
How shall I shun my fate, or how, my friends,
Conceal this ill ? What god will deign to aid,
What mortal would appear confederate,
Or favouring deeds of baseness ? From this 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.
PA. Vile wretch, thou base corrupter of thy
friends,
What mischief 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
Could st 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 affection 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 Troezene, 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 delight her,
And yield to cruel love the victory.
Yet to another 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 IPHIGENEIA IN AULIS.
THE combined fleet of Greece being detained
at Aulis by contrary winds, the Oracle declared
that they would not be permitted to sail, unless
Iphigeneia were sacrificed to Diana ; but that if
the goddess were thus propitiated, they should
reach the Phrygian 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."
AGAMEMXOU, CLYTEMJTESTHA, IPHIGEITEIA, AND
CHOHUS.
* * * * * * *
Iph. Had I, my father, the persuasive voice
Of Orpheus, and his skill to charm the rocks
To follow me, and soothe whome'er I please
With winning words, I would make trial of it :
But I have nothing to present thee now
Save tears, my only 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 thee, 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
Conies he to my destructio'n ? 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.
My 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 thee, 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 Atridse and their children comes.
Jlga. 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 AGAMEMWOIT.
*******
Iph. To suff 'rings born, the human race
In suff 'rings pass life's little space :
Why, since misfortunes 'round 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.
JLch. Among the Greeks
Dreadful the clamour.
Cly. What the clamour ? suy.
EURIPIDES.
129
Ach. Touching thy daughter.
Cly. Thou hast said what bears
No happy omen.
Jich. That she must be slain
A victim.
Cly. And doth none against this speak?
Ach. I was with outrage threaten'd.
Cly. Stranger, how ?
Ach. To be o'erwhelm'd with stones.
Cly. Whilst thou wouldst save
My child ?
Ach. E'en so.
Cly. Who dar'd to touch thee ?
Ach. All
The Grecians.
Cly. Were thy troops of Myrmidons
Not present to thee ?
Ach. They were first in rage.
Cly. Then are we lost, my child.
Ach. They cried aloud
That I was vanquish 'd by a woman.
Cly. Aught
DMst thou reply?
Ach. That her who was to be
My bride, they should not slay.
Cly. With justice urged.
Ach. Named by her father mine.
Cly. From Argos brought
By his command.
Ach. In vain : I was o'erpower'd
By their rude cries.
Cly. The many are indeed
A dreadful ill.
Ach. Yet I will give thee aid.
Cly. May thy designs succeed !
Ach. 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 ihee. 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 1 wish, to die
With glory, all reluctance bunish'd far.
My mother, weigh this well, that what I speak
Is honour's dictate: all the powers of Greece
Have now their eyes on me; on me depends
The sailing of the licet, the fall of Troy.
By dying, all these things shall I achieve.
And hle^t. 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 mo.
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 should 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 Fortune and the Goddess wills.
Ach. Daughter of Agamemnon, highly blest
Some god would make me, if I might attain
Thy nuptials. Greece in thee I happy 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.
Ach. O glorious spirit! nought have I 'gainst this
To urge, since such thy 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 shall see the sword: and for that
cause
1 will not, lor a rash unweigh'd resolve,
Abandon thee to die ; but with these arms
Wait near Diana's temple till thou come.
[Exit ACHILLES.
Iph. Why, mother, dost thou shed these silent
tears (
Cly. I have a cruel cause, that rends my heart.
Iph. Forbear, nor sink my spirit. Grant me
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.
130
EURIPIDES.
Cly. What, for thy death shall I not mourn,
my child ?
Iph. No, since for me a tomb shall not be raised.
Cly. To die then, is not that to be entomb'd ?
Jph. The altar 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?
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 didst assist thy
friends. [To ORESTES.
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. 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 rot.
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,
Bring 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 !
O ye virgins, once my pride,
In Mycenae who reside !
Ch. Why of Perseus name the town
Which Cyclopean rampires crown 1 ?
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, oetherial ray,
Other regions we await,
Other life, and other fate !
Farewell, beauteous lamp of day,
Farewell, bright astherial ray!
[Exit IPHIGEXEIA.
Ch. See, she goes : her glorious fate
To o'erturn the Phrygian state :
Soon the wreaths shall bind her brow ;
Soon the lustral 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 d aughter she of Jove,
Queen among the gods above,
That with conquest and renown
She the arms of Greece may crown.
To thee, dread power, we make our vows,
Pleas'd when the blood of human victims flows.
To Phrygia's hostile strand,
Where rise perfidious Ilium's hated towers,
Waft, O waft the Grecian powers,
And aid this martial band !
On Agamemnon's honour'd head,
Whilst wide the spears of Greece their terrors
spread,
Th' immortal crown let conquest place,
With glory's brightest grace.
Enter MESSENGER.
Mess. royal Clytemnestra, from the house
Hither advance, that thou may'st hear my
words.
EURIPIDES.
131
Cly. Hearing thy voice I come, but with affright
And terror trembling, lest thy coining bring
Tidings of other woes, beyond what now
AHlict me.
Mess. Of thy daughter have I things
Astonishing and awful to relate.
Cly. Delay not then, but, speak them instantly.
Mess. Yes, honour'd lady, thou shall hear them
all
Distinct from first to last, if that my sense
Disorder 'tl be not faithless to my 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 daughter as a victim to the grove
Advancing, groan'd, and bursting into tears
Tnrn'd from the biyht his head, before his eyes
Holding his robe. The virgin near him stood,
And thus address'd him: "Father, I to thee
Am present: ibr 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 country: 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, admir'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 plac'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 fiom this beauteous virgin's neck to flow.
Grant that secure onr llr-i- may plough the main,
And that our arms may lay the rampir'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, preferr'd his
pray'r,
And with his eye mark'd where to give the blow.
My heart with grief sunk in me. on the earth
.Mine eyes were east; when sudde;) to the view
A wonder; for the stroke each clearly heard,
But where the virgin was none knew : aloud
The priest exclaims, and all the host with shouts
Rifted the air, beholding from some god
A prodigy, which struck their wond'ring eyes,
Surpassing faith when seen : for on the ground
Panting was laid a hind of largest bulk,
In form excelling; with its spouting blood
Much was the altar of the goddess dew'd.
Calchas at this, think with what joy, exclaim'd ;
" Ye leaders of th' united host of Greece,
See you this victim, by the goddess brought,
And at her altar laid, a mountain hind?
This, rather than the virgin, she accepts,
Not with the 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' JEgean. 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 oft 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 thee? or of this
How deem ? 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 AGAMEMJTOX.
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 unfrequent, and at times
Of distant interval : may'st thou be blest!
Ch. With joy, Atrides, reach the Phrygian shore;
With joy return to Greece, and bring with thee
Bright conquest, and the glorious spoils of Troy.
FROM THE HECUBA.
WHILE the Grecian licet N detained on the
coast of Thrace, the ghost of Achilles appears at
night and demands the sacrifice of Polyxena, the
daughter of Priam, who is, accordingly, torn from
the embraces of her mother, and put to death.
Shortly after, a dead body is cast on shore, which
132
EURIPIDES.
Hecuba recognises to be that of her son Polydorus,
whom Polymnestor,his guardian, had barbarously
murdered, in order to secure the treasures with
which the young man had been supplied by his
indulgent father. Bent on revenge, Hecuba sends
for the perfidious monarch and his two sons,
under pretence of discovering to them further
treasures, then seizing a favourable opportunity,
has the two princes put to death, and Polym-
nestor deprived of his eyes. This outrage is
made the subject of formal complaint to Aga-
memnon, who justifies and sustains Hecuba.
HECUBA, CHORUS.
Chorus.
Tell me, ye gales, ye rising gales,
That lightly sweep along the 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 sick'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,
Apidanus, pours his headlong waves,
Through sunny plains, through darksome
woods,
And wkh his copious stream the fertile valley
laves ?
Or shall the wave-impelling oar
Bear to the hallow'd isle my frantic woes,
Beneath whose 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 Deliaii 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,
Your loss lamenting and misfortune drear.
Thee, chief, imperial Troy, thy state
I mourn deserted, 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 land am called a slave.
Outcast to insolence and scorn,
And for my nuptial bed find a detested grave.
TALTHYBIUS, HECUBA, 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. O 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
My portion, e'er I sink to that low fortune.
Rise, thou afflicted, stand on thy feet, hold up
Thy reverend head.
Hcc. Disturb me not : who art thou,
That wilt not let iny 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, attending 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 child?
Am I bereaved of thee ? Ah wretched me !
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 full ranks at this sad sacrifice;
Achilles' son, holding the virgin's hand,
On the mound's extreme summit; near him I;
An honourable train of chosen youths,
In readiness her 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 shade
At his high bidding I aloud, proclaim'*!
Silence through all the host; and all were silent.
Then he: "0 son of Peleu.s, my father,
Accept my offerings, 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 our paternal Greece."
He spoke, and with him all the people pray'd.
Then taking by the hilt 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 fe 11,
Willing I die j 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 th' obedient youths retire.
Soon as she heard th' imperial word, she took
Her robe, and from her shoulder rent it down,
And bared her bosom, bare d her polish'd breast,
Beauteous beyond the sculptor's nicest art.
Then bending to the 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 throat dost thou require? behold
Stretch'd to thy sword my throat.'' Awhile he
paus'd
In pity of the virgin ; then reluctant
Deep in her bosom plung'd the fatal steel 5
Her life blood gush'd in streams: yet e'en in death
Studious of modesty: compos'd she fell,
And cover'd with her robe's 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 by the heav'ns th' unfertile soil
T'-'-nis with tin; 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 difference? 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,
(io thou, require the (Grecians not to touch
Mv daughter: no; but keep the rabble from her:
In a larL'e army r-onie 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,
Dip in the sea. and bring the briny wave.
That with the last ablutions I may bathe her,
Not for the bridal bed. but for the tomb.
But I will grace her obsequies with a 1
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 around me in your lordly tents,
I will collect what little ornaments
i from her former house hath snatch'd by
tith,
And kept by these new masters unobserv'd.
led splendours of my house : O house
Once fortunate ! Priam, on whose state
Magnific wealth attended, in thy children
Supremely blest, I too was blest in them :
-low are we fall'n, from all our greatness fall'n.
Chorus.
Stro. Dreadful Discord first arose,
Leading dangers, leading woes,
Destruction joiri'd the train,
When in Ida's forests hoar
Paris hew'd the vent'rous oar,
And dash'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 us rise.
Epod. Nor on Simois' 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'rend head her hoary hair,
And tears her bleed ing cheeks in agonies of woe.
Female ATTKXDAXT, CHORUS, HECUBA.
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 woman bears from her.
Ch. What new misfortune jars upon thy tongue,
That thy discordant clamours never sleep?
Att. 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 unhappy
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 what? Bringest thou here the lifeless corse
Of my Poly.\"na {
Att. Ah, she knows nothing; but lamenting still
Polyxena, suspects not this new loss.
Hec. O my unhappy faf ! Dost thou there bring
The heav'n inspir'd Cassandra's sacred head?
An. Thou speakest of the living; bat the dead
Demands the sigh : behold the corse uncovered,
A siirht 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,
M
134
EURIPIDES.
In total ruin sunk. My son! My son !
X) woe, woe, woe! Affliction's cruel pow'r
Teaches my voice the frantic notes of madness.
Att. Knowest thou aught then touching thy
son's death?
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.
Hec. 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?
Att. I know not; on the wave-washed strand
I found him.
Hec. Cast up, or fall'n beneath the bloody spear?
Att. Cast on the smooth sand by the surging
wave.
Hec. Ah me ! now know I what my dream for-
bodes :
The black-wing'd phantom pass'd me not; the
vision
Showxl 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,
Gash'd with 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, CHORUS.
Aga. 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.
I 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 ?
Aga. 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.
Aga. 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.
Aga. 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 ?
Aga. I see it; nor from thence thy purport
learn.
Hec. He was my son.
Aga. Thy son, unhappy lady!
Hec. But not of those who died when Ilium
fell.
Aga. Hadst thou another, lady, those beside?
Hec. I had, but whatavail'd it? him thou seest.
Aga. Where, when the city fell, chanc'd he
to be?
Hec. His father's tender fears sent him from
Troy.
Aga. Whither, he only of thy sons remov'd ?
Hec. To this land, where his breathless corse
was found.
Aga. Sent to the king, to Polymnestor sent 1
Hec. And sent with treasures of destructive
gold.
Aga. By whom then dead, or by what cruel
fate?
Hec. By whom but this inhospitable Thracian?
Aga. Inhuman, all on fire to seize the gold !
Hec. E'en so, soon as he knew our ruin'd state.
Aga. Where didst thou find the body, or who
brought it?
Hec. She found it lying on the sea-beat shore
Aga. By search discover'd, or by accident?
Hec. Charg'd with the laver for Polyxena.
Aga. By his protector murder'd and cast out?
Hec. Thus gash'd, and thrown to float upon
the wave.
Aga. Unhappy thou, unbounded are thy woes!
Hec. All woes are mine. Affliction hath no
more.
Aga. 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 number 'd '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 weakj
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 heav'n,
There is no justice in th' affairs of men.
Deem these deeds base then, reverence my woes,
Have pity on me. as a picture view
The living portrait of my 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 thou turn the backward step?
Suing shall I reap nothing but repulse?
Why should poor mortals with incessant care
Each unavailing science strive t' attain,
And slight, as nothing worth, divine Persuasion,
Whose pow'rful 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 such 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 supplicate, 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 wonderful 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!
Jlga. Thee Hecuba, thy son, and thy misfor-
tunes
I pity, nor reject thy suppliant hand ;
And in the cause of justice and the gol<
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 the- ready aid ;
But slow, should Greece with taunting voice re-
vile me.
Her. Vain is the boast of liberty in man:
A slave to fortune, or a slave to wealth,
Or by the people, or the laws rrstr.iin'd,
He dares 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
In aid, restrain them, nor appear to act
As fav'ring me : what else th' affair requires,
Be confident, I well shall execute.
Jlga. But how * 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.
Jlga. The captives, say'st thou, prizes of the
Greeks ?
Hec. With these will I revenge this bloody
deed.
Jlga. How shall weak women over men pre-
vail ?
Hec. Numbers are strong; add stratagem, re-
sistless.
Jlga. 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, 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 the 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 unsaek'd shalt 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 most 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 deem'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
Flash'd 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 \vill 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 thy 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 homeward 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 Ilion's fall."
FROM THE ORESTES.
Ijf this play Orestes is represented as pursued
by the Furies, in punishment for the murder of
his mother Clytemnestra.
[ELECTRA watching 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 ! 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. What say'st thou, mourner ?
Elect. Woe to thee,
If the dewy slumber flee.
Ch. Yet wail I his unhappy 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 Night!
Elect. Softly let your warbhngs flow ;
Farther, a farther distance keep :
The far-off 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. [waking.] O gentle Sleep, whose lenient
power thus soothes
Disease and pain, how 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. What 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 ; wipe my moist eyes.
Elect. Delightful office, for a sister's hand
To minister relief to a sick brother !
Orest. Lie by my side, and from my face re-
move
These squalid 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
Elect. Now, my loved brother, hear me
the Furies
Permit thy sense thus clear and undisturbed.
Orest. Hast thou aught new"? If good, I thank
thee for it ;
If ill, I have enough of ill already.
Elect. Thy father's brother, Menelaus, arrives;
His fleet lies anchor'd in the Naupliian bay.
Orcst. Comes he then 1 ? Light on our afflictions
dawns;
Much to my 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;
Bringing 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 further than in words thy virtue prove.
Elect. Alas, my brother, wildly rolls thine eye:
So quickly changed ! The frantic 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!
There, 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. Phcebus, they will 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 unhappy force of thy wild starts.
Orest. Off! Let me go ! I know thee, who thou
art
One of the Furies and thou grapplest with me,
To whirl me into Tartarus. A vaunt!
Elect. What shall I do? Ah me! Where shall
I seek
Assistance, since the once friendly god frowns
on us?
Orest. Bring me the bow of horn which Phoebus
gave me,
And with it bade me drive these fiends away,
Should they affright 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 1 Ha, ha!
Here yet! On swift wings mount the a-thereal
air,
And there impeach the oracle of Phoebus
Whence this disquiet? Why thus pants my
breath?
Ah, whither have I wandered from my bed?
18
while Why dost thou weep, my sister? Why decline
Thy drooping head and 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 thus infectious to thee ;
Thou barely didst assent; I did the deed;
I shed her blood. But Phcebus I must name
Who urged me to this most unholy act ;
Then, save with soothing words, assist me not.
Had these eyes seen my father, had I asked him
In duty 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 afflictions 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 repose, close thy long-sleepless eyes,
With food refresh thee and the enlivening 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 fix'd ;
And I will die with thee, or with thee live.
FRAGMENTS.
i.
THERE is a streamlet issuing from a rock.
The village-girls, singing wild madrigals,
Dip their white vestments in its waters clear,
And hang them to the sun. There first I saw her.
Her dark and eloquent eyes, mild, full of fire,
'Twas heaven to look upon ; and her sweet voice,
As tuneable as harp of many strings,
At once spoke joy and sadness to my soul !
u.
DEAR is that valley to the murmuring bees;
And all, who know it, come and come again.
The small birds build there ; and, at summer-
noon,
Oft have I heard a child, gay among flowers,
As in the shining grass she sate concealed,
Sing to herself
in.
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 juster in a state than this ?
MS
EMPEDOCLES.
[About 455 B. C.]
THIS celebrated philosopher and naturalist
was a native of Agrigentum. 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 two other 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
Mount YEtna.
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.' 5 The pun consists in the
derivation of the name "Pausanias" drto tov rtavstv
rajavt'as, only a portion of which double meaning,
however, has been preserved in the translation.
EPITAPH ON A PHYSICIAN.
so named without a cause,
As one who oft has given to pain a pause,
Blest son of ^Esculapius, 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.]
BACCHYLIDES 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 ! wouklst 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 pleasure.
Next, 'twill chase through empty air
All th' intolerant host of Care ;
Give thee conquest, riches, power 5
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.
FOB, 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 happy age apply
To graceful movements, sports, and minstrelsy.
Dark spiders weave their webs within the shield;
Rust eats the spear, the terror of the field,
And brazen trumpets now no more affright
The silent slumbers and repose of night.
Banquet, and song, and revel, fill the ways,
And youths and maidens sing their roundelays.
Another translation of the Same.
INNUMEHOUS are the l.oons 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 spider 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,
THE HUSBANDMAN'S OFFERING.
To Zephyr, kindest wind that swells the grain,
Eudemus consecrates this humble fane ;
For that he listen'd to his vow and bore
On his soft wings the rich autumnal store.
FRAGMENTS.
i.
PEACEFUL wealth, 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 mortal 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.
VIRTUE, placed on high, doth shine
With a glory all-divine;
Riches oft alike are shower'd
On the hero and the coward.
WISE-MEIT now, like those of old,
Can but tell what others told.
Full hard it is the hidden door
Of words unspoken to explore.
HEKE 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 Boeotian bowls.
EUENUS.
[About 450 B. C.]
THE poet, to whom the following epigrams
havi- been attributed, was a native of Paros, and
urislu'd in the Ixxxii Olympiad, or about
450 B. C. There were other and subsequent
writers, however, of the same name, (one of
them living in the cxxxviii Olympiad, or 228
B. C.,) to whom some of them may possibly
belong.
140
ARIPHRON.
THE SWALLOW AND THE GRASSHOPPER.
ATTIC Maiden, breathing still
Of the fragrant flowers that blow
On Hymettus' purpled hill,
Whence the streams of honey flow,
Wherefore thus a captive bear
To your nest a grasshopper ?
Noisy prattler, cease to do
To your fellow-prattler wrong ;
Kind should not its kind pursue,
Least of all the heirs of song.
Prattler, seek some other food
For your noisy, prattling brood.
Both are ever on the wing,
Wanderers both in foreign bowers,
Both succeed the parting spring,
Both depart with summer hours,
Those who love the minstrel lay,
Should 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 1 ?
'Tis not fair, indeed 'tis wrong.
That the ceaseless songster should
Die by mouth of ceaseless song"?
THE VINE AND THE GOAT.
THOUGH thou shouldst gnaw me to the root,
Destructive goat ! Enough of fruit
I bear, betwixt thy horns to shed,
When to the altar thou art led.
CONTRADICTION.
IK 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 I say, 'tis white
And so, good sir, you're answered quite."
Far different is the aspect seen
Of modest Wisdom's quiet 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, " among the fragments
of the Greek poets, a short hymn to Health, in which her
power of exalting the happiness of life, of heightening
the gifts of fortune, and adding enjoyment to possession,
is inculcated with so much truth and beauty, that no one
who has ever languished under the discomforts and in-
firmities of a lingering disease, can read it without feel-
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.
ing the images dance in his heart, and adding from his
own experience, new vigour to the wish and new colours
to the picture. The particular occasion of this little com-
position is not known, but it is probable that the author
had been sick, and, in the first raptures of returning
vigour, thus addressed the goddess."
EUPOLIS.
[About 446 B. C.]
Bony at Athens, in \vliich city, according to
Suidas, he exhibited his first comedy at the early
age of seventeen. The titles of twenty-four of
his plays have been preserved. They are said
to have been very personal and scurrilous, and,
for the most part, written in caricature or abuse
of some obnoxious individuals. Amongst many
others was Cimon, whom he assails both in his
public and his private character, being animated
thereto chiefly by the supposed partiality of that
statesman for Sparta, and his efforts to counteract
the democratical principles at work in the Athe-
nian constitution. Eupolis, however, was a warm
admirer of Pericles, to whose patronage and
favour he i* 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
i 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, when I walk forth
To sun myself upon the public square:
There, if perchance I spy some rich dull knave,
Straight I accost 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, mfen, whose
merits
Gave them consideration in the state,
Held the first offices : to such we bowed
As to the gods and gods indeed they were
For under their wise counsels we enjoyed
Security and peace. But now, alas !
We have no other guide in our elections
Save chance, blind chance, and on whatever
head
It falls, though worst and meanest of mankind
Up starts he a great man, and is at once
Installed prime Rogue and Minister of State.
SIMM1AS OF THEBES.
[About 440 B. C.]
A disciple of Socrates, and the author of several philosophical works, now lost.
ON SOPHOCLES.
Wixn, gentle evergreen, to form a shade
Around the tomb where Sophocles is hiid.
Sw-.'rt ivy. liMid thine aid, and intertwine
With blushing roses and the clustering vine:
Thus shall your lifting leaves with beauties hung,
Prove grateful emblems of the lays he sung.
141
PHERECRATES.
[About 430 B. C.]
PHERECRATES was a comic poet of Athens,
and the inventor of a species of verse, called
from him the Pherecratic Metre. He is said to
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 mourn the body's loss of strength.
Resign'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 ONE OF HIS COMEDIES, ENTITLED
"THE MINERS."
Ji. THE days of Plutus 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 dumplings, cut in sops
And slippery gobbets, moulded into mouthfuls,
That dead men might have swallowed ; floating
tripes,
And fleets of sausages in luscious morsels,
Stuck to the banks like oysters : Here and there,
For relishers, a salt-fish seasoned high,
Swam 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.
have been the author of seventeen comedies, all
of which, with the exception of a few fragments,
are lost.
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.
A. 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,
The 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
Overflow 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 the old poets of comedy. Little, however, is known either of him or of his works.
A, FRAGMENT.
THE TRULY BRAVE.
BECAUSE I hold the laws in due respect,
And fear to be unjust, am I a coward 1
Meek let me be to all the friends of Truth,
And only terrible amongst its foes.
142
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 !
And let man's breath thither return in peace
From whence it came ; his spirit to the skies,
His body to the clay of whic'a '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 human wrongs,
Nor joys nor sorrows touch the mouldering
heart,
As well may you give feelings to the tomb,
As what it covers both 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 holds 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
probably this fragment, preserved by Stobaeus, may refer
to the exile of that great man, when a suppliant at the
court of Admetus.
PLATO, THE PHILOSOPHER.
[Bora 429 Died 347, B. C.]
BT long descent an Athenian, but born in he abandoned, on becoming acquainted with
the island of JEgina, where his father had Socrates, for the severer studies of philoso-
taken up his residence after its subjection phy, and not only abandoned for himself, but
to Athens. The favourite employment of his afterwards proscribed to others in his ideal
earlier years was poetry, which, however, . republic.
A LOVER'S WISH.
WIIT dost thou gaze upon the sky?
Oh, that I were yon spangled sphere!
And every star should be 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 prepar'd
To soar away.
THE ANSWER OF THE MUSES TO VENUS.
WHEX 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.' 5
The Same, paraphrased and enlarged.
THUS to the Muses spoke the Cyprian dame:
" Adore my altars and revere my name ;
My son shall else assume his potent darts :
Twang goes the bow; my girls, have at your
hearts !"
143
144
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 dance 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 he finds us studying hard, he flies."
ON A SLEEPING CUPID.
I PIERCED the grove, and, in its deepest gloom,
Beheld sweet Love, of heavenly form and bloom ;
Nor bow nor quiver at his back were hung,
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,
AND A CUPID SLEEPING BT A FOUNTAIN SIDE.
FROM mortal hands my being I derive;
Mute marble once, from man I learn'd to live.
A Satyr now, with Nymphs I hold resort,
And guard the watery grottos where they sport.
In purple wine refused 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 dulcet 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 stol'n 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 guided 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 thirst,
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
The longed-for draught from the sweet cooling
spring.
PLATO, THE COMIC POET.
[About 428 B. C.]
HONOURABLE mention has been made of Plato I numerous comedies and other works, only a few
by Athenueus, Suidas, and other writers, but of his | fragments and two epigrams are now remaining.
FRAGMENT
OF A DIALOGUE BETWEEN A FATHER A?*D A SOPH-
IST U^DER WHOSE TUITION HE HAD PLACED
HIS SOX.
Fath. Thou hast destroyed the morals of my
son,
Unholy pedagogue ! and turned to vice
His mind not so disposed. With morning drams
A filthy practice, which he caught from thee,
And all-unlike his former life, he saps
His youthful vigour. Is it thus you school him 1
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 flushed 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 summum bomim
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.
" Ho A there ! Who art thou ? Answer me art
dumb ?"
" Warm from the hand of Diedalus I come ;
My name. Mercurius, and, as you may prove,
A statue ; but his statues speak and move.
ON THE TOMB OF THEMISTOCLES.
BY 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 ft 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
Borne pieces of poetry and poetical criticism quoted by
Athenteus and others, and placed by Mr. Fynes Clinton
at 154 B. C. But Ac evidently was not the author, for the
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, Harmo-
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
whole company joining inchorus. Bishop Lowth,
in his Sacred Poesy of the Hebrews, regrets
that the Romans had no such hymns. " Quod
si post Idus illas martias 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
dominatione Cu /uskoj, quam Ciceronis Philip-
"
HYMN
N HONOUR OF HARMODIUS AND ARISTOGEITON.
IN myrtle my sword will I wreathe,
Like our patriots the noble and brave,
Who devoted the tyrant to death,
And to Athens equality'gave.
Loved Harmoclius, 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 they 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.
Another translation of the Same.
WREATHED with myrtle be my glaive,
Wreathed like yours, stout hearts ! when ye
Death to the usurper gave,
And to Athens liberty.
Dearest youths ! ye are not dead,
But, in islands of the blest,
With 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 ambiguous morality is forgiven for its signal public
benefits. Something of greatness and true splendour
there must have been about a deed of which the memory
was cherished as an heir-loom 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. Review,
No. cxii.
ARISTOPHANES.
[About 420 B. C.]
THOUGH 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 family or of his 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 spring, The Acharnians," to the
latter of which was awarded the first prize, Cra-
tinus and Eupolis bearing off the second and
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
Cratinus and Aristomenes. These were followed
by "The Clouds," (423 B. C.,) ridiculing the me-
taphysics of the Sophists by " The Wasps," (422
B. C.,) exposing the mania of the Athenians for
quarrels and law suits, by " Peace," (419 B. C., )
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 Alcibiatles, and parody-
ing and ridiculing the Euripidean Trilogy which
had appeared the year before by the " Lysis-
tram?" and " Thesmophoriazusce," (411 B. C.,) the |
former in recommendation of peace, and the
Inner 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," (408 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
u Ecclesiazusae, (392 B. C.,) a satire on the ideal
FROM THE KNIGHTS;
OH, THE DEMAGOGUES.
[Acted B. C. 424.]
THE professed object of this singular compo-
sition is the overthrow of that powerful dema-
gogue, Cleon, whom the author, in his Achar-
nians, had foretold his i.itention, 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,
vi/. 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 personification 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 <>n r prodigious man!
Suuaaxr. Go to. thou canting varlet. am not I
ii.-age-vender ? How shall greatness ever
it on a man of my proie>>iou ?
Demos. Tut !
It is the very source of greatness -. an.-wer
Art not a knave '. Art not of the forum ? Hast
* The.re appears to h-ive hcen a piece of
among tin- lo\vi:r orders of Athens, xvliii h consisted in
kinsina the spot of p round on which tin y s-tood, when
any piece of good luck happened to them.
t The hill on which tli>- iM-neral ;is>t- mblies were held,
and the pari>h of the allegorical Drums.
J All thesi: isles, ciu>-s. ke., pointed out by Demos-
thenes, were tributary to Athens.
$ ' he asora or forum 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?
Sausage. I cannot iind in me that worthiness
And seal of future power you vaunt so mightily.
Demos. Anan ! why sure thou hast some
squeamishness
Of honesty about thee ! 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 fathers 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 ami 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 thee.
The tanner-eagle is the Paphlagonian.
S-n>.t(i runs the prophecy,
Miall beat the tanner-eagle; take he heed
Meantime, that no lal.-e speeches co/en him.
Summer. The light is broke upon me, and I see
A call from heaven in this: I marvel most
How I shall do to rule the populace"?
Demos. Nought easier: model you upon your
trade
Liquid used 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 Diffidence 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 Coalernus,* and bear your manhood
Entire against him.
Sausage. But what aidance may I
Expect 1 ? 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,
Thou'lt lack no aid which heaven and I can give.
But see thou show no fear.
SCENE IV.
NICIAS, DEMOSTHENES, CLEON, SAUSAGE-SELLER,
and CHORUS.
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, troops 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 cunning, who with
him in these compete'?
He can cheat, and eke repeat twenty times his
felon feat,
All before yon blessed sun 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 Helicta, (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 1
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
him on the hip.
Cleon. [fawning.^ 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
tern pest-rent?
Ch. Fawning 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 thee :
And the course which first exalted, knave, that
same shall now undo thee.
Cleon. (to the audience.) Town 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.
Cleon. (to the audience.] Allegation, affirmation,
I am here prepared to make,
That this man (pointing to Sausage-seller) shipp'd
spars, and sausages, arid 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 guest most hurgry sees in this
man (pointing 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 flesh, and bread most fragrant, he
makes there unlawful prize;
Pericles, in all his grandeur, ne'er was gifted in
such gnisc.
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 witJuwt winking.}
Where suppose ye I was bred ?
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 ki ave at second hand.
But to the hall* anon I go;
Incontinent our chairmen know
You've inte-iines 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,
entrated 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' as-embly, black war
And defiance it rolls,
It speaks to our curs
In an accent of thunder,
It c imbs to the spl,
And rives h-aven asunder.
The storm is kept up so loudly and incessant-
ly, that Cleon is fain to throw himself upon the
senate, and chalUv ges his rival to meet him at
that awful bar. His antagonist professes his
willingness to do so: and tlie Choru. eon>ider-
ing him as one of the combatants who were
going to exhibit in the wrestling school, anoint
* The Prytaneum.
his body with the fat of his own sausages, that
he "may slip from his adversary's calumnies;"
they feed him like a fighting cock with pungent
garlic ; they remind him (in allusion to the com-
bats of the same bird,) to peck at his adversary,
to tread him 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 the Palais Royal of Paris, or
the Piazza di Marco at Venice.
PAUABASIS.*
WEHE 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 tempest combining.
Marvel much we hear l>as 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 hitherto came not forward as
was due,
Their own proper Choregus 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 r but lione>ty ami justice.
Streps. Ah ! would to heav'n some friendly soul
would help me
* This Amynias seems to have had his full share of
abuse from the comic poets of lus time : Kupolis, Crate-:.
and our author, in various parts, bestow it very plenti-
fully.
To a fine project how to cheat the bugs
With a sleek lambskin. (d long pause.)
Soc. Whereabouts, I trow,
Sits the wind now? What ails you? are you
dozing?
Streps. Not I, by heaven !
Soc. Can you start nothing yet?
Streps. Nothing, so help me.
Soc. Will your head breed no project,
Tho* nurs'd so daintily ?
Streps. What should it breed ?
Tell, me, sweet Socrates ; give me some hint.
Soc. Say first what 'tis you wish.
Streps. A thousand times,
Ten thousand times I've said it o ; er and o'er
My creditors, my creditors 'Tis them
I would 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 attending to what 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 n.ade 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;
* Socrates'* instructions for soliciting the inspiration
of some sudden thought, are, a banter upon the pretended
visions arid communications with demons of the sophists
1 and philosopher-; tricks brought by them out of Egypt
and th East, which served to impose upon the credulous
and vuljrar.
t Mr. Cumberland says, that in this project for arrest-
{ ing the moon, the poet seems 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 fly.
Streps. I've hit the nail
That does the deed, and so you will confess.
Soc. Out with it !
Streps. Good chance but you have noted
A pretty toy, a trinket in the shops,
Which being rightly held produceth fire
From things combustible
Soc. A burning-glass,
Vulgarly call'd
Streps. You are right ; 'tis so.
Soc. Proceed !
Streps. Put the case now your whoreson bailiff
comes,
Show me his writ* I, standing thus, d'ye mark
me,
In the sun's stream, measuring my distance, guide
My focus to a point upon his writ,
And off 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. Suppose 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 offends 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 your's, 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 him hither.
Streps. My son is well endow'd with nature's
gifts,
But obstinately bent against instruction.
Ch. And do you suffer 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 he kicks,
Befall what may, nothing shall hinder rne
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.
STIIEPSIADES, (coming out of his house to his son,
who stands at the door,) PHEIDIPPIDES.
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 Chcprephon, 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 overflow'd them ?
Streps. Keep a good tongue ;
Take heed you slander not such worthy men,
So wise withal and learned, men so pure
And cleanly in their morals, that no razor
Ever profan'd their beards ; their unwash'd hides
Ne'er dabbled in a bath, nor waited 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.
167
Phei. What can I learn or profit from such
teachers ?
Streps. Thou canst learn every thing that turns
to profit;
But first and foremost thou canst learn to know
Thyself how totally unlearn'il thou art;
How mere a hlockhead, arid how dull of brain
But wait awhile with patience
[Enters the house hastily.
Phei. Woe is me !
How shall I deal 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, with 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 lien-chick severally.
Phei. Ridiculous! Is this the grand discovery
You have just borrow'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 it comes in.
Phei. Yes, and methinks
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 Xo\v no more ;
Do as thou wilt, so thou will but conform
And humour me this once, as in times past
I humour'd thee, and in thy playful age
Hrouirht 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 of SOCRATES.)
Phei. You'll repent,
My life upon 't; you will repent of this.
( Folhirintr reluctantly.)
Streps. No matter, so you'll humour me What,
hoa!
Why Soe rates. I say, come forth, behold,
Here is my son !
SCEXE V.
brought him, though in faith
Sorely against the grain.
* The reader's mind, I think, will often recur in this
play to Moliere's M. Jourdam.
Enter SOCRATES.
Soc. Aye, he's a novice,
And knows not where the panniers* hang as yet.
Phei. I would you'd hang yourself there in
their stead.
Streps. Oil monstrous impudence ! this to your
master !
Soc. Mark how the idiot quibbles upon hanging,
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 housef 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*
Enter DICJEOLOGOS and AmcasoLooos.
Die. Come forth ; turn out, thou bold audacious
man,
And face this company.
Adic. 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 ?
Adic. Fashion itself the very style of the
times.
Die. Aye, of the modern times, and them and
you
I set at naught.
A die. I shall bring down your pride.
Die. By what most witty weapon?
Adic. By the gift
Of a most apt invention.
Die. Then I see
You have your fools to back you.
Adic. No, the wise
Arc; those I deal with.
Die. I shall spoil your market.
Adic. As how, good sooth?
* Alluding to the panniers in which Socrates used to
meditate.
t Plato, in his system of education, strongly recom-
mends, that the pupil should be tau-.'ht to commence his
own course of instruction in this amusing manner. De
Ltz. 1. i. p. 572.
J A preparatory choral song, which preceded the en-
trance of the allegorical Aty**, is now irretrievably lost.
1G8
ARISTOPHANES.
Die. By speaking such plain truths
As may appeal to justice.
jldic. What is justice 1
There's no such thing I traverse your appeal.
Die. How ! No such thing as justice 1
Jldic. No; where is it?
Die. With the immortal gods.
Jldic. If it be there,
How chanc'd it Jupiter himself escap'd
From his unnatural deeds to his own father ?
Die. For shame, irreverent wretch, thus do you
talk?
I sicken at impiety so gross,
My stomach kicks against it.
Jldic. You are craz'd ;
Your wits, old gentleman, are off the hinges.
Die. You are a vile blasphemer and builbon.
Jldic. Go on ! you pelt me but it is with roses,
Die. A scoffer !
Jldic. Every word your malice vents
Weaves a fresh wreath of triumph for my brows.
Die. A parricide !
Jldic. Proceed, and spare me not
You shower down gold upon me.
Die. Lead, not gold,
Had been your retribution in times past.
Jldic. Aye, but times present cover me with
glory.
Die. You are too wicked.
Jldic. 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.
Jldic. 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
With beggar's wallet cramm'd with hungry
scraps,
Choice gather'd from Pandeletus' larder.
JLdic. 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.
JLdic. 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.
Jldic. 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 offers fairest, and make choice between you.
Die. I close with the proposal.
Jldic. 'Tis agreed.
Ch. But which of you shall open ?
Jldic. 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. u 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 zealous praise,
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 buffoon intrude bis 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 offending ;
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 proscribed;
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.
Jldic. 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 the heroes, that im-
bru'd
The field of Marathon with hostile blood ;
This discipline it was that braced their 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 forum, slum the bath,
And turn with 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 commands, nor taunting vent
Irreverent mockery on his hoary head,
Crying "Behold lapetus* himself'/'
Poor thanks for all this fond parental care.
Jldic. 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 Hippocrates ;f 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 spread?,
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
Heroic stature and a temperate ton true :
But take these modern masters, and behold
These blessings ail revers'd : a pnUid cheek.
Shrunk shoulder-, dic-t contracted. >;iple-s limbs,
A tongue that never rest^. and mind (]'
By their vile sophistry perversely taught
To call good evil, evil good, and be
* lilpetus here stands for the ne plug ultra of antiquity.
^ The sons of Hippocrates (better known to the 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.
Ch. "Oh sage instructor, how sublime
These maxims of the former time !
How sweet this unpolluted stream
Of eloquence, how pure the theme !
Thrice happy 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 you start,
You take in hand no easy part ;
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."
Adic. 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 distinguished
From the old practice of the upper time,
By him personified; which name of honour
I gain'd as the projector of that 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 I'll baffle this old vaunting pedant
With his warm baths, that he forsooth 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
Effeminate and feeble.
Adic. Hold awhile
I have you on the hook. Answer me this
Of all the heroes Jupiter has fathered
Which is for strength, for courage, and a course
Of labours most renown'd 1
Die. I know of none
Superior in those qualities to Hercules.
Jldic. And who e'er heard Herculean bathsf
were cold 1
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 pahi-stra starves.
Adic. 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 fools?
They are my witnesses. Now for this tongue,
This member out of use by his decree,
* Antimachus, acrordine to the Scholiast, appears to
have been equally ronspi< nous for his beauty, his effemi-
nacy, and the utter corruption of his morals.
f Tepid baths, according to fabulous legends, being the
gift of Vulcan to Hercules, it became a fashion to term
all such baths Herculean.
170
ARISTOPHANES.
Not so by mine. His scholar must be silent
And chaste withal damping prescriptions both
For what good fortune ever did betide
The mute and modest? Instance me a case.
Die. Many chaste Peleus* so obtained his
sword.
Jldic. His sword ! and what did Peleus gain
by that 1 ?
Battle and blows this modest Peleus gain'd ;
Whilst mean Hyperbolas, whose wretched craft
Was Jamp-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.
Jldic. 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,
These are the fruits of continence : 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 convivial revels, where the glass
With peals of laughter circulates 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?
Jldic. What then ?
Where is the harm ?
Die. Can greater harm befall him ?
* Peleus, having withstood the solicitations of Atalante,
wife of Acastus, was rewarded for his continence by the
gods, with a sword of celestial temper, the workmanship
of Vulcan. But Atalante, having accused him to her
husband, and stimulated Acastus to revenge a supposed
attempt upon her honour, Peleus found himself driven to
declare war against him, and to this Adicaeologos alludes
in his retort upon Dicaeologos.
Jldic. What will you say if here I can confute
you?
Die. Nothing my silence shall confess your
triumph.
Jldic. Come on then answer me to what I ask.
Our advocates what are they ?
Die. Catamites.
Jldic. Our tragic poets what are they ?
Die. The same.
Jldic. Good, very good ! our demagogues
Die. No better.
Jldic. See there ! discern you not that you are
foil'd ?
Cast your eyes round this company !
Die. I do.
Jldic. 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.
Jldic. What say you then ?
Die. I say I am confuted
Here, wagtails, catch my cloak I'll be amongst
you.*
Soc. (to STREPSIADES, ^MSt 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.
Soc. Doubt not, we'll finish him to your con-
tent
A perfect sophist.
Phei. Perfect skin and bone
That I can well believe.
Soc. No more Away !
(STREPSIADES retires.)
Phei. Trust me you've made a rod for your
own back.
(Follows SOCRATES into the house.)
SCEXE VI.
STREPSIADES (with 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 by tlu
genius or representative of things on their right side.
ARISTOPHANES.
171
" Ah, my good sir, this payment comes upon me
At a bad time, excuse me That bill's due,
But you'll extend your grace This you will
cancel,
And totally acquit me.'' By no means ;
All with one voice cry out, they will be paid,
And I must be be-knav ; d into the bargain,
Ar.d threaten'd with a writ to mend the matter
Well, let it come ! They may ev'n do their
worst ;
I care not so my son hath learnt the trick
Of this new rhetoric, as will appear
When I have beat this door (knocks at the door*)
Boy, boy ! come for'.h.
(SociiATES comes forth.)
Soc. Hail to Strepsiades !
Streps, Thrice hail to Socrates !
But firrit 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 ?
Soc. He apprehends acutely.
Streps. Oh brave news!
Oli the transcendent excellence of fraud !
Soc. Yes, you may set your creditors at
naught
Streps. And their avouchers too?
Soc. Had they a thousand.
Streps, (singing and dancing.} Then I'll sing out
my 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 iear you not ; ye cannot hook me now.
Oh ! such a son have I in training for you,
Ai m'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
Ol' a most wretched father.
CHORUS.
" Mark here, how rarely it succeeds
To build our trust on guilty deeds :
Mark how this old cajoling elf,
Who sets a trap to catch himself,
Falsely believes he has found the way
To hold his creditors at b;iy.
Too late he'll curse the Sophists' school,
That tauglit his son to cheat by rule,
And train'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
You'll wish that son of your's were
dumb."
SCENE VIII.
STREPSIADES (rushing out of the house, in great
confusion, followed by his son) PHEIDIPPIDES,
CHORUS.
Streps. Hoa there ! What hoa ! for pity's sake
some help !
Friends, kinsmen, countrymen ! turn out and help !
Oh! my poor head, my cheeks are bruis'd to
jelly-
Help by all means ! Why, thou ungracious cub,
Thy father wouldst thou beat?
Phei. Assuredly.
Streps. There, there! he owns that he would
beat his father.
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 the 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 put you in the way to beat me,
(Which is a thing unnatural and profane)
And after justify it.*
Phei. That I'll do
By process clear and categorical,
That you shall fairly own yourself a convert
To a most wholesome cudgelling.
Streps. 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 lie could not be thus confident
Without some cause ; something 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 incident more pointed-
ly severe than this, which the poet has employed for in-
teresting the spectators in his attack upon the sophists.
A son exhibited in the impious act of striking his father,
and justifying the crime upon principle, 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 you 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 j"
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?
Streps. These were his very words, and more
than these j
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 ^Escliylus, withal
Tendering a myrtle wreath, as custom is
To grace the recitation He forsooth,
Flouting my tender, instantly replied
"I hold your JEschylus, of all our poets,
First of the spouters, incoherent, harsh,
Precipitous and turgid." Oh my friends,
Was 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, would 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 arid daughter of the same sad mother.t
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,
Words begat words, and blows 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 be found in Hesychius and Athenaeus. One of the
simplest is preserved in .Elian, lib. vii. c. 4. It bore the
name of Pittacus, one of the seven wise men of Greece,
and king of Mitylene', who, according to Plutarch, took a
peculiar pleasure in grinding his own corn arid 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;
Pittstcus turns a mill as we all find.
Grind, grind, good my mill, grind,
This miller-king, oh he's the man to my mind.
t The story of Macareus the son of JEolus, and h
uterine sister Canace.
Struck, buffeted, 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
Caress'd 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 question 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 in 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 rny 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 the cause of youth, as he of age,
And publish 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?
Methinks there 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 there's more to come
Strrps. Then I am lost,
For I can bear no more.
Phei. Oh fear it not,
R \ther 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 know,
Henceforth I'm resolv'd to beat my mother
As I have beaten you.
Streps. How say you ? 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 have 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, Clouds!
In you confiding, all these woes fall on me.
Ch. Evil events from evi! causes spring,
And what you suffer flows from what you've
done.
Streps. Why was I not furewarn'd ? You saw
me old,
And practis'd on my weak simplicity.
Ch. 'Tis not for us to warn a wilful sinner;
We stay him not, but let him run his course,
Till by misfortunes rous'd, his conscience wakes.
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 hands with me, and let us forth together
To wreak our vengeance on those base deceivers,
That Chaerephon 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.
Streps. 'Tis false ; no Vortex reigns but in my
brain.
Phei. Laugh at your own dull joke and be a
fool! [Exit.
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 council 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 infitmo to the Clouds.
Hoa, Xanthias, (railing 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 whole hive beneath the ruins.
(Xanlhias mounts the roof and begins working
with his mattock.)
Haste ! if you love me, haste ! Oh, for a torch,
A blazing torch new lighted, to set 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.
(One of the scholars comes out.)
1st Dis. Woe! mischief! misery!
Streps, (mounts the roof and fixes a torch to the
joists.) Torch, play your part :
And we shall muster up a conflagration.
1st 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.
2rf Dis. Undone and ruin'd !
Streps. Heartily I wish it
And mean you should so be, if this same mattock
174
ARISTOPHANES.
Does not deceive my hope, and I escape
With a whole neck.
(SOCRATES comes forth.}
Soc. Hoa there! What man is that?
You there upon the roof wjiat are you doing 1 ?
Streps. Treading on air contemplating the sun
Soc. Ah me ! I'm suffocated, smother d, lost
appears.)
Cha. Wretch that I am, I'm melted, scorch'd,
consumed !
Streps. Blasphemers, why did you insult the
gods?
Dash, drive, demolish them ! Their crimes are
many,
But their contemptuous treatment of the gods,
Their impious blasphemies, exceed them all.
Ch. Break up ! The Chorus have fulfill'd their
part.
FROM PEACE.
[Acted B. C. 419.]
TRYG^EUS.
EVER lovely, ever dear,
How may I salute thine ear !
what size of words may tell
Half 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.
CHORUS.
Pipe and lute 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.
TRYGJEUS, (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 ?
CHORUS.
she's joy and recreation,
Vintage in full operation,
Vat and cask in requisition,
Strainer making inquisition
For the new-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. 414.]
"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
main 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, arid 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 species 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,
Cloudcuckootown (Ntfy&oxoxxvyia) 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-tale-like" con-
tinues 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. Frere,
" the merits are well known ; and perhaps no
passage of Aristophanes has been oftener quoted
with admiration. To bring the most subjects
within the verge of comedy, and to treat of them
with humour and fancy, without falling into
vulgarity or offending the principles of good taste,
* In this play, (according to some commentators,) the
Athenians are represented as a set of gaping, foolish
birds, persuaded by the promises of designing dema-
gogues to set up a city in the clouds, and declare war
against the gods, the whole terminaiing, as might be ex-
pected, in the chief adventurer 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 Alcibiades. See Donaldson's Theatre of the
Greeks, p. 113.
ARISTOPHANES.
175
seems a task which no poet whom we know of
could have accomplished ; though, if we were
possessed of the works of Epieharmus, it is pos-
sible that we might see other specimens of the
same style/'
Yr, 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 merciful eye,
Your struggles of misery, labour and care.
Whence you may learn, and clearly discern
Such truths as attract your inquisitive 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 meteors on high,
And stars in the sky. We propose by and by,
(If you'll listen and hear) to make it all clear,
And Prodicus henceforth shall pass for a dunce,
When his doubts are explained and expounded
at once.
Before the creation of J\her and Light,
Chaos and Night together were plight,
In the dungeon of Erebus foully bedight ;
Nor Ocean, or Air, or Substance was there,
Or Solid or Rare, or Figure or Form,
Bnt horrible Tartarus ruled in the storm.
At length, in the dreary chaotical closet
Of Erebus old, was a privy deposit,
it 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
Tc 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 <1 \vellers on earth,
More tamely combin'd, of a temperate kind,
When chaotical mixture appmach'd to a fixture.
Our antiquity prov'd; it remains in be shown;
Tl at Love is our author and master alone;
Lice him wo can ramble, and gambol, and fly
O'or ocean an:l earth, and aloft to the sky:
And all the world over we're friends to the
lover,
And when other means fail, we are found to
prevail,
Wden a peacock or pheasant is sent for a pre-
sent.
The City of the Clouds.
Enter a MESSENGER out of breath, and speaking in
short snatches.
Mess. Where is he? where? where is he?
where? where is he?
The president Peisthetaerus ?
Pcis. (coolly.) Here am I.
Mess. Your fortification's finish'd.
Peis. Well! That's well.
Mess. A most amazing, astonishing work it is !
So that Theagines and Proxenides
Might flourish, and gasconade, arid prance away,
Quite at their ease, both of them four in hand,
Driving abreast upon the breadth of the wail,
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 efforts,
(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 a fidget.} But who serv'd the masons?
Whom did you get to carry it ?
Mess. To carry it?
Of course, the carrion-crows and carrier-pigeons.
FROM THE FROGS.
[Acted 412 B. C.]
THIS play treats of the decline of the tragic
art. Euripides was dead, so were Sophocles and
Agathon ; and none but second-rate tragedians
remained. Bacchus, missing Euripides, goes,
disguised as Hercules, to fetch him back from
the infernal world. He and Xanthias row them-
selves across the Acherusian lake, where they
are greeted by the frogs with their melodious
croak. In the meantime a contest having arose
between ^Eschylus and Knripides 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
him specimens of their art. They sing, they de-
claim against each other, in verses characteristic
of the peculiar style of each. At length Bacchus
becomes a convert to ^Eschylus, who returns
176
ARISTOPHANES.
with him to the living world, leaving the tragic
throne of the lower one to be occupied by So-
phocles.
SCENE. The Jlcherusian Lake.
BACCHUS and XANTKIAS in Charon's boat CHO-
RUS OF FROGS.
Frogs. Breke-kesh, breke-kesh,
Kooash, kooash.
Sac. 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 5
Chaunting in the leafy bowers
All the livelong summer hours,
Till the sudden gusty showers
Send us headlong, belter skelter,
To the pool, to seek for shelter ;
Meagre, eager, leaping, 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.
Sac. I forbid you to proceed.
Frogs. That would be severe indeed,
Arbitrary, bold, and rash,
Brekeke-kesh, koash, koash.
Sac. 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.
Sac. 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.
Sac. 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.
Sac. I'll disperse you with a splash.
Frogs. Brekeke-kesh, koash, koash.
Sac. I'll subdue
Your rebellious noisy crew.
Have amongst you there, slap-dash.
Frogs. Brekeke-kesh, koash, koash,
We defy your oar arid you.
*#*,,#_##
SCEKE. The shore of Hades.
BACCHUS, XANTHIAS, and CHORUS OF THE Iir-
ITIATED.
Sac. (to 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.
Sac. 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 rite
Of the joyous happy night.
SEMICHORUS.
Let us 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, sorrowless, secure,
Since our earthly course is run
We behold a brighter sun,
Holy lives a holy vow
Such rewards await us now.
FROM THE PARABASIS OF TUE 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 traffic of the city passes current in
their place !
JLnd the men that stood for office^ noted for acknow-
ledg'd worth,
And for manly deeds of honour, and for honour-
able birth,
ARISTOPHANES.
177
Trained in exercise and art, in sacred dances and
in song,
All are ousted and supplanted by a base, ignoble
throng,
Paltry stamp and vulgar mettle raise them 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.
CflORAL PRELUDE TO THE CONTEST BETWEEN 1RS-
CHTLUS AND EURIPIDES FOR THE THRONE OF
TRAGEDY.
The full-mouth'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 whirl'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 important choice ;
A vast expenditure of human voice.
I
PLUTUS, THE GOD OF RICHES.
[Acted B. 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-
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." ADDISON, Spec. No. 464.
DRAMATIS PERSONJE.
CHREMYLUS. A GOOD MAN.
CARION, his Slave. AN INFORMER.
PLUTUS. AN OLD WOMAN.
CHORUS OF HUSBANDMEN. A YOUTH.
BLEPSIDEMUS. HERMES.
POVERTY. PRIEST OF JOYE.
THE WIFE OF CHREMYLUS.
SCENE Athens and the Neighbourhood.
A Street in Athens.
CHREMYLUS and CARION folloiving PLUTUS,
who is blind.
Cation. 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 boh !
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 doff 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. I'll take thy word fort.
Chrem. So to the god I went a-questioning,
Not for my miserable self I thought
* The insignia of a sacro-sanct
from the oracle.
nger returning
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
vileness,
Since such, methought, was now the road to
riches.
Car. And what did Phoebus from his chaplets
bounce ?
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 numskull ! what ! thou
apprehend'st not
His godship's meaning ! Why, he tells thee plainly,
Young Hopeful must adopt our country's fashions.
Chrem. How dost thou so conclude 1
Car. Conclude ! Why, Phosbus,
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.
Plut. 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 gentleman's address delight th
To me make known
Plut. Go hang thyself for company !
Car. There, sir, take man and omen too, and
welcome !
Chrem. How now ?
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. Off!
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 him
Despatch!
Plut. 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.
Plut. First, then, unhand me.
Chrem. See ! thou art unhanded.
Plut. Now, ope your ears and hear! For, will
I nill I,
Declare I must, it seems, what I was minded
To hide for aye. I am yes I am PLUTUS.
Chrem. Plutus villain! Plutus, and con-
ceal it!
Car. You Plutus! you! in such a beggar's
pickle !
Chrem. O Phoebus ! Apollo ! Gods and de-
mons !
Jove ! What say'st thou 1 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 but let them only once
Lay hold on me and fill their money-bags,
They change their note, and beat the world for
villany.
Chrem. 'Tis true too true yet all are not so
graceless.
Plut. Not all but one and all.
Car. The saucy varlet!
* A rich niggard who adopted Spartan manners.
ARISTOPHANES.
179
Chrem. 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
me,
To make thee rid of this infirmity,
And give thee back thine eye-sight.
Plut. Pray, excuse me ;
Not for the world.
Chrem. How's that?
Car. By very nature
This fellow was just made for kicks and cuffs!
Plut. Jove well I know did he but hear
their madness,
Would grind me into powder.
Chrem. What does he now,
That lets thee grope and stumble up and down?
Flut. 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 moment's space thine eyes again?
Plut. A vaunt, blasphemer, rave not thus !
Chrem. Be easy!
[ will demonstrate thee more mighty far
Flian Jove.
Plut. Me thou demonstrate !
Chrem. Yes, by heavens !
For, look you now, through whom hath Jove the
crown ?
Car. Through money 5 'cause his purse is
longest.
Chrem. Well : '
An 1 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 ?
Chrem. 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?
Hew will they buy. forsooth, if you're not there
To tell the money down? So, were Jove restive,
His power youM >i>on extinguish single-handed.
Plut. Say'st thou through me they worship
him?
Chrem. Through THEE :
And, by Jove's self, if auirht of bright or fair
Or lovely bless mankind, through thee 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 riches.
Chrem. Then there's the dames of Corinth, as
they
If a poor suitor try to tempt them
They turn him a deaf ear 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 ! 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 down
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 ?
Is't not through him Agyrrhius vents his wind,
Philepsius 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 thee, 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 things 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 rich Timotheus had built himself a splendid
castle. But Carion is interrupted when about to say so.
180
ARISTOPHANES.
Car. Pease-porridge.
Chrem. But thee! No mortal e'er was sated
of thee.
Say he has thirteen 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.
Plut. Ye talk it well at least, methinks ;
One thing yet gives me pause.
Chrem. Announce it.
Plut. How
Of all this power ye say I have, I e'er
Shall lord and master be ?
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
Phoebus jfave
While Delphian laurels shook to hear him.
Plut. Phcebus !
Thou canst not mean that Phcebus knows it?
Chrem. Yea.
Plut. Beware!
Chrem. Waste thou no thought upon it, friend !
For I, be certain sure, although I die for't,
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! [Exit 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. \Exeunt.
The Open Country.
CAUIOIT, CHORUS OF HUSBANDMEN.
Car. 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'd j
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 news it itches :
Our neighbour theri'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,
must rotten be and baseless?
Ck. curse the knave, how sour and grave !
but hark, thy shins are bawling
Halloo, halloo! and stocks and chains
is that for which they'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. 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 ?
Car. An if ye please, to Midases:
if asses' ears content ye.
Ch. How glad I am, and mad I am,
and keen I am for dancing it!
Such news as this, if true it is,
will set our feet a-prancing it.
Car. Then on, my boys, I'll share your joys
sing derry, hey down derry
W ith 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, !
Before the house of CHREMTLUS.
CHUEMYLUS, CHORUS.
Chrem. See then ye still stand by me : show
yourselves
True patrons and preservers of the god.
Ck. l-Yrir not : I'll wear
Such looks thou'lt think a very M;irs beside thee.
Twere strange were we, who for three obols
push
And jostle i' th' assembly were we to let
The actual MoxKY-fjnn 1),- wrested from us!
Chrem. Tis he I'll swear to it 'tis Blepsi-
demus
That comes towards us. Ay, lie has got some wind
Of our affair, his pace bewrays it.
*The judges, or jurymen (dieafts.) at Athens-,
listrihuted among the several courts by lot, and received
a staff as the token of their office.
t So was named a dance which set forth the love of
Polyphemus for the sea-nymph (ialatea. Our " derry,
hey down derry," is substituted for the similar "threUa-
nello" of the original.
Enter BLEPSIDEMUS (soliloquizing.)
Bleps. Did they say Chremylus !
How can it be whence by what contrivance-
Has he grown rich at once ? I'll not believe 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 is't true? Art really, truly
rich?
Chrem. Shall be, at least right suddenly God
willing,
There is there is some 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 from the sacred treasure
Which thou hast filch'd ; and perad venture now
Repenting
Chrem. Ph rebus shield me ! no, by Jupiter !
Bleps. No nonsense, friend ! I know the whole.
Chrem. Suspect not
Of me 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.
Elfps. How chang'd a man from all bis 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 fain wouldst be par-
taker?
Bleps. Partaker would I be ? Of what partaker ?
Chrem. It is not as thou deem'st, but
Bleps. What? Hast not filched but forced?
Chri-m. The devil's in thee.
Bleps. A breach of trust then ?
Chrem. No.
Wcj,s. Hercules !
Where must one turn one's self No truth from
thee !
182
ARISTOPHANES.
Chrem. You charge at random, ere you learn
my story.
Bkps. Come friend, I'm ready, for a very trifle
To compromise this case before 'tis public,
Stopping the pleaders' mouths with certain
pieces.
Chrem. Yes ! like a kind good friend you'll
undertake
To spend three minae and charge me a dozen.
Bleps. 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 Heraclidse drawn by Pamphilus.-f
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. The divine one.
Bleps. And where ?
Chrem. Here.
Bleps. Where ?
Chrem. With me.
Bleps. 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
Bkps. 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.
Bkps. Thou'rt right, i' faith.
* Here the tribunal of justice.
f A picture of Alcmena and the children of Hercules as
suppliants.
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 POVERTT.
Pov. STOP !
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 fbr'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 POVERTY.
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 POVERTY, 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 oom'st thou
Hither to rail, unwrong'd of us ?
Pov. Unwrong'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 back to Plutus ?
Chrem. Where's the wrong to thee,
If good we so achieve for all mankind 1
Pov. The good the mighty good that ye can
compass ?
Chrem. Imprimis, having thrust thee forth of
Greece-
Pay. ME forth of Greece ? And 0, what huger
mischief
Could your curst frenzy work the race of man ?
Chrem. Why, if we purpos'd so, and slept
upon it.
POP. 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 were
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 \vi>
there's none will say me nay
That virtue fair and honesty
should carry still the day,
And the rabble rout of godless men
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 ri:, r ht 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 riirhteous 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 ?
Bleps. There's none can do't, I'm witness to't,
a fig for her reply !
Chrem. For mark as now ihe 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 portion'd fair
His heritage anew ?
For who would then of mortal men
to handicrafts apply,
Or cumber mare 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 1 ?
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.
Pot?. And how obtain this servile train?
Chrem. For money.
Pov. Who will sell,
When rich himself with stores of pelf?
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 burthen 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 cunning loom
of thousand hues display ;
And where's the good of golden store,
if these be reft away ?
184
ARISTOPHANES.
But all ye want 'tis mine to grant
and lavish the supply
For mistress like I set me down
the base mechanic by,
And force for need and lack of bread
his daily task to try.
Chrem. What precious grant is thine to vaunt
but blisters on the skin
From bagnio fires,* arid starving brats,
and scolding grannums' din ?
And the swarm of lice, and gnats, and fleas
what lips can never sum,
That buzz about the tortur'd head
with sleep-dispelling hum,
While " up and work, or lie and starve"
they trumpet as they come ?
And rags for robes thou givest us ;
and for the bed of down
A lair of rushes stuffed with bugs,
to lie and wake upon;
For carpet gay, a rotten mat ;
for pillow under head,
A thumping stone to prop the crown ;
and mallow-shoots for bread,
O dainty treat ! for barley-brose,
the meagre cabbage leaves ;
And for a seat, a broken jar
our weary weight receives ;
For bolting-trough a barrel-side,
with cracks to make it fine,
How rich and rare these blessings are !
and all the merit thine !
Pov. Thou gib'st not me 'tis BEGGARY
thou pommellest with scorn.
Chrem. And deem'd we not thy sister come,
when beggary was born 1
Pov. Yes ye that Dionysius hold
of Thrasybulus strain : f
But sunder'd still our lots have been,
and sunder'd shall remain.
The beggar he as drawn by thee
that still on nothing lives ;
The poor man's share is frugal care,
and all that labour gives,
A modest store nor less nor more,
than reason's choice allowed.
Chrem. O rest his soul the happy dole
by Poverty avow'd I-
To pinch and grieve, and toil and leave
no money for a shroud.
Pov. With your jesting and your jeering,
and your fleering rail away
Nor dream I boast a nobler host
than Plutus can array !
Ay ! nobler far in mood and make :
the gouty go to him,
Huge tuns of men, with baggy guts,
and dropsy-swollen limb ;
To me the tight, the merry wasps,
the terrors of the foe.
* A common resort of the poor in cold weather. See
Defoe's Memoirs of Colonel Jack for a similar picture of
a beggar's life in London in the olden times.
t i. e. those who confound Dionysius the Tyrant with
Thrasybulus the Patriot.
Chrem. That wasp-like waist by famine brac'd,
thy nursing cares bestow !
Pov. And virtue meek and modesty
with me are fast allied,
While the lawless hand and the ruthless brand
are seen on Plutus' side.
Chrem. O modest trick ! a purse to pick,
or neighbour's house invade.
Bleps. Most modest sure ! for modest worth
has ever lov'd the shade.
Pov. Then mark your fiery orators,
the people's honest friends,
When poor they stand for their father-land,
and patriotic ends ;
But fatten'd once on civic jobs,
they plead another cause,
'Tis down with tumult-stirring mobs
and up with gagging laws f
Chrem. Thou hitt'st 'em fair, old beldame there
all venom as thou art
Yet plume not thou thyself, nor hope
unpunish'd to depart :
Fine lesson this thou teachest!
not money makes the man
But poverty thou preachest
Pov. Confute it, if you can !
In vain you flap and flutter *
Chrem. From you the hearer flees.
Pov. Because the words I utter
are virtue's homilies.
So see the son his father shun,
who counsels him to good ;
For late and slow by man below
the right is understood.
Chrem. Then Jove, it seems, unwisely deems
and foolish things commends,
For wealth besides himself he keeps
Eleps. And her to ITS he sends.
Pov. Dull-sighted pair, whose minds are blear
with film of other times,
Great Jove is poor and proof full sure
shall fortify my rhymes :
Behold when Greece together throngs
each fifth revolving year,
And in his own Olympic lists
the combatants appear,
A herald's breath an olive wreath
is all the victor's prize ;
Gold were the meed, had Jove indeed
a treasure in the skies.
Chrem. 'Tis thus he proves how dear his cash,
how close he keeps his gains,
He binds the victor's brow with trash,
the money he retains.
Pov. Thy ribald tongue the fouler wrong
than want upon him puts
That not for need but dirty greed
his money-bag he shuts.
Chrem. Jove strike thee down but first a crown
of olive-twigs bestow !
Pov. To dare disown from me alone
all earthly blessings flow !
Chrem. Of Hecate ask the question
let her decision tell,
* Like an unfledged bird unable to fly.
ARISTOPHANES.
185
If riches or if hunger
should bear away the bell.
To her, she says, the jolly rich
a monthly feast* afford,
But ere 'tis set the harpy poor
have swept it from the board.
But curse thee rot ! No more upbraid us
With groan or sigh ;
Persuasion's self shall not persuade us.
Pov. " Town of Argos, hear his cry ! f"
Chrem. On PausonJ call, thy messmate true!
Pov. Unhappy-happy me !
Chrem. Go feed the crows that wait for you!
Pov. Ah whither, whither flee?
Chrem. 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 ^Esculapius' 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 of CHREMTLUS.
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 tliou 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 off liy the poor.
t A line made up of words from Euripides. Argos was
poor. J A very poor painter.
$ 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 .^Esculapius, sons never fail thee ;
Star of the human race, loud will we hail
thee!
Enter WIFE OF CHREMTLUS.
Wjfe. 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 ; (Aside)
For all rich blessings in a lump I bring thee.
Wife. And where where are they?
Car. Soon in words thou'lt know them.
Wife. 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 be;
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 suitors to the god ?
Car. 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 lamps extinguishing,
And strictly charged " If any hear a noise,
Mute let him be" 1 ' we squatted round in order.
Well:
Sleep could I not, but me a certain pot
Of porridge hugely struck ; 'twas lying there
Some small space distant from an old wife's
head,
Towards which I felt a wondrous motion draw
me;
So, venturing a peep, I spy the priest
Our 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 pot of porridge, 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.
186
ARISTOPHANES.
Car. By the gods, I did,
Lest he should get 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 puff-cheek 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 1 ?
Car. 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 with 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 chest.
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 pound 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
gd,
And cried, "Now sit ye down beplastered there,
And take thine oath I keep thee from the ses-
sions !"
Wife. O 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 ^Esculapius 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 SEEING.
Loud clapp'd I then both hands for extasy,
And fell to wakening master ; but the god
Vanish'd into the temple, self and serpents.
* She tries to catch him tripping. But Carion is too * As a new purchased slave was greeted on coming to
sharp for her. \ his master's house.
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 r
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 CHHEMYLUS.
Pint. Thy beams, bright Sol ! prostrate I first
adore,
Next great Minerva's world-renowned city,
And Cecrops' total bounds that harbour'd me.
O how 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, I'll 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 !
ARISTOPHANES.
187
They rub, scrub, crush one's shins;* so dear one's
grown,
Each must needs find some vent for his affection.
Who miss'd God save ye to me? What a throng
Of reverend seniors squeezed me at the market!
Re-enter WIFE OF CHREMYLUS.
Wife. All hail !
Thou paragon of men and thou and thou too.
Come now so custom rules it let me scatter
These sweetmeat offerings on thee.
Pint. Prithee, no.
For entering thy house on a first visit,
And with recovered eyesight, it were meet
Not out but in to take an offering.
Wife. What, not accept my sweetmeats !
Pint. Well; within then,
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 CHREMYLUS.
CAHIOIT, CHORUS.
Car. it is sweet, my friends, when 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 gentlemen-domestics there
At odds and evens play with sterling staters ;
So dainty grown, that not those rasping stones
But onion-shaws we use for our occasions.
And now high sacrifice the master holds
Within; wreath-crown'd, swine, goat, and ram he
offers.
But me the smoke has driven me 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 CHREXYLCS.
Chreni. Hoy day! whom have we here?
Good M. A man, once wretched, prosperous
now.
* As flatterers were wont to do to the rich ; rubbing
their shin bones as the Squire in "Count Fathom" has
kis back scratched.
( A common trick of poets in those days.
Chrem. Just so ;
Clearly, methinks, one of the honest folk.
Good M. Most true.
Chrem. What may'st thou want then ?
Good M. To 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 prudent policy.
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 them 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 offerings to the god!
Enter INFORMER with his WITNESS.
Inf. Woe's me ! woe's me !
Me miserable ! undone, undone for ever !
Thrice wretched four times wretched five
times wretched
Twelve times ten thousand times ohon ! ohon!
With so robust a devil my fate is dash'd !f
Chrem. Phoebus protect us ! Gracious deities !
Why, what the mischief has this fellow met with?
Inf. 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 for 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 phrase,
t Like water dashed with strong wine.
188
ARISTOPHANES.
Chrem. Say'st thou so ?
Whom has 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 stretch'd upon the wheel of torture there,
Thou may'st confess thy villany.
Car. You be hang'd !
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 accomp lice 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 Eudamus for a drachma.
Chrem. Alas, no charm for an informer's bite !
Inf. What insolence is this? Ye scoff, ye rail,
And have not answer'd 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 !
Uhu. [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 ! 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 ?
Inf. I choose it.
* Merchants were exempted from military service.
Chrem. False thief, how art thou good then,
Mixing and meddling where it nought concerns
thee?
Inf. Concerns me nought, old gull ! Concerns
it not,
Far as I may, to benefit my city ?
Chrem. So so to meddle is to benefit?
Inf. 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. Off 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 rwns out.
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 off; for well 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 I'd 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 persuading.
GoodM. Hark ! as in gorgeous panoply of mine
Adorn'd thou struttest, to the bath with thee!
There as head-man take station next the fire ;
That post was mine of yore.
Chrem. Nay, but the bath-man
Straight out of doors will haul him by the scrotum ;
One glance will show the stamp of scoundrel on
him.
For us let's in ; the god expects thy vows.
[Exeunt.
Before the house of CHTIEXYLUS.
An OLD WOMAN, CHREMYLUS, 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 from the hour this god began to see,
He has made for me my life unliveable.
Chrem. What's this ? Mayhap thou wert In-
formeress
Among the dames ?
Old W. 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 0, 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 bog 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 thoe.
Old W. And then observe, " not out of greedi-
ness
* Another allusion to the distribution of dicasta by lot.
I ask," quoth he ; " but love, that wearing still
Thy coat thy colours I may think of thee."
Chrem. Unhappy 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 expect 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. I'faith 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
O 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 doveling, 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 eat 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 I had, 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
Tighter.
Chrem. How shall he serve thee ! Speak, and
it is done.
Old W. Sure 'tis but fair to force
Him whom I help'd to lend me help in turn :
Or not one glimpse of good the wretch should see.
Chrem. Nay clear'd he not each night his
scores with thee?
A proverbial expression to denote reverses of fortune;
drawn from the fate of Miletus,
f For burial, to wit.
190
ARISTOPHANES,
Old W. Ah ! but he swore he'd never, never
leave me,
Long as I liv'd.
Chrem. True as you liv'd : but now
You live, he thinks, no more.
Old W. 'Tis sorrow's doing
I own I've pin'd away.
Chrem. 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 thou'rt grown, and all at once, by Jingo.
Old W. Wretch that I am ! The buffets I must
bear!
Chrem. 'Tis long, 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 always such a saucy rogue !
Youth. thou Sea-Neptune,* and ye senior
gods,
How seam'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. O you audacious ! Where !
Youth. 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 crowds to make a wash pot of me :
Youth. 'Faith, no bad turn to wash thee out,
pot-fashion.
* Reverential swearing : Neptune was an ancient deity.
("To swear with propriety," says my little major, "the
oath should be an echo to the sense." BOB ACRES in The
Rivals.)
f The Athenians used to hang a branch of this kind
above their doors, to keep off famine and pestilence. It
hung a year before it was renewed, and was, therefore,
sufficiently dry and combustible by the end of the twelve-
month.
t Instead of " How many nuts have /? odd or even ?"
Chrem. Fy on't, not so : she's now made up for
sale,
Right huckster's trim but only wash the paint
off-
Lord, how the tatters of her face would show !
Old W. Old as you are, your sense is wondrous
scanty.
Youth. He tempts thee, sure the rogue ! and
thinks the while
Those daring hands escape my jealous eye.
Old W. So help me, Venus, not a hand on me
He lays, 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 says, and
tell her
Once the Milesians were a potent people.
Youth. Well, I'll not fight with thee about her.
Chrem. No !
Your why and wherefore?
Youth. Reverence for thine years :
There breathes no other wight 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 W. Ay, march away : I'll not be far be-
hind thee.
Chrem. O, sov'reign Jove ! how fast and firm
the beldame
Cleaves like a limpet to her stripling flame !
[Exeunt.
Before the house of CHREMTLUS.
HERMES, CARION, CHREMYLUS, OLD WOMAIT,
CHORUS.
(HERMES knocks at the door, and hides.*)
Car. (coming out.) Who knocks the door there,
ho ? Why what could this be ?
* To make it appear that the door had rattled of itself, ,it
the approach of his godship.
ARISTOPHANES.
191
No one, it seems : and so the little wicket
Makes all this hullabaloo, forsooth, for nothing.
Herm. (showing himself.) You there, I say,
You, Carion, stop !
Car. * What, fellow, was it thee
That bang'd so lustily against the door"?
Herm. No: I but thought on't thou hast
sav'd the trouble.
But presto, post away and call thy 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 w all this ?
Herm. 'Tis Jove, you rogue, is minded
Hashing you up into one hotch-potch mess,
To send you, great and small, 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 this Plums' 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 ever :
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,
1 far'd not ill o' mornings ; winecake honey
Dried figs and all that's meet 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 J 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. ||
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 ! wouldst thou do thy friend a little
favour ?
* The victim's tongue was devoted to Hermes. But
Carion uses an ambiguous phrase, by way of threat.
t To care only for himself
t On the fourth day of each month.
$ The announcement from heaven to Hercules, when
be called for his lost Hylas.
|| A well-oiled skin-bottle. It was one of their baccha-
nal games to jump, barefooted, on such a bottle ; and he
vho kept his footing, won the prize.
Car. Well: if it lie within my power com-
mand me.
Herm. Wouldst 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 aliow'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 ?
Herm. 'Tis still one's country, where one prospers
well]
Car. And say we took thee in how couldst
thou serve us ?
Herm. Beside your door establish me as TURN-
KEY.*
Car. Turnkey ! we want no turns of thine, I
promise thee.
Herm. As TRADER, then.
Car. Nay, we are rich, and so
What need have we to keep a pedlar-Hermes.
Herm. DECEIVER, 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 twinklers,
So we have business for a guide no longer.
Herm. I have it REVEL-MASTER let me be
then
What canst thou say to that ?
For sure with Plutus' pomp it best agrees
To hold high games of music and gymnastics.
Car. What luck to have good store of aliases !
See now this knave will earn his bite and sup.
Ay, ay 'tis not for nought our judging varlets
Would fain be written down with many letters.
Herm. On these terms, then, I've leave to en-
ter?
Car. Yes :
And hark ye, sirrah, find the cistern out,
And wash me, with thy proper hands, these guts;
So shalt thou straightway figure off as SCULLION.
[Exit HERMES.
* As Thrasybulus proclaimed an amnesty after the re-
establishment of the republic, which followed his seizure
of Phyle. Hence the proverb.
t Quoted probably from Euripides.
t The poet plays upon the various attributes of Her-
mes.
( Another hit at the allotment of dicasts.
192
ARISTOTLE.
Enter PRIEST OF JOTE.
Priest. Who'll tell me where is Chremylus?
Chrem. (entering.) Good fellow,
What is the matter ?
Priest. What, but ruination ?
For since your Plutus 'gan to see, I die
Of downright famine not a crumb to eat
/ the arch-priest 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 held 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 with 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 with thee.
Old W. Well, then Lud! if you will
pledge his coming
I'll 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.
f Pots of pulse, &c.
ARISTOTLE.
[Born 381-Died 322, B. C.]
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-
nse, 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, Maid, 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 recording 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 AJAX.
BY Ajax' tomb, in solemn state,
I, Virtue, as a mourner wait,
With hair dishevell'd, sable vest,
Fast streaming eyes and heaving breast;
Since in the Graecian 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-
lowing short scholium, are all that remain to us.
" Many (observes Sir Daniel Sandford,) as they
read these stanzas will have their thoughts re-
called, with melancholy pleasure, to the ' Allan-a-
dale' of our great departed minstrel, whose strains
free as they are of all conscious imitation so
often, through the force of kindred genius, seem to
echo the bold and vigorous expression of finest
Graecian poetry."
THE WARRIOR'S RICHES.
Mr wealth's a burly spear and brand,
And a right good shield of hides untann'd,
Which on mine arm I buckle :
Wilh 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 massy 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 o'er 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,
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.
23
NICOSTRATUS.
[About 3^0 B. C.I
of the sons of Aristophanes known also by the name of Pnileteeras,
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 dishonour'd. lay.
ON A TEMPLE OF VENUS
NEAR THE SEA SHORE.
HEIIE 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
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.
OB, 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
OUT AN INSCRIPTION OF ARISTOTLE^.*
IN woeful guise, at Pleasure's gate,
I, Virtue, as a mourner wait,
With hair in loose disorder flowing,
And breast with fierce resentment glowin |,
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.
PLATO'S dead form this earthly shroud invests ;
His soul among the godlike heroes rests.
ANTIPHANES.
[Born 407 Died 333 B. ]
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
So might I gull them nil: Malice to none;
I envy no man's fortune, all I wish
Is but to share it : Would you have a friend,
A gallant, steady friend ? I am your man :
No striker I, no swaggerer, no drfumrr,
But one to bear all these and still forbear :
If you insult, I laugh, unrutiled, merry,
Invincibly good-humour'd, still I laugh :
A stout good soldier I, valorous to a fault,
When once my stomach's up and supper served :
You know my humour, not one 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 cudgel,
Bold as the thunder : Is one to be blinded ?
I am the lightning's flash : to be puff'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 fly 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 of my friends am I: Let actions speak me;
I am much too modest to commend myself.
LITTLE TRUST TO BE PUT IN WOMAN.
FOR this, 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 ;
In all things else I am an infidel.
Oh ! might I never more behold a woman!
Rather than I should meet that object, gods!
Strike out mine eyes I'll 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.
WHEW 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 shore,
Where they have only gone before.
Shine but to-morrow's sun, and we,
Compeli'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.
ON A FOUNTAIN,
NEAR WHICH A MURDER HAD BEEN COMMITTED.
EREWHILE my gentle streams were wont to pour
Along their banks a pure translucent tide;
But now the waves are shrunk and channel
dried,
And Naiads know their once-loved haunt no To tug you to his wherry, and dislodge you
more ; | From your rich tables, when your hour is come.
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 BANQUET-CHAMBER OF THE
KING OF CYPRUS.
A. You say you've passed much of your time
in Cyprus.
B. All ; for the war prevented my departure.
Jl. In what place chiefly, may I ask ?
B. In Paphos ;
Where I saw elegance in such perfection,
As almost mocks belief.
A. Of what kind, pray you?
B. Take this for one The monarch, when he
sups,
Is fanned by living doves.
Jl. 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 may be compared :
Let either of them once exceed their date,
Be it ne'er so little, and the whole turns sour.
RELUCTANCE TO DIE.
AH ! good my master, you may sigh for Death,
And call amain upon him to release you;
But will you bid him ' Welcome' when he comes ?
Not you. Old Charon has a stubborn task
ANAXANDRIDES.
[About 376 B. C.]
A NATIVE of Camirus in Rhodes, and author
of sixty-five comedies, of which the titles of
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
which he had contended, to have vented his
rage on every person and thing that fell in his
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 WATIVE of Atarna in Lesbos, but of Athe-
nian ancestry. He stood on the debatable ground
between the old and middle comedy, and proba-
bly wrote plays of both sorts. Out of one hun-
dred and four comedies which he is said to have
written, the names of about fifty remain.
INTEMPERANCE.
THREE 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 ! But if a fourth he pours,
That is the cup of folly and not ours ;
Loud noisy talking on the fifth attrmls ;
The sixth breeds feuds and falling-out of friends;
Seven beget blows and fares 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 WINGED CUPID.
WHY, foolish painter, give those wings to Love ?
Love is not light, as my sad heart can prove :
Love hath no wings, or none that I can see ;
If he can fly, oh! bid him fly from me!
R2 197
ALEXIS.
[About 356 B. C.]
A NATIVE of Thurium, and author of two hun-
dred and forty-five comedies, of which the titles
of one hundred and thirteen remain. We know
THE BON VIVANT.
MY 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 stiff
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
Me thinks 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 FOLLY 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 ours,
Who barter life and all its free delights,
198
nothing of him except that he was an epicure, a
woman-hater, and the uncle and instructor of
Menander.
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 greaterOh, that Nature
How different the language of our Otway!
O woman, lovely woman! Nature made thee
To temper man ; wejiad been brutes without thee.
Venice Preserver.
ARISTOPHON.
199
Might quit us of this overbearing burden,
This tyrant-god, the belly ! Take that from
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 ? 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 glutton, such as Athenseus describes the
author to have been.
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 her 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.
WHEREAS 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 "WRITER 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 fomenter 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 MAIC may marry once without a crime,
But curst is he who weds a second time.
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 gaunt 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 j
On the bare ground their bed; nor do they
know
A warmer 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.]
HERMESIAWAX is said to have been a native
of Colophon, and was the author of three books
of Elegies entitled Leontium (Asovr'tov) in honour
of the celebrated Athenian courtezan of that
name. The following fragment, preserved by
Athenseus, is all that remains of this poet.
THE LOVES OF THE GREEK POETS.
######:##
Such was 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 5
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 charm'd the realm beneath,
And beauty triumph'd over death.
The bard, whom night's pale regent bore
In secret on the Athenian shore,
MUSJEUS, 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.
HOMER, 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, wandering 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 religion's fire.
MIMNERMUS 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.
AWTIMACHTJS with tender art
Poured forth the sorrows of his heart ;
In her Dardanian grave he laid
Chryseis, his beloved maid ;
And thence returning, sad beside
Pactolus' melancholy tide,
To Colophon the minstrel came,
Still sighing forth the mournful name,
Till lenient time his grief appeas'd,
And tears by long indulgence ceas'd.
ALCJETJS strung his sounding lyre,
And smote it with a hand of fire,
PHILEMON.
201
To Sappho, fondest of the fair,
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.
******
PUILOXENUS, by wood-nymphs bred,
On famed Cithseron'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,
echoes witress'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 crabbed page,
PYTHAGORAS, whose boundless soul
Scaled the wide globe from pole to pole,
Earth, planets, seas, and heavens above,
Yet found no spot secure from love ;
With love declines unequal war,
And, trembling, drags his conqueror's car ;-
Theano clasp'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 ABISTIPPUS, 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 KATIVE 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 habits, and lived to the age of ninety-
nine, when he died, (according to Lucian,) 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.
An 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 his own clear heart, and boldly dares
To be, not to be thought, an honest man.
THE SOVEREIGN GOOD.
PHILOSOPHERS consume much time and pains
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 bounteous 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 TRUTH !
The creatures of their art may catch the eye,
But her sweet nature captivates the soul.
ON TEARS.
IF tears could medicine human ills, and give
The o ercharged heart a sweet restorative,
* We are told by Dr. Parr, that the above passage was
a very favourite one with 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.
Two
SENSE AND NONSENSE.
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 thought he wrote one line too much.
A WORD
TO THE IDLE AND THOUGHTLESS.
CLEON, cease to trifle thus with life :
A mind, so barren of experience,
Can hoard up naught but misery, believe me.
The shipwreck'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?
" My 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 e'en 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
home.
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 unhappy;
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 m^ans, 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- Of their excellence, however, if we may judge
peithes, and nephew of the comedian Alexis, , from the loudness and unanimity of his country-
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.
men in their praise, there can be but little
doubt. Terence, whom Julius Caesar 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 Peirseus.
MENANDER.
203
MISANTHROPY AND DISCONTENT.
SUPPOSE some god should say " Die when thou
wilt,
Mortal, expect another life 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 but man !
He only of all creatures feels affliction.
The generous horse is valuf.d for his worth,
And dog by merit is preferred to dog;
The warrior cock is pampered for his courage,
And awes the baser brood But what 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 the 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
That little spark gave being to a woman,
And let in a new race of plagues to curse us.
Where is the man that weds? Show me the
wretch ;
Woe to his lot! Insatiable desires,
His nuptial bed defiled, poisonings and plots,
And maladies untold these are 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 the same scene repeated o'er and o'er ?
A few more lingering days to be consumed
In throngs and crowds, with sharpers, knaves,
and thieves ;
From such the 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-morrow, 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 niggardly 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 RICH
NOT HAPPIER THAN THEIR NEIGHBOURS.
NE'ER trust me, Phanias, but I thought 'till now,
That you rich fellows had the knack of sleeping
A good sound nap, that held you for the night ;
And not like us poor rogues, who toss and turn,
Sighing "dh me!" 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 Trophimus, 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 place 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, Trophimus,
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
Caesar, correspond 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.
OF all bad things, by which mankind are curst,
Their own bad tempers surely are the worst.
KNOW THYSELF.
You say, not always wisely, " Know THYSELF ! !
Know others, oftentimes, 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
bulls
And goats, that He delights in images
Of gold and ivory ; deceive not thus
Thyself, man, with vain imaginations j
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
record ; one of uncertain date and country, the
other, a native of Athens, and flourishing there
towards the latter part of the fourth century before
Christ. To which of them we are indebted for the
following fragment it is impossible to determine.
A BALM FOR OUR CARES.
NAT, my good friend, but hear me! I confess
Man is a child of sorrow, and this world,
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,
Wretched 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 Alcmseon, whilst the world adored
His father as a god. Your eyes are dim ;
What then ? The eyes of CEdipus were dark,
Totally dark. You mourn a son ? He's dead ?
DIPHILUS. -.APOLLODORUS OF GELA.
205
Turn to the tale of Niobe for comiiirt,
And match your loss with hers. You're larne
of foot ?
Compare it with the foot of Philoctetes
And make no more complaint. But you are old,
Old and unfortunate ; consult Oeneus ;
Hear what a king endured and learn content.
Sum up your miseries, number up your sighs,
The tragic stage shall give you tear for tear,
And wash out all afflictions but its own.
DIPHILUS.
[About 330 B. C.]
DIPHILUS was born at Sinope, and died at
Smyrna. Of one hundred comedies which he is
:$aid to have written, a few fragments only have
been preserved. The "Casina" of Plautus and
a considerable portion of Terence's "Adelphi"
are said to have been borrowed from this poet.
LAW OF CORINTH AGAINST SPEND-
THRIFTS.
WE have a notable good law at Corinth,
Where, 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 these outgoings ? If you have, go on !
If you have not, we'll stop you in good time,
Before you outrun 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 you do wisely :
But what 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 citizens to browse on cabbage j
A sprig of parsley sets them all a-fighting,
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 purchased we may drink the ditches."
APOLLODORUS OF GELA.
[About 330 B. C.]
A WRITER high in fame, and author of several
comedies, of which the titles of eight only, and
some few fragments now remain. The Phormio
and Hecyra of Terence are generally understood
to have been borrowed from him. He was a
rival and contemporary of Menander.
FRAGMENTS.
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 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 may take it back again.
206
CLEARCHUS. THEOPHILUS, NOSSIS.
Go to ! Make fast your gates with bars and bolts ;
Yet never chamber-door was shut so close,
But cats and cuckold-makers would creep through
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?"
Not so the father ; he cannot demand,
" Were you not once as old as I am now ?"
v.
THERE is a certain hospitable air
In a friend's house, that tells me I am welcome :
The porter opens to me with a smile ;
The yard-dog wags his tail, the servant runs,
Beats up the cushion, spreads the couch and
says,
"Sit down, good sir!" ere I can say I'm weary.
CLEARCHUS.
ON DRUNKENNESS.
COULD 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.J
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? 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 the law, obey it! I will not.
NOSSIS
[About 280 B. C.]
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.
WHAT in life is half so sweet
As the hour when lovers meet?
Not the joys that Fortune pours,
Not Hymettus' fragrant stores.
Thus says 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.
Ix this loved stone Melinna's self I trace.
Tis hers 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 INVENTOR OF TRAGI-COMEDY.
WITH hearty laughter pass this column by-
Just meed of praise to him, who slumbers nigh.
Hhinthon 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.
Os yonder tablet graved I see
The form of my Thymarete,
Her gracious smile, her lofty air.
Warm as in life, all blended there.
Her little fondled dog, that keeps
Still watch around her while she 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.
ITU this sad tomb where Phillida is laid,
Her mother oft invokes the gentle shade,
And calls, in hopeless grief, on her who died,
In the full bloom of youth and 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.
CTTHERA from this cr;iL r L r y steep
Looks downward on the glassy deep,
And hither calls the breathing gale,
Propitious to the venturous sail ;
While ocean llmvs beneath, 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 couch of sand.
ON THREE VIRGINS OF MILETUS,
WHO DIED TO ESCAPE DISHONOUR FROM THE
GAULS.
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 compel I'd
By Celtic Mars yet glad we die,
that we have ne'er beheld
Spousal s of blood, nor sunk to be
vile handmaids of our foes,
But rather owe our thanks to Death,
kind healer of our woes.
ON A GROVE OF LAUREL.
WHOE'ER thou art, recline beneath the shade,
ON THE ENTRANCE TO A CAVERN.
STRANGER, beneath this rock thy limbs bestow
Sweet, 'mid the green leaves, breezes whisper By never fading leaves of laurel made ;
here. ; And here awhile thy thirst securely slake
Drink the cool wave, while noontide fervours With the pure beverage of the crystal lake:
glow; So shall your languid limbs, by toil opprest,
For such the rest to wearied pilgrim dear. j And summer'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.
POOR Erato, when the cold hand of Death
Choked the faint struggles of her labouring breath,
And parting life scarce glimmered in her face,
Strained her fond father in a last embrace :
" O father, it is o'er dark clouds arise,
And mists of death hang heavy on my eyes."
ON A LAUREL BY A FOUNTAIN'S 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, ort Gargara'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.
GUAHDIAN 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 the 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 retreai :
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 thunders roar
And lightnings flash I'll only revel more.
Thunderer ! 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 Castalia'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 remain of him five "dull epigrams," (as Mr.
mentioned by Strabo among the eminent men Merivale justly calls them.) and the following
of Rhodes, he is little known as a poet. There j fragment of a poem in praise of Apollo.
A FRAGMENT.
APOLLO.
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 Massagetae, (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 tli' ocean-sea, eternally supplied.
Thence to isles clad with olives green and young,
With many a tufted bulrush overhung.
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 strive to speak, they bark outright.
SOTADES.
[About 280 B. C.]
A KATIVE of Athens, and a writer of comedy; of whom, however, nothing remains but the
following fragment
MAN'S FATE ON EARTH.
Is there a man, just, honest, nobly born?
Malice shall hunt him down,
tend him ?
27
Does wealth at-
Trouble is hard behind. Conscience direct?
Beggary is at his heels. Is he an artist?
Farewell, repose! An equal, upright judge?
Report shall blast his virtues. Is he strong ?
82
210
PH^EDIMUS. THEOCRITUS.
Sickness shall sap his strength. Account that
clay
Which brings no new mischance, a day of rest.
For what is man ? What matter is he made of?
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; tried, condemn'd, and killed.
How died Diogenes? As a dog dies,
With a raw morsel in his hungry throat.
Alas for jEschylus ! Musing he walked
The soaring eagle dropp'd a tortoise down,
And crushed that brain, where tragedy had
birth.
A paltry grape-stone choak'd the Athenian Bee.
Mastiffs of Thrace devour'd Euripides-
And godlike Homer, woe the while! was starved.
Thus life, blind life, teems with perpetual woes.
PH^DIMUS.
A WRITER 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,
X) 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 o'er 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 272 B. C.]
THEOCRITUS was a native of Syracuse, and
flourished in the reigns of Hiero, king of Sicily,
and Ptolemy Philadelphia, 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 softness of which
he is said to have improved beyond any who
went before him. That it was not, however, to j
dialect or language alone he owed his honours, i
is evident from the Eclogues of Virgil, whose
most delightful images are nothing more than j
translations 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-
sions, and the natural 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
performs all this out of his own fund, without
diving into the arts and sciences for a supply.
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 Shepherd's 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, who 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 in the
^!ut well yn know love's pains, which Daphnis
rues
Yon, the great nia-ter of the rural muse.
I, ft us at ease, beneath yon elm rcdiip'.
Where sculptnr " - o'er their fountains
shine,
Whilst gay Priapus guards the sweet retreat,
And oaks, wide-branching, shade our pastoral
There, Thyr-i-. if thou siui: us sweet a strain,
A- er^t contending with the Libyan swain.
This goat with twins I'll give, that never fails
Two kids to Mi"kle. and to (ill two pails:
To these I'll add. with scented wax o'erlaid,
Of curious workmanship, arid newly-made.
p two-handled cup. whose brim is crown'd
With ivy and with helichryse around.
* Goats and their kcrpi-r* lirini; under the protection
of Pan, the goatherd was afraid of oflendini: that deity.
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 are almost inimitable. Several of
liis 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 fight 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 Nemsean lion."
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 ambush near, two skulking foxes lie :
This plots the branches of ripe grapes to strip,
But that, more daring, meditates the scrip ;
Resolv'd, ere long, to seixe 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 ^Eolian swain,
Brought by a Calydonian o'er the seas,
I purchased for a groat and new-made cheese.
No lip has touch'd it, still unused it stood;
To you I give this master-piece of wood,
If you those Hi men an strains rehearse
('t Daphnis' woes I envy not your verse-
Dread fate alas ! may soon demand your breath,
And close your music in oblivious death.
THTRSIS.
Begin, sweet Muses, the bucolic strain,
'Tis Thyrsis sings, 'tis Thyi>i-. .-Ktna's swain!
Where were ye, Nymphs, in what sequester'd
grove ?|
* This is a picture.
t Hoth Virgil and Milton, (more especially the latter,)
have beautifully imitai. .1 this passage
"Un;p neinora, anl qui vos saltus habue're, Puellae
N":ii. !:. indiiMio ruin (iallns runorp pcriref?
Nam neque Parna.-si vuliis juiia, nam neque Pindi
Ulla moram fecere, neque Aonia Agannippe. Eel. x. 9.
212
THEOCRITUS.
Where were ye, Nymphs, when Daphnis pined
with love ?
Did ye on Pindus' sleepy top reside,
Or where through Tempe Peneus rolls his tide 1
For neither were ye playing on the steeps
Of JEtna, 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 deplord,
For him fierce wolves and fiercer lions roard,
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?
What Nymph, 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 fir'd?
Priapus came, soft pity in his eye,
"And why this grief," he said, "ah, Daphnis,
why ?"
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 abhorrd! Venus, thou curse to man!
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 strain.)
" Say if again arm'd Diomed thou see
I've conquer'd 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 remorseless 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, He,
Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high,
Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream.
Lycidas.
* The Greek verse is most expressive of the sense :
we hear the very humming and buzzing of the bees.
JVTl TTOTi fff4(ivt(r, a bird which ma-
gicians made use of in their incantations, supposed to be
the wry-neck. Virgil has Ducite ab urbe domuin, mea
Cannina, ducite Daphmm. A>/. viii. 68.
$ Fragile* incende hitiimine lauros.
Daphnis me malus urit, ego hanc in Daphnide laurum.
Eel. viii. t">.
The laurel was burnt in order to consume the flesh of
tin- pentm, Of) whOM account the magical rites were per-
formed ; it was thought, according to Pliny, B. 16. chap,
the last, by its crackling noise, to express a detestation of
fire. Mr. Gay has imitated this passage, in his Fourth
Pastoral.
Two hazel-nuts I threw into the flame,
And lo each nut I cave a sweetheart's name :
This with the loudest bounce me sore ama/.'d,
That in a flame of brightest colour blaz'd :
As blaz'd in- nut, so may thy passion prow,
For 'twas thy nut that diii so brightly clow.
|| It was customary to melt wax, thereby to mollify the
In-art of the person beloved ; the sorceress in Virgil F.cl.
viii. makes use of two images, one of mud, and the other
of wax.
Minus ut hie dur.'scit. et ho>c ut cera liijuesrit
Uno eodemque igni : sir nostro Daplmis amore.
TT It was also usual to imitate all the actions they wish-
ed the loved person to perform; thus SimaMha rolls a
bra/en wheel, believing that the motion of ihis magic
machine hnd 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 arms.
I'll strew the bran : Diana's power can bow
Rough Rhadamanth, and all that's stern below.
Hark! hark! the village-dogs! the goddess soon
Will come the dogs terrific bay the moon
Strike, strike the sounding brass Restore, my
charms,
Restore false Delphis 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 betray "d
My innocence; and me, ah, thoughtless maid!
Robb'd of my richest gem Restore, my charms,
False Delphis to my long-deluded arms.
I pour libations thrice, and thrice I pray :
O shine, great goddess, with auspicious ray!
Whoe'er she be, blest nymph ! that now detains
My fugitive in Love's delightful chains ;
Be she for ever in oblivion lost,
Like Ariadne, 'lorn on Dia's coast,
Abandon'd by false Theseus O, my charms,
Restore the lovely Delphis 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 madding after me,
And quit the fam'd Palaestra ! O, my charms !
Restore false Delphis to my longing arms.
This garment's fringe, which Delphis wont to
wear,f
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 Apollonius Rhodius, where
the enchantress is introduced with so powerful an effect :
" Night on the earth potir'd darkness ; on the sea
The wakesome sailor to Orion's star
And Helice, 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 tumult
Was hush'd at this dread hour, and Darkness slept,
I.ock'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 Enplish poetry to be the oldest
existing example in our language of the pure unmixed
pastoral, we find two stanzas scarcely to be equalled for
affecting simplicity of thought and easy harmony of ex-
pression :
"The owle with feeble sight
Lyes lurking in the leaves ;
The sparrow in the frosty night
May shroud her in the eaves ;
But wo to me, alas!
Insunne. nor yet in shade,
I cannot find a resting-place,
My burden to unlade."
f Pimaetha burns the border of Delphis' garment, that
the owner may be tortured with the like flame; Virgil's
enchantress deposit) s her lover's pledges in the ground,
tinder her threshold, in order to retain his love, and se-
cure his affections from wandering.
Has olim extivias mihi perfidus ille reliquit,
Pignora cara sni ; que 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.
She'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 1
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 Phoebe, 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
Distinguished, for like helichrysus glow'd
The gold down on their chins, their bosoms far
Outshone the moon, and every splendid star j
For lately had they left the field of fame
Say, sacred Phoebe, whence arose my flame ?
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 passion, sacred Phoebe, 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 Phoebe, 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 offered baskets full of little curiosities to that god-
dess, to gain leave to depart out of her train, and change
their state of Jife. Potter.
I The Greek is X? tfcv, at tuttvuv it. T. x. There is a
similar line in the Third Idyl. ver. 42. Hc/fTov, a>; tuAVH, w;
c SnQuv AMT' fUT&. Virgil has
Ut vidi, ut perii, ut me mains abftulit error.-cZ. 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 appeard ;
Ye gods! how blest my Delphis to survey!
Whence rose my passion, sacred Phoebe, say ?
Cold as the snow my freezing lirnbs 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 hong;
As when from babes imperfect accents fall,
When murmuring in their dreams they on their
mothers call.
Senseless I stood, nor couid my mind disclose
Say, sacred Phcebe, 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 Simretha, 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 Phcebe, 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 Phoebe, say?
" Had you recciv'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-
par'd,f
Resolv'd with force resistance to oppose''
Say, sacred Phoebe, whence my flame arose ?
"And first to beauty's queen my thanks are due,
Next, dear Simretha, 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 Phoebe, when arose my ilaine ?
* With poplar. The poplar was sacred to Hercules.
Virgil has,
Populeis adsunt evincti tempora ramis.
JEn. viii. 286.
f With axe and torch, &c. If after rapping at the door,
the lover was refused admittance, ^of rv ytfJWha !y grove
Where, stretch'd at ease your tender limbs were
laid,
Your nameless beauties carelessly displayed?
Then I was eall'd your darlin-j. your de>ire,
With kisses such ;\s set my .-oul on fire:
But you are chanir'd. yet I am still the same;
My heart maintains for both a double flame;
* That it was usual for lovers to adorn their houses
with flowers and irarlnnds in honour of their mistresses,
is evident from a passage in Catullus, de jfty, ver. 66.
Mihi floridis corollis redimita domus . r.it,
I.inquendum ubi esset orto mihi sole cubiculum.
Fair llovvery wreaths around my 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 die, behold me once again;
Am I then so defornrd, so chang'd of late?
What partial judges are our love and hate!
Ten wildings have I gather'd for my dear ,
How ruddy like your lips their streaks appear !
Far off you view'd them with a longing eye
Upon 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 to a bee to buzz within your bower
The winding ivy-chaplet to invade,
And folded fern, that your fair forehead shade.
Now to my cost the force of Love I find ;
The heavy hand it bears on human-kind.
The milk of tigers was 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 sufferings 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 edging round.
What pangs I feel, unpitied and unheard 1
Since I must die, why is my fate deferr'd !
I strip my body of my shepherd's 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.
You 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;
Vet 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 Agreo my disease;
(Agreo, that in harvest used to lease:
Dot harvest done, to char-work did aspire;
Meat, drink, and two-pence was her daily 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 was doom'd to love, and you to hate.
A milk-white goat for you I did provide ;
Two milk-white kids run frisking by her side,
For which the nut-brown lass Erithacis,
Full often offer'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 5
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 hang'd, 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,
I'll 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 affects 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 Polypherne's passion for the Sea-nymph
Galatea, and describes him 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 few are they for whom she works the cure.
This truth my gentle Nicias holds divine,
Favour'd alike by Paean and the Nine.
This truth, long since, within his rugged breast,
Torn with fierce passion, Polypheme confest.
'Twas when advancing manhood 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 shepherd'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 1
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 torturd 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 Jips 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 honey, load my vines :
From grove-crown'd JEtna, 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 I swear
By this one eye, to me for ever dear,
\Vell 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 div'd 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 resolv'd, fair Nymph, I'll learn to dive,
If e'er a sailor at this port arrive;
Then shall I surely by experience know
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 suffer 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 lambs you fed,
Or, e'en wove baskets, you would seem more
wise ;
Milk the first cwr, 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 port relate* to his friend Nicias the rape
of Hylas by the Nymphs, when he went to frtrh
water for Hercules, and the grief of that hero for
the loss of him.
Love, gentle Nicias, of celestial kin 1.
For us alone sure never was di-siirn'd ;
Nor do the charms of beauty only sway
Our mortal breasts, the beings of a day :
Amphitryon's son was taught his power to feel,
Though arm'd with iron breast, 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 taught,
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-white 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 might lead him 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 Phasis furl'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 Telarnon 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 flourish'd
there.
Deep in the flood the dance fair Naiads led,
And kept strict vigils, to the rustic's dread,
Ennira, Malis. form'd the festive ring,
And fair Nyche"a, blooming as the spring;
When to the stream the hapless youth applied
II is v;ise crijincious to receive the tide,
The Naiads seized his hand with frantic joy,
All were enamour'd of the Grecian boy;
He fell, he sunk ; as from th' etherial plain
A flaming star falls headlong on the main;
The boatswain cries aloud, " Unfurl your sails,
And spread the canvass to the rising gales."
T
218
THEOCRITUS.
In vain the Naiads sooth'd the weeding boy,
And strove to lull him in their laps to 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 call'd with voice profound,
Thrice Hylas heard the unavailing sound ;
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, honoured 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 he'll 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, Apollonius, 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. Athenaeus 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. He built an
incredible number of cities, and left so many other public
monuments of his magnificence, that all works of an ex-
travagant taste and grandeur were proverbially called
Philadelphian works.
FROM IDYL XV.
THE STRACUSIATT 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, ETJITOE, PRAXINOE, OLD WOMAN, and
STRANGER.
Gor. Pray, is Praxinoe at home ?
Eu. Dear Gorgo, yes how late you come !
Prax. Well ! is it you ? 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 alive 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 please
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 mighty well ;
Wliat might it cost you ? can you tell?
Prax. Three pounds, or more ; I'd not have
done it,
But that I'd set my heart upon it.
Gor. 'Tis wondrous cheap.
Prax. You think so? maid,
F'-n-h my umbrella, and my shade;
So, put it on fie, Zopy, fie !
Stay within doors, and don't you cry:
Tlie 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 shut the gate.
Lord ! here's a bustle and a throng ;
How shall we ever get along!
Such numbers cover all the way,
Like emmets on a summer's day.
O 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 in 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 ;
They rear, and look so fierce and wild
I own, I've lonth'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 ;
rones, 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,
Lr~t in the bustle they should lose us.
Let's crowd together through 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.
Mtin. I can't avoid it; I'm so prest.
Prax. Like pigs they justle, I pi
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 Eunoc 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 !
j How true, how happy is the draught!
| The figures seem inform'd with thought
No artists sure the story wove ;
I They're real men they live, they 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, we're 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 Sperchisf and the world excel,
That by her prelude you may tell.
(The Greek girl zings.)
" O 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,
Diffusing benisons to human race.
O Venus, daughter of Dione fair,
You gave to Berenice's lot to share
Immortal joys in heavenly regions blest,
And with divine ambrosia fill'd her breast.
And now, in due return, O heavenly born !
Whose honour'd name a thousand fanes adorn,
Arsinoe pays the pompous rites divine,
Rival of Helen, at Adonis' shrine ;
All fruits she offers that ripe autumn yields,
The produce of the gardens, and the fields;
All herbs and plants which silver baskets
hold ; $
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 ! stretched upon a silver bed, Sfc. At the feast of
Adonis, they always placed his image on a magnificent
bed.
f Sperchis. A celebrated singer.
t All herbs and plants, &c. The Greek is afra-Xoi mt-roty
soft gardens ; Archbishop Potter observes, that at the
220
THEOCRITUS.
Earth and the air afford a large supply
Of animals that creep, and birds that fly.
Green bow'rs are built, with dill sweet-smelling
crown'd,
And little Cupids 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 carv'd 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
steep :
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 Phoebus drinks the morning's 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 Lapithae, a deathless name ;
Nor j^ons of Pelops, nor Deucalion's race,
Nor stout Pelasgians, Argos' honour'd 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 xnTrc't, gardens;
whence AJW/efac HHTTGI are proverbially applied to things
unfruitful, or fading; 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 hair, beat 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
LIBERALITY TO POETS EXJOIHED.
# # * # # # *
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 flow'd,
And herds innumerous through his valleys
low'd ;
What though the bountiful Creondaa 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 Tham-
muz worshipped in Syria. The worship of this pair made
atone 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-
muz.'
"The legend of Venus and Adonis 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 Phoenicians 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 unsung, 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 ! these for many a rolling age had lain
In blank oblivion, with the vulgar train,
Had not their bard, the mighty Ceian,* strung
His many-chorded harp, and sweetly sung,
In various tones, each high-resounding 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!
Could Lycia's chiefs, or Cycnus' changing hues,
Or Ilion live with no recording muse?
Not e'en Ulysses, who through dangers ran
For ten long years, in all th- haunts of man;
Who e'en descended to the depths of hell,
And fled unmangled from the Cyclop's cell ;
Not he had lived, but sunk, oblivion's prey,
Had no kind poet pour'd the unfading ray.
Thus, too, Philoetius had in silence past;
And, nameless, old Laertes breath'd his last;
And good Eumams 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 dead miser's scattering treasures fly,
The Muse forbids the generous man to die.
FROM IDYL XVII.
PRAISES OF PTOLEMY PHILADELPHIA.
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 honour'd meed.
To Ida, when the woodman winds his way,
Where verdant pines their towering tops dis-
play,
Doubtful he stands, with undetermined look,
Where first to deal the meditated stroke :
And where shall I commence ? New themes
arise,
Deeds that exalt, his glory to the skies.
If from his fathers we commence the plan,
Lagus, how great, how excellent a man ! f
Who to no earthly 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, \visn and preat,
Th> fell dotroyer of the Persian stato.
Against them, thron'd in adamant, in view
Alcides, who the Cretan monster slew,
Reclines, and, as with god? the (Vast he shares,
Glories to meet his own descendant heirs,
From age and pain's impediments repriev'd,
And in the rank of deities roroiv'd.
Simonides.
t Ptolemy Lagus, one of Alexander's captains, who,
upon that monarch's death, and the division of Ins em-
pire, had Ejiypt, 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 blooming 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 Venus 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 she 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 numerous 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 privilege to share.
Thence gentle love in mortals she inspires,
And soft solicitudes, and sweet desires.
The fair Deipyle 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 mother to Lucina pray'd,
Who sends, to those that suffer 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 with equal dignity adorn,
As Phoebus Delos : on fam'd Triops' brow,
And on the neighbouring Dorian race bestow
Just honours, and as favourably smile,
As the god views with joy Rhemt-a's fertile isle."
The Island spoke ; and thrice the bird of Jove
His pinions clang'd, resounding from above ;
Jove's omen thunder'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, belov'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 prolific rains :
T2
222
THEOCRITUS.
But none, like Egypt, can such plenty boast,
When genial Nile o'erflows 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 call'd thee lord 5
Phoenicia trembled, and the Lybian plain,
With the black JEthiop, own'd 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 mannered 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 fame ?
The great Atridoe this alone enjoy,
While all the wealth and spoil of plunder'd
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 all.
* Ptolemy intended to engross the whole trade of the
east and west to himself, and therefore fitted out two
great fleets to protect his trading subjects ; one of these
he kept in the Red sea, the other in the Mediterranean :
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
ev^ry night convenient lodgings, and necessary refresh-
ments for themselves, and their beasts of burden.
FROM IDYL XVIII.
THE EPITHALAMIUM OF HELEN AND MENELATJS.
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 away 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?
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!
Give us this evening: thou hast morn and night,
And all the year before thee, for delight.
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 mountains, 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 enroll'd,
But whom to-morrow's sun a matron shall be-
hold !
Yet ere to-morrow's sun 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, forrn'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 distill'd 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!
Almighty Jove augment your wealthy store,
(Jive 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 you,
a king."
FROM IDYL XXII. '
THE BOXERS.
THE twins of Leda, child of Thestius,
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 winds, 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 thither rolled,
Broad ocean's heaving volumes roar and hiss,
Smitten by blasts and the hail-volley cold:
The lost ship and her crew your ta>k it is,
Bright pair! to rescue from the terrible ;:
They think to die but lo ! a sudden lull
0' the winds; the clouds disperse; and the
hush'd >heen
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 mortal< sut'ety brine:,
Both harpers, minstrels, knights, and warriors
keen ;
Sinee both I hymn, with which immortal kino:
Shall I commence rny song? of Pollux lir.-t I'll
sing.
The justling rocks, the dangerous 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 pyreion. 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, theirsweet 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-wrought 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 cleft
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." " We're not ^alevolent,
Nor sons of such, take heart." " You need not
tell
Me 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 fountain 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 combat
try"
" How, pray, with gauntlets, foot to foot and eye
to .
"In pugilistic fight, nor spare your skill."
Where is my gauntlet-armed antagonist?"
" At hand ! he's here ; you see him 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."
" Red-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 ; but 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 Jove's 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, arid 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 INFAKT HERCULES.
YOUJTG 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.
tpa.
yXvx&gov no. tyt^tfj-ov vrrvov,
The celebrated song of Simonides is of a similar cha-
racter.
THEOCRITUS.
225
An evil fire out of their eyes came lamping ;
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
all.)
The house is lit as with the morning's break,
And the dear children .>f Alcrnena wake.
The younger one, as soon as he beheld
The evil creatures coming on the shield,
And saw their loathsome teeth, began to cry
And shriek, and kick 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 his little fists.
Alcmena heard the noise, and " Wake !'' she
cried ;
" Amphitryon, wake ! for terror holds me tied ;
Up 3 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 me room.
Amphitryon 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 all
The busy house was up in bow'r and hall;
But when they saw the little surkler, how
He grasped the monsters, and with earnest brow
Kept beating them together, playthingwise,
They shrieked aloud : but he, with laughing
eyes,
Soon as he saw Amphitryon, leaped and sprung,
Child like, and at his feet the dead disturbers
flung.
FROM IDYL XXV.
HERCULES, THE LIOX-SLATER.
HERCULES, in quest of An in with
one of the dependants (if that i>er>>na'_ r e. He is
amazed at the sight of his herds, having no notion
that even ten kin-zs together possessed such
wealth. He accompanies Augeias and his son
while they inspect the stalls and the business
p>ing on there. In the morning he accompanies
Pliyleus to the city, and eommunieates to him, on
the road, the partic-ulars of his adventure with
the Nemean lion, whose hide is hanging from
his shoulders. The beL'iniiir.t;, and some think
the conclusion also, of this Idyl is wanting in the
original.
WHEX to perform his fated lord's behest,
Amphitryon's son, with toils and perils tried,
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 Alpheus glide,
Seeing herds, flocks, and pastures, none might
claim,
But only wealthiest lord, some prince well known
to fame,
He asked a countryman, whose watchful care
Overlooked the grounds (his task was his de-
light.)
"Good friend! wilt tell a traveller, whose are
These herds, and flocks, and pastures infinite 1 ?
He is, I well may guess, the favourite
Of the 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 dwell
Above us, most is he provoked, when scath
Or scorn is done to him who asks his path.
Not in one pasture all the flocks appear,
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 perfect 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
wields,
"Earthing the vine-roots, or at vintage-tide
Toils 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 which we work at (as behoves the swain,
226
THEOCRITUS.
Whose life is spent a-field) through all the 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 mon." To him Jove's 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
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 dost at once succeed ;
For yesterday Augeias hither came,
With his illustrious son, Phyleiis 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 puzzled 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 them ; but, though his voice was
rough,
His heart was glad they did such guard main-
tain,
When he was absent. Then he spoke again :
"Gods! what an animal ! what faithful 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 sun 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 j
The plain, the ways, were filled in breadth and
line:
The fields were straitened with the lowing kine.
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 herds no sort of ailment fell,
Such as destroys the cattle : his grew well,
In pith improving still. None cast their young,
Which almost all were female. He could tell
Three hundred white-skinned bulls his kine
among.
A- I'l >ke 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
war,
Roaring most terribly. In pride 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 prince, and swains, all marvelled
at the sight.
But to the city, on the following day,
Bold Hercules and Prince Phyleus sped.
At first their path through a thick vineyard
lay,
Narrow, and 'mid the green, through which it
led,
Half-hid. This past, Phyleus turned his head
O'er his right shoulder, soon as they did reach
The public road, and to the hero said,
Who walked behind him "Friend, I did im-
peach
Myself as having lost, concerning thee, some
speech.
" I long since heard : now I remember me,
A young Ach;ran hither on a day
From Argos came, from sea-shore Helice,
Who, many Epeans present, then did 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 born, or in Mycenian bound ;
"But said, if I remember rightly now,
The hero sprung from Perseus: I confess
Meihinks 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 a 1 explain to me,
That I may know if right or wrong my guess,
Whether thou art i>i 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 Xemean haunt he found:
One, if he searched in Apian l;md at least,
Such monster could not find, though bears
bound,
Boars and destructive wolves, the country
round :
Wherefore all marvelled at the man's recital,
And thought tin- 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
Phyleus kept, that both abreaM might, find
Sufficient room, and he might better hear
What Hercules >houM -ay. 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, Phyleus, how the monster fell.
But whence he came nor I, nor Argive else can
tell :
" Only we think that some Immortal sent,
For holy rites profaned or left undone,
That ill on the Phoronians ; forth he went,
And the Piseiins, like a flood, o'errun :
The BembiiitJeans least of all could shun
His fateful wrath 5 they, nearest, fared the
worst :
To slay that terrible redoubted one
Was task enjoined me by Eurystheus erst:
His wish I undertook of my set toils the first.
" My flexile bow I took, and quiver 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 huge lion's lair,
I to the tip the string did straightway don,
And fix'd 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 where I should 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 the promontory ;
But as he nearer came, at his left side
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:
Airain a third I was in act to shoot,
Kiiraged to think in vain my bow I drew,
When I was seen by the blood-thirsty 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 lir-^t heated in a fire-heat slow
Bend-; for his wheel a fig-branch; with a start
The fissile wild-fix 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.
With skin-cloak, bow and quiver to defend me
With one hand ; with the other I up-hove
My weighty club, and on his temple drove,
But broke in pieces the rough olive wood
On his hard shaggy 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 when I spied
The monster stunned and reeling from his
pain,
I cast my quiver and my bow aside,
And to his neck 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 hind 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 hell's dark lair.
Then many projects did rny thoughts divide,
How best I might the monster's carcass bare,
Arid from his dead limbs strip the shaggy 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 rne to rebate
Sharp-cutting war. The Nemean beast was
laid
Thus low, which had of men and flocks much
havoc made."
A new carved fig-tree image. Though three-
legged,
Barlc'd with rough rind, and earless, know the
god,
Genial Priapus, speeds the soft designs
Of Venus. He is circled, where he stands,
With a fair chapel ; and a running brook,
As clear it sparkles from the rock, looks green
With myrtles, bays, and aromatic boughs
Of cypress trees; and there a branching vine
Spreads broad its clusters. Blackbirds of the
spring
Re-echo shrill their varied whistling 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 hand
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.
ON THE STATUE OF AESCULAPIUS.
THE son of Pceon to Miletus came
To meet his Nicias of illustrious 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 Eetion wrought.
The sculptor, with a lavish sum repaid,
Here all the wonders of his art display'd.
Another translation of the Same.
AT fam'd Miletus, Paeon's son the wise
Arriv'd, with learned Nicias to advise,
Who to his shrine with daily offerings came,
And rais'd this cedar statue to his fame ;
The cedar statue by Eetion wrought,
Illustrious artist! for large sums he bought:
The work is finish'd to the owner's will,
For here the sculptor lavish'd all his skill.
down, goatherd, by the oaks, you'll see
i 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,
i Flowing from out a little gravelly nook,
j Keeps green the laurel and the myrtle trees
And odorous cypresses :
And there's a vine there, heaping all about
! Its tendrilled clusters out ;
j And vernal blackbirds through the sprays
i Shake their shrill notes a thousand ways;
And yellow nightingales reply,
Murmuring a honied song deliciously.
Sit you down there, and the kind god implore,
That I may yearn for Psamathe no more ;
Myself, 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 !
A VOW TO PRIAPUS.
O GOATHERD ! wind adown that village road,
Where oaks are growing. Thou wilt find be-
yond
EPITAPH
03T EUSTHEXES THE PHYSIOGNOMIST.
To Eusthenes, the first in wisdom's list,
Philosopher and 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 mourird :
Whate'er the Sophist merited he gain'd.
And dead, a grave in foreign realms obtained.
ON ANACREON.
STRANGERS, who 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.
229
Then, if you add, "Youth loved him passing
well,"
You tell them all he was, and aptly tell.
ON A FRIEND DROWNED AT SEA.
RISK not your life upon the wintry sea ;
With all his care man's life must fragile be :
My Cleonicus sped from Syria's shore
To wealthy Thasos, and rich cargo bore;
Ah ! passing rich : but as the Pleiad's light
In ocean set, he with them sank to night.
Another translation of the Same.
STRAXGER ! 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.
HERE lies Hipponax, to the Muses dear.
Traveller ! if conscience sting, approach not near !
But if sincere of heart, and free from guile,
Here boldly sit, and even sleep awhile.
ON EURYMEDON.
THIXE 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 with heroes take
He shall be honour'd for his father's sake.
AN OFFERING TO PAN.
DAPHNIS, the fair, who, with bucolic song
And pastoral pipe, could charm the listening
throng,
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 for 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 honour'd at the Delphic shrine :
And there to thee this shaggy goat I vow,
That loves to crop the pine-tree's pendant bough.
ORTHON'S EPITAPH.
To every toping traveller that lives,
Orthon of Syracuse this warning gives :
With wine o'erheated, and depriv'd of light,
Forbear to travel on a winter's night;
This was my fate ; and for my native 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.
MANY-COLOURED, sunshine-loving,
[>iiii^-bctokening 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 sweetly-smelling
garden plots and bowers.
THE GRASSHOPPER.
I SHALL never sing my pleasant ditty now,
Folded round by lon^ Iriivcs on the bough,
Under my shrilly chirping winy;:
For a child's hand seized me in luckless hour,
Sitting on the petals of a flower,
Looking for no such evil thing.
ON THE TOMB OF AN INFANT.*
STAT, weary traveller, stay!
Beneath these boughs repose !
A step out of the way,
My little fountain flows.
And never quite forget
The monumental urn,
Which Simus here hath set
His buried child to mourn.
* The nymph of the fountain, by the side of which
Simus had erected a monument to his child, is supposed
to utter these words to the passer-by.
U
LEONIDAS OF TARENTUM.
[About 280 B. C.J
LEONIDAS lived in the days of Pyrrhus, king of
Epirus, and appears to have been one of the cap-
tives made by that prince in his war on the Taren-
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.
CLISTG 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 heart's repose than all the world beside.
THE DYING SHEPHERD.
LONE shepherds, who your goats and well-wool'd
sheep
Teach to climb up 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 Lyseus and the azure train
Of Nymphs, that make the pastoral life their care,
With offerings due old Areas pours his prayer.
To Pan a playful kid, in wars untried,
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 full-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, O 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 ^Eacides.
THE RETURN OF SPRING TO SAILORS.
HASTE to the port! the twittering swallow calls,
Again returned j 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.
UXHAPPY child ! unhappy I, who shed
A mother's sorrows o'er thy funeral bed !
Thou'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, somewhere, on a monument
erected by 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.
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
The triumphs of your archery.
Pan leads and, if you hail me right,
As guardian of the sylvan reign,
I'll wing your arrows on their flight,
And speed your coursers o'er the plain.
INSCRIPTION OX THE BANKS OF A
RIVER.
NOT here, thirsty traveller, stoop to drink ;
The sun has warmed, and flocks disturbed, its
brink ;
But climb yon upland, where the 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.
THET 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 Philrpnis 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.
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 quaffs the rich wine, rosy-red ;
How, with flush'd cheek and swimming eye,
In drunken fashion, from his thigh
He lets his robe unheeded steal,
And drop and dangle o'er his heel.
One sandal's off; one scarce can hide
The lean and shrivell'd foot inside.
Old Anacreon hark! 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
* Chirping crickets, or grasshoppers, (the "UL^K, as
well as the TtTrrytc.) were kept in houses like singing
birds, and more especially in the apartments of the
women. By a quick, tremulous motion of the wings
against the sides, these little creatures produced a sort
of song, which, according to the notion of the Greeks, J
formed a part of the full charm of summer. The fashion
of wearing a golden cricket in the hair, wan one of great
antiquity in Athens. Many fanciful interpretations
have been given of this custom; by some it waa said to
denote not only the love of music, but the privileges of
autochthony, of which this insect was the sacred symbol.
See HILIC'S Jimcient Greek*.
EPITAPH ON AN AGED FISHERMAN.
THEKIS, the aged fisherman, whose skill
Taught him to live, and many a basket fill
With fishes, (for their plundering 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 Arcturus, 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 extinguish'd quite,
In 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 there'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 ;
Abroad there's fame, at home there's rest:
Glad Nature's grace attires the fields,
And gain the smiling ocean yields :
Go, roam; if rich, all are thy brothers;
If poor, it is not known to others.
Art married? O how blest for thee!
A bachelor 1 Well, at least, thou'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.
AH, why, my brother mariners,
so near the boisterous wave
Of ocean, have ye hollowed out
my solitary grave ?
'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 hath not stain'd the water,
But upon its mother's breast
It hangs, and there in beauty
Tis lull'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-
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
are simple and inartificial, but 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
by Germanicus, and lastly by Avienus. They ' on Mars' Hill. Acts xvii. 28.
PROEM TO THE PHENOMENA.
FROM Jove begin my song ; nor ever be
The name unutter'd ; all are full of thee;
The ways, and haunts of men ; the heavens and
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.
232
LYCOPHRON.
233
He shows what seasons 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, dispers'd throughout the circling sky;
From these the seasons and the times appear,
The labours, and the harvests of the year.
Hence 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 Jiving thing!
Oh of mellifluous 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.
BE 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 and piercing
cries ;
Borne o'er the deep, his flapping pinions sail,
While air is ruffled by the 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 shake their dripping pinions on the 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 east and west, the mariner should fear
Torrents of air, and foamings of the main;
These numerous lightnings flash o'er floods of rain.
And oft, when showers are threat'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 ruffled lake above:
Hoarse croak the fathers of the reptile brood,
Of gliding water-snakes the fearful food:
At break of day, the desert-haunting owl
Lengthens from far her solitary howl :
The clamouring crow is perch'd, where high the
shore
With jutting cliff o'erhangs the ocean roar ;
Or with dipp'd head the river wave divides,
Dives whole-immers'd, or, cawing, skims the tides.
Nor 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
o the ground ;
The cock's young brood ply oft the pluming bill,
And chirp, as drops from eves on tinkling drops
distil.
LYCOPHRON.
[About 269 B. C.)
LTCOPHBOX was born at Chalcis in Euboea; 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
Philadelphia, king of Egypt, who formed the
poetical constellation of the Pleiads. Lycophron
FROM THE CASSANDRA.
PROPHECY OF THE DEATH OF HECTOB.
Now Myrina's turrets o'er
And along the ocean shore
Sounds are heard of wailing cries,
Neighings shrill of war-steeds rise
30
remains of him is his prophetical rhapsody of
Cassandra.
When the tawny wolf his feet,
With Thessalian swiftness fleet,
Springing with impetuous leap,
Presses on the sandy steep ;
Hidden fountains gushing round,
As he stamps the yielding ground.
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 body'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-hand path thy pensive ghost pursued,
Loved Aristonous ! when it left behind
Those not unmindful of the great and good,
Eternal joys among the blest to find.
ON A SHIPWRECKED PERSON.
PERISH the hour the dark and starless hour
Perish the roaring main's 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.
[274221 B. C.]
A JTATIYE 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, instead 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,
Phoebus! to thee hath fair Eudoxus shed.
Grant him instead, his temples to adorn
With greenest ivy on Acharnae 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 260 B. C.]
A NATIVE of Rhodes, and said by Pausanias 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 Venus claim Love's birth?
Or the 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 good, 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 the truths severe
Their lips pronounced, bespoke the soul sincere.
CALLIMACHUS.
[About 260 B. C.]
CALITMACHITS was born at Gyrene, and taught
letters at Alexandria, where he also filled the
place of keeper of the Alexandrian Library, un-
der Ptolemy Philadelphus and his son, Ptolemy
Euergetes. He produced a variety of works.
elegies,* satires, mythologic tales, hymns and in-
scriptions, of which only a few of the two latter
remain.
FROM HIS HYMN ON THE BATH OF MINERVA.
THE STORT OF TIRESIAS.
I* times of old. Minerva loved
A fair companion with cvcrtling love
The mother of Tiresias; nor apart
I.iv'd they a moment. Whether she her steeds
l>rov to the Thespians old. or musky groves
Of Coronters of the wood,
With wonder viewing the tall pine below,
That shaded once the mountain's sha^y brow,
N\v. fratn'd by Pallas, o'er the .-ounding sea,
iia's mighty heroes to convey.
But, lo! from Pelion's highest cliff descends,
And downward to the >ea his footstep bends
The centaur Chiron; on the beach he stood,
And dipp'd his ft- 1 locks in the hoary II
. waving hi> broad hand, the bark he hails,
And ?pceds \\ith pror-p'roiis vows the parting
sails.
With him a Ivanc'd his contort to the shore;
ling Achilles in her anus >li- bore:
T ien raising high in air the pleasing
To his fond sire the smiling infant show'd.
PASSION OF MKIIKA.
AMIDST them all, the son of ^son, chief,
Shone forth divinely in 1'is comeliness,
And graces of his form. On him the maid
Held still her eyes askance, and gazed him 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 Medea went, her soul absorbed
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 utter'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 JEetes should, himself, destroy
The man she loved: and she bewailed him now
As if already dead ; and down her cheeks,
In deep commiseration, the soft tear
Flow'd anxiously. With piercing tone of grief
Her voice found utterance : " Why, unhappy one !
Am I thus wretched 1 What concerns it me,
Whether this paragon of heroes die
The death, or flee 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 destined him to fall,
First let him know, that in his wretched end
Medea does not glory." So disturb'd,
Mused the sad virgin in her anguish'd thoughts.
DELIBERATION OF MEDEA, OX HER PROMISE TO
JASON.
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 wept
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
Sooth'd not Mfdca. Many a busy thought,
For love of Jason, strain'd her wakeful eyes.
J>he fear'd the bulls, by whose o'er-mastering
strength
He, on the battle-field, may haply meet
Dishonourable death. With feverous throbs
The heart within her bosom restless heav'd.
As when the glitter of tin- 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.
Turn'd to and fro. The tear, compassionate,
Stole trickling from her eyes, and inward grief
Prey'd with slow wasting on her pining frame ;
Such weight of suffering did her sleepless love
Lay on her bosom. Now her 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 cure
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 shall die upon the field.
How should I shun my parents' eyes, and mix
The needful drugs? What speech can 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!
Away with decent forms ! and let him go
Saved by my counsels, wheresoe'er 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 pursue with taunts
My 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.'
What shame will 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 this reproach; before my deeds have wrought
This foul disgrace, unworthy of a name ?"
She said, and to her casket went, full-stored
With drugs: some healthful, some of deadly bane.
She placed it on her knees, and wept ; the tears
Unceasing bathed her bosom ; flowing forth,
Spite of herself, abundantly, 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
Gathering 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,
In smiling vision, flitted on her sight:
She thought upon the pleasures that are found
Among the living ; she remember'd her
Of the gay playmates of her virgin hours:
The sun more pleasant in her fancy shone
Than ere his light had been; and, more and more,
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 promised 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 for the light.
THE MAGIC TRIAL.
THE evening sun went down beneath the verge
Of dusky earth, far glancing o'er the hills
Of ^Ethiopia ; and the Night arose,
And yoked her chariot-steeds. The heroes then
Spread at their anchorage their couch of rest.
But Jason, instant at the Bear's bright star,
Had turn'd the pole, and silence from the heaven
Suffused the depth of aether, took his way
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 quiet, 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 :
Mournful 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 shed 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 boughs and grisly snakes,
And circled with the multitudinous glare
Of glimmering torches, while around her yell'd
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 feet
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 ^Eetes, arming, drew,
The firm-conjointed corslet, gift of Mars ;
Who, with his own hands, rent the bloody spoil
From Minus, Thracia's giant. On his head
He placed a four-coned helm of burnish'd geld;
Resplendent, as the round sun when emerged
APOLLONIUS RHODIUS.
241
From ocean. Then he grasp'd the massive shield
Of many-folded 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, Absyrtus 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,
Climbing his car, or guides his rolling wheels
To Taenarus, or Lerna's lake ; or seeks
Orchestus 1 grove ; or lashes his fleet steeds
To Calaurea or Haemonia'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 smear'd th' anointed
shield,
And the strong spear and sword. His comrades
all
Essay'd to bend the weapons, nor avail'd
With all their strength : the spear's unyielding
beam
Grew hard, and stiffen'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 arch'd
neck,
Hiirh 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 hi-^ arm tin- bra/on shield,
And brandi-iliing the -pear. 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 streteh'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 fill'd
With the sharp serpent's teeth : the falchion slung
Athwart his shoulder : naked was his form.
He look'd, 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 flame. 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 enwrapp'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 other rushing on
He smote, and at a blow him, too, he fell'd
Doubling the knee. Then, casting on the ground
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 : ^Eetes gazed
In wonder on the vigour of the man.
The sons of Tyndarus, who long had look'd
Upon his prowess, 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
Clench'd in the midst, the brazen draught-beam
rais'd,
And fitted to the polish'd ring that hung
From the link'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
Midway 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 clay 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 cheer'd 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,
Fill'd 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; all bristling with strong
shields,
Arid barbed spears, and shining helms, a field
Hallo w'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 counsell'd, and from off 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 hurl'd 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 ^Eetes, from that 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 their 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 sunk down, and plunged their heads
yet dank
With the fresh mould. As when, profuse, the
rain
Is pour'd from sether, 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 on the sadden'd spirit of the king
APOLLONIUS RHODIUS.
243
./Eetes, and he went, on his return
To his own city, with the Colchian train ;
Casting within 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 by the beach oxstalls and tents were spread
By bold Bebrycians, Amycus their head,
Whom, on the precincts of the winding shore,
A fair Bithynian 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 him compell'd in fight to wield
The dreadful gauntlet in the listed field :
Unnumber'd guests his matchless prowess 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 rons'd 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."
Siiinu' 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'il his mantle, richly wrought,
Late from the Lemnian territory brought,
Which some fair nymph who had 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 ol' wild-olive made,
Which lately flourish'd in the woodland shade.
Then sought the heroes for a place at hand
Commodious for the u'lrht. and on the strand
They placed their friends, who saw, with won-
dering eyes,
The chiefs how different, both in make and
size:
For Amycus like fell Typhoeus stood,
Enormous ; or that miscreated brood
* See this combat described by Theocritus, pp. 223, 224.
Of mighty monsters, which the heaving earth,
Incens'd at Jove, brought forth, a formidable 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 beam'd the glance divine :
Such seem'd 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,
Glar'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 pride :
" Lo, two stout pair, the choice I give to thee ;
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, heap'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 shuns 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 disappoints the foe ;
And where a weak unguarded 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 round,
And ceaseless hammers send a various sound^
Thus from their batter'd cheeks loud echoes
sprung,
Their dash'd teeth crackled, and their 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 awhile remit the bloody fray,
And panting 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, Amyous expir'd.
CLEANTHES.
[About 240 B. C.]
A WATIVE of Assos in Asia Minor. He was heads of his master's lectures on shells and bones
originally a common wrestler, in which capacity for want of money to procure better materials.
he visited Athens. There, having caught the He was a follower of Zeno, and, after his death,
spirit of knowledge so prevalent among the succeeded him in the portico. Though he wrote
people, he devoted himself to study, drawing j much, yet none of his writings have come down
water as a common labourer during the night, [ to us but the following hymn, which is deservedly
that he might have means and leisure to attend j lauded by West, as displaying such correct sen-
the schools of philosophy by day. So great was ' timents of duty in. a heathen, and so much poetry
his poverty, that he is said to have written the j 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 universe, 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 ! while 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.]
native of Bena in the isle of Crete,
was originally master of the Palaestra, 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 Rhianus, that he caused his bust to
be placed in the public libraries, amongst those
of the most eminent poets. For a list of his
works, see Clinton's Fast. Hett. vol. ii. p. 512.
ON HUMAN FOLLY.
STILL err our 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,
A nd energies ; nor dares, courageous, aught
Of speech or action ; trembling, when the rich
Appear before him : sadness and despair
Fating his very heart. While 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-up mind,
Sinful in haughtiness, like Jove, he 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 youthful 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.
DEXIOXICA, 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 ! O 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,
[About 209 B. C.]
OH TWO THEBAN BROTHERS,
8LAIX IX THRACE.
BY Jove, the god of strangers, we implore
Thee, gentle pilgrim, to the ^Eolian shore,
(Our Theban home,) the tidings to convey
That here we lie, to Thracian wolves a prey.
This to our father, old Charimis, 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
DYIJCG IK HER HUSBAND'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 thoti, 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.
v2 245
ALGOUS OF MESSENE.
[About 190 B. C.]
A CONTEMPORARY and ardent partisan of the 1 Philip, whose defeat by the former he celebrates
Roman consul, Titus Flarninius, 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
SLAIIT AT CTIfOCEPHALiB.
, unburied, passenger, we lie,
Three myriad sons of fruitful Thessaly,
In this wide field of monumental clay.
^lolian Mars had marked us for his prey ;
Or he, who bursting from th' Ausonian fold,
In Titus' form, the waves of battle roll'd ;
And taught ^Emathia'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 Alcseus, had he
fallen into the hands of his enemy.
Unbarked and leafless, passenger, you see,
Fixed in this mound, Alcseus' gallows-tree.
ON HIPPONAX THE SATIRIST.
THY tomb no purple clusters rise to grace,
But thorns and briars choke the fearful place 5
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,
Beneath 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 170 B. C.]
Bioir was a native of Smyrna, in Ionia, and I appears that he died by poison : but when, why,
lived some time under Ptolemy Philometor. 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 MOURN 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?
Touch thy sweet lips and not to honey change ?
246
And cry " the fair Adonis is no more !"
I mourn Adonis : him the Loves deplore :
See fair Adonis on 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
The rose has fled his lips, and 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 bleeding wound :
Yet Venus feels more agonising smart 5
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,
Unsandal'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 purple 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 :
The 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 th' 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 :
Ah ! let me find thy last expiring breath,
Mix lips with lips, and suck thy soul in death.
Wake but a little, for 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 so.-
A king abhorr'd, and an inhuman queen:
I It-el 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, why.
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 shed :
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 withered at his fall.
With balms anoint him from the myrtle tree:
Or perish ointments ; for thy balm was he.
Now on his purple vest Adonis lies :
The groans of weeping Loves around him 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,
And Hymen in the vestibule appears
Shrouding his torch; and spreads in silent grief
The vacant wreath that twined 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 swain, 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 bucolic strains;
How Pan the pipe, how Pallas form'd the flute,
Phoebus the lyre, and Mercury the lute :
Love, to my lessons quite regardless grown,
Sung lighter lays, and sonnets of his own;
Th' amours of mon below, and gods above,
And all the triumphs of the Queen of Love.
I, sure the simplest of all shepherd-swains, -
Full soon forgot my old bucolic strains ;
The lighter lays of love my fancy caught,
And I remember'd all that Cupid taught.
248
BION.
CUPID AND THE FOWLER.
A TOUTH, once fowling in a shady grove,
On a tall box-tree spied the God of Love,
Perch'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 he 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 ploughman 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 flutt'ring pinions o'er your breast,
Perch on your brow, and in your bosom nest."
SHORTNESS OF LIFE.
IP 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 aveng'd his death.
* According to Homer, Patroclus, when dying, thus
addresses Hector :
"Insulting man! Thou shall be soon as T ;
Black Fate hangs 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 effulgence gleams
More 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 foul 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.
MYRSOIf.
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 rosy Plenty fills her copious horn ;
Then bursting buds their odorous blooms display,
And Spring makes equal night, and equal day.
FRAGMENTS.
i.
IXCESSAITT drops, as proverbs say, m
Will wear the hardest stones away.
n.
LET me not pass without reward !
For Phoebus 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.
ROUJTDED 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 goest:
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.
Or this poet nothing certain is known.
SPARTAN VIRTUE.
DEMETRIUS, when he basely fled the field,
A Spartan born, his Spartan mother killed;
Then, stretching forth his bloody sword she cried,
(Her teeth fierce gnashing with disdainful pride,)
" Fly, cursed offspring, 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
O1C OWE WHO DIED IK A FOREIGN COUWTRT.
GRIEVE not, Philaenis, 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 IM B. C.)
MOSCBUS, the friend of Bion, was a native of Syracuse, but resided chiefly at Alexandria.
THE CONTRAST.
O'ER the smooth main, when scarce a zephyr
blows
To break the dark-blue ocean's deep repose,
I seek the calmness of the breathing shore,
Delighted with the fields and woods no more.
But when, white-foaming, heave the deeps on
high,
Swells the black storm, and mingles sea with
sky,
Trembling, I fly the wild tempestuous strand,
And seek the close recesses of the land.
249
250
MOSCHUS.
Sweet are the sounds that murmur through the
wood,
While roaring storms upheave the dang'rous
flood;
Then, if the winds more fiercely howl, they rouse
But sweeter music in the pine's 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,
Unchanging labour, and uncertain gains.
Be mine soft sleep, beneath the spreading shade
Of some broad leafy plane, inglorious laid,
Lull'd by a fountain'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 roll'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 war 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, who as a stranger was array 'd,
Forc'd to her arms the unresisting maid ;
Call'd her her right, by all the powers above,
Giv'n her by fate, and ^Egis-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, ye gods ! that 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
In roughen'd gold, and, lowing, paw'd the flood,
(For Vulcan there had pour'd the azure main)
A heifer still, not yet transform'd again.
Two men stood figur'd on the ocean's brim,
Who watch'd the cow, that seem'd inclined 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 roll'd,
And Jove was sculptur'd in refulgent gold.
Near piping Herrnes sleepless Argus lies,
Watching the 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 the intriguing god 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 distinguished him afar ;
Full in his forehead beam'd a silver star:
His large blue eyes, that shone serenely bright,
Languished 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 hastened 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.
C.-i -rulean Neptune was the Thunderer's guide,
And for the passing pomp he smooth'd the tide :
The Tritons hail'd him as he steer'd along,
And sounded on their conchs the nuptial song.
On Jove's broad back the lovely damsel borne
Grasp'd with her iiiir 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 broath'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-boat shore she sa\v, nor mountain's brow,
Nor aught but sky above, and waves below.
Then with a mournful look the damsel said:
Ah! whither wiltthou bear a wretched maid?
Who, and whence art thou, wond'rous creature,
say?
How canst thou 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 from celestial breed,
Thy acts are inconsistent with a god :
Bulls rove the meads, and dolphins swim the
flood ;
But 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 meads to roam !
And now on seas I ride ah! wretched maid !
But, ! 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 the bull re-
plied :
" Courage, fair maid, nor fear the foaming tide ;
Though now a bull I seem to mortal eyes,
Thou soon shalt see me ruler of the skies.
What shape I please, at will I take and keep,
And 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 strew'd the couch of love,
And the coy maid became the bride of Jove.
CUPID PROCLAIMED.
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 inclin'd ;
And, under guise of harmless jest,
He stings the unsuspecting breast.
Innumerous curling tresses grace
His impudent and rakish face.
His hands are tiny, but their power
Extends to Pluto's gloomy bower.
The peevish urchin carries wings,
With which 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 beguil'd ;
Bind fast his trickful 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: they 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 bow, and quiver laid aside,
A rustic wallet o'er his shoulders tied,
Sly Cupid always on new mischiefs bent,
To the rich field 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 melting dirges 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;
Afflicted 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,
owns;
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 ?
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
drew,
And breathed upon her dying paramour.
Most musical of rivers ! now renew
Thy plaintive 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,
POLYSTRATUS.
253
And from her urn the glowing 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 pipes of reeds com-
pose;
Taught how 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 ;
Boeotian Hylae mourned for Pindar less ;
Teds regretted less her minstrel hoar,
And Mitylene her sweet poetess ;
Nor for Alcaeus 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 o'ertakes. My tears fast flow
For thee, my friend. Could I, like Orpheus
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,
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, chill'd with conscious fear ;
So I, all frantic, the wide mansion o'er,
Unhappy mother, my lost sons deplore.
CAPRICIOUS LOVE.
PAW for his neighbour Echo sighs ;
She loves the 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 ballad in imitation of this Idyl must be
well known to most of our readers.
"Tom loves Mary passing well,
While Mary she loves Harrji,
While Harry sighs for bonny Bell,
And finds his love miscarry," &.c. &c.
POLYSTRATUS.
[About 146 B. C.]
ON THE DESTRUCTION OF CORIXTH.
Acrocorinth, the bright star
Of Hellas with its narrow Isthmian bound,
Lucius o'ercame ; in one enormous mound
Piling the dead, conspicuous from afar.
Thus, to the Greeks denying funeral fires,
Have great Eneas' 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 the avengers of their parent city.
W
ANTIPATER OF SIDON
[About 127 B. C.]
OF this poet we know nothing more than that
he sprung from a noble and wealthy family in
Sidon, was the friend of Quintus Catulus,. 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'en in these 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.
HEBE 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 bed ;
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 plane,
And round its youthful tendril throw,
A shelter from the wind and rain.
That sapless trunk, 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
To 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 around 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,
JEolian 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 ?
ye ! who ever twine the threefold thread,
Ye Fates, why number with the silent dead
That mighty songstress, whose 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 from Chios
These, noble Salamis have sung,
While those proclaim thee born in los;
And others cry up Thessaly
The mother of the Lapithse.
Thus each to Homer has assign'd
The birth-place just which suits his mind.
But, if I read the volume right,
By Phoebus to his followers given,
I'd say they're all mistaken quite,
And that his real country's heaven ;
While for his mother, she can be
No other than Calliope.
ANTIPATER OF SIDON.
255
ON ORPHEUS.
No more, sweet Orpheus! shalt them lead along
Oaks, rocks, and savage monsters with thy song,
Fetter the winds, the struggling hail-storm chain,
The snowy desert soothe, and sounding main;
For thou art dead ; the Muses o'er thy bier,
Sad as thy parent, pour the 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 trumpet 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 Mienalus his royal sitting;
Who, for thy love, forsook his simple reed,
And hymns thy lays in strains a god befitting.
I. ON ANACREON.
GROW, 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
bed,
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, 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 ;
Bat 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'stfrom 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 Donth thine eye-lid steepeth ;
Thy harp, that whispered through each lingering
night,
Now mutely in oblivion sleepeth.
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.
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.
the
WHEW hungry wolves had trespass'd on
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 my 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 thimble
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 renounce, and henceforward decree
To live with Love's goddess, and prove that I'm
free.
MELEAGER.
[About 100 B. C.]
Or 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,
And 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.
TIMAEION'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 nought;
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.
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,
of 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 sweet, so fair,
As the dear, dear locks they'll bind.
MELEAGER.
257
THE LIGHT OF LOVE.
GAZING on tliee, sweet maid ! all things I see
For thou art the whole universe to me ;
And, when thou'rt absent, to iny vacant sight,
Though all things else be present, all is night.
PAN'S LAMENTATION FOR DAPHNK
FAREWELL, ye hills ? ye sylvan scene?, 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 OX A TAME HARE.
Tony from a tender mother's breast,
A tiny, prick-eared thing,
Me lovely Phaniou ca
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.
ppliant 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 through the waves you bore.
EPITAPH ON .KSK.F.NES.
HAIL, universal mother! lightly rest
On that dead form,
Which when with life invested, ne'er opprest
Its fellow worm.
THE MORNING M\\R.
FAREWELL bright Phosphor, herald of the morn!
:i. in Ilesjn-r's name, again be born
By stealth restoring, with thy
The charms thine early radiance drove away.
THE GIFTS OF THE GRA'
G I fbl my fair
A triplf garland w
When, with i-adi 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-breathes
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 Heliodora's lips have prest.
Oh, might those lips 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 beneath 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 ravish'd sprite.
Ah! vainly 'scaped the fearful ocean's roar,
To prove a fiercer hurricane on shore.
CUPID'S 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 biood-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 giver,
I vow to burn be I'.- re 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 the sheep-folds roaming.
There take your wings put on your shoe,
And tell your playmates you are coming.
TO CACCHUS.
BACCHUS ! I yield me to thy sway;
Master of revels, lead the way !
Conqueror of India's burning 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 double throne.
Alas ! alas ! that power so high
Should stoop to treacherous perfidy!
The mysteries of thy 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 half 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 never
Should shake her faith, or steal her love ?
Yet now she says those words 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.
OYEZ ! Take notice ; Love, the runaway,
Fled from his bed-chamber at break of day.
The boy is an adept at wheedling, crying ;
Talks much, is swift of foot, and given to lying.
Audacious, cunning, and with malice fraught,
He laughs at mischiefs his own wiles have
wrought :
With wings for flight equipp'd, and for attack
With darts, he bears a quiver at his back.
Who is his father I could ne'er discover
Earth, sea, and air alike disown 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 asleep, 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 arch 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 downright 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 thy 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 wero
sleep,
For ever on those lids my watch to keep !
So would I have thee all mine own, nor he,
Who seals Jove's wakeful eyes, my rival be.
LOVE, THE TENNIS-PLAYER.
LOVE acts the tennis-player's part,
And 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,
Follow in the game with Love:
If thou throw me back again,
I shall of foul play complain
TO ZENOPHILE PLAYING ON THE LYRE.
"i'rs a sweet strain, by Pan of Arcady !
Which warbles from thy lyre with thrilling
sound :
Zenophile, oh ! how can I be free,
When loves on every side enclose me round,
Forbidding me to breathe a. single hour
In peace, since first thy beauty, then thy lyre,
TLy grace, and then .... Oh! words of feeble
power,
Thy perfect all has set me all on fire.
THE RETURN OF SPRING IN GREECE.
HUSH'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
O'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,
When venial sunshine animates their toil,
And little birds, in warblings sweet and clear,
Salute thee, Maia, loveliest of the year:
on their deeps, the tuneful halcyons hail,
In streams the swan, in woods the nightingale.
It' earth rejoices, with ne\\- verdure gay,
And shepherds pipe, and flocks exulting play,
And sailors main, and Haechus leads his throng,
And bees to ti>il, and birds awake to song,
Shall the glad bard be mute in tuneful spring,
And, warm with love and joy, forget to sing?
EPITAPH ON A YOUNG BRIDE.
NOT Hymen, it wa~ Ade<" -elf alone
That loosened Clearista's viririn /
And now the evening flutes are breathing round
iii'i nuptial doors resound.
The morning sponsii ! but, oh!
At once 'twas silenced into threnes of woe ;
And the same torches, which the bridal bed
Had lit. now showed the pathway to the dead.
Another translation of the S
I her virgin /
Found in the nuptial bed :
i eluim'd the 1; i'f right; to death
alone
The treasure guarded (or her spouse she gave.
To sweetest sounds the happy evening fled.
The Mute's soft strain and hymeneal choir;
At morn sad bowlings echo round the bed.
And the glad hymns on quivering lips expire.
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 Charixenus ! in youth's first bloom,
Thy mother's hands an offering to the tomb
Deck'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 gentle bosom's bounteous store,
How ill repaid ! 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.
STILL, like dew in silence falling,
Drops for thee the nightly 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 thy form 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 fleetness,
Why so slow to go again ?
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 remembrance 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 free,
And soft endearments never to return.
* So in Shakspeare's " Romeo and Juliet :"
"All things Unit we ordain for festival,
Turn from their omYo to black funeral:
Our instrument* to melancholy bells;
Our weddiiiir rhivr tn ;i sad burial feast ;
Our soli-inn hymns to sullen dires change ;
Our bridal flowers serve for a buried rorse."
Act iv., Scene v.
And likewise ITerrir.k, in liis lines "Upon a maid that
died tlic d:iy she was miirricd."
"That morne which saw me made a bride,
The eveniri!: witm^st that I died.
Those holy li'.'tits, wherewith they guide
Into thf In 1 :! I In- liaslit'ul bride.
S'Tv'd but as tapers for to biirnn,
And IL'ht my rt-liques to their urne."
"Et face pro thalami fax mini mortis adest." Ovid.
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,
Affection's fondest tribute to the dead.
Oh, flow, my bitter sorrows o'er her shrine,
Pledge of the love that bound her soul to mine !
Break, break, my heart, o'ercharged with bursting
woe,
An empty offering 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 Heliotlora rest.
THE DAUGHTERS OF LYCAMBES.
BY Pluto's hand we swear an awful sign
And the dark bed of gloomy Proserpine,
Pure went we to our graves, whate'er 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-WANDERING barks, that o'er the ^gean 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.
,
And yet conceal'd, the future splendour glows.
CONSTANCY.
MY 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 the 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 !
Jl freer paraphrase of the Same.
MY 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 live one.
INVITATION TO THE ANNIVERSARY OF
EPICURUS.
TO-MORROW, 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.
YE 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
with 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.
HATEFUL bird of morn, whose harsh alarms
Drive me thus earlv 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 soul'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,
Reard 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 NATIVE 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 fear-;.
From other eyes have forced the tears,
And by your bitter-biting darts,
Instill'd love's poison in our hearts.
You oft have laugh'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 t-n.-tling stream;
Then, hastening to the festal bower,
We'll pass in mirth the evening hour :
Tis thus our age of bliss shall ily,
As sweet, though passing, as that
Which seems to whisper o'er your lip;
"Come, while you may, of rapture sip."
For age will steal the gracefid 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.
CHILDREN of spring, but now in wintry snow,
We purple roses for Calista blow,
Duteous we smiled upon her natal mornj
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 ARMY OF GERMAKICUS.
LET Cynegeirus' name, renowned of yore,
And brave Othryades be heard no more !
By Rhine's swoln wave Italian Arrius lay
Translix'd with wounds, and sobb'd 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.
HAH, 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,
BY TIMOMACHUS.
WHEN bold Timomachus essay'd to trace
The soul's emotions in the varying face,
With patient thought, 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 marr'd the artist, but became the queen.
ON A BEE'S NEST.
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, nor 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 1 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
PLAYING 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.
205
ON THE VOTIVE IMAGE OF A LION.
lie the dark winter's night, while all around
The furious hail-storm clatters on the ground,
Wnile 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 stifled horror fill the cot;
No more their numerous herds demand their care,
While for themselves they pour the broken prayer,
And call the Saviour Jove, as fix'd they stand,
Together press'd, a trembling, shuddering band,
while the lordly savage, safe and warm,
through the pelting of the wintry storm,
Then calmly quits the whole affrighted horde,
And leaves their meal untouch'd upon the board.
In grateful memory of so rare a fate,
The swains to Jove this offering 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.
r Ho 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
OP THK IUVKH ECHOTAS.
*
PLTTXOBD 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 MACEDONIA* by birth, and a contemporary of Philip, the second collector of the Anthology
ON THE DEFEAT OF XERXES AT
THERMOPYLAE.
IIH. who reversed the laws fjreat nature gave,
Sail'd o'er the continent, and walk'd the wave,
Three hundred spears from Sparta's iron plain,
Have stopp'd 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 the storm,
Poor lost Eliza ! in the raging sea,
Gone was my ev|ry 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 Apollonius."
ON A SON DROWNED AT SEA.
HER hapless son, now buried in the deep,
Along the shore Ly si dice 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 ^Egean, 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 LOVERS.
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 5
It delights the gods above,
And is to all the 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.
^EMILIANUS NIC^US.
ON THE PICTURE OF AN INFANT
SUCKING AT THE BREAST OF ITS DYING MOTHER.
"Pictura est, oppido capto, ad Matris morientis e viilnere mammam adrepens infans: intelligiturque sentire mater,
et jimere ne emortuo lacte sanguinem infans lambat. Plin.
SUCK, little wretch, while yet thy mother lives !
Suck 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 THEMISTOCLES.
GREECE be the monument : around her throw
The broken trophies of the Persian fleet ;
Inscribe the gods that led the insulting foe,
And mighty Xerxes at the tablet's feet.
There lay Themistocles to spread his fame
A lasting column Salamis shall be ;
Raise not, weak 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.
'Trs 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 arrived, 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 the 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.
[Born alx>ut 9O-Died 190, A. D.]
A WELL-KXOWX Greek writer, born at Samo-
sata in Syria. He was bred a sculptor, but
nfterwards devoting himself to literature, and
becoming an author, acquired by his writings
TO A WORN-OUT BELLE.
YES, you may change your luiir, but not your age,
Nor smoothe alas! the wrinkles of your face;
a may varnish o'er the tell-tale pa-e
And wear a mask fr every vanish'd grace:
But there's an end. No Hecuba by aid
Of rouge and ceruse is a Helen made.
such favour with the emperor Marcus Au-
relius, as to be appointed by him to the Re-
gistrarship of Egypt. He died at the age of
ninety.
THE PHYSICIAN AND HIS SON.
His darling son a certain doctor brought,
To be by me in the belles lettres taught.
The lad began "Achilles' wrath, the spring
Of woes unnumbered, 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: "Quare tarn multis a te, Lentine, diebus,"
&.C., and its parentage is not unphilosophically given in
the following distich by Hedylus :
Aun/u.t\ov? t 'Bdx.%ou
I ' e/va-TOLi Buy-amp,
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 warm ;
Content to wither, pale and brief,
The trophy of thy fairer form.
HYMN TO APOLLO.
KEEP silence now, with reverential awe,
Wide sether, 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
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 ! Phoebus, 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 daedal 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 200 A. D.]
THIS writer, who lived at the court of the I following popular song of Ben Jonson's ; of
emperors Septimius Severus and Alexander, is which Cumberland was the first, I believe, to
mentioned here from his connection with the [ discover the origin. See Observer, No. cix.
TO CELIA.
DRIJTK 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 theie
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
f ourished early in the third century. His poems
LOVE NOT EXTINGUISHED BY AGE.
OH how I loved, when, like the glorious sun,
Firing the orient with a blaze of light,
Thy beauty every lesser star outshone !
(says Mr. Merivale,) though elegant in language,
are, for the most part, disgraceful in sentiment
Now o'er that beauty steals the approach of
night
Yet, yet I love ! Though in the western sea
Half sunk, the day-star still is fair to me !
RUFINUS.
MAIDEX RESERVE.
WHEV blest I met my Rhodoclee alone,
On the c>ld earth a timid suppliant thrown,
1 clasp'd her beauteous knees, and bade her save
A wretch, at her disposal, from t
Listening she wept too soon her tears were
dried,
And with soft hand she moved me from her side.
THE GAIILAM).
A. WREATH to thee, my Rhodoclee,
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,
And Venus in thy swelling bosom glows:
Happy the lover of thy sight possest,
Who listens to thy melting voice, thrice blest;
Almost a irod. whose love is met by thine,
Who folds thee in his arms, indeed divine !
x2 260
270
CARPHYL1DES. LUCILLIUS.
EXHORTATION TO PLEASURE.
Now, as we rise from the reviving wave,
Braid we our locks, my Prodice, with flowers ;
Drain we deep bowls of 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 youthful
throng,
Feed on the blooming damask of thy prime,
And scatter wrinkles as he pass'd along 1 ?
The hour is come for who with amorous song
Now woos thy smile, or celebrates thy bloom 7
See, from thy presence how the gay and young
Retiring turn, and shrink as from the tomb I
THE DENIAL OF LOVE.
WHY will Melissa, young and fair,
Still her virgin love deny,
When every motion, every air,
The passion of her soul declare,
And give her words the lie?
That panting breath, that broken sigh,
Those limbs that trembling fail,
And that dark 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.
THINK 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 weight.
Three lovely girls in nuptial ties I bound,
And children's children smiled my board around.
And, often pillow'd on their grand sire's breast,
Their darling offspring 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,
Arid hymn my spirit to a blest repose.
LUCILLIUS
[About 375 A. D.]
THE GOOD PHYSICIAN.
WHEN 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.
Poon Cleon out of envy died,
His brother thief to see
Nail'd near him to be crucified
Upon a higher tree.
FORTUNE.
FORTUNE reverses with a smile or frown.
Exalts the poor, and pulls the mighty down.
Though rich in golden ore thy rivers flow,
Her pow'r shall curb thy pride and haughty
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 Mat
waved
Their royal branches and its fury braved.
GREGORY OF NAZIANZEN. PALLADAS.
271
ON LONG NOSES.
HEAVEXS, what a nose! Forbear to look,
Whene'er you drink, in fount or brook :
For, as the fair Narcissus died,
When hanging o'er a fountain's side,
You too, the limpid water quailing,
May die, my worthy sir, with laughing.
FALSE FRIENDSHIP.
AKT 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 MOTTRW not those, who, banish'd from the light,
Sleep in the grave through Death's eternal night;
But those whom Death, for ever near, appals,
Who see the blow suspended ere it falls.*
-Despair
Tended the sick, busiest from couch to couch;
And over them triumphant Death his dart
Shook, but delayed to strike, though oft invok'd
With vows, as their chief good and final hope.
Milton.
GREGORY OF NAZIANZEN.
[Born about 325 -Died 389, A. D.]
GREGORY was born in Cappadocia, and be-
came, first, bishop of Sasima, and afterwards, of
Nazianxen. " The title of Saint" says Mr. Gib-
be n, "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 me-
mory." In taste, eloquence, and learning, he was
inferior to none of his age.
ON A YOUTH OF FAIR PROMISE.
EUPHEMIUS slumbers in this hallowed ground,
Son of Amphilocus, by all renown'd :
H'>, 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.
ECPHEMIUS flash'd, then veil'd his dazzling beam,
As bright and transient as the lightning's gleam.
PALLADAS.
[About 370 or 380, A. D.]
SUPPOSED to be the same with Palladia*, the
author of >ev<-ral epistles in the collection of
Libaniu-. 11.' \v a< (-ay> Mr. Merivale) a mode-
rate nnd philosophical pagan; and, in one of his
epigrams, lamented the overthrow of the worship
of his fathers by the emperor, Theodosius.
ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE.
THIS life a theatre \ve well may call,
Where every actor must perform with art.
Oi laugh it through, and make a farce of all,
Or learn to bear with grace his tragic part.
MARRIAGE
Iv marriage are nv<> hnppy things allow'd,
A wife in we'ldinu r Lrarb. and in her shroud:
Who then dares say that state can be accurst,
Where the last day's as happy as the first?
272
JULIAN, PREFECT OF EGYPT.
ON THE SHORTNESS AND EVILS OF LIFE.
DARK are our fates to-morrow's sun may peer
From the flush'd east upon our funeral bier ;
Then seize the joys that 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.
Is- 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.
FROM 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 mark 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.
THE laughing women call me old,
And bid me in the glass behold
The ruins of my former state ;
But 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 ebbing 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.
THE brazen image of Jove's patient son
Alcides, prostrate and dishonoured lay,
Where worshippers their vows were wont to
P a 7>
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 laurell'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 cljooses to fancy.
JULIAN, PREFECT OF EGYPT
[About 360 A. D.]
ON DEMOCRITUS.
PLUTO, receive the Sage, whose ghost
Is wafted to thy gloomy 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 wreath I chanced to twine,
I caught young Love amongst the flowers,
and plunged him in rny wine ;
I plunged him in, and drank him up,
with such delicious glee,
And now the urchin, with his wings,
is always tickling me.
ON A YOUNG BRIDE.
THINE, Laura, thou of every grace the bloom,
Were timely spousal and untimely tomb.
Tears, bitter tears, thy sire, thy husband, shed
Tears, that might melt the boatman of the dead-
Scarce one short year to marriage joys allow'd,
Thy sixteenth summer wraps thee in thy shroud.
OFFERING OF LAIfc TO VENUS.
LAIS, when time had spoiled her wonted grace,
Abhorred the look of age that ploughed her face ;
Her glass, sad monitor of charms decay 'd,
Before the queen of lasting bloom he laid :
"The sweet companion of my youthful years
Be thine (she said); no change thy beauty fej',rs."
MUS.EUS.
THE author of the following poem was not
the ancient Musseus, (as some have conjectured
him to be,) but a grammarian of that name,
who lived in the fifth century. "Nor let the.
English reader" says the translator, "look upon
the title of grammarian as a term of reproach,
THE LOVES OF HERO AND LEANDER.
Sure, Muse ! the conscious torch, whose nightly
ray
Led the bold lover through the watery way,
To share those joys which mutual faith hath
seal'd,
Joys to divine Aurora unreveal'd.
Abydos, Sestos, ancient towns, proclaim,
Where gentlest bosoms glow'd with purest flame.
1 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'cl serenely bright;
Whose beams, in fair effulgency display'd,
A.loni'd the nnpiials of the Sestian maid:
Which Jove, its friendly oflice 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 neighb'ring 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, find a beauteous maid:
Of Sestos she, fair Hero was her name ;
The youth, Leander. fmm 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 bla/ing torch, to guide
Her lover rolinir on the h<>i>terous tide ;
The rorirmu Hellespont, whose wave-worn strait
Still in loud murmurs mourns Le;mder's fate.
lenv'nly Mu-c. hud Hero charms to move,
And melt the Abydinian into love <
Say, with what wiles the amorous youth inspir'd.
Obtain'd the virgin whom his soul admir'd?
Fair Hero, priestess to th' Idalian 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 ph-a.-ing 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 :
though now frequently used as such. The pro-
fession, styled by the ancients rpo^uaT'weJf, was
the same as that of Belles Lettres among the
moderns; and the appellation of grammarian
was particularly applied to those who excelled
in every kind of polite learning."
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.
To soften Venus oft with prayer she strove,
Oft pour'd libations to the God of Love ;
Taught by th' example of the heavenly 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.
For now the sacred festival appeared,
By pious Sestians annually rever'd,
At Venus' fane to pay the rites divine,
And offer incense at Adonis' shrine.
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 Hfpmonia, 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.
To Sestos nil the mirthful youths repair,
All that admire the gay, the young, the fair;
For amorous swains, when rmnour'd feasts in-
vite,
Joy at the nevs, and follow with delight,
Not to the gods to pay the rites divine,
Or orler incense at some sacred shrine;
Few are their nilerirgs, and concise their prayer,
Who give their whole devotion to the fair.
As through the temple pass'd the Sestian maid,
Her face a sofi.-u'd dignity display'd;
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,
I'raught 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.
273
274
MUS^US.
The ancient sages made a false decree,
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 worthy 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 now 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 she!"
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;
Resolv'd the lucky moments to improve,
He sought occasion to reveal his love ;
The glorious prize determined to obtain,
Or perish for those joys he could not gain.
Her sparkling eyes instilling fond desire
Entranc'd his soul, and kindled amorous fire.
Such radiant beauty, like the pointed dart,
With piercing anguish stings th' unguarded heart :
For on the eye the wound is first imprest,
'Till by degrees it rankles in the breast.
Now hope and confidence invade his soul;
Then fear and shame alternately control :
Fear through his bosom thrill'd ; a conscious
shame
Confess'd the passion which it seem'd to blame :
Her beauties fix'd him iu a wild amaze ;
Love made him bold, and not afraid to gaze.
With step ambiguous, and affected air,
The youth advancing fac'd the charming fair :
Each amorous glance he cast, though forrn'd by
art,
Yet sometimes spoke the language of his heart ;
With nods and becks he kept the nymph in play,
And tried all wiles to steal her soul away.
Soon as she saw the fraudful youth beguil'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 owns 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 unreluctant, unresisting maid :
Her lovely feet, that seem'd to lag behind,
But ill conceal'd her voluntary mind.
She feign'd resentment with an angry look,
And, sweetly chiding, thus indignant spoke :
"Stranger, what madness has possess'd thy
brain,
To drag me thus along the sacred fane ?
Go to your native habitation go
'Tis quite unkind to pull my garments so.
Rich are my parents 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 chid 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 complying prove,
And chiclings are the harbingers of love.
He kiss'd her snowy neck, her fragrant breast :
And thus the transport of his soul exprest :
" lovely fair, in whom conibin'd are seen
The charms of Venus, and Minerva's mien!
For sure no virgin of terrestrial race
Can vie with Hero in the bloom of face :
I deem your lineage from the gods above,
And style you daughter of Saturnian Jove.
Blest is the father from whose loins you sprung,
Blest is the mother at whose breast you hung,
Blest, doubly blest, the fruitful womb that bore
This heavenly form for mortals to adore.
" Yet, beauteous Hero, grant a lover's prayer.
Arid to my wishes prove as kind as fair :
As Venus' priestess, just to Venus prove,
Nor shim the gentle offices of love.
O let us, while the happy hour invites,
Propitious, celebrate the nuptial rites.
No maid can serve in Cytherea's fane ;
Her eyes delight not in the virgin-train.
Then as you fear the Goddess to offend,
In me behold your husband and your friend,
MUS^US.
275
incr. llow'd to me in vain:
H(,v, i:iger Hero's love obtain?
Should I in public give to thee my hand,
Mv parents would forbid the nuptial ban 1.
And should'st thou here in close concealment stay
Our secret pa.--ion would itself betray :
For soon the voice of scandal-spreading fame
The ii' '"id aioiid proclaim.
.tli- youth, thy name, thy country tell;
For mine, alas! by thee are known too well.
In yon high tower, which SettOt stands,
An 1 all the roaring Hellopont commands,
With one attending damsel I remain ;
For M) my parents and the Fates ordain!
\o nymphs, coeval, to sweet mu-ic's sound
Lead the smooth dance. or lightly beat the ground ;
But stormy winds eternal di.-cord keep,
And blistering bellow through the bom
deep."
Thus spoke the priestess, and, with modest
grace,
1 il'd the new-born beauties of her face;
For on her cheeks the m-eate blush that hung
I'd to condemn the language of her tonj
Meanwhile Leander feeds the hidden lire.
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 long he paus'd. for Love in wiles 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 artfid eloquence addrest:
" For thee, dear object of rny 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,
1 1 through the storm would swim to Hero's bed :
For rich Abydos is the home I boast,
Not far divided from the Thracian 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 extiniaiish, 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 genial joy?
Slow rose on leaden wings tin- morning light,
Slow noon came on the lovers wish'd it night.
At length dark gloom a dusky mantle spread ;
Sleep o'er the world his balmy inlluence shed.
All but Leander lay dissolv'd in re-t.
Love kejc - vi'_ r il 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
Kxplor'd the torch's !ovc-|>roc!aiming light:
HJ little deem'd. alas! ils 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,
jThe torch on hi-h she fix'd ; its llames inspire
Leander's bosom with the kindred fire:
276
MUS^EUS.
Quick through his frame the bright contagion ran,
And with the glowing signal glow'd th' en-
amour'd man.
But when he heard the hoarse-resounding roar
Of thundering billows breaking on the shore,
Aghast he stood, he shrunk, and thus addrest
These words of courage to his trembling breast :
" Ah 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 torch's blaze
From dangerous blasts that blew a thousand
ways :
Till the tir'd youth, on rolling surges 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 elasp'd him close, still panting, to her breast,
And thus with fond, endearing words addrest :
" My life, my lover, thou hast surfer'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 rneasur'd dance the nuptials
crown'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 sited,
Bright torch of Love, to grace the bridal bed !
No 16 paeans musically rung;
No greeting parents hymemeals sung :
But all was gloom, and silence all around,
Instead of music's love-inspiring sound.
* Thus in the Third Book of the Odyssey, Polycaste, the
daughter of Nestor, bathes and anoints Telemachus :
Sweet Polycaste took the pleasing toil
To bathe the prince, and pour the fragrant oil.
On which Dr. Broome remarks, that 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.
j Beneath the covert of the night conceal'd,
They tasted pleasures mutual faith had seal'd :
In close embraces all entranc'd they lay,
In raptures never usher'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 night a woman, and each day a maid.
Both wish'd the hours on 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 scatter'd storms that
sleep
In the dark caverns of the dreary deep :
The trembling sailor hears the dreadful roar,
Nor dares the wintry turbulence explore,
But drags his vessel to the safer shore.
But thee, bold youth, no wintry storms restrain,
Nor all the dcathful 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
Mgbi
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 gentle harbinger of Love.
'Twas night, and angry ^Eolus 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 with remembrance of the bridal bed ;
And, while fierce tempests howl on every side,
Floats on the bosom of the briny tide.
Waves, roll'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 dash'd billows, and resounds the deep.
From every part the blustering terrors fly,
Rage o'er the main, and battle in the sky :
The 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 :
But prayers are fruitless, and petitions vain
Love must submit to what the Fates ordain.
AGATHIAS.
277
From wave to wave the hapless youth is tost,
New 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 lires,
F< inting 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 stay'd :
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 shriek'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 lic'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 WATIVE of ^Eolis, 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 VENUS.
OFT luist thou left the realms of air
To dwell with me on Ida's shore;
But now gay youth is mine no more
And age has mark'd my brows with care.
Oh Queen of Love, my youth restore,
Or take my offering of gray hair.
ON DEATH.
WHT 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
BOfiPHORUa
STRANGER! shouldst thou to Thessaly return,
Say to my heart's dear lord that here I lie.
Here, where the Bosphoi >niing
high,
And bid him near our bower my name inurn,
So to preserve his young bride's memory.
MAinr.x i' VISION.
Go, idle amorous 1"
What are your cares and joys
To love, that swells the longing virgin's breast?
A tlaine. 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.
Iw 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.
ALL night I wept, and when the morning rose
Anil short oblivion o'er my senses crept,
The swallows, twittering round me as I slept,
Drove from my couch the phantom of repose.
Y
278
AGATHIAS.
Be silent, envious bir'ds ! It was not I,
Who stopp'd 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 books or near,
Then hemm'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.
NICOSTRATTJS, that second Stagirite,
Who sits, like Plato, perched on Wisdom's height,
A simple scholar thus address'd 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 'gari unroll,
And Aristotle's treatise on the soul,
And Plato's Phsedon 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 this encumbering 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 gxandsire'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.
FAREWELL 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 rost ;
Age gives redress to love; and silvery hair,
And earlier wrinkles, brand the haughty fair.
THE MOTHER'S OFFERING.
VEXUS, 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 'Trtaf oj, or the Consul. Nothing more is known of him.
THE POET'S OFFERING.
THERK 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 well contented, so
My cup with ceaseless bumpers flow,
And my moist lips for ever shine
In honour of the 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 I'll love
As long as I'm allow'd by Jove.
For while the sparkling bowl I drain,
The boasts of pride and pomp are vain.
REMEMBRANCE AND FORGETFULNESS.
ALL hail, remembrance and forgetfulness !
Trace, Memory, trace whatever 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 indulging himself in
man u?l" r. lit was a courtier and voluptuary | all the debasing pleasures of the age.
WHY DOES SHE SO LONG DELAY?
WHT iIi.--< -lie so IDIIIT delay?
Night is waning fast away;
Thrice have I my lamp renew'd,
.ing here in solitude.
Where can -lie so lofig delay ?
Where so long d
Vainly now have two lamps shone;
See the third is nearly gone:
Oh. that love would, like the ray
Of that weary lamp. iis and
disposition. "The rrows," says Mr. Mitchell, "appear
to have been in great disfavour with the Athenians ; they
had the fee-simple of all that society wished to eject from
iisi'll'; and thus stood to the Greeks somewhat in the re-
lation of that malignant person, who, according to Ra-
belais, breakfasts on the souls of serjeant-at-arms fri-
casseed. This son:? will show that the dislike to the
crow did not prevail universally amonp the Greeks, but
that the same use was made of him in some parts, at in
others was made of the swallow."
In like manner, (as we learn from Scripture,) the He-
brews also had their songs, adapted to different occupa-
tions and employments. The trrimk-r at the mill, the
harvest-man in the field, tin? vintacer on his hill-side, all
beguiled their labours with sonp. See Isaiah ix, 3;
Jeremiah xxv, 10; xlviii, 33; Ecclesiasticus xxxii,5, 9.
SONG OF THE SWALLOW.*
THE Swallow is come !
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 we're 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.
Let your bounty then lift
A small aid to our mirth ;
And 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 the queen of flowers should be.
Of flowers the eye, of plants the gem ;
The meadow'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.
, 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 the children of Rhodes,
who ran about in troops, carrying a live swallow with
them, and choiring its praises from door to door. See
Hase's public and private life of the ancient Greeks.
286
FROM UNCERTAIN AUTHORS.
ON ERINNA.
THOTJ 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.
OR 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! A vaunt!
A modest maiden loves not wine.
EPITAPH.
FORTUNE and Hope, adieu ! I've found my port ;
You've done with me ; be others now your
sport.
The Same paraphrased.
AT length to Fortune, and to you,
Delusive Hope, a last adieu !
The charm, that once beguiled, is o'er,
And I have reached my destined shore.
Away, away ! your flattering arts
May now betray some simpler hearts ;
And you will smile at their believing,
And they shall weep at your deceiving.
ON A FRIEND.
How often, Lycid, shall I bathe with tears
This little stone, which our great love endears!
Thou, too, in memory of the vows we made,
Drink not of Lethe in the realms of shade.*
* Imitated by Jortin in the following beautiful lines.
"Qu^E te sub tenera rapuerunt, Preta, juventa,
O, utinam me crudelia Fata vocent:
TJt linquam terras, invisaque lumina solis;
Utque tuus rursum corpore sim posito.
Te sequar ; obscurum per iter dux ibit eunti
Fidus Amor, tenebras larnpade discutiens;
Tu cave Lethaeo continguas ora liquore;
Et cito venturi sis memor, oro, Viri."
OH ! had the Fate that cut thy tender age,
Made me companion of thy pilgrimage,
That I might say, Farewell to earth and sky,
And once again beside my Po3ta lie !
Thee will I follow on the darksome road
Love lights me onward to thy calm abode :
Refrain thy lip from that oblivious wave,
And think of him who hastens to thy grave.
Bland.
In the same spirit the ghost of Julia addresses Pompey.
"Non me LethaefR, conjux, oblivia vitae
Immemorem fecere tui."
THE LOVES OF SAPPHO AND ANACREON.*
jlnac. SPIRIT 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 upon my forehead strews.
Alas ! I fear, she keeps her charms
In store for younger, happier arms.
Sapph. O Muse, who sitt'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 thou'st ever told,
He lately learn'd and sang for me.
THE LOVES OF SAPPHO AND ALCJEUS.
Me. I FAIN would speak I fain would tell
But shame and fear my utterance quell.
Sapph. If aught of good, if anght 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 dance,
While from on high the heav'n-rapt Maid shall
pour
Such strains, that men shall wonder and adore.
DIOGENES TO CROESUS.
WHEN 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
repos'd.
"Dreamer," he cried, "of streams, that flowed
with gold,
My higher dignity in hell behold !
For all I had on earth this nether sphere
Receives with me, but thou hast nothing here.''
A FRAGMENT.
JOT follow thee ; if joy can reach the dead,
And or my mind misgives it surely will ;
For when the miseries of life are fled,
How sweet the deep forgetfulness of ill !
* "Mais, par malheur," as Bayle says, "Sappho vint
au monde environ cent ou six vingt ans avant Anacre-
on."
FROM UNCERTAIN AUTHORS. 287
TO A FRIEND.
FLOWERS.
QUAFF with me the purple wine,
THE Zephyrs and the Graces wove her garment,
And in youthful pleasures join;
And deck'd it with the sweetest flowers that
Crown with me thy flowing hair ;
Spring,
Love with me the blooming fair ;
Exuberant with gentle showers, brings forth ;
When secret madness fires my soul,
Such as adorn the hours, the yellow crocus,
Thou sh,alt rave without control ;
The purple hyacinth, violet fresh and moist,
When I'm sober, sink with me
Sweet-scented rose, the lily's fragrant cup,
Into dull sobriety.
Narcissus, too, whose odours fill the air.
Venus preserve with never-fading grace
LOVE.
A garment so divinely wrought.
'Tis Love that murmurs in my breast,
And makes me shed the secret tear ;
REASON
Nor day nor night my soul hath rest,
NOT PROOF AGAINST CUPID AND BACCHUS UNITED.
For night and day his voice I hear.
WITH Reason I cover my breast as a shield,
A wound within my heart I find,
And fearlessly meet little Love in the field ;
And oh ! 'tis plain where Love has been ;
For still he leaves a wound behind,
Thus fighting his Godship, I'll ne'er be dismay'd;
But if Bacchus should ever advance to his aid,
Such as within my heart is seen.
Alas ! then, unable to combat the two,
Oh, Bird of Love ! with song so drear,
Unfortunate warrior, what should I do ?
Make not my soul the nest of pain ;
But let the wing, which brought thee here,
In pity wait thee hence again.
FOREKNOWLEDGE.
LIFE'S ills, could man by knowing,
- - "
Be spared from undergoing,
LIFE AND DEATH.
There would be sense in knowing |
WHEXCE was I born, and how?
But since, with all our knowing,
How was I born, and why ?
We must still be undergoing,
Alas ! I nothing know
Why, what's the use of knowing?
But, born, that I must die.
From nothing I was born,
THE DEAD.
To nought must I return.
THE phantom of a substance fled,
The end and the beginning
The echo of a sound,
Of life is nothingness ;
Where darkness all above is spread,
Of losing or of winning.
And silence all around,
Of pleasure or distress.
These these alone, when we are dead,
Then give me wine at least,
In Ades will be found.
There's nought for't but to feast.
Down through that yawning gulf, the grave,
When life's brief fit is o'er,
TO ROME.
Shall sink the great, the good, the brave,
DAUGHTER of Mars! Hail, mighty Power!
Stern Queen, in golden crown array 'd !
Who build'st on earth thy re^al tower,
Down to the. sunless shore,
Where, by the hush of sullen wave,
They sleep for evermore.
A high Olympus, ne'er assay 'd !
1
To thee atom- hath awful Fate
DEATH THE UNIVERSAL LOT.
Tin- pride of vast dominion lent,
The Mrentrth to bind a rising state
In bonds of or rmnent.
Beneath thy yoke's compelling beam
Unrneasiir'd earth and ocean Imar
Together b'-ml ; whil>t tliou. supreme,
STRAIGHT is our passage to the grave,
Whether from Meroe's burning wave,
Or Attic groves we roarn.
Grieve not in distant lands to die !
Our vessels seek, from every sky,
Death's universal home.
The nations rnl'st from shore to shore.
E'en mightiest Time, whose la\vs prevail
To change the world at h
FRAGMENT.
Can never turn the prosperous gale
That swells thy potent sovereignty.
Of thee alone >rn,
THE ever-smiling Venus, and the Nymphs
That form her happy train, their foreheads bind
The tir-t to blaze in glorious fight, With garlands of the choicest flowers that grow
Like spicy ranks of waving corn,
That Ceres marshals, golden-bright.*
On the sweet-smelling bosom of the earth,
Breathing and dropping odours as they move,
The Graces join in mirthful song, the while
* This ode has been sometimes ascribed to Erinna,but Old Ida's lofty summit, crown'd with springs,
: evidently the production of a later age. | In quick vibration echoes back the strain.
288
FROM UNCERTAIN AUTHORS.
THE LOVER'S WISH.
OH, that I were some gentle air,
That when the heats of summer glow,
And lay thy panting bosom bare,
I might upon that bosom blow !
Oh, that I were yon blushing flower,
Which, even now thy hands have prest,
To live, though but for one short hour,
Upon the Elysium of thy breast.
EXCLAMATION OF VENUS,
ON SEEING HER STATUE BT PRAXITELES.
MY naked charms ! The Phrygian swain,
And Dardan boy to those I've shown them,
And only those of mortal strain :
How should Praxiteles have known them ?
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 temples, see ! the madman tears 5
While, in the other hand, a staff is found,
Wherewith he smites, with furious grins, the
ground.
Gnashing in double row, those teeth declare
How much his neighbour's weal o'erwhelms him
with despair.
ON AN INFANT.
RELENTLESS Ades, why of life bereave
The child CallEeschrus? if a toy he be
In her dark home to thy Persephone,
Still with what sorrow must his parents grieve ?
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, diffuses
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.
UNDER A WINGED CUPID.
OF shunning Love 'tis vain to talk,
When he can fly, and I but walk.
PAN'S RETREAT.
REST here, beneath these shady groves reclin'd,
Whose tall tops gently murmur to the wind;
Here, where the brook mellifluous flows along,
And woos me 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 pointed
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'lt find it medicine if thy throat be dry.
ON A LAUREL,
CUT DOWN WITH A HATCHET.
AH ! where was Phoebus, when the God of arms
Dared to profane his Daphne's virgin charms ?
ON ERINNA.
SEE, how the maid her distaff plies,
And at the web her task pursues,
Fearing her mother's watchful eyes,
But all her thoughts are on the Muse.
ON IBYCUS.
RHEGIUM, whose feet Trinacria's straiten'd sea
Laves ever, verge extreme of Italy,
Honour'd be thou in song for having laid
Under thy leafy elms' embowering shade
The dust of Ibycus, the bard beloved,
The bard of Love, who all its joys had proved
Mantle his grave with ivy round 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 me 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 j;ave ;
One lives to prop his father's age forlorn
One with his mother sleeps within the grave.
PART II.
FROM THE ROMAN POETS,
289
37
ENNIUS.
[Born 239-Died 169, B. C.]
THIS father of Roman song, as he has been
called by the Latin writers, was born at Rudiae,
8. town of Calabria, in the year of Rome 515.
Like ^Eschylus, the great father of the Grecian
staire, he was a soldier before he 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
ihirty-five, when he was brought to Rome by the
elder Cato, and supported himself by instructing
the patrician youth in Greek. In this humble,
hough honourable employment, he acquired for
limself not only the freedom of the city, but the
friendship of many of its most illustrious men,
more particularly of that great ornament of his
age and nation, the elder Africanus. Ennius 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,
together 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.*
FRAGMENTS.
I. TELAMON ON HEARING THE DEATH OF HIS SON
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 PYRTIHUS TO THE ROMA!* AMBAS-
SADORS, WHO CAME TO RANSOM THE PRISONERS
TAKEN FROM THEM BY THAT I'HINCB ITS
BATTLE.
Ynrn gold I ask not; take your ransoms home ;
Warriors, not trafficers in war, we como ;
Not gold, but steel, our strife should arbitrate,
And viilmir prove which is the choice of fate.
The brave, whose lives the battle spar'd, with
me
Shall never mourn the loss of liberty.
Unnmsom'd then your comrades hence remove,
And may the mighty gods the boon approve. f
III. FABIUS.
HEEDLESS of what a censuring world might
say,
One man restored the state by wise delay ;
* For some account of Ennius's works, particularly his
Annals, see Cicero's Tusc. Disput. Brutus, &.c. Sic. ;
Sdili'i.'1'l's Lectures on Literature; NU- buhr's Romische
Osrhii-lite, and Dunlop's Roman Literature, &c. &c
t"Regalis sand" says Cicero "et digna -flEacidarum
genere seutentia.
Hence time has hallow'd his immortal name,
And, with increasing years, increas'd his fame.
IY. A ROMAN TRIBUNE WITHSTANDING THE AT-
TACK OF A WHOLE HOST.
FORTH on the tribune, like a shower,
the gathering javelins spring,
His buckler pierce or on its boss
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 flows.
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.
T. SOOTHSAYERS.
FOR no Marsian augur, (whom fools view with
awe,)
Nor diviner, nor star-gazer, care I a straw;
The Egyptian quack, an expounder of dreams,
Is neither in science nor art what he seems;
Superstitious and shameless, they prowl through
our streets,
Some hungry, some crazy, but all of them cheats.
291
292
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. ARE 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 1 ?
Would the. Good suffer ? would the Bad prevail 1 ?
VII. THE IDLE SOLDIER.
WHO know not leisure to employ,
Toil more than those whom toils employ 5
For they, who toil with purpos'd 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, call'd far from home,
Nor yet to fields of battle come,
We hither march, we thither sail,
Our minds as veering as the gale.
VIII. THE CALM OF EVENING.
THE heaven's vast world stood silent ; Neptune
gave
A hushful pause to ocean's roughening wave 5
The sun curb'd his swift steeds ; th' eternal floods
Stood still 5 and not a breath was on the woods.
IX. THE SAME SUBJECT.
SWEET smil'd the Olympian Father from above,
And the htish'd storms return'd his smile of
love !
X. ON THE REVIVAL OF ILIUM IX 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 AX ADVISER AXD FRIEXD.
[Supposed by many to be a portrait of the poet himself.]
His friend he call'd, 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 repos'd.
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 184, 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, however, 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 Menaechmi,
borrowed, it is supposed, from some lost play of
Menarrder or Epicharmus, and known on the
English stage, as the origin of Shakspeare's
Comedy of Errors; the 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, his
frequently exposed himself to the lash of censura;
yet, with all his irregularities and defects, he is ab-
solutely pure as compared with Beaumont ar d
Fletcher, Massinger, Dryden, Wycherly, and other
of our dramatic writers in the days of the Stuarts.
PLAUTUS.
293
AMPHITRYON.
DRAMATIS PERSONS.
BLEPHARO.
SOSIA.
BRO.MIA.
JUPITER.
MKHCURY.
AMPHITRYON.
ALCMENA.
SCENE. Thebes, before AMPHITRYON'S house.
PROLOGUE.
MERCURY disguised like SOSIA.
*******
Now lend attention, whilst that I unfold
The argument 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 him. 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 Sosia, 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.
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 di.-tin<_'ui>h us more readily,
I, on my hat, these little wing-j shall wear;
My father, he will bear a golden tuft;
Which mark the right Amphitryon will not have,
Anil no one of the family will be able
To see these marks : ye only -hall 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 here he is.
It will be worth your while to mark how Jove
And Mercury will play the part i
[MERITRY j>l
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 thi- late hour of night.
What shall I do now, if the watch .-hould seize
And thrust me in a i>ri-"i; '. Why. to-morrow
1 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
Bethump me like an anvil. In this sort
They'll greet me on my coming, thus receive
And entertain m,e 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. Could 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, by 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, whate'er 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.
Merc, (aside.) On this account
I have more reason surely to complain
Of servitude, I, who before was free,
Though now my father has me 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. Would 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 rascal.
Merc. 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 enemy slain,
That wrought such bitter troubles to our Thebans ;
Their town was storm'd and 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 Creon in his throne.
He has sent me on before him, to acquaint
His lady with the news, with what command
And conduct 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,
And speak from hearsay.
Merc. Ah, ha, he's coming hither ;
I'll meet him then; I must not let him enter
Within the doors to-day : but since I bear
His semblan Ived to play him 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 cunning knave, and fight him
294
PLAUTUS.
With his own weapons, drive him from the door
By villainous craft. But, how now, what's the
matter ?
He's staring at the sky. I'll 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 father's 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 night
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 much, and dropp'd asleep.
Merc. Say you so, varlet ? Do you think the gods
Are like yourself? You hang-dog! but I'll pay
you
For your vile deeds and speeches.
Sos. What do I see ?
A man before the house ? and at so late
An hour of night ? I like him not.
Merc. The rogue
Has not his equal for rank cowardice.
He's frightened ; I'll have sport with him.
Sos. I'm ruined.
How my teeth chatter ! Sure he's posted here
To give me a reception with his fists.
I'm lost forever ; what a swinging rogue !
How brawny !
Merc. I'll draw nearer, raise my voice
That he may hear me, and from thence conceive
More terrible fears within him. (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
number.
Merc, (throwing about his arms.) There I could
have him.
Sos. Who ?
Merc. Whoever comes
This way, shall eat my fists.
Sos. Pshaw !
I don't like to eat so late at night ;
I supp'd just now ; so pray, bestow your supper
On them that have more appetite.
Merc. This fist
Is not of trifling weight.
Sos. I'm 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 watch'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. I'm a dead man
If he should see me now.
Merc. 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. . Yes, 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 1
Sos. I cannot budge a foot, I am so fright-
ened.
All's over with me. Yet 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 off me.
Merc. You, sir, whither go you?
You there, that carry Vulcan in your horn.
Sos. Who made you an examiner ? you, who
bone
Men with your fists ?
Merc. Are you a slave, or free?
Sos. Whichever likes me.
Merc. Say'st thou
Sos. Ay, I say it.
Merc. You want a drubbing.
Sos. 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 p:*ay
What business have you here ?
Merc. King Creon sets
A watch here ev'ry night.
PLAUTUS.
295
Sos. 'Tis gracious in him
To guard our house the while we are abroad.
But prithee now go in, and tell the family,
Some of their fellow-servants have arrived.
Merc. Whose 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.
So*. I tell you, I
Live here, and am a servant of this house.
Merc. Dye 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.
So*. Would you then desire
To drive me from my home, when I am just
Arriv'd here from abroad?
Merc. Is this your home?
So*. It is I say.
Merc. Who is your master then ?
So*. Amphitryon, general of the Theban troops,
The husband of Alcmena.
Merc. Ha ! what say you ?
What is your name ?
So*. Our Thebans call me Sosia,
The son of Davus.
Merc. To thy sore mishap
Art thou arriv'd, thou monster of effrontery !
With made-up lies and patched-up knaveries.
So*. I'm come with patclfd-up clothes, 'tis
true, but not
With knaveries.
Merc. ! Twas with your feet you came.
So*. Ay, verily
Merc. Ay, verily ; then take
This drubbing for your lie.
So*. Indeed, forsooth
I don't desire it, I
Merc. Indeed, forsooth,
I5ut you shall have it, though you don't: indeed
Tis so resolv'd, and 'tis not in your choice.
(Striking him.}
Sos. I cry you mercy !
Dost thou dare affirm
That thou I : run he !
Sos. Murder! (S/i7/ striking him.)
Merc. This is but little in respect
Of what you'll have in future. Now whose are
you ?
Sos. Your's: for your fists have mark'd me for
your own.
rury continues to strike him.}
Help, help, good citizens!
Still bawling, sirrah ?
Speak, wherefore came you here?
So*. That you might have
.'somebody to belabour with your fii
Merc. Whose are you then ?
So*. I say, Amphitryon's Sosia.
Merc. You shall be drubb'd more heartily for
this;
You talk so idly. I myself am Sosia,
Not you.
So*. (Aside.} I would to heav ; n your were indeed,
That I were beating you !
Merc. What! muttering.
So*. I'll
Be dumb now.
WJferc. Who's your master?
So*. Whom you will.
Merc. Come prithee, what's your name ?
So*. I have no name
But what you shall command.
Merc. You said you were
Amphitryon's Sosia.
So*. 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.
So*. (Aside.} Would that you had lost
The use too of your fists !
Merc. I am that Sosia,
You said you were.
So*. Let us discourse in peace,
I pray you, without hazard of a beating.
Merc. Well, for a while then, we will hold a
truce,
If you have ought to say.
So*. I will not speak
Till peace is ratified, for you are mightier
In fists than I.
Merc. If you have ought to offer,
Speak ; I'll not hurt you.
So*. May I trust your honour ?
Merc. You may.
So*. But what if you deceive me ?
Merc. Then
May Mercury's displeasure light on Sosia !
So*. Mark. Now I am allowed to speak with
freedom,
I am Amphitryon's Sosia.
Merc. What, again f
(Offering to strike.}
Sos. The peace is made, die covenant is
ratified:
I speak the truth.
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.
So*. Nor shall you make me
An alien here. We Irnvr no other Sosia
But me, who went to th' army with Amphitryon.
Mere. The fellow's mad.
This pun in the Latin, depends upon the similitude
of sound in the pronunciation of Sosiam and socium.
296
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 awake? 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'erthrew
By dint of arms: Amphitryon's self cut off
King Pterelas' head in battle.
Sos. (^sirfe.) I can scarce
Believe myself, when I thus hear him talk :
He tells off hand, 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 arguments
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 fill'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 hid 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 Mercury,
Jupiter won't believe thee ; for I know
He'll sooner credit me without an oath
Than 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 shall not without broken bones.
Sos. I'll be gone rather Heav'ns have mercy
on me !
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. I'll 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 JUPITER and ALCMESTA.
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 full time of your
reckoning.
I must away hence of necessity.
Whatever child is born, you'll taing it up.*
Me. My lord, what business can it be, that you
Should quit your home so sudden?
*The Latin word is "tollito." 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.
297
Jup. By my faith,
It is not that I am wearied or of you,
Or of my home : but when the chief commander
Is absent from his army, 'tis more likely
Things will be done, which help not, than which
ought.
Merc, (behind.) A crafty cozener he, this sire
of mine !
Mind ye, how sweetly does he smooth her
over!
Ale. Ah ! I do find indeed now by experience,
How much you prize your wife !
Jup. Is't not enough
I love her more than any of her sex?
Merc. Faith, if your wife but knew your tricks,
I warrant
You'd rather be Amphitryon than high Jove.
Ale. : 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?
Merc. I will approach and speak to her, and
second
"her in his wheedling, (to 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 your's ?
Hang-dog ! bow dare you chatter ? If I take
A stick in hand
Ale. 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
t from the army, stole this interv
That you might be the lirst to learn from me,
How I I have told you all.
This, if I had not lov'd you to th' extreme,
1 had not done.
/<.) So is't not as I said ?
See how this stroking cheers her!
Jup. I must now
Return from hence in secret, lest the troops
Should scent n; ;. ' lien they'll say. that I
rr'd 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
Tho-e pretty eyes: I shortly shall return.
Jlr. Ah me! that shortly will be all too long.
Jup. "l'i< with reluctance I must leave youhere,
And part thus from you.
Ale. Ay, I do perceive it :
For on the very night you came to me,
On that same you depart.
(Hungs about Jupiter.)
Jup. Why do you hold me ?
itne ; 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. (taking 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?
Ale. Nay prithee, love,
Do not be angry with him for my sake.
Jup. Sweet, you shall be obey'd.
Merc, (aside.) How plaguy cross
His wenching makes him !
Jup. (going.) Would you 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 : I'll follow you this in-
stant. [Exit MERCURT.
Would you aught 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 dismiss thee ;
Yield thee to Day, that he at length may break
On mortals with a clear unclouded light:
And in proportion, Night, as thou wast lengthened
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 JUPITER.
ACT II. SCEXE I.
Enter AMPHITRTOX 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.
So*. 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 Jupiter (the false Amphitryon) to
be gone, and the reluctance of the fond, simple, unsus-
pecting Alcmena, at parting from him, are well marked
in this scene.
298
PLAUTUS.
Sos. I'm your's, and you
May use me as you please, and as it suits you ;
But as I've told you the plain fact, you cannot
Make me recant my story.
Jlmph. Why you villain ?
Dare you affirm, that you are now at home,
And here too, at this very time ?
Sos. 'Tis true though.
Jlmph. Confound you!
Sos. I'm your's, and in your power.
Jlmph. 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.
Jlmph. Jove confound you !
Sos. In what have I deserved ill at your
hands?
Jlmph. Villain, d'ye ask, who make me thus
your sport?
Sos. With reason you might curse me, wer't
not so :
I do not lie, but tell you the plain fact.
Jlmph. The fellow's drunk, I think.
Sos. I would I were !
Jlmph. You have your wish already.
Sos. I ?
Jlmph. Yes,you.
Say, where have you been drinking?
Sos. No where, truly.
Jlmph. What sort of fellow is it ?
Sos. I have told you
Ten times already. I'm at home, I say.;
And 7 d'ye mark me ? /, that self-same Sosia
Am here with you What think you ? do I speak
Plain enough now, and to the purpose ?
Jlmph. Hence,
Avaunt ; go get thee from me.
Sos. What's the matter?
Jlmph. The plague has seiz'd you.
Sos. Why d'ye say so? Faith
I feel, sir, very well.
Jlmph. 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 him. 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.
Jlmph. How this can be, convince me, thou
vile plague,
With arguments. I fain would have 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 than me.
Jlmph. 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 distinctly 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
Jlmph. What then ?
Sos. / at the door was standing long before
I came there.
Jlmph. Plague ! what trifling stuff is this ?
Have you your senses ?
Sos. I am as you see me.
Jlmph. 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.
Jlmph. Who beat you ?
Sos. I-myself beat me-myself
I, that am now at home.
Jlmph. Be sure you answer
Nothing but what I ask you. First of all
I willingly would learn, who is that Sosia?
Sos. Your servant.
Jlmph. 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 ; sprung
Prom the same father as myself; in form,
And age, the same too with myself. In short
You've here a double Sosia.
Jl'mph. Your account
Is wondrous strange! But have you seen my
wife ?
Sos. He would not let me come within the
door.
JLmph. Who hinder'd you ?
Sos. That Sosia ; he I spoke of,
Who maul'd me with his fists.
Jlmph. Who is that Sosia ?
Sos. Myself, I say : how often must I tell you?
Jlmph. But what is't you are talking ? Have
you not
Been sleeping all the while ?
Sos. No, not the least.
Jlmph. 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.
Jlmph. What He?
Sos. I tell you, Sosia.
That I-He. Prithee don't you understand ?
Jlmph. How is it possible, that any one
Should understand such jargon as you jabber ?
PLAUTUS.
299
Sos. But you will know him quickly.
Amph. ' Who ?
Sos. You'll know
That other Sosia.
Amph. Follow me. Tis needful
1 should first sift this matter. See that all things
Be brought from ship-board, as I order'd.
Sos. I am
Mindful and diligent to obey your orders.
I have not drank up your authority
Together with my wine.
Amph. . would to heaven.
The fact may turn out different from your story.
[They keep aloof.*
SCENE II.
Enter ALCMENA attended by THZSSALA.
Ale. How scanty are the pleasures in life's
com
ff plac'd in opposition to its troubles!
For in the Ijfi- of man, to every one
ins allotted, thus it pleases heaven,
That Sorrow, her companion, still should tread
f Pleasure' : and if aught
id befall us, forthwith there should follow
Of ill a lar-^T portion. This I feel,
And know it of myself now, unto whom
A little spice of pleasure was imparted,
In that it was permitted me to see
My husband but dhe night: he left me, and
Departed on a sudden, ere 'twas day.
Here seem I now deserted and forlorn,
lie I doat on, prizing above all,
nt from me. I have ta'en my grief
From the departure of my husband, more
Than I roroiv'd of pleasure from his coming.
In this, however, am I blest at least,
That he lias c- iiMii-T'd, and is home returu'd.
With honours hoap'd upon him: that's a comfort.
Let hi nt ; =o that ho return,
Crown'd with the acquisition of bright fame,
I'll bear it. his departure, with a mind
. If this recompense
Be iriv'n me. that my husband shall be styled
A conqueror in battle. I shall think
-Valour's the best reward :
-ilonr surpasses all things else:
Our lib-
Our parents, children, country, are by this
ir evry thing
Comprises in ir
the man, who : ..f valour.
Amph. I am ; njng home
Most eagerly is wi-h'd for by my wit'.-.
Who loves me. and by me no loss is lov'd ;
]>iit in >re espe iially,
row u 'd our enterprise. In truth, I know
She m IMM-S for my return.
Sos. And don't you think n. '/"too?
[.\MIMUTHYON (iilninrcs with SOSIA.
* Thf Ronrin H it and
tircndih. hi'iTiL' Oirr.irdinir to .in.-) n->! I. <* th-in ..n,.
hundred and eighty f> >'t in front. This will account for
many thing's in ill- r. ;'r.'srnt:iti/. She dreams
With her eyes open.
Ale. X I do not dream;
But am awake, and waking I relate
That whieh is true : for now ere break of day
1 saw both him and yon.
/>li. Where? in what place?
Ale. Here, in your own house.
Amph. it could not be.
Sos. Hold, sir who know's but that the vessel
lit US
From the port hiAer, while we were asleep?
300
PLAUTUS.
Amph. Will you too join in her extravagance?
Sos. What would you have me do ; sir ? Don't
you know
If you oppose a Bacchant in her rage,
You'll make her desperate ; she'll strike the
oft'ner ;
But if you humour her, one stroke contents her.
Amph. 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.
Ale. Ask
And welcome.
Amph. Is it frenzy, or is't pride,
Which thus possess you ?
Ale. 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.
Ale. By my faith,
My lord, most certainly on yesternight
I welconvd 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. (to Ale.} When did you perceive
Yourself first 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 snpp'd,
There rested the whole night, on board the ship;
Nor have I set my foot here in the house,
Since with the arrny I march 'd hence against
Our foes the Teleboans, and o'ercame them.
Ale. With me you supp'd, with rne 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,
* Atr& bill percita est. Madness by the ancients was
attributed to the bile.
You 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.
Amph. Did I,
/tell you this ?
Ale. Yes, you ; and Sosia here
Was by 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,
You told me had been giv'n to you?
Amph. By heaven
I neither gave it you, 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
hands
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.
So*. Not I ; I never told her
Xor saw her, till with you, now.
Ale. What a knave !
\Vould you that I produce the cup?
Jlmph. Produce it.
Ale. It shall be done Go, Thessala, and bring
The cup here, which my husband this day gave
mo.
[THESSALA goes in and AMPHTTRYOX
and SOSTA walk on one side.
Amph. Step hither Sosia of all wonders I
Should wonder most, if she >hould have the cup.
Sos. Can you suppose that possible, when here
It's in the casket, (showing if) seal'd with your
own seal 1
Jlmph. Is the seal whole?
So*. Look at it.
Jlmph. ; Tis secure,
Just as I seal'd it.
So*. Should she not be treated
Like a mad person?
.]nif,h. On my troth there's need on't;
For sure she is possess'd.
[THESSALA returns with a gold cup.
Ale. Need there more words?
See here's the cup.
Jlmph. dve it to me.
Ak. 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 ?
Jlmph. O Jupiter! What do I see? It is
Tip- very cup Sosia, undone for ever!
So*. Sure, she's the greatest juggler that e'er
breath M,
Or else the cup must be in here.
Jlmph. Despatch,
Open the casket, quick.
So*. 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.
Jlmph. I am resolved to open, and inspect
So*. Look if the s^nl be right, that after wards
You may not lay the blame on me.
Amph. Come, open it
This instant; fur sin* means to drive us mad.
Ale. Whence could I have this present but
from you?
Amph. That must I find.
So*. (nprnin thr raxket.) O Jupiter! Jupiter!
.Imph. What ails yon ?
So*. There's no cup here in the casket!
Jlmph. What do I h
The truth.
Jlmph. Sad truth for you,
Unless the cup appear.
Air. (shninnsr it.) It doth appear.
jffmph. Who gave it to you ?
Ale. He that asks the question.
So*. You're on the catch, good master ! You
have stolen
Nime 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,
An;! met you with a kiss.
.hnph. (amk.) I flo not like
That kiss in the beginning. Well go on.
Ale. You bath'd.
Jlmph. What after bathing.
Ale. You sat down
To table.
So*. Bravo! excellent! examine her.
Jlmph. (to Sos.) Don't interrupt (to 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.
Jlmph. Let her go on (toJNc.) What after we
had supped ?
Ale. You said you found yourself inclin'd 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 destroyed me !
So*. 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. Ami your lord ? Thou false one ! 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 offended ?
Ale. Is my being with you,
Who are my husband, an offence to you ?
Amph. With me? was you with me? im-
pudence
Unparallel'd ! If you are void of shame,
You might at least have borrowed the appear-
ance.
Ale. The crime, with which you charge me,
ne'er ili-j
Our family; and though you mean to fix
The imputation on me of incontinence
You cannot trap me.
AmpJi. O immortal gods! -
At least you know me, Sosia?
So*. Pretty well.
2 A
302
PLAUTUS.
Amph. Did I not sup last night on board our
ship
In the Euboaan port?
Me. I have at hand
Witnesses likewise, ready to confirm
All that I say.
Amph. How! witnesses?
Me. Yes, witnesses.
Amph. You produce witnesses ?
Me. 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 !
Me. 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.
Me. 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.
Me. No more
Than does become a modest, virtuous woman.
Amph. As far as words can make you, you are
honest.
Me. 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 resolv'd to search into this matter.
Me. 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. I'll 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.
ALCMENA 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 my husband should accuse me thus
Of wanton prostitution and dishonour !
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 surfer
The imputation of dishonesty
To lie against me without cause ; for I
Will either leave him, or from him receive
Due satisfaction: further, he shall swear
That he repents him it had e'er been said,
What he alleged against me innocent.
JUPITER comes forward as AMPHITRYON.
Jup. I must consent to do what she requires,
If I would meet reception as a lover.
Ale. But lo! behold him here, see, see the
man,
That charges me, unhappy as I am,
With shameless prostitution 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 embrace 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 dolt.
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.
303
So sore as the report of your displeasure.
Why 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,
And with what ease you would be brought to
bear it
Only for sport : do but ask Sosia else.
Me. But why not bring my kinsman, Naucrates
To testify you was not here before ?
Jup. It is not fair to turn in earnest what
Was only spoke in jest.
Ale, But yet I know
And feel, how much it pains me to the heart!
Jup. By your right hand, Alcmena, I entreat,
Implore, beseech, you'd grant me this request:
Forgive me, and be angry now no longer.
Me. 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
suffer
My women to attend me ?
Jup. Are you mad ?
Mr. Or if you will not, I will go without them,
Bearing my virtue with me for companion, (going.']
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 you, let your anger fall
With unremitted vengeance on Amphitryon.
Me. 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.
Me. I am not.
////). 'Tis well :
For in tlie 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
They're reconcil'd : but when these kind of
quarrels
Haply arise betwixt two loving souls,
\Vlien reconciliation's made again,
Their friendship doubles that they held before.
Me. You ought not to have said what late you
did :
But as you clear yourself, I am content.
Jup. See that the sacred vessels be prepar'd,
To pay the vows I promis'd to perform,
If I returu'd in safety.
Mr. I'll take care
Jup. Call Sosia hither. He shall go toBlepharo,
The master of our vessel, and invite him
To come and dine with us. As for himself (aside)
He shall be fool'd so as to lose his dinner;
And when unwittingly Amphitn
I'll drag him by the throat from hence.
Air. I wonder
What he is talking to himself about !
!3ut the door opens Oh, 'tis Sosia comes.
. tihi habeas res tuas, rtddat meas. This was
I he formulary used in divorce.
SCENE III.
Enter SOSIA.
I'm here. Command me if you want my service :
I will obey your orders.
Jup. You are come
Most opportunely.
Sos. Is it peace betwixt you ?
I am rejoic'd to see you 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 grave
If he is grave, and merry if he is merry:
But come now. tell me, are you reconciled ?
Jup. 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 troth, I thought
You spoke it seriously, in sober sadness.
Jup. I've cleard myself: we've made peace.
Sos. Best of all.
Jup. I have a solemn business to transact,
Within, which I have vow'd.
Sos. Ay, I suppose so.
Jup. 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.
\Exit SOSIA.
Me. Would you ought else? or shall I now
go in,
That what is needful be prepar'd.
Jup. Pray, go,
And to your best see ev'ry thing be ready.
Ale. Come in, what time you will : I'll take
due care
That nothing shall be wanting.
Jvp. 'Tis well spoken,
Like an observant wife. [ALCMENA 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 indulge me with this borrowed wife.
Look to it, you know my pleasure, and assist
me,
While to myself I offer sacrifice.
ACT IV. SCENE I.
Enter MERCURT running, at the further end of the
Stand by. make room, all clear the way before me,
Nor any be so bold to stop my speed.
(To the Spectators.)
I am Jove's messenger, and hither now
Have hied me at his bidding : therefore is it
More fitting, they should clear the way for me.
My father calls, I follow him, and pay
Attention to his orders : I'm to him
304
PLAUTUS.
Such as a good son should be to his father.
I second his amours, encourage him,
Assist him, counsel him, rejoice with him :
If any thing's a jjjeasure to my father,
The pleasure is to me the greater far.
Now would he have Amphitryon play'd upon :
I'll do it rarely, here before your eyes,
E'en now I'll 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, from above
I'll give him such a sluicing, ye shall say
He's sober, yet in liquor. 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.
I'll in, and straight equip me for my part,
Then to the house-top, and thence drive him off.
[MERCURY goes in.
SCEKE II.
Enter AMPHITRYON".
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 'twas, for whose sake
She gave her body up to prostitution?
For it were better I were dead, than leave
This search unfinished.
(finds the door shut.) They 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?
SCEJTE III.
MERCURY appears above, with a chaplet on his head,
pretending to be drimk.
Merc. Who's at the door ?
Jlmph. '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.
Jlmph. How ?
Merc. How? that you may live a wretch for
ever.
Jlmph. Sosia.
Merc. Ay, I am Sosia : you don't think
That I've forgot my name ? What is't you want ?
* It was a custom among the ancients to wear chaplets
at their carousals.
Jlmph. 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 public charge
With doors ? You numskull ! Why do ye stare
so at me ?
What would you have? Who are you?
Jlmph. 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.
Merc. I sacrifice to you.
Jlmph. How? M-hat dye mean?
Merc. I offer a libation of ill luck, (throwing
water.}
( What follows is supplied by another hand, the ori-
ginal being lost.)
Jlmph. Is this your 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.
Merc. Apparition! What, you 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 with this tile,
You'll sputter tongue and teeth out all together.
Jlmph. You rascal ! won't you suffer me to come
Into my own house? knock at my own door?
I'll pluck it off" the hinges, (beating vehemently?)
Merc. You persist?
Jlmph. I do.
Merc. Take this then, (^throwing a tik.')
Jlmph. Villain! at your master?
If I but catch you, to such misery
I will reduce you, you shall live a wretch
For evermore.
Merc. You've play'd the Bacchanalian,
Old grey-beard.
Jlmph. Why ?
Merc. To think I am your slave.
Jlmph. Not think it ?
Merc. Plague confound you ! for I own
No master but Amphitryon.
Jlmph. 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 returned, and is at rest,
A-bed now with his wife.
Jlmph. What wife.
Merc. Alcmeina,
Jlmph. Who is ?
Merc. How often would you have me tell you?
Amphitryon my master. Don't be troublesome.
Jlmph. Who is he with ?
* Ulmorum Jlchernus. That is, one whose back devours
as many elm-rods as Acheron does souls.
PLAUTUS
305
Beware you do not seek
Your own mischance in trifling with me thus.
JJmph. Nay, prithee tell me, my good Sosia, do.
Merc. Now you bespeak me fairly! with
Alcmena.
Jlmph. In the same chamber.
Merc. The same chamber, yes,
And the same bed too.
Jlmph. 0, I am most wretched.
Sosia !
Merc. Well what a plague now would you
have
With Sosia, Sosia?
Jlmph. Don't you know me, sirrah?
M'rrr. I know you for a wrangling sancy fellow.
Jlmph. Yet once more, tell me, am I not Am-
phitryon,
Your master?
Merc. You are Bacchus, not Amphitryon.
How often would you have me tell it you?
.A nst I repeat it? 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.
(aside.) Pray heav'n,
I may not lose for my good services
Y.y country, houso, 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.
[MtncrBT irithdrau's.
Jlmph. Ye gods! what madness has possess'd
our house 1
What wonders have T soon since my arrival!
!Vow d(i I hold those fabulous tales for true
V.'hieh I have heard of old, that Attic men
"Were in Arcadia turn'd to savnge boasts,
So that their friends could never know them
after.
SCBXK IV.
Enter BLF.PHAHO and SOSIA at a distance.
Blcph. How Sosia; Tis most strange what
you r<
You found at home another Sosia, say you,
;
Sos. I did I say. But hark ye,
Sinro I my-olf liavo -pawu'd an>
Amphitryon an Amphitryon, how d'ye know
I'ut you too perad \ nder
Another Blepharo? Would to heav'n, that you
Wi-ro thump'd and bruis'd, your teetli knock'd
out. and kept
Without a d inner; then yon might believe me:
For I, that other Sosia. who am yonder,
Maul'd me most grievously.
nk. Tia wondv
But we must mend our pa.-,- ; for at> 1 see,
Amphitryon's waiting, and my empty stomach
Hep ins to grumble.
. />/'/;. (to hinifrlf.) Wherefore should I talk
Oi' foreign legends, when they tales recount
More wondrous of the founder of our Thebes ?
30
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'd on brother.
Nor is this all. Epirus has beheld
The author of our race, together with
His spouse Hermione, fair Venus' daughter,
Creep in the form of serpents. Jove supreme
Did thus ordain from high, thus will'd 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 !
Bkph. What ?
Sos. I fear there's some mischance or other.
Blcph. 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.
Blcph. Poll ! that's nothing,
He's walking only for an appetite.
Sos. A curious thought 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 musing on, I know not what :
He's reckoning some account methinks : I here
Can overhear him. Don't be in a hurry.
Jlmph. O how I fear me, lest the gods should
raze
The glory I have gnin'd in vanquishing
Our foes the Teleboans! All our family
I find in strange confusion and disorder:
My wife too! she kills me, she's so full
Of stain, of prostitution, and dishonour.
But I do marvel iiineh about the cup;
For yet the seal was whole. What shall I 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!
ia'a doinir. who has Ir.ul the impudence
before me here.
>'".-- He talks of me,
And little to my liking. I beseech you
Don't let us tar-- him. till he has discover'd
What 'tis broils in his stomach.
Blcph. As you will.
siniph. If I but lay hold on him, a whipp'd
-lave!
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. The burthen on't will light
Upon my shoulders. Prithee let's accost him.
Do you not know the saying?
Bfeph. Troth I know not
2 A 2
306
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 !
Jlmph. Sure 'tis Blepharo's voice I 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?
Jlmph. I never did. May I perish, Blepharo,
If I have been within yet, or e'er sent him.
Where did you leave me ? Speak.
So*. 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.
Jlmph. 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.
Jlmph. 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 learn'd the truth.
Jlmph. You counsel me aright.
Let's in : I'd halve you for an advocate
Against my wife. (they 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. Nothing now
Speeds, as they say, right with me. I left
Blepharo
And Sosia, to go seek my kinsman Naucrates :
Them I have lost, and him I have not found.
Sos. Blepharo ! That's my master, just come 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 double.
Jup. See here's Sosia
And Blepharo with him : I'll accost them first.
So, are you come at last? I die with hunger.
Sos. Did not I say, this other was the sorcerer?
{pointing to Amphitryon.}
Jlmph. That is the sorcerer, my fellow The-
bans,
Who has seduc'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.
Jlmph. Still prating, rascal ?
Sos. Hie thee to Acheron, thou damned sorcerer!
Jlmph. Ha! dost thou call me sorcerer?
Then have at thee. (strikes him.}
Jup. Stranger! what wild distemperature is
this,
Tli at you should strike my servant?
Jlmph. Thine.
Jup. Yes, mine.
Jlmph. 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,
I'll to the kitchen, there lick all the platters,
And empty all the cups. [Exit SOSIA.
SCENE VI.
Remain JUPITEK, AMPHITRYON, and BLEPHARO.
Jup. Say'st thou I lie ?
Jlmph. Thou liest, I say, corrupter of my
family.
Jup. Now for these scurvy terms I'll throttle
thee. (takes him by the collar.)
Jlmph. Oh, oh !
Jup. You should have look'd to this before.
Jlmph. 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 thou him Amphitryon ?
Bleph. Why not ? 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.
Jlmph. highest Jupiter !
When did you take away this form of mine?
But I'll examine him. Art thou Amphitryon ?
Jup. Dost thou deny it ?
Jlmph. Surely, since there is
No other of that name in Thebes but I.
Jup. No none but I: then Blepharo, be thoa
judge
Betwixt us.
Bleph. I will make this matter clear
By tokens if I can. (to Jlmph.) You answer first.
Jlmph. Most willingly.
Bleph. What orders did you give m. I by my bravery in the battle crush'd
hostile ra va ire rs, that had destroy'd
Klectryon, and the brothers of our wife,
M wand'ring through th' Ionian, the ^Egean,
And Cretan seas, with pow'r piratical
Laid waste Achaia, Phocis, and ^Etolia.
.-luiph. O, ye immortal gods! I scarce can have
Faith in myself, so just is his relation.
What say you, Blepharo?
BU'f>h. One thing yet remains:
If that appear, be double, both Amphitryons.
Jup. 1 know what you would say; that scar
yon mean
Upon my right arm from the wound by Pterelas,
Deeply intrem.-h'd.
lilcph. The -
dtnph. Well thought on.
Jup. See you ?
Lo! look!
Bleph. Uncover, and I'll look.
Jup. We have
Uncover'd : look !
(the y both shmo their arms.)
TWrph. O Jupiter supreme !
What do I see ? On both of you most plainly,
Upon the right arm. in the sell--;une place,
if-same token does appear. -
New-closing, of a reddish wannish hue!
All reasoning fails, and judgment is struck dumb.
[ know not what to do.
(Here ends the suppositions part.)
Between yourselves
You must decide it : I must hence away
I've business calls me. Never did I see
Such wonders !
Jlmph. I beseech you, Blepharo, stay
And be my advocate ; pray do not go.
Bleph. Farewell. An advocate how can I be
Who know not which to side with?
Jup. I'll go in :
Alcmena is in labour.
[BLEPHARO goes off, and JUPITER
goes into the house.
SCE*E VII.
AMPHITRTOX alone.
Woe is me !
What shall I do, abandon 'd by my friends,
And now without an advocate to help me ?
Yet shall he ne'er abuse me unreveng'd,
Whoe'er he is. I'll straight unto the king
And lay the whole before him. I'll 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,
I'll burst into the house, and whomsoe'er
I set my eyes on, servant male or female,
Wife or gallant, father or grandfather,
I'll cut them into pieces : Nor shall Jove,
Nor all the gods, prevent it, if they would ;
But I will do what I've resolv'd. I'll in now.
[Jls he advances tmvards the door, it thunders and
and he falls down. (Thunder and lightning.)
ACT V. SCEWE I.
Enter BROMIA.
(AMPHITRYON continuing in a swoon.")
Brorn. 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 !
I know not what to do, such prodigies
Have been displny'd 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 mi-tre-< ! When she found
fin labour, she invok'd the gods:
Then what a rumbling, grumbling, flashing,
clash in:/.
Straitway ensued ! how suddenly, how quick,
How terribly it thunder'd ! All that stood
Fell flat 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 heaven's high ruler comes
To you propitious and to yours. Arise,''
308
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 delivered 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 1 ? 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 !
JLmph. I am dead.
Brom. Come, rise, sir.
JLmph. I'm quite dead.
Brom. Give me your hand.
JLmph. Who is it holds me ?
Brom. I your maid, sir, Bromia.
Jlmph. 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 ?
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.
Jlmph. Prithee tell me ;
D'ye know me for your master, for Amphitryon ?
Brom. Yes, surely.
JLmph. Look again now.
Brom. I well know you.
JLmph. She is the only person of our family
That is not mad.
Brom. Nay, verily they all
Are in their perfect senses.
JLmph. 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 first,
Alcmena is deliver'd of two boys.
JLmph. How say you, two ?
Brom. Yes, two.
JLmph. 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.
JLmph. 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, with wash'd hands
And 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.
JLmph. Prithee relieve me quickly, since 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.
JLmph. 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, how sturdy is he !
So strong and stout withal, not one of us
Could bind him in his swaddling-clothes.
Jlmph. '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.
Jlmph. Ah me !
Brom. Be not dismayed :
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.
JLmph. 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.
JLmph. 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.
JLmph. 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 offering 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.
309
SCENE II.
JUPITER appears abovf thunder and lightning.
Be of good cheer, Amphitryon ; I am come
To comfort and assist you and your family.
Nothing you have to fear ; then let alone
All soothsayers and diviners: I'll inform you
Of what is past, and what is yet to come,
Much better than they can, since I am Jove.
Know first of all, I have enjoy'd Alcmena,
Whence she was pregnant by me with a son:
You likewise left her pregnaat, 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 she merit your reproaches :
She was compell'd, by my resistless power,
To what she did. I now return to heaven.
[JUPITER ascends.
SCENE the Last.
AMPHITRYON alone.
['11 do as you 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 PERSOKJE.
HEGIO.
PHILOCRATES.
TYNDARUS.
ARISTOPHONTES.
PHILOPOLEMUS.
ERGASILUS.
STALAGMUS.
SERVANTS.
SCENE. Calydon in JEtolia, before HEGIO'S house.
HE 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 Jupiter; therefore, afterwards, it was
commonly acted in times of public troubles and calamities,
to appea>e his anui-r.
There is no doubt but that this play ends happily and
seriously in our author, with the vindication of Alcmena's
honour, entirely t the sau- fact ion of Amphitryon. Mo-
li-re. t a.-c.immod-ite his piece more to the Modem ta-Me,
humourously enough makes Sosia conclude it with savin:.'
(when the company present were fi>r ron<;ratulating
Amphitryon upon the honour done him by Jupiter,)
Sur telles affaires tonjnurs
Lc meilleur e*t de ne rien dire.
Dryden copies him exactly in this speech; hut he gives
it (tliouch not nearly so much in character) to Mercury,
who had already declared his godship.
"Jill. We all congratulate Amphitryon.
Merc. Keep your congratulation-; to yourselves, gentle-
men. "Pis a nice p.int. let me 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,f
Ask'd or not ask'd, we always live upon
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 chance 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 come to
town,
We are as plump as mastiffs, full as troublesome,
And as detested. What is worst of all,
Except we patiently endure a drubbing,
And let them break their pots upon our heads,
We must submit to sit among the beggars
Without 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' ^Etolians and the ^Elians are at war :
We now are in ^Etolia. Philopolemus,
Old Hegio's son, whose house is here hard by,
Is prisoner now in .u I j.rcMiiiic. 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 disjxjsitions. Should a n.
Commit unworthy action*, yet his slaves
Mu-t think them worthy <>
Phil, and Tynd. Alas! alas!
Slav*. Why this bewailing? tears but hurt
y>ur eyes :
Our be-t support and succour in distress
Is fortitude of mind.
Phil. But oh! it shanp
That we are thus in chains.
>7(/rr. Yet m i -lit .
Our master more, were he to |< *s,. your chains,
t you be at large, when he lias bought you.
Phil. What can he fear from us ' VV,. ;.
our duty,
Were we at lar^e.
Mure. You n -ape:
I know what you'd be at.
7 J /n7. We run away!
Ah ! whither should we run ?
To your own country.
PAi7. Prithee no more: it would but ill become us
To imitate the part of fugitives.
Slave. Yet, by my troth ! was there an oppor-
tunity,
I would not be the man that should dissuade you.
Phil. Permit us then to ask one favour of you.
Slave. What is it?
Phil. That you'd give us opportunity
To talk together, so that you yourselves,
Nor any of these captives overhear us.
Slave. Agreed. (to the slaves.) Move further
off.
(to his companions.) We'll too retire,
But let your talk be short.
Phil. 'Twas my intention
It should be so. A little this way, Tyndarus
(to the otfur nijitivcs. 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 with 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 prudence, care, and diligence. 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.
PkU. I know it.
Tynd. But when you shall have gained the
point yon aim at,
Foriret 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 i\-'
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 oft have urg'd,
Remember. I no longer am your master.
But now your servant. This 1 beg then of you,
Since the immortal gods will have
That I. from bei; r master, now
Should be your fellow-lave. I do entreat,
r.y Prayer.* a favour which I could command,
Once as my riirht. By our uncertain Bfc
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 Precem. According to HOIIKT, who makes Prayer
a goddess, and one of the daughters of Jupiter.
312
PLAUTUS.
As once I bore you, when I was your master,
And you my slave ; forget not to remember,
What once you have been, and who now you are.
Tynd. I know I now am you, and you are I.
Phil. Forget not, and there's hope our scheme
will prosper.
II.
Enter HEGIO speaking to those within.
When I'm 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. Chain'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 most upon his guard, is often trick'd.
But have I not just cause to watch you well,
When I have bought you with so large a sum ?
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,
That we made use of it.
Heg. As you are here,
So in your country is my son confm'd.
Phil. What! Is your son a captive?
Heg. Yes, he is.
Phil. We are not then, it seems, the only
cowards.
Heg. (to Phil, supposing him servant to Tynd.)
Come nearer this way something I would 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-
ber's shop,
Philocrates 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 him 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 good,
And farthest off from evil : though, I own,
My servitude was little grievous to me;
They 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 with 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 his country ?
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?
P/u7. 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 bestowed upon him for his
wealth ?
Phil. Nay, rather for his avarice and extor-
tion.
His real name was Theodoromedes.
Heg. 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 way.
(aside.) What further information I require,
I'll learn from him.
(addressing Tyndarus as Philocrates.)
Philocrates, your 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 from you my state,
My family, and my means. But now alas!
Since I have lost my country and my freedom,
Can I suppose it rig! it, 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 Fortune moulds and fashions human beings,
Just as she 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 have no dread, that his authority
Will deal or harshly or unjustly with me.
So far I wished you to be made acquainted,
If perad venture 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.
313
He in my country is a slave, as now
I am a slave in this. There is indeed
A God. that hears and sees \s 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-de.-ervi -^. ill.
Think, that my father feels the want of me,
A? much as you do of your son.
Heg. I know it.
But say, will you subscribe to the account
Y'Uir servant gave?
Tynd. My father'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 your cost,
Than beg my bread in my own country, where
It were a foul disgrace.
Hfl. Thanks to the gods,
.And to my ancestors, I'm rich enough.
Nor do I hold, that every kind of gain
I ; 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, that you may know my mind.
My son's a captive and a slave of JE\\s :
If you restore him to me, 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?
// g A private of Menarchus, 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 my son.
Tynd. I'll 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 di-ini-Mon ; but. I pray you,
Give, me my slave, a price set on his h
That I may send him forthwith to my father,
To work your son's redemption.
Heg. I'd despatch
Some other rather, when there is a tn;
Your father to confer with, who may i
Any commands you shall intrust him with.
Tynd. 'T would be in vain to send a Bt
to him :
You'd lose your labour: Send my servant: he'll
Complete the whole, a- |QOD as he an.
A man more faithful you can never send,
Nor one my father sooner would ro!y on.
More to his mind, nor to whose care and confi-
dence
sooner tru-t your son. Then never fear:
At my own peril will I prove his faith,
Relying on his nature, since he k>
I've borne me with benevolence towards him.
4ft
Heg. Well I'll despatch him, if you will,
your word
Pawn'd for his valuation.
Tynd. Prithee do,
And let him be dismiss'd without delay.
Heg. Can yon show reason, if he don't return,
Why yon should not pay twenty minae for him?*
Tynd. No surely: I a^
Heg. Take off his chains,
And take them off from both.
Tynd. May all the gods
Grant all your -wishes! Since that you have
deign'd
To treat me with such favour, and releas'd me
From my vile bonds : I scarce can think 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 forthwith 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 Philocrates, who advances.)
SCEXE III.
PmLOCRATES/oins HEGIO and TTNDARUS.
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, that you
serve
Your old one faithfully: I have giv'n you to him,
Rated at twenty minm : he desires
To send you back to JE\\s 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, and 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 me,
And howl fare, and" what I would have done.
We have agreed betwixt UP, Tyndarus,
To send you unto JE\is to my father;
And, if that you return not, I have bar-ain'd
To forfeit for your trespass twenty ininre.
Phil. Rightly agreed : for the old gentleman
Expects me, or some other messenger,
! .e to him from hence.
Tynd. Then mind me now,
What I would have you say unto my father.
* According to Cook's tables, about 64f. 1 Is. 8d. of our
money.
314
PLAUTUS.
Phil. O 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, with all my power.
Tynd. 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-
wise,
That I am slave here to this best of men,
Who ever has, and still goes on to treat me
With honourable usage.
Phil. Don't instruct me ;
This I shall think of readily.
Tynd. For indeed,
Save that I have a guard 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.
Phil. 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 every one.
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 ^Elis, since you own'd
To Hegio here my family and fortune,
By which you've freed your master from his
chains.
Phil. True, I have acted as you say ; and
much
It pleases rne 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,
That 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 rny 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 redemption in exchange for me.
Remember, you are sent on this affair,
Rated at twenty mince. See, that you
Be trusty to the trusty : beware,
You are not of a frail arid fickle faith.
My father will, I know, do all he ought :
Preserve me then your friend for evermore,
And still find Hegio yours, 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 careful 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 ?
Tynd. I shall be. content.
Phil. I will return furnish'd to both jour
wishes.
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 jive
you from my banker
PLAUTUS.
315
yon may want to answer your expenses
y<>ur vnya _'(. at the same time take
A passport from the Praetor.
Tynd. Why a passport?
Heg. Which he may carry with him to the
army,
That he may have permission without let
To return home to JE\is. (to Tynd.) Go you in.
Tynd. Now speed you well, my Tyndarua !
Phil Adieu!
Hi-*, (aside.') I've compass'd my design by
purchasing
These captives of the Qurrstors from the spoil :
So please the gods! I've freed my son from
bond a ere.
Within, hoa ! Keep a strict watch o'er this cap-
tive :
Let him not budge a foot without a guard.
I soon shall be at home. Now to my brother's :
I'll go and visit there my other captives,
At the same 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-
eera.
[HEGIO goes off with PHILOCRATES, and
TTSDARUS goes in with the slaves.
ACT III. SCEXE I.
Enter ERGASILUS.
t 1 case for a poor wretch to prowl
quest of a meal's moat, and at the last
With much ado to find one; sadder is it,
With much ado to hunt upon the trail,
\n I at tin 1 last find nothing; but most sad,
To have a keen and craving appetite,
Without a morsel to appease it's longing.
A plague upon this day ! I'd dig it's eyes out,
Ua-I I the pow'r, it has so fill'd mankind
With enmity towards me. Never sure
Was there a wretch so starv'cl, so cramm'd with
hni:_
Or one, whose projects have so little prosper'd.
I f'-ar, my belly will keep holiday.
Would it were hang'd for me. this scurvy trade,
Thi< ' Our youn-_ r sparks
Consort not now a-days with us poor drolls;
Tlu-y care not for us humble hangers-on,
Who are content to take the lowest seat
At table, who bear butf'-ts like a Spartan,
And have no other fortune but our jests.
Their choice is with their equals
Who. having ate with them, return the favour
At their own hou-'--. FIT I - they cater,
Which was the pro vio :*es.
Shame on them ! they will go into a brothel
Barefaced, nor mutlled up. but all as publicly
_ r istrat"s j>a-< sentence n the guilty,
Unveil'd, in open court. Buffoons they imw
Count nothing worth ; but they are all self-lovers.
For when I went from hence awhile a
I met some of ' . men nt the Forum.
Good day, said I ! Where shall we dine together?
Xo a -wer. What! will no one speak? says I,
None promise me a dinner ? Silent all,
As they 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
it them. Not a soul vouchsafed to smile.
1 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 5
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 have yet one hope
Of feasting : if that fail me, I'll return
To this old Hegio, and his scurvy supper.
[Exit.
SCENE II.
Enter HEGIO with ARTSTOPHOJTTES behind.
What can be more delightful than promoting
The public good, as yesterday I did
By purchasing these captives ? Ev'ry one,
Soon as he sees me, straight 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 Prretor; there
Scarce rested me : I ask'd a passport of him :
'Twas granted ; and I gave it straight to Tyn- f
darns,
Who is set off: from thence I hurried home :
Then to my brother's, to my other captives.
I ask'd, if any one among them knew
Philocrates of ^Elis, when this man
Cried out, he was his friend and intimate.
On telling him he now was at my house,
He begg'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 wish,
And meet the person you desire to see.
[Exeunt.
III.
Enter TTNDARCS.
Would I were dead now rather than alive,
As things turn out ! Hope has deserted me,
No succour will come near me. See the day,
In which there is no chance to save my life!
Destruction's unavoidable, no hope,
That can dispel my fear, no cloak to screen
My subtle lies, false dealings, and pretences :
316
PLAUTUS.
No deprecation can excuse my perfidy,
No subterfuge can palliate my offence :
No room for confidence, no place for cunning.
What hitherto 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.
Aristophontes, 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 cunning trick, some artifice, (meditating.)
A plague on't!
What can I think of? what devise ? my
thoughts
Are foolish, and my wit quite at a stand.
(Retires aside.)
SCEXE 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,
Aristophontes, ere you lost your country,
To disconcert a scheme so well contrived.
Our state is desperate, if I don't devise
Some cunning trick.
Heg. (to Arist.) Follow me. Here he is :
Approach, and speak to him.
Tynd. (aside, and turning away.) Can there
exist
A greater wretch than I am ?
Arist. Why is this,
That you avoid my eyes, and slight me, Tyndarus,
As though I were a stranger, and you ne'er
Had known me. It is true, I am a slave
As you are : though in JElis I was free ;
You from your youth have ever been a slave.
* Neque jam Salus servare, si volet, me potest,
By Salus, which I have rendered Salvation, is meant the
goddess that was worshipped by the Romans under that
appellation. There is no doubt, but that this passage was
proverbial, since we meet with 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 The Brothers, act. iv. scene vii, where
the word Salus is, in Mr. Colman's translation, properly
rendered Providence, though it would not be so fit here.
Ipsa si cupiat salus
Servare prorsiis non potest hancfamiliani.
'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 jiidiciiim ROJIKT
tain dissolutum, tarn perditum, tarn niimmariumforeputasti,
quo ex judicio te ulla SALUS SERVARE posset ? Is there,
thinkest thou, in Rome, an opinion so dissolute, so aban-
doned, so corrupted, as to imagine 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 sight,
Or hold you in despite and detestation,
When for Philocrates you call him Tyndarus.
Tynd. Hegio, this fellow was at JElis 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,
Which makes me foam at mouth ?
Heg. Be not dismay'd.
Many have labour'd under this disease,
And spitting has restor'd them to their health.
Tynd. I know, to some at ./Elis it has prov'd
Of special use.
Jlrist. And will you credit him 1 ?
Heg. I credit him ! in what ?
Jurist. 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.
Alcmaeon, and Orestes, and Lycunrus,*
Are just as much my friends, as he is, Hegio.
Arist. 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.
Arist. '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 !
Arist. You, as it seems, my truth will over-
power
With falsehood. Prithee, look me in the face.
Tynd. Well.
Arist. Speak. Do you deny, that you are Tyn-
darus?
Tynd. I tell you, I deny it.
Arist. Will you say,
You are Philocrates ?
Tynd. I say, I am.
Arist. (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 JElis 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.
317
Arist. What father? He's a slave.
Tynd. And so are you,
Once free as I was, as I trust I shall be,
When I have gaiu'd this old man's son his
liberty.
Arist. How, rascal ! dare you call yourself a
freeman ?
Tynd. Not Freeman, but I say, I am Philo-
crates.
Arist. See, Heuio, 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 hate 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 lElis to my father for which purpose
Have I sent Tyndarus.
Arist. Why you are he ;
Nor is there any other slave at ^Elis
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?
Arist. 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.
Arist. I'm vex'd to death.
Tynd. Look, how his eyes strike fire! A cord,
a cord,
Good Hegio. Dou't you see his body's charged
With livid spots all over? The black bile
Disorders him, poor fellow!
Arist. 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.
* Plautus here alludes to a punishment inflicted on
malefactors, liy wrapping up their bodies, when they
were to be burned, in a garment smeared over with pitch,
wax, and other combustibles.
Juvenal alludes to the same, in his first Satire, v. 155.
Pone Tiyellinum, tnlft turrhi* in illA,
QA stantcs ardent, qiii fio fruttitrc fumant,
Et latum mediA sulcum dedurit arenA.
Death is your doom, impal'd upon a stake,
Smear'd o'er with wax, and set on fire, to light
The streets, and make a dreadful blaze by niuht.
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 ?
Heg. 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 ?
(to 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 me,
Which now you deem a falsehood. But I first
Would clear me to you from this charge of mad-
ness.
Believe 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 country suffer me to see,
If this is any more Philocrates
Than you or I.
Heg. Tell me, who is he then ?
Arist. The same, I said he was from the be-
ginning.
If you shall find it other, I can show
No cause, no reason, why I should not suffer
A lack of liberty, your slave for ever.
Heg. (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 was: he trifles with you, Hegio.
Tynd. How do you know ? or was you pcrad-
venture
si
318
PLAUTUS.
My mother's midwife, that you dare affirm
What you advance with so much confidence ?
drist. 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 jurist.) Say, was his father's name
Thesaurochrysonicochrysides ?
Jlrist. '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 hang yourself
Still, still will you be throbbing. Woe is me!
I scarce can stand upon my legs for fear.
Heg. Can I be sure this fellow was a slave
In ^Elis, and is not Philocrates?
jurist. 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 pleasure.
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 ?
Jlrist. Yes, so very certain,
That you can never find anything that's more so.
I and Philocrates have been friends from boys.
Heg. What sort of person was Philocrates ?
Arist. His hair incliri'd to red, frizzled and
curl'd,
A lenten jaw, sharp nose, a fair complexion,
And black eyes.
Heg. The description's very like him.
Tynd. Now 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, how 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 ?
(the slaves go in, and return with thongs.")
SCEWE V.
HEGIO, ARISTOPHONTES, and slaves.
Heg. This instant manacle that rascal there.
(to 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
narrower ?
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, and 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, than 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.
Jliist. (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.
There'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.
319
Heg. Did I not charge you not to tell me false ?
Ttf.nl You dill.
Heg. Then wherefore have you dared to clo it?
Tynd. Truth would have done him hurt I
wish'd to serve :
Falsehood has done him good.
Heg. But hurt to you.
Tynd. '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?
Heg. Most wrongly.
Tynd. I, who can't bat differ from you,
Say rightly. 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
He.ve given him freedom? would you not have
held him
In your esteem high above all his fellows?
I prithee answer me.
Heg. I think I should.
Tynd. Why are you angry then with me?
Heg. Because
You were to him more faithful than to me.
Tynd. What! could you have expected, that a
man,
N3wly 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?
Heg. Seek your reward then of that one.
(to the slaves.') Go bear him,
Where he may 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 shalt be dubb'd with stripes, Sexcento-
plagot.*
jurist. 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.
Ill keep him in continual exer.-
Nor shall he know the respite of one day.
Jlrist. Is that your resolution <
Sure as death.
Bear him dinvtiy to Hippolytus
The smith, and bid him clap upon his h-^s
II mas-y irons : then without the [
(Jo, carry him to Contains my free-lman.
* BezeeotoplagO iwmrn in.Irtur tilii. The meaning of
this is, thou shalt be called Sexcentoplncus, from hm-in*
lix hundred Stripes ffofft tfet. This kind of pleasantry
is not uncommon in modern as well as ancient writers.
The nickname of Don Clinlirir-Snap-Shorto-de-Trtt,/, in
I'ililicr's h'nji'n Fortune, never fails to produce a laiiL'li ;
and M. Ci.stc lnis pointed out a >imil,ir piece of humour
n Moiiere's Cuckold in Com 'it, act i
'i Tin in, Qu'on 11 r me ilira plus,
Htl'un i-n m' nppflltr, SeiL'neur Cornelius.
That is, I shall no longer he known by the name of Sga-
narelle, they will now call me Mr. Corndiun, i. e. Cuck-
old.
That he may make him labour in the quarries ;
And tell him, 'tis my pleasure he 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 over. 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
happy,
Though you deserve another language from me.
And you, Aristophontes, take 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 Philo-
crates
Come 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'd and driven.
(He is borne off by the slaves.)
SCENE VI.
Enter HEGIO and ARISTOPHOXTES.
Heg. So he is carried off to limbo. Well,
I'll teach my other captives, how to dare
Attempt another such-like enterprise !
Had it not been 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 impos'd on full enough.
Ah me ! I hop'd to have redeem'd my son
From slavery. That hope is vanished quite !
One son I lost at four years old ; a slave
Then stole him from me ; nor have I once heard
From that time of the slave or of my son.
My eldest is a captive with the foe.
Ha! how is this? as though I had begot
My children only to be childless. Follow me;
And I'll conduct you to your former station.
I am resolv'd, to no one will I show
Pity henceforth, since no one pities me.
jlrist. With an ill omen freed from chains I
eaine.
With an ill omen I to chains return. [E<
ACT IV. SCEKK I.
Enter EROASILITS at a distance.
Jove supreme ! how has thy providence
'\-\\ me! how hast thou increas'd my means,
And thrown most ample plenty in my way!
What -tore of honours and emolument,
Celebrity, sport, pastime, holidays,
With ev'ry choice proviMon for _">od cheer,
Potations deep, ami feastings in abundance,
Till the gorg'd appetite shall cry, Enough !
320
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 friend, or hurt an enemy.
this delightful day has heap'd upon me
Delights the most delightful : I am master
Of an inheritance without encumbrance.
Now will I shape my course to Hegio here,
And bring him as much happiness, as himself
Could wish for from the gods, and even more.
Well I will throw my cloak 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 increased.
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, his 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 ygu,
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 do't,, 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 my knee, I'll give him to the ground.
Whatever mortal I shall light upon,
I'll knock his teeth out, and employ 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
The 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 this assurance.
I pity the poor wretch, whose cheer has swol'n
him
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 hawk
about
Upon a four legg'd dull provoking jade
Their stale commodities, whose very stench
Drives off our saunterers in the Forum ; troth,
I'll beat their filthy baskets 'bout their chaps,
That they may know how much 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 wether mutton ; in my way
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 the 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 with 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 you 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.
321
Erg. Do not grieve :
IM wipe away, this instant, ev'ry stain
Of sorrow from your soul. Pluck up. be joyous.
UYll. though I know no reason to re-
Erg. That's bravely done. Now order *
Order what?
--. A monstrous fire.
Hy Fk'trhrr in the character
of Lazarilln in his H'mnnn- Ifater, and by Ma.--. nL-cr in
that of Justice Greedy, in Ji New Way to fay Old Debts.
Sir Giles Over-reach, in the latter, giving the Justice the
322
PLAUTUS.
Use, and demand, broach any cask you like,
I make you cellar-man.
Erg. And if you find me
Not a true prophet, curry me with 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. All good attend you.
[Exit HEGIO.
SCENE III.
ERGASILTJS 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 what 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. SCEXE 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 shall 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 clapp'd 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 absolute authority there in
respect to the entertainment, (act iii., scene ii.) seems
more particularly to have had its 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 beginning of this scene. There is also a
character in many respects like it in a comedy, called
The Canterbury Ouests, by Ravenscroft.
SCENE II.
Enter HEGIO, PHILOPOLEMUS, and PHILOCHATES.
STALAGMUS at a distance.
Heg. (to his son, advancing.) my dear boy!
To Jove and to the gods,
In duty bound, 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.)
And that this youth has kept his word with me.
(pointing to Philocrates.)
No more, enough already I've experienc'd
Of heart-felt anguish, 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,
(to Phil.') I've no tongue to deny whate'er you
ask.
Phil. I ask of you 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 which 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.
(to attendants.) Where are you? Go, bring Tyn-
darus here directly.
Do you go in. (to Phil, and Philop.) Meantime
will I examine
This whipping-post, to learn what he has dona
With my poor younger son. You'll bathe tie
while.
Philop. Philocrates, you'll follow.
Fhil. I attend ycu.
[Exeunt PHIIOPOLEMTTS and PHILOCKATI s.
PLAUTUS.
323
SCEKE III.
HEOIO and STALAGMUS.
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 line 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 before.
Stal And do you think
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 though 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. O 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.
Slal A trifling part :
Much is my due; because I ran away,
And stole your son, then sold him.
Heg. Sold ! to whom ?
Thoodoromedes the Polyplusian
Of ^Elis, for six rnin:e.
Heg. O ye gods !
He is the father of this same Philocrates.
S.'nl. I know him better than I know yourself
And I have seen him oft'ner.
Jove supreme
Preserve me and my son ! Hoa there ! Philo
era 1
I beg you, as you love me, to come forth :
1 have to say to you
, IV.
Enter PHILOCRATES.
Phil Behold me hero :
Command me what you will: say, what's you
pleasure '.
Has:. This fellow tolls mo, that he sold my son
A- .I'.lis to your father for six minre.
Phil (to Stal.) How long wa< this ago?
Stnl. Near twenty yean
Phil He says what is not true.
Stal Or you or I do.
Your father save 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,
ell me his name. -
Stal. His name was Paegnimn
But afterwards you calPd 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,
'. car'd for nothing more.
Heg. What says Philocrates ?
Phil. That he, this very Tyndarus, is your son,
The proofs jhow. He was brought up from a boy
With me a boy in modesty and virtue
Even to manhood.
Heg. If ye speak the truth, ,
[ am indeed both happy and unhappy.
[ am unhappy, if he is my son,
That I have us'd severity towards him.
Ah me ! I've treated him with less affection,
And with more cruelty than it behoved me.
[t 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 TTXDARUS.
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
And 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 JElis !
Hi-". Save you, my wish'd for son !
Tyntl. 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 !
Tijtifl. And you too, though
On your account I undergo this trouble.
Phil But through my means you'll now arrive
at wealth
And liberty. This is your father, (pointing to
Hegio.)
This [pcmtingto Stalagmus.)
The slave, that stole you hence at four years old,
And sold you to my father for six minoe,
Who -ave you to me. then a little boy
Like to yourself, for my own use and service.
He has coufess'd the whole : we've brought him
back
From ^lis hither.
Tynd. Where is Hegio's son ?
324
PLAUTUS.
Phil. Your brother, he's within.
Tynd. How say you ? have you
Then brought him home ?
Phil. I tell you, he's within.
Tynd. 'Twas rightly done in you.
Phil. This is your father,
And that the thief, who stole you when a boy.
Tynd. And for that theft, now I'm a man as
he is,
I'll give him to the hangman.
Phil. He's deserving.
Tynd. And I'll reward him equal to his merits.
(to Hegio.} 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 off my son, and give them to that rascal.
Stal. 'Tis right to give them me, 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 money,
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 rnen
better.
Now if the piece has pleas'^, you, with our acting
If you're content, and we liave not incurr'd
Displeasure by it, give us tfien this token :
All who are willing that reward should wait
On chaste and virtuous manners, give applause.
THE MISER, OR POT OF GOLD.
EUCLID, the Miser.
MEGADORUS.
LYCONIDES.
STROBILITS, Servant
Lyconides.
STASIMUS, Servant
Mega-dorus.
DRAMATIS FERSONJB.
EUNOMIA, Mother of Ly-
conides.
STAPHILA, Servant to
Euclio.
PHJBDBIA, Daughter to
Euclio.
to
AKTHRAX, ">
COXGIO, 3
Cooks.
SCENE. Athens, before the houses of EUCLIO and
MEGADORUS.
PROLOGUE.
THE HOUSEHOLD GOD.*
LEST any one should wonder who I am,
I'll 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 this 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 pake
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.
of my
ACT I. ScEtfE I.
EUCLIO driving out STAPHILA.
Eucl. Out of my house I say; out
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'cl
Rather than serve you at this rate.
Eucl. The beldam !
See how she grumbles to herself! You jade,
I'll tear your eyes out; I'll prevent your watch-
ing
Peeping and prying into all I do.
Get farther oif there, farther, farther still.
Farther, so, stand there. If you dare to bu Ige
A finger or a nail's breadth from that place,
PLAUTUS.
325
Or if you turn your head once till I bid you,
I'll send you for a schooling to the gallows.
(aside.) Was ever such a beldam ! I'm afraid
She'll 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 my gold is as I lodg'd it,
My gold, which gives me so much pain and
trouble. [Goes in.
SCEKE II.
STAPHILA alone.
"P.trad. 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,
Kvn- so often. Troth, I can't imagine
What whim-whams he has got into his head.
He lies awake all night, and then he sits
Puriing 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
Oi' 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 EUCLIO.
End. So, so my heart's at ease. all's safe
within.
(to Staph.) Come, hussy, get you in now, and be
sure
Take care of all within.
/A 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.
End. You hag of hags! why Jove, to satisfy
you.
Should make me n. King Philip or Darius.
Harkye, I'd have you to preserve those Cob-
webs.
I'm poor. I'm very poor, I do coin
Vet I'm content: I hear what heaven allots.
u in : bolt the door after you;
1 shall be back directly; and be sure
Don't N't a Mud in.
/'/i. What if any one
Should beg some fire ?
End. I'd have you put it Out,
That there maybe no plea to ask tor any.
If you do leave a spark of lire alive,
I'll put out every spark of life in you.
If any body wants to borrow w:r
Tell them, 'tis all run out; and if, as is
The eiistom amoi,u r m-iuhbours, they should want
A knife, an axe. 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 :
1 charge you even if (Jood Luck should come,
't let her in.
Don
Staph. Good Luck, quotha ! I warrant you,
She's not in such a hurry : she has never
Come to our house, though she is ne'er so near.
Evi-l. Have done, go in.
Staph. I say no more, I'm gone.
Eucl Be sure you bolt the door both top and
bottom.
I shall be back this instant.
[Exit STAPHILA.
SCE*E 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 indeed, 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.
SCEXE V.
Enter EUITOMIA and MEGADORUS.
Eim. 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 hoitate 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 subject that concerns you nearly.
Mcs;. Give me thy hand, thou best of women.
Eun. Ha!
Where is she ? and who is she that best of
women?
Meg. Yourself.
Eun. What I ? a pretty joke 'faith.
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.
2C
326
PLAUTUS.
Meg. In troth I'm of the same opinion, sister,
Nor shall I differ with you on that point.
Eun. Joking apart, attend to me, I beg you.
Meg. Use and command me, as you will.
JEun. 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,
I'd have you marry.
Meg. Oh ! I'm slain.
Eun. How so?
Meg. You've cut me to the brain by what
you've 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 : I'm 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 enough : 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
neighbour,
Euclio?.
Eun. 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.
Eun. Brother, yours.
[Exit EUNOMIA.
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
went out,
That I should go on a fool's errand : therefore
* Buried.
I went against the grain. There was not one
Of all our ward there, no one there, whose
business
'Twas to make distribution of the money.
So now I'll- 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 !
Eucl. Heaven bless you, Megadorus !
Meg. How is't with you?
Are you as hearty and as well in health
As you could wish to be ?
Eucl. (aside.) '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.
Meg. 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. (aside.) 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, in 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 you. 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 wants
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.
[EucLio 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.
327
Meg. I thank you. Prithee now resolve me
1^1 readily
In what I ask.
Eucl. Provided you don't ask
What I don't choose to answer.
Meg. Tell me then,
What think you of my family?
Eucl Tis good.
Meg. My honour ?
End. Strict.
Meg. My actions ?
Eucl. Neither bad,
Nor wicked.
Meg. Do you know what age I'm off?
Eucl. I know you are advanc'd in years, as
also
Advanc'd in circumstances.
Meg. I have always
Thought you an honest fellow free from guile,
And think so still.
Eucl. Oh ho, he scents the money.
Would you aught farther ? (going.")
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.
Eucl. O Megadorus, it but ill becomes
Your character to mock a poor man thus,
Who 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.
Eucl. Then why
D'ye ask my daughter for a wife ?
Meg. To serve you,
And to promote my good through you and your's.
Eni-l. I'm thinking. Meiradorus ; you are rich
And powerful ; 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 aiiinity with men of worth
And means. Accept my proffer; hearken to
me,
And give me your consent.
Km I. But I can give
No portion with her.
Meg. You her none.
.:iieient dower.
I tell it you. because you may not think
I've found a treasure.
Say no more ; I know it.
You'll give her to me then ?
Eu.-l. Jupiter!
I am undone ! I'm ruin'd !
What'? the matter?
What noiir thyrs', or wands.
t This is a joke in the original, alluding to firewood for
dressing victuals, and cudgels.
42
But pray what business had you in my house,
When I was absent? Did I send you there?
I should be glad to know.
Cong. 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 dress'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?
End. And I too,
I should be glad to know, whether my house
Is safe.
Cong. I wish I had my things again,
Which I brought with me ; 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 house,
Made it a downright thoroughfare? 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. [Eucuo 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 will expose you
Before your own door. What now shall I do ?
I have been hired for a good round sum,
But it will cost me more to pay the surgeon.
SCENE IV.
Re-enter EUCLIO with the pot of money.
Eucl. Well, by my faith, this shall accompany
me
Where'er I eo, I'll always bear it with me,
Nor will I ever trust it in such danger.
(to Cong, fyc.) Get ye all in, cooks, music-girls,
and all ;
Nay, you may introduce too a whole 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, book i.
Pnlchra Laverna,
Da mini fallere, da justo sanctoque videri.
2c 2
330
PLAUTUS.
I shall expect you'll pay me for my bruises :
For I was hired to cook, not to be drubb'd.
End. 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. [CoxGRio goes in.
SCEXE V.
EUCLID alone.
He's gone. Good heavens! how rash a thing it is
For a poor man like me to have concern
Or dealings with a rich one. Megadorus
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 began 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 promis'd 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 MEGADOB.TJS at a distance.
Meg. I have communicated my design,
Touching this 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 Jess 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 they are at, at present.
The greater part would be advantag'd by it;
Though a few niggard wretches might object,
Whose greedy and insatiate dispositions
No law can check, no magistrate set bounds to.
But 'twill be said, suppose this rule should hold
In favour of the poor, how 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.
End. (overhearing.} Now, by the gods, I hear
him with delight :
I'm sure he loves economy by his talk.
Meg. No wife would then say twittingly,
"I've brought you
A larger 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.
End. How well he knows the fashions of our
ladies !
Would he were made inspector of their mo-
rals!
Meg. Go where 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, mantuaTmakers,
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 ; still one damn'd plague
or other,
To tease and press you evermore for money.
All these, and many other inconveniences
With unsupportable expenses, wait
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 it?
End. I've been greedily
Devouring your discourse.
Meg. You've overheard me ?
Eud. From the beginning, ev'ry word.
Meg. Methinks
You should be somewhat smarter, better dress'd,
Upon your daughter's wedding day.
Eud. 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.
Eud. (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?
Eud. I was considering,
How I should rate you soundly.
Meg. What's the matter?
Eud. D'ye ask me, 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.
Eud. I shall not drink.
Meg. I'll bid them bring a cask of good old
wine
From my own cellar.
Eud. I'll not touch a drop,
I am resolv'd to drink nothing but water,
PLAUTUS.
331
Meg. You shall be soak'd with wine, seas
over, you
That are resolv'd to drink nothing but water.
Eucl. (aside.) I know what he designs : he
goes the way
To knock me up with drinking, and transport
That which I hold here to another quarter.
But I'll prevent him : for I'll hide it somewhere
Out of the house : so shall he lose his labour,
And wine, too, in the bargain.
Me*. Have yon any
Further commands with me < I'll go and bathe,
So shall I be prepar'd to sacrifice.*
[Exit.
SCENE VII.
EUCLID alone.
.Afy 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 dost not change thy
name,
[f I intrust thee with this charge. I come,
Good Faith, relying on thy confidence.
[Goes into the temple of Faith.
ACT IV. SCENE I.
Enter STROBILUS.
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,
Ouirlit to be quick in what concerns his master,
And slow to serve himself: his very dreain^.
When sleeping, should remind him what he is.
If any serve a master that's in Jove,
(As I do for example) and he find
His passion has subdued him, 'tis his duty
! \> him back, restrain him for his good,
Not push him forward, where his inclinations
Hurry him on. As boys that learn to swim,
n a kind of raft compos'd of rushes,
That they may labour less, and move their hands,
.vim 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 orders haste to execute,
As quick as lightning. Whatsoever servant
. \vili never feel the lash.
Nor make his fetters bright by constant wear.
My master is enamour'd with the daughter
Of this poor fellow Euclio, and has learn'd
She's to be married to our Megadorus.
He therefore sent me hither as a spy,
To inform him of what passes. I may seat me
1 liy this altar here without suspicion :
Whence I can learn what's doing on all sides.
(Sits dmon by an //elf of comfort ! Others now
Rejoice through my mishap, and make them
merry
At my expense. Oh ! oh ! I cannot bear it.
(Runs a! unit ur house ? Ha ! it is Kuclio >ure ;
Tis he I think. I'm rniu'd. all's di~c..\-er'd.
Hr is acquainted with his daughter's labour.
What shall I do ! I'm all uncertainty.
Were't best to go or stay '. Shall I accost him,
Or shun his sight? I know not what to do.
Em I. Who's that, that speaks t!,
* Molicro, who has imitated this whole soliloquy. has
not scrupled to make hia miser also address himself to
the audience in lik> manner :
"Que de gens assemblers'. Je ne jette mes regards sur
persnnne (]ui ne me donne des soupc.ons el tout me semble
ni'in voultMir. I'.li * de quoi est ce qu'ori parli; l:i \ decelui
qui m'a derobe" 1 Quel bruit fait on la-haut '? Est ce mon
vouleur qin '.'n fait de-s noiivelles do
mon voulcur j: supplie que Ton III'IMI disc. Vest-il point
cache" la parmi vous 1 Us me regardent tous, et se met-
tentarire."
Lye. I sir,
Eucl I, sir. am
A wretch, a ruin'd wretch, such dread calamity,
Such sorrow, has befallen me.
Lye. Take courage.
Eucl. Prithee how can I ?
Lye. Since the deed, that now
Troubles your mind, I did, and I confess it.
Eucl. What do I hear you say ?
Lye. the truth.
Eucl. 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.
Eucl How ?
Lye. I own my crime, I know I arn to blame,
And therefore come I to implore your pardon.
Eucl. 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.
Eucl. I believe the gods would have me hang
myself
Before your face.
Lye. Ah ! say not so.
Eucl. But why
Would you lay hands, I pray, on what was mine,
Against my inclination ?
Lye. Love and wine
Did prompt me.
Eucl. What consummate impudence !
How dare you come to me with such a speech ?
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
Are 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.
Eucl. I relish not these fellows, who commit
A misdemeanor, and then dare defend it.
You knew you had no right ; not being yours,
You should have kept hands off.
Lyr. But as I dar'd
Make the attempt, I shall have no objection
To have and hold.
Eucl. To have and hold what's mine,
At my disposal? and against my will ?
* This whole scene very humourously turns upon Eu-
clio and l.yconides mistaking one another's iiit:aiiinir ;
Euclio all the while Mipposins that l.yconides is talking
of the pot, when he is speaking of the old man's dauirhtcr.
Thin is happily expressed in the original, on account of
the Latin idiom, the word olla (which signifies n pot.)
having a feminine termination. Molierc. ben
of the same advantage in the French tongue, lias avnilt-d
himself of it, and has managed the ai,ibiuity of this cir-
ciimstanre with more art and address than our country-
men have- done.
It bein:: impossible to preserve the equivoque of the
original exactly, I have been obliged to use some latitude
in the translation.
334
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.*
Eucl. If you don't return me
Lye. Return you what ?
Eucl. What you have stolen of mine,
I'll have you 'fore the Preetor 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.
Eucl. Nor will you take, whoe'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!
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
Lycomdes, Eunomia is my mother.
Eucl. 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.
Eucl. Right.
You know the whole.
Lye. He has commanded me
To bring you his refusal.
Eucl. How ? refusal,
* According to the Roman laws, whoever had debauched
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 affair 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 asharn'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.
Eucl. 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.
Eucl. 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 he 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.
Vol. What d'ye mean, sir!
Harp. How, traitor! don't you blush at your offence?
Vol. At what offence?
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 :
The 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,
And 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 ; I waited
But for a fit and favourable time :
But 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 merited these names. 'Tis true,
I have committed an offence against you :
But, after all, my fault is pardonable.
PLAUTUS.
335
SCENE IV.
LYCOJTIDES alone.
So, ev'ry thing is safe, as it should seem.
Bat where is Strobilus? I can find him nowhere.
Harp How! pardonable? what! a wilful murder ?
A foul assassination of this kind?
Val. 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 imagine ? What ! my blood,
My bowels, rogue ?
Vol. Your blood, sir, is not fall'n
Into bad hands. I'm of a rank as will not
Let it be wrong'd : there's nothing in all this,
For which I cannot make full reparation.
Harp. 'Tis my intention to oblige you to it,
Make you restore what you have ravish'd from me.
^al. Your honour shall be fully satisfied.
Harp. Honour? that's not the question. But inform me,
What led you to this action?
Val. Can you ask ?
Harp. Yes truly, I do ask.
Val. A deity,
That carries his excuse for all he does ;
Love.
Harp. Love?
Val. Yes, Love.
Harp. Fine love ! fine love, i' faith !
Love of my louis d'ors.
Val. 'Tis not your wealth
Mas 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
Inly of what I have.
Harp. I will not do it,
Ry all the fiends I will not let you have it.
Behold! what insolence, to wish to keep
What he has robb'd me of!
Val. A robbery
!)> call it, sir?
Harp. A robbery do I call it ?
A treasure such as this !
Val. 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?
Val. We've promis'd one another
A mutual faith, and we have ta'en an oath
Not to forsake each other.
Ifurp. Faith, the oath"
Is admirable, and the promise droll!
Val. We are engag'd for ever to each other.
Harp. But I shall break the contract, I assure you.
Val. Nothing but death can part us.
Harp. Yes indeed,
He's devilishly smitten with my money.
Val. I've told you, sir, already, 'twas not interest,
That push'd me on to do what I have |>ir'd the resolution.
Hurp. So, you'll see
'Tis out of Christian charity forsooth,
H.-'d have my money. But I'll find redress;
And justire, you audacious villain, justice
Shall see me righted.
Val. Use me as you will,
I'll suffer ev'ry outrage that you please :
Where can he be? I'll wait a while here; then
I'll after the old fellow : in the interim
I will allow him time to make inquiry
Of the old maid, his daughter's nurse; she
knows
The whole affair.
SCEXE V.
Enter STBOBILUS.
Strob. ye immortal gods !
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
It; no way culpable.
Harp. I do believe it.
It had been strange, if my own child had been
Accomplice in the crime. But I desire
To have my own again : prithee confess,
Where you have lodg'd
Val. Lodg'd? Nowhere but within.
Harp. O my dear casket! Not remov'd, you say,
Out of the house?
Val. No, sir.
Harp. But tell me now,
Ha'n't you been dabbling?
Val. I, sir, dabbling? Ah!
You wrong us both : the flame, with which I burn,
Is pure, full of respect.
Harp. Burn for my casket !
Val. I would have perish'd sooner than have shown
A single thought, that could offend such prudence,
Such honour.
Harp. Hey! the honour of my casket!
Val. 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.
Val. Dame Claude, sir, knows the truth of this adven-
ture,
And she can testify,
Harp. How ! is my maid
Accomplice in th' affair?
Val. Yes, she was witness
Of our engagement; when she understood
The honourable purpose of my flame,
She was confederate with me to persuade
Your daughter to exchange her troth with mine.
H/irp. Hey! does the fear of justice make him rave?
What mean you by this stuff about my daughter?
:: li.-v me, sir, 'twas with the utmost pains
I won her modesty to give consent
To what my love requested.
Harp. Modesty!
Of whom?
Val. Your daughter. 'Twas but yesterday
She brought her mind to't, that we both should sign
A marriage-contract.
Harp. Has my daughter sign'd
A marriage-contract with you?
Val. Yes, and I
Have on my part sign'd one with her.
Harp. O heaven!
Another vile disgrace! increase of ill!
Accumulation of despair ! &c.
336
PLAUTUS.
Strob. (discovering Lyconides.) Ha ! don't I see
Lyconides my master ?
Lye. Don't I see
My servant Strobilus ?
Strob. Tis he.
Lye. No other.
Strob. I will accost him.
Lye. Best to mend my pace,
I fancy he has been with the old woman,
My Phsfidria's nurse, as I commanded him.
Strob. What if I tell him I have found this booty,
And ask my liberty. I'll up, and speak to him.
(advancing.) Sir ! 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,
I'll tell you, do but hear me.
Lye. Well then, speak.
Strob. I have found riches in abundance.
Lye. Where?
Strob. A pot brimfull of gold, of four pounds
weight.
Lye. (with emotion.) What's that you say ?
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 confess'd just now,
You had it in a chest.
Strob. Oh, I am used
To talk thus jokingly.
Lye. (threatening.) But know you what?
Strob. 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;
Load 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 Phaedria's sake. Go, bring the pot here,
And I'll reward you with your liberty.
[Exit SrnoBiLUS.
* The commentators explain this to mean a little worm
or weevil which is ofte.n found in vegetables. Strobiliis
intends by this passage, that it is no trifling matter he had
found.
SCENE VI.
LTCOITIDES alone.
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.
SCENE 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 the 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 Pleasure,
His Jove Protector, his supreme Salvation.
I'll call him. Euclio! Hoa! Come forth
here. Euclio !
Eucl. (within.) Who calls a wretch like me?
Strob. Your Joy, your Pleasure,
Your Jove Protector, your supreme Salvation.
Lye. I bring you tidings of your treasure, Euclio.
SCENE VIII.
Enter EUCLIO.
Eucl. 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 Phaedria?
Eucl. Is it whole ?
Is it in nought diminished ?
Lye. Has she bath'd?
Is she refresh'd ?
Eucl. I'm talking of my gold.
Lye. I'm talking of your daughter.
Eucl. I've no daughtei,
No child, no family, except my gold,
I've no relationship.
PLAUTUS.
337
Strob. Before he lost them,
He had a numerous offspring.
Lye. How d'ye mean?
Strob. Of yellow boys.
Lye. (to End.') Lend me your -serious ear.
What if I find the thief, who stole your treasure,
And force him to make restitution ?
Strob. Hold, sir ;
Let me impose conditions.
Lye. Speak, what are they?
End. I will consent to any thing, to have
JMy gold again.
Strob. First you shall give
Eud. Give! what?
(iside.) 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
Eud. The old jade,
Her nurse : let him take her too.
Strob. You shall give
A portion.
Eud. How ! a portion ?
Strob. From the pot.
Eud. I'm dead! I'm slain!
Strob. And then, since Megadorus
At his own cost has furnish'd the repast
In honour of the wedding, in your turn
You shall provide a sumptuous entertainment,
Lamb, pork, veal, pullets, hams,
Eud. Have mercy on us !
The very sound's enough to breed a famine.
Strob. All kinds of fish, cod, salmon, turbot,
mackarel
Eucl. Would you were chok'd, I say !
Strob. A ton at least
Of nardine.*
Eud. Peace, you rascal !
Strob. You must hire
A do/on cooks, as many music-girls.
Eud. A dozen hangmen.
Strob. Your relations, friends,
Must be invited ; the whole city ask'd ;
You shall keep open house, sir, for a month.
Eurl. You >hall provide my feral supper lirst.t
Strob. One more condition, and I've done: I'm
sure
T \vill please you.
Eud. Speak, what is it ?
Strob. You shall marry.
l-lnd. I'll hang first.
Lye. Prithee now what kind of step-mother
Wmild you provide me?
Strob. A staid, prudent dame,
No mettlesome 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-wile; with a portion,
/. A portion?
Strob. Yes, an ample one.
Hi\v much ?
* A kind of scented wine in high estimation among the
ancients.
t A funeral entertainment.
43
Strob. As much as all the gold that's in the pot.
Eud. (aside,) That's something.
(to Strob.) Old, you say?
Strob. Just ripe for Acheron.
Eud. (aside.} That's well.
(to Strob.) Will live on little?
Strob. Oh, on nothing
But whey and butter-milk.
Eud. Her portion
Strob. Paid
Upon the nail.
Eud. (aside.) That's good.
Lye. (aside.) I marvel much
What he can mean.
Eud. Agreed : I'll take her. Speak,
Who is she ?
Strob. Staphila.
Eud. Confound you! She
A portion?
Strob. Yes.
Eud. Who'll give it ?
Strob. I.
Eud. What! you?
Strob. Yes, I.
Eud. Whence can you have it?
Strob. From my own
Peculiar stock.*
Eud. What mean you ?
Strob. From the pot.
Eud. 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 I'll 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.
Eud. Ay, any thing. I'll give an arm, a leg,
Rather than lose my gold.
Lye. You do betroth
Your daughter then?
7-/"7. I do. Heaven prosper it!
Lye. I say, heaven prosper it!
Slrob. Suppose you took
The kernel, and gave him the shell: : tfs all
He has occasion for.
Lye. (xii'in" I' lud. the pot.) Here is your treasure
Whole, iindimini.-h'd.
Eud. (rml>rnri,i H.) O my life! my soul!
My joy! my all! Nothing shall part us more.
Strob. He talks of it, as though it were his
mistress !
Yot he's afraid to touch her.
Kvd. my gold !
Where shall I carry thee ? where hide thee?
Nt".
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 was termed peculium.
2D
338
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 ETTCLIO.
SCENE IX.
STROBILUS and LYCONIDES.
Strob. The wretch! I wish I could devise some
means
To plague him more and more.
Lye. Impossible.
Not Tantalus, amidst the refluent flood,
Suffers such keen and cruel punishment :
No tortures of the damn'd can equal what
The miser feels: himself is his own hell.
Strob. Now, sir, my freedom, as you promised
me.
Lye. (striking him.} There, take it. Go, and
call Eunomia hither,
And Megadorus, to the sacrifice.
I'll in. Spectators, do not imitate
The old man's nature : grudge not your applause :
Be liberal, and freely clap your hands.
THE SHIPWRECK.'
DRAMATIS PERSOKJE.
ARCTTJRUS.
LAB RAX, a Girl-mer-
chant.
CHARMIDES.
SCEPARJTIO,") c,
servants
GRIPUS,
, >to Dcemo-
lURBALIO, I
SPARAX. J ms '
PLEUSIDIPPUS, a young
Athenian.
TRACHAUO, Servant to
Pleusidippus.
PTOLEMOCRATIA.
PALESTRA.
AMPELISCA.
Fishermen of Cyrene.
Slaves.
SCENE. near Cyrene.
PROLOGUE.
ARCTURUS.
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
signifies The Cable, and it is so called from the rope, by
which a fisherman drags his net to shore, in which is
contained the wallet, or vidulus, 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'Heureux Naufrave.
This 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 spectator's eye all at once in a most agreeable pros-
pect, 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 the
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 cliffs, 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 people's 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, we 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 o'er 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 men
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 Dremones,
A good old gentleman, who hither fled
From Athens ; not that any misdemeanor
Forc'd him to leave his country, but himself
By saving others was involv'd in ruin:
By gentle courtesy his means were wasted.
He had a daughter when a little child
Kidnapp'd away, whom a girl-merchant bought,
A villainous knave, and brought her to Cyrene.
A young Athenian spark, now of this city,
Saw her returning from the music-school,
And grew enamour'd of her: straight he comes
To the girl-merchant, bargains for the wench
At thirty rninie, gives him earnest, binds him
Moreover with an oath. The merchant, like
A villain as he is, card not a rush
For honour, honesty, or all he swore.
He had a certain guest, like to himself,
A villainous old rascal, a Sicilian,
From Agrigentum, of so vile a stamp,
siderably forward upon the stage. On one side of thi
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 middJ.;
of this court is an altar. Adjoining to the temple, on thi!
same side, is Djcmones' house, with some scattered cot-
tages at a distance.
PLAUTUS.
339
That he was even traitor to his country.
This rogue extols the beauty ofthe girl,
And ofthe other damsels, which our merchant
Held in possession, and, in short, persuades him,
To go with him to iSicily : "There," says he,
"The men are debauchees; there you may soon
Grow rich ; there damsels bear the best of pi
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 Venn-.
(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 hands,
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 Avas borne away,
Brought her relief, and ruin to her owner.
1 rni.x'd a hurricane, and stirr'd the billows:
For I, Arcturus, am, of all the signs,
3Io.-t turbulent; outrageous, when I rise,
And at my sotting more outrageous. Now
The merchant and his comrade are both cast
Upon a rock, their ship dash'd all in pieces.
iid, 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,
> the old man's villa, which the storm
Has stripp'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. SCEXE I.
Enter SCEPARXIO, mth a spade, as going to ivork.
H:ive mercy on us! what a dreadful storm
;>tune sent us over-niidit ! The wind
Our whole house has uncover'd. In a word,
It was no wind ; but 'twas the rattling peal
In the Alt-menu of Kuripidcs.*
Troth, it has stripp'd the roof, tore all the tiles
otf,
our lmii.se lighter, giv'n it store of win-
do v.
SCEXK II.
Enter PLETSI in IMMS. tulkiti" to three friends at a
I have withdrawn you from your own concerns;
Nor has the pii' : \vhi<-!i ,:
I brought you out with me. I could not lind
This villainous procurer at the port.
Vet I'm unwilling to forego all hope
Through my remi^sne>>: Wherefore I have still,
lends, detain'd \""ii for >ome longer space.
nus' temple am I no\v come hither,
Where, he inform d me. he desi^n'd to sacrifice.
* This is supposed to allude to a tragedy of Euripides,
called j3/cmcna, in which a storm was represented in so
lively a manner, that it became afterwards proverbial to
signify tempestuous weather.
Seep, (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.
SCEWE III.
Enter D.EMOXES from his house.
Deem. Ho! Sceparnio!
Seep. Who calls me by my name ?
Dfem. Why, he that bought you.
Seep. That is to say, you are my master.
(turning.) Daemon es !
Deem. Come, dig away; much stuff will be
requir'd ;
For, as I find, the whole house must be cover'd :
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 ?
Plfus. 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-by.
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.
Deem. Peace, Sceparnio. (to Pleus.) Prithee,
Good youth, what would you ?
Pletis. I would ill to him
For his unmanner'd haste to speak the first,
When that his master's by. But, sir, an't please
yon.
I'd ask, in brief, one question.
Deem. I'll attend you,
Though I am busied.
(to Pleus.) Go into the marsh,
Wilt thou ? and cut some reeds to thatch our
house with,
While it is fair.
Deem, '(to Seep.) Peace, (to Pleus.) Tell me
what's your pleasure ?
Pleus. Inform me what I ask you. Have you
seen
E'er a grey-headed, frizzlc-pated fellow,
A scurvy, perjur'd knave, a fawning cogger?
Deem. Full many a one: by reason of such men
I now alas! live miserable.
340
PLAUTUS.
Pleus. He,
I speak of, brought two damsels with him here,
To-day or yesterday, to Venus' temple,
In order to prepare a sacrifice.
Deem. 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. E'en 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 towards the sea.) ye good gods!
Who are those people yonder
Nigh to the shore, Screpanio 1 Look.
Seep. Methinks
They've been invited to a parting dinner.
Deem. Why so ?
Seep. Because they've bathed them after supper.
Their vessel's gone to pieces.
Deem. So it is.
Seep. And so indeed our house too and its tiles
Are shatter'd upon land.
Deem. 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 ?
Deem, (pointing.") This way, to the right,
D'ye see them? near the shore.
Pleus. I see them.
(to 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 PI.EUSIDIPPUS and friends.
SCENE IV.
SCEPAUNIO and DJEMONES.
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
Ino. 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 1
Seep. I see
Two women sitting in a boat alone.
Poor creatures, how they're toss'd IThat'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 ; she'll easily wade through it.
bravo! bravo! See, the surge has thrown her
Upon the land ! She's risen, makes this way :
All'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.
Deem. 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.
Deem. 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.
[Exewit.
SCENE V.
Enter PALAESTRA, from amomg the cliffs, 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 for-
lorn ?
Were I but conscious that in anything
My parents 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.
341
I am a stranger, a new comer hither :
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,
1 in 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.
SCEWE VI.
Enter AMPELISCA, coming forward from among
the cliff's, at the other end of the stage.
Can I do better ? were't not for my good
To put an end at once to my existence?
I am so wretched, and so many cares
Distract my breast, that weary out my soul !
1 in 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 way 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 ?
Amp. (overhearing.) I am mightily afraid.
Who speaks there ?
Pal. I beseech you, gentle Hope,
come to my assistance
Jimp. 'Tis a woman ;
A woman's voice.
Pal. And free me from my dread.
Amp. (listening.) Sure 'tis a woman's voice, that
strikes my ear.
Pal. Is it Ampelisca?
. /////>. Is it you, Pala-stra?
Pal. Why don't I call her by hor name aloud,
That she may know me ? (tailing.) Ampelisca!
Amp. Ha !
Wh..'< that?
Pnl. Tis I, Pakestra.
Amp. Say, where are you ?*
Pal. Environ'd with misfortunes.
Amp. I'm your partner;
XIM- i> my share of sorrow less than yours.
1 lon'j; to see you.
J',iJ. In that wish we're rivals.
Amp. Our voices be our guides. Where are
you?
Pal. Here.
Come forward. here, come meet me.
Amp. 1 urn cominir.
(they meet.)
* They were sepir:it-<1 >y the rliifs, which hindered
them from seeing one another, though they might both
be visible to the spectators.
Pal. Give me your hand.
Amp. Here, take it.
Pal. Prithee tell me,
Are you alive?
Amp. Aye, and would wish to live,
Since 'tis permitted me to feel and touch you :
(they embrace.)
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 unto some god.
Amp. Then men
Cannot be far off. (they advance tmvards it.)
And the site so charming!
I'll pray unto this god, whoe'er he be,
That he would succour us poor, helpless wretches,
And free us from our sorrows.
[They kneel before the temple.
SCEXE VII.
Enter PTOLEMOCBATIA, 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.
Tlit-ir suit is to a good and gracious goddess,
A patroness most gentle, and most kind.
Pal. Save you, good mother !
Ptol. Save you, my sweet girls !
Whence do you come, so woefully array'd,
In tin-so wot 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 tin' practice to approach our temple
In Mich habiliments.
Pal. Ah! 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:
O let your roof receive and shelter us ;
H-IVC pity on two hapless wanderers,
Who have no place of refuge, no. nor hope,
Nor anything indeed but what you see.
342
PLAUTUS.
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.
Ptol. The same; and I'm her priestess. Such
as 'tis,
You shall find here a courteous entertainment,
As far as my scant means will give me power.
Come then with me.
Pal. You tender us, good mother,
With a most kind affection.
Ptol. Tis my duty.
ACT II. SCENE I.
Enter FISHERMEN, with their lines, nets, fyc.
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 offish;
Some with our hooks, some get we from the rocks.
We draw all our provisions from the sea :
If we catch nothing, then well sous'd and pickled
We e'en sneak 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.
SCENE II.
Enter TRACHALIO, 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. I'll up to them.
Save you, ye sea-thieves, ye starv'd generation !
How fares it with you ?
Fish. As with fishermen ;
Dying with hunger, thirst, and expectation.
Track. Have you seen come this way, 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.
Track. 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 ?
Fish. Such a one
In mind and deed is fitter for the gallows
Than Venus' temple.
Track. Tell me, have you seen him ?
Fish. No, no one has come hither. Fare you
well.
Track. Farewell. [Exeunt Fishermen.
SCENE III.
TRACHALIO alone.
I thought so : His 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.
Amp. (to the priestess within.} I understand
Your orders are, to knock here at this house
Next to the temple, and ask for water.
Track. Whose voice is that?
Amp. Bless me! who's that, that speaks there ?
Whom do I see ?
Track. Is not that Ampelisca
Comes from the temple ?
Amp. Is not that Trachalio
I see there, Pleusidippus' rogue?
Track. 'Tis she.
Amp. 'Tis he. Trachalio ! save you.
Track. Ampelisca !
Save you. How fares it?
Amp. Very ill.
Track. Don't say so.
Amp. 'Tis right to speak the truth. But prithee
now
Where is your master Pleusidippus ?
Track. Pshaw !
As though he weren't within there.
Amp. He is not,
Nor any other man.
Track. He is not come !
Amp. You say the truth.
Track. That's not my custom. But
How near is dinner ready?
Amp. Pray, what dinner ?
Track. You're sacrificing here.
Amp. What are you dreaming?
Track. Why sure your master Labrax did invite
My master Pleusidippus here to dinner.
Amp. No wonder what you say. If he de-
ceive
Both gods and men, he acts but like a pimp.
Track. Are you not sacrificing? nor my master?
Amp. You've guess'd it.
Track. Prithee then what do you here ?
Amp. From dire afflictions, from severest
frights,
From hazard of our lives, in want of succour,
The priestess took us in, me and Palsestra.
Track. Ha! is Palaestra here, my master's love?
Amp. Yes, verily.
Track. There's pleasure in your news,
PLAUTUS.
343
My Ampelisca. But I long to know
The perils you were in.
. 'Imp. Our ship, Trachalio,
Last night was cast away.
Track. Ship? castaway?
What story's this ?
Amp. Have you not heard, forsooth,
How that our master privately design'd
To carry us away to Sicily,
And put on ship-board all that he was worth?
Now all is lost.
Track. Thanks, gentle Neptune : verily
Thou art a cunning gamester; thou hast giv'n
him
A pleasant cast i'faith : the rogue is done for.*
But there's the villain now?
^'linp. Dead drunk, I fancy ;
For Neptune had invited him last night
To deep potations, and, as I suppose,
Gave him a finishing cup.
Track. O how I love thee,
My Ampelisca ! What a dear sweet creature !
There's honey in thy words too! But inform me,
'.-cap'd you and Paltestra?
Amp. You shall hear.
the ship borne full upon a rock,
\\'--. -ore affrighted, 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 :
most dainty ^Edile,f and whenever
He finds commodities stark naught, the word
At once is "over with them.''
A plague on you !
Trark. On you, my Ampelisca. H;it I km-w
Th" -curvy pimp would do what he has done;
And I have often said it: I had bi-st
Let my hair grow, and set up for a conjurer.^
Amp. A pretty care you took, with all your
foresight.
You ami your master, tn prevent his going!
Truck. What could he do ?
.///:
Niiais lepide jeritti bulum ; purjurum penli
Jaeere bulum siL'iuiie- tin- fasting a net, as well as casting
of dire ; and by prrdrre. is understood, to cause to perish.,
or to ruin any one in tin- iramester's sense.
f It was the l.ii-;m-< of the ^Edile, ainons the Romans,
to inspect and regulate the market. Annmi: the Greeks
there was an oiiirer. whose province was the same, who
was called Aporanomus, which appellation our author
himself introduces in his C*
t It was the custom, it seems, for those who were em-
ployed in divining to wear their hair very long.
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,
Let him be e'er so mindful of his clothes,
They yet are stolen : for he can't devise
Whom he should have an eye to; but the thief,
Holds easily 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 find her sitting there, all drown'd in tears.
Track. I'm sorry for't! but wherefore doth
she weep ?
Amp. I'll 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,
ML'ht lead to a discovery of her parents;
And now she fears 'tis lost.
Track. Where \vas 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 fit 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.
Amp. And true it is, that when we trust in hope,
We're often disappointed.
Track. Patience then
Is the best remedy against ailiu-tion.
I'll in, except you want me further.
Amp. Go.
{Exit TEACHALIO.
SCEXE V.
AMPELISCA alone.
I'll now do what the priestess order'd me :
I'll bt-g some water here at the next house.
She told me if I ask'd it in her name,
They'd uive it me forthwith. I never saw
A worthier old woman, more deserving
Et from LTO.IS and men. How courteously,
And with what irentle breeding she ree.-iv'd us
Trembling in want, wet. east away, half-dead,
And treated us as ihouL'h \ve were her children!
Ho\v readily herself did warm us water
For us to wash ! But I miis-t mind her orders,
That I mayn't make her wait.
(knocking at Damones 1 door.) Ho! who's within
here >.
Open the door. Will nobody come forth?
SCEXE VI.
Enter SCEPARXIO.
Seep. Who's at the door there banging so un-
mercifully ?
Amp. 'Tis I.
344
PLAUTUS.
Seep. What good d'ye bring us? By my troth,
A likely wench.
Amp. Good day to you, young man.
Seep. The same to you, young woman.
Amp. I am come to you,
Seep. I'll 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-
plexion !
A walnut, a nut brown I meant to say !
What breasts ! what pretty pouting lips !
(lays hold of her.}
Amp. (struggling.} 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 ?
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 ?
Amp. 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,
You 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 ! [Exit SCEPARNIO.
SCENE 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 survives 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.
SCENE VIII.
Enter SCEPARNIO.
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 5
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 i'faith : but come, be serious.
Why won't you take it? Where in the world
are you?
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.
I'll 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 cliff's 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 dealings 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 ir.
such hurry ?
I can't keep up with you, you walk so fast.
Labr. Would thou hadst died in Sicily on a
gallows,
PLAUTUS.
345
E'er I set eyes on thee, on whose account,
Ah me ! this vile disaster has befallen us.
Charm. Would thou hadst lain in prison, on
the day
Thou first admitted me within thy doors!
And I beseech the gods, that all thy life
Thou 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.
Labr. 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 ! I'm sick at heart ! pray, hold my
head.
Charm. Would thou couldst bring thy lungs
up, for my part.
Labr. Alas ! poor Ampelisca, and Palaestra,
Where are you?
Charm. Food for fishes, I suppose ;
Gone 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.
Labr. 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 Hash,
I tremble so.
Labr. Neptune, thy bath's a cold one :
Since I've come out on't in my clothes, I freeze.
He deals in nothing warm to cheer our hearts,
But 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 migjit be dry. though come from out the
water.
Charm. What if I hire me for a bug-bear?
Labr. Why?
* Meaning, the advantage he should have made by the
Bale of the girls, who, he supposed, had perished.
t Both these, as the story goes, had their own children
served up to them at supper.
44
Charm. Because I chatter with my teeth so
terribly.
Yes, yes, I own I have deserved this ducking.
Labr. Why so ?
Charm. Because I dared embark with thee,
Whose crimes have stirr'd up ocean from its
bottom.
Labr. Fool ! to have listen'd to thy vain pre-
tences,
That in thy country I from girls should 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 tip
My wallet, with the treasure pack'd 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 Palaestra, see me,
'Twill cause me much vexation, (he cries.)
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 SCEPARWIO, 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,
And 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 are they ?
Seep. As many as you and 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 Charmides,
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 LABRAX.
346
PLAUTUS.
SCENE XL
CHARMIDES and SCEPAH.NIO.
Charm. Prithee 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. D'ye see 1 ? my clothes here 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
you will,
It's all that I have dry: it serves to shelter me
In rainy weather. Come, give me your clothes ;
I'll 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.
CHAHMIDES 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 DJEMONES.
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 unheard-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 from 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,
Highly provok'd, I caught 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 !
Run, run into the temple : I again
Implore your help, all that are near me, all
That hear my cry ! 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,
Deem. Nay, prithee
Let go my knees, and tell me, what's the matter?
What mean you by this uproar?
Trach. 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 ?
Trach. 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?
Trach. Why do you speak me ill? I wish'd
you good.
Deem. I do not speak you ill in wishing you
What you deserve.
Trach. Pray mind me.
Deem. What's the matter?
Trach. 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 ?
Trach. I'll tll 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?
Trach. A cheat, a profligate, a parricide,
PLAUTUS.
347
A perjur'd, lawless villain : in one word,
He's a procurer : I need say no more.
Deem. You've said enough to prove he deserves
hanging.
Track. A rascal ! he had the insolence to take
Tin- priestess by the throat.
Deem. And he shall pay for't.
Turbaiio! Sparax ! ho, come forth! where are
you?
Track. Pray, sir, go in, and take their part.
Deem. I warrant you
I need not call twice : they'll be here directly.
Enter TURBALIO and SPARAX.
Deem. Come, follow me. (goes with his servants
into the tempi .)
Track. Bid them to tear his eyes out.
Deem, (u-ithin.) Seize him, drag him along with
his feet foremost,
Like a stuck pis:.*
Track. (Juf*NM.) 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!
Hut see, here come the damsels sadly frighten'd.
SCENE III.
PALESTRA and AMPKLISCA appear in the temple.
court.
f'-L Now are we destitute of every power,
1 y 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 suiler'd here within
From the base rogue our master, who most rudely
Pu.-h'd down the good old priestess, treated her
"vVith 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 alHiction.
Track. What do I hear ! what sad complaints
are these 1
Why don't I go and comfort them? Palaestra!
Pnl. Who calls there?
Truck. Ampelisca!
Ha! who's that?
Pal. Who is it calls
h. Turn, and you will know.
Pul. (turning.) O my be>t Impes of safety!
Ti'urh. No more waitings :
Be of good heart : have faith in i
Pal. If possible,
and shelter us from impious violence,
Le>t it should f. Seek not to com fort us with words alone.
Pul. Except you find a real safeguard for us.
We are undone; and I'm resnlv'd to die
Bl than fail into this villain's power
Yet have I but a woman's heart; for when
I think on death, I tremble.
Track. Though your case
Is hard, have a good heart.
* Quasi occisam suem.
Pal. Where shall I find it?
Track. 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 embrac'd,
'Till dragg'd from it by force?
Track. Do but sit down,
I'll guard you : let this altar be your fortress,
I will defend the work: with Venus' help
I'll stand against the attacks of this procurer.
Pal. We'll follow your instructions.
(The women 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 and 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 : O hold us not in scorn,
Nor think it done amiss, that thus we come
Less seemingly accoutred than we ought.
Track. 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.
SCEXE IV.
Enter DXMOXES, dragging LAB RAX.
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?
Track. Look, here they are.
Deem. That's well.
Jl Servant. We'd fain be at him : bid him but
come near.
Deem, (to Lab., who is going tmvards 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.
Deem. Does he dare to threaten ?
Labr. You rob me of my right; you take away
My girls in spite of me.
Deem. Make your appeal
To any of the great ones of ti
And let him try the cause, whether they are
yours,
Or else born free ; and whether too your knave-
si lip
Should not be clapp'd in prison, there to lie
Till you have worn it out.
Labr. I have no business
To talk with this hang-gallows slave.
(fprnki,}^ to Deem.) 'Tis you,
That I must try the cause with.
Deem. First of all
Try it with him, who is no stranger to you.
Labr. My suit's with you.
348
PLAUTUS.
Track. Your suit must be with me.
Are these your property ?
Labr. They are.
Track. Come on then,
Do but touch either with 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 1
Deem. You may not ; that's our law.
Labr. I've no concern,
Nothing to do, no business with your laws :
I'll take them both away. Lookye, old gentleman,
If you've a liking to them, you must down
With the hard money.
Deem. 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 offer them the smallest violence,
Though but in jest, I'll 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 ?
Track. 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.
Deem. How! my coimtrywoman?
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.
Deem, (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 'mountain, 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 worthier
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 offerings 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 away.
Deem. What will you do ?
Labr. Fetch Vulcan; he's an enemy to Venus.
(goes towards Dcemones' door.)
Dam. Where is he going?
Labr. (calling at Dcemones' door.)
Hola ! who's within here ?
Deem. If you but touch the threshold of that
door,
A plenteous crop of blows shall be your por-
tion.
A Servant. We have no fire; we live upon
dried figs.
Deem. I'll give you fire, provided I may kindle it
Upon your head.
Labr. Faith, I'll procure it somewhere.
Deem. What will you do then?
Labr. Kindle a large fire.
Deem. To burn yourself.
Labr. To burn them both alive
Here at the altar.
Deem. 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.
Deem. Go then.
Track. And let him not
Deem. 'Tis at his peril,
If he dare touch them once, or e'en attempt ;.t.
Track. You will take care.
Deem. I will take care. Begone.
Track. And guard him too; see that he don't
get off":
For we have promis'd to deliver him
Up to the hangman's hands, or pay a talent.
[Exit TRACHAUO.
PLAUTUS.
349
SCENE V.
D^EMONES, LABRAX, PALJESTRA, AMPELISCA, and
M.HVAXTS.
Dur cudgels,
'Till, like a drunkard, he -hall s.-:irce be able
To find his way home. If he sp.-nks t<> any one,
You answer in their stead; and if he oilers
To run away, straight hamper him, by making
Your cudgels serve as fetters for his 1>
Labr. What! won't they let me go about my
l)ii>iness ?
Deem. 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 DJHMONES.
SCENE VI.
LAB RAX and SERVANTS. The two Women, as
before.
Labr. (walking on one side.) Heyday! the tem-
ple's on a sudden chang'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. Pahsstra!
Serv. What would you ?
Labr. Hold ! we're at cross purposes :
This is not my Pakestra, 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'll draw nearer rather to my girls.
Serv. Stay where you are.
Labr. 'Fore heaven my affairs
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.
Pleus. What! would the rascal drag her off
perforce,
By violence from the altar ?
Track. Even so.
Fleus. Did you not kill the villain on the spot?
Trach. There was no sword at hand.
Pleus. You should have taken
A club or stone.
Trach. Should I have ston'd the fellow,
on'd him like a dog?
Pirn*. Yes, such a villain.
Labr. (seeing them.) Now I'm undone indeed.
- IMensidippus:
rle'll bru>h my jacket for me; aye, he'll give me
A thorough dusting.
Pleus. Were the dameU sitting
Then by the altar, when yu went for me?
Trach. Yes, and are sitting now there.
2E
350
PLAUTUS.
Pleus. Who protects them ?
Track. A good old gentleman, I know not
whom,
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.
Pkus. Conduct me straight
To the procurer: show me, where's the villain?
(they advance.)
Labr. (to Pleus.) 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. Trachalio, 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 VIII.
PIEUSIDIPPUS, LABRAX, SERVANTS, and the
Women as before.
Pleus. Yes, I will bear this rascal runaway
Before the judge. Come, come before the judge.
Labr. What is my crime ?
Pleus. Crime, ask you ? Did you not
Take earnest of me for this damsel here,
Then bore her off?
Labr. I did riot 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 : I'll 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 CHARMIDES from the temple.
Charm. Who calls me by my name?
Labr. Dost thou not see
How I am dragg'd ?
Charm. I see it, and look on
With pleasure.
Labr. Wilt not come to my assistance ?
Charm. Who has got hold of the* ?
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.
Labr. What is that ?
Charm. To find
What they are seeking.
Labr. Prithee bear me company.
Charm. Troth, thy request is like thee : thou
art dragg'd
To jail, and thou wouldst have me bear thee
company.
What ! hanging back ?
Labr. I'm undone for ever.
Pleus. Would it were true ! Do you, my dear
Palaestra,
And Ampelisca, tarry here the while,
Till my return.
Serv. I would advise them rather
To go to our house, and there wait your coming.
Pleus. I like it : you oblige me.
Labr. Ye are thieves.
Serv. How ! thieves ?
Pleus. Drag him along
Labr. Help! help! Palaestra!
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 LAB RAX 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 pirnp here on my faith I think
Is chang'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 make 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 DJEMONES.
'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 rare 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 night a fishing on the sea :
He had been wiser, had he slept at home,
Such weather, such a night: what he has caught,
Til 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 from his wat'ry realms
Full fraught, and laden with the choicest booty;
My boat too safe, which in the stormy sea
Has blest me with a new and plenteous fishing.
'Twas a rare chance this kind of fishery,
How very wondrous and incredible !
PLAUTUS.
351
I have not caught me an ounce weight of fish,
Save what I have here in my net. I rose
Ai midnight all alert, preferring gain
To rest and sleep ; and though the tempest roar'd,
I Uibour'd to relieve my master's wants,
A id help me in my state of servitude.
I never have been sparing of my pains.
The sluggard's good for nothing: I detest
Si eh kind of fellows. He, who in good time
Would do his duty, should be vigilant,
Not wait, 'till he is rous'd to't by his master.
Those who love sleep, indulge it to their cost;
T ley get no profit, and are sure to suffer.
I. who was ever diligent, have found
T uit 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
I? privy to the chance. Now, Gripus, now
Thou hast a fair occasion to procure
Thy freedom of the praetor. This I'll do,
This I'm determin'd, I'll 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 traffic ; among kings I'll be a king.
And then for my amusement I will build
A pleasure -barge, and copy Stratonicus :
I'll 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 ersct
A potent monarchy. My mind's resolv'd
On high and miuhty matters. But 'twere best
lo hide this wallet; and this king must dine
On salt and vinegar, no better cheer. (goi"S"-)
SCEXE III.
Enter TRACHALIO.
Track. Ho! stay there
Grip. Stay! for what 1 ?
Track. Till I roll up
This rope* here, which you're dragging after you.
Grip. Let it alone, pray.
Track. But I must assist you.
Kindness on good men is not thrown away.
(/////. The weather ye.-ierday was very bois-
terous :
I have no H>h, young man; don't think I have.
And don't you see, I bring my net home wet
With nothing in't \
Track. not fish I want,
But only to discourse with .
(iriji. You kill me
With your impertinen i you are.
Track (holtliiig /n,/.) I will not let you go.
Stay.
Crip. S-e that you
UeptMit not. What a plague d'ye pull me back
for?
Track. Hear me.
< '>'<;>. I will not hear.
* Hence the name of the play in the original.
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 1
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 offers him
This fair proposal. Of your theft, quoth 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 1 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 me. Mind me
now:
For this is your concern.
Grip. How my concern ?
Track. That wallet; I have known the owner
long.
Grip. What's that ?
Track. 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 1 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?
Grip. No one is the owner,
Don't be mistaken, no one but myself,
Who caught it when a fishing.
Track. Did 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 meT you found it in the sea;
'Tis common then.
Gri)>. 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 li.-h. crying, forsooth,
That we had caught them in the sea that's common.
Track. How say you, sauce-box? Will you dare
to place
352
PLAUTUS.
A wallet in comparison with fish?
Think you, they are the same?
Grip. 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. rare philosopher !
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
Show 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. This 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 him.) 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 I'll 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.
Grip. 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.
Grip. You will get nothing but your own mis-
hap,
So don't expect it. Ill be gone, (going.)
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 my own pains, my own net, my
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.
Grip. 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,
H6w you may neither be the thief nor sharer.
Track. Ah ! how is that ?
Grip. 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 the rope, and trouble me no longer."
Track. Stay ; will you take my offer ?
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.
Track. Say, will you leave it to his arbitration,
Who lives here in this house?
(pointing to Damones* house.)
Grip. Let go the rope
A little, while I step apart, and think on't.
(aside.) Bravo! all's safe: the prize is all my own.
The fellow summons me on my own dunghill,
Chooses my master for an arbitrator !
I dare be sworn, he will not give a doit
Away from his own servant. Sure the fool
Is not aware of what he has proposed.
(to Track.) Well, I'll attend you to the arbitrator.
Track. What should you do else ?
Grip. Though I know for certain
This is my lawful right, Til do so rather
Than go to boxing with you.
Track. Now you please ms.
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.
(they advance toivards Dcemones' 1 house.)
PLAUTUS.
353
SCENE IV.
E.iter D.EMOXES. with PAL JISTRA and AMFELISC A ;
the two servants behind.
Derm. 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,
Piotending that I brought my misses home
i her nose, before her eyes. Do you then,
Rather than I. take refuge at the altar.*
P his tongue! As I was telling you,
That curs'd procurer's wallet, whom you drove
Ju-t now from Ve.,uV temple, lo! he has it.
drip. I have it not.
Track. And will you dare deny
I beheld myself, with my own .-,
drip. Would you were blind, I say ! Suppose
I ha\
Or have it not, why d'ye concern your
With my tin
Track. It doe* concern mo, whether
r unjustly.
I caiiJ.it it. or I'd give you leave to hang
me.
i-.'ht it with my net,
-'t more your's than mine?
* Dzmones menns, that if ttio d:imHs did not quit his
mil p-treal to thn altar. In* himself should be
'o do it on account of his ment.
45
Track. He would deceive you :
He has it, as I told you.
Grip. What d'ye say?
Track. If he's your servant, prithee keep him
under,
That I, whose right it i?, 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.
Dam. Faith he has match 'd you there. What
would you ? tell me.
Track. I ask no share, no portion of the
wallet,
Nor did I sny 'twas mine : but there is in it
A little casket of that damsel's, who
I told you was free-born.
Dme seeret ]'
I th<'i!<_rht that I should have a plaguy job on't,
Beeau-e I f.iimd it in sueh plaguy weather.
Troth. I believe there is a deal of
And silver in it. I had ! -
And hanir myself in private. for a while
At least, till I am rid of this vexation. [/>//.
' Whether or no this siiMiilies sune pnrt of a child's
clothing?, according to some commentators, or any kind
of trinket, which we are n<>t :it present acquainted with,
it is plain that in Gripus' answer a joke is intende.l >n
account of the double meaning of the word, xumln like-
u !- siL'nifyini: a tittle .>ir. It is not much to be regretted
perhaps, that this pun could not be preserved in our lan-
guage.
SCEXB VI.
Enter D.EMOWES.
Good heavens! was ever man more blest than I,
So unexpectedly to find my daughter !
Is it not plain, that when the gods 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 him
Fetclvd here directly ; and I bade his servant
Come forth, that I might send him to the Forum.
I marvel why he is not come. 'Twere best
Go to the door. (he looks in.) What do I see ?
My wife
Hugging and hanging on her daughter's neck.
(calling at the door.)
Nay, prithee, wife, a truce with your caresses j
See all things ready for the sacrifice,
Which we must oifer 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 1 Oh, he comes.
VII.
Enter TUACHALIO.
Track. Trust me, I'll find him out, where'er
he is,
And bring him 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 mat 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 ?
Track. Well. But d'ye know
I've a request to make? that you'd remember
What you have promis'd, to procure my freedom.
Daw. 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.
Track. Further, let me marry Ampelisca,
When I've my freedom.
Deem. Well.
Track. And let me find
My services indeed rewarded.
Dam. Well.
Track. How! Well to every thing?
* The original is Licet. Trachalio jocularly makes use
of this word in reply to every thing that Dxrnones says;
after which Dtemones takes it up, and answers Trachalio
in the same manner. Moliere, who was a close imitator
of our author, has the same kind of humour in many of
his comic scenes.
356
PLAUTUS.
Deem. Well. So, methinks
Pm even with you. Prithee now run quickly
Into the city, and come back with speed.
Track. Well. I'll be here this instant. In the
interim
Get all things ready for the sacrifice.
Deem. Well. [Exit TIIACHALTO
Ill betide him with his Wells, say I !
He has so stuff'd my ears with nothing else,
Let me say what I would, but Well, Well, Well
SCENE VIII.
Enter GRIPUS.
Grip. When may I have a word with you, good
master ?
Deem. The matter, Gripus?
Grip. Touching this same wallet
If you are wise, be wise : keep what the gods
Have graciously bestowed.
Deem. D'ye think it just,
That I should claim for mine what is another's?
Grip. And why not, when I found it in the sea?
Deem. So much the better luck for him, who
lost it :
But that don't make it yours a whit the more.
Grip. J Tis by your over-righteousness you're
poor.
Deem. O Gripus, Gripus, there are many traps
Laid to ensnare mankind ; and whosoever
Snaps at the bait, is caught by his own greediness :
But he, who acts with caution and with care,
May long enjoy what honestly he owns.
We shall get more by parting with this booty
Than we were better'd by its acquisition.
What ! when I know another's property
Is fallen into my hands, shall I conceal it?
No, Doemones will never do't. The wise
Can never be too cautious in this point,
Lest they become partakers of ill deeds
With their own servants. 'Tis enough for me
The pleasure of the game, and I'm indifferent
About the winning.
Grip. So I've often heard
The players talking in the same wise manner,
And much applauded, while they pointed out
Sound morals to the people; but when each
man
Went his way home, not one of all the audience
Became such as they bade him be.
Deem. Go in ;
Don't be impertinent, but cease your chattering.
I'll give you nothing; don't deceive yourself.
Grip. Pray heaven, whatever's in the wallet,
gold
Or silver, all may be reduc'd to ashes !
[Exit GIIIPUS.
SCEXE IX.
D^MOTTES alone.
The encouraging of servants in their crimes
Is one main reason why we have such bad
ones.
This fellow here of mine, had he combin'd
With any other rascal of a servant,
He would have made himself and his accomplice
Both guilty of a theft, and when he thought
That he had got a prize, himself the while
Had been a prize : one prize had caught another.
Now will I in, and sacrifice, and then
Give order for the supper to be dress'd. [Exit.
ACT V. SCEXK I.
Enter PLEUSIDIPPUS and TRACHALIO.
Plcus. Tell it me o'er and o'er, repeat it all
Again, Trachalio, and again; my life!
My friend! vny patron! nay, my father rather!
Tell me, oh tell me, has Palaestra found
Her parents ?
Track. She has found them.
Pleus. And is she
My countrywoman?
Trarh. I think so.
Pleus. And am I
To marry her ?
Track. I suspect so.
Plcus. And d'ye think
That he'll betroth her to me ?
Track. So I reckon.*
Pleus. And shall I then congratulate her father,
That she is found?
Track. I count so.
Pleus. And her mother?
Track. I reckon so.
Pleus. You reckon? what's your reckoning ?f
Track. I reckon, : tis exactly as you say.
Pleus. Then tell me what's the amount?
Track. The amount? I reckon
Pleus. Don't be for ever reckoning : what's the
total ?
Track. I reckon
Pleus. Should I not walk fast?
Track. I count so.
Pleus. Or rather gently in this pace ?
Track. I count so.
Pleus. Should I address her when I come ?
Track. I count so.
Pleus. Her father too ?
Track. I count so.
Pleus. Then her mother?
Track. I count so.
Pleus. What besides? Should I embrace
Her father, on my coming?
Track. I count not.
Pleus. Her mother ?
Track. I count not.
Pleus. The maid herself?
* Censeo. Tracliulio jokes with his master by con-
stantly repeating the word censeo in reply to all his ques-
tions, in the same manner as he repeated the word licet
in his conversation with Dzemones in the eighth scene
of the fourth act.
t Qnanti censes. It is plain, that the humour of thin,
and what follows, consists in the double meaning of the
word censeo, which hears another import besides the
simple acceptation of, I think or imagine ; but the com-
mentators are divided about the explanation of it. Some
imagine it alludes to the office of censor among the Ro-
mans; others, to the value or estimation of things; but
I have followed the opinion of Gronovius, who supposes
it alludes to the reckoning of accounts : and as the words
count and reckon are used in our language to signify
belief or opinion, the double meaning of the original is
in some measurs preserved in the translation.
PLAUTUS.
357
Track. I count not.
Pleus. Woe is me ! his 'count is clos'd :
He counts not, when I'd have him count.
Track. You're mad :
Follow me.
Pleus. Lead, my patron, where you will.
\Thcy go into D.EMONES' house.
*******
* # * The remainder of the act is of little or no
interest, being wholly taken up in the restoration
of the wallet to Labrax, and the rewarding of
Gripus with his freedom for having found it.
THE TWIN BROTHERS.'
DHAMATIS PERSONJE.
MEN:KCHMUS, of Epidamnum.
OLD .MAN.
PK.VICULUS, a Parasite.
S K ii v A x T of MeiuKchm us.
PHYSICIAN.
CYLINDRUS, a Cook.
MEN.ECHMUS SOSICLES.
M ESSEN 10, Servant of Menachmus Sosicles.
WIFE of Meneechmus of Epidamnnm.
MAID-SERVANT of Menachmus of Epidamnum.
EnoTii'.n, a Courtezan, Mistress of Menachmus of
Epidammnn.
SERVANTS of Men&chmus 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 feiirn
j The bu-ine-- paM'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 miK-li 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 uranary ;
So miieh am I inclined to tell the plot.
i \vas a certain merchant, an old man,
Ol' Syracuse, lie had two sons were twins,
So like in form and feature, th it the nur-e
Co^ild not distinguish them, who gave them
suck,
Nor e'en the mother that had brought them forth,
As one inform'd me. who ha I seen the children ;
Myself ne'er saw them, don't imagine it.
* Phuitiis calls this < nm-viy MKN KCUMI. fmm the Twins
beins, each of them, r.-tlh-ii by th;it name ; the or
iiivchinus of Epidaiiuuiin, the other, Mencchmus i^ ni-
cies.
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-
tuin,
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 calfd ; I do remember it
More readily, for that I saw hjm 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 that 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 off 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 r-hift their characters.
While the s:tm" player at one time is a pimp,
And then a young gallant, and old curmudgeon,
A poor man, rich man, parasite, or priest.
358
PLAUTUS.
ACT I. SCENE I.
Enter PEITICULUS, the Parasite.
Our young men call me dishclout, 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 I'll 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, I'm now going to Menaechmus,
Most willingly I'm 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 dear 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 ! Menaechmus' self is coming forth.
SCEKE II.
Enter MEKT^CHMUS of Epidamnum, urith a robe,
speaking to his wife mthin.
Were you not good for nothing, were you not
An ass, a stubborn idiot, what you see
Displeas'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 original is Domi domitatus fui; in which there
seems to be a double entendre, as well as a jingle of
words. And Milton has something not very different
from it in his Com us,
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 officer o' th' customs,
I'm so examin'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?
Men. 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?
Pen. 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 when 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. Ejpi. Say I'm a pleasant fellow
PLAUTUS.
359
Pen. Where shall we dine?
Men. Epi. Poh, say what I command you.
Pen. Well then, thou art a pleasant fellow.
Men. Epi. What,
Canst add nought of thy own?
P''n. Yes, joyous fellow.
Men. Epi. Proceed.
Pen. Not I, i'faith, unless I know
Why there's a falling out 'twixt you and madam.
]. 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,
MeiKirhmus, if I speak one other word,
But what you bid.
Epi. Draw hither from the door.
Pen. I will.
/-'///. Draw hither.
Pen. Well.
Epi. Come quickly hither,
Come from the lioness's den. I'm now going
;rry it to my mistress, my Erotium :
I'll bid her to provide a dinner for us,
For me, for you, and for herself: we'll there
Carouse it till the morrow's morning star.
Pen. O bravely spoken ! shall I knock ?
Men. Epi. You may.
Yet hold a while.
Pen. The cup was just at hand ;
>w a thousand paces off.
Men. Epi. Knock softly.
Pen. Are you afraid the door is made of
crockery?
Men. Epi. Hold, prithee hold : herself is com-
inir forth.
Pen. Oh, sir, you look upon the sun : your
eyes
Are blinded with her brightness.
SCKXE III.
Enter EKOTH M.
Erot. My Mena -dnnus!
My love ! good morrow !
Pen. Won't V'>ii welcome me too?
I '.rut. You rank not in the number of my
friends.
Ptn. Yet treat me ns a supernumerary.
Men. Epi. We mean to pitch a lit- Id with you
to-day.
Aye. that we will.
Men. And prove, with pitcher fill'd,
Which is the mightier warrior at the bowl :
Yonr-ell' -hall be commander; ymi >hall choose,
Which you will pass the night with. O my
su
When I look on you, how I loath my wife!
/. And yet yon 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
slipt on
By thee, my rose-bud.
Erot. You've the readiest way
To win preeminence in my affection,
From all that pay me suit.
7Y/i. Right harlot this !
An harlot's sure to coax, whene'er she finds
There's any thing to get. If you had loved him,
You would have' bit his nose off 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.
Men. 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.
(Dicing the robe to Erotium.)
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 mince for my wife.
Pen. Four mina? 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.
*. Epi. Let dinner be provided for us three;
Send to the market for some dainty morsel,
i moti, some sow's kernels, a hog's cheek,
Or .-ausages, 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 Ejii. We're going to the Forum,
We shall be here directly: while 'tis d rosing,
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. 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
[Exeunt MKX^ECHMUS and PEWICULUS.
Erot. Call forth
The cook Cylindus, bid him come this instant.
SCEKE IV.
r CTLINDRCS.
Erot. Take the hand-basket; and, d'ye mind?
here are
Three pieces for you, you have hold of them.
360
PLAUTUS.
Cyl I have.
Erot. Go to the market and provide
Enough for three ; now let there be sufficient,
And nought to spare.
Cyl. What kind of guests, pray, are they ?
Erot. I, and Menaechmus, 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. SCEXE I.
Enter MENJBCHMUS 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?
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 Illyrians, 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, Ml never spare rny 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 most undoubtedly took his Comedy
of Errors from this play, or, at least, the translation of it,
printed in 1595, makes his JEgeon say,
Five summers have I spent in farthest Greece,
Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia,
And coasting homeward came to Ephesus.
Jlct /. Scene /.
If you return not home; when nothing's left.
You'll chafe for this wild chase of your twin
brother.
As for the people 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
w ith ;
And therefore is this place call'd Epidamnum,
Because there's no one come here, but says,
damn 'ew.f
Men. Sos. I'll 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?
Men. 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.
Mess. Take and keep it.
With all my soul.
SCEXE II.
CTLINDRUS 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 Mencechmus. Woe then to my back!
The guests are walking here before the door,
Ere I return from market. I'll accost them.
Save you, Menoechmus !
* Shakspeare in his Comedy of Errors, makes Antipho-
lis of Syracuse give much the same account of Ephe-
sus :
They say, this town is full of cozenage;
As nimble jugglers, that deceive the eye,
Dark-working sorcerers, that change the mind;
Soul-killing witches, that deform the body,
Disguised cheaters, pratting mountebanks,
And many such like liberties for sin.
Jlct /. Scene HL
t The original is,
Propterea huic urbi nomen Epidamno inditum est.
Quai nemo ferine hue sine damno divortitur
Ne mini damnum in Epidamno duis.
Epidamnus, or Epidamnum, (for it was called somo-
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. It was so calk d
from Epidamnus, a king of that name ; but afterwards
became a colony of the Romans, who changed its nan e
to that of Dyrrhachium ; and for the reason alluded to in
this passage.
It is remarkable for being the place to which Ciceio
was banished ; it is now called Durazzo.
The literal translation would be, Therefore is this place
called Epidamnum, because scarce any one comes to it biit
to his loss. And,
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.
PLAUTUS.
361
Men. Sos. Save you ! Do you know me ?
Cyl. No, to be sure ! (ironically.) Where are
the other guests ?
Men. Sos. What guests do you mean ?
Cyl. Your parasite.
Men. Sos. My parasite ?
Surely the man is mad.
Mess. Now say, my master,
Did I not tell you there were many cheats here 1 ?
Men. Sos. Whom mean you by my parasite ?
Cyl, Why, Dishclout.
Mess. See, see, I have him safe here in the
wallet.
Cyl. Mencechmus, 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. I'll 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 Cylindrns : 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 Meneechmus, that I know.
Men. 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 known 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. that I have nothing
To break his head with !
Men. Sos. How ? you've handed me
The cup? when till this day I never came
To Epidanmnm, 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, Meneechmus?
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 saerifice:
For sure you are not in your perfect mind,
To curse your-elf.
Men. Sos. Thou'rt mad, vexatious follow!
Cyl. In this wise will he often j'-st with me;
He's such a w:i'_r, he. when his wife's not by.
Men. Sos. Prithee now
Cyl. Prithee now, is this provision
Sntlieient, 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.
46
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! what
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 I'll in, and let Erotium
Know you are here, that she may fetch you in,
Rather than you should saunter here without
doors. [CrmcDRus goes in.
SCENE III.
MEJT^ICHMUS SOSICLES and MESSESTO.
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.
Mess. Meanwhile I'll lay this down ;
(lays down his wallet on some oars.)
Pray keep it safe, ye water-treading oars.
SCE*E IV.
Enter EROTIUM, 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 wan ting: 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 ;
5 P
362
PLAUTUS.
And therefore I'm content, that he should hold,
As he deserves, with me, the highest place.
I'll 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
Which you desir'd : nothing to stay you, love :
The dinner, which you order'd, we have got:
Then, whensoever 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.
The courtezans here are all money-traps.
But suffer 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.
Mess. In Epidamnum?
He never set his foot in't till to-day.
Erot. Ah ! you are pleas'd to joke, my dear
Maneechmus.
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.
Mess. 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.
Erot. Let's in to dinner.
Men. 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. Who's that Peniculus ?
Erot. The parasite ; in other words, the Dish-
clout.
Men. Sos. O, what they wipe their shoes with ?
Erot. He, I say.
Who came with you this morning, when you
brought me
The robe that you had stolen from your wife.
Men. 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. What is it I deny? What have I done?
Erot. Given me a robe belonging to your wife.
Men. Sos. I still deny it : I never had a wife,
Nor have I : neither have I set my foot
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. I' prithee, now have done
With jesting thus, and come along with me.
Men. Sos. Some other man you mean, I know
not whom,
Not me.
Erot. What ! don't I know thee ? not Menaech-
The son of Moschus, who wert born, thou say'st,
At Syracuse, in Sicily, where erst
Reign'd King Agathocles, and after Pinthia,
And next him Liparo, who by his death
The kingdom left to Hiero, now king.
Men. Sos. 'Faith what 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.
(to Erot.) For some time wittingly I have oppos'd
you,
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 rny 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.
[EROTIUM goes in.
PLAUTUS.
363
SCEWE V.
MEWXCHMUS SOSICLES, MESSEXIO.
Men. Sos. Messenio!
dome hither.
Mess. What's the matter 1
Men. Sos. 'St! shall I
Impart it to you?
Men. What?
Men. Sos. ; Tis such a chance.
Mess. What chance ?
Men. Sos. I know what you will say.
I say
So much the worse for you.
Men. Sos. I have got it, boy :
1 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.
Mrn. Sos. Peace, prithee. If I play the fool,
; tis I,
\ot you, shall suffer. Why, this woman here
l< a mere simpleton, an arrant ignorant,
A- Jar as I have prov'd her hitherto.
< h'- is our game, my boy.
Mess. Tis over with us.
Men. Sos. Will you be gone ?
He is undone, that's certain.
Tl.is pirate vessel has the boat in tow.
But I'm a fool, that I should seek to rule
My master: for he bought me to obey,
Nt govern him. Come, follow me, that I
May wait upon him at the time he order'd.
[Exeunt.
ACT III. SCEXEI.
Enter PEICICULUS, 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.
Wh'-re while I stood staring about. Menaechmus
(Jave me the slip, I fancy to his mistress;
Nor took me with him. (Jods confoiiiid the man !
First took it in his head, to institute
Th--~e me. 'titles to engage the most engag'd.
"Twer" better only to elect the idle
Who should be line,! in ca^e of non-attendance.
Th-Mv are enough who eat their meals alone;
Wlm'vc nought to do, who nor invited are
Nor e'er invite. These were the men to hold
iblie-. and attend at the Comitia.
Had thi< been so, I had not lost my dinner.
Which he'd as sure have u'iven me. as I live.
I'll go however hope of the very scraps
Comforts my mind. Hut see. Mein .-hums comes
From dinner, with a wreath. All's ta'en away,
And I am come at a line time indeed !
SCENE II.
Enter MENJECHMVS SOSICLES, with a robe.
Men. Sos. If I return it neatly fitted up,
(speaking to Erotimn icithin.)
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 off, 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 bestow'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 which
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, Menace-hums.
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'tKrotium?
Men. Sos. Neither have I a wife, nor robe have
stolen,
Nor given to Erotium.
364
PLAUTUS.
Pen. Are you mad?
Have you your senses ? Why the thing's apparent !
Did I not see you coming from the house,
The robe upon you ?
Men. Sos. 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 did, by Hercules !
Men Sos. Go, and be hang'd
As you deserve, or else go purge your brain ;
For thou'rt the veriest madman I e'er met with.
Pen. By Pollux' temple, nothing shall prevent
me,
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 rny dinner.
Men. Sos. What is this?
Shall every one I see, affront me thus ?
But see, the door is opening.
SCENE III.
Enter a MAID SERVANT of Erotium, with a clasp.
Serv. Erotium
Most earnestly entreats of her Memechmus,
('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.
Men. Sos. This, and aught else that she would
have me do,
Tell her I will take care to execute.
Serv. But, do you know the clasp I'm speaking
of?
Men. Sos. I know it not ; but see, 'tis made of
gold.
Serv. '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.
Men. Sos. Stay : I begin to recollect : it was
The same I gave your mistress.
Serv. Yes, the same.
Men. Sos. Where 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.
Serv. Shall I say,
You will take care
Men. 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 cold, and of two pieces value ; that I may
Look well upon you, when you pay yoxir visits.
Men. Sos. It shall be done : give me the gold
I'll pay
Myself the fashion.
Serv. 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.
Men. Sos. I have no money.
Serv. But when you have, you'll pay the jew-
eller.
Any commands with me?
Men. Sos. Yes, tell your mistress
I'll take great care of what she has order'd me.
[Exit SERVANT.
Yes, soon as may be, I'll 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
Befriend 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, Mencechmus, then ; use well thy feet,
And mend thy pace. Let me take off my wreath,
And throw it to the left : that, if I'm follow'd,
They may suppose I'm gone that way. I'll now
Find, if I can, my servant, arid acquaint him
With what the gods are doing in my favour.
[Exit.
ACT IV. SCENE I.
Enter the WIFE of Mencechmus 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 embroiderer'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 ambush. (they retire.)
SCENE II.
Enter MEN^ECKMUS of Epidamnum.
How troublesome it is, thus to indulge
Ourselves in foolish customs! yet the great,
These petty gods, too much come into it.
All wish to have, a number of dependants,
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 deposi
j They will deny the trust Litigious,
sit,
PLAUTUS.
365
Covetous, fraudulent, who've got their wealth
By usury or perjury Their soul's
Still in their suits A summons for defence
Once issued, ? tis their patrons' summons too;
Who Tore the people, pra-tor, commissary,
Must speak in their behalf, however wrong.
Thus was I plagued to-day by a dependant,
One of this, sort, who would not let me do
Au^ht which I wanted in my own affairs ;
Holding me close to his, he so detaiu'd me
"When I had battled for him 'fore the ^Ediles,
With craft had pleaded his bad. cause, had
brought
To hard conditions his opponent, nay,
I ad 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 dinner's order'd ;
My mistress waits. I 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
I'ilch'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.
Men. F.pi. I shall do right, if I go directly
And here refresh myself.
M //;-. 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 filch'd from me, you've thus your
due.
What, did you fancy you could play such tricks
In secret?
Men. Epi. What's tin- business, wife?
Wife. Ask that
Of me?
Men. Epi. Why, would yon that I ask of him?
Pen. No soothing now. Go on.
Men. F./ii. why so pensive?
. You can't but know tin* r.-a-on
Pen. Yes, he knows,
But cunningly dissembles.
Men. What's the matter?
Wife. The robe.
Men. r.jii. The robe ? What
Wife. Ay, the robe.
Why palo?
/. I pale! unless the paleness of the
robe
Has made me so.
Pen. I too am pale, because
it the supper, and ne'er thought of me.
To him again, (to the It'f/c.)
Men. Epi. Won't you be silent?
Ptn. No.
He nods to me to hold my tongue, (to the Wife.')
Men. Epi. Not I,
By Hercules! I neither wink'd nor nodded.
Wife. I am an unhappy 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 sflre, 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.
Men. Epi. Has any of the servants been at
fault?
Has any of the men or women slaves
Given you a saucy answer? Say, speak out,
He shall not go unpunished.
Wife. Sure, you trifle.
Men. Epi. You're out of humour : that I'm not
quite pleas'd with.
Wife. You trifle still.
Men. Epi. Has any of the 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. Ffi. 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 Pcniculus.)
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.
Pi-, i. You dare deny it?
Men. Epi. I do, by Hercules !
Pen. Consummate impudence?
Did I not see you with a wreath of flov.
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. I'j'i. I i'o assure you. since I s!ipp'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 tol-l your u ife the whole, by Hercules!
/.>;. What have you told?
366
PLAUTUS.
Pen. I know not. Ask of her.
Men. Epi. What's this, my dear ? What is it he
has told you?
You answer riot. Why don't yon say what 'tis?
Wife. As if you knew not. Why, a robe has
been
Stolen from me in my house.
Men. Epi. A robe stolen from you ?
Wife. Do you ask me ?
Men. Epi. In troth, I scarce should ask it,
Was I assur'tl 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,
Arid every thing he has discover d to me.
They've done well for me, they've stolen 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? (to his Wife.)
Wife. I say, I've lost from home
A robe.
Men. Epi. Who took it ?
Wife. He who stole it, knows.
Men. Epi. And who is he ?
Wife. One who is call'd Menaechmus.
Men. Epi. Spitefully done! And who is this
Menaxjhmus ?
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.
Men. Epi. I ?
I give it her?
Pen. You, you, 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. Arid I, I swear by Hercules ! that we
Say naught 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 right for woman
To lend out woman's garments ; men, their own.
Won't you return my robe ?
Men. 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 1
Wife. When you have had
A loss like mine, I'll do the same for you.
Pen. By Pollux's temple ! that will never be ;
j For I have nought at home to lose. The gods
Confound you both, both of youfcwife 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.
SCEKE III.
Enter EROTIUM.
Erot. Who inquires for me ?
Men. Epi. 'Tis one, who to himself is more an
enemy,
Than such to you.
Erot. My dear Menrechmus, 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 you,
You would deceive me ; that 'tis you would do.
Men. Epi. I do not ask you for it to defraul
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,
PLAUTUS.
367
Since you have treated with contempt a woman,
Who has not merited such usage from you.
time you come, be sure bring money with
you,
You shall not have to visit me for nothing,
j 'Tth h'nd 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 EHOTIUM.
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.
I'll go, consult my friends in the ailair.
[Exit.
SCENE IV.
Enter MENJBCHMUS 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 Men&chmus of Epidamnum.
Wife. I'll 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 i.s't disturbs you?
Dare you, impudence !
"rd. or -peak to me?
Men. Sos. What have I done, I should not dare
to speak <
Wife. What! do you ask me? O consummate
impudence !
Men. Sos. l>id 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, [cannot hear these scandalous reproaches :
I'd rather be a widow all my life,
Than bear these vile reflections you throw on
Hie.
Men. Sos. What is't to me. whether you live as
married,
Or parted from your husband ? Is it thus
The en-torn tbands under government.
N"r are the husbands often without fault.
But then- are bounds how Car a wife should go.
Nor doe> my dan-liter send to see her father,
But when some fault's committed, or perhaps
Some quarrd ha- ari>en. "\\hat it is,
: ial! know. For, look, I see her then,
He Ion- tin- door; and with her too, her husband,
pensive. 'Tis as I suspected
I'll call her.
368
PLAUTUS.
Wife. I'll go meet him. Happiness
Attend you, father !
Old M. That good will to you!
Am I come here to see things go on well?
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 I cannot
Live longer with 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 M. He's wise in that: and by that care of
yours,
In thus observing him, I would advise him
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
Your 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,
Yet plead for his.
Old M. Was he in aught 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 richest ornaments.
Old M. If he acts thus,
He acts amiss : if not, you act but ill,
When you accuse one that is innocent.
Wife. Why, even at this very instant, sir,
He has a bracelet, and a robe of mine,
Which he bore off here to this courtezan ;
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 him. Say, Mensechmus,
What's your dispute ? Give me at once to know it.
Why are you 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 off. 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?
0, of all madmen the most mad !
Men. Sos. Old man,
And do you say, that I inhabit here ?
Old M. Do you deny it ?
Men. Sos. By Hercules, 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 him.*) what say you now ?
This night went you from hence ?
Men. Sos. Whither? for what, I pray you?
Old M. I know not.
Wife. 'Tis plain he banters you.
Old M. (to. her.) What, canst not hold thy
tongue? Truly, Mensechmus,
You've jested long enough : now to the purpose.
Men. 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 !
Men. Sos. (aside.) Since they will have me mad,
what can I do?
Better then feign a madness, I may thus
Fright them away.
Wife. Look how he yawns and stretches!
What shall I do, my father !
Old M. Come this way,
As far off from him as you can, my child.
Men. Sos. Evoi, Evoi ! Bacchus, son of Jove,
Why dost thou call me to the wood to hunt?
I hear you, but I cannot stir from hence,
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
Destroyed the guiltless -man.
Old M. Woe on thy hfc-I
Men. Sos. See where Apollo from his oracle
Commands me to burn out that woman's eyes,
With lighted torches.
PLAUTUS.
369
Wife. I'm undone, my father !
He threatens me, to burn out both my eyes.
Men. Sos. (asitle.) Alas! they 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 I'll bring them, those
Shall carry him into the house, there bind him,
Ere he make more disturban :r.
Men. Sos. On my word,
Unless I take great care, they'll bear me off
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
F ir 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
Faw do I mount,
An I now I shake the reins I take the lash;
Now fly, my steeds, and let your sounding hoofs
Tell your swift course show in the turn your
'd.
Old M. And dost thou threaten me with har-
ness'd steeds?
Men. Sos. Again, Apollo! thou again com-
mand's! me
To rush upon yon fellow that stands there,
A.nd murder him. But who is this, 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 seem'd
So well but now, should fall so suddenly
47
Into so strange a malady ? Away,
I must make 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 rne, while I'm
well?
I beg you, sirs, (to the spectators.} if the old man
return,
Not to discover, down what street I took. [Exit.
ACT V. SCENE I.
Enter OLD MAW.
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 ^Esculapius, 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 PHYSICIAN.
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.BCHMUS of Epidamnum.
Men. Epi. This day has been unlucky, and to
Quite adverse what I thought to have done in
secret,
Has been discover'd by this parasite,
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,
Will 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. Besides,
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 return'd it.
Troth, I'm unhappy !
Old M. Hear you what he says?
Phys. He says he is unhappy.
Old M. Pray go nearer.
370
PLAUTUS.
Phys. Save you, Mensechmus. Why do you
bare your arms?
You know not how it helps on your disorder.
Men. Epi. Go hang yourself, (to 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 good hellebore.
Hark ye ! Mensechmus ?
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,
Whether 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 staring mad, give him some po-
tion.
Phys. Hold, stay a little, I shall farther ques-
tion him.
OldM. More idle talk will quite demolish him.
Phys. Tell me but this ; do you ever find 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 hungry.
Phys. By my troth,
In this he does not answer like a madman.
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
Confound this questioner !
Phys. He 'gins to rave, (aside.}
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 1 ?
Old M. You're mad,
I say.
Men. Epi. What, I ?
Old M. You there, who threaten'd me,
You'd trample me beneath your horse's feet.
I saw you do it, and I will maintain it.
Men. Epi. And I well know, you've stol'n
Jove's sacred crown,
And for the fact have been confin'd in prison.
And when releas'd you've been severely whipp'd
Under a gibbet. And I know besides,
You've kill'd 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
hellebore.
Men Epi. And you, some thirty days, shall be
tied up,
And flogg'd severely.
Phys. Go, and call your men,
To bring him to my house.
Old M. How many men
D'ye think will be sufficient ?
Phys. As I see him
So mad, not less than four.
Old M. They shall be 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.
[Exeunt PHYSICIAN and OLD MAX 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 well 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 the proof
Of a good servant, when he takes good care of,
Looks after, thinks of, and disposes rightly
His master's business. That, when he is absent,
Things may go on as well, or even better
Than when he's present. He whose heart is
right,
Will think his back of greater consequence
Than is his gullet : Ay, and to his belly
Prefer his legs. He ought to bear in mind
The wages, servants good-for-nothing, idle,
Or wicked, from their master's hands receive ;
And these are, stripes and chains, the stocks, tho
mill,
Hard labour, cold and hunger. Such as these
Are the rewards of idleness. This evil
PLAUTUS.
371
Pm 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 eat that which has been ground by
others,
Than grind myself what others are to eat.
[ 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 the^r interest,
I'll 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
punishment.
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 I've plac'd the servants, as he order'd,
And what they'd want i'th' inn, I'm come to
meet him.
I'll now knock at the door, that he may know
I in 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 fought.
SCEXE V.
Enter OLD MAX with Servants.
Old M. (to the servants.) By gods and men, I
here conjure you all
To take good care to execute the orders
(liven you already; and I now repeat them.
See that man carried to the doctor's house;
On pain of b|
(In the servants.}
Mess. Ye gods, 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 sei/e 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
Men. 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.
Men. 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.
Men. Epi. What is't ye mean, you rascals !
By laying hands on me thus violently?
Curry the scoundrels with your blows.
Mess. Away,
Begone, go 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.
Men. Epi. How's this ! young man,
You are mistaken.
Mess. I mistaken ! how ?
Men. Epi. I swear by Father Jupiter, I'm not
Your master.
jlfr.v-.s. 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 ]
Mess. Then you command me?
Men Epi. Yes sure, as far as I've a right to
do so.
Mess. My patron, thanks!
A Serv. I joy to see you free,
nio.
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.
372
PLAUTUS.
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 has 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 them me.
Wait for me here. [Exit MESS.
Men. Epi. What I've to-day experienc'd
In many instances is most extraordinary.
Some of them 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, I'll 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.
[Ex* MEN. EPI.
SCENE VI.
Enter MEX^ECHMUS SOSICLES and MESSEXIO.
Men. 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 off. You call'd on
gods
And men for their assistance. I ran up,
And snatch'd you from them, notwithstanding all
Their efforts to the contrary, and fought them.
On 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 ?
Mess. Certainly.
Men. Sos. And 'tis
Most certain, I'm as much a slave myself
As e'er I gave to you your liberty.
SCEXE VII.
Enter MEX.ECHMUS of Epidamnum, from Ero-
tium's house.
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 1
Men. Sos. Why, what do you see ?
Mess. Why, your resemblance, sir, as in a mirror.
Men. 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 Menaechmus.
Men. Sos. Mine's Mensechmus too.
Men. Epi. I'm a Sicilian, and of Syracuse.
Men. Sos. I am the same : it is my native
country
Men. Epi. What's that I hear?
Men. 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, (to Men. Sos.) I thought
him, you ;
And by so doing, gave you some uneasiness.
If I have said aught foolish or imprudent,
I pray 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 (to Men. Epi.) another
servant.
(to Men. Sos.) God save you, sir! and you, (to
Men. Epi.) good sir, adieu!
This is, I say, Mensechmus.
Men. Epi. I say, I am.
Men. Sos. What comedy is this? What! you
Menaechmus !
Men. Epi. I am, sir, and my father's name was
Moschus.
Men. Sos. And are you then my father's son?
Men. Epi. I'm sou
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 ! Meneechmus !
Both Men. Whom is't you want ?
Mess. I want but one of you.
But which of you came with me in the ship ?
Men. Epi. Not I.
Men. Sos. 'Twas I.
Mess. Why then, 'tis you I want.
Come this way.
Men. Sos. Well, I'm here, what do you want I
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.
PLAUTUS.
373
Beseech 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, (to Men. .Epi.) What was't you said ? I
think it was
That you are call'd Menaechmus ?
Men. Epi. Yes.
Mess. But he
Is call'd Menaechmus 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?
Why, Moschus was his father too. And now
It's in the power of both of you to assist me ;
And, in assisting me, to assist yourselves.
Men. Epi. You have deserv'd so much of me,
that what
Von :isk, 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 effect
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. E/>i. Yes, I own it.
Mess. And yours the same?
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.
>V>x. And you?
No doubt of it.
Mess. Hitherto all the marks agree right well.
But let's go on. What's the most distant tiling,
have happened in your country?
Men. Epi. The going with my father to Ta-
rentmn
I'th' way of maiebftlldising : in thr> crowd
tying fn>m my father; after that,
My lii-in.: hither brought.
Mi-.i. Sos. nrve me. Jupiter!
Mess. Why is that exclamation? Hold your
I" ' '
(to Men. Epi.) Say. when your father from your
country took yon.
What was your age ?
Men. A/A. Seven years: for I remember
Ju>t at that time my teeth bewail to >hek'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. F.pi. H asks but what is right and just,
my brother,
Do it on my account.
,l//i. Sos. Be free.
Men. Epi. I joy,
Messenio, that you have obtained your freedom.
2G
374
PLAUTUS.
Mess. You see a better hand than yours was
wanting
To make me free for life.
Men. Sos. Since things are thus
As we could 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, my brother, let's go in.
Men. Sos. With all my heart.
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. O yes ! yes ! This, sirs, is to give
notice.
The auction of Menaechmus 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 spectators.} Spectators, now
Adieu ! and favour us with a loud applause.*
[Exeunt.
THE TREASURE.
DRAMATIS PERSONJE.
PROLOGUE by LUXURY and POVERTY.
CHARMIDES, an Athenian Merchant.
CALLTCLES, his Friend.
MEGARONIDES, Friend to Callicles.
PHILTO, an Old Gentleman.
LESBONICUS, Son to Charmides.
LTSITELES, Son to Philto.
STASIMUS, Servant to Lesbonicus.
HIRELING, employed to counterfeit Charmides.
SCENE Athens.
PROLOGUE.
Enter LUXURY and POVERTY.
Lux. FOLLOW me, daughter, that you may per-
form
Your office.
Pov. I do follow ; but arn ignorant,
Where will our journey end.
* Among the fragments of Menander are a few lines
from a play called AIATMAI. The Twins; from which
some commentators have been of opinion Flautus 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 by 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 Menechmi.
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 who 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 should tell
The plot. The old men, who are coming hither,
Will ope the matter to you. In the Greek
'Tis nam'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 neighbour-friend 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 shocking, and a bar
As well to private as to general welfare.
SCENE II.
CALLICLES, in entering.
Cal. See that you deck our god Lar with a
crown ; f
* 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 elegant introduction of
the characters of LUXURY and POVERTY, 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 Luxus populator opum, cui semper adhaerens
Infelix humili gressu comitatur Egestas.
And Luxury,
The waster of men's property,
On whom, a close concomitant,
With humble step waits hapless Want,
t The ancients had in every house a tutelary deity,
who was supposed to protect it. See the Prologue to the
rfulularia, or Miser, p. 324.
PLAUTUS.
375
And, wife, do reverence, that our habitation
With all good fortune may be blest, and you
(aside.') That 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.
I'll up to him.
CaL Whose voice is't sounds so near me?
Meg. A friend, if you are such, as I would
wish you,
If otherwise, a foe, enrag'd against you.
Col. Oh, Megaronides, my friend, and years-
mate,
Save you, how fare you?
Meg. Save you, Callicles :
How do you do ? how have you done ?
CaL So, so.
Meg. Your wife, how fares she ?
Cat. 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.
Me?. I wish
ne to all my friends as to myself.
Cul. But harkye how is your good dame?
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.
Ctil. For what purpose ?
Meg. To rate you soundly.
Me?
Pray who is here
Besides US tWO?
Cal. There's nobody.
Then why
IVy.- :i sk inn. if 'ti< you I mean to clii
;it you think my-|f would school myself.
But to tin* point. If that the ancient sense
Of truth and \i<" id within you,
If evil manners in your disposition
wrought :i elian-'-. and that your disposition
Is clianir'd unto those manners, if the old
You keep not, but shake oil", and eafeh 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 ?
Meg. 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 harbour'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 ; bur 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 lot this transaction speak.
When by his 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 Selueia, to my charire
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 ? foree 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.
376
PLAUTUS.
Cat. How have I acted ?
Meg. Like
A villain.
Cal. Sir, that name is none of mine.
Meg, Did you not buy this house What, no
reply ?
Where now you dwelH
Cal. I bought it, gave the money,
'Twas forty minae, gave it to the youth.
Meg. You gave the money ?
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, young, weak in mind,
To give him money, wherewith to build up
His folly to the height, already founded.
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 gull'd 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,
Tm 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 abroad, he show'd me in this house
A treasure, in a certain closet lodg'd
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.
Meg. How ?
Cal. Being six days in the country, in my ab-
sence,
Without my knowledge, not consulting rne,
He set the house to sale.
Meg. The wolf! his stomach
Was sharper set: he watch'd the dog asleep, .
To ravage the whole flock.
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 to know.
Had it been fitter I had shown the son
This treasure, against which the father pray'd
me?
Or should I have permitted, that this house
Should own another master, and the gold
Devolve to him that bought it? I myself
Chose rather to become the purchaser ;
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 ;
But for my friend this house I purchas'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 ?
Meg. Be trusty.
Cal. Do not doubt me.
Meg. But hark ye.
Cal. What is it you want ?
Meg. 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
Ev'n as my own.
Meg. 'Tis well done in you.
Cal. Would you
Command me farther, ere I go ?
Meg. Your servant.
[Exit CALLICLES.
SCENE III.
MEOAROKTIDES alone.
In troth there cannot be more errant dolts,
More barefac'd fibbers, and more prating pup-
pies,
Than these officious 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 learn you :
thoughts
Present and future : nay they can discover
What the king whisper'd in her highness' ear,
And tell what past in Juno's chat with Jove.
They know what never was, nor ever will be :
PLAUTUS.
377
Whether they praise or dispraise right or wrong,
They care not, but invent whate'er they please.
This Callicles, for instance Men's report
Pronounc'd him for society unfit,
For that he spoil'd a young man of his fortunes.
I, 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 on 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 MEGAROJUDES.
ACT II. SCESTE I.
Enter LTSITELES.
What misery to myself do I create,
On many things thus inward ruminating!
1 tea/.e 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,
Hi do so. First then we'll discourse of Love.
Love only seeks to draw into his toils
I'he ea>y. 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-innuth'd, a nice, a greedy niggard,
A filcher of affections, pimp to those
That play at bo-peep, skulk in hiding holes;
A pryer into secrets, last, a beggar.
He -.hat 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 askiiiu. Nor is this
Sufficient; something more must still he added,
For entertainments, (eastings and earun
Grants she the favour of a night ! She brings
Her whole retinue with her, such a train
Of waiting-women, such a tribe of dre-
Minstrels, and lacqueys, all such huge devour-
ers,
Such wasters of his substance, that the lover
From his extreme eomp'aeenee is undone.
When I reflect within me, and consider,
How cheap they hold one who is little worth,
Love, get thee gone I like theo not Away
I hold no converse \vith thee. Although sweet
His feastings and carousings, Love has yet
48
A smatch of bitter to create disgust*
Love shuns the noisy bustle 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 abstain'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.
SCEXE II.
Enter PHI LTD.
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 forecoing lines
is finely expressed by Lucretius in his fourth hook.
Adde, qufxl ahsuniiiot vires pereuntque labore ;
Ail. I.-, qnml .-ilicrius Hub until di", r itiir tctas.
Labitur interefc res, et vadimonia limit,
Languent ofticia atque aegrotat lama vacillans.
medio de fonte leporum
Suniit amari aliquid, quod in ipsis florihus angat.
They waste their strength in the venereal strife,
And to a woman's will enslave their life ;
The estate 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.
Dry den.
2o2
378
PLAUTUS.
Draws tears from me ; to think my life prolong'd
To such a race ! O that I had but fbllow'd
Those that ai - e gone before me ! Our vile moderns
Commend the ancient manners, but withal
Defile what they commend. O then, my son,
Be not enamour'd of their arts, nor taint
Your disposition with them. Live like me,
Following our ancient manners. Do what 1
Advise you. For these vile and filthy manners,
Which good men must dishonour, I disdain them.
Lys. Sir, from my youth up to my present age
I've bound me to your precepts and commands.
Though free from birth and breeding, to your
bidding
I hold me still a slave, and deem it just
My will should bend to yours.
Phil. Suppose a youth
To combat with his will, whether 'twere best
To be, as best his will should think, or rather
Such as his parents and relations wish him :
If the will masters him, all's over with him,
By it he'll be enslav'd : but if his will
He 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 such 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
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, sir, to 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.
Lys. For this purpose, father,
I would entreat a certain favour of you.
Phil. What is it? tell me, for I \o\vs 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 yours.
Phil. Is he in want?
Lys. .In want.
* Victor victorum. We find the same sentiment in
Plato's first book, Of Laws. To conquer one's self is the
first and best of all victories : but to be conquered by
one's self is the greatest disgrace and calamity.
Phil. Had he a fortune?
Lys. He had.
Phil. How lost he it? at sea? by commerce?
In the slave trade ? by traffic ?
Lys. None of these.
Phil. How then?
Lys. In sooth by gentle living, sir:
Something too much in pleasure has he squan-
der 'd.
Phil. In troth you speak of him as of an inti-
mate :
A man forsooth whose fortunes were not shat-
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 and 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 the 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 would have.
Whose wants would you relieve? Come, tell
your father :
Speak boldly to me.
Lys. '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 gift most rare.
Phil. What, thus relieve his wants "
Lys. This very way.
Phil. I fain would learn the manner
Lys. I'll tell you. Know you not, what family
He's of?
Phil. I know : of good and reputable.
Lys. He has a grown-up sister : her, my father,
I I would fain take to wife.
Phil Without a portion ?
PLAUTUS.
379
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 shall I suffer you to take a wife
Wrhout a portion?
Lys. You must suffer me;
An 1 by it to our family you'll add
Increase of honour.
Phil I could here pour forth
A budget full of sayings, learned saws,
And antique stories, which my age would war-
rant;
Bur 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
T>< IK- firm : one word in this affair from you
Wdl 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
IIi< name is Lesbonicus do this thing
Effectually. I'll wait for you at home. [Exit.
SCENE III.
PHI LTD 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,
I i hifl own soul, nor is the better for it;
A id Mining up a storm that's out of season,
Makes the hour winter of old age more sharp.
But the door opens, whither I was goinu r :
And Lesbonicus, he himself comes forth
Most aptly with his servant. I'll aloof.
[Retires at a distance.*
I have taken the liberty to add this to the text for the
pake of perspicuity with respect to the modern reader,
in cannot be too often reminded, that tin- extent of the
ancient stage allowed of circumstances, which in the
present times could not be admitted as in any degree
probable. Among the other inconveniences, which the
ai-rients laboured under on account of their strict atten-
tion to the preservation of the Unity of Place, may be
fairly reckoned the absurdity of keeping some of the cha-
racters of the drama at a distance, while others were
engaged in a conversation, perhaps fore i en to the busi-
ness ; when at the same time these very characters ought
n.ther to have made immediate advances. This is appa-
rently the case in the beginning of the IV. Scene, that
fellows.
SCENE IV.
Enter LESBOSTICUS and STASIMUS.
Les. 'Tis under fifteen days, since fourscore
minae
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 minse.
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' account is not apparent.
Stas. Th' account's apparent, but the money's
gone.
You did receive of Callicles forty minae ;
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. him.
Stas. For others you've compassion, for yourself
You've neither shame nor pity.
Phil. (nt 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.
380
PLAUTUS.
Les. He has 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 be frugal, all in vain.
Phil. My son has sent me to you, to propose
A bond of friendship 'twixt yon, and alliance.
Your sister he would marry, and I hold
The same opinion, wish it.
Les. Oh, I know you ;
Your cruel mockery I perceive : because
You have an ample and right 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 circumstaric'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 proffer'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. (to Phil.} Would you aught else, sir?
You have got my answer.
Phil. I trust 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 but 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 plac'd beside you,
Of the choice cates serv'd up in heaps before him
Would you not taste, but at the table rather
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 things are at stake, divine and human.
Phil. Faith, what you say is right.
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 gods alone are rich : to them alone
Is wealth and power : but we poor mortal men,
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 without 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, through my imprudence and my folly
That I have left me now besides my life
Phil. I want no portion.
Les. I'm resolv'd to give it.
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 accountable to you ?
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 conjure you, let not this same farm
Come into your possession, or your son's.
The reason will I tell.
Phil. I fain would hear it.
Stas. First then, whene'er the land is plough d,
the oxen
Ev'ry fifth furrow drop down dead.
Phil. Fyeonit!
Stas. A passage down to Acheron's in our field.
The grapes grow mouldy as they hang, before
They can be gather'd.
PLAUTUS.
381
l-es. 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 gather in thrice less than what was sown.
Phil. Nay ! then methinks 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 this farm, but his affairs
Did 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
Fat from this farm !
&Ya. 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 sheep
Pine with the rot, all scabby as this hand :
Anl no man can live there six months together,
No. not a Syrian, though they are most hardy,
The influenza is to all so fatal.
Phil. I do believe it true : but the Campanians
The Syrians far outgo in hardiness.
Th.s farm is a fit spot, as you've described it.
Wherein to place bad men : And as they tell us,
Th it 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.
Mas. 'Tis the abode
Of misery. But, without more words, whatever
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 with it, could he but find
A gudgeon to his purpose.
Phil. I'll have none of it.
Stas. If you are wise indeed, you will not
have it.
(aiide.) 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 row return to you.
Les. I prithee tell me,
What has he said?
Phil. Think you? The fellow wants
His liberty, but has not wherewithal
Tc purchase it.
Les. And I too would be rich,
Bu t cannot.
Stas. (aside.) Once you might have been, if
then
You had chose 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
we'll
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!
Les. To fix the portion.
Stas. Go.
Les. For I'm resolv'd
A portion she shall have.
Stas. Nay, pray be gone !
Les. Nor will I suffer her to lose
Stas. Go, go !
Les. By my neglect.
Stas. Be gone now.
Les. 'Tis but just
For my offences.
Stas. Will you not be gone?
Les. That I alone should surfer.
Stas. Go be gone.
Les. My father ! shall I never see you more ?
Stas. Go, get thee gone ! be gone ! be gone ! be
gone!
[Exeunt LKSBONICUS and PHILTO.
SCEXE V.
STASIMPS alone.
At length I have prevail'd on him to go.
Ye gods! from wrongly we shall manage right,
If we but keep this farm : and yet I have
Some doubt concerning what will be the issue.
If it be once made over to another,
'Tis over then with me: I must abroad,
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 I'll go,
Where master bade me; though I hate this
house,
Ever since he, who bought it, turn'd us out.
382
PLAUTUS.
ACT III. SCENE I.
Enter CALLICLES and STASIMUS.
Cal. How said you, Stasimus? that your mas-
ter's son,
Young Lesbonicus, had betroth'd his sister?
Stas. The same.
Cal. To whom ?
Stas. To Philto's son, Lysiteles,
Without a portion.
Cal. How ? without a portion
Married in so 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 ?
Stas. You hold me
Of no account.
Cal. Tell me, how long ago,
And where was this transacted ?
Stas. 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?
Stas. 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 :
I'll straight to my corrector,* and will ask
His counsel. [Exit.
SCENE II.
STASIMUS alone.
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 know 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 LYSITELES and LESBONICUS.
Lys. Stay prithee, don't oppose me, do not
seek
To hide thee from me.
Les. Can't you let me go,
Where I intend ?
* Meaning Megaronides, who had 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.
Lys. Do 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
would 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, than 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 proffer'd benefit from one,
Who's your well-wisher ?
Les. Nothing can I deem
A benefit, if it displeases him
On whom it is bestow'd. I know my duty:
Yet all that you can utter will not shield me
From men's reports.
Lys. How say you? (for I can
No longer be withheld 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 father, grand-
father,
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
Expell'd thence: in the Forum dedicate
Your service to your friends, and not in bed
To a she-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 extremest want.
Les. All you have said I know, could sign and
seal to,
That I have wasted my inheritance,
Tarnish'd the glory of my ancestors;
Knew how I should have acted, but alas !
I could not do it ; by the pow'r of Love
Subdued, by idleness held captive, readily
I fell into the 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,
PLAUTUS.
383
You have so little shame. In fine, except
You list to me, and act as I advise,
Soreen'd 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 uninfurm'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,
Ee'll none on't. Whoso bids him to avoid
A thing, invites Kim to it; interdict?,
Who recommends it. 'Tis the height of mad-
ness,
I ver 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,
'I hey 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 me to a viler course.
My sister you would have, and would persuade
me
Without a portion to bestow her : but
Ii 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 hotter you should suffer want
By reason of your >i>ter, and that I
Should have the farm rather than you, where-
with
You might repair your >hatter'd fortune?
Les. No,
My poverty ne'er think on ; let me be
t, not infamous; nor let them say,
That in bestowing her without a portion,
I gave her into keeping, not in marri::
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, 1 should meet reproach.
Lys. By giving me the farm, you'd lain be
styl'd
A man of honour !
Les. 'Tis not in my thoughts :
This, this is honour to an honest man,
lor ever to be mindful of his duty.
Lys. In sooth I know the purpose of your heart;
I see it all, I scent it. I perceive it.
Soon as the bond of near affinity
Is knit betwixt us, when you've given the farm,
And nothing left you here for your support,
The marriage ended, straight you'll fly 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 prize with ease; your play's the
best;
The subject better manag'd, and the lines
Are better. How then 1 (to 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, (retires.)
Les. Come 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 LYSITELES ; and LESBONICUS goes
off directly after.
SCEWE 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
It) to 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.
SCEXE V.
Enter MEOARONIDES and CAHICLES.
Meg. As you relate the affair, it cannot be
By any means, but that a portion must
Be given with the maid.
384
PLAUTUS.
Col. It cannot be
Right honest in me sure to let her wed
Without a portion, 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 dispos'd 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. Yet 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.
Cal In troth all this has come into my mind.
Meg. Think you 'twould be more useful to our
purpose,
For me to go to Lesbonicus, and
Inform him of the matter ?
Col. 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 the very thing.
Meg. What's to be done then ?
Col. 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.
Meg. 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 his father, from Selucia ;
Salute him in the old man's name, acquaint him,
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 !
Meg. 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 seal'd they must be brought,
Do you not think, the spark's 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 riot 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 disposition,
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.
PLAUTUS.
385
Cat. I then will go in,
And straight about the business. You 11 take care
Of yours.
Meg. It shall be done, or I'm a fool else.
ACT IV. SCEXE 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,
1 pay my utmost thanks. Men call you cruel,
Rude, and severe, of greedy disposition,
Blood-thirsty, fierce, unsufferable, outrageous :
3ut I have prov'd you other ; in the deep
'.[ 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
l\\ treating men according to their merits.
Tis worthy of the gods to have respect
I'M to the poor. I know you may be trusted,
rhough they proclaim you treacherous : for with-
out
Your aid your wild attendants in the deep
Had maul'd 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
lie-,lv'd henceforth to L'ive me up to ease.
I 've got enough. O with what troubles have I
Strugirled, in seeking riches for my son?
But who is this, that's entering now our street?
A .-tranter 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. I'll name this day the festival of three
pie-
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
Si\v with my eye?, 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 receiv'd
B 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 disguise 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: I'll do so.
Count. "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?
Charm. What do you want, young man? Why
knock you here?
Count. 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, awl another
With a white pate as yours is ; h'.?, 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.
Count. If you know,
Most rev'rend sire, inform me where they dwell.
Cliarm. 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 qubStions 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?
Count. Because
Should you set out, before the day began,
With the lirst 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.
386
PLAUTUS.
Charm, (etsick.) 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 ! I'll keep it up.
Where was he?
Count. He has manag'd matters well.
Charm. Where?
Count. In Seleucia.
Charm. You 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, (hesitating.} It's it's ah me! his
name is
Charm. What's the matter?
Count. I've swallow'd it this 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. (asiWe.) I am caught 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. It 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.
Charm. Callinicus ?
Count. No.
Charm. Is't Callimarchus?
Count. 'Tis in vain to seek it,
Nor do. I heed it much, so my own name
I don't forget.
Charm. But there are many here
Call'd Lesbonicus; and, unless you tell
The father's name, I cannot show them to you
Whom you inquire for, What is'tlike? We'll try
If we can hit upon it by conjecture.
Count. 'Tis like Char.
Charm. 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. He 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 mind 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 5
As though you meant to say, if any thing
Was trusted to you, touch if, and 'tis gone.
But harkye, whither did you further travel ?
Count. Attend, and I'll relate. We journey'd on
To the river's head that rises out of heaven
Beneath the throne of Jove ?
Charm. The throne of Jove ?
Count. I say it.
Charm. Out of heaven ?
Count. Aye, from the midst cn't.
Charm. How ! you ascended up to heaven ?
Count. We did ;
In a small cock-boat were we carried thither
Against the stream.
Charm. Oh ho ! And saw you Jove ?
*This is a fictitious name, and alludes to Rhadaman-
thus, one of the three judges of the infernal regions.
t The original is, Tax, from tangere, to touch, 01 to
steal, to which Charmides' answer alludes.
PLAUTUS.
387
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 I inquire 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 with ?
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 hanging.
I must go cunningly to work. Hoa, Touchit,
Three words with you.
Count. 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. You received them, did you,
Of Charmides himself?
Count. 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.
Count. Give you what gold?
Charm. That which you own'd you did receive
of me.
Count. Receiv'd of you ?
Charm. I say it.
Count. Who are you?
Chnrm. 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,
You 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. I 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. 'T won'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 I'd not have you.
Before, you was not who you was ; and now,
You are who then you was not.
Charm. Come, despatch.
Cownt. 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.
Count. 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.
Count. 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 ^diles' 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. 111 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 that his 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.
CHARMIBES 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
Taming- of the Shrew, his assuming the name and charac-
ter of Vincentio, together with his encountering the real
Vincentio, seem to be evidently taken from this scene in
our author. An incident of the snui kind we meet with
in the old play of -llbinna-.rr. Act iv. Scene vii., which
appears likewise to be palpably borrowed from this place.
388
PLAUTUS.
I am perplex'd, 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 apprehensions ; and those thousand pieces,
What could he mean by them ? The bell doth
never
Clink of itself: unhandled, and unmov'd,
; 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. (retires.)
SCENE IV.
Enter STASTMUS, 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. (stopping.)
Hold thee, Stasimus,
What a sad fellow art thou. to forget
Thy ring, and leave it at the tippling-house,
Where thou hadst warm'cl thy gullet? Back
again,
And ask fort ere too late.
Charm. Whoe'er he be,
He skips and frisks about, as if a horse-fly
Had him to break, and taught him the menage.
Stas. Art not asham'd, to lose thy memory
In drinking but three pottles ? 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, Cercobulus, 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 thy 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 !
The 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 (he foe,
Is licens'd by our manners : to make vice
The ready road to honour, is the practice.
Charm. villainous manners !
Stas. To neglect the brave,
And pass them by unheeded, is the custom.
Charm. 'Tis infamous!
Stas. These manners have o'erpower'd
The laws themselves, and hold them in submis-
sion
With more authority than children now
Are used to sway their parents. The poor statutes
With iron nails are fix'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 the 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
Through faith and honesty; nay, they destroy
All confidence in those, who nothing merit it,
By rend'ring them suspected like themselves:
For 'twill be thought that other's dispositions
Resemble their's. Now, as for these reflections,
How they have chanc'd to come into my mind,
A certain matter that of late concerned 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 would 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 hang up the laws out
in wood or brass for the public inspection, which Stasi-
mus supposes to be done by way of punishment to them,
t This same sentiment is more briefly expressed by
Shakspeare in his Hamlet ; 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.
PLAUTUS.
389
About the public, rather than take heed
To that which most concerns myself, contrive
How to secure my back. I'll go me home, (going.)
Charm. Hola, you, stop, hola, d'ye hear
me ? 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 resolved
to do so.
Stas. Except, indeed, that you are bounden to
him
For his good services.
Chnrm. If you are good then,
I'll hold me bounden to you; but 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 ! O 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.
Tli at you're safe
Charm, (interrupting.) I know what you would
:ui'l believe you.
Wave other points: resolve me but in this:
How do my children do, whom here I left,
My son and daughter ?
They're alive, and well
Charm. Both, say you ?
St,i*. Both.
Charm. Gods! 'twas your graeious wil
To save me for them. What 1 more woulc
know,
I at my leisure will inquire within.
Let's enter. Follow. [advancing to his house.
Stas. Whither are you g
Charm. Whither but home?
Si an. You think then we live here
Chnrm. Where else can I imagine?
Stas. N'-w
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 !
Stag. For the ready,
'aid on the spot.
Charm. For how much ?
Stas. Forty minse.
Charm. Undone ! Who bought it ?
Stas. Callicles, to whom,
hile absent, your affairs you trusted : hither
las he remov'd, and now abides here ; us
le has turn'd out of doors.
Charm. Where lives my son?
Stas. Here in this back part.
Charm. Utterly undone !
Stag. 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
Sxpos'd, with hazard of my life ! At length
reserved, return'd in safety, I am lost,
iere perish, and through those, for whom alone,
Old as I am, I struggled with misfortunes.
'm sick at heart with grief. Support me, Sta-
simus !
SCEXE V.
Enter CALLICLES.
Cal. What noise is that I hear before the door ?
Charm. O Callicles ! O Callicles ! to whom
Have I intrusted my affairs ? ah me !
To what a friend ?
Cal. An honest and a faithful,
A trusty one, of strict fidelity.
[ am rejoic'd to see you here return'd
[n 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!
Stag. 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. I'll 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.
[Exeunt CALLICLES and CHARMIDES.
VI.
STASIMUS alone.
This is my master's friend, the only one
That has stuck firmly to him ! he, good man,
390
PLAUTUS.
Has lov'd him with unchangeable affection !
Oh, he's the only one, I dare be sworn,
That's faithful to him ! Aye, he has a view
To serve himself in serving of my master. [Exit.
ACT V. SCETTE 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 Lesbonieus' 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 compact 'twixt his son and me
May by the Other's sanction be confirm'd.
I : ll go. But hark, the door I hear is opening:
This hindrance now is most unseasonable.
(retires to a distance.')
SCEXE II.
Enter CHAIIMIDES 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 unhousM me of my house and home.
Cal. If I have serv'd my friend 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 Lesbonieus, 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, by our laws
He might demand it as his patrimony.
Charm. A rare conceit !
Cal. Good Megaronides,
Our common friend, devis'd it.
Charm. I approve,
Applaud his counsel.
Lys. Wherefore do I stand,
Fool that I am, alone here, and afraid
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 I-
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. O 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 be 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,
Let me obtain from you this one request,
Which 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 Iftm, 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 pallia est. This is a
proverbial expression, the meaning of which is obvious.
TERENCE.
391
Cat. Now thou'rt a right good fellow : I will go,
And call him forth.
Charm. 'Tis hard you will not let me
Take vengeance on him, such 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 LESBONICCS.
Les. Who is it,
With boisterous voice calls on me to come forth
With speed here?
Cal. A well-wisher, and a friend.
Les. Tell me, is any thing amiss ?
Cal. All's right
I am rejoic'd, your father is returned
In eafety from abroad.
Les. Who says so ?
Cal. I.
Les. How ! have you seen him ?
Cal. Yes, and you yourself
"May ?ee him too. (pointing to Charm.*)
Les. (going t<;>.) My father ! my father !
Heaven's blessings on you.
Charm. And on you, my son !
Les. Any mischance, good father 1 ?
Charm. Never fear :
Nothing has happen'd : I am safe arrived ;
And well have rnanag'd my affairs. sonl
If you would but be prudent, Callicle"s
Has promis'd you his daughter.
Leg. 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 \vife finds her under her own roof,
There is no law that punishes the man :
But catch her rambling with gallants 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?
I would fain have fair play between them both.
TERENCE.
iBom 195,-Died 159, B. C.]
PUBLIUS TEHENTICS AFER, better known to
tlio Enirlish reader by the name of Terence, was
a native of Carthage, and the slave of Terentius
Lncanns, a Roman senator. His master, per-
ociviiiir tlit 1 youth's talent-, not only bestowed on
him a liberal education, but crowned the good
deed by add irr.: to it his freedom. At Rome our
po,-t s.-cins tu have been -cm-rally respected and
beloved, living on terms of friendly inter<
with Cains L-rlius ;uul the most distiinrni>lic d
nobles of the common wealth, but. above all. with
that practise and patron of all that was good
and groat, the younger Afrieanus. After writing
six comedies, all of which wrei : with
more or less admiration and app!auu-<.
I went, and ask 'd her woman who she was.
Sister, they said, to Chrysis : when at once
50
It struck my mind; So! so! the secret's out;
Hence were those tears, and hence all that com-
passion !
So*. 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 long-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.
So*. Did not you
Then 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, \vhen I must live
According to the humour of another.
Meanwhile, permit me now to please my own !
So*. What cause remains to chide him then ?
Sftn. 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 ra~<-al 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.
So*. Why so ?
Sim. 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
394
TERENCE.
That Pamphilus objects not to the match,
Chremes remains to be prevail'd upon,
And will, I hope, consent. 'Tis now your place
To counterfeit these nuptials cunningly ;
To frighten Davus ; 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 first ; I'll follow you. [Exit SOSIA.
Beyond all doubt
My son's averse to take a wife ; I saw
How frightened 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. (behind.) 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 rogue ?
Dav. My master, and I did not see him !
Sim. Davus !
Dav. (pretending not to see him.) Well ! what
now 1 ?
Sim. Here ! this way !
Dav. (to himself.) What can he want ?
Sim. (overhearing.) What say you ?
Dav. Upon what ? 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 ?
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
Brings on another stage of life, and asks
For 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 (Edipus.
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 you beat to mummy, and then thrown
In prison, sirrah ! upon this condition,
That when I take you 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 excuse your tricks in any thing,
Rather than this.
Dav. Goods words ! I beg of you.
Sim. You laugh at me : well, well ! I give
you warning.
That you do nothing rashly, nor pretend
You was not advertis'd of this Take heed !
[Exit.
SCENE III.
DAVUS alone.
Troth, Davus, 'tis high 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 arnour ; 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 Pamphilus.
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 must 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 tollerr
strictly signifies to take up, and alludes to the custom of
those times. Dacier.
See note on this custom, p. 296.
TERENCE.
395
SCEXE IV.
Enter MYSIS, (speaking to a Servant within.")
I 1 car, Archillis; I hear what you say:
You beg me to bring Lesbia. By my troth
Tl at 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 mid wile trespass any where
Rather than here! But what is it I see?
Pcimphilus all disorder'd : How I fear
The cause ! I'll wait awhile, that I may know
If this commotion means us any ill.
SCXNE V.
Enter PAMPHILUS, MTSIS behind.
Pam. 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 have inform'd me of it long ago?
Mys. Alas! what's this I hear?
Ptnn. 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
I- losing life. Was ever man so crost,
Si curst as I? Oh Pow'rs of heaven and earth!
I by no means fly from this alliance
\Vith 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 they 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 fattier! what to say of him ? Oh shame!
A thing of o much < sequence to treat
S> negligently! For but even now
Pas-ing me in the Forum, Pamphilus!
To-day's your wedding-day, said lie: Prepare;
(Jo, pet you home! This sounded in my ears
A- it" he .-n ' I -tood
Confounded. Think you I could speak one word?
Or oiler an excuse, how weak soe'er?
X". I was dumb: and had I been aware,
Miould any ask what I'd have done, I would,
Rather than this, do any thing. But now
What to resolve upon? So many cares
'mangle me at once, and rend my mind,
Bulling it dilfrent ways. My love, compassion,
This urgent match, my rev'rence for my father,
AVho yet has ever been so gentle ;
And held so slack a rein upon my plen-
And I oppose him? Racking thought! Ah 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 ] Oh, Mysis,
Mysis !
The words of Chrysis touching my Glycerium
Are written in my heart. On her death-bed
She call'd 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 died. I did receive
her,
And once receiv'd will keep her.*
ACT II. SCEWE I.
Enter CHAIUXUS 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."
396
TERENCE.
Char. Woe is me !
Then I'm a wretch indeed : till now my mind
Floated 'twixt hope and fear: now, hope re-
mov'd,
Stunn'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 nothing 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 few days : meanwhile, I hope,
Something may happen.
Byr. Ay, that something's nothing.
Char. Byrrhia, what think you ? Shall I speak
to him ?
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 !
SCEXE II.
Enter PAMPHILUS.
Pam. Charinus, save you !
Char. Save you", Pamphilus !
Imploring comfort, safety, help, and counsel,
You see me now before you.
Pam. I do lack
Myself both help and counsel But what mean
you 1 ?
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. T faith so am not I.
Tell me, Charinus, has aught further past
'Twixt you and her ?
Char. Ah, no, no.
Pam. Would there had !
Char. 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.
Pam. 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.
Pam. 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 I'll 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, (to Byr.") 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.
SCENE III.
Enter DAVUS hastily.
Dav. Good heaven's, what news I bring!
what joyful news !
But where shall I 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 me. But whither shall I go ?
Or which way run?
Char. Why don't you speak to him ?
Dav. I'll go.
Pam. Ho ! Davus ! stop, come here !
Dav. Who calls ?
0, 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. Your'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
(to Char.)
You should not marry her. You fear you should.
(to Pam.)
Char. The very thing.
Pam. The same.
Dav. And yet that sanie
Is nothing. Mark !
TERENCE.
397
Pam. Nay, rid me of my fear.
Dav. I will then. Chremes
Won't give his daughter to you.
Pam. How d'ye know ?
Dav. I'm sure of it. Your father but just now
Takes me aside, and tells me 'twas his will,
That you should wed to-dny; with much beside,
Which 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 round:
No Pamphilus: I light by chance on Byrrhia;
Inquire; he hadn't seen you. Vex'd at heart,
What's to be done 1 ? thought I. Returning thence
A doubt arose within me. H.x ! bad cheer,
The old man melancholy, and a wedding
Clapt up so suddenly! This don't agree.
Pam. Well, what then?
Dav. I betook me instantly
Tc Chremes' house; but thither when I came,
Before the door all hush. This tickled me.
Pam. You're in the right. Proceed.
Dav. I watch'd awhile :
M?an 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
Pam. I understand : a potent sign !
Dav. Does this seem like a nuptial?
Pam. I think not,
Davits.
Dav. Tliink 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
Ol little fishes for the old man's dinner.
Char. I am deliver'd, Davus, by your means,
From all my apprehensions of to-day.
Dav. And yet you are undone.
Char. How so? since Chremes
Will not consent to give Philumena
To Pamphilus.
Dav. Ridiculous ! As if,
Because the daughter is denied to him,
She must of course wed you. Look to it well ;
Court the old gentleman through friends, apply,
Or el
Char. You're right: I will about it straight,
Although that hope has often fuil'd. Farewell.
[Exit.
SCEKE IV.
PAMPHILCS and DAYUS.
Pam. What means my father then? why coun-
terfeit ?
Day. That I'll explain. If he were angry now,
Merely that Chremes has refus'd his daughter,
He'd think himself in fault; and justly too,
Before the bias of your mind is known.
But granting you refuse her for a wife.
Then all the blame devolves on you, and then
Comes all the storm.
Pam. What course then shall I take ?
Shall I submit
Dav. He is your father. >ir.
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
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
That Chremes will refuse his daughter to youj
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,
That, 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.
SCEXE 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 disconcert you. See, you keep your ground !
Pam. If I can, Davus.
21
398
TERENCE.
Dav. Trust me, Pampliilus,
Your father will not change a single word
In anger with you, do but say you'll wed.
SCENE VI.
Enter BYRRHIA behind.
Syr. To-day my master bade me leave all else
For Pampliilus, and watch how he proceeds,
About his marriage ; wherefore I have now
Follow'd the old man hither : yonder too
Stands Pampliilus himself, and with him Davus.
To business then !
Sim, I see them both together.
Dav. (apart to Pam.) Now mind.
Sim. Here, Pamphilus !
Dav. (apart.) Now turn about,
As taken unawares.
Pam. Who calls ? my father ?
Dav. (apart.) Well said !
Sim. It is my pleasure that, that to-day,
As I have told you once before, you marry.
Dav. (aside.) Now on our part, I fear what he'll
reply.
Pam. In that, and all the rest of your com-
mapds,
I shall be ready to obey you, sir !
Syr. (overhearing.) How's that!
Dav. (aside.) Struck dumb.
Syr. (listening.) What said he ?
Sim. You perform
Your duty, when you cheerfully comply
With my desires.
Dav. (apart to Pam.) There! said I not the
truth?
Syr. 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.
Pam. I go.
[Exit.
Syr. 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.' 1
I've seen the lady ; know her beautiful ;
And therefore sooner pardon Pamphilus,
If he had rather win her to his arms,
Than yield her to the embraces of my master.
I will go bear these tidings, and receive
Much 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 him.
Sim. Can you speak truth ?
Dav. Most easily.
Sim. Say then,
Is not this wedding most irksome to my son,
From his adventure with the Andrian ?
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 careful of his fame.
Now his age calls for matrimony, now
To matrimony he inclines his mind.
Sim. Yet, in my eyes, he 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.
Sim. 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 can't commend you for it.
Sim. Hold your peace.
Dav. (aside.) I've ruffled him.
Sim. I'll look to that. Away!
[Exit DAVTTS.
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. SCENE I.
SIMO, DAVUS, coming out of Simo's house MTSIS,
LESBIA, going toivards the house of Gly cerium.
Mys. Ay, marry, 'tis as you say, Lesbia ;
Women scarce ever find a constant man.
Sim. The Andrian's 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 has resolv'd
To educate.
Sim. 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 MTSIS and LESBIA.
SCENE II.
SIMO and DAVUS.
Dav. (aside.) Unfortunate! What remedy!
Sim. (to himself.) How's this?
And can he be so mad ? What ! educate
TERENCE
399
A harlot's child ! Ah, now I know their drift ;
Fool that I was, scarce smelt it out at last.
Dav. (listening.) What's this he says he has
smelt out?
Sim. (to himself.} Imprimis,
'Tis this rogue's trick upon me. All a sham :
A counterfeit deliv'ry, and mock labour,
lYvis'd to frighten Chremes from the match.
Glyc. (within.} 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.
SCE*E III.
lie-enter LESBIA. ARCHTLLIS appears at the door.
Les. to Arch, (irithin.) 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, Master Pamphilus
Has got a chopping boy : Heaven grant it live !
For he's a worthy gentleman, and scorn'd
To do a wrong to this young innocent. [Exit.
SCE*E 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?
I so proper to be play'd upon,
With such a shallow, ban-fac'd. imposition?
You might at least, in reverence, have used
Some spice of art. wer't only to pretend
You fcar'd my anger, should I find you nut.
Dav. ((isiilf.) I' faith now he deceives himself,
not I.
Sim. Did not I give you warning? threaten too,
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 Pamphi!
Dav. (aside.} I see his 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?
Siin. D'ye laugh at me ?
Dav. You must have been inform'd :
Or whence this shrewd suspicion ?
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
You think yourself impos'd on.
Sim. Falsely, hey ?
Dav. So that I dare not ope my lips before you.
Sim* All that I know is this; that nobody
Has been deliver'd 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.
Si?n. But how d'ye 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 disco ver'd 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 affair 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 you prepare
What's requisite. [Exit DAVITS.
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 dayghter
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.
SCEXE V.
Enter CHREMES.
St'm. Chremes, good day !
Chrcm. The very man I look'd for.
400
TERENCE.
Sim. And I for you.
Chrem. Well met. Some persons came
To tell me you inform'd them, that my daughter
Was to be 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 increas'd with age ;
Now by your only daughter, and my son,
Whose preservation wholly rests on you ;
Let me entreat this boon : and let the match
Which should 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, you 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 may be done ; nor would entreat,
But that occasion urges.
Chrem. What occasion?
Sim. A difference 'twixt Glycerium 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.
Sim. 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 husband.
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 ?
Chrem. Whence is't you know
That there's a difference between them ?
Sim. Davus,
Davus, in all their secrets, told me so ;
Advis'd me too, to hasten on the match
As fast as possible. Would he, d'ye think,
Do that, unless he were full 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 for ? it grows
late.
Sim. D'ye 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 ?
Sim. 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 ruiri'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.) How's that?
Dav. Well done! I said.
Sim. My good friend Chremes then
Is now no obstacle.
Chrem. I'll home awhile,
Order due preparations, and return. [Exit.
Sim. Prithee, 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. [Emt.
TERENCE.
401
SCEXE VII.
DAVUS alone.
Lost and undone ! To prison with me straight !
No prayer, no play : for I have ruin'd all :
Deceiv'd the old man, hamperd Pamphilus
With marriage; marriage, brought about to-day
By my sole means ; beyond the hopes of one 5
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.)
SCEXE VIII.
Enter PAMPHILUS; DAVUS 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 suffer 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. T faith nor I ;
A nd 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 hamperd with your fine advice.
Dav. (coming forward.) But I'll deliver you.
Pam. Deliver me?
Dav. Certainly, sir.
Pam. 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.
Puni. And what do you deserve for this?
Dav. The gallows.
Yin sutler 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. SCKXE I.
Enter CHARIN i
Is this to be belie v'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 nVn delight ? Ah, is't then so?
~ui'h there are, the meanest of mankind,
Who, from a sneaking bashfulnos. at lirst
: l)iit when the time comes on
To make the promise good, then force perforce
II
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.
SCEXE II.
Enter PAMPHILUS and DAVUS.
Pam. Oh, Charinus,
By my imprudence, unless heaven forefend,
Ive 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 baffle 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 :
Ynii 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 t would tell my father I would wed ;
So press'd, and urg'd, that he at length prevail'd.
Char. Who did this?
Pam. Davus.
Char. Davus!
Pam. Davus all.
Char. Wherefore?
402
TERENCE.
Pam. I know not: but I know the gods
Meant in their anger I should listen to him.
Char. Is it so, Davus ?
Dav. Even so.
Char. How, villain?
The gods confound you for it! Tell me, wretch,
Had all his most inveterate foes desir'd
To throw him on this marriage, what advice
Could they have given else ?
Dav. I am deceiv'd,
But not dishearten'd.
Char, (ironically.') True.
Dav. This way has fail'd 5
We'll try another way: unless you think,
Because the business has gone ill at first,
We cannot graft advantage 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, by day 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.
Dav. I will.
Pam. But do it instantly.
Dav. Hist! hold awhile:
I hear the creaking of Glycerium's door.
Pam. Nothing to you.
Dav. I'm thinking.
Pam. What, at last?
Dav. Your business shall be done, and pre-
sently.
SCENE III.
Enter MTSTS.
Mys. to Gly. (within.} Be where he will, I'll find
your Pamphilus,
And bring him with me. Meanwhile, you, my
soul,
Forbear to vex yourself.
Pam. Mysis !
Mys. Who's there?
Oh Pamphilus, well met, sir !
Pam. What's the matter?
Mys. My mistress, by the love you bear her, begs
Your presence instantly. She longs to see you.
Pam. Ah, I'm undone : (to Dav.) This sore
breaks out afresh.
Unhappy that we are, through your curst means,
To be tormented thus! She has been told
A nuptial is prepar'd, and therefore sends.
Char, (pointing to Dav.) From which how safe
you were, had he been quiet !
Dav. (to Char.) Aye, if he raves not of him-
self, enough.
Do, irritate him.
Mys. Truly that's the cause ;
And therefore 'tis, poor soul, she sorrows thus.
Pam. My si?, I swear to thee by all the gods,
I never will desert her; though assur'd
That I for her make all mankind my foes.
I sought her, carried her : our hearts are one,
And farewell they that wish TIS 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 . . . (to Char.) What
think you now ?
Char. That we are wretches both.
Dav. My brain's at work.
Char. brave !
Pam. I know what you'd attempt.
Dav. Well, well :
I will effect it for you.
Pam. Ay, but now.
Dav. E'en now.
Char. What is't !
Dav. For him, sir, not for you.
Be not mistaken.
Char. I am 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. I'll to Glycerium. [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
Dav. 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.
[Exit.
SCENE IV.
DAVUS and 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. [Exit to GLTCERIUM'S.
SCENE V.
MYSIS alone.
Can we securely then count nothing our's?
01) all ye gods! I thought this Pamphilus
The greatest good my mistress coflld obtain,
Friend, lover, husband, ev'ry way a blessing:
And yet what woe, poor wretch, endures she not
On his account? Alas, more ill than good.
But here comes Davus.
TERENCE.
403
SCENE VI.
Re-enter DAVUS with the child.
Mys. Prithee, man, what now ?
Where are you carrying the child ?
.Dav. Oh, Mysis,
Now have I need of all your ready wit,
Ai;d 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 ?
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 may compre-
hend
What I propose. (Mysis lays the child at Simo's
door.) O Jupiter! (looking out.)
Mys. What now ?
Dav. Here conies the father of the bride! I
change
JNIy first intended purpose.
Mys. What you mean
I i/a n'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 as-ist. as you know best,
A to obstruct your purposes, I'll stay.
(Davus retires.)
SCEXF. VII.
Enter CHREMES, going towards Simons.
Chrem. Having provided all things necessary,
I now return to bid them call the bride.
What's hen- { (wing the child.) by Hercules, a
child ! Ha, woman,
Was't you that laid it here?
l\Iy*. (longing after Dav.) Where is he gone?
Chrt'in. What, won't you answer me?
My*. (l/:in<; nlioiit.) Not here: Ah me!
The fellow's gone, and left UK' in the lurch.
(Dav. coming forward and JTI, -minis nut
to see than.)
Dav. Good heavens, what confusion at the Fo-
rum !
The people all disputing with eaeh other!
(loud.) The market price is so confounded high.
.) What to say d-c I know not.
* At Athens ovcrv house had an altar at the street
door; (which street-altars are also otVn mentioned in
JMautus.) These altars were covered with fresh herbs
rvi-ry day, and it is one of these altars, to which Terence
'iere 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. Have you your wits, to ask me such a
question 1
Dav. Whom should I ask, when no one else is
here ?
Chrem. (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?
Dav. (loud.) Whence comes this child?
Mys. From our house.
Dav. Ha! ha! ha!
No wonder that a harlot has assurance.
Chrem. This is the Andrian's servant-maid, I
take it.
Dav. (loud to Mysis.) 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. You don't know?
Dav. (softly.) Plague of what I know :
Tell what I ask.
Mys. Your's.
Dav. (loud.) Ours? Whose?
Mys. Pamphilus'.
Dav. (loud.) How say you? Pamphilus'!
Mys. Why, is't not ?
Chrem. (to himself.) I had good cause to be
against this match.
Dav. (bawling.) monstrous impudence!
Mys. Why all this noise?
Dav. Did not I see this child convey'd by
stealth
Into your house last night?
Mys. Oh rogue !
Dnr. '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 yame. She thinks, should Chremes
see
The child lie here, he would notgranthisdaughter.
* Free women : For in Greece as well as in Italy, slaves
were not admitted to give evidence.
404
TERENCE.
Faith, he would grant her the more willingly.
Chrem. Not he indeed.
Dav. But now one word for all,
Take up the child ; or I shall trundle him
Into the middle of the street, and roll
You, madam, in the mire.
Mys. The fellow's drunk.
Dav. One piece of knavery begets another :
(loud.) Now I am told, 'tis whisper'd all about,
That she's a citizen of Athens
Chrem. 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 ?
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, \ spoke the truth in-
deed.
Chrem. I know the whole. Is Simo in the
house ?
Dav. Yes sir. [Exit CHREMKS.
SCE*E VIII.
DAVUS and MTSIS, (Davus runs up to her.)
Mys. Don't offer to touch me, you villain!
If I don't tell my mistress every word
Dav. Why you don't 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 difference, think you, whether all you say
Falls naturally from the heart, or comes
From dull premeditation ?
ScEtfE IX.
Enter CRITO.
Cri. In this street
They say that Chrysis liv'd : who rather chose
To heap up riches here by wanton ways,
Than to live poor and honestly at home :
She dead, her fortune comes by law to me.
But I see persons to inquire of. (goes up.) Save
you!
Mys. Good now, who's that I see! is it not
Crito,
Chrysis' kinsman? Ay, the very same.
* Among the laws of Athens was that equitable one,
which compelled the 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 ; how 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 ! I
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.
What 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-huriter ;
A beagar. 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 : for I would not choose
That our old gentleman should see me now.
[Exeunt.
ACT V. SCEXK I.
Enter CHHEMES and SIMO.
Chrem. Encmirh already, Simo, and enough
I've shown my friendship for 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 must now entreat the
more,
More urge you to confirm the promis'd boon.
Chrem. Mark how unjust you are through wil-
ful ness!
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 rny child
To one possest with other love, averse
To marriage ; to expose her to divorce,
And crazy nuptials; by her woe and bane
To work a cure for your distemper'd son ?
You had prevaifd ; I travel I'd in the match,
While circumstances would admit; but now
The case is chang'd, content you: It is said,
That she's a citizen ; a child is born :
Prithee excuse us!
Sim. Now, for heaven's sake,
Believe not them, whose interest it is
TERENCE.
405
To make him vile and abject as themselves.
These stories are all feigu'd, concerted all,
To break the match: when the occasion's past,
That urges them to this, they will desist.
Chrem. Oh, you mistake : E'en now I saw the
maid
Wrangling with Davus.
Artifice ! mere trick.
irem. 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.
SCEXE II.
Enter DAVUS from Glycerium's house.
Dav. (to himself.) He may be easy now I war-
rant him
'hrem. See yonder's Davus.
Sim. Ha! whence comes the rogue?
Dav. (to himself.') By my assistance, and this
P stranger's safe.
Sim. (listening.) 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!
(/> himself.) What shall I do?
Sim. (sneering.) Good sir, your humble servant !
Dav. Oli Simo ! and our Chremes ! All is now
Prrpar'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 Glycerium's.)
Dav. (confused.) I?
Sim. You.
Dav. (stammering.) I ?
Sim. You. sir.
Dav. (disordered.) I wont in but now.
.\-ifl ;isk'd, how long it was ago.
/. With Pamphilus.
Is Pamphilus within?
()!i torture ! Did not you assure me, sirrah,
They were at variance?
Dav. So they are.
Why then
Is Pamphilus within ?
Chrem. (sneering.) Oh why d'ye think?
to quarrel with her.
Udt\ Xay 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 seven! v is in \i\* I
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 DHOMO.
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 me 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 DAVUS.
SCENE IV.
SIMO and CHHEMES.
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, Chrome^'
Filial unkindness ! Don't you pity me ?
To feel all this for such a thankless son!
(calling at Glycerium's door.) Here, Pamphilus,
come forth ! ho, Pamphilus !
Have you no shame !
SCENE V.
Enter PAMPHILUS.
Pam. Who calls? Undone! my father'
Sim. What say you ? Most
Chrem. Ah, rather speak at onco
Your purpose, Simo, and forbear reproach.
Sit/i. As if 'twere possible to utter aught
Severer than he merits ! (to Pam.) Tell me then,
Glycerium 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,
Airainst 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 !
Ah, Pamphilus! d'ye feel
Your wretchedness at last? Then, then, when
first
406
TERENCE.
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? Why torture thus,
Why vex my spirit ? Why afflict my age
For his distemp'rature? Why rue his sins?
No ; let him have her, joy in her, live with her.
Pam. 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, Sirno.
Sim. Hear him ?
What must I hear then, Chremes?
Chrem. Let him speak.
Sim. Well, let him speak: I hear him.
Pam. 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 I
Suborn'd this old man hither. Suffer me
To clear myself, and bring him here before you.
Sim. Bring him here !
Pam. Let me, father!
Chrem. 'Tis but just :
Permit him !
Pam. Grant ine 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.
SCEKE VI.
Re-enter PAMPHILUS with CHITO.
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. Arid then
With marriage solder up their harlot loves ?
Pam. (aside.) Alas, I fear the stranger will not
bear this.
Chrem. Knew you this person, Sirno, 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 be trusted, Chremes?
Pam. (asic/e.) 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
Whate'er 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. All romance.
Chrem. Let him alone.
Cri. And will he interrupt me ?
Chrem. Go on.
Cri. "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, he 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.
Chrem. Whose then ?
Cri. His brother's daughter.
Chrem. Mine, mine undoubtedly.
Cri. What say you ?
Sim. How !
Pam. Hark, Pamphilus !
Sim. But why believe you this?
Chrem. That Phania was my brother.
Sim. True. I knew hirr .
Ckrem. 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.
TERENCE.
407
Pam. I'm scarce myself, my mind is so enrapt
With 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?
Chretn. The name does not agree.
Cri. She had another, when a child.
Chrcm. What, Crito?
C;in 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 belieye, we all
E.ejoice at this.
Chrem. 'Fore heaven I believe so.
Pam. And now, my father
Sim. 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 CHHKMES and CRITO.
Siwi. Why do you not give orders instantly
To bring her to our house ?
Pam. The advice is good,
I'll irive that charge to Davus.
>'(//;. It can't be.
Pam. Why?
Sim. 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 !
It shall be done.
Pam. But instantly.
Sim. I'll in, and order it. [Exit.
Pam. what a happy, happy day is this !
SCEXK V1H.
Enter CHABINCS 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 rne and this happiness.
Oh, for a bosom-friend now to pour out
My ecstacies before him!
Char, (listening.) What's this rapture ?
Paw. Oh, yonder's Davus : nobody more wel-
come :
For he, I know, will join in transport with me.
SCEXE the last.
Enter DAVCS..
Dav. (entering.') Where's Pamphilus?
Pam. 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 joys reach
mine.
Pam. Glycerium has discover'd her relation
Dav. Oh excellent!
CAar. (listening.')
Pam.
Our most dear friend.
Dav.
Pam.
Dav.
How's that ?
Her father is
Who?
Chremes.
Charming news.
Pam. And I'm to marry her immediately.
C/iar. (listening.) Is this man talking in his
sleep, and dreams
On what he wishes waking ?
Pam. And moreove^P
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 hoard then
CAcrr. . 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 CHARIICCS.
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!
408
TERENCE.
FROM THE PHORMIO.
DOCTORS DIFFER, OR THE GLORIOUS UNCERTAIN-
TY OF LAW.
DEMIPHO in consultation with his lawyers, CRATI-
NUS, HEGIO, and CRITO.
Dem. You see, sirs, how this matter stands.
What shall I do ? Say, Hegio !
Heg. Meaning me ?
Cratinus, please you, should speak first.
Dem. Say then,
Cratinus !
Cra. Me d'ye question?
Dem. 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
In law and equity. And so you'll find.
That's my opinion.
Dem. Say now, Hegio !
Heg. He has, I think, pronounc'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 YOU WILL NEVER BE DISAP-
POINTED.
DEMIPHO, GETA, and PHJEDRIA.
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. Wherefore every man.
When his affairs go on most swimmingly,
Ev'n then it most behoves to arm himself
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
Audit has fall'n out beyond his hopes, all that
Let him account clear gain.
Get. Oh, Phcedria,
'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.
FROM THE EUNUCH.
THE ILLS OF LOVE.
IN love are all these ills; suspicions, quarrels,
Wrongs, reconcilements, war, and peace again !
Things thus uncertain, if by reason's rules
You'd certain make, it were as wise a task
To try with reason to run mad.*
A LOVER TAKING LEAVE OF HIS MISTRESS.
Thais. Would you aught else with me?
Phcedria. 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 with 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 SELF-TORMENTOR.
KIND FEELING FOR OTHERS.
Menedemus. 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.f
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, that knows their use,
To him they're blessings; he that knows it not,
To him misuse converts them into curses.
PROFITTING BY THE FAULTS OF OTHERS.
RKMEMBER 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 you, my Antiphila ;
Happy 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 he wise and love
Exceeds man's might and dwells with pods above.
Truibus and Crcssida
f Homo sum ; humani nihil a me telienum puto. It is
said that at the delivery of this sentiment, the whole
theatre, though full of foolish and ignorant people, re-
sounded with applause. St. Augustine.
TERENCE.
409
For your discourse bespeaks a worthy mind,
Ar.d when I ponder with myself and \v
Your course of life and all the rest of those
Who live not on the common, 'tis not strange
Ycur morals should bo different from ours.
Virtue's your interest ; those, with whom ice deal.
Fcrbid it to be ours; for our gallants.
Cl arm'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 his whole heart to you :
Thus mutual friendship draws you each to each ;
Nothing can part you, nothing shake your love.
JLntiphila. I know not others; for myself I
know,
From his content I ever drew mine own.
JTS STMXA TXJURIA.
IT is a common saying and a true,
That strictest Law is oft the highest Wrong.*
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.
WOMKV.
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 conlradiet her hu- a prttifnueini: knave."
f -- He not over c.\f -rrien
52
dCARRELLIXG AHOUT TRIFLES..
THE greatest quarrels 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.
Observe how lightly children squabble Why?
Because they're govern'd by a feeble mind.
FROM THE BROTHERS.
CHARACTERS OF THE BROTHERS, AS GIVE2T BT
MICIO.
I. FRO>T youth 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 give, 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 whosoe'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 huaa.
Oft he comes open-mouth 'd Why how now,
Micio ?
Why do you ruin this young lad of our's?
Why does he wench 1 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 on force, than what is built on friend-
ship;
For thus I reason, thus persuade myself:
He who performs his duty, driven to't
By fear of punishment, while he believes
His actions are observed, 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 t<> do this, let him confess he knows not
How to rule children.
2K
410
LUCRETIUS.
L.
The Same as given by Demea.
NEVER did 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 threw by. The very thing
That happens to myself. For that 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 I've 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 5
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 ; and both
Repair to him ; while I am quite forsaken.
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 challeng'd to't! 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 MEN WORLDLY-MINDED.
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 worldly-minded than there's need!"
Which passion age, that kills all passions else,
Will ripen in your sons.
THE UNFORTUN ATE TOO APT TO THINK 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.
[Born 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 hand, in a paroxysm of
insanity, occasioned, as some have supposed by
grief for the banishment of his friend, Memmius,
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 Dsemon 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 picture of
Timanthes, of which 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 praenuncius, ante
Pennatus graditur Zephyrus, vestigia propter,
Flora quibus Mater, prrespargens ante viiii,
Cuncta coloribus egregiis et odoribus 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 range of poetry that exceed the above, viz. in
Book IV. 1. 265 69, and in Book VII. 1. 37075, of the
Paradise Lost.
LUCRETIUS.
411
merits, (as Dr. Warton observes.) having never
-nfliciently acknowledged.*
As for the philosophy of Lucretius, there can
exist, amongst Christians, but one sentiment re-
garding it. Nay, Cicero, a brother heathen, in
speaking of its doctrines, cannot forbear from in-
dignantly protesting against the foolish arrogance
of the man, who, while presuming on his own
understanding, could contend that there was no
s-.ich thing in the whole universe beside, or. that
those things, which, by the utmost stretch of
his own reason, he could scarcely comprehend,
s.iould be moved and managed without any rea-
son at all! Sad however a? the philosophy of
Lucretius might be, one apoiogy, or extenuation,
may be found for it, which cannot be pleaded by
modern infidelity, namely, the superstitions of
t'-ie age, the partial, unjust, sensual, and godless
characters of the deities then worshipped in the
I agan world. - 1 If I am not mistaken" says Dry-
the distinguishing character of Lucretius is
a. certain kind of noble pride and positive asser-
tion of his opinions. He is everywhere confi-
(,ent of his own reason, and assumes an absolute
command not only over his vulgar reader, but
even his patron Memmius. For lie is always bid-
ding him attend, as if he had the rod over him,
;.nd 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-
t ite one which has given rise to such a variety of imita-
tions in our language :
Non domus adcipiet te laeta, neque uxor
Optuma, nee dulces obcurrent oscula natei
Prseripere, et tacita 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 times,
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 Epicurus and followed by Lu-
cretius, see the Appendix to Good's Lucretius t Vol. I. p.
cviii cxi.
FROM "THE NATURE OF THINGS."
Book I.
ADDRESS TO V>
DELIGHT of human kind, and gods above,
Parent of Rome, propitious Queen of Love,
Whose vital jwAver, air. earth, rind sea supplies,
And breeds whate'er is born beneath the skies:
For every kind, by thy prolific might,
-. and beholds t!i !' the light.
The. -'.ee the clouds and tempests fear,
And at thy plea-ing presence disappear:
For tliee the earth in fragrant Mowers is dress'd;
Forthee the ocean smiles, and smooths her wavy
breast ;
The heaven itself with more serene and purer
IL'ht is blest.
For when tl.-- !..rns the mead,
And a of nature stands displny'd.
When teernitm buds, and cheerful irreens appear,
And western .ales unlock the laxy year;
The joyous birds thy welcome first express,
Whose native BOtlgfl thy irenial tip
Then savage beasts bound o'er their slighted food.
Struck with thy darts, and tempt the raging flood.
All nature is thy i:i!t: earth, air, and sea:
Of all that breathes, the various progeny,
Strong with delight, is goaded on by thee.
O'er barren mountains, o'er the flowery plain,
The leafy forest, and the liquid main,
Extends thy uncontroll'd and boundless reign.
Through all the living regions dost thou move.
And scatter'st where thou 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 Memniius an immortal lay
Of heaven and earth, and everywhere thy won-
drous pou-er display:
To Memmius. under thy sweet influence born,
Whom thou with all thy gifts and graces dost
adorn.
The rather, then, assist my Muse and me,
Infusing verses worthy him and the,-.
Meantime on 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 bles-in_ r canst bestow;
Because the brutal business of the war
Is manag'd by thy dreadful servant's care ;
414
LUCRETIUS.
If after death 'tis painful to be torn
By birds, and beasts, then why not so to burn,
Or drench'd in floods of honey to be soak'd,
Embalm'd to be at once preserved and choak'd ;
Or on an airy mountain'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 thy breast?
But to be snatch'd from all the household joys,
From thy chaste wife, and thy dear prattling
boys,
Whose little arms about thy legs are cast,
And climbing for a kiss prevent their mother's
haste,
Inspiring secret pleasure through thy breast;
Ah ! 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 ;
Thy want and wish of them is vanished 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 thought, 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 shake
And rouse that sense, and straight we are awake.
Then death to us, and death's anxiety,
Is less than nothing, if a less could be.
For then our atoms, which 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.
And last, suppose great Nature's voice should call
To thee, or me, or any of us all ;
" What dost thou mean, ungrateful wretch, thou
vain,
Thou mortal thing, 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 rny 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 effect 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 appeard before thy sight,
Ere thou hadst gorg'd thy soul and senses with
delight.
Now, leave those joys, unsuiting to thy age,
To a fresh 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 ;
Chang'd, but not lost ; for Nature gives and takes :
New matter must be found for things to corne,
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 him or thee;
'Tis given to all for use, to none for property.
Consider former ages past and gone,
Whose circles ended long ere thine begun,
Then tell me, fool, what part in them thou
hast?
Thus may'st thou judge the future by the past.
What horror seest thou in that quiet state,
What bugbear dreams to fright thee after fate ?
LUCRETIUS.
415
No ghost, no goblins t 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 cover'd o'er
Nine spreading acres, or nine thousand more;
Not though the globe of earth had been the giant's
floor.
Ncr in eternal torments could he lie;
Ncr could his corpse sufficient food supply.
But he's the Tityus, who by love opprest,
Or tyrant passion preying on his breast,
Ard 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,
Ai.d 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?
W'lich urg'd, and labour'd, and fdrc'd up with
pain,
Recoils, and rolls impetuous down, and smokes
along the plain.
Then, still to treat thy ever-craving mind
With every 1 id 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 more ;
This is the fable's moral, which they tell
Of fifty foolisti virgins damn'd, in hell.
To leaky vessels, which the liquor spill,
Ard which their cheated labour ne'er could fill.
As for the dou. the furies, and th
The gi ma, 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;
pri-ons. poison-, the Tarpeian rock,
Stripes, hangmen, pitch, and su: ;oke ;
And last, and mo-t. if th i-t behind,
The avenging horror of a eon--iou- mind,
Whose deadly ; the blow.
And sees no end of punishment and v,
Bu: looks for more, at the ['breath:
This makes a hell on earth, and lit'.- a death.
Meantime, v.'hcn thoughts of death disturb thy
bead,
;t and good, is dead;
Ai ens, thy better tar. >vas born to die;
Ai d thou, dost them bewail mortality?
So many monarchs with their mighty state,
Who rul'd the world, were overrul'd by fafe,
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 surpassed 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 tlian 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.
O, 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 country door,
Than he begins to stretch, and yawn, and snore;
.s the city which he left before.
Tim- every man o'erworks his weary will,
To shun himself, and to .-hake oil his ill;
The -haking lit returns, and hangs upon him still.
No prospect of repose, or hope oft
The wretch is ignorant of his di.-.-
Which known would all his fruitless trouble
ire ;
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, fix'd, eternal state ;
416
LUCRETIUS.
That never-changing state, which all must keep,
Whom death has doom'd to everlasting sleep.
Why are we, then, so fond of mortal life,
Beset with dangers and maintained with strife?
A life, which all our care can never save :
One fate attends us, and one 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 expeh 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.
Hook 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 shepherd, obvious oft,
Led on by PAN, with pine-lea v'd garland crown'd,
And seven-mouth'd reed, his labouring lip be-
neath,
Waking the woodland MUSE 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
FRUITS OF ILLICIT LOVE.
THEN, too, his form consumes, the cares of love
Waste all his vigour, and his days roll on
In 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 Alitlonian mould :
While feasts, and festivals of boundless pomp,
And costliest viands, garlands, odours, wines,
And scatter'd roses ceaseless are renew'd.
But fruitless every act: some bitter still
Wells forth perpetual from his fount of bliss,
And poisons every flowret. Keen remorse
Goads him, perchance, for dissipated time,
And months on months destroy'd ; 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 smotherd 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;
Expos'd 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 increased :
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 bounteous treasure grants,
And Nature's lavish hand supplies their common
wants. x
PRIMEVAL LIFE AND MANNERS.
YET man's first sons, as o'er the fields they trod,
Rear'd 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 roll'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 cull'd 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 fuesh-form'd earth her hapless offspring dealt.
Then floods, and fountains, too, their thirst 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 ;he
caves
Throng'd of the wood-nymphs, whence the bab-
bling well
LUCRETIUS.
417
Gush'd oft profuse, and down its pebbly sides,
Its pebbly sides with verdant moss o'erspread,
Oo;ied slow, or sought, redundant sought, the
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,
Ye ; 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:
Bui 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 gaunt
Gr.-isp'd in their jaws, abrupt; whence, through
the groves,
The woods, the mountains, they vociferous
groan 'd,
Destin'd thus living to a living tomb.
And some, by flight though sav'd from present
fate,
C<> /ring their fetid ulcers with their hands,
Prone o'er the ground death still, with horrid
voice,
Caird,till vile worms devour'd them, void of aid,
And aU-unskill'd their deadly pangs t' appease.
But thousands, then, the pomps of war beneath,
Fell not at once ; nor ocean's boist'rous waves
W-eck'd, o'er rough rocks, whole fleets and
countless crews.
Ncr ocean then, though oft to frenzy wrought,
Could aught indulge but ineffectual ire:
liiU'd to calms, could e'er his traitor face
. o'er the laughing waves, mistrustful man,
j'ut the dangerous science of the seas.
Tl en want consum'd their languid members, now
Full-gorg'd excess devours us: they themselves
! heedless, oft with poisons; ofter still
Men now for others mix the fatal cup.
Ytt when, at length, nidi* huts they first devis'd,
And tires and ^arments, and, in union sweet,
Man wedded woman, the pure joys imlulu'd
Ol chaste connubial love, and children rose,
Tl.e rough barbarians soften'd.
FALSE AM) Tliri: PIETT.
No : it ran ne'er be piety to turn
To stocks and stones with deep-veil'd visage; light
O'er every altar incense; o'er the ln>t
Fall . <1, with outstretch'd arms, invoke,
Through every temple, every god that rei::
Soothe them with blood, and lavish vows on vows.
This rather thou term piety, to mark
With calm, untrembliiiL' BOO :ieordain'd.
Fcr when we. doubtful, heaven's high arch survey,
T i inn, lix'd ether, star-emboss'd. and p:-
the sun's path, and pale, meand'ring moon,
Then superstition-
By cares more potent, lift their hydra-head.
53
OF MUSIC.
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-
arch'd,
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 offspring earth in woodlands bore.
GUILTT CONSCIENCE.
Ann oh ! how deep our shuddering spirits feel
A dread of heaven through every member steal,
When the strong lightning strikes the blasted
ground.
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 \var. It had tnk'-ii it^ ri>-'. according to Thucy-
dides, in that part of Ethiopia which borders on Euypt,
and, spriMdiiic from thence over Egypt and Lybia, at
length invaded Athens.
418
LUCRETIUS.
Begot of Egypt, many a mighty tract
Of ether traversal, 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
Dooming by thousands to disease and death.
The head first flam'd with inward heat ; the eyes
Reddened with fire suffus'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,
Overflowed with gore, enfeebled in its post,
Hoarse in its accent, harsh beneath its touch.
And when the morbid effluence 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
Fail'd through the soul the body and alike
Lay they liquescent at the gates of death,
While with these dread, insufferable 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, o'er 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
Burn'd to the bone ; the bosom heav'd with
flames
Fierce as a furnace, nor would once endure
The lightest 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-exhausted, and, in silence dread,
Appall'd and doubtful, mused the HEALING ART.
For the broad eyeballs, burning with disease,
Roll'd in full stare, for ever void of sleep,
And told the pressing danger ; nor alone
Told it, for many a kindred symptom throng'd.
The mind's pure spirit, all-despondent, 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 bedew'd of glistening
sweat ;
Scanty the spittle, thin, of saffron dye,
Salt, with hoarse cough scarce labour'd from the
throat.
The limbs each trembled ; every tendon twitch'd,
Spread o'er the hands ; and from the foot extreme
O'er all the frame a gradual coldness crept.
Then, towards the last, the nostrils close col-
laps'd }
The nose acute ; eyes hollow ; temples scoop'd ;
Frigid the skin, retracted ; o'er the mouth
A ghastly grin ; the shrivell'd forehead tense;
The limbs outstretched, 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 es-
cap'd
From sanious organs, or the lapse profuse
Of black-ting'd feces, fate pursued them still.
Hectic and void of strength, consumption pale
Prey'd on their vitals ; or, with headache keen,
Oft from the nostrils tides of blood corrupt
Pour'd unrestrain'd, and wasted them to shades.
And, e'en o'er these triumphant, 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 promiscuous, 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'd poison there, and tenfold stamp'd their fate.
But this the direst horror, that when once
Man felt the infection, as though 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 afflicted, urged by love
Of life too fond, arid 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 nurs'd them, to the pious task
Rous'd by their prayers, with piteous moans
commixt,
Fell irretrievable : the best by far,
The worthiest, thus most frequent met their
doom.
CATULLUS.
419
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.
X >r liv'd the mortal then, who ne'er was tried
With death, with sickness, or severest woe.
T icn the rude herdsman, shepherd, and the man
Oj" sturdiest strength, who drove the plough
a-field,
Languish *d remote; and in their wretched cots
Sunk, the sad victims of disease and want :
er breathless sires their breathless offspring lay,
O: r-iret 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
F.ill Jlock'd the sickening peasants for relief
From every point di~e\>'d : and every space,
And every building, crowded ; heightening here
The rage of death, the hillocks of the dead.
Some, pareh'd with thirst, beneath the eternal
spoilt
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 putrescerit 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 '< I.
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 dirge, and wailing wild, o'er
these
Plac'd their own dead; amid the unhallowed
blaze
With blood contending, rather than resign
The tomb thus gained, 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
>( Manlius Torquatus. He afterwards
vi.-ited Dit'iynia in company with Caius Mem-
iiiius. the Pnctor of that province, and the friend
to whom Lucretius had inscribed his poem on
The Nature of Things; but having quai
with his new patron, and ! at the
i brother, who had died on the
expedition, he returned to Italy, and. from that
] criod until hi- > divide his
t me bctw. -apital and
-litudes of hi- - irmio.* In the
' 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
Engli>h, 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 with many of the most dissipated,
but with some also of the most distinguished
literary and political, characters of the day.
Amongst the latter may be enumerated Corne-
lius Nepos. Cicero, Asinius Pollio, and even Julius
* Sinnio, the site of Catullus' favourite villa, is a pe-
ninsular promontory, projecting into the Itetiacus, (now
I -iL'o iii- (Jard i) a lake celebrated by Yin-il. as well as
hy subsequent poets. \
"Te ripn- t'
Audits per noctem mnbnr m < -uilj,
F.t pat r ins mnlrere nova dulredine lucos."
Vestisies of the house, supposed to have heli.i
C.itullus, are yet shown on this peninsula, an '
^ i-ited hy Huonaparte in IT'.C afterwards.
t the toa^t-, on tin
sion, \vert "The memory of Catullus, the most elegant
of I/itin poet* .' "Huonaparte. who honours reat men
amid.-t llie tumult of arms who celebrated VirL'il at
Mantua, rind paid homage to Catullus, hy visiting tlie
iila of Sinnio." " (General Miollis, the protector
of the sciences, and the fine arts, in Italy." The enthu-
siasm of the party was HO L'reat, that, some inhabitants
of the neighbourhood, happening luckily for themselves
i to arrive at that moment, with a petition for the removal
of the troops then quartered on them, at once obtained
thoir request. See Heni. Jour. Ilitftirique des Operat.
, du Siege de Pesckicra, and Dunlop's Roman Literature, &.c.
420
CATULLUS.
Caesar, 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 Les-
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 Clin-
ton's Fasti Helleniri, Vol. II. p. 185.
ON THE DEATH OF LESBIA'S SPARROW.
MOURX, 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 CJESAR.
WHO can behold, 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 this? 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 Romulus? 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.f
* A profligate Roman knight, who, by the favour of
Ceesar, amassed an immense fortune in the Gallic wars.
This probably is the poem which (according to Sueto-
nius) was read to Csesar, while on a visit at Cicero's
villa, and "at which," says the latter in a letter to Atti-
cus, "he never changed countenance."
f Britain.
That he, thy lustful friend, should prey
On all the spoil, 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 Tagus 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 ?
Didst thou, Oh son-in-law !* then lose,
Didst thou, Oh conquering father! then obtain,
The empire oA the world to be this minion's
gain.
TO LESBIA.
LET us, my Lesbia, live and love,
And, though sour Cynics disapprove,
Heed not their frowns a stiver ;
Suns set, and suns again may rise,
But we, when once our daylight dies,
Must sleep, sleep on, for ever.
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 them 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 will'd, through life I rov'd,
Now speed ye home, and with you bear
These bitter words to her I've lov'd.
Tell her from fool to fool to run,
Where'er her vain caprice may call ;
Of all her dupes not loving one,
But ruining and maddening all.
Bid her forget what now is past
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.
CATULLUS.
421
TO THE PENINSULA OF SIRMIO.
SWEET Sirmio! Thou, the very eye
Of all peninsulas and isles,
That 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 1'ghten'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 track;
Shine out, my beautiful, mine own
Sweet Sirmio, greet thy master back.
And thou fair latce, 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,
OU THE NUPTIALS OF JULIA AND MANLIUS.
A YOUTH.
VESPER ascends: Ye youths! together rise:
Eve's long-expected star has gilt the skies :
Rise, leave the feast ; the bride will soon appear
The bridal song be sung : Oh Hymen, Hymen
hear !
A VIRGIN.
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:
L.-t us in rivnl strains surpass the lay:
Oh Hymen, Hymen, bless the wedding-day.
A YOUTH.
Arduous the palm of strife: Oh! friends be
strong:
For see. yon middens muse some mutter'd song
Nor idly muse: some memorable lay;
While we our ears and thoughts have turn'c!
away :
We merit shame, since victory favours care :
Yet now yinee victory favours care:
Yet no\v your parts with emulation bear:
'Tis theirs to speak : let us responses frame :
Oh Hymen, Hymen, bless the marriage llame !
V1HM VS.
Hesper! knows heaven a star like thee severe,
That tear'st the maiden from her mother dear ?
The lingering maiden from ln>r 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.
flesper ! 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 the 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 the noon-day heat,
Beneath its chequer'd, bowery 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 unwooed 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 the 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.
2L
422
CATULLUS.
TO LESBIA.
No nymph, amid the much-lov'd few,
Is lov'd 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 faithless, or sincere,
I cannot love thee more, nor less !
TO HIMSELF,
ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING.
Now Spring renews her gentle charms,
And, lull'd in Zephyr's balmy arms,
Soft grows the angry sky ;
Haste then, and, leaving Phrygia's plains,
Leaving Nicaea'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 different 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, tall-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 Q.UIWTILIA.
CALVUS, 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 arid fate's severe decree,
Than the pure pleasure 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 charrn the silent tomb, and soothe the
dead;
When soft regrets on past affections 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'ER 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,
FROM THE NUPTIALS OF JULIA AND MANLIUS.
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 spare 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 blood
flowed reeking oa 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,
Dissembling, subtle, cruel, 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."
CATULLUS.
423
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 Dindymua who reigns.
Ye, like devoted exiles,
who, seeking foreign lands,
Have follow'd me your leader,
have bow'd to my commands;
Have eross'd the salt-sea wave,
have dar'd the racing storms,
And, loathing woman's love,
unmann'd your lusty forms;
use of error past
let laughing freu/y 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 sequestor'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 .
And all to verdant Ida
run madly at the claim.
Though breathless, still impetuous
with inspiration's force
Raving and bewildor'd,
e conscious of her course,
As the unbroken heifer
will fly the threaten'd yoke,
Atys through gloomy woo
where never -nnhcam broke,
Loud striking the light timbrel,
rush'd on with bounding stride,
And all the frantic p-
pursue their rapid guide.
The fearful fane at length
their panting ardour I
Each, faint and unrcfresh'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 fren/y'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 Nature's rank disgraced ;
Then, hurried to despair
by passion's rising tide,
Again she wildly sought
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 1'ahcstra's court,
Or urge, as wont of old,
each famM 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 iivinna-tic floor,
The victor mid the ciowd,
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 ?
424
CATULLUS.
Her frantic orgies ply,
disgrac'd in Nature's plan,
A part of what I was,
a maim'd, a barren man;
And dwell in Ida's caves,
which snow for ever chills ;
And pass my savage life
on Phrygia'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 unwonted 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 injunction 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 swiftly gained the beach,
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.
Oh great, oh fearful goddess !
oh Cybele divine !
Oh goddess, who has placed
on Dindymus a shrine !
Far be from my abode
thy sacred frenzy's fire,
Madden more willing votaries,
more daring minds inspire.*
LESBIA'S DISGRACE.
ADDRESSED TO C^ELIUS.
OH C^plius ! think, our Lesbia, once thy pride ;
Lesbia, that Lesbia, whom 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 rne, 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 worshipp'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 Phrygia, hur-
ried to the grove of the goddess Cybele, and there, struck
with a superstitious 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.
Being 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
puerile a conclusion. Cybele, dreading the defection
of her new votary, lets loose a lion from her car, which
drives Atys back to her groves
"There to find a living grave,
And pass her long-devoted life, a priestess and a slave."
LABERIUS.
[Died 43 B. C.J
A ROMAK 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 (
to appear upon the stage. Though acquitting
himself 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, quern multi timent;" at which the
oyes of the whole audience were instantly turned
awards Ccesar, 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 subdue 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.
Laberius did not long survive his mortification.
Retiring from Rome, he died at Puteoli, about
ten months after the assassination of Ca>sar.
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 Roman 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 (' _ r ne was all;
For how might I n i .-i>t hi- snvrn-iirn will,
Whose every wish the imils themselves fulfil?
Twice thirty years without a blemish spent.
Forth from my home this morn a knight I
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 ?
What fire of soul, what dignity of mien,
What powers of voice to grace the mimic scene?
As creeping ivy kills the strangled trvr.
So the long clasp of years has dealt with me.
Nought left, alas ! of all my former fame,
went, Save the poor legend of a tomb my name !
54
2 L2
425
PUBLIUS VIRGILIUS MARO.
[Bora 70, Died 19, B. C.]
THIS great poet was born at the village of
Andes near Mantua, during the first consulship
of Pompey and Crassus, and in the year of Rome
683. 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
liberal education. He sent him, at seven years
of age, to Cremona, and from thence, at sixteen,
to Milan; at both which 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, with
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 efforts of Varus, Pollio, and
others, he not only obtained restitution of his
farm, but even acquired the future favour and
friendship of the conqueror himself. This 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 JEneid ; 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 his
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 his
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 middle 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 wit 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.
TITYRUS AKD MELIBfKUS.
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 his own good fortune in the
person of Tityrus, and the calamities of his Man-
tuan neighbours in the character of Meliboaus.
MELIBCEUS.
BENEATH the shades which beechen boughs dif-
fuse,
You, Tityrus, entertain your silvan muse.
VIRGIL.
427
Round the wide world in banishment we roam
Fore'd from our pleasing fields and native home;
While, stretch'd at ease, you sing your happy
loves,
And Amaryllis fills the shady groves.
TITYIU S.
These blessings, friend, a deity bestow'd;
For never can I deem him less than God.
Tie tender firstlings of my woolly breed
Shall on his holy altar often bleed.
He gave my kine to graze the flow'ry plain,
Aud to my pipe renew'd the rural strain.
MELIBCEUS.
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 diff'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 rocks 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 toll me. Tityrus, what heavenly power
Preserv'd your fortune in that fatal hour?
TITYRUS.
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 measur'd by the less.
Eut country towns, compard with her, appear
Like shrubs, when lofty cypresses are near.
MKLIB(KU8.
What great occasion call'd you hence to Rome ?
TITYIU S.
Freedom, which came at length, though slow to
come.
Nor did my search of liberty begin,
Till my black hairs were chain: M upon my chin;
Nor Amaryllis would vouchsafe a look,
Till Galatea's meaner bonds I In
Till thru a hapless Impel. ><. homely swain,
lit not freedom, nor aspired to gain:
Though many a victim from my folds was
bought,
An 1 many a cheese to country markets brought,
Vet all the little that I got, I spent.
And still returned as empty as I went.
MELIBCEl -s.
We stood amaz'd to see your mistress mourn,
Unknowing that she pin'd for your return :
We wonder'd why >he 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 appear'd to mourn,
And whisp'ring pines made vows for thy return.
TITTRUS.
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.
MELIBfEUS.
O fortunate old man ! whose farm remains
For you 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 pruner's voice the pleasing dream prolongs,
Stock-doves and turtles tell their am'rous pain,
Aud from the lofty elms, of love complain.
TTTYHFS.
Th' inhabitants of seas and skies shall change,
And fish on shore, and stags in air, shall range,
The banish'd 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.
MELIBffitJS.
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 disjoin'd.
3! must the wretched exiles ever mourn,
Nor, after length of rolling years, return ?
Are we condemn'd by fate's unjust decree,
Vo more our houses and our homes to see?
-hall we mount again the rural throne,
And rule the country kingdoms once our own;
Did we for these barbarians plant and sow?
3n these, on these, our happy fields bestow?
Good heaven ! what dire effects from civil discord
flow!
Vow let me graft my pears, and prune the vine;
The fruit is theirs, the labour only mine,
farewell, my pastures, my paternal stock,
fruitful fields, and my more fruitful flock!
more, my iroats. .-hall I behold you climb
The sleepy cliffs, or crop the flow'ry thyme !
o more extended in the grot below,
hall see you browsing on the mountain's brow
The prickly shrubs; and after on the bare,
-cap down the deep abyss, and hang in air.
428
VIRGIL.
No more my sheep shall sip the morning dew ;
No more my song shall please the rural crew :
Adieu my tuneful pipe ! and all the world, adieu!
TITYRUS.
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 Salonse, a city in
Dalmatia.
SICILIAN- 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 finish'd course : Saturnian times
Roll round again ; and mighty years, begun
From their first orb, in radiant circles run.
The base degenerate iron offspring ends ;
A golden progeny from heaven descends.
O chaste Luciha ! 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 ground
Shall weeds and poisonous plants refuse to bear;
Each common bush shall Syrian roses wear.
But when heroic verse his 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.
Yet, of old fraud some footsteps shall remain :
The merchant still shall plough the deep for
gain ;
Great cities shall with walls be compassed round ;
And sharpened shares shall vex the fruitful
ground ;
Another Tiphys shall new seas explore ;
Another Argo land her chiefs upon th' Iberian
shore ;
Another Helen other wars create,
And great Achilles urge the Trojan fate.
And when to ripened manhood he shall grow 3
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 sweat;
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
run.
Mature in years, to ready honours 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 be'hind, in crowding ranks
appear.
To sing thy praise, would heaven my breath pro-
long,
Infusing 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 about
Thy infant eye, and, with a smile, thy mother
single out.
Thy mother well deserves that short delight,
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.
PHARMACEUTRIA.
THIS Pastoral contains the songs of Damon and
Alphesiboeus. 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 Daphnis in love with her.
THE mournful Muse of two despairing swains,
The love rejected, and the lovers' pains;
To which the savage lynxes list'ning stood ;
The rivers stood in heaps, and stopp'd the run-
ning flood ;
VIRGIL.
429
The hungry herd their needful food refuse
Of two despairing swains, I sing the mournful
Muse.
Grc at Pollio ! thou, for whom thy Rome pre-
pares
The ready triumph of thy fmish'd wars,
Whether 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 numbers like to thine, could I rehearse
Thy lofty tragic scenes, tliy labour'd verse;
The world another Sophocles in thee,
Another Homer should behold : n me.
Amirst thy laurels let tlys ivy twine:
Thine was my earliest muse; my latest shall be
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 :
"Stai of the morning, why dost thou delay?
Come, Lucifer, drive on the lagging day,
Wlii|.,> I my Ni.-a's perjur'd faith deplore
Witness, ye pow'rs, by whom she falsely swore !
The ?od=, alas ! are witnesses in vain :
Yet shall my dying breath to heaven complain.
Begin with me, my flute, the sweet Maenalian
strain.
"The pines of Ma-nalus, the vocal grove,
Are over full of verse, and full of love :
They hear the hinds, they hear their god com-
plain,
Who suffer'd not the reeds to rise in vain.
Begin with me, my llute, the sweet Miunalian
.in.
' i opstis triumphs; he weds the willing fair.
When such is Nisa's choice, what lover can
despair 1
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 M >p-us! and perform the bridal rites.
Scatter thy nuts among the .-(-rambling lx>ys :
Thine is the night, and thine the nuptial joys.
For -.hee the sun declines: O happy swain!
with me. my flute, the - uilian
iin.
"O Nisa! justly to thy choice condemn'd!
Win in hast thou taken, whom hast thou con-
temn'd ?
For him, thou 1. ,:ig herd,
Scorn'd my thick eyebrows ami my shaggy beard.
Unhappy Damon sighs and sings in vain,
While Nisa thinks in. | pain.
Be-in with me, my llute. the sweet Ma-nalian
strain.
"1 view'd thee first (how fatal was the view!)
And led thee where the ruddy wildii
Higli on the planted hedge, and wet with 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 ti-rrs fed;
Alien of birth, usurper of the plains!
Begin with me, my flute, the sweet Maenalian
strains :
"Relentless Love the cruel mother led,
The blood of her 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 Mamalian
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 with 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 Maenalian
strain.
"Let earth be sea; and let the whelming 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 friend's 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-inflame my Daphnis with d<
Tis done: we want but verse. Restore, my
charms,
My ling'rir.g Daphnis to my longing arms.
"Pale Phcebe, drawn by verse, from heaven
descends ;
And Circe chang'd with charms Ulysses' friends.
Verse breaks the ground, and penetrates 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 IP
Which round the sacred altar thrice is led.
Unequal numbers please the gods. My charms,
Restore my Daphnis to my longing arm-.
Knit with three knots the fillets: knit them
straight ;
Then say. -Th'-se knots to love I consecrate.'
!,:>-! ! Restore, my charms,
My lov.-ly Daphnis to my longing arms.
fire this tignre harden-, made of clay,
And this of wax with fire consumes away,
430
VIRGIL.
Such let the soul of cruel Daphnis be
Hard 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 crackles 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 I bestow.
These pawns, sacred earth ! to me my Daphnis
owe.
As these were his, so mine is he. My charms,
Restore their ling'ring lord to my deluded arms.
' These pois'nous plants, for magic use design'd,
(The noblest and the best of all the baneful kind,)
Old Mceris brought me from the Pontic strand,
And cull'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, whirl'd 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!
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 comes, he runs, he leaps, to my desiring
arms."
GALLUS, a great patron of Virgil, and an excellent
poet, was very deeply in love with one Cytheris,
whom he calls Lycoris, and who had forsaken
him for the company of a soldier. The poet
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 vows;
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.
Maenalian pines the godlike swain bemoan,
When, spread beneath a rock, he sigh'd alone ;
And cold Lycoeus wept from every dropping stone 5
The sheep surround their shepherd, 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 him 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 ?
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 you, Arcadian s\\ ains, 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 breast,
If you my suff'rings 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,
VIRGIL.
431
(Though Phyllis brown, though black Amynta
were,
Are violets not sweet, because not fair?)
Beneath the sallows and the shady vine,
My loves had niix'd their pliant limbs with mine :
Phyllis with myrtle wreaths hadcrown'd my hair,
And soft Amynta snng away my care.
Co ne see what pleasures in our plains abound ;
The woods, the fountains, and the flow'ry ground.
A< you are beauteous, were you half so true,
Here could I live, and love, and die with only
you.
Now I to lighting fields am sent afar,
Aril strive in winter camps with toils of war,
While you, (alas, that I should find it so!)
To shun my sight, your native soil forego,
Ar.d climb the frozen Alps, and tread th' eternal
snow.
Ye frosts and snows, her tender body spare !
Tlose are not limbs for icicles to tear.
For me, the wilds and deserts are my choice;
Tl. e Muses, once my care ; my once harmonious
voice.
Tl ere will I sing, forsaken and alone:
Tl e 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.
Tl en on Arradian 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 methinks o'er steepy rocks I go,
And rush through sounding woods, and bend the
Parthian bow ;
A? if with sports my surf'rings I could 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 us his hard decrees,
Not though beneath the Thracian clime we
free/.e.
Or Italy's indulgent heaven forego,
And in mid-winter tread Sithonian snow;
Oi, when the barks of elms are scorch'd, we keep
On Meme's burning plains the Libyan sheep,
In hell, and earth, and seas, and heaven above,
Love conquers al! ; and we must yield to Love.
FROM GEORGIC I.
IN VorATIOV OK THK KfHAL IIKITIES ArJ)RES8TO
AUGl STl s r 1> VII AHVICK Til KA1IMKHS. KTC.
WHENCE joyful harvests spring, what heavenly
Invites the plough, and weds to elms the vine;
II >\v Hocks and herds by kindly nurture thrive,
A id -au'e experience stores the frui^U hive;
1 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 Caean
plain ;
God of the fleece, whom grateful shepherds love,
Oh ! leave thy native haunt, Lycaeus' grove ;
And if thy Maenalus yet claim thy care,
Hear, Tegeaean 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 cultur'd
fields.
Thou, Caesar, 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 myrtle 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 Thule laves,
While Tethys' dow'rs thy bride with all her
waves.
W 7 ilt thou 'mid Scorpius and the Virgin rise,
And, a new 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, Caesar, 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,
Ni'W, now invok'd assert thy hcav'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.
432
VIRGIL.
Ere virgin earth first feel th' 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, Ind her ivory, boasts,
Spice wings the gale round Saba's balmy coasts,
The naked Chalybes their iron yield,
The pow'rful Castor scents the Pontic field
While fatn'd Epirus rears th' equestrian breed,
Born for the palm that crowns th' Olympic steed,
In stated regions, from th 1 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 resigned the conquest of the soil ;
He sent forth Care to rouse the human heart,
Arid sharpen genius by inventive art ;
Nor tamely suffer'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 venorn 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.
Numbered 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 efforts 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.
'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 their flaming lights 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 bis evening star below.
A STORM IN AUTUMN.
WHY should I mark each storm, and starry sign,
When milder suns in autumn swift 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 column 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 overflow, 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 from pole to pole,
Fear walks the world, and bows th' astonish'd
soul:
Jove rives with fiery bolt Ceraunia'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 DIGRES-
SION ON THE PRODIGIES WHICH FOLLOWED THE
DEATH OF JULIUS C2ESAR 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,
VIRGIL.
433
If dull at morn with many a scattered beam
Through vaporous haze the light obscurely
gleam.
Or if Aurora lift her mournful head,
And with pale aspect leave Tithonus' bed,
In vain the Leaf shall eurl ripe cluster? round,
While rattling hailstones from the roof rebound.
But chief observe along his wc-tcrn way
Each hue that varies at the close of day.
The rains descend, when dusky tints prevail ;
When red discolour, dread tlf infuriate gale:
If spots immingle streak'd with gleams of lire.
Rain and fierce wind to vex the world conspire :
That night my anchor'd bark shall sleep on shore.
While 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
S lall fly before the north's dispersing plume.
Last, what late eve shall bring, what winds pre-
vail ;
And all that Austor plans with humid gale,
"V iew, where the sun's prophetic sitnis display,
\or dare mistrust the God that gives the day.
"oo, with frequent portent deigns presage
Blind tumult, treasons, and intestine rage.
He too. when Rome deplor'd dead Caesar'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 pave;
How oft we view'd. along th' expanse below,
Wide seas of lire down shatter'd ^Etna flow,
Win f ilame the red volcano threw,
And fervid rocks that lighten'd as they Hew !
O'er all the sky. (Jennania heard afar
The bray of arms that clang'd th' aerial war;
The Alpine regions of eternal snow
Ke.-l'd with unusual earthquakes to and fro:
Shapes wondrous pale by night were seen to
rove,
And a loud voice oft shook the silent grove.
Fix'd are the Hoods; earth widely yawns below.
And beasts, in human accents, murmured
The ivory weeps 'mid consecrated walls.
Sweat in big drops from bra/en statues falls;
Monarch of rivers, rairing far and wi
Eridanns pours forth his torrent tide.
Down the wide deluge whirls uprooted woods,
And wastes the earth with desolating Hood-.
That time nor ceas'd the wells with blood to
flow,
Nor spotted entrails ceas'd foreboding \
Nor ceas'd loud echoes nightly to rap
tve howl along th' unpeopled
street
Such lightnings never fir'd th' unclouded air.
Nor comets trail'd so oft their bla/.ing hair.
For this in equal arms Philippi view'd
Home's kindred bands again in gore embru'd,
The gods twice fed broad HM inns with on
And bath'd with Roman blood th' Kmathkui
coast.
55
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.
V-- 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 guilt;
Already envious heavens, thee, Caesar, 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 dragged on distant
shores ;
Far. far they fall from their uricultur'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.
PHAISES OF ITALY.
YET nor the Median groves, nor rivers roll'd,
&, and Hermus, o'er their beds of gold,
Nor Intl. nor Bacah, 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
With fiery nostrils o'er the furrow smoke,
No hydra teeth embattled harvest yield,
and bright hemlet bristling o'er the field;
Men corn each laughing valley fills,
Th" vintage reddens on a thousand hills,
Luxuriant olives spread from shore to shore,
And Hocks unnmnber'd rani:" the pastures o'er.
Hence the proud war-horse rushes (.11 the foe,
riitumnus ! hence thy herds, more white than
snow,
And stately bull, that, of dgantic -
Supreni" of victims on the altar i
Bath'd in thy mered >in-am oft led the train,
When Koine in pomp of triumph deck'd the
lane.
II,. P. spring perpetual leads the laughing hours.
And winter wears a wreath of summer fl.
Th' o'erloaded branch twice lills with fruits the
year.
And twice the teeming Hocks their ofispring rear.
Yet here no lion breeds, no tiger stray.-.
No tempting aconite the touch betrays,
2M
434
VIRGIL.
No monstrous snake the uncoiling volume trails,
Or gathers, orb on orb, his iron scales.
But many a peopled city towers around.
And many a rocky cliff with castle crown'd,
And many an antique wall, whose hoary brow
O'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 Lavius? or, with surging waves,
Where, fierce as ocean, vex'd Benacus 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 Avernus 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 steel'd,
And spear-armed Volsci that disdain to yield :
Camilli, Marii, Decii, swell thy line,
And, thunderbolts of war, each Scipio, thine!
Thou CoBsar ! 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, orice to glory raised, again rehearse,
And pour through Roman towns th' Ascraean
verse.
SPRING comes ; new bud the field, the flower,
the grove ;
Earth swells, and claims the genial seeds of love:
^Ether, great lord of life, his wings extends,
And on the bosom of his bride descends
With showers prolific feeds the vast embrace
That fills all Nature, and renews her race.
Birds on their branches hyineneals sing,
The pastur'd meads with bridal echoes ring;
Bath'd in soft dew, and fann'd by western \\ inds,
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 southern blast and northern
shower,
Spreads without fear each blossom, leaf, and
flower.
Yes! lovely Spring! when 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 first to beasts the wild and wood were given,
And stars unnumber'd pav'd th' expanse of
heaven ;
* All the poets favour the opinion of the world's crea-
tion in the spring. See Odd. Met. I. 107; Buchanan's
Catenate Maia ; and above all, Milton's exquisite lines
in his Paradise Lost, IV. 264, and VII. 370.
Then, as through all the vital spirit came,
And the globe teem'd throughout its mighty
frame,
Each tender being, struggling into life,
Had droop'd beneath the elemental strife,
But thy mild Reason, each extreme between,
Soft nurse of Nature, gave the golden mean.
ON THE ADVANTAGES OF PHILOSOPHICAL STUDIES,
AND ON THE INNOCENCE, SECURITY, AND USE-
FULNESS OF A COUNTRY-LIFE.
AH! happy swain! ah! race belov'd of heaven!
If known thy bliss, how great the blessing given !
For thee just Earth from her prolific beds
Far from wild war spontaneous nurture sheds.
TliQpgh nor high domes 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 poisoning 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,
Arid 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 dwell, and, as she fled mankind,
There Justice left her last lone trace behind.
Me first, ye Muses! at whose hallow'd fane
Led by pure love I consecrate my strain;
Me deign accept! and to rny search unfold
Heaven and her host in beauteous order roll'd,
Th' eclipse that dims the golden orb of day,
And changeful labours of the lunar rny;
Whence rocks the earth, by what vast force the
main
Now bursts its barriers, now subsides again ;
Why wintry suns in ocean swiftly fade,
Or what delay retards night's ling'ring shade.
But, if chill blood restrain th' ambitious 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 rites!
Hide me some god, where Hrernus 1 vales extend,
And boundless shade and solitude defend!
How blest the sage ! whose soul can pierce
each cause
Of changeful Nature, and her wondrous laws;
Who tramples far beneath his foot, and braves
Fate, and stem death, and hell's resounding
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 wing 5 5
VIRGIL.
435
Not arming Istrians that on Dacia call ;
Triumphant Rome, and kingdoms doom'd
Envy's wan gaze, or Pity's bleeding tear,
Di.-turb the tenor of his calm earerr.
From fruitful orchards, and spontaneous fields
I! culls the wealth that \viiliua Nature yields,
Far from the tumult of the niadd'nin_' bar,
iron justice, and forensic war.
IX with restless oar \\ ild seas unknown,
Some rush on death, or cringe around the throne;
: warriors here beneath their footstep tread.
T te realm that rear'd them, and the hearth that
fed,
T:> quaiF from perns, and lull to transient rest,
wound that bleeds beneath the Tyrian vee sev'n hills her towery walls sur-
round ;
Such, ere Hi ! i an .! 'i'd.
And slaughter'd bulls, the unhallow'd banquet
;'d ;
Such was the life on earth that Saturn knew,
F.re mortals trembled as the trumpet I
:t ivil rung afar.
When clattering hammers shap'd the sword of
FROM GEORGIC III.
APOTHEOSIS OF AI'M'STVS HOUSES CHAIIIOT-
HACK MIIKKI) 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 Idunrea 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,
Wiog'd by four steeds my hundred chariots fly.
All Greece shall scorn her fam'd Olympian field;
Here lash the courser and the crcstus wield.
I, I myself will round rny 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 r 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:
us and Tros shall lend the line,
And Cynthins, 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. M-CCC ia-! by thy genius fir'd,
I dare the arduous t-i-'n by tliee inspir'd;
Through woods, and lawns, untrodden urge my
way.
While murmuring Dryads chide the long delay.
Oh come! Citlrrron shouts her mountains o
i;ui houn 1- deep echoes roar,
The nei^hi, Maurus, bound
Rock ring's to rock, and woods to woods resound.
e. attnn'd to loftier }:
Shall swell th' adventurous song to C:;
praise.
His glowing battle .. to f; 1Mir .,
And spl the -In ian name.
ie fur I'isa's palm the courser rear,
Or Labour yoke for wealth the vigorous st.
With tin'd mother trace,
And form'd like her expect the proiriis'd race.
I If curling horns the crescent backward bend,
j And bristly hairs beneath the ear defend,
436
VIRGIL.
If on her knees the pendulous dew-lap float,
Large front, and brawny neck 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 death 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, that calls on death to close the tomb.
Haste, as thy 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 threat'ning 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 shouts 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 rnane, and spreads its pomp of
hair :
Swift works his double spine, and earth around
Rings to his solid hoof that wears the ground.
Such ardent Cyllarus, whose rage restraint!
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 disguis'd,
When Saturn fled, by jealous rage surprised :
Loose in the gale his mane luxuriant play'd,
And Pelion echoed as the courser noigh'd.
But when with age, or long 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, chie'f, their years, and dauntless spirit
trace,
What breed ennobles, and what honours grace,
j 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 palpitating 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 rush 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 Lapithae 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 unabated 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 ear,
His flexile limbs in curves alternate prance,
And seem to labour as they slow advance:
Then give, uncheck'd, to fly with loosen'd rein,
Challenge the winds, and wing th' unprirted
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.
VIRGIL
437
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,
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 delis unseen,
"Where rivers spread their torrent tide between,
Where intervening rocks prone cliffs oppose,
Or lonely stalls his sulk'n strength enclose.
He views the bride, each look new passion fires,
Slow wa.-tes 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 clash'd 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,
(I- 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,
l)ri\es unexpected on. and levels at a blow.
Thus faintly seen along the distant deep,
Gleams the white wave, and heaves its surgy
sweep.
Swell- as it rolls, 'mid bellowing caverns roars,
And bursts a mountain on the di'lug'd sho:
Ye\'d ocean boil-., and. high in columns driven.
Whirls the dark sand, and clouds the face of
heaven.
Thus all that wings the air and cleaves the Hood.
Herds that or gra/.e the plain or haunt the wood.
Rush to like flame-, when kindred pa-
move,
And man and brute obey the pow'r of love.
The headlong lioness, by fren/y stung.
Then fiercer roams, regardless of her young:
Then hideous bears with slaughter strow t 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 way.
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 cliffs 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 doonrd to die.
Why should I sing how furious dogs engage,
Wars that fierce wolves arid spotted lynxes wage,
Or how, each native fear by love subdued,
Stags clash their antlcr'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, un wedded, 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'reigu filter, drop by drop, distils,
That, mixt with herbs, and crown'd with baleful
spell,
Pluck'd by vile step lame-, drugs the bowl of hell.
lint time irreparable flies away,
While in the ma/e of love we fondly stray.
Cease we of herds new themes new cares
lire ;
Rough goatt :i!1 ' il"' 1 -'}' 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, and grace with labour'd lays :
2M2
438
VIRGIL.
Tranc'd by sweet love, o'er unfrequented heights,
Where no smooth trace to Castaly invites,
I pierce the wild by mortal foot nntrod,
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 shelt'ring cotes till summer shades the mead ;
Oft o'er the rugged earth fresh stubble spread,
And litter frequent fern beneath their tread,
Lest 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, fenced 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 brakes that shag the wood,
Mindful at night return without a guide,
And lead their kids that bound on either side,
While their swoln 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 karsh 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 verse recount the Libyan
swains,
And huts thin strewn along the wide champaigns?
Morn after morn, and night succeeding night,
Through all the 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 unsuspecting hosts their war array.
But where Maeotis 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 stiffens on the breast.
There crystal chains at or.ce whole pools confine,
And hatchets cleave the congelated wine;
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 del v'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 rude Rhipa-an 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 ;
VIRGIL.
439
Soft let the fleece in silver tresses flow,
And fair the sire as flakes of falling snow:
But if dark hues his tongue 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 son:? 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.
r slight thy dogs: on whey the mastiffs feed,
Molossian race, and hounds of Spartan breed ;
th tlu-ir sleepless eye repose in peace,
If, the shepherd gone, snail thin thy fleece ;
No thief by niirht invade thy lonely home,
Nor round thy haunts the wild Iberian roam.
Go, the fleet hare and Hying hind pursue,
I from deep fens the bristly boar subdue.
the tall stag along th' aerial height.
And, shouting, press within thy toils his flight.
FROM GEORGIC IV.
"IIF. MAXAGKMKXT OF BEES THEIR ACTIONS.
INSTINCTS. BATTLES. &C . THE CORTCIA5T OLD
Vow. while th' aerial honey's nectar dews,
Gift of a god, once more, invite the muse,
i in, with fond regard
the long labours of thy votive bard.
\Vor;hy of wonder, here at large I trace
Th' unfolded irenius of the insect race,
Tli"ir chiefs illustrious, and th' embattled field,
Manners and arts, that peaceful studies yield.
f ]'h" lowly theme shall claim no vulgar praise,
If Pliuvuis deign to hear th' invoking lays.
a station where no rnthle.
!i.? still hive an 1 shelter'd bees a-sail :
Lest, a3 they homeward droop, o'erdone with
Inclement b'a-ts th--ir loaded flight despoil;
Far from the sheep that Wl 'iir,
The wanton kids that bound from flower to
llov.
- the meadow bi-
And dash from >pringinir herbs nectareous
DO li/.ard arm'd with burni-hM
:>ird <>f prey, their walls assail,
Nor P roc ne haunt, w. CU plume-
The blood-Stain'd hand imprinted on her '<
wi lely v. aste, and.
; trinni[ih brill'.'.
But th'' ''}'d,
Clear fount and rill that purl- along ;
Palms o'er their pnreh a grateful gloom extend,
And the wild olive's shelt'ring : -nd.
There when new kings the swarms at springtide
And burstii,. Jadden all the mead,
Dim banks u t noon may lure to c
And trees with hospitable arm-
II' sleep th' 1 -::i_:iant pools, or currents How,
Huge stone-, ai d willows 'mid the water throw;
That if a br .veep,
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 pore,
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 v.
Hence with unusual 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 rether
am,
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,
e them as they wind aloft their way.
Where groves o'ershade, and crystal fountains
play;
There strew each rifled herb, that breathes of
ing,
There the brnis'd balm and honeysuckle fling;
And tinkling raise, while echo rings around,
And C'yln-;- dials shrilly sound.
Soon shall they haunt the )i: - 'at,
And to their inmost cells Unseen retreat.
But if in., -uds the hive alarm,
When doubtful kings the frantic nation arm,
Tumultuous crowds the ,it prepare,
And palpitating hearts that beat to war;
Deep bra/en peals the lingering crowds excite,
And harsh the voice like trumpets hoarse in
fight.
440
VIRGIL.
Onward they troop, and, brandishing their wings,
Fit their fierce claws, and point their poison'd
stings ;
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 clust'ring orbs, air rings around,
Prone from the conflict myriads strow the ground,
Thick as tempestuous hail from summer show'rs,
Or streaming acorns dash'd from oaken bow : rs.
Amid the press of war, th' ericount'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 ! 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 cornb, whose liquid sweets
refine
The grape austere, and tame the temper'd wine.
If wavering swarms in aether 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 saffron 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 fav'rite 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 ;
Sung, twice each year, how Poestan roses blow,
How endive drinks the rill that purls below,
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 Galoesus leads
His flood dark-winding through the golden rneads,
Where proud (Ebalia'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 lab'ring yoke subsistence gain'd,
Where never shepherd gave his flock to feed,
Nor Bacchus dar'tl to trust th' ungrateful mead,
He there with scanty herbs the bushes crown'd,
And planted lilies, vervain, poppies round ;
Nor envied kings, when late, at twilight close,
Beneath his peaceful shed he sought repose,
And cull'd from earth, with changeful plenty
stor'd,
Th' unpurchas'cl feasts that pi I'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 roll'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 Zephyr's long delay.
Hence first his bees new swarms unnumber'd
gave,
And press'd from richest combs the golden wave ;
Limes round his haunts diffus'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 r 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 assigii'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 Thunderer fed.
They, they alone a common race supply,
And dwell in towns beneath the public 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 nurture 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'erflowing cell.
These, at the gate, their statioird vigils keep,
Mark where the clouds collect, the tempests
sweep,
VIRGIL.
441
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 almighty Sire,
Force from the stubborn mass the bolt of fire,
These slumb'ring flames with gathered winds
awake,
Those plunge the hissing bars beneath the lake;
Heav'cl with vast strength their arms in order
rise.
And blow to blow in measurV. chime replies;
While with firm tongs they turn the sparkling ore,
A.nd ^Etna's caves with labouring anvils roar.
Not less (if unreprov'd, I mhtly dare,
Things of low note with wondrous works com-
pare,)
The love of gain th' Hymettian swarm inspires,
\Vakes 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 ;
I'orth from their gates each morn the nation flows,
And when pale twilight, from the wasted mead,
l!ids 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-
dn'd,
No pangs of labour renovate the brood.
By instinct led, at springtide's u'enial hour,
They gather all the race ('nun herb and ilower :
Hence springs the people, hence th' imperial lord,
Their domes and waxen kingdom* rise restored.
And oft they roam where crags their feathers
bni.
And oft their lives beneath the burden
Such their fond xeal that every (lower explores,
And glorious strife to swell their i_ r ni.!'Mi ft
Hence, though har>h fate, when seven fleet
summers
At once their labours and their lives suspend,
The race and realm from aL'e to a-e remain,
And time but lengthens with new links the chain.
Not Lydia's sons nor Parthia's peopled shore,
an thus their kin : adore.
He lives, and pours through all th' accordant soul;
He dies, and by his death dissolves the whole :
56
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 the grave, and, fearless of decay,
Live 'rnid 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,
Thou 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 wound, and leave their stings behind.
If wintry dearth thy prescient fears create,
Or rouse thy pity for their ruin'd state,
With thymy odours scent their smoking halls,
And pare th' unpeopled cells that load their walls.
There oft, unseen, 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 exhaustless powr
Fill every cell, and crowd the comb with flov.
But (since dread ills both bees and man molest)
disease the languid hive i:
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 eltbing 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,
442
VIRGIL,
Through ready channels pour the golden flood,
Lure their coy taste, and court with tempting
food.
There the dried rose and pounded galls combine,
And centaury strong-breath'd, and sodden wine,
Grapes that long ripe on Psythian vineyards
hung,
And thyme that on the breeze rich fragrance
flung.
In fields there grows a flow'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 wreath'd round many
a shrine,
In rich festoons its golden blossoms shine,
And by meand'ring Mella's pastur'd 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.
ORPHEUS AXD EURYDICE.
"GREAT is thy guilt; on thy devoted head
Indignant gods no common vengeance shed ;
Sad Orpheus, doom'd, without a crime, to mourn
His ravish Vi bride that never shall return ;
Wild for her loss, calls down th' inflicted woes,
And deadlier threatens, if no fate oppose.
When 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 rung,
Deep waitings burst Pangrea's cliffs among
Sad Orithyia, and the GeUe wept,
And loud lament down plaintive Hebms swept.
He. lonely, on his harp, 'mid wilds 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 tlar'd to pass the jaws of hell,
And gates where death and darkness ever dwell,
Trod with firm foot in horror's gloomy grove,
Approach'd the throne of subterraneous Jove,
Nor fear'd the manes and stern host below,
And hearts that never felt for human woe.
Drawn by his song from Erebus profound
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' unrejoicing flood,
All whom the Stygian lake's dark confine bounds,
And with nine circles, maze in maze, surrounds.
On him, astonislrd Death and Tartarus gaz'cl,
Their viper hair the wond'ring Furies rais'd :
rim Cerberus stood, his triple jaws half clos'd.
And fix'd in air Ixion's wheel repos'd.
' Now ev'ry peril o'er, when Orpheus led
His rescu'd prize in triumph from the dead,
And the fair bride, so Proserpine enjoin'd,
Press'd on his path, and follow'd close behind,
[n sweet oblivious trance of amorous thought
The lover err'd, to sudden frenzy wrought:
Ah! venial fault! if hell had ever known
Mercy, or sense of suffering 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 murmur'd from its depth profound.
Alas ! what fates our hapless love divide,
What frenzy, Orpheus, tears thee from thy bride!
Again I sink ; ' a voice resistless calls,
Lo ! on my swimming eye cold slumber falls.
Now, now farewell ! involved 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 a?ther 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'cl away,
Whom some rough hind, that watch'd her fost'ring
nest,
Tore yet unfleg'd from the maternal breast:
She on the bough, all night her plaint 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 ciimes where Tanais freezes as it flows,
'Mid deserts hoary with Rhipsean snows,
Lone roam'd the bard, his ravish'd bride de-
plord,
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 mangled limbs, and tost along the shore.
Ah ! at that time while roll'd the floating head
Torn from hi? neck, down Hebrus' craggy bed,
His last, last voice, his tongue now cold in
death,
Still nam'd Eurydice with parting breath ;
' Ah ! poor Eurydice !' his spirit siiih'd,
And all the rock Eurydice replied."
VIRGIL.
443
FROM THE JENEIS.
Book. II.
HECTOR'S GHOST.
'TWAS in the dead of night, when sleep repairs
Our bodies worn with toils, our minds with cares
When Hector's ghost before my sight appears :
A bloody shroud he seem'd, and bath'd in tears
Such as he was, when, by Pelides slain,
Thessalian coursers dragged him o'er the plain.
Swoln were his feet, as when the thongs wer
thrust
Through the bor'd holes: his body black will
dust:
Unlike that Hector, who return'd, from toils
Of war, triumphant in ^Eacian spoils,
Or him, who made the limiting Greeks retire,
And laimch'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, arid with new purple ran
I wept to see the visionary man,
And while my trance continued, thus began :
" light of Trojans, and support of Troy,
Thy father's champion, and thy country's joy!
O long expected 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 declining town ?
But say, what wounds are these? what new 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-
prc.-s'd :
"0 goddess-born! escape, by timely flight,
The flames and horrors of this fatal night.
The foes already have possess'd the wall:
Troy nods from high, and totters to her fall.
Knough is paid to Priam's royal name,
More than enough to duty and to lame.
If by a mortal hand my father's throne
Could be defended, 'twas by mine alone.
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 la>t thou .-halt erect."
lie .-aid, and brought me. from the.ir blest a!
The venerable statues of the
With an -icut Ve.-tu from the sacred choir,
The wreaths and reiie, and e eu in safety fears.
Nor impious Fame was wanting to report
The .-hips repair'd. the Trojans quick resort,
And purpose to forsake the Tyrian court.
Frantic with i'ear. impatient of the wound,
And impotent of mind she roves the city round.
Less wild the Bacchanalian dames appear.
When, from afar, their nightly otl they hear,
And howl about the hills, and shake the wreathy
.-pear.
At length she finds tii" denr perfidious man;
Prevents his form'd 6XCU0O, and thu- began:
e and ungrateful! could you hope tf fly,
And undi.-c". - eye?
Nor could my kindness your coinpas.-ion n
in-r band-
Or is the. death of a despairing q
Not w.irtii KM well for---
when the wintry wind- command your stay,
(are ihe tempest, an :
v Hi wen- not bound
To lands unknown, and foreign -"iind:
Were Troy rc-tofd. and Priam's happy r.
Now durst you tempt, lor Troy, the raizing main ?
!iom you fly! am I the ibe you -bun?
.mi.
By this right baud (since I have nothing Dm
To challenge, hm ; ,,- ;aith you gave, before)
1 beu yon by - too truly
By the new pleasures of our nuptial bed;
If ever Dido, when you were most kind,
\Va- pleasing in your eyes, or touch'cl your mind:
By these my pray'rs, if pray'rs may yet have
place,
Pity the fortune of a falling race !
For you I have provok'd a tyrant's hate,
Incens'd the Libyan and the Tyrian state;
For you alone, I suffer 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!)
What have I left? or \\ hither can I fly?
Must I attend Pygmalion's cruelty,
Or till larbas shall in triumph lead
A queen, that proudly scorn d his proffer'd bed!
Had you deferr'd, at least, your hasty flight,
And left behind some pledge of our deliuht.
Some babe to bless the mother's mournful sight,
Some young ^Eneas to supply your place,
Whose features might express his father's face;
I should not then complain to live bereft
Of all my husband, or be wholly left."'
Here paus'd the queen. Unmov'd he holds
his eyes.
By Jove's command ; nor suffer'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 sacred nuptials, or a husband's name.
For, if indulgent heaven would leave me free,
And not submit my 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 the niirht obscures the
With humid shades, or twink arise,
Anchises' angry ghost in dreams app<
Chides my delay, and fill- my soul with fears:
And young Ascanius justly may complain,
Defrauded of his fate, and destin'd r.
E'en now the herald of the -od- appear'd
Waking I saw him. and his me.--age heard.
From Jove he came commi.-sion'd, heavenly
bright
With radiant beams, and manifest to sight:
: :ider and the .sent I both attest)
walls he enter'd, and these words ex-
-'d.
Fair queen, oppose not what the gods command :
Fore'd by my fate. I leave your happy land.'
Thus while h" spoke, already she began
With sparkling eyes to view the guilty man,
2N
446
VIRGIL.
From head to foot, survey 'd his person o'er,
Nor longer these outrageous threats forbore :
" False as thou, and more than false, forsworn!
Not sprung from noble blood, nor goddess-born,
But hewn from harden'd entrails of a rock!
And rough Hyrcanian tigers gave thee suck!
Why should I fawn ? what 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 foul, that, which is worse, 'tis hard to find.
Of man's injustice why 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 :
Faithless is earth, and faithless are the skies !
Justice has fled, and truth is now no more !
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 his 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 him 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 promis'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 shalt thou call on injur'd Dido's name :
Dido shall come in a black sulph'ry flame :
When death has oncedissolv'd her mortal frame
Shall smile to see the traitor vainly weep :
Her angry ghost arising from the deep,
Shall haunt thee waking, and disturb thy sleep.
At least my shade thy punishment 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.
Amaz d he stood, revolving in his mind
What speech to frame, and what excuse to find.
Her fearful maids their fearful mistress led,
And softly laid her on her iv'ry bed.
But good .^Eneas, though he much desir'd
To give that pity which her grief requir'd
Though much he mourn'd, and laboured with his
Jove
Resolv'd at length, obeys the will of Jove;
Reviews his forces: they with early care
Unmoor their vessels, and for sea prepare.
The fleet is soon afloat, in all its pride;
And well-caulk'd galleys in the harbour ride.
Then oaks for oars they fell'd ; or as they stood,
Of its green arms despoil'd the growing wood,
Studious of flight. The beach is cover'd o'er
With Trojan bands that blacken all the shore :
On ev'ry side are seen descending down,
Thick swarms of soldiers, loaden from the town.
Thus, in battalia, march embodied ants,
Fearful of winter, and of future 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 the tender breast of Dido tore,
When from the tow'r she saw the cover'd shore,
And heard the shouts 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 ships with garlands bind,
Invoke the sea gods, and invite the wind.
Could I have 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 have 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 my fleet against his friends employ,
Nor swore the ruin of unhappy Troy,
Nor mov'dwith hands profane his father's dust:
Why should he then reject a suit so just?
Whom does he shun? and \vhither 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 nuptials he disclaims, I urge no more:
Let him pursue the promis'd Latin shore.
A short delay is all I ask him now
A pause of grief, an interval from wo,
Till my soft soul be ternper'd to sustain
Accustom'd sorrows, and inur'd to pain.
If you in pity grant this one request,
My death shall 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 refus'd again.
His harden'd heart nor pray'rs nor threat'nings
move ;
Fate, and the uod, had ptopp'd his ears to love.
As when the winds their airy quarrel try,
Justling from ev'ry quarter of the sky,
This way and that the mountain oak they bend ;
His boughs they shatter, and his branches rend;
With leaves and falling mast they spread the
ground ;
The hollow valleys echo to the sound :
VIRGIL.
447
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 iu sacrifice the purple wine,
The purple wine is turn'd to putrid blood;
And the white offer'd 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 around
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 ^Eneas in her dreams appears,
Disdainful as by day: she seems, alone,
To wander in her sleep, through ways unknown,
(juideless 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 Ore.-u-s. when his mother's uhost
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.
*******
.lead of night, when weary bodies close
'Their eyes in balmy sleep, and soft rep
JMie win;ls no longer whisper through the \
Xor mimn'riug tides disturb the gentle Hoods.
The .-tars in silent order moved around;
An I iYaee. with downy wings, was brooding on
the ground.
The Hocks an. I herds, ami particolour'd f..\vl
Which haunt the woods or swim the weedy
pool.
h'd on the quit labours of the day.
\11 else ofnature's common gift partake;
Unhappy Dido was alone awake.
N'or sleep nor ease the furious queen can find:
Sleep fled her eyes, as quiet lied her mind.
Despair, and rage, and love, divide her heart;
Despair 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?
ie a suppliant to larbas' pride,
And lake my turn to court and be denied?
Shall 1 with this ungrateful Trojan go,
Forsake an empire, and attend a foe?
Himself I refuged, and his train relieved
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 what 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 shar'd with savage beasts the common air.
Like them, a lonely life I might have led,
Not niourn'd the living, nor disturb'd the dead."
These thoughts she brooded in her anxious
breast.
*******
Aurora now had left her saffron 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 th' 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 perjur'd 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 rai^e. had been more timoly shown.
>w the promis'd faith, the vaunted name,
The pious man, who. rushing through the Ilame.
. and to the Phrygian shore
The burden of h; - let Ix-re !
I -hoiild have torn him piece-meal strcw'd in
od*
' limbs, or left expos'd in woods
v'd his friends and son and from the
(in;
Have set the reeking boy before the sire.
K vents are doubtful, which on battle wait!
Yet wle-re's the doubt, to souls secure of fate ?
My Tynans, at their iujur'd queen's command,
Had toss'd their fires amid the Trojan baud ;
448
VIRGIL.
At once extinguished all the faithless name ;
And I myself, in vengeance of my shame,
Had fall'n upon the pile, to mend the fun'ral
flame.
Thou Sun, who view'st at once the world below !
Thou Juno, guardian of the nuptial vow !
Thou Hecat, hearken from thy dark abodes !
Ye Furies, Fiends, and violated Gods !
All powers invoked with Dido's dying 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 untam'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 unburicd 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 ^neas, 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:
"0 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 ;
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 nether skies.
The first thus rent, a second will arise ;
And the same metal the same room supplies.
Look round 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 th.e grassy plain alight.
He knew his mother's birds, and thus he pray'd :
"Be you my guides with your auspicious 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 flight,
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, with 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 wont
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 lions;
Then cuts the curling hair; that first oblat on
burns,
VIRGIL.
449
Invoking Hecat hither to repair
A powerful name in hell and upper air.
The sacred priest?, with ready knives, bereave
The beasts of life, and in full bowls receive
The streaming blood : a lamb to Hell and XL-lit
(The sable wool without a streak of white)
^Eneas 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 :
Then, 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 tn bellow, trees to dance,
And howling dogs in glimin'rir.g 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 afford :
;ie thy courage, and unsheath thy sword."
She said, and pass'd along the Bloomy space :
The. prince pursu'd her steps with equal pace.
yet unreveal'd to human sight!
IB, who rule the regions of the night!
'ing ghosts! permit me to relate
The mystic wonders of your silent state.
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 nnresiste.d rage;
Toils, and Death, and Death's half-brother,
"P>
(Forms terrible to view) their sentry keep;
With anxious Pleasures of a guilty mind,
Deep Fraudsbefore. an. I open Force behind;
The Furies' iron bods; and Strife, that shakes
Her lii ! unfi .Ids her snakes:
Full in the midst of t!,i- iiif'-rnal road,
An elm displays her du
with his tripl" 1;
And v;ii:i (.'him - empty Ha.:
The chief unsheath'd his shining steel, pre-
par'd.
Though sei/.'d with sudden fear, to force the
guard,
Off'ring his brandish'd weapon, at their face;
Had not the Sibyl stopp'd
And told him what those empty phantoms were
Forms without bodie<. and impa -i-'ness in the land.
Kno\v, this the realm of night the Stygian shore:
My boat conveys no living 1.
Xor was I pleas'd. gre - once to bear,
(Who forc'd a pa>-a'_v with his pointed -pear,
mg Aleides men of mighty fain" :
And from th' immort:; : - lineage came ;
In fetters one the barking porter tied.
And took him trembling from his sov're-ign's -
Two sought by force to seize his beauteous bride."
450
VIRGIL.
To whom the Sibyl thus : " Compose thy mind :
No frauds are here contriv'd, nor force design'd.
Still may the dog the wandering troops constrain
Of airy ghosts, and vex the guilty train ;
And with her grisly lord his lovely queen re-
main.
The Trojan chief, 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 show'd the shining bough, concealed 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 off '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 snake?, 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 hunger 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 wrongful sentence, and award anew.
Minos, the strict inquisitor, appears ;
And lives and crimes, with Ids 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
Who prodigally threw their souls away
Fools, who, repining at their wretched state,
And loathing anxious life, snborn'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 :
But Fate forbids ; the Stygian floods oppose,
And with nine circling streams, the captive souls
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 unextinguish'd fire.
Here Procris, here Eriphyle he found
Baring her breast, yet bleeding with the wound
Made by her son. He saw Pasiphse there,
With Phaedra's ghost, a foul incestuous pair.
There Laodameia, with Evadne, moves
Unhappy both, but loyal in their loves :
Cseneus, a woman once, and once a man,
But ending in the sex she first began.
Not far from these Phoenician Dido stood,
Fresh from her wound, her bosom bath'd in blood;
Whom when the Trojan hero hardly knew,
Obscure in shades, and with a doubtful view,
(Doubtful as he who sees, through dusky night,
Or thinks he sees the moon's uncertain light)
With tears he first approach'd the sullen shade;
And as his love inspir'd him, thus he said :
" Unhappy queen ! then is the common breath
Of rumour true, in your reported death,
And I, alas ! the cause 1 By heaven, I vow,
And all the powers that rule the realms below,
Unwilling I forsook your friendly state,
Commanded by the 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 Sichaeus 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 lofty tower, and strong on ev'ry side
With treble walls, which Phlegethon surrounds,
Whose fiery flood the burning empire bounds:
'And, press'd 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 heard the groans of ghosts, th 3
pains
Of sounding lashes and. of dragging chains.
VIRGIL.
451
The Trojan stood astonish'd at their cries,
And ask'd his guide, from whence those yells
arise ;
And what the crimes, and what the tortures were,
And loud laments that rent the liquid air.
She thus replied : " The chaste and holy race
Are all forbidden this polluted place.
But Hecat, when she gave 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 gate, what stalking ghost
Commands the guard, what 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 Titan race,
Here, sing'd with lightning, roll within th' un-
fathom'd space.
Here lie th' Aloean twins, (I saw them both)
Enormous bodies of gigantic growth,
Who dar'd in fight the Thund'rer to defy,
Affect his heaven, and force him from the sky.
Salmoneus, suffering cruel pains, I found,
For emulating Jove ; the rattling sound
Of mimic thunder, and the glitt'ring bla/e
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!
15ut he. the kinu 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 Titvus \v:is to see, who took his birth
From heaven, his nursing from the foodful earth.
H.-re his gigantic limbs, with large embrace,
Infold nine acres of infernal s[, : .
A rav'nous vulture, in his opeu'd
Her crooked beak and cruel talons tried ;
Still for the trrowing liver digu'd his breast:
The growing liver still supplied the feast;
Still are his entrails fruitful to their pains:
Th' immortal hunger lasts, th' immortal food re-
mains.
Ixion and Pirithoiis I could name,
And more Thessalian chiefs of mighty fame.
High o'er their heads a mould'ring rock is placed,
That promises a fall, and shakes at ev'ry blast
They lie below on golden beds displayed ;
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,
Expel their parents, and usurp the throne ;
Defraud 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 lustful 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 his eternal chair :
And wretched Phlegyas 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 I a hundred mouths, a hundred tongues,
And throats of brass, inspir'd with iron lungs,
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,
The gate, and 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. Arriv'd at last,
The prince, with living water, sprinkled o'er
His limbs and body, then approaeh'd the door,
-'d the porch, 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 plains of pleasure lay.
The verdant fields with those of heaven may vie,
With ether vested, and a purple sky
The blissful seats of happy souls below :
Stars of their own, arid their own suns, they
know.
Their airy limbs in sports they exercise,
And, on the green, contend th' wrestler's prize.
452
VIRGIL.
Some, in heroic verse, divinely sing :
Others in artful measures lead the ring.
The Thracian bard, surrounded by the rest,
There stands conspicuous in his flowing vest.
His flying fingers, and harmonious quill,
Strike 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 w-ar.
Their lances fix'd in earth their steeds around,
Free from their harness, graze the flowery ground.
The love of horses which they had, alive,
And care of chariots after death, survive.
Some cheerful souls were feasting 011 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 fighting 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 all their temples were with garlands crown VI.
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 order, as they pass'd along
Their names, their fates, their conduct, and their
care,
In peaceful senates, and successful war.
He, when ^Eneas on the plain appears,
Meets him with open arms, and falling tears.
, "Welcome," he said, "the gods' undoubted race!
\0 long expected to my dear embrace ;
X)nce 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
deceived.
What length of lands, what oceans have you
pass'd,
What storms sustain'd, and on what shores been
cast!
How have I fear'd your fate, but fear'd it most,
When Love assail'd you on the Libyan coast."
To this, the filial duty thus replies :
" Your sacred ghost, before my sleeping eyes,
Appear'd, and often urg'd this painful 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 son !'*
He said ; and falling tears his face bedew:
Then thrice, around his neck, his arms he threw ;
And thrice the flitting shadow 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,
^neas 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 desiim'd."
" O father ! can it be, that souls sublime
Return to visit our terrestrial clime,
And that the gerrrous mind, releas'd by death,
Can covet lazy limbs, and mortal breath ?"
Anchises then, in order, thus begun
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, infus'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 all the same ;
And ev'ry soul is fill'd with equal flame
VIRGIL.
453
As much as earthly limbs and gross allay
Of mortal members, subject to decay,
~lunt not the beams of heaven ami edge of day.
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,
r 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 ev'ry 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,
(. v -o long their punishments and penance last)
Whofa droves of minds are, by the driving god,
Compell'd 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 surfer 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 pjogeny.
"Survey (pursued the sire) this airy throng,
As. olier'd to the view, they pass along.
These are th' Italian names, which Fate will join
With ours, and graif upon the Trojan line.
Observe the youth who first appears in sight,
And holds the nearest station to the light,
Already seems to snuff the vital air,
And leans ju>t 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'tl with Dardan blood:
Born in the covert of a shady wood.
Him fair Lavinia. thy surviving wife.
Shall breed in proves, to lead a solitary life.
In Alba he shall n'x his royal seat.
And. born a king, a race of kings beget ;
Then Procn-;. honour of the Tn jan name,
('apys. and Nmuitor, of endless fame.
id Silvius after these appear-
Silvi .or thy name he boars
For arms and justice equally renown'd ;
'ho. late re.-tor'd, in Alba shall be orown'd.
uit Camilla thus commends:
use of honour, if a soul secure
Of inborn worth that can all te-ts endure,
Can promise aught, or on itself rely,
Greatly to dare, to conquer, or to die ;
Then. I alone, send,
Beside him stood Euryalns, his friend
Euryalus, than whom the Trojan host
No fairer face, or sweeter air. could 1>
Scarce had the down to shade his cheeks beirun.
One was their care, and their delight was one.
One common hazard in the war they sliar'd;
And now were both by choice upon the iriianl.
Then Nisus thus: "Or do the gods inspire
This warmth, or mak < 'four desire?
A gen'rous ardour boils within my breast,
i of action, enemy to rest:
This urges me to light, and fires my mind,
To leave a memorable name behind.
Thou seest the foe secure; how faintly shine
Their scatter'd fires ! the most, in sleep supine,
tt
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 they 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 ardent friend expos'd his mind:
"All this alone, and leaving me behind!
Am I unworthy, Nisus, to be join'd ?
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 ! thy 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.
O! le^not me the widow's tears renew ;
Nor let a mother's curse my name pursue
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 -lee]>. 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,
Show 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 inclin'd upon the bending spear.
Now Nisus and his friend approach the guard,
And beg admis.-ion, eager to be heard
Th' affair important, not to be deferr'd.
Ascanius bids them be conducted in,
Ord'ring the more experienc'd to begin.
20
458
VIRGIL.
Then Nisus thus: "Ye fathers, lend your ears;
Nor judge our bold attempt beyond our years.
The foe, securely drenrh'd in sleep and wine,
Neglect their watch ; the fires but thinly shine ;
And, where the smoke in cloudy vapours flies,
Cov'ring the plain, and enrling to the skies,
Betwixt two paths which at the gate divide,
Close by the sea a passage we have spied,
Which will our way to great ./Eneas guide.
Expect each hour to see him safe again,
Loaded with spoils of foes in battle slain.
Snau-li we the lucky minute while we may:
Nor can we be mistaken in the way;
For, limiting 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 Alethes 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 arid paus'd ; and thus again he spoke :
" Ye brave young men, what equal gifts can we,
Tn recompense 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,
Adjure 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 irnag'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 Turuus press'd,
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 rny vow'd affection shall divide
From thee, heroic youth! Be wholly mine:
Take full possession: all rny 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 Kuryalns replied :
"Whatever fortune, good or bad, betide,
The same shall be my age, as now my youth :
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 follow'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 hope alone will fortify my breast
Against the worst of fortunes, and of fears."
He said. The rnov'd assistants melt in tears.
Then thus Ascanius, wonder-struck to see
That image of his filial piety;
"So great beginnings, in so green 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 arid 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 dispersed upon the
plain,
Who gorg'd and drunk with wine, supinely
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 fight.
Occasion offers ; and I stand prepar'd :
There lies our way : be thou upon the guard,
VIRGIL.
459
And look around, while I securely go,
And hew through the sleeping foe."
: then, striding, took his vvay,
With hi.- drawn sword, where haughty Rhamnes
lay;
His head raiVd high on tapestry beneath,
And heaving from his breast, he drew his
breath
A king and prophet, by King Turnus lov'd ;
lint late by prescience cannot be remov'd.
Him and his -leeping -lave'- lie -lew; then spies
Where Rhemus, with his rich retinue, lies.
nnoiir-bearer lir-l. and next IK; kills
H iritrenclrd betwixt the wheels
And his lov'd horses; last invades their lord:
Full on his neck he drive- the fatal sword :
Tin- L'a-ping head flic- oil'; a purple Hood
Flows from the trunk, that welters in the blood,
Which, by the spurning heels dispers'd around,
The 1,,-d be-prinkles. and bedews the ground.
Laniii- the bold, and Lamyrus the strong,
ii .'.'. and then Serranus fair and young.
From dice and wine the youth retir'd to rest,
And puif'd the fumy god from out his breast:
Men then he dream'd of drink and lucky play
ucky, 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
Tumbling they lie, and pant beneath his paw.
.\or with less rag.- Kuryalus employs
The wrathful sword, or 1'ewer foes destroys:
J5ut on ih' ignoble crowd his fury flew:
Hebesus, and Rhostus slew.
Oppress (1 with heavy sleep the former fall,
lint Kliu-tus wakeful, and observing all:
Behind a IpapiOUfjar he slunk lor fear:
The fatal iron found and reach'd him tliere ;
For. as he rose, it pierc'd hi.- naked side,
And, reeking, thence retmn'd in crimson dy'd.
The wound pours out a stream of wine and
blood.
The purple soul conies floating in the floor!.
. . where .Me-apii- rpiarter'd, they arrive.
The HP-- were fainting there, and ju-t alive:
The warrior-bone*, ti.-d in order, fed.
oh-erv'd the di.-i-ip!ine. and -aid:
"Our eager thirsl of blond may both betray;
And lofl the scatter 'd 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 Kuryalus, though loth obey d.
Ol'arm- and arras, and of plate they find
A precjous |o;id : but the-e they leave behind.
Yet. fond of gaudy spoil-, the b< .y \\-ou.
To make the rich capari-on his |
Which rm the ste.-d - of the nL'ht!
Fair queen!" In- said, '-direct my dart aright.
1 1' e'er my piou- father f.r my N
Did grateful oll"rin-s on thy altars make,
Or I increas'd them with my silvan toil-.
And hung thy holy rooi poils,
460
VIRGIL.
Give me to scatter these." Then from his ear
He pois'd, and aim'd, and launch'd the trembling
spear.
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 body left the broken wood.
He staggers round : his eyeballs roll in death,
And, with short sobs, he gasps away his breath.
All stand amaz'd : a second jav'lin flies
With equal strength, and quivers through the
skies.
This through thy temples, Tagus, forc'd the way,
And in the brain-pan warmly buried lay.
Fierce Volscens foams 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 comra.de could not bear ;
But from the covert rush'd in open view,
And sent his voice before him as he flew :
" Me ! me !" he cried " turn all your swords alone
On 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 offend)
Is too much love to his unhappy friend."
Too late he speaks : the sword 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 pressed, and kept him still in sight,
Then whirl'd 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 stagg'ring on the plain,
With swimming eyes he sought his comrade slain :
Then quiet on his bleeding bosom fell,
Content, in death, to be reveng'd so well.
O happy friends ! for, if my verse can give
Immortal life, your fame shall ever live.
Fix'd as the capitol's foundation lies,
And spread, where'er the Roman eagle flies.
Boo* X.
DEATH OF PALLAS.
YOTJJTG 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 Evander's guest!
His son adjures thee, by those holy rites,
That hospitable board, those genial nights,
Assist my great attempt to gain this prize,
And let proud Turnus view, with dying eyes,
His ravish'd spoils." 'Twas heard, the vain re-
quest ;
Alcides mourn'd, and stiffled sighs within his
breast.
Then Jove, to soothe his sorrow, thus began :
" Short bounds 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 winged 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 cors-let pierc'd, and reach'd his heart at last,
In vain the 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 : " my message to your master bear :
Such as the sire desery'd, the son I send :
It cost him dear to be the 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 Eury lion's artful hands had made ;
Where fifty fatal brides, express'd to sight,
All in the compass of one mournful night,
Depriv'd their bridegrooms of returning light.
In an ill hour insulting Turnus tore
Those golden spoils, and in a worse he wore.
mortals ! blind in fate, who never know
To bear high fortune, or endure the low !
The time shall come, when Turnus, but in vain,
Shall wish untouch'd the trophies of the slain
Shall wish the fatal belt were far away,
And curse the dire remembrance of the day.
THE DEATH OF LAUSTJS.
His father's peril Lausus view'd with grief:
He sigh'd, he wept, he ran to his relief.
VIRGIL.
461
And here heroic youth, 'tis here I must
T ) thy immortal memory be just.
And sins an art so noble and so new,
' ity will scarce believe 'tis true.
P;iin'd with the wound, and useless for the
flght,
The father sought to save himself by flight:
Encumber'd. slow he dragg'd the 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,
ta 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.
when thick hail comes ratt'ling in the wind.
The ploughman, passemrer, and lab'ring hind,
For shelter to the neighb'ring covert fly,
Or. hous'd. or safe in hollow caverns, lie;
Put, that o'erblown, when heaven above them
smiles,
F.eturn to travail, and renew their toils :
y'Eneas, thus o'erwhelm'd on every side,
The storm of darts, undaunted, 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,
I'.etray'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 hiirh the flaming sword app
Which, full deeendinir. with a frightful sway,
Through shield and corslet forc'd the impetuous
way,
And buried deep in his fair bosom lay.
The purple streams through the thin armour
ve,
And drench '(1 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,
;>iou- prince In-held yomiL' Lan~:i< dead.
He griev'd. he wept : (the si'jht nn image brought
Of his own filial love a sadly plea-ing thought]
Then stretch 'd his hand to hold him up. and
said :
youth ! what pr paid
To love BO L-n>at. to siK-h tran^cendant -
Of early worth, and sure pr'-n'_ r e of more ?
Accept whate'er ^neas can atlord :
Untouch'd thy arm*, untaken b- thy sword ;
And all that pleas'd the living, still remain
red to the r-laiu.
Thy body on thy par >\v,
To rest tl-y soul, at least, if shadows know,
Or have a sense of human things below.
Book XL
THE HISTORY AXD DEATH OF CAMILLA.
MKAXTIMK. Latonian Pbrebe, from the skies,
Beheld th' approaching war with hateful eyes,
And call'd the lisht-foot Opis to her aid,
fter most belov'd and ever-trusty maid ;
Then with a si-rh bewail : "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.
\ T or is my kindness for the virgin new:
Twas born with her; and with her years it grew,
rler 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 was her mother: but he drown'd,
One hissing letter in a softer sound,
And calTd 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 further 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 weight,
And thus invok'd my favour for the freight:
'Accept, great goddess of the woods,' 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 pull'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.
nerd's solitary life he 1'<1 :
His daughter with the milk of mares he fed ;
The dng< of bears, and ev'ry savairi- 1
He dr-'W. and through her lips the liquor press'd.
The little Ama/on could scarcely L
He loads her with a quiver and a
And, that she might her stagg'ring steps com-
mand.
He with a slender jav'liu fills her hand.
Her flowing hair no golden fillet bound;
Nor swept her trailing robe the dusty ground.
Instead of these, a tiger's hide <>'rr.>n stands :
Tlic '. j)"int n-nr-.
ri in her seat with agoni/ing \r.\\
(.^ gathering taiat o'ercloudi :ful eyes;
And from her Hi
Then turns to li-r, whom. < Vie train,
She tru-trd ino.-t. and tliii- - - with pain :
. 'ti.- pa-t! hi- swims before my si.^ht,
i')le Death: and claims his right.
my last \v DOS: fly with speed,
A id bid him timely to my "ed,
Repel the Trojans, and the town relieve:
Farewell! and in this kiss my parting breath
recer
She said, and, sliding, sunk upon the plain:
J>yiiiL r . 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, murm'ring with disdain, to Stygian sounds
retires.
Book XH.
DEATH OF TCRXUS.
Now stern ^Eneas 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 vah'ant 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 roll'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 course:
In vain we heave for breath; in vain we cry:
The nerves, unbrao'd, their usual strength deny;
And on the tongue th' falt'ring accents die :
So Turnus far'd : whatever means lie 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 :
ir'd about; nor aid. nor iue found:
His own men stop the pass; and his own walls
surround.
Once more he pauses, and looks out again,
And seeks --.-hariotecr in vain.
Trembling hr views the thund'ring chief ad-
vance,
And brandishing aloft the deadly lance:
Amax'd he cowers beneath his conq'ring foe,
Forgets to ward, and waits the coming blow.
464
HORACE.
Astonish'd while he stands, and fix'd with fear,
Aim'd at his shield, he sees th' impending spear.
The hero measur'd first, with narrow view,
The destirrd mark ; and, rising as he threw,
With its full swing the fatal weapon 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'cl 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 dis-
play'd,
And, recreant, thus to the proud victor pray'd.
"I know my death deserv'd, nor hope 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 breath !
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 rolt'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 cries,
(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 ?
To his sad soul a grateful off'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.
HORACE.
[Born 65, Died 8, B. C.]
QUINTUS HORATIUS FtACcus 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 Tinder the
best masters in Rome, and sending him 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 occa-
sion to many writers to bring against him the charge of
cowardice a charge, in no way warranted by the cir-
cumstances of the 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 Mecsenas and, through him, to
Augustus himself. From this period Horace
seems to Jiave led a life of uninterrupted enjoy-
ment and repose, mingling with the wise and
great on terms of the most perfect independence,
and living at the tables of his illustrious patrons,
Augustus and Meca?nas, 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, arid 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
unrivalled in Roman literature, while the good
sense, sound morality, and true philosophy, of his
satires and epistles have become quite prover-
bial.
Horace was buried on the Esquiline hill, in
a tomb next to that of his beloved Meccenas.
HORACE.
465
FROM THE ODES.
Book I.
OIIE III. TO THE SHIP IX WHICH VIRGIL SAILED
TO ATHENS.
So may the auspicious Queen of Love,
And the twin Stars (the seed of Jove),
And he who rules the raging wind,
To thee, O sacred ship, be kind,
And gentle 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 him safely on the shore;
And save the bettor 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,
:iting on the shore ;
Nor Hyades portending rain;
Nor all the tyrants of the main.
What form of death could him affright
Who, 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 wi-e command
the waters from the land,
If daring ship*, and men profane,
Invade the invio'able main;
The eternal fences overleap,
And pass at will the boundless deep.
No toil, no hardship fan restrain
.Ambitious man inured to pain;
The more confin'd, the more he tries,
And at forbidden quarry II
Thus bold Prometheus did aspire,
And stole from heaven the reed of fire :
A train of ills, a ghastly crew,
The robbrr's bla/.iim track pursue;
I'ierce Famine, with her meagre face,
And fevers of the fiery
lending wreteh surround,
Ail brooding on the blasted ground;
And limping Death, lash'd on by Fate,
Come< ii]) to shorten half our S
This n
With borrow'd win f _ r s to sail in air:
T.I hell Ate ; his way.
Plunged through the lake, and snateh'd the prey.
lie from our aii'
We reaeli at Jove's imperial crown.
And pull the unwilling thunder down.
OH!. V. TO I'TIIHH V.
WHAT slender youth, bede w'd v. ith liquid odours,
- ihee on roses in some pleasan'
Pyrrha ? Yr \vh'ii bind'-t thou
In wreaths thy golden hair,
Plain in thy neatness? O how oft shall he
Of faith and changed gods complain, and seas
Rough 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 dank and dropping weeds
To the stern god of sea.*
ODE IX. TO THALIAUCHUS.
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 sprightly 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, unsonr'd by sorrow, bears,
Ere withering Time the taste destroys
With sickness and unwieldly years.
For active sports, for pleasing rest,
ffl tin- time to 1
The best is but in season best.
Tin- appointed hour of promis'cl bliss,
The pleasing whi-per in the dark,
The half-unwilling, willing kiss,
The laugh that guides thee to the mark,
When the kind nymph would coyness feign,
And hides but. to be found auain:
These, these are joys, the gods for youth ordain.
OI1E XXII. TO AllISTirS FUSCUS.
THAT happy man. whose virtuous heart
it and con.-
Xri d- not the poison 'd Moorish dart,
bow. nor sword, nor deadly spear.
* This alludes to a custom amonpthe Romans of offer-
ng some votive tablrt or picture to tlie cod by v
tower they had ' ! from shipwreck. In
hese pictures the storm and circumstances of the escape
were generally represented.
==
466
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 Daunian 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 gemal 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 VIRGIL.
HORACE admonishes his friend to bear with patience the
death of Quintilius.
WHEREFORE 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 oppress'd !
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 the 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.
O THOU, whom Antiom'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,
Elealms, 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 !
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 ;
hange 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.
Goddess, on thy Csssar smile,
Now bound for Britain's farmost isle ;
Make, too, our new-rais'd hosts thy 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 flesh'd on foreign
foes !
Book II.
ODE III. TO DEtLIUS.
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.
467
Thy generous wine, and rich perfume,
And fragrant roses hither bring,
That with the early zephyrs bloom,
And wither with declining spring,
While joy and youth not yet have fled,
And Fate still holds the uncertain thread.
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 unknown.
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
Bmred by unrelenting Fate.
;he same port our barks are bound ;
ne final doom is fix'd for all :
universal wheel goes round,
And, soon or late, each lot must fall,
When all together shall be sent
To one eternal banishment.
ODE X. TO LICIXIUS.
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
yoices with a wholesome fear,
And hopes, in spite of pain ;
winter bellow from the north,
Soon the sweet spring comes dancing forth,
And Nature laughs again.
in
::
II
What if thine heaven be overcast?
The dark appearance will not last;
Expect a brighter sky.
ie god, that strings the silver bow,
wakes 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 MECXSAS.
DIRE Hannibal, the Roman dread,
Numantian wars, which raged so long,
And seas with Punic slaughter red,
Suit not the softer lyric song ;
Nor savage centaurs, mad with wine ;
])jpr Earth's enormous rebel brood,
Who shook with fear the Powers divine,
Till by Alcides' arms subdued.
Better, Mecaenas, thou in prose
Shalt Caesar's glorious battles tell ;
With what bold heat the victor glows,
What captive kings liis 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, distinguished 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 POSTUMUS.
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.
468
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.
GLEAMING on Baise'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.
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 nothing 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 enough 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, though 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,
Much will be missing still, and much will be
amiss.
ODE II. TO HIS FHIENDS.
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 repulsed, yet knows not to repine,
But shall with unattainted honour shine ;
Nor stoops to take the staff', nor lays it down,
Just as the rabble please to smile or frown.
HORACE.
469
Virtue, to crown her favourites, loves to try
Some new untrodden passage 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 his 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 just?
And though the villain 'scape awhile, he feels
Slow vengeance, 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 Labienus 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 ruin'd Rome,
While our seditions took their part,
Fill'd each Egyptian sail, and wing'd each Scy-
thian dart.
First, these ilagitious times
(Pregnant with unknown crimes)
Conspire to violate the nuptial bed,
From which polluted head
Infectious streams of crowding sil
And through the spurious breed and guilty nation
ran.
Behold a fair and melting maid
Bound 'prentice to a common trade ;
in artists at a mighty price
Instni'-t h'-r in the mysteries of vice,
Wh;r tie baits to lay,
with an early hand they form the temper'd
. :i< these
That dy'd with Punic blood the emiquer'd seas,
And quash'd the stem /T'.i'.-'ides ;
Made the pnnid A-ian monarch
How weak his . tiiist Europe's steel;
uibal to yield,
And won the long disputed world at Zama's fatal
But soldiers of a rustic mould,
'iily, bold ;
Either they dug the stubborn ground,
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 their 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
(With all the pains we take) have skill enough
to be.
ODE IX. HORACE AlfD LTDIA.
HORACE.
WHILST I was fond, and you 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,
Xor 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 love, whose bands we broke,
Again should tame us to the yoke ;
Should banish'd Chloe cease to reign,
And Lydia her lost power regain ?
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.
OUE XIII. TO THE FOUXTAIX OF BAJTDU8IA.
YE wave<, 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 budding horn,
And, in vain thought 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
.'. ith 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.
2P
470
HORACE.
ODE XVI. TO MECjEJTAS.
"THE lone gray tower on Argo's mountain-shore,
The faithful watch dog at the midnight door."
Safe in their guard imprison'd 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 confess'd 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 jewell'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 the fleece that decks Gallicia's plain.
Yet want, for once, avoids a poet's door,
Content and grateful, can I ask for more?
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 Phrygia's 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 FAUIfUS.
FATTTTUS, who lov'st to chase the light-foot nymphs,
Propitious guard my 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 MECJENAS.
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 :
Corne 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 the 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, where 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 sylvans 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.
471
And sown their seeds in depths of night.
He laughs at all the giddy 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 running stream,
Is sometimes high 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 together 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.
NTot 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?
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's blows,
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.
Book IV.
ODE IV. THE PRAISES OF DRU8TT8.
As the wing'd minister of thund'ring Jove
To whom he gave his dreadful 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 force to try,
While inborn courage fired his generous breast;
Then, darting with impetuous fury down,
The flocks he slaughter'd, an unpractised foe;
Now his ripe valour to perfection grown,
The scaly snake and crested dragon know ;
Or, as a lion's youthful progeny,
Wean'd from his savage dam and milky food,
The gazing kid beholds with fearful eye,
Doom'd first to stain his tender fangs in blood:
Such Drusus, young in arms, his foes beheld,
The Alpine Rhoeti, long unmatch d in fight:
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 Ccesar'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, Rome, to the Neronian race.
Of this be witness that auspicious day
Which, after a long, black, tempestuous night,
First smiled on Latium with a milder ray,
And cheer'd our drooping hearts with dawn-
ing light.
Since the dire African with wasteful 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, that from Trojan fires,
Hostile Ausonia, to thy destined shore
Her gods, her infant sons, and aged sires,
Through angry seas and adverse tempests bore :
472
HORACE.
" As on high Algidus the sturdy oak,
Whose spreading boughs the axe's sharpness
feel,
Improves by lops, and thriving with the stroke,
Draws health and vigour from the wounding
steel.
" Not Hydra sprouting from her mangled head
So tired the baffled force of Hercules ;
Nor Thebes, nor Colchis, such a monster bred,
Pregnant of ills, and famed for prodigies.
" Plunge her in ocean, like the morning sun,
Brighter she rises from the depths below:
To earth with unavailing ruin thrown,
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 Claudian valour not perform
Which power divine guards with propitious
care ;
Which wisdom steers through all the dangerous
storm,
Through all the rocks and shoals of doubtful war ?
ODE VII. TO TORQ.trATTTS.
THE snow, dissolved, no more is seen;
The fields and woods, behold, are green;
The changing 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, when once he lies
Where Priam and his sons are laid,
Is nought but ashes and a shade.
Who 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, Torquatus, boast of Rome,
When Minos once has fix'd your doom,
Or eloquence, or splendid birth,
Or virtue, shall replace on earth.
Hippolytus, unjustly slain,
Diana calls to life in vain;
Nor can the might of Theseus rend
The chains of hell that hold his friend.
ODE 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 Csean lyre?
Alcseus strikes the tyrant's soul with dread,
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 amorous 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 unerring flew,
Nor was the 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 came?
The poet's favour, voice, 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 Jove 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 nil.
HORACE.
473
Villain?, in public rapine bold,
Lollius, the just avciiL'i-r. . ,
Who never by the charms of gold,
Shining seducer! \vris mi-led;
Beyond thy year such virtue shnll extend,
And death alone thy consulate shall end.
Perpetual magistrate is lie,
Who keeps strict justice full in sight ;
With scorn rejects th' oii'ender's fee,
Nor weighs convenienee against right;
Who bids the crowd at awful distance gaze,
And virtue's arms victoriously displays.
Not he, of wealth immense pos-
Tasteless who piles his ma.-sy gold,
Among the number of the bless'd
Should have his glorious name enroll'd ;
He better claims the glorious 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 1> 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 morning 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 pop'ar wed,
Or with his pruninir hook d,
Unbearing branches from their !
And grafts more happy in their stead ;
Or climbing to a hilly steep.
He views his buds in vales afar,
Or .-hears his ovcrburden'd sheep,
Or mead for cooling drink prepares
Of virgin honey in th-
Or, in the now declining year.
When beauteous Autumn rears lii< head,
He joys to pull the ripen'd pear,
And clust'ring grapes with purple spread.
Sometimes beneath an ancient oak,
Or on the matted grass lie lies:
No God of Sleep he need in,
The stream, that o'er the pebble flies,
With gentle slumber crowns his eyes.
The wind, that whistles through the sprays,
Maintains the concert of the song:
And hidden birds with native lays,
The golden sleep prolong.
But when the blast of winter blows,
And hoary frost invests the year,
Into the naked woods he goes.
And seeks the tusky boar to rear,
With well-mouth'd hounds and pointed spear
Or spreads his subtle nets from sight,
With twinkling glasses, to betray
The 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 swift Apulian's bride,
Sunburnt and swarthy though 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 smoke.
Bear on their necks the loosen'd 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;
Resolv'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.
2p3
474
HORACE.
FROM THE SATIRES.
Book I.
FROM SATIRE I. AVARICE AND DISCONTENT.
MEC-ENAS, what's the 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, Jove's now resolv'd 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 ?
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 either 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 dimiriish'd e'er to see,
Thou wouldst thyself, too, buried with them be.
And what's the diff 'rence ? 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
Than 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 fable 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 didst 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 grow out of store,
The plain old way, ye gods ! let me be poor.
FROM SATIRE III. AIL 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.
475
Not simple Nature taught the skill.
To draw the line 'twixt good and ill ;
! T \vixt certain virtues, certain sins,
Whence merit ends, and crime begins.
Nor reason, sure can say that he
Must just as great a villain be,
Who idly breaks his neighbour's bounds,
As he, who steals a thousand pounds.
FROM SATIRE IV. HOHACE'8 ACCOUNT OF HIS
FATHER AXI) HIMSELF.
THE best of fathers, on my youthful breast
T 10 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 stm,
Y.iung Albius there, how wretchedly undone!
Yet no mean lesson is the spendthrift's 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 your flame.
My son, by poor Trebonius be advised ;
SJTC 'tis no pleasant tale to be surprised/'
''Twixt right and wrong the learned may
decide,
\Vith 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 lie for virtue urged the soft command,
Pointing some awful senator to view,
li His grave example constantly pursue."
Would he dissuade me; "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 ?"
A neighbour's funeral, with dire affright,
Checks the sick man's intemperate appetite ;
So is the shame of others oft impi
With wholesome terrors on the youthful breast.
VTIRE VI. TO MECJBN AS, WITH A FUR-
THKR ACCOUNT OF HIS FATHER AJD HIMSELF.
NOR yet to chance my happiness I owe ;
Friendr-hip like yours it had not to bestow.
Fir.-t. my best Virgil, thru my Varius. told
Among my friends what character 1 hold;
When introduced, in few and faltering words
(>uch as an infant modesty affords)
I did not tell you my descent was ^roat,
Or that 1 wander'd round my country seat
On a proud steed in nrher pastures bred;
But what I really was, I frankly sai.i.
Short was your answer, in your usual strain;
I take my leave, nor wait on you again,
Till, nine months past, engaged and bid to hold
A place among your nearer friends enroll'd.
An honour this, methinks, 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 and 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 disdain'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 youth are
taught ;
So dress'd and so attended, you would swear
I was some senator's expensive heir ;
Himself my guardian, of unblemish'd truth,
Among my tutors would attend my youth,
And thus preserv'd my chastity of mind,
(That prime of virtue in its highest kind,)
Not only pure from guilt, but even the shame
That might with vile suspicion hurt my 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 pride resent,
As many do, 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;
While I, contented with my own, resign
The titled 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 judges learn to please.
Let Plotius, Varius. and Mee;. nas deign
With Virgil, Vakius to approve my strain ;
Let good Octaviu> even endure my lays;
Let Fuscus read, and either Viscus praise:
Let Pollio and Mes.-ala be. my own,
And Furnius for a critic's candour known;
Among my learned friends are many more,
Whose names I pass in modest silence o'er;
These I can wi>h to smile; enjoy their praise,
Hope to delight, and grieve if I displease.
476
HORACE.
Book IL
FROM SATIRE I. LUCILIUS ; AND HORACE'S DE-
SIRE TO WRITE LIKE HIM.
H. Tell me, Trebatius, are not all mankind
To different pleasures, different whims inclined 1 ?
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 Lucilius, 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 Lucilius laslrd a vicious age,
From conscious villains tore the mask away,
And stripp'd them naked to the glare of day,
Were Laelius or his friend, (whose glorious name
From conquer'd Carthage deathless rose to fame,)
Were they displeased, when villains and their
crimes
Were cover'd 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 Laelius' 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 Lucilius 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 maddening 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,
Whate'er 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 VI. COUNTRY 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.
477
If thus I neither pray nor ponder,
Oh! might I have that angle yonder,
Which disproportions now my field,
What satisfaction it would yield!
Oh that some lucky 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 farcy, fatten;
And thou continue still to guard,
As thou art wont, thy suppliant bard !
Whilst losing, in Rome's busy maze,
The calm and sunshine of my days,
How oft, with fervour I repeat
' U hen shall I see my sweet retreat?
Oh, when with books of sages deep,
Sequester'd ease and gentle sleep,
:';. 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?
O 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 die bedlam rules
Of roaring prodigals and fools.
Whether in merry mood or whim,
}! tills his bumper to the brim;
Or, better pleased to let it pass,
Grows mellow with a moderate glass.
FROM SATIRE VII. FIIEEDOX.
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 f>-ar inspire,
Who boldly answers to his warm desire,
an ambition's vainest gifts despise,
Firm in himself, who on himself relies,
Poliff his back, or from his mouth the bit.
So they, who poverty too much do fear,
T avoid that weight, a greater burden bear;
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.
A nd all this mischief does upon them light,
Only, because they know not how, aright,
That great, but secret, happiness to prize,
That's laid up in a little, for the v
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 desires at last,
And cheerfully enjoy the wealth thou hast:
And, if me seeking still for more you see,
Chide and reproach, despise ;uid laugh at me.
Money was made, not to command our will,
But all our lawful pleasures to fulfil:
Shame! woe to us, il" we our wraith obey:
The horse doth with the horseman run away.
THO* EPISTLE XVI. THE GOOD.
FALSE prai.-e can charm, unreal shame control
Whom, but r a sickly soul?
Who then is L''i'.,l i Who careful .
The senate's :ces, nor ever swerves
From the known rules of justice and the laws:
Whose bail secures, whose oath decides a c:i
Vet his o\vn hour-e, his neighbours, through his
art
Iiehold an inward baseness in his heart.
Suppose .a slave should say. "I iicvt-r steal;
I never ran away" -Nor do you feel
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, Phoebus, 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 caitiff dare
In honest freedom with a slave compare ?
Whoever wishes, is with fear possessed ;
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 threatenings I dis-
dain."
King. I'll take away thy goods.
Bac. Perhaps you mean
My oattle, 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."*
Death is that god the poet here intends,
That utmost bound, where human sorrow ends.
Book II.
FROM EPISTLES 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 and roots his appetite allay:
And though unlit 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.
480
HORACE.
If you allow that things of trivial weight
May yet support the grandeur of a state.
He forms the infant's tongue to firmer sound,
Nor suffers 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,
Shine forth examples to each rising age ;
The languid hour 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-melodious lays
Th' offended 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 Syl van's shrine.
Then to the genius of their fleeting hours,
Mindful of life's short date, they offer'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 untouch'd, as in a public cause,
Implord 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 verse its numbers to refine,
And our rude style with 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 from 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,
Though 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,
And sat applauding in extatic rage :
In other points a person, who maintained
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 COVETOUSNESS.
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
More 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.
481
To Plautus and Csecilius : or shall I
Be envied, if my little fund supply
Its frugal 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,
Ncr less of coining words, is still confess'd,
If with a legal, public stamp impress'd.
As when the forest, with the bending year,
First sheds the leaves which earliest appear,
So an old age of words maturely dies,
Ot.iers new-born in youth and vigour rise.
We and our noblest works to fate must 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 Coesar'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 you fix your scene,
Their genius, customs, dialects maintain.
Or follow fame, or in th' invented tale
Lot seteming, well-united truth prevail:
If Homer's great Achilles tread the stage,
Intrepid, fierce, of unforgiving rage,
Like Homer's 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.
F.rom realm to realm her griefs let lo bear,
Ami sad Orestes rave in deep despair.
But if you venture on an untried theme,
And form a person yet unknown to fame,
From his first entrance to the closing scene,
L >t him one equal character maintain.
'Tis hard a new-form'd fable 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 sph-
From whence (while you should only imitate)
Sl.iame and the rules forbid you to retreat.
Begin your work with modest grace and plain,
N or like the bard of everlasting strain,
" I sing the glorious war and Priam's fate"
How will the boaster hold this yawning rate ?
61
The mountains labourd with prodigious throes,
And, lo ! a mouse ridiculous 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,
Manners and towns of various nations view'd ;
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,
Chary bd is barks, and Polyphemus roars.
He would not, like our modern poet, date
His hero's wanderings from his uncle's fate j
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 public judgment are the same;
Then hear what I, and what your audience claim.
If you would 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-fornvd 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 different aims, in search of wealth and mends;
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,
Fearful to use what they with fear possess,
While doubt and dread their faculties depress.
Fond of delay, they trust in hope no more,
Listless, and fearful of th' approaching hour;
Morose, complaining, and with tedious praise
Talking the manners of their youthful days;
Severe to censure; earnest t> a I vise,
And with old saws the present age ehastise.
The blessings flowing in with life's full tide
Down with our ebb of life decreasing glide ;
Thru 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-wrcught
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
2Q
482
TIBULLUS.
But yet let nothing on the stage be brought,
Which better should behind the scenes be
wrought;
Nor force th' unwilling audience to behold
What may with grace and eloquence be told.
Let not Medea, with unnatural 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 ^Eschylus 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 the 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.
[Born about 62, Died 18, B. C.]
ALBIUS 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 :
Albiiis ! in whom my satires find
A critic, most sincere and kind,
What dost thou now on Pedan plains?
Write verse, outvying Cassius' strains 1
Steal, silent, through the healthful wood,
With thoughts that fit the wise and good!
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 use 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 board, 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 ura.
TIBULLUS.
483
FROM THE ELEGIES.
Book I.
FROM ELEGT I. TO DELIA.
LET others heap of wealth a shining store,
And, much possessing, labour still for more;
L?t them disquieted with dire alarms
Aspire to win a dang'rous fame in arms;
mquil poverty shall lull to rest,
Humbly secure and indolently blest;
Warrn'd by the blaze of my own cheerful hearth
I'.l 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,
Sufe in her arms, the tempest howling near;
Or, while the wintry clouds their deluge pour,
S. umber, assisted by the beating shower!
Ah ! how much happier than the fool who braves,
In search of wealth, the black tempestuous
waves!
While 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 should 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
E!ow 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 I-
And Parthian tyrants tremble at his name,
Though bright in arms, while hosts around him
bl*
With martial pride he prest the foaming steed.
No pomps 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 y-t 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;
Wound 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.
FROM ELEGT III. THE GOLDKX AGE.
How blest the man in Saturn's golden days,
Ere distant climes were join'd by lengthened 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 the
grounds
No scanty landmarks parcell'd out the bounds ;
From every oak redundant honey ran,
And ewes spontaneous bore their milk to man ;
No death ful arms were forg'd, no war was wag'd,
No rapine plunder'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 ray humble tomb:
"Following Messala over earth and wave,
Here rests Tibullus, in his early grave."
FROM ELEGT X. WAR AX D 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.
O had I lived in gentle days like these,
To love devoted and to home-felt ease 1
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
Ftom 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 blaz'd ;
Yet white-robed Faith conducted every swain,
Yet meek-eyed Piety seren'd the plain,
While clustering grapes or wheat-wreaths round
your hair,
Appeas'd your anger and engaged your care,
484
TIBULLUS.
Or dulcet cakes himself the farmer paid,
When crown'd his wishes by your powerful aid ;
While his fair daughter brought 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 ;
White 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 offspring 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.
Boo* III.
FROM ELEGY II.
AND when, a slender shade, I shall aspire
From smouldering embers and the funeral fire,
May sad Nesera 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 and 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.
Book IV.
SITLPICIA.
MARS ! on thy calends, fair Sulpicia see,
Deck'd in her gay habiliments for thee.
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,
all in snowy white the nymph is drest,
All, all she graces, still supremely fair,
Still charms spectators with a fond despair.
A thousand dresses thus Vertumnus wears,
And beauteous equally in each appears.
SULPICIA ON CERIKTHUS GOIXG TO THE CHASE.
WHETHER, fierce boars, in flowery meads ye stray,
3r 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, might 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 charm'st my sight
Still, though 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 wants 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 light, 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 hs.ve
been considered by some as the compositions of
another writer. Dissenius, however, center ds
for Tibullus, and supposes them to have been
written by him, under the assumed characters of
Cerinthus and Sulpicia.
PROPERTIUS.
[Born 52,-Died 14, B. C.J
OF Sextus Aurelius 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 pursuits; acquired the favour
of Mecsenas 5 and was on terms of intimacy with
FROM THE ELEGIES.
Book II.
FROM ELEOY I.
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 laurell'd triumph, and the sculpturd 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,
Ncr lofty Carthage struggling with her fate.
Here should Augustus great in arms appear,
And thou, Mecoenas, be my second care ;
Here Mutina from Jlarnes and famine free,
And there the ensanguin'd war of Sicily,
And seepter'd Alexandria's captive shore,
And sad Philippi, red with Roman gore :
Then, while the vaulted skies loud i'os 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 Phlegm's blasted plain;
Nor I with unarcnstom'd vigour trace
Buck to its source divine the Julian race-
rs, to tell of winds and seas delight,
-iiepherd of the Hock, the >oldier of the fight,
A milder warfare I in \vrse display;
Kadi iii his proper art should waste the day:
A ir thou my gentle calling disapprove,
T> die is glorious in the Led of love.
Happy the youth, and not unknown to fame,
Whose heart has never fi-lt a second ilame.
O i might that envied happine>s 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 con;
Condemns her lickle sex's fond mistake.
A nd hates the tale of Troy for Helen's sake.
Virgil, Ovid, and Bassus. Considered as a writer
of amorous elegy, Propertius must be ranked
below Tibullus, having little or none of that un-
studied ease and elegance which we so much
admire in the latter.
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 Phoebus' 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 wound ?
The bed avails not, nor the leech's care,
Nor changing skies can hurt, nor sultry air.
'Tis hard th' 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 f
(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.
ELEOY IX. THE EFFIOT OF LOVE.
HAD 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 lo
And soil with hard, and light with heavy,
mix'd.
But God. or Nature, while they t'ms contend,
To these int. ut an end.
Then earth from air, and seas from earth, were
driven.
And grosser air sunk from ethereal heaven.
Thus disembroil'd, they take tlieir proper place;
The next of kin contiguously embrace;
And foes are sunder'd by a larger space.
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 numerous throng
Of ponderous, thick, uuwieldly, seeds along.
About her coasts unruly waters roar,
And, rising on a ridge, insult the 1 shore.
Thus when the god, whatever god was he,
Had fbrnrd 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 ample oceans disembogued, are lo-t.
He shades the woods, the valleys he restrains
With rocky mountains, and extends the plains.
And as five zones the rthereal regions bind,
Five, correspondent, are to earth as>ign'd :
The sun, with rays directly darting down,
Fires all beneath, and Cries the middle zone;
The two beneath the di.-tant ]><>]<> complain
Of endless winter, and perpetual rain.
Betwixt tl haj. pier climates hold
The temper that partakes of hot and cold.
The fields of liquid air, enclo-ing all,
Surround the compass of this earthly ball:
The lighter parts lie next the lires 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 their wings cold winter bear.
488
OVID.
Nor were those blust'ring brethren left at large,
On seas and shores their fury to discharge:
Bound as they are, and circumscribed in place,
They rend the world, resistless, where they
And mighty marks of mischief leave behind j
Such is the rage of their tempestuous kind.
First Eurus to the rising morn is sent
(The regions of the balmy 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 overlaid 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 then was Man design'd :
Conscious of thought, of more capacious breast,
For empire form'd, 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, wlrile 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.
GOLDEN AGE.
THE golden age was first, when man, yet new,
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 sultry 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.
BRAZEN AGE.
To this came next in course the brazen age;
A warlike oft'spring, prompt to bloody rage,
Not impious yet.
IRON 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 hollow'd, did the waves sustain,
Ere ships in triumph plough'd 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,
Digg'd 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.
489
And double death did wretched man invade,
Ey steel assaulted, and by gold betrayed.
Now (brandish'd weapons glittering in their
hands)
Mankind is broken loose from moral bands :
No rights of hospitality remain ;
The guest, by him who harbour'd him, is slain;
The son-in-law pursues the father's life ;
The wife her husband murders, he the wife ;
The stepdame poison 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 DELUGE.
ALREADY had Jove toss'd the flaming brand,
And roll'd the thunder 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-tree of heaven.
Rememb'ring, in the Fates, a time, when 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 dismiss'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 breath, that freezes floods, he
binds;
With all the race of cloud-dispelling winds :
The South he loos'd, who night 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 dye,
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 labours 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 him with auxiliary waves.
The wat'ry tyrant calls his brooks and floods,
Who roll from mossy caves, their moist abodes ;
And with perpetual urns his palace fill :
To whom, in brief, he thus imparts his will.
Small exhortation needs; your powers employ:
A.nd this bad world (so Jove requires] destroy.
Let loose the reins to all your wat'ry store:
Bear down the dams, and open every door.
The floods, by nature enemies to land,
And proudly swelling with their new command,
Remove the living stones that stnpp'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 ready passage found.
The expanded waters gather on the plain,
They float the fields, and overtop the grain ;
Then rushing onwards, with a sweepy sway,
Bear flocks, and folds, and lab'ring hinds away.
Nor safe their dwellings were; for, sapp'd by
floods,
Their houses fell upon their household gods.
The solid piles, 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 cliff; 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 cropp'd the
grass,
The monsters of the deep now take their place.
Insulting 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 deep :
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 food.
A mountain of stupendous height there stands
Betwixt the Athenian and Boeotian lands,
The bound of fruitful fields, 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 cliff,
Deucalion, wafted, moor'd his little skiff.
He with his wife were only left behind
Of perish 'd man; they two were human kind.
The Mountain-nymphs and Themis they adore,
And from her oracles relief implore.
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 puff 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.
490
OVID.
A thin circumference of land appears ;
And Earth, but not at once, her visage rears,
And peeps upon 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 dishonoured 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 Peneus 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:
"Phffibus, thy shafts are sure on all beside,
But mine on Phoebus; mine the fame shall be
Of all thy conquests, when I conquer thee.' :
He said, and soaring, swiftly wing'd his flight,
Nor stopp'd, but on Parnassus' airy height.
Two different shafts he from his quiver draws,
One to repel desire, and one to cause.
One shaft 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 loath'd embrace:
In hunting beasts of prey her youth employs,
And Phcebe 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,
Opposed 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-turn'd neck he view'd (her neck was
bare,)
And on her shoulders her dishevell'd hair :
"0 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 pursuit !
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.
Medicine 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 afford
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.
491
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 chase ;
Now breathes upon her hair, with nearer pace ;
And just is fastening on the wish'd embrace.
The nymph grew pale, and, in a mortal fright,
Spent with the labour of so long a flight,
A nd now despairing, cast a mournful look
Upon the streams of her pateraal brook:
<; O help," she cried, "in this extremest need!
If water-gods are deities indeed ;
(Jape earth, and this unhappy wretch entomb ;
Or change that form, whence all my sorrows
come."
Scarce had she finish'd, when her feet she found
Benumb'd with cold, and fasten'd to the ground ;
A filmy rind about her body grows ;
Her hair to leaves, her arms extend to boughs :
The nymph is all into a laurel gone ;
The smoothness of her skin remains alone.
Yet Phcebus loves her still, and, casting round
Her bole his arms, some little warmth he found.
The tree still panted in the unfinish'd part,
Not wholly vegetive, and heaved her heart.
He fix'd 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,
When 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 unharm'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.
IO TRANSFORMED 1XTO A COW.
Ox 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 with
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 ; >he sjxike not, but she low'd :
Allrighted with the noise, she look'd around,
And seein'd to inquire the author of the sound.
Once on the bank> where often she had play'd
(Her father's banks) she came, ami there survey 'd
Her alter'd visage, and her branching head ;
And, starting, from herself she would have fled.
Her fellow-nymphs, familiar to her eyes,
Beheld, but knew her not in this disguise;
M'en Inaehus himself wa> 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 lick'd 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.
8TORT OF BAUCIS AND PHILEMON.
THEN Lelex rose, an old experienced man,
And thus, with sober gravity, began :
"Heaven's power 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 j
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 bis thunder, one his rod,
And many toilsome steps together trod :
For harbour at a thousand doors they knock'd;
Not one of all the thousand 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 happy pair:
Now old in love, though little was their store,
Inured to want, their poverty they bore,
Nor ainrd at wealth, professing to be poor.
For master or for servant here to call
Were all alike, where only 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 :
The man (their hearty welcome iirst expres-'d)
A common settle drew for either guest,
Inviting each his weary limbs to rest.
But ere they sat, officious Baucis lays
Two cushions sturTd with straw, the seat 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 fire.
It smokes; and then with trembling breath she
blo\
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.
492
OVID.
The fire thus Ibrm'd, she sets the kettle on
(Like burnish'd gold the little seether shone;)
Next took the coleworts which her husband got
From his own ground (a small, well-water'd
spot;)
She stripp'd the stalks of all their leaves ; the best
She cull'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 time between, before the fire they sat,
And shorten'd the delay by pleasing chat.
"A beam there was, on which a beechen pail
Hung by the handle, on a driven nail :
This fill'd with 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.
The 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-gather'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 wine 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 were 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,
Varnish'd with wax without, and lined within.
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 working in the must, and lately press'd.
The second course succeeds like that before,
Plums, apples, nuts; and of their wintry store
Dry figs, arid grapes, and wrinkled dates were set
In canisters, to enlarge the little treat :
All these a milkwhite honey-comb surround,
Which in the midst a country banquet crown'd :
But the kind hosts their entertainment grace
With hearty welcome, 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 went round,
and still,
Though often emptied, were observed to fill :
I Fill'd without 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 common grape, increased ;
And up they held their hands, and fell to pray'r,
Excusing, as they could, 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 perish 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 staff (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, woman, only worthy found
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 widow's tears may live to bury me,
Nor weeping I, with wither'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.
493
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,
A:id saw his lengthen'd arms a sprouting wood :
Naw 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 spouse,' they said;
At once the encroaching rinds their closing lips
invade.
E'en yet, an ancient Tyanaean shows
A spreading oak, that near 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 hung for gifts of granted vows;
And offering fresher up, with pious prayer,
'The good,' said I, 'are God's peculiar care,
And such as honour Heaven, shall heavenly
honour share.' "
Book X.
PTGMALIOJT AXD HIS STATUE.
PTGMALIOX, loathing their lascivious life,*
Abhorr'd all womankind, but 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.
la 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 stirr'd,
but strove
With modesty, and was ashamed to move :
Art hid with art, so well perform'd the cheat,
It caught the carver with 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 Cypriots due devotion pay;
With gilded horns the milk white luMtcrs led,
Slaughtered before the sacred altars hi
Pygmalion offering, first approach'd the shrine,
And then with prayers implored the powers
divine:
Almighty gods, if all we 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, present at the prayer,
Well knew he meant th' inanimated fair,
* The life of the Cyprian women.
And gave the sign of granting his desire;
For thrice in cheerful flames ascends the fire.
The youth, returning to his mistress, hies,
And, impudent in hope, with ardent eyes,
And beating breast, by the dear statue lies.
He kisses her white lips, renews the bliss,
And looks, and thinks they redden at the kiss ;
He thought them warm before, 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
'Tvvas 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 would 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 her eyes,
And view'd at once the light and lover with
surprise.
The goddess, present at the match she 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 XL
THE HOUSE OF SLEEP.
DEEP in a cavern dwells the drowsy god,
Whose gloomy mansion, nor the rising sun,
Nor setting, visits, nor the lightsome noon :
But lazy vapours round the region fly,
Perpetual twilight, 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 tame 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 murmurs calls the coming sleeps.
Around its entry nodding poppies grow,
And all cool simples that sweet rest bestow ;
Night from the plants their sleepy virtue drains,
And, passing, sheds it on the silent plains.
No door there was, the unguarded house to keep,
On creaking hinges turn'd, to break his sleep.
But in the gloomy court was raised a bed,
Stuff 'd with black plumes, and on an ebon 'sted;
IB
494
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, disturbed with this new glare of light,
Cast sudden on his face, unseal'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 walls are made,
Nor gate, nor bars, exclude the busy trade :
'Tis built of brass, the better to diffuse
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 insulted shore;
Or like the broken thunder heard from far,
When Jove to distance drives the rolling war.
The courts are fill'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.
PYTHAGOHEAX PHILOSOPHY.
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 mellow'd by the frost;
While kirie 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 browse, 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.
Ill 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
tilled
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 finished autumn, and the spring began.
Why thus affrighted at an empty name,
A dream of darkness, and fictitious flame?
Vain themes of wit, which but in poerns 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.
495
My name and lineage I remember well,
And how in fight by Sparta's king I fell.
In Argive Juno's fane I late beheld
My buckler hung on high, and own'd my former
shield.
Then death, so call'd, is but old matter dress'd
In some new figure, and a varied vest:
Thus 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, where 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 call'd 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 surfer inmate souls secure to dwell,
Lest from their seats your parents you expel;
With rabid hunger feed upon your kind,
Or from 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
Xo steadfast 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,
Anil innovates some act, till then unknown.
Perceiv'st thou not the process 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, thou-h fresh, and wanting to be led.
The green stem grows in stature, and in size,
But only feeds with hope the fanner's eyes;
Then laughs the childish year with flow'rets
crown d,
And lavishly perfumes the fields around.
But no substantial nourishment receives;
Infirm the stalks, unsolid are the leaves.
Proceeding onward wfcence 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.
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 repine to mix with odious
gray.
Last, winter creeps along with tardy pace ;
Sour is his front, and furrow'd is his face:
His scalp, if not dishonour'd quite of hair,
The ragged fleece is thin ; arid thin is worse than
bare.
E'en our own bodies daily change receive,
Some part of what was theirs before, they leave;
Nbr 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 coagulated 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 he 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 slacken'd 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 different 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 unclogg'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 :
496
OVID.
Earth ratifies 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 her 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 floods 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 suffer 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; his 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 out unfinish'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 ?
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 fulfill'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 off his parent dust, his method he pur-
sues,
And the same lease of life on the same terms
rene-ws.
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.
Ill 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.
497
Deaf to the harmless kid, that, ere he dies,
All method 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 employ,
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 affright,
Nor purple feathers intercept his flight:
Nor hooks conceal'd in baits for fish prepare,
.Vor lines to heave them twinkling up in air.
Take not away the life you cannot give ;
For all things have an equal right 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
Round Ardea's bulwarks wear their hours away;
And while within their foes beleaguer'd lie,
All in the camp is sport and revelry.
There, while 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,
"Words 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 young Tarquin : s bride they
find.
Not so Lucretia, where her couch beside
The wool's soft thread her slender fingers guide;
By the small taper's low and frugal li^'lit
Her busy maidens toil the livelong night.
H;iste 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 dims 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 they roll !
How pure her cheek, how Worthy of her soul !
"Fear not," her husband cried; then up 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-white 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 beam'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 unwilling murmur broke,
Her eye still linger'd downward while she spoke:
"This too," 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 dagger 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 with 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,
SB)
498
OVID.
Grasp'd the red steel yet dropping with her gore,
Arid thus his threatening oath of vengeance
swore :
"Here, by thy blood, thine injured blood, I vow,
By thy pure shade which hovers o'er me now,
No incomplete revenge, while thus I wake
From my feign'd trance, on Tarquin's race to
take.'''
How grateful this, her dying signs declare ;
She roll'd 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 110 more the race of Tarquin fly,
And Consuls, yearly named, their place supply.
THE EPISTLE OF DIDO TO AENEAS.
, the son of Venus and Anchises, having,
at the destruction of Troy, saved his father 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 JEneas
to depart in quest of Italy, a kingdom promised
to him by the gods, he readily promises to obey
him. 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 affection 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 flies the searcher's care.
Nor can my rising towers your flight restrain,
Nor my new empire, offer'd 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 void 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;
^Eneas 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 harderi'd oak, or from a rock's cold womb,
Or from some cruel tigress thou art come,
Or, on rough 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'm 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 tempest cease,
And the loud winds are lull'd 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 wave 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 threat'ning 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 :
M.y 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 pursuing 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 but the gods, for crimes like these,
Seven winters kept thee wand'ring on the seas.
Thy starved companions, cast ashore, I fed,
Thyself admitted to my crown and bed.
OVID.
499
To harbour strangers, succour the distress'd,
Was kind enough: but oh. too kind the rest!
Oh chastity and violated lame,
your dues to my dead husband's name!
By death redeem my reputation lost;
A nd to his arms restore my guilty ghost.
Close by my palace, in a gloomy g
Is raised a chapel to my mnrder'd love;
There, wreathed with boughs and wool, his statue
stands,
The pious monument of artful hand- :
Last night, methonght he rallV me from the dome,
And thrice, with hollow voice, cried, "Dido,
come."
She comes; thy wife thy lawful summons hears;
Imt comes more slowly, clogg'd with conscious
fears.
Forgive the wrong I offer'd to thy bed,
Strong were Lis charms, who my weak faith
misled.
His goddess mother, and his aged sire,
Borne on his back, did to my fall conspire.
Oh Mich he was, and is, that were he true,
Without a blush I might his love pursue.
Hut cruel stars my birthday did attend:
And. a.s 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,
1 bought the ground on which my city stands;
With all the coast that stivtehes to the sea;
K'en to the frii-ndly port that shelter'd thee:
Then rai>ed these walls, which mount into the air,
At once my neighbours' wonder, and their fear.
For now they arm; and round me leagues are
in-
:ibii-h'd empire to invade.
To man my new-built walls I must prepare,
A helpies- woman, and unskill'd in war.
Yet thousand rivals to my love pretend,
And for my person would my crown defend:
:iint agree,
That each unjustly is disdain'd lor thee.
To proud Iar!>a- give me up a prey
thai must iM.ow it'thou L'oe-t away :)
Or to my husband's- murderer leave my life;
That to the husband he may add the v.
(io i: plaints can move thy mind :
(io. p.-rjur'd man. but [( r,miM ta \in\\\\ rirhly l>oril--n-\VI1.
and entered into a state of comparative unit- pi- n.l..- nc.-
und liberty.
Or how, while listening, with increas'd delight,
I snatch'd from feasts, the earlier hours of night?
One time (for to your bosom still I grew)
One time of study, and of rest, we knew;
One frugal board, where, every care resign 'd,
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 whether destiny's unerring doom,
In equal Libra, pois'd our days to come;
Or friendship's holy hour our fates combin'd,
And to the twins, a sacred c! u'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 species of mankind,
Countless the shades which separate man from
mind ;
No general object of desire is known ;
Each has his will, and each pursues his own.
With Latian wares, one roam- 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; that 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 M ire to find.)
That certain end, which stays the wavering
mind ;
Stores, which endure, when other mean- decay,
Through lit v.-ay!
Riu'ht: and to-morrow tin- shall lie our <
Alas! to-morrow, like to-day, will
What! is one day. for.-< a a boon?''
But when it comes, (and eoine it will too soon,)
Relleet. that yesterday's to-morrow's o'er.
Thu< one -'to-morrow!" one "to-morrow!" more,
long year- before them fade away;
And .-till appear no nearer than to-day!
ile the wheels on different axles roll,
In vain, (though govern'.! by the l"lc.)
The hindmost to o'ertake the fop--
Fast as the one pursues, the other
* i. . iviih Stuir philosophy. riranthfs was one of
the iini-t ilistiimui^hed fflloivcru of Zeno, the founder
of the school.
LUCAN.
[Born 39, Died 66, A. D.]
MARCUS Annmus LUCAJTUS was the son of
Marcus Annseus Mela, a Roman knight, and of
Caia Acilia, a daughter 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 questor, and gained
admission into the college of Augurs, even before
he had attained the age requisite for those offices.
But the tide of court favour soon turned. Having
ventured to dispute with his master, Nero, the
prize of poetry, he was prohibited 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
FROM LUCAN'S PHARSALIA.
Book I.
RUIN OCCASIONED BT THE CIVIL WARS 1ST ITALY.
EMATHIAN plains with slaughter cover'd o'er,
And rage unknown to civil wars before,
Established violence, and lawless might,
Avow'd and hallow'd by the name of right;
A race renowned, 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 shattered 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 afford
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 provoke 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 shade !
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 !
504
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 Polla Argentaria, a lady
praised by Statins for her accomplishments and
ingenuous manners.
* Elton quotes some lines from the third book, as the
passage recited on the occasion ; others incline towards
a passage in the ninth book : but see Howe's Lucan, book
iii. 995, and book ix. 1378.
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 afford,
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 column lies,
While weeds obscene above the cornice rise.
Here gaping wide, half-ruin'd walls remain,
There mouldering pillars nodding roots sustain-
The landscape 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' untrodden green,
No cheerful maid nor villager is seen.
LUCAN.
505
Ev'n in her cities lamous once and great,
Where thousands thousands throng'd the noisy
street,
No sonnd is heard of human voices now,
But whistling winds thro r empty dwellings blow ;
While passing strangers wonder, if they spy
One single melancholy face go by.
POMPEY AUD C.T.SAIl.
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,f thy past deeds by turns infest,
And jealous glory burns within thy breast;
Thy fanrd piratic laurel seems to fade,
Beneath successful Caesar's rising shade ;
His Gallic wreaths thou view'st with anxious
eyes*
Above thy naval crowns triumphant rise.
Thee, Ca?sar, 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 t<> 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 increa>in^ years began to yield,
Old Age cainr creeping in the peaceful gown,
And civil functions weigh'd the soldier down;
Disused to arms, he turn'd him to the laws,
And pleas'd himself with popular applause;
With gifts, and lib'ral bounty solicit fur lame,
And loved to hoar 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 Cesar, and married
to Pompey.
t 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.
Careless of future ills that might betide,
No aid he sought to prop his failing side,
But on his former fortune much relied^
Still seem'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 displayed,
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 rioh in youthful verdure round him rise ;
Fix'd in his ancient state he yields to none,
And wears the honours of the grove alone.
But Caesar'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 prodigal 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 withheld 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 scattered fires.
Motives like these the leading chiefs inspir'd;
But other thoughts the meaner vulgar lir'd
Those fatal seeds luxuriant vices saw,
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 lied 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 dainties, 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,
506
LUCAN.
Wherever aught pernicious does abound,
For luxury all lands are ransack'd round,
And dear-bought deaths the sinking state con-
found.
The Curii's and Camilli'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 in-
vade,
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 arid 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, the needy bankrupt's last resort.
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 seek 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;
Provoke approaching fate, and bravely scorn
To spare that life which must so soon return.*
* Swiftly the soul of British flame
Animates some kindred frame,
Swiftly to light and life triumphant flies,
Again exults in martial extasies,
Again for freedom fights, again for freedom dies.
Mason's Caractacus.
Book II.
CATO AND MARTIA.
Now 'gan the sun to lift his dawning light,
Before him fled the colder shades of night ;
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 paid,
Forth from his monument the mournful dame,
With beaten breasts, and locks dishevell'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 equal to a mother's pains,
To thee obedient, I 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 inarches arid thy camps to know ;
Nor let posterity with shame record,
Corneliaf follow'd, Martia left, her lord.
She said. The hero's manly heart was mov'd,
And the chaste matron's virtuous suit approv'd.
And though the times far difTring thoughts de-
mand,
Though war dissents from hymen's holy band ;
In plain unsolemn wise his faith he plights,
And calls the gods to view the lonely rites.
No genial bed, with rich embroidery grac'd,
On iv'ry steps in lofty state was plac'd.
But, as she was, in funeral attire,
With all the sadness sorrow could inspire,
With eyes dejected, with a joyless face,
She met her husband's, like a son's, embrace.
No Sabine mirth provokes the bridegroom's ears,
Nor sprightly wit the glad assembly cheers.
No friends, nor ev'n their children, grace the feast,
Brutus attends, their only nuptial guest:
He stands a witness of the silent rite,
And sees the melancholy pair unite.
Nor he, the chief his sacred visage cheer'd,
Nor smooth'd his matted locks, or horrid beard ;
Nor deigns 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 ;
* See this story in Plutarch,
t The wife of Pompey.
LUCAN.
507
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 this the stubborn course in which they ran ;
The golden mean unchanging to pursue,
Constant to keep the purpos'd end in view;
Religiously to follow nature's la
And die with pleasure in his country's cause,
To think he was not for himself design'd,
But born to be of use to all mankind.
To him 'twas feasting, hunger to repress ;
And home-spun garments were his costly dress :
No marble pillars rear'd his roof on high,
; T\vas warm, and kept him from the winter sky.
He sought no end of marriage, but increase,
Nor wish'd a pleasure, but his country's peace :
That took up all the tend'rest parts of life,
His country was his children and his wife.
From justice 1 righteous lore he never swerv'd,
But rigidly his honesty preserv'd.
On universal good his thoughts were bent,
Nor knew what gain, or self-affection meant;
And while his benefits the public share,
Cato was always last in Cato's care.
Book IV.
FRIENDLY MEETIXfi BETWEEN THE SOLDIERS OF
THE TWO CAMPS.
NEAR neighb'ring now the camps intrench'd are
seen,
With scarce a narrow interval between.
Soon as their eyes o'ershoot the middle space.
From either hosts, sires, sons, and brothers trace
The well-known features of some kindred face.
Then first their hearts with tenderness were
struck,
First with remorse for civil rage they shook;
Stiff'ning with horror cold, and dire amaze,
Awhile in silent interviews they gaze :
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 trail sgress'd.
As at a signal, both their trenches quit,
And spreading arms in close embraces knit:
Niw 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 by guilt,
But speak, unhappy Roman ! speak thy pain,
Say for what woes thy streaming eyes complain ?
Why dost thou groan ? 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?
Ah ! whither art thou by thy fears betray "d ?
How canst thou dread that power thyself hast
made!
Do Caesar's trumpets call thee? Scorn the sound.
Does he bid, march? Dare thou to keep thy
ground.
So rage and slaughter shall to justice yield,
And fierce Erinuys quit the fatal field :
Caesar in peace a private state shall know,
And Pompey be no longer call'd his foe.
Appear, thou heavenly Concord! blest appear!
And shed thy better influences here.
Thou who the warring elemepts 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 light,
While conversation sleepless wastes the night:
Of early feats of arms, by turns they tell,
Of fortunes that in various fields befell,
With well-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 smil'd upon the curs'd accord,
And dy'd with deeper stains the Roman sword.
Book V.
C-KSAH. UNEASY AT THE DELAY OF MARK ANTHONY,
LEAVK HIS (AMP BY NIGHT. AM) VENTURES
OVER A TEMPESTUOUS SEA, IX A SMALL BARK,
TO HASTEN HIS M UJCH.
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,
Nur would b- wanting, when they urg'd him on;
Fierce, and impatient of the tedious stay.
Resolves by night to prove the doubtful way:
Bold in a single skiff he means to go,
And tempt those seas that navies dare not plough.
; Twas now the time when cares and labours
508-
LUCAN.
Snatch'd from their guilt and toil, the wretched
lay,
And slept the sounder for the painful day.
Through the still camp the night's third hour re-
sounds,
And warns the second watches to their rounds ;
When through the horrors of the murky shade,
Secret the careful warrior's footsteps tread.
His train, unknowing, slept within his tent,
Arid fortune only follow'd where he went.
With silent anger he perceiv'd, around,
The sleepy sentinels bestrew the 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 mould'ring rock a bark was moor'd.
The mighty master of this little boat,
Securely slept within a neighboring 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,
Arid cover'd in from rain the needy shed.
Thrice on the feeble door the warrior stroolc,
Beneath the blow the 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 ?
He spoke; and hasty left his homely bed,
With oozy flags and withering sea-weed spread.
Then from the hearth the smoking match he
takes,
And in the tow the drowsy fire awakes;
Dry leaves, and chips, for fuel, he supplies,
Till kindling 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.
What terrors had you felt that call to hear?
How had your towers and ramparts shook with
fear,
And trembled, as the mighty man drew near!
The door unbarr'd : Expect (the leader said)
Beyond thy hopes, or wishes, to be paid ;
If in this instant hour thou waft me o'er,
With speedy haste, to yon Hesperian shore.
No more shall want thy weary hand constrain,
To work thy bark upon the boist'rous main :
Henceforth good days and plenty shall betide ;
The gods and I, will for thy age provide.
A glorious change attends thy low estate,
Sudden and mighty riches round thee wait;
Be wise, and use the lucky hour of fate.
Thus he; and though in humble vestments
dress'd,
Spite of himself, his words his power express'd,
And Ceesar 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 golden gleams:
Pale shone his middle orb with faintish rays,
And suffer'd mortal eyes at ease to gaze.
Nor rose the silver queen of night serene,
Supine and dull her blunted 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 dolphins play,
And thwart, and run across, and mix their way.
The cormorants the wat'ry deep forsake,
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 proffer 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 quiv'ring
beam ;
Black horrors on the gloomy ocean brood,
And 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 side :
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 Ccesar, still superior to distress,
Fearless, and confident 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 whom 'tis given
Never to want the care of watchful heaven.
Obedient fortune waits my humble thrall,
And always ready comes before I call.
LUCAN.
509
Let winds, and seas, loud wars at freedom wage,
And waste upon themselves their empty rage;
A stronger, mightier daemon is thy friend,
Thou, and thy bark, on Cirsar's fate depend.
Thou stand 'st amaz'd to view this dreadful scene;
Arid wonder'st what the gods and fortune mean!
But artfully their bounties thus they raise,
And from my dangers arrogate new praise ;
Amidst the fears of death they bid me live,
And still enhance what they are sure to give.
Then leave yon shore behi ud with all thy haste,
Nor shall this idle fury longer last.
Thy keel, auspicious, shall the storm appease,
Shall glide triumphant o'er the calmer seas,
And reach Brundusium'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 thund'ring 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 with 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, encount'ring fierce, defied,
And back rebutfeted 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' JEoU&n cell;
But each from every side. his power to boast,
Rang'd his proud forces to defend his coast.
Equal in might, alike they strive in vain,
While in the midst the .seas unmov'd remain:
In lesser wars they yield to stormy heaven,
And captive waves to other deeps are driven ;
The Tyrrhen billows dash JEgean 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 !
:ng Jove long time had hurl'd,
And tired his thunders on a harden'd world :
New wrath, the god. new punishment display 'd,
And call'd his wat'ry brother to his aid :
Offending earth to Neptune's lot he jojn'd.
And bade his floods no longer stand ronfin'd ;
At once the snrg'-s e'er the nations rise,
And seas are only bounded by the skies.
Such now the spreading deluge had been seen,
Had not tli' almighty ruler stood betv.
Proud waves the eloud-eompeliing sire obey'd,
Confessed liis hand suppressing, and were stay'd.
Nor was that gloom the eonimon shade of night,
The friendly darkness, that reli.-ves the light;
But fearful, 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, prevail'd again,
i 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 fail'd,
With Cirsar, 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 Leueadia's lessening dills arise,
On the tall billow's top the vessel flies;
I While the pale master, from the surge's brow,
With giddy eyes surveys the depth below.
When straight the gaping main at once divides,
t On naked sands the rushing bark subsides,
j 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 guides the prow,
To meet the rolling swell, or shun the blow.
At length the universal wreck appear'd,
To Caesar'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 arrn'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 rny 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 sov'reignty, 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 thec, know
j I sunk thus poorly to the shades below.
I Dispose, ye gods ! my carcass as you please,
j Deep let it drown beneath these raging seas;
I ask no urn my ashes to infoM,
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,
Higli on a tenth huge wave his bark was roll'd ;
Nor sunk again, alternate, as before,
But rushing, lodg'd, and fix'd upon the shore.
Rome, and his fortune were at once restor'd,
j And earth again receiv'd him for her lord.
510
LUCAN.
PAHTIXG OF POMPEY AXD CORNELIA.
WHILE thus united Caesar's arms appear,
And fortune draws the great decision near ;
Sad Pompey's soul uneasy thoughts infest,
And his Cornelia pains his anxious breast.
To distant Lesbos fain he would remove,
Far from the war, the partner of his love.
Oh, who can speak, what numbers can reveal
The tenderness, which 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 prepares 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 might,
Advancing Caesar 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 tried,
And my own pleading heart has been denied.
Think not, that distance will increase thy fear:
Ruin, if ruin comes, 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 shalt 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 witli pleasure to the dear retreat.
Stunn'd and astoriish'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 my 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 Cicsar bids us part! thy father comes!
And we must yield to what the tyrant dooms!
Is thy Cornelia's faith so poorly known,
That thou should'st think her safer whilst alone?
Are not our loves, our lives, our fortunes one?
Canst thou, inhuman, drive me from thy side,
And bid 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 5
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 shalt be of troops, and friends bereft,
And wretched flight 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 Caesar will be sure to seek thee there.
So saying, with a groan the matron 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, officious, 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:
Lonely, and comfortless, she takes her flight,
Sad seems the day, and long the sleepless nuilit.
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 eyrs ;
I Fain, with fond arms, her lord she would have
prest,
i But weeps to find the pillow at her breast.
Though 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.
LUCAN.
511
But, oh! too soon the want shall be supplied,
: ' cruelly for that provide :
. the circling hours bring buck her lord,
And Pumpey shall be fatally restor'd.*
Book VII.
LUCAX MOrilMXG OVF.H THE LOST LIB EIITIES OF
HOME.
Lo ! Liberty, long wearied by our crimes,
ikefl us for some better, narb'rous climes j
rteyond the 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 short-liv'd transitory blessing given ?
Can there be -rods, who rule yon azure sky?
Can they behold Emathia from on high,
And yet forbear to bid their lightnings fly?
Is it the bu>ines> of a thund'ring Jove,
ve the rocks, and blast the guiltless grove?
While Cassius holds the balance in his stead,
And wreaks due vengeance on the tyrant's head.
'The Min ran back from Atreus' monstrous i
And his lair beams in murky clouds suppress'd ;
Why shines he now? why lend.- his golden light
To t!.- parricides, this more accursed
htl
But Chance guides all; the gods their task forego,
And Providence no longer reigns below.
TMK <;K \y.n\L c<\ TKLU. it vrro^.f
Kxow 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. di.--olving die.
And lo.-t in Nature's blending bosom
Though now thy cruelty denies a gi;: .
The-e and the world, one common lot shall
ha \
One last appointed flame, bj
Shall wa>te yon a/nre heavens, this fart!.
^liall knead the dea 1 up in one mingled n
Wh" I they shall undi-iinmii^hM
And though thou scorn their fel!ow.-hi;
kno
Huh as thy own can soar, these souls shall go;
Or find, pci
* Bp ' nnlia, MI another |).irt tif tlie Phar-
salin. our |>< iet says:
,\ as sli- InvM. so winnim: \v:is her irr
Sucli l'Wly sueetness ilwHt upon h, i
In such humility her lite <\\>- li-.l.
E'en w Inlf ti-T lord was Rome's <-nmmanilinp hond.
As if hN I'ortuiir were a'.n-a.iy ll.-.l. Ho.. ;
t Had Luran ever conversed with Si IVter at ;
or seen that epistle of his, wherein lie speaks, t be bold in ills,
And lind his safety from the blood he spills.
For piety, and virtue's starving ruh-s.
To mean retirements let them lead their fools:
There, may they 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 OF POMPET.
MKAXTIMK the shores, the seas, and skies
around,
With mournful cries for Pompey's death resound.
A rare example have their sorrows shown,
Vet in no age beside, m.r people known.
How falling power did with compassion meet,
And crowds deplor'd tlie ruins of the great.
But oh ! not all the sorrows of the crowd
That spoke their free impatient thoughts aloud,
That tax'd the gods, as authors of their woe.
And o n with nedect of things below,
Not all the marks of the wild people's love,
The hero's soul, like Cato's
1-Vw were his words, but from an honest heart.
Where faction and where favour had no part,
But truth made up lor pa-si. m and for art.
^ . /<-n. (he said.)
One n|' the in iliie^t < if that name is dead ;
Who. though not equal to our fathers found,
Nor by their strictest ruies ,,)' justice hound.
Yet from his faults this henelit we draw,
He. | 'or his com:- her law.
To keep a hold, licent, i we.
held her still, though he was
He -way'.; . but they rul'd the state.
When crov have worn his
chain,
He chose his |> n \ ;,!,
That all miicht free, and equal all remain.
War's boiind!e-s power he never sought to use,
Nor ask'd, but what the people might refuse:
512
LUCAN.
Much he possess'd, and wealthy was his store,
Yet still he gathered 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 he was forcM to arm ;
Unrnov'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 afford,
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,
Happy by falling with the falling state,
Thy death a benefit the gods did grant,
Thou might'st-have liv'd those Pharian swords
to want
Freedom, at least, thou didst by dying gain."
CATO IJT THE DESEUTS OF AFRICA.
Now near approaching to the burning zone,
To warmer, calmer skies they journey'd on.
The slack'ning 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 the 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 think'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 I 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 wrathful stretching forth his hand,
Pour'd out the precious draught upon 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 Libyan lands revere ;
There, but unlike 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 Ammon 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 confin'd,
With Araby the blest, and wealthy Ind;
Yet no proud domes are rais'd, no gems are seen,
To blaze upon his shrines with costly sheen ;
But plain and poor, arid 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 from 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
bound,
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 before 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 from 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.
To thee, 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 Caesar, 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 rule 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, Labienus ! would thy fond desire
Of horned Jove's prophetic shrine inquire,
Whether to seek in arms a glorious doom,
Or basely live, and see a king in Rome ?
SILIUS-ITALICUS.
513
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,
An 1 right, dependent on itself alone,
Gains no addition from success 'tis known :
Fis'd in 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,
Th.ls 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 Lybia's desert sands confin'd,
There known to few, obscur'd and lost to lie.
Is here a temple of the Deity
Except earth, sea, and air, yon azure pole,
Ard 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,
W.th pious awe to juggling priests repair;
I credit not what lying prophets tell
Dtath is the only certain oracle.
Book X.
ALEXANDER THE GREAT.
HKRE 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 :
H:s bones, that better had been toss'd and hurl'd,
With just contempt, around the injur'd world.
But fortune spar'd the dead ; and partial fate,
For ages, iix'd his Pharian empire's date.*
* From the first Ptolemy who succeeded Alexander, to
thi! worthless prince, who murdered Pompey, about two
hundred and eighty yearn.
If e'er our long-lost liberty return,
That carcass is reserv'd 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 ow'd his birth :
There, soon, he scorn'd his father's humbler
reign,
And view'd his vanquish'd Athens with dis-
dain.
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 fam'd 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 with-
stand,
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 lov'd 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.*
* Our Milton entertained a like reverence for "great
conquerors." See Par. Lost, xi.~ 091, &c., and Par.
Reg. Hi. 71, tc.
SILIUS-ITALICUS.
[Born about 24, Died about 90, A. D.]
CAIUS SiLius-lTALicrs is supposed to have
b -en of a noble family, and born either at Italira
in Spain, or at Corfinium in Italy, which, accord-
ing to Strabo, had the name of Italica given to it
during the Social War. He distinguished him-
self at the bar, and rose to the consulate, the same
year that Nero was assassinated. He afterwards
acquired much honour from his conduct as pro-
c;msul in Asia, under Vespasian. In the decline
of life, he retired into Campania, and being af-
f icted with a painful and incurable disease, he
at length, in his seventy-fifth year, put an end to
1 is own life, by abstaining from all sustenance.
65
The latinity of Silius is elegant and pure, and
his versification smooth, but so studiously model-
led on that of Viruil, as t have obtained for him
the appellation 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
all the principal events of that war, from the
siege of Saguntum down to the defeat of Hanni-
bal, and the conquest of Carthage.*
* For further particulars concerning this poet,
Pliny's Epistles, L. Hi., Epist. 7.
514
SILIUS-ITALICUS.
FROM THE PUNIC WAR.
PASSAGE OF HANNIBAL OVER THE ALPS.
BEYOND the Pyrenean's lofty bound,
Through blackening forests, shagg'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, where 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 bridge less 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 gradual 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, dash'd
below,
Beneath the incumbent weight, with starting tide,
The rapid Rhone pour'd back on every side :
Toss'd its white eddies o'er the frothy strand,
And, sullen, murmur'd on its chafing sand.
Now stretch'd the onward host their long array,
Through the Tricastine 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 channeled rock.
Of nameless depth, 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 gnlfy tides.
But now, the o'erhangiug Alps, in prospect near,
Efface remernber'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 the aerial hills adventurous soar'd 5
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 the skies,
And Mimas, heav'd on Rhodope, arise,
Haemus its sleepy 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, undaunted 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 1
Oh ! now, my friends, e'en now, believe, ye climb
Despotic Rome's proud walls, and tread, sublime,
The capital of Jove ! thus, thus, we gain
The prize of toil, and Tiber owns our chain."
He spoke : nor they del ay '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 cliff 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 cliff bespread,
Through the reluctant ice his arm explored
The upward track, that opervd to his sword.
Oft the thawed surface from the footsteps shrar.k,
Suck'd in the absorbing gulf the warriors sank ;
Or from high ridge the mass of rushing snow
In humid ruin whelm'd the ranks below.
r
STATIUS.
515
On dusky wing? the west wind swept the heaven,
Full in their face the snowy whirls were driven ;
Xow from their empty grasp the 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 the 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 night's 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.
[From about the middle, to the end of the first century.]
PAPIXIUS STATIUS was the son of
Papinius Statins, (a writer of some eminence in
his d;iy.) and born at Naples. He became so
popular as a poet, or rather as a rehearser, that
all Ronin, according to Juvenal, would flock to
hear him.
When Statius fix'd a morning to recite
His Thebaid to the town, with what delight
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 HIH-U- strung;
Then, with a tempest's whirl, and wary eye,
Pursued l,is ra.-r. 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 ;
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 Sylvae, and left a fragment at
his death, entitled the Achilleid.
The ponderous mass sinks in the cleaving
ground,
While vales, and woods, and echoing hills re-
bound.
As when from ^Etna'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 roll'd,
And calm'd the terrors of his claws in gold.
TO SLEEP.
How have I wrong'd thee, Sleep, thoa gentlest
power
Of heaven ! that I alone, at night's dread hour,
516
MARTIAL.
Still from thy soft embraces am repress'd,
Nor drink oblivion on thy balmy breast?
Now every field and every flock is thine,
And seeming slumbers bend the mountain pine ;
Hush'd is the tempest's howl, the torrents
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 ^Etna's mount that rise,
And Venus' fires have re-illumed the skies ;
Still, past my plaints, Aurora's chariot flew ;
Her shaken lash dropp'd cold the pitying dew.
Can I endure? not if to me were given
The eyes of Argus, sentinel of heaven j
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.
[Born about 40, Died about 105, A. DJ
MARCUS VALERIUS MARTIAI.IS 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 Marcella.
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 1
With awful countenance, 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 maxims, but decline their fate;
Nor rashly aim the dagger at your 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.
ARRIA AND P^ETUS.
WHETT Arria from her wounded side
To Paetus 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 Naevia talk :
Let him eat, drink, ask questions, or dispute,
Still he must speak of Nsevia, or be mute.
He wrote his father, ending with this line,
"I am, my lovely Nsevia, only thine."
MARTIAL.
517
TO CATULLA.
THOU fairest girl of all I see !
So fair, yet so debased !
Ah ! would that aught could render thee
Less beauteous, or more chaste.
ON ANTONIUS, A GOOD MAN.
IN strength elate, in fame and conscience clear,
Antonius numbers now his eigntieth 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 QUINCTILIAX.
WONDER 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 fafher's bounded stores despise,
And whom his own, too, never can suffice :
My humble 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 rne.
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 1 ?
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 may
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.
TO MAXIMUS.
WOULD you be free? 'Tis your chief wish, you
say:
Come on ; I'll 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.
2T
518
JUVENAL.
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 interchanged with sport.
But 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 fetclrd, this morrow, that I fear
'Twill 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.
Three 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 board,
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 day,
Enjoy the present as the past,
Nor wish, nor tremble at, the last.
ON AN ODD FELLOW.
ly 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 about 120, A. D.]
DECIMUS JuifHJS JUYESTALUS was the son or
foster-son of a rich freedman, and born at Aqui-
num in Campania. He received an excellent
education, studied eloquence and law, but after-
wards abandoned them 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
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 with-
out disgust, or even losing some portion of its
innocent simplicity.
JUVENAL.
519
FROM THE SATIRES.
FROM SATIRE IV. DOMITIAX AND THE TURBOT.
IT chanc'd, that where the fane of Venus stands,
Rear'd on Ancona's coast by Grecian hands,
A turbot, wandering from the Illyrian main,
Fill'd the wide bosom of the bursting seine.
Tie mighty draught the astonish'd boatman eyes,
And to the pontiff's table dooms the prize :
For who would dare to sell it? who to buy?
When the coast swarm'd with aiany a practised
spy,
Mad-rakers, prompt to swear the fish had fled
From Caesar'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
The enormous fish, and barr'd the fisher's way,
Satiate, at length retires; the gates unfold!
Murmuring, the excluded senators behold
Tie 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 rush'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 hyperboles in praise.
Bat 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 debate, this question put
" How say ye, Fathers! SHALL THE FISH BE CUT?"
" O, far be that .i Uontanus 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, Ca-:ir, 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 had lir'd tin-
brain,
The jaded taste was spurr'd to gorge airain.
And, in my time, none understood >f> well
"id eating: he could tell,
At the first relish, if t'-'d
On the Rutupian or tho Luerine b
And, from a crab's or lolter's colour, name
The countrv. nay, the district, whence it came.
: . icrsrise,
And each, submissive, from the \ &t
Pale, trembling wretches, whom the chief, in
port,
Had ili .iish'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 sport
Had liv'd the lord of that obsequious court;
Nor worse employ'd in savage scenes of blood,
That robb'd the city of the brave and good
While high-born cowards saw their brothers 1
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. FREQ.UENT 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 unhallow'd 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 VII. 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,
Ami shake his thyrsus in the Aonian cave.
Whom poverty kept sober, and the cries
Of a lean stomach, clamorous for supplies:
Xo ; the wine circled briskly through their veins,
When Horace jmur'd his dithyrambic strains!
What room {'. ,r fancy, .-ay. unle-- the mind,
And all iis thoughts, to poetry reMgned,
He hurried, with re-iMless 1
By the two kindn-'i \<\\ ]-- of Wine and Song!
O! 'ti.- the e\r-!u>ive bu.-iness of a br-
Impetuous, uncontrolKd, not m.
With household cares, to view ti;e bright abodes,
The steeds, the diariot<. and the forms of Gods:
* Of this illustrious family wns JFA'ms Lamia, whom
Domitian, aftt-r Irivniir lirsi robbi-d him of his wife, put
to death.
" Princes nny pirk tlioir suffering nobles out,
Anil. . i-oridiMim thorn to the block ;
But when tlicy mice grow formidable to
Their clowns and cobblers, ware then I"
Beaumont 8{ Fletcher.
520
JUVENAL.
And the fierce Fury, as her snakes she shook,
And wither'd the Rutulian with a look !
Those snakes, had Virgil no Maecenas found,
Had dropp'd, in listless length, upon the ground,
And the still slumbering trump groan'd with no
mortal sound.*
Yet we expect, from Lappa's tragic rage,
Such scenes as graced, of old, the Athenian stage :
Though he, poor man, from hand to mouth be fed,
And driven to pawn his furniture for bread !
FHOM SATIRE Till. ANCESTRY.
" YOUR ancient house!" No more. I cannot see
The wondrous merits of a pedigree :
No, Ponticus ; nor of a proud display
Of smoky ancestors, in wax or clay ;
JEmilius, mounted on his car sublime,
Curius, half wasted by the teeth of time,
Corvinus, dwindled to a shapeless bust,
And high-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 ?
Say, what avails it, that, on either hand,
The stern Numantii, an illustrious band,
Frown from the walls, if their degenerate race
Waste the long night at dice, before their face ?
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, vaunt his 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 trafficker 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 NOBILITY.
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 worth ! Dare to be just,
Firm to your word, and faithful to your trust;
These praises hear, at least deserve to hear,
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
Hd, Vllth, and Xllth books of Virgil.
" Away, away ! ye slaves of humblest birth,
Ye dregs of Rome, ye nothings of the earth,
Whose fathers who shall tell ! my ancient line
Descends from Cecrops." Man of blood divine!
Live, and enjoy the secret sweets which spring
In breasts affined 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 blockhead's cause,
And solve the dark enigmas of the laws ;
Some, who the Tigris' hostile banks explore,
And plant our eagles on Batavia's shore :
While thou, in mean, inglorious pleasure 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 Hirpine's 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 borrow'd light alone,
But with your father's glories blend your own.
This to the youth, whom Rumour brands as
vain
And swelling full of his Neronian strain ;
Perhaps with truth; 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 my cheeks
with shame
'Tis dangerous building on another's fame,
Lest the substructure fail, and, on the ground,
Your baseless pile be hurl'd, in fragments, round.
Stretch'd on the plain, the vine's 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 the lie,
Think it a crime no tears can e'er efface,
To purchase safety with compliance base,
JUVENAL.
f'21
At honour's cost, a feverish span extend,
AND SACRIFICE FOR LIFE, LIFF/S ONLY END.
LIFE! 'tis not life who merit* (loath, is dead:
Though Gauran oysters for his feasts be spread,
Though his limbs drip with exquisite perfume,
And the late rose around his temples bloom !
FROX SATIRE IX. THF. SWIFT APPROACH OF AGE.
SWIFT down the pathway 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 :
'Mid the light sallies of the mantling soul,
The smiles of beauty, and the social bowl,
Inaudible, the foot of chilly age
Steals on our joys, and drives us from the stage.
IROM SATIRE X. THE VANITT OF HUMAN WISHES.
IN every clirne, from Ganges' distant stream,
To Gades, gilded by the western beam,
Few, from the clouds of mental error free,
In 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, finish'd, 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,
In peace, in war. A full and rapid flow
Of eloquence, lays many a speaker low :
K'en strength 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 tuo successful care;
Hoards, which o'er all paternal fortunes rise,
As, 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 wi:le walls,
And closed, terrific, round Lf>i:gii: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,
Ami starts and trembles at a rush's s!,
While, void of care, t! ; ng>
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.
I! -and let. all grac.ious powers,
The large-t ch-^t tin- forum lx.a>t-, be ours!"
Yet none from earthen bowls destruction sip:
Dread then the draught, when, mantling at your
lip,
-\VL-, iznorant of ourselves,
Beg often our own harms, which the wise Powers
Deny us for our good ; so find we profit
By losing of our prayers. Shake spea.ru.
66
The goblet sparkles, radiant from the mine,
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 langh'd, whene'er he slept
Beyond the threshold; that for ever wept?
But all can laugh ; the wonder yet appears,
What fount supplied the eternal stream of tears!
Democritus, at every step he took,
His sides with unextinguished laughter shook;
He laugh'd aloud to see the vulgar fears,
Laugh'd at their joys, and sometimes at their tears.
Secure the while, he mock'd at Fortune's frown,
And when sne threaten'd, bade her hang 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 late!
Fired with the lovo of these, what countless
su arms,
Barbarians, Romans, Greeks, have rush'd to arms,
All danger slighted, and all toil defied,
And madly conquer'd, or as madly died!
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 this 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 through the marble, and their memory
dies!
522
JUVENAL.
For like their mouldering tenants, tombs decay,
And with the dust they hide, are swept away
Produce the urn that Hannibal contains,
And weigh the mighty dust that yet remains:
AND is THIS ALL! Yet this was once the bold,
The aspiring chief, whom Afric could not hold,
Though stretch'd in breadth, from where the
Atlantic roars.
To distant Nilus, 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 oppos'd her everlasting mounds,
Her Alps and snows; o'er these with torrent force
He pours, and rends 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 ? Illusive Glory, say :
Subdued on Zama'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
hurl'd,
Shall quell the man whose frown alarm'd the
world.
The vengeance due to Cannce'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 gnsp'd for breath, as if immured the while
In Gyarae, 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 quaffed
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 winds that disobeyed his nod
With stripes ne'er suffered 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 profit 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 headlong 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 thou mayst still ask something from above ;
Thy pious ofterings to the temple bear,
And, while the altars blaze, be this thy prayer :
" THOU, who know'st the wants of human kind,
Vouchsafe me health of body, health of mind;
A soul prepared 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 Alcides' 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,
Arid 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.
FROM 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 and who thou art,
An orator offeree 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 purse will scarce a gudgeon buy,
With fond intemperance, for turbots sigh.
JEATTON. This maxim was inscribed in
gold letters over the portico of the temple at Delphi.
Hence, perhaps, the notion in after times, that it was m-
mediately derived from heaven no improbable conjec-
ture, if we consider that it is the foundation of all know-
ledge, and little favourable to that overweening self-love,
which the wisest of the heathens cherished amidst all
their professions of humility.
JUVENAL.
523
INVITATION TO PKHSirrs. WITH A PICTl'KE OF
THK FOKT'S OWN IIUMK-IK 1:1 UVOMT.
, ii : to-day my Persicus shall see
ther my precepts with >ny life agree;
Whether, with teign'd aiir-terity, I prize
The spare repast, a glutton in di-_
Bawl for coarse pottage, that my 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,
Biit to such simple fare, as long, long since,
The good Evander gave the Trojan prince.*
Come then, my friend, you will not, sure, despise
The food, that pleas'd an oiispring 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,
AFy 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,
r l he l)o;i>ted Picene equal or excel;
Nor need you fear, rny 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 ;i tew 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 tetters, 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 ditlerence 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 ;
my knife-handles; yet, my friend, for this,
.My pullets neither cut nor taste amiss.
I boa>t no arti-t, tutor'd in the school
Of learned Trypherus, to carve by rule :f
My -imple lad, who- :i..rts rise
To broil a steak, in the plain country guise.
Knows no such art; humbly content to serve,
And bring the di>hes which he cannot ].
Another lad (for I have two to-day)
Clad, like the lirst, in home-spun russet gray,
Shall till our earthen bowls: no Phrygian lie,
No pamper'd 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, u ml rest,
But spruced to-day in honour of my guest ;
& 8 Vinril's .Vnrirf, viii.
t The skilful carvina <>f .lishcs 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, arid 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, with 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 :
Hu>li (1, 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. EXTHI.M K \v I KKKN liSS OF
THK
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,
Anil 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, whrnce we may rise
To hear the lute well touch' rl. or artful voice
Warble immortal notes and Tuscan airl
]l>>, who of those delights can judge, and spare
To interpose them oft, is not unwise.
524
JUVENAL.
THE GOOD, ALAS, ARE FEW! "The valued file,"
Less than the gates of Thebes, the mouths of
Nile!
For now an age is come, that teems 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.
THERE are, who think that chance is all in all,
That no 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 lirnbs, forsooth, so great an ill?
Ladas,| 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 precede the
blow.
If then to punish ALL 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, there's 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."
HEVEJfGE.
" REVENGE THEY SAT and I believe their
words,
A pleasure, sweeter far than life affords."
WHO SAT? the fools, whose passions, prone to ire,
At SLIGHTEST causes, or, at none, take FIRE ;
Whose boiling breasts, at every turn, o'erflow
With rancorous gall : Chrysippus SAID not so ;
Nor Thales, to our frailties clement still,
Nor that old man, by sweet Hymettus' hill,
Who drank the poison with unruffled soul,
And, dying, from his foes withheld the bowl.
Divine Philosophy ! by whose pure light
We first distinguish, then pursue, the right,
Thy power the breast from every error frees,
And weeds out all its vices by degrees :
* There is a propriety in attributing the infliction of
this punishment to an Egyptian deity, blindness being a
disease more frequent in that country than elsewhere.
t A celebrated runner of antiquity. Such were his ve-
locity and lightness of foot, (says some ancient writer,)
that he left no trace of his steps in the dust behind him.
Illumin'd by thy beam, Revenge we find
The abject pleasure of an abject mind,
And hence so dear to poor, weak womankind.*
But why are those, Calvinus, 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 vex'd mind, her own tormentor, plies
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 scruple which perplex d his thought,
And plainly tell him, if he might forswear
A purse, 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 haste n'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 :f what, then, if we proceed?
Perpetual fears the offender's peace destroy,
And rob the social hour of all its joy :
Feverish and parch'd, 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 :
* 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.
j Neither abject-mindedness, nor love of revenge, (except
i in eastern harems,) but proneness to mercy, and forget-
fulness of injury, are the true characteristics of civilized
woman.
1 f The tale is taken from Herodotus, Erato 86.
JUVENAL.
525
For what can such expect, what victim slay,
That is not worthier far to live than they?
With what a rapid change of fancy roll
The varying passions of the guilty soul !
Bold to offend, 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 when the offender, since the birth of time,
Retire, contented with a single crime ?*
FROM SATIRE XIV. TRAIN UP A CHILD IK 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 the 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 warni'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.
O fata) guide-*! this reason should suffice,
To win you from the slippery route of vice,
This powerful reason; lest your sons pur-ue
The guilty track, thus plainly mark'd by you!
For youth is facile, and its yielding will
Receives with fatal ease tin- imprint of ill :
Hence Catilines in every clime abound ;
But where are Cato and his nephew found ?
Swill 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 therefore, the mind once engaged in sin,
\v.is for ever enslaved to it. Juvenal, though uninflu-
enced by the faith of Christianity, had lieen 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 HEAVEN, is DUB :
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.
O 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 threat'ning 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 in 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,
Convincedthe 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.
526
JUVENAL.
But why this dire avidity of gain ?
This mass collected with such toil and pain?
Since 'tis the veriest madness to live poor,
And die with bags and coffers running o'er.
Besides, while thus the streams of affluence roll,
They nurse the eternal dropsy of the soul.
For thirst of wealth still grows with wealth 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 fraud, 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, derived 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 thank his gore.
See every harbour throng'd, and every bay,
And half mankind 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 Calpe, other worlds explore;
And all for what? glorious end ! to come,
His toils o'erpast, with purse replenish'd, home,
And, with a traveller's privilege, vent his boasts
Of unknown monsters seen on unknown coasts.
What varying 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 haply 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 'twixt death and
him !
When all this risk is but to swell his store
With a few coins, a few gold pieces more.
Wealth by such dangers earu'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.
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 happier far than he who worlds required,
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 afford
A decent habit, and a frugal board ;
What Epicurus' little garden 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 ORIGIN OF CIVIL SOCIETY.
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,
Compel) '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 alone !
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 faith, 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 same tower the foe'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 ;
CLAUDIAN.
527
In leagues of friendship tigers roam the plain, | On that dire anvil, where primeval skill
And bears with bears perpetual peace maintain.
While Man, alas! flesh'd in the dreadful trade,
Forges without remorse the murderous blade,
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 363, A. D.]
CLAUDIUS CLAUDIAWUS is believed to have
been born at Alexandria, in Egypt. He 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.
BEYOND 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 locks 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
slo\V.
Here, far too blot, the <..|;ir l.ird sublime
Dwells, >:ife-i-iili.p-.iin'd in the burning clime :
lli< lonely reign, untoueh'd by birds that fly,
Or lc;i>t.s that ereep in j'niil mortality:
iVoin the human world's contagious breath,
A bird, like heavenly l>eing<. charm M from death.
With stars endures the creature's vivid day ;
His frame renewM ae6fl Bgefl wi-te away.
No ripening ips 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 n
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 quieken'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 Phoenix 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.
528
CLATJDIAN.
Then, conscious of his age expir'd, he rears
The teeming nest of his reviving /ears;
From mountains, basking in the sunny blaze,
Culls the parch'd 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.
Phoebus 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 gasp'd in faint desire,
With vital brightness of infusing fire.
The willing bird in conflagration dies,
Parts to return, and setting hastes to rise.
The fragrant pile, 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 tire ;
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, and 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 altar's 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 spii'its 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 know'st 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, ie
knows :
AUSONIUS.
529
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,
A nd 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 m the early part, died about the close, of the fourth century. J
*DECIMUS MAOXUS Ausoxius 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,
Ami 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 Ptestan roses blush'd before my \
Bedrop'd with early morning's freshening dew;
The sprinkled pearls on every rose-bush lay,
Anon to melt before the beams of d:i y.
Twere doubtful, if the blossoms of the rose
robb'd the morning, or the morning those
In dew, in tint, the same, the star and flowrr.
For both confess the queen of !> ^er.
Perchance their sweets the same : but this more
nigh
Exhales its breath ; arid that embalms the sky:
Of HnwtT and star tin' i^ddess is the same,
And lx)th she tinged with hues of roseate flame.
I saw a moment's interval divide
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 ;
67
Another, gathering every purfled fold,
Its foliage multiplied; its blooms unrolTd;
The teeming chives shot forth ; the petals spread,
The bow-pot's gl^y 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 ravish 1 d 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 cull, while yet ye may:
So bloom your hours, and so shall haste away.
ON A SHIPWRECKED FRIEND.
IP, mouldering far o'er distant seas,
The unburied corse is doomed to lie,
Yet may some pious rites appease
The spirit sadly wandering by.
2U
530
AVIENUS.
Call'd by a friend's or brother's voice,
And honour'd with an empty pile,
Yet may the weary ghost rejoice,
And grace our orgies with a smile.
Though to the funeral urn denied,
Thus shall his ashes rest in peace ;
"And every sad complaint subside,
And every mournful murmur cease."
AVIENUS.
[Flourished 380, A. D.]
OF RUFUS FESTTTS AVIENUS we know little
more than that he translated Aratus and Diony-
sius Periegetes, paraphrased the decads of Livy,
and was the author of some Apologues, dedi-
cated to Theodosius the elder, the father of Ho-
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 freight
Now on a bed of reeds repos'* '*
REC'D LD
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MAR 11 194
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FEB 12 1943
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FEB 10 1945
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LD 21-100w-7,'39(402s)
YC 00191
THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY
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