THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 FREDERIC THOMAS BLANCHARD 
 ENDOWMENT FUND
 
 ^^ 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS, 
 
 ORIGINAL AND TRANSLATED. 
 
 BY 
 
 GEOEGE E. SPIIKLEY. 
 
 ROCHESTER I . 
 JOSEPH E. MACATJLAY, KlGll STREET. 
 
 1856
 
 
 €n tjiB 3Ktninn[ 
 
 LATE DR. ELY, OF ROCHESTER. 
 
 Friend of my youth, tried Mend of sterner hours, 
 
 How oft, like some remembered melody. 
 
 The thought of thee returns, when memory 
 Recalls life's early pathway, strewn with flowers, 
 Down which we walked and tried our youthful powers. 
 
 Each line within speaks silently of thee ; 
 Each scene without, stream, spire, and antique towers, 
 
 To both familiar, have a voice for me, 
 And mind me of communion with a friend 
 
 Henceforth for ever closed. Where shall I find 
 The friendly glance that thou wert wont to bend 
 
 Upon my written thoughts, the greeting kiad 
 That welcomed them, the gentle hand to amend ? 
 
 Ah ! thou hast crossed the stream, and I — am left behind. 
 
 764414
 
 Whenever I cross the rirer 
 On its bridge of many piers, 
 
 Like the odour of brine from the ocean 
 Comes the thought of other yeai-s. 
 
 XOyGFELIOW.
 
 ^refiu^ 
 
 A glance at the contents of this Yolume will show that 
 it consists for the most part of translations. Conscious of 
 the feebleness of his lyre, the author has sought rather to 
 recall the strains of others than to assume an inspiration he 
 could not sustain. Skill in versification is an acquired art, 
 dependent on a correct ear and a command of language ; 
 but true poetry is something more, and the writer shiinks 
 from putting forward any claim to the honoured name of 
 poet. Some two centuries ago a writer of the same name 
 gave to the world some dramas of acknowledged excellence 
 that still live in the literature of the country. But his 
 mantle has not fallen on the present writer, who fears he is 
 only adding one more to the long Kst of versifiers of the 
 nineteenth centmy, who write verses that are not poetiy, 
 and " poetiy " that is not verse. The Hues from which this 
 volume takes its name were suggested by the contemplated 
 demolition of the old stone Bridge of Eochester, and the 
 substitution of an iron one now about to be opened. To
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 the subscribers, whose kind patronage and assistance have 
 enabled him to publish this collection, his best and warmest 
 acknowledgements are due. If his poems, like those of many 
 of his contemporaries, are doomed to early oblivion, he 
 trusts he is not too sanguiae in indulging the hope that his 
 " Old Bridge" may at least outlast the fabric it commem- 
 orates ; and if his versions from other languages do but form 
 a frail temporary bridge over which the English reader may 
 pass into the regions of classical antiquity, or wander awhile 
 in the dreamland of Germany, he feels confident that a more 
 permanent and artistic structure than his own is destined 
 one day to arise. 
 
 Rochester, June, 1856.
 
 G. Ac worth, Esq., Rochester. 
 
 Mr. E. Aldersley, Rochester, 2 copies. 
 
 Rev. J. L. Allan, Cranbrook. 
 
 Mr. P. Armes, Jimr., Rochester. 
 
 Geo. M. Arnold, Esq., Gravesend. 
 
 Thos. Baker, Esq., London, 2 copies. 
 
 Thos. H. Baker, Esq., Cobham. . 
 
 Mr. R. Baker, Strood. 
 
 Mr. J. H. Ball, Strood. 
 
 Mr. E. Ballard, Rochester. 
 
 Mrs. Barnett, Meopham Coiu't, 2 copies. 
 
 Mr. B. Bassett, Juni'., Rochester. 
 
 Mr. George Bassett, Rochester. 
 
 J. Bassett, Esq., Rochester. 
 
 Charles Bathurst, Esq., M.A., Rochester. 
 
 M. Beazeley, Esq., Rochester. 
 
 Wm. Heniy Bodkin, Esq., Temple, 5 copies. 
 
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 SUBSCRIBERS. 
 
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 College, Cambridge, 2 copies. 
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 The Eev. W. D. Johnston, Eector of Ifield. 
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 SUBSCRIBERS. 
 
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 Philip "Wykeham Martia, Esq., M. P., 2 copies. 
 
 Mr. Mallett, Twickenham. 
 
 "Wm. Manclark, Esq., Eochester. 
 
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 Rev. E. B. Mc'Lellan, Maidstone. 
 
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 Mr. J. G. Naylar, Eochester. 
 S. P. Newcombe, Esq., Priory House, Clapton. 
 "W. H. Nicholson, Esq., Eochester. 
 
 Mr. Pay, Canterbuiy. 
 Mr. J. H. Payne, Eochester. 
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 Mr. Alfred Pope, Gillingham. 
 Mr. "W. H. Porter, Eochester. 
 
 The Very Eev. the Dean of Eochester, 5 copies. 
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 The Eev. Thomas Eobinson, D.D., Master of the Temple, 
 and Canon of Eochester, 5 copies.
 
 SUBSCRIBERS. 
 
 The Rochester Book Society. 
 
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 Mrs. Raple^, Hammersmith. 
 
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 Mr. J. T. EofFway, Eochester. 
 
 Mr. E. Eoss, Eochester. 
 
 The Lord Stanley, M.P. 
 
 "William Masters Smith, Esq., M.P. 
 
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 Mr. John. ScuUard, 2 copies. 
 
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 Eev. E. J. Shepherd, Luddesdownc, 2 copies. 
 
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 Mr. "W. D. Skiller, Eochester. 
 
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 SUBSCRIBERS. 
 
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 Mr. "Wright, Maidstone. 
 
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 Cntttttit^ 
 
 Introductory Dialogue - - --14 
 
 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 The Old Bridge ... 26 
 
 The IS'ew Bridge - - - - 30 
 
 The Ancient Church ... 33 
 
 The New Church - - - - 37 
 
 Harvest Song - - - 39 
 
 The Mourner - - - - 40 
 
 November Thoughts - - - 42 
 
 The Birthdays of the Dead - - 44 
 
 The Garden and the Grove - - 45 
 
 The Closing Year - - - - 49 
 
 Hunting Song - - - - 51 
 
 Meeting and Parting - - - 52 
 
 In Memoriam - - - - 53 
 
 Buckland House - - - - 54 
 
 Spring - - . - . 58 
 
 The Avon and the Medway - - 59 
 
 A Day-di'eam - - - - 61 
 
 Man and the Seasons - - - 63 
 
 Ancient Lore .... 65 
 
 TEANSLATIONS FEOM THE GEEEE. 
 
 The Acliamians of Aristophanes - - 71 
 
 The Frogs of Aristophanes - - 131 
 Selections from the Bii-ds of Aristophanes 211 
 Translations and Imitations from the Greek 
 
 Anthology - - - 240
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 TRAJN'SLATIOXS rKOil THE GEEHAN. 
 ScHHiEE. 
 
 The Walk to the Foxmdry - - 247 
 
 EJnight Toggenburg . u . 256 
 
 The Diver - . - . 259 
 
 The Hostage - - - - 264 
 
 The Philosophers - - - 270 
 
 Schwab. 
 
 The Thunder Storm - - - 273 
 
 Sailet. 
 
 The Shooting Star - - - 27.4 
 
 The jS'ightingale and the Rose - 275 
 
 HJEBDEE. 
 
 The CMld of Care - - - 277 
 
 Mttet.t.ek. 
 
 Impatience - - - - 279 
 
 AifASTAsirs Gkitex. 
 
 Manhood's Tears - - - - 280 
 
 Deosie HrxsHOF. 
 
 The Young Mother ... 281 
 
 Chajmjsso. 
 
 Woman's Love and Life - • - 283 
 
 Feetligeath. 
 
 The Bandit's Bui-ial ... 288 
 
 The Waker in the Desert - - 291 
 
 The Revenge of the Flowers •• - 293 
 
 Lays of the Sand - - - - 296 
 
 The Dead in the Sea - - - 298 
 
 Under the Pabn-trees - - - 301 
 
 The Amphitritc ... - 303 
 
 Lightning on Whitsun Eve - - 305 
 
 The Lion's Ride ... 306 
 
 A Tale of the Swallows - - - 308 
 
 The Accepted Lover - - - 310 
 
 The Pictui-e Bible - - - 311 
 
 Le^-iathan - - - - 314
 
 Sntrniiurtnrij Jiiilngue, 
 
 You seem interested, said my friend, as I placed my 
 book on tlie table and rose to welcome him; what may 
 you be reading? A sketchy sort of work, that I am 
 half ashamed to hand to you. It is not in j'our style at 
 all; and I showed him a little volimie of Edgar Allan 
 Poe's " Tales of Mystery, Imagination, and Hiunoui'." 
 Upon my word, a novel. I thought you were beyond all 
 that. Not exactly a novel, I replied, but a collection 
 of novelettes, or rather romances. The tales are startling- 
 enough, wild and exti'avagant to a degree ; but they interest 
 me. However I was just now looking over the author's 
 Theoiy of Composition, in which he analyses the mental 
 process by which a work of art is produced. He takes his 
 o-wTi Poem, the "Eaven," examines it, and gives you an 
 outline of the various stages by which it was built up. 
 The essay is ingenious, but I confess its reasoning does not 
 convince me. If we arc to take it as a bona fide accoimt
 
 16 INTKODUCTORY DIALOGUE. 
 
 of tlie metliod the author actually adopted in attaining the 
 conception, and executing the plan, of his poem, it certainly 
 gives one a higher view of the philosophical nature of the 
 poet's art. But I can hardly bring myself to believe that 
 the essay is anything more than an afterthought. It is so 
 easy to find reasons when one is overflo^sing with ideas; and 
 the artist would natiu'ally find a pleasm'e in detecting and 
 pointing out the spnmetiical arrangement that at fii'st pre- 
 sented itself all unconsciously to his mind. What say you ? 
 Do you ever compose ? 
 
 Basil. — I compose myself to sleep every night. 
 
 Arthiu'. — Joking apart, have you never dallied with the 
 Muse? 
 
 B. — Not I, my friend ; never wi'ote a line in my life, 
 couldn't for the life of me invent a rhyme ! It is bad 
 enough to read, what must it be to write, verse ? especially 
 such feeble stuff as we meet with now-a-days, when every 
 lackadaisical young gentleman poiu's out his little soul in 
 what he call " strains of poesy." 
 
 A. — You are severe ; but you forget that these efforts of 
 fancy have a meaning. They show the tendency of the 
 mind to escape from the ])caten track of reality, and to roam 
 in the regions of imagination. 
 
 B. — You may well call it roaming. These fellows never 
 know where they are, or what they are doing. They ape 
 eccentricity, till they become really and hopelessly eccentric. 
 Give me matter-of-fact people ; none of your scribblers. 
 The world has something else to do than to read nonsense ; 
 and "men of genius," as they call themselves, ought to be 
 above wi'iting it. 
 
 A.-^Oranted, if it he nonsense. But you are going too 
 far. Your verdict would condemn some of the finest writ-
 
 INTRODUCTORY DIALOGUE. 17 
 
 ings in the world to utter oblivion. You vrould not, surely, 
 give up Shakespeare, and Homer, and Milton. 
 
 B. — Certainly not. '' There were giants in those days." 
 T am only dealing with pigmies. 
 
 A. — And yet every giant was once a pigmy. Every- 
 thing must have a beginning. 
 
 B. — And everything too an end. "Wliat vexes me is that 
 so few know when to leave off. I don't object to a man's 
 tiying his skill on a dozen instruments if he can but suc- 
 ceed in mastering one ; but the mischief is that for one real 
 artist on the Ip'e we have thousands and thousands of ridicu- 
 lous amateiu's, who arc always "tuning'^ the Ijtc but never 
 yet could play one decent tune. "Why don't they give it 
 up ? 
 
 A. — Because they hope one day to succeed. Every little 
 poetaster is ambitious, and lives in the feverish expectation 
 of being able, sooner or later, to astonish the world. 
 
 B. — The world is not so easily astonished. Practical men 
 abhor all such pretensions ; learned men despise them ; 
 aifectionate friends and neighbour's are hailing the advent of 
 a genius, while cold-hearted critics are preparing to cut up 
 another goose. Wliy don't these young poets tiy their hand 
 at prose? It is equally difficult to write; and far more 
 readable. 
 
 A. — But does not good prose owe most of its attractive- 
 ness to the presence of that very imagination whose in- 
 fluence you so much despise ? Take, for instance, such at- 
 tractive writings as Co-s\qper's Letters, BjTon's Letters, 
 Macaulay's Essays, Addison's Spectator, (an odd jumble you 
 will say) and see if it is not the very poetry of the prose 
 that gives it its pre-eminent charm. Cowpcr is natiu'al, 
 f Byron impassioned, Macaulay rhetorical, and Addison ex-
 
 18 IXTRODLXTORY DIALOGUE, 
 
 quisitely liumoroiis, but all had the same j)OTrer of putting 
 forth picturesque expressions, and lighting up their sen- 
 tences. 
 
 B. — But all this proves nothing. I am speaking of prose 
 that deals -with facts and reasons, not of humorous letters 
 and stilted essays. 
 
 A. — ^Eren facts may be told with liveliness, and reason 
 impregnated with passion. "Wliat a popular book would 
 your favorite Butler's Analogy have been, had its author 
 wi'itten more readable prose. 
 
 B. — You would have Butler "made easy" I suppose to 
 the meanest capacities. I prefer the rugged origiaal. 
 
 A. — So do I, just because it is origiaal ; but the same 
 reasoning might have been made more luminous had the sen- 
 tences been less uncouth. Perspicuity is iadispensable ; 
 and both poets and philosophers lose power and impressive- 
 ness when they become obscui-e. But I am tiring you. 
 \Miat say you to a walk r Ve will talk over the Theoiy of 
 Composition. 
 
 "VTe took oui' walk accordingly, and strolled along till we 
 reached one of the many eminences that suiTound the local- 
 ity and give a commanding view of oui- picturesque scenery. 
 Below us flowed the Medway, a stream familial- to us from 
 childhood, yonder rose the smoke and muffled clamour of the 
 town, and in the distance we coxild discern the grey form 
 of the old Castle, and here and there along the homon ti-ace 
 the taper outline of some well-known spke. The beauty of 
 the landscape natui-aUy led U5 to recall the ideas of the 
 \\Titer whose theory we had promised to examine. He 
 ^eemed to us to confoxmd the contemplation of the beautiful 
 with beauty itself, its effect on the soxd Avith its essential 
 nature. Look, said I, at this familiar scene before us;
 
 INTRODUCTORY DIALOGUE. 19 
 
 we have seen it again and again, we know every feature in 
 the landscape, and yet every time we look on it its beauty 
 still has power to affect us. 
 
 B. — Something perhaps is due to the effect of association. 
 When we look at what is lovely and familiar, its aspect 
 awakens a thousand reminiscences that of themselves are 
 pleasiu'able. Yonder knoll reminds us perhaps of some 
 pleasant pic-nic party, j'on tree may have been the trysting 
 place of early love ; in that valley we may have roamed 
 in search of Avild flowers, in that wood we may have 
 communed with nature and felt her most soothing inliuences. 
 Eveiy heart has its own mysteries, and its own secret keys 
 wherewith to unlock them. 
 
 A. — True, but even if this landscape were not" familiar 
 its beauty would strike us still. There must be some won- 
 derful adaptation in the world without, to affect us so within. 
 But this is altogether different from the effect produced by 
 a work of art such as a poem. 
 
 B. — A beautiful picture, or statue, is beautiful in so far 
 as it imitates and refines upon nature. Artists tell iis of an 
 ideal beauty siu'passing any thing that is real, and this they 
 aim to represent. These arts appeal to the mind through 
 the senses. A poem, on the contraiy, takes no accoimt of 
 the senses, but affects us by means piu-ely mental. 
 
 A. — I do not agree ^\T.th you there. The province of tlie 
 imagination embraces the world of sense as well as the 
 world of thought. Oiu' mixed natiu'c never loses sight of 
 the origin of its impressions, and those descriptions that are 
 most true to natiu-e, and recall the most vivid sensations, 
 ai'e the most beautiful. 
 
 B. — Yes, it is difficult to separate what nature has imited. 
 Beauty of form is one thing ; beauty of description is
 
 20 INTRODUCTORY DIALOGUE. 
 
 another, but tlie description that best realizes the beauty of 
 form is that which leaves the most delightful impressions. 
 
 A. — Om' author contends that "Beaut}^ is the sole legiti- 
 mate province of the poem." But what does he mean by 
 beauty ? Does he confine it to mere symmetry ? 
 
 B. — I find he goes farther afi^eld yet. He tells us |that 
 the tone of the highest manifestation of beauty is one of 
 sadness, and that melancholy is the most legitimate of all 
 poetical tones. Upon that principle Young's Night Thoughts 
 must be the most beautiful poem ever written. 
 
 A. — ^Here again he seems to confound the effect with the 
 cause. That which excites the sti'ongest emotion is not 
 therefore the object possessing most beauty. Music, under 
 certain circumstances, can act on the mind "with overpower- 
 ing effect. A great crash of harmony will so shake the 
 heart with emotion that tears flow unbidden, and the listener 
 is for once a child. But the same effect might be j)roduced 
 on a sensitive mind by a few bars of some simple melody 
 that stirred up fond reminiscences of some sweet familiar 
 voice of former days. So that the effect is not due to mere 
 beauty of tone, but to the suggestiveness of the music 
 itself. 
 
 B. — If a "tone of sadness" is the most poetical of all 
 tones, what a source of satisfaction must it be to our mewling 
 modem poetasters to find that their wailings are all pitched 
 ill the right key. These miserable people, however, are alive 
 to their awn. interests ; theii* sighs arc all confined to paper 
 and arc never exhaled in company. I have Icnown some of 
 tliis species positively meny amid thcu" poetical griefs. 
 
 A. — My dcfu' fellow, you forget that poets must live; 
 they must cat and drink, and sleep like other people, and 
 fret wlien they are ^•exed, and laugh when they arc pleased.
 
 INTRODUCTORY DIALOGUE. 21 
 
 like other folks. A man's eye can't be always *' in a fine 
 frenzy roUiag; " otherwise half the poets would be lodged 
 in Bedlam. 
 
 B. — This American poet, Poe, dissects his own " Raven," 
 and finds a thousand beauties therein. I dont find fault 
 with the poem itself, wliich is quaint and original enough in 
 its accessories, although the topic is commonplace. The 
 regrets of a lover for a loss that can never be replaced have 
 been said and siing for ages. "Nevermore" will be the cvj 
 of the son'ow- stricken for evermore. 
 
 A. — There is another odd theoiy of this writer's about 
 the length of a poem. It must be sufficiently short to be 
 read at one sitting, otherwise the charm is broken, the 
 world intervenes, and our impressions of the beautiful are 
 scattered. 
 
 B. — What a great mistake old Homer made then, when 
 he sj)un his story out to twenty four books ! 
 
 A. — The wi'iter finds fault with Milton's Paradise Lost on 
 the same ground. It is made up of great lakes of prose 
 connected by rivulets of poetry. 
 
 B. — Rubbish ! As if the action of an epic poem could 
 be confined to the limits of a five act play, and every thing 
 great and noble in human action could be rim off at a single 
 sitting. You see the original confusion continued through- 
 out, confoimding the effect on the reader with the poem 
 itself. 
 
 A. — He seems to have had but one description of poem in 
 view, the song or ballad, and excluded all the rest as non- 
 poetical. 
 
 B. — I can understand the awkwardness of a man's un- 
 dertaking to tell a storj- from begimiing to end, and then 
 breaking off in the middle ; but when m'C read a great poem
 
 OC) 
 
 INTRODUCTORY DIALOGUE, 
 
 we don't -want to get to the end so very fast as all tliis. A 
 poem is not a novel, nor is it a play. It is a peculiar form 
 of transmission of thought, whereby ideas are conveyed to 
 ihc mind with more vividness than by simple prose. The 
 choice of expressions, the collocation of the words, the 
 rh5i;hm of the verse, the exalted tone, the use of imagery, 
 all these combine to heighten the effect and arouse the 
 emotions of the reader. 
 
 A. — The beauty of a poem therefore must not be limited 
 to its power of exciting one particular class of emotions. 
 Being essentially an imitative art, poetry must approach 
 perfection by the correctness of its delineations. Some 
 •v\Titers excel in description of natural scenery, others in 
 painting the strife of the passions; one poet touches the 
 heart by the plaintiveness, another, by the vigour of his 
 Muse. Hence persons of different temperaments differ in 
 their estimate of poets. One man prefers Milton and Dante 
 to Sliakespcarc or Ariosto ; another idolizes George Herbert, 
 and many a (piict Englishwoman is in love v.'iih CoAvper. 
 
 E. — And so our yoimg enthusiasts thii-ty years ago used 
 to rave about Byron. Now-a-days Wordsworth is revered, 
 and Tennyson admired and imitated ; while some can see 
 l)eauties in the strange visions of the mystical school. 
 Modem poetiy will soon become so delightfully philosophical 
 that nothing that is not obscure will go down. 
 
 A. — And yet, as wc said before, what can atone for loss 
 of porspifuity ? Tennyson's beautiful tribute " In Memo- 
 riam " would gain immensely by more light. Many stanzas 
 are obscure, and consequently unimpressive. 
 
 B. — And in inferior minds, mark you, the obscurity arises 
 not from diptli di' lliouglit biil IVoni Avant of meaning. 
 Some simpleton of this class thinks he is writing something
 
 INTRODUCTORY DIALOGUE. J^o 
 
 vciy fine, when after all it is only some cnidity that neither 
 he nor any one else can imdcrstand. Not that the thoughts 
 are difficult of comprehension from their grandeur and pro- 
 fundity, but there is in reality nothing to comprehend. The 
 bubble looks very bright and buoj-ant when it is blown, but 
 it is emptj' after all. It rises from froth, and the faster- it 
 swells and the higher it soars the sooner it bursts. 
 
 A. — You remember Lueian's image of the bubbles on the 
 stream, " a moment seen, then gone for ever,^'' shado^\ang 
 forth the lives of men as they come and go. Noav Lucian 
 was no poet in the ordinary acceptation of the tenn, but yet 
 he possessed poetical ideas. In fact a very poetical person 
 may write a bad poem, and hence I account for the vast 
 number of modern poets. People of a poetical temperament 
 rush into poetry and print before thej' have acquired the 
 command of language and rhythm essential to sweetness 
 and point. It is no uncommon thing to meet with some 
 verj'^ beautiful ideas most miserably set in inditferent rhjTne. 
 The artist has not yet acquired the rudiments of his art. 
 His taste is rude and uncultivated, his car incorrect, his 
 language uncouth. I would have every rising poet undergo 
 a long and severe apprenticeship to his art before he essayed 
 to make a public appearance. A man does not venture to 
 perform on an instrument the instant he has leai'ned the 
 notes and the fingering. He practises for years and years, 
 and when he can play as -svell as the rest of the professionals, 
 (but not till then) he makes his bow and becomes a profess- 
 ional himself. 
 
 B. — Then j-ou would extinguish all amateiu' poets at once, 
 and check all the chii-pings of the infant Muse. 
 
 A. — ]N"o I would not. I would merely keep the young 
 fledglmgs in the dark till their notes were attuned and their
 
 24: INTKODUCTORY DIALOGUE. 
 
 powers of voice developed ; theii set tlieni free and let them 
 sing and soar to their heart's content. 
 
 B. — And while they are soaring and singing some ruth- 
 less critic levels his vdcked gun at them and fetches them 
 down. 
 
 A. — There is one consolation. Human aspiration has no 
 limits ; the confidence of youth is boimdless. There will 
 always be a rising generation of poets. 
 
 B. — And always a croaking generation of critics.
 
 '^t (^\l %n^t 
 
 Change is the law of natiire ; by its power 
 The -odntcr's frost jiclds to the vernal shower. 
 Life is evolved by processes of change, 
 And all things feel its comprehensive range. 
 Nature's productions pass from phase to phase ; 
 Art changes not, but in one posture stays. 
 Time works alike on both, but while decay 
 Lays man's work low and sweeps it all away, 
 Nature revives beneath the touch of Time 
 And flourishes as in Creation's prime. 
 "When man essays to rival natui'e's com'se 
 A thousand failures prove how vain his force ; 
 His feeble powers of art no fui-ther reach 
 Than just to copy what his models teach. 
 No self-repairing reproductive power 
 Invigorates his creatures of an hour ; 
 Beauteous awhile they stand, and when they fall 
 (Though beauty veil the ruins with her pall) 
 Useless and dead they lie, destined uo more 
 To serve the pvu'poses they served before. 
 All that remains is to renew the past, 
 And frame once more a fabric meant to last.
 
 28 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 The Medway's waters long hare sped their course 
 
 Beneath yon ai'ches grey ; with sullen force 
 
 No-w swelling, now in lake-like stillness bound, 
 
 As if some spell were laid on all around. 
 
 Thousands in days of old have passed along 
 
 That stout old bridge, a gay and motley throng. 
 
 Priest, friar, knight and monk, gay cavalier, 
 
 Kings, haughty dames, and nobles have been here. 
 
 The good old road now doomed to pass away, 
 
 (Demolished ere it crumble to decay) 
 
 "Will carry with it thoughts of bygone years, 
 
 That cluster roimd its sturdy ware- worn piers. 
 
 Useful to many a trayeller of yore 
 
 "Was that firm road that spanned from shore to shore 
 
 Less useful haply to the toiling crew 
 
 Who plied the waves that 'neath its arches flew ; 
 
 A mimic cataract opposed their force, 
 
 A fall of waters checked theii" upward course. 
 
 The wayward stream thus hindered on its way, 
 
 As if to be revenged for such delay, 
 
 Bore with it as it sought the channel wide 
 
 The gatherings of its swoll'n and pent-up tide ; 
 
 Then flimg its earthy burden down in haste. 
 
 Choking the channel "«ith the widc-bome waste. 
 
 But a more peaceful course awaits thcc yet, 
 Fair Mcdway, though thy waves still wildly fret. 
 Yon driven piles look ominous of the day 
 When tlie obstructing mass must pass away. 
 Arches of wider span shall cross thy tide, 
 'Neath which each vessel may securely gHdc, 
 Not hurried on by ciirrcnt fierce and strong
 
 ORIGINAL POEMS. 29 
 
 As now, but floating peacefully along. 
 The dangerous eddy and the foaming surge 
 Shall be unlmown ; the bark shall then emerge 
 From either arch as safely on her way 
 As if she floated in some sheltered bay. 
 
 Old Bridge, farewell ! thy days arc numbered now, 
 
 Before a rival thou art doomed to bow ; 
 
 Stone after stone must leave its ancient seat. 
 
 Until thy destined ruin is complete. 
 
 An iron fabric soon will rear its frame, 
 
 riiMl thy uses and usuq) thy name ; 
 
 A few short years and all that's left will be 
 
 The watery pathway once o'er- arched by thee, 
 
 ^0 spot be left to mark where thou hast stood 
 
 Watching for centimes the eddying flood. 
 
 The stately ruin that o'erlooks thee still 
 
 May yet siu-vive to grace the Castle Hill ; 
 
 But it, like thee, must one day pass away, 
 
 Crumbling beneath the finger of decay. 
 
 Thus let it pass, by Time's hand taken down. 
 
 Let not the hand of man disturb its crown ; 
 
 Long may it stand, to mind posterity 
 
 Of bygone times and days of chivalry. 
 
 Spare the old ruin. Time ! and if our age 
 
 Spares not the Bridge, let the historic page 
 
 Record its memory, chronicle its fame, 
 
 Revive and cherish its familiar name. 
 
 Hand down to time each chartered privilege 
 
 And slu-ine each relic of our Ancient Bridge. 
 
 1850.
 
 30 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 The falleii tree that spanned the torrent rude 
 First taught the savage how to bridge the flood. 
 The braided boAV whose bright prismatic rays, 
 Arching the heavens, invite and charm the gaze, 
 Gave the first lesson nature could impart 
 To guide the impulses of infant art. 
 Beauteous in form and hues that arch of light 
 Appeared whene'er it burst upon the sight. 
 But the bright bow, so rich, so passing fair. 
 Melted and left no traces in the air ; 
 The form still lingering in the musing mind 
 Took solid shape on earth. In it combined 
 The artist found both strength and beauty blend; 
 The arch stood firm — no force could break or bend ; 
 Solid support it yielded, and could tlirow 
 Alike o'er stream and chasm its graceful bow ; 
 Masses upon it piled were safely reared. 
 And in each edifice its curves appeared. 
 Then, ventiu-iiig farther on, the bold adept 
 Linked arch to arch from pier to pier that leapt ; 
 The pathless waters henceforth could no more 
 Sever the banks of each opposing shore ; 
 The Bridge spread out its causeway fair and straiglit 
 And safe transferred its multitudinous freight. 
 
 'Tis to tlie "masters of tlie world" we owe 
 The ml to bridge tlie riipid iivi'i''s flow ; 
 They first contrived the bold adventurous plan. 
 And solved the problem of the arch's span.
 
 ORIGINAL POEMS. 31 
 
 The Eomans sleep : Rome's solid structures stand 
 
 Unshaken yet, strewn o'er each concj^uered land. 
 
 The road, the bridge, the aqueduct, the ai-ch. 
 
 Record the might and triumphs of theii- march. 
 
 On British soil these hai'dy bands once stood 
 
 And left their mark on many a goodlj^ rood. 
 
 A Roman camp once glittered in the sun 
 
 Upon the height 'neath which thy waters run, 
 
 Fail' Medway ; now a Norman Castle frowns 
 
 Upon thy peaceful stream and busy towns. 
 
 In those rude times when science yet was young. 
 
 Slowly the architect his triumph wrung 
 
 From toil of years and a w^hole life-time spent 
 
 In rearing temple, sluinc, or monument. 
 
 The arts mechanical then lacked the force 
 
 That now lends speed and vigour to their course. 
 
 Forces electric and the might of steam 
 
 "Were powers of which magicians could not dream, 
 
 For natiu'c's grandest secrets were unknown 
 
 And mighty works by mighty toil alone 
 
 Were then achieved. Tasks Ave with ease essay 
 
 Cost our forefathers many a weaiy day. 
 
 Centuries ago the arcliitect who A\'rought 
 
 At yon old bridge, by ancient wisdom taught. 
 
 Knew no such means and shrewd appliances 
 
 As those by which our modern structures rise. 
 
 Year after year, from mom till set of sun 
 
 He toiled and toiled till work and life were done , 
 
 But now the Bridge, the Palace, and the Hall, 
 
 Start into being at the artist's call. 
 
 So quickly have our modern builders sped 
 
 That down below the rushing river's bed
 
 32 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 Already lie foundations deep and strong, 
 
 On wMch the New Bridge will arise erelong. 
 
 Air, water, gravity, expansive steam, 
 
 These are the powers, simple as they seem, 
 
 By which a solid basis has been made 
 
 Whereon the superstructure will be laid. 
 
 The tube of iron sunk beneath the tide 
 
 Formed a safe chamber, where, with air supplied, 
 
 The workman toiling in the river's bed 
 
 Feared not the waters miu-mui-ing o'er his head ; 
 
 Deeply he delved with daily, nightly toil, 
 
 To sink the tube still deeper 'neath the soil ; 
 
 Ail' di'ove out water, water di'ove out air, 
 
 And thus the work advanced in silence there. 
 
 Deeper and deeper sank the tube below 
 
 Tin the firm base defied all overthrow. 
 
 The excavated mass of earth and clay 
 
 Was soon replaced, when raised and borne away, 
 
 By firmer composites, until at length 
 
 The cylinder attained its massive strength. 
 
 Thus huge foundations, piles of masomy 
 
 Encased in iron, 'neath the waters lie. 
 
 Ready to bear the strong incumbent mass, 
 
 O'er which the future traveller will pass. 
 
 Here pause we : when a few short years have passed 
 The Bridge completed will stand forth at last. 
 The tact and skill and judgment that have laid 
 Those stout foimdations will be then repaid. 
 The iron-bound work that lies unseen below 
 Shall safely breast the current's ebb and flow. 
 As yet 'tis little meets the cui'ious eye ;
 
 ORIGINAL POEMS. 33 
 
 The puffing engine and the men that ply, 
 The beams, the crank, the cyUnders, the gush 
 Of waters bubbling as they upward rush, 
 'Tis all the passing looker-on can find ; 
 Far more is seen by the presiding mind. 
 And this first stage of progress safely won 
 The rest goes siu-ely till the work is done. 
 
 Thus should the mind that plans some purpose deep 
 Fast locked witliin the first ideas keep, 
 And seek to lay foundations deep and "wdde 
 Whereon the future structure may abide. 
 He that builds castles plants them on a rock, 
 The sand-built tower falls at the first shock. 
 So build we then, so task the invcntiye mind 
 That something solid may be left behind. 
 Something that shall not all to pleasure tend 
 But serve a noble and a useful end, 
 1852. 
 
 Written on the discovery of the ruins of St. Clement's Church, 
 
 Rochester, embedded in buildings taken down for the approaches 
 
 to the New Bridge. 
 
 The miner", in his subteiTanean toil 
 Delving full many a fathom 'neath the soU, 
 Starts to behold the leafy pictui'es shine 
 Along the jet black siu-face of the mine. 
 Each blow discloses vegetation's mould 
 Impressed minutely ere the world was old, 
 c
 
 34 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 Fancy recalls the ancient forest green 
 
 That flomished then, by human eye unseen, 
 
 Primeval groves that long have sunk away, 
 
 Engulphed, and Tvrested thus from smft decay, 
 
 Rescued for future ages to discern 
 
 The plant imbedded in the coal we burn. 
 
 Man hath his relics too beneath the soil. 
 
 The coin, the vase, the implement of toil ; 
 
 Nor these alone ; in chosen spots of ground 
 
 Some nobler monuments of man are found. 
 
 The cross impressed on subterranean tomb 
 
 Marks with what hopes a Christian met his doom. 
 
 Haply less sacred ruins now enclose 
 
 The hallowed spot where once a temple rose ; 
 
 A pillar and a tottering arch remain 
 
 The only relics of the sacred fane. 
 
 The passing sti'angcr stops and starts to see 
 
 These mouldering marks of ancient piety. 
 
 UnknoAATi the founders of that crumbUng pile, 
 
 Forgotten all who scr^'cd therein awhile ; 
 
 Buiied for centuries the fabric lay 
 
 Till these poor ruins saw the light of day. 
 
 Yet not in vain those pUlars once were reared, 
 
 Although the shiTnc itself has disappeared. 
 
 Yon tottering fragment cnimbling in the air 
 
 Recalls the men of old who worshipped there. 
 
 Close to the city's hum, the passing throng, 
 
 Devotion's voice stUl raised the sacred song ; 
 
 The prayer antique, and solemn chaunt were heard, 
 
 And founts of feeling haply there were stiiT'd. 
 
 Ceased arc the voices, hushed the sound of prayer, 
 
 licprDUclil'iilly those niiiis totter tliere,
 
 ORIGINAL POEMS. 30 
 
 Reminding us that earthly wants may rise 
 
 And check the offering that should reach the skies. 
 
 Sad were the thought if, as our homes increase, 
 
 Devotion's haunts should slii'ink away and cease ; 
 
 If, as our children grew and multiplied. 
 
 The voice of thankful adoration died. 
 
 Yet, 'tis not so ; the bui'ied Church revives, 
 
 Shakes off the dust of centuries, and lives ; 
 
 Resumes once more her ancient honoured sway, 
 
 And rescues pious customs fi'om decay ; 
 
 Relumes her altars, chants her songs of praise 
 
 Breathing the solemn tones of ancient days. 
 
 Nor are her temples scanty. CKmb yon hill 
 
 Crowned with an ancient church, (1) and gaze at will 
 
 On prospect fair as ever pencil drew ; 
 
 Turn where you "will, some temple meets your view, 
 
 The old Cathedral with its turret grey. 
 
 Whose matin chimes and vesper heard each day, 
 
 Invite the passers-by to stop and pray ; 
 
 The neighbouring church, (2) and that whose toweris seen 
 
 Cresting yon hill, o'er-looking meadows green — (3) 
 
 These are our ancient fanes ; now glance around 
 
 To yonder heights, with war's defences crowned. 
 
 The plain-built edifice (4) whose white walls face 
 
 The stream, stands void of arcHtectiu-al grace ; 
 
 And near the busy street, a massive pile (5) 
 
 More modern still, betrays its modern style. 
 
 1 All Saints, Frindsbury. 2 St. Nicholas, Eochester. 
 
 3 St. Margaret's, Rochester, 4. St. Mary's, Chatham. 
 5 St John's, Chatham,
 
 36 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 But mark yon slender spire tapering high (6) 
 O'er all the rest athwart the eastern sky ; 
 There see revired the ancient zeal that reared 
 The shrines of old still hallowed and revered : 
 And near it rises destiaed soon to crown 
 The strong defences of the hill -girt town, 
 Another temple beautiful and fair (7) 
 Fit place to offer up the soldier's prayer. 
 And far away, hard by the crowded streets, 
 Another house of prayer the vision meets, 
 A fabric deftly fashioned to retain 
 The semblance of an ancient !N'orman fane. (8) 
 ■ The pious impulse hath not died away 
 Fresh altars rise as older ones decay. 
 And future generations yet will reap 
 The blessing, when the pious founders sleep. 
 The distant village and the hamlet lone (9) 
 Each boast an edifice where prayer is known. 
 Wide as the sphere of human toil and care, 
 So widely reach the shrines of faith and prayer. 
 Lament not then when modem hands disclose 
 The spot where once an ancient temple rose. 
 Our pious forefathers would joy to see 
 This range of spire-encii'led scenery ; 
 "Would hail the kindred impulse that could raise 
 The frailer edifice of modem days. 
 Changed is our City ; all things old expire ; 
 The modem burgess diffei-s from his sire. 
 
 G Holy Trinity, Brompton. 7 The New Garrison Church, 
 
 8 St. Paul's, Chatham. 9 St. Mary Magdalene's, Gil- 
 
 lingham ; Lidsing Chapel ; and Christ Church, Luton.
 
 ORIGINAL POEMS. 37 
 
 These ancient building's that with changeless face 
 Look down upon us and almost efface 
 The interval of centuries, teach us how 
 To link the past and present ; they endow 
 Past forms with life ; a common faith is seen 
 Uniting generations that have been. 
 Our sires sleep, yet prayed they not in vain ; 
 The faith they cherished once revives again. 
 Arch, font, and pillar, all may pass away. 
 Structures may rise and crumble to decay ; 
 The Church survives them, deathless and divine, 
 Waiting till heaven shall be its only shrine. 
 Till time exjpire, hoary mountains fall. 
 And one great consummation gather all. 
 
 f'jlB ^Im Cljurrli. 
 
 Trinity Church, Brompton, Chatham, consecrated in 1848, 
 
 ** Strengthen thy stakes, enlarge thy bounds," 
 
 So speaks the inspii-ed page ; 
 Men heed it not, unwelcome sounds 
 
 The message to this age. 
 
 Bulwarks are heightened, towers ai'e raised 
 
 To guard us from the foe ; 
 Each warlike scheme is loudly praised. 
 
 Though fraught with future woe.
 
 38 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 A busy throng, on toil intent, 
 
 Are striving to complete 
 Some proud and noble annament 
 
 To swell our numerous fleet. 
 
 From day to dctj the sinewj' ann 
 
 Is raised in iron toil, 
 Our craftsmen laugh at war's alarm. 
 
 And proudly tread the soil. 
 
 But rain our pride ! a sterner foe 
 
 Than man is pi'essing on, 
 His arm is laying thousands low, 
 
 And half his battle's won. 
 
 While Science walks the Earth in pride, 
 
 And of her victories boasts. 
 Dark Ignorance stands side by side, 
 
 And counts liis slain by hosts. 
 
 The steam-borne car, the loom, the camp, 
 
 Tlie fleet, attest our skill. 
 But faintly bums the heavenly lamp 
 
 That warns of coming ill. 
 
 Those sacred fanes, whose hallowed shrines 
 Should stud tliis crowded land, 
 
 Too thinly strewn, remain as signs 
 Of pui'posc nobly plann'd. 
 
 Hail wc the impulse that would strive 
 
 To emulate the sires 
 Wlio kept lleligion's flame alive, 
 
 And reared those time-worn spires.
 
 ORIGINAL POEMS. 39 
 
 Another spot marked out for prayer, 
 
 Another slu'ine begun, 
 Tell us the impulse still is there. 
 
 Handed from su-e to son. 
 
 And while the din that bids prepare 
 
 For war is heard around, 
 This rising fane shall call to prayer. 
 
 And breathe a peaceful sound. 
 
 23nrnrst long. 
 
 The fostering earth, the genial showers. 
 
 And ripening rays their work have done. 
 The seed consigned to JSTature's powers 
 
 Has borne its fiaiit, the harvest's won. 
 Still in its buoyant pride it stands. 
 And tempts the busy reaper's hands. 
 Soon as the loaded waggon heaves. 
 Rocked by the weight of fruitful sheaves. 
 Up with the '' Harvest Home ! " 
 
 The sun that rose upon a line 
 
 Of golden lances wa"STJig high, 
 Now sees them, as its rays decline, 
 
 In prostrate rows together lie : 
 For bravely have the reapers wi'ought, 
 And earned the guerdon toil has brought. 
 Then while the loaded waggon heaves, 
 Rocked by the weight of fruitful sheaves, 
 Uj) with the " Harvest Home ! "
 
 40 ORIGINAL POEMS, 
 
 From field to field the work goes on, 
 
 From morn to eve we strive and toil, 
 Nor pause, nor rest till we have won 
 And gathered all the golden spoil, 
 For surely 'tis the noblest prize 
 The toil of man to man supplies. 
 
 Then while the loaded waggon heaves. 
 Rocked by the weight of fraitful sheaves. 
 Up with the " Haiwest Home ! " 
 
 And now our task is nearly o'er, 
 
 The last rich sheaf is made secure. 
 Once more we pile the gather' d store, 
 
 And make the year's great labour sure ; 
 And they that glean may fi'eely go 
 And gather up our overflow. 
 
 Shout, while the loaded waggon heaves. 
 Sing to the sway of fruitful sheaves, 
 Up with the " Hai-vest Home ! " 
 
 €^ 0nnrntr. 
 
 Life flows aroimd us all. 
 It quickens as of yore. 
 
 But where death's footsteps fall, 
 Life blooms not as before. 
 
 'Tis tlii'onging in the streets, 
 'Tis singing in the fields. 
 
 But now each face one meets 
 A foreign aspect yields.
 
 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 There is a void at home 
 A form beloved lies low, 
 
 "We dread to stay or roam ; 
 WithiB, without, is woe. 
 
 Grief hides the world without 
 And shades the world within. 
 
 Makes faith akin to doubt, 
 
 All thoughts but sad ones, sin ; 
 
 Bows down the very heart 
 And wiU not let us rest ; 
 
 Fain would we now depart 
 And mingle with the blest. 
 
 But ah ! the gulf between 
 Is channelled deep and wide ; 
 
 "VVe cannot quit this scene 
 'Tis here we must abide. 
 
 And here with nought but grief 
 To bear us company, 
 
 Must we await relief 
 
 And comfort from on high. 
 
 The hand that strikes the blow 
 That hand alone can heal ; 
 
 Can check our sorrow's flow 
 And brighter hopes reveal. 
 
 This darkness shall be light ! 
 
 Heart ! cease to be forlorn, 
 And thi'ough the gloom of night 
 
 Look forv\^ard to the mom. 
 1855. 
 
 41
 
 42 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 liflcmkr C'jiniigljts. 
 
 When gloomy clouds have gathered o'er 
 And veiled the sun-light in their gloom, 
 When outward things have lost theii' bloom 
 
 And please not as they pleased before ; 
 
 When coming Winter frowns away 
 
 The smiling growth that decked the earth, 
 And death usurps the place of birth, 
 
 And night is trespassing on day ; 
 
 'Tis then a kindred gloom o'erspreads 
 The mind that yields to things without, 
 That flies too soon fi'om faith to doubt, 
 
 And every pause of sunshine di'eads. 
 
 And yet could we but pierce the clouds 
 That hide the sunlight fi-om oiu- eyes. 
 We still might gaze on azure skies 
 
 Beyond the gloom that overshrouds. 
 
 The Sim shines on, shines on for ever. 
 Although we cannot see its rays, 
 Yon vapours only hide its blaze ; 
 
 But can they quench its glories ? Never ! 
 
 These clouds arc biit of earth ; they rise 
 From what surrounds oiu' lower life, 
 And nature's elemental strife 
 
 Evolves, then wafts them to the skies.
 
 ORIGINAL POEMS. 43 
 
 The clouds mthiu resembles these ; 
 
 'Tis from ourselves they take their form, 
 And swell and biu'st in passion's storm, 
 
 And rob us of oiu- inward ease. 
 
 33ut though the sky bo overcast, 
 
 November will not always loiu', 
 
 Sharp "Winter's fi-ost and Spring's mild shower 
 WiU bring back summer skies at last. 
 
 'Tis meet that shade should intervene, 
 To deaden the bright hues of earth. 
 Else might we prize beyond its worth, 
 
 This short and sublimarj- scene. 
 
 We cannot alwaj's hope to range 
 
 Beneath a bright and cloudless sky ; 
 
 Earth mutely rolls while heaven on high 
 Bids shade and sunshine interchange ; 
 
 Shade for the valley where we bow 
 Beneath the stroke that dims our eyes. 
 And sunshine for the land that lies 
 
 Upon life's loftiest mountain-brow. 
 
 And thus from depth to height we roam, 
 Now lost in shade, now bathed in light, 
 Until we pass earth's last long night, 
 And waken in our happier home. 
 1854.
 
 44 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 Are all the memories of life 
 
 Buried when life has fled ? 
 Are we forbid to keep again 
 
 The birthdays of the dead ? 
 
 Time was when each successive year 
 Brought one bright day of mirth, 
 
 The looked-for anniversary 
 Of some belov'd one's birth. 
 
 The birth-day feasts of childhood's age, 
 
 The feasts of riper years, 
 Eemind us of like youthful joys 
 
 Remembered now with tears. 
 
 For they with whom those days were spent, 
 
 Have done with all on earth. 
 The fond home-circle's broken up 
 
 That hailed each day of bii'th. 
 
 Yet as the days come round again 
 
 Marked with affection's seal. 
 Once more we think of those we've lost, 
 
 Once more their presence feel. 
 
 The blessed spirits now in heaven, 
 
 May not like cycles keep. 
 Time metes not out their happiness. 
 
 They know not night or sleep.
 
 ORIGINAL POEMS. 45 
 
 Yet may they still retain the thoughts 
 
 Commemorating birth, 
 And haply still they keep in Heaven 
 
 The calendar of Earth. 
 
 Far off are they, but still towards them 
 
 Oiu' loving anns vre spread, 
 And ever in our hearts we'll keep 
 
 The bu'thdays of the dead. 
 1853. 
 
 €^t (Bukn nnii tjit (Bum. 
 
 The flowers that grew in a gai'den gay 
 
 Were nurtured with tenderest care, 
 Theii" delicate forms wore the brightest array. 
 
 And they fed on the choicest of fai'e. 
 
 They basked in the sunshine, they slept in the shade, 
 
 They nodded and danced in the breeze ; 
 They welcomed the rain-drops that freshened each blade 
 
 And pattered among the tall trees. 
 
 A maiden of beauty watched over them well. 
 
 The drooping she raised and revived. 
 She cherished each rosebud, each cup, and each bell, 
 
 And rejoiced when her favorites thiived. 
 
 It chanced that a Daisy j)eeped in through the fence 
 
 That parted the beds from the mead. 
 And ventiu'cd to speak on some tr iflin g pretence 
 
 To a verv fine flower indeed.
 
 46 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 The lady-like flo-^er, the Lily, bent low 
 
 To hear what the Daisy might say. 
 And the meek little maiden blushed crimson, as though 
 
 She sank from a presence so gay. 
 
 But she ventiu-ed to whisper how pleased she should be 
 
 To walk in those alleys so bright, 
 And gaze on her richly dressed cousins and see 
 
 How they fared in that land of delight. 
 
 The boon was soon granted, the Daisy tripped in 
 
 And glanced at the beauties around. 
 But she shrank from the lofty inquisitive mien 
 
 Of the taU ones who spjuTied the low gi'ound. 
 
 There were Eoses and Tulips, Geraniums bright, 
 
 And flowers of every hue, 
 Gay Lupines, flushed Peonies, Lilies snow-white. 
 
 Scented Stocks and Campanulas blue. 
 
 The Daisy looked up in each beautifril face. 
 
 Admired each beautiful dress. 
 And said to herself " 'Tis an elegant place — 
 
 " But I like the fields best, I confess, 
 
 " TMiere we feel the fr-esh breezes, and hear the fi'esh song 
 
 " Of the lark and the mavis and merle, 
 " "VMiere the nightingale trilling sings all the night long, 
 
 " And the ferns their green tresses imciul. 
 
 " The Rose is superb, but oiu- own Eglantine 
 "Has a sweetness diftuscd thi'ough each spray; 
 
 " The Tulip is stately, but Daffodils shine 
 " "NYith a radiance as sti-ikingly gay.
 
 ORIGINAL POEMS. 47 
 
 " Tall Columbines clad all in purple and green, 
 
 " Stand noddiag on every hill, 
 "Bright Buttercups deck with their golden sheen 
 
 " The mead, and Flags wave o'er the rill. 
 
 " The Orchis has flowers that mimic the form 
 
 " Of the spider, the bee, and the &j, 
 " And the gorse in its glory in sunshine and storm 
 
 " Spreads its beauties abroad to the sky." 
 
 Thus mui-mured the Daisy. The Lily divined 
 
 What passed in the Field-flower's breast. 
 And the Daisy, emboldened, felt almost inclined 
 
 To say what she thought of the rest. 
 
 But the Lily remembered a cousin of hers 
 
 That dwelt in the valley below, 
 A fair one whose white cups the slightest breeze stii's 
 
 As they hang like small bells in a row. 
 
 The Lily that shone in that garden gay 
 
 AYould much like to visit the vale, 
 And if the good Daisy would shew her the way, 
 
 She'd reward her kind friend without fail. 
 
 'Tis said that the Lily expressed much delight 
 "When she came where her meek cousia dwelt. 
 
 And vowed she could live in the woods day and night. 
 So free and so gladsome she felt. 
 
 Returned to her garden the Lil}' soon told 
 
 Her companions of all she had seen, 
 How the sunbeams had burnished the forest with gold. 
 
 And played tlu-ough its tracery green.
 
 48 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 Now bent on a frolic the flowers resolved 
 
 To "visit the fields and the woods, 
 But fearing the danger the night dews involved, 
 
 Determined to wear their green hoods. 
 
 The fairies and elves came to meet them by night, 
 
 The moon lit the landscape around. 
 And their plaiu coimtry Cousins o'erwhelmed at the sight, 
 
 All curtsied quite down to the ground. 
 
 They danced and they frolicked, they laughed and they sighed, 
 
 They flirted like any coquette, 
 AVhile some of the sensitive ones fairly cried, 
 
 And have not forgotten it yet. 
 
 But as they went home from theii" fr'olic at morn 
 
 A Tulip, whose fiine painted face 
 By this time looked pallid and Kstlcss and worn, 
 
 Thought folks should each keep their own place. 
 
 A very mde Thistle she said had swept by. 
 And thrusting his way through the crowd. 
 
 Had torn her silk dress, never heeded her cry, 
 N'or begged pardoq, but laughed quite out loud. 
 
 But nobody pitied the Tulip so fine, 
 
 Or cared what the Thistle had done ; 
 A Larkspur entreated her not to repine, 
 
 The Thistle was only in fun. 
 
 A grave old Geranium however observed 
 
 Tluit 'twas right not to mingle the classes. 
 Her cousin Herb Robert for instance deserved 
 
 The contempt of all highly bred lasses.
 
 ORIGINAL POEMS. 49 
 
 His fragrance was none of the sweetest they knew, 
 
 And in spite of his pretty pink face, 
 She really would rather have nothing to do 
 
 With beaux so deficient in grace. 
 
 Such counsels prevailed, and from that day to this 
 
 The beauties of garden and grove 
 Keep apart, each enjoying its own separate bliss, 
 
 And thinking it best not to rove. 
 
 But natui-e will out, and I'm sadly afraid 
 No barrier can sever fond youth from fau" maid, 
 For I'm told that the bcUc of the woods, meek Miss Lily, 
 Has lately eloped with her lover, " Sweet Willie." 
 1853. 
 
 €irB Clnsing ^^mx. 
 
 Our days wear on, the cii'cling years 
 Come one by one and pass away ; 
 We look behind, how brief to-day 
 
 The story of the past apjicars. 
 
 The seasons as they come and go 
 Remind us of life's chaugcs too. 
 Each phase of man they bring to view. 
 
 And serve to mark Time's rapid flow. 
 
 Spiing's welcome voice recalls the time 
 When life and hope and joy were young ; 
 We wept and laughed, we smiled and sung, 
 
 The world to us was in its prime. 
 n
 
 50 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 Bright Summer, with its siumy sky, 
 Tells us of youth's more fervid joys 
 When nothing sates us, notliing cloys, 
 
 And fancy's visions past us fly. 
 
 And Autumn, with its ripened store, 
 The image of our manhood bears, 
 When, laden with life's joys and cares, 
 
 We patise awhile and look before. 
 
 Dark Winter comes, and shrouded lie 
 The scenes that once could give delight. 
 The pastures fair, no longer bright, 
 
 No longer charm the age-dimmed eye. 
 
 Yet each within its bosom hides 
 
 The germ of what shall next emerge. 
 Each passing season seems to urge 
 
 The other on ; yet none abides, 
 
 Until the mysteiy that lies 
 In earthly seasons fade away, 
 And bright in Heaven's immortal ray 
 
 The man immortal shall arise. 
 
 We plough, we sow, we delve, wc till, 
 And Earth repays the varied toil ; 
 And shall not Heaven's more genial soil 
 
 Reward ^\'ith brighter harvest still ? 
 
 1851.
 
 ORIGINAL POEMS. 51 
 
 Lines for a Glee, The Music hy J. L. Ho23kins, Esq., Mus. Bac, 
 
 Up and away ! the morn is grey, 
 The mist lies low on the ground, 
 
 The game is afoot, the field is gay 
 With huntsman, horse, and hound. 
 
 As down the valley our course we take 
 
 Our rallying cry on the car will break, 
 
 TaUyho! TaUy ho ! Tally ho ! 
 
 Then over the hill and away wc sweep. 
 
 He's a laggard that's left behind. 
 While close upon Eeynard's track we keep 
 
 And follow each tuna and wind. 
 With hounds that burst into musical song 
 As the voice of the hmitsman cheers them along, 
 Tally ho! TaUyho! Tally ho ! 
 
 No dangers deter us, no check we fear. 
 
 We give our good steeds the rein, 
 Wo vault o'er the fences, the brooks we clear, 
 
 Till our wished-for prize we gain. 
 Till sti-aining each nerve, and with pent-up breath, 
 We come up ^nth Eeynard, we're in at the death ! 
 TaUyho! TaUyho! TaUyho! 
 1852.
 
 52 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 To Hassanaine Al' Besumee on his leaving Englaiid for Egypt. 
 
 We haye met, and we have parted ! 
 
 Scarcely had our Mendship grown 
 Into unity of soul, 
 "WT^icn with rudely harsh control 
 Time hath severed us and thrown 
 Both asunder. — "We have parted ! 
 
 Yet methinks, with fi-iends true-hearted, 
 Parting, painful though it be 
 
 Is but testing friendship's might, 
 Proving it, by drawing tight 
 All the cords she carelessly 
 Threw aroirnd us ere we parted. 
 
 When we dwell on times departed, 
 Hours that once flew gaily by. 
 
 When in Memory's faithful lines 
 Pictured, all the bright Past shines, 
 When of friends no longer nigh 
 We dream and wake to find — we've parted. 
 
 Then let Friendship warm, true-hearted. 
 Glow with feelings warmer still. 
 Colour all the joyous past. 
 Hold each fleeting vision fast, 
 Till each bosom feels the thrill 
 That wanned oiu' hearts before we parted. 
 
 1839.
 
 ORIGINAL POEMS. 53 
 
 The AutiiiTin leaves were falling fast, 
 The fruits of earth were gathered in ; 
 From fields once clad in gold and green 
 
 Homewards the thi'onging labouj'ers passed. 
 
 I tm'ned me to a neighbom-ing field, 
 And watched a laboiu'er toUing there. 
 Though faint and weary, worn with care, 
 
 He struggled on and would not yield. 
 
 Spring, summer, autumn, winter came, 
 His toil through every season ran, 
 And every morn the weary man 
 
 Rose up to labour on the same. 
 
 ITay more, the field he laboured in 
 "Was that of human pain and grief, 
 'Twas his to minister relief 
 
 And ease where agony had been. 
 
 Familiar with each source of pain, 
 And skilled to battle with disease. 
 Scant was the rest and slight the ease 
 
 The soother for himself could gain. 
 
 But unremitting toil like this 
 
 Proved more than sti'ength of man could bear, 
 And while the lookcd-for goal was near, 
 
 He sank — Eternal rest was his.
 
 54 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 God in his mercj", God aU-^-ise, 
 Took pity on the toiler's pain, 
 Released the prisoner from his chain^ 
 Sent down and called him to the skies- 
 Blest are the dead ; onr eyes are dim 
 With grief we eannot yet restrain, 
 "We moiu'D. our loss, we hail his gain. 
 And sigh when we rememher him. 
 Oct. 1855. 
 
 i'urlvlaiA Imm ntnt ®niktnni\ 
 
 Hark ! there's music in the air, 
 Martial horn and trump are there ; 
 Strains of harmony come o'er 
 Floating from the farther shore ; 
 Rising, falling, far or near, 
 Chords of beauty charm the ear, 
 Sounds that sweetly haiTaonize 
 With the scene that round us lies, 
 Where the Medway flows serene 
 Mid fair slopes and pastuiTs gi^een, 
 Wliere an antique mansion stands 
 Looking o'er ancestral lands ; 
 Where above yon distant town 
 Massive prison-tuiTcts frown ; 
 And yon group of wan-iors gay 
 Seem to keep war's holiday. 
 Spire and to^YOv and cliiming bell 
 Of devotion's temples tell ;
 
 ORIGINAL rOEMS. 55 
 
 And the music in tlic air 
 
 Well befits the prospect fail', 
 
 Solemn now, now wild, now gay. 
 
 Varied as the passions' play. 
 
 Law and order, right and might 
 
 Here there strength and force unite. 
 
 Nature's laws and forces too 
 
 Shew their wondrous powers anew : 
 
 Life is bursting all around. 
 
 Germs are springing from the ground. 
 
 E'en the stagnant pool is rife 
 
 With the elements of life. 
 
 And o'er all, a clouded sky 
 
 Hangs a sober canopy. 
 
 Turn we to the mansion nigh, 
 
 Once the haunt of cliivahy. 
 
 In these halls for many a year 
 
 Feasted many a cavalier, 
 
 Oft these chambers rang with mirth 
 
 At a wedding or a bii'th ; 
 
 Voices nothing now recalls 
 
 Once poured music through these halls ; 
 
 Courtiers quaint and ladies bright 
 
 From this casement gazed at night, 
 
 Watched the pale moon sailing high 
 
 O'er the waters murmui'ing by. 
 
 Or upon some festive day 
 
 Marked the hunted stag at bay. 
 
 Now no more the stricken deer 
 
 Flies for friendly shelter here ; 
 
 Other fashions, other wants
 
 56 ORIGIXAL POEMS. 
 
 Grrace and. cheer these ancient haunts : 
 
 Science on these walls displays 
 
 Relies of primeval days, 
 
 Bones of creatures that had. birth 
 
 Ages ere man "walked the earth, 
 
 Things whose hoar antiquity 
 
 Shames the oldest ancestry. 
 
 Aged, house and aged trees 
 
 Have a youthful air to these ; 
 
 Tet our sympathies still cleaye 
 
 To the relics man can leave ; 
 
 And this aged house, these trees, 
 
 Eiver rippled by the breeze, 
 
 And these meadows fresh and fair 
 
 Still a human interest bear. 
 
 And we linger on the scene 
 
 "WTiere oiu- fellow men have been 
 
 Far more fondly than we gaze 
 
 On the relics of those days 
 
 "When in Nature's mighty plan 
 
 There was yet no room for man, 
 
 And the earth, and air, and seas 
 
 "Were the home of things like these. 
 
 Think not, though, that we would give 
 Days like these in wliieh we live 
 For the ruder days of old 
 When the belted knight so bold, 
 Trained in body, mind imstored, 
 Knew no weapon but the sword. 
 Mental joys and pleasures then 
 Were unknown to simple men ;
 
 ORIGINAL POEMS. 57 
 
 Learning to the cloisters flew, 
 Science gleamed but to the few. 
 "Wliere Sir Jolm de Bocland sat 
 Sit we now and think of that. 
 Mediaeval glories rise 
 Dazzling the beholder's eyes ; 
 Mcdiffiyal ignorance 
 Wakes us from our foolish trance, 
 And we bless our happy fate 
 In that we were born so late. 
 
 Yet we must not tiu-n aside 
 
 By-gone centuries to deride. 
 
 Though men's minds were then unstored, 
 
 Science then all unexplored, 
 
 Learning's lamp with feeble ray 
 
 Lightiag few men on their way, 
 
 Still as now the heart was true, 
 
 Faith was strong, affection too ; 
 
 English hospitalities 
 
 Gladdened ancient halls like these ; 
 
 Valour's daring, beauty's smile 
 
 Ne'er were wanting in oiu' isle, 
 
 And when chivahy was gone 
 
 Deeds heroic still were done. 
 
 'Tis oiu" boast to be the sons 
 
 Of those old and mighty ones 
 
 "Who in times with peril fraught 
 
 Freedom's glorious battles fought. 
 
 Handing down to this oiu' age 
 
 England's noble heritage.
 
 58 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 Thus affection links us fast 
 To the heroes of the past. 
 Moated grange, baronial hall, 
 Castle strong, erewhile must fall ; 
 But the tale of such men's lives 
 Grange and hall and tower survives ; 
 And we charge posterity 
 To embalm theii' memory. ' 
 1853. 
 
 g)|iriEg, 
 
 Gentle Spring has come, and now 
 Blossoms fringe each spreading bough ; 
 'Tis the time of joy and singing 
 Hope in cvciy heart is springing, 
 Hope to all fresh promise bringing. 
 
 Spring and Hope are come. 
 
 Welcome to each heart, fair Spring, 
 Is thy early blossoming ; 
 Infancy with babbling glee. 
 Youth with fei-vid ecstacy, 
 Manhood calm, rejoice to see 
 
 Spring and flower-buds come. 
 
 Visions of the futiu'C bright 
 Fill the fancy with delight, 
 Yet perchance such visions teeming 
 Arc but idle, empty dreaming, 
 All unreal, nought but sccmiiag 
 
 Though with Spring they come.
 
 ORIGINAL POEMS. 59 
 
 Soon will Spring's bright hour of promise 
 Fade away and vanish from us. 
 Ah ! not all its blossoms surely 
 Will siuTive the change securely 
 And expand to fniit maturely 
 
 Spring will soon be gone. 
 
 Hope too has its blossoms bright 
 Clustering thick to glad the sight. 
 But alas ! how few have floiuished 
 Of the many Hope once nourished 
 Aye for some, all, all have perished ; 
 
 Hope, like Spring, has gone. 
 
 Yet when Spring and Hope are gone, 
 Faith and Duty still hold on ; 
 Humbly ti'usting, fii*m confiding. 
 Looking for those joys abiding, 
 "When (all feai* of change subsiding) 
 
 Heaven's Spring shall come. 
 1840. 
 
 €1)^ ^nu mill tljt 3J^rhiiiif. 
 
 Far from thy banks, fair Medway, now I roam, 
 Far from the stream that flows beside my home ; 
 Kow by soft Avon's tide I wander slow 
 And watch its dark and melancholy flow. 
 
 Flow on, sAvift stream ! fair as thy windings be 
 The lledway's coiu'se is fairer far to me.
 
 60 ORIGIXAL POEMS. 
 
 Rocks piled ai'ouncl hem in thy naiTo-w com'se 
 
 And give thy struggling waves tinwonted force ; 
 
 Here shade, here sunshine, turhulence, repose 
 
 Diversify thy current as it flows. 
 
 Flow on, swift stream ! fair as thy windings be 
 The Medway's flow is fairer far to me. 
 
 Fashion hath piled her mimic heights around 
 And flung a doubtful grace on nature's gi'ound ; 
 Art hath essayed thy eddying tide to span ; 
 Ton idle towers mock the abortive plan. 
 
 Flow on, swift sti'eam I the proud may smile on the^. 
 
 But my own, my native stream for me ! 
 
 "WTiere are the stately ruins to be seen 
 That grace and digniiy her shores of green ? 
 "Where are the grey time-honoxired piles of old 
 'Neath which her stream for centuries hath roUed ? 
 
 Flow on, sweet Avon ! proudly flow along ; 
 
 But prouder flows the river of my song. 
 
 Stream of my native soil, I see thee still 
 
 "Wandering along beneath each well known hill ; 
 
 Fleet Avon may be fair, but thou to me 
 
 Art fairer still, for loving memory 
 
 Eeminds me that thy calm and placid tide 
 Flows by one spot dearer than all beside. 
 
 Like Avon's tide, through many a wild ravine 
 The hours of youth fast flowing may have been ; 
 Like Mcdway's cun-ent gentle, deep, and sti-ong 
 May manhood's calmer hours float along, 
 
 "While rapid youth and manhood's energy. 
 Friend of m}- heart ! alike lead on to thee. 
 St. Vi7icetit'3 Rocks, Clifton,
 
 ORIGINAL POEMS. 61 
 
 £ Dai| Drrcni. 
 
 I sat upon a hill-top in the sun, 
 
 Gazing upon a landscape ^vicle and fail', 
 
 No breeze or breath came sighing through the air, 
 
 But all was silent as oblivion. 
 
 All natiu-e seemed to sleep, each blade of grass 
 Stood motionless ; each nodding flower slept ; 
 1^0 twittering bud fi-om out its covert crept, 
 
 And yonder lake lay like a sheet of glass. 
 
 I was awake and yet I sat and dreamed, 
 
 The landscape faded from my dreaming sight 
 And daylight's glare to me was as the night, 
 
 And only fancy's visions roimd me beamed. 
 
 Methought I wandered thi'ough a forest green 
 Adown a narrow pathway arched with ti'ees 
 Whose leafy branches quivered in the breeze ; 
 
 No opening glade or outlet could be seen. 
 
 Shut in by oaks and elms and branching sprays 
 I wandered on and communed with the wood, 
 Or now and then I paused awhile and stood 
 
 To listen to strange sounds and mystic lays. 
 
 For ever and anon from out the deep 
 
 Of the dim forest there would issue clear 
 A plaintive sound of music floating near 
 
 Like harp oEolian that the breezes sweep.
 
 62 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 I heard the rushing of a hidden stream 
 
 And tm-ned toward it, till the pathway oped 
 And suddenly the Avood-track down-ward sloped 
 
 And straight I saw the rushing river gleam. 
 
 I reached its bank and wandered with its tide 
 Till a grey ruin, mouldering porch and tower, 
 A belfrj' tall whence rang the passing hour, 
 
 A moss-clad wall and font I stood beside. 
 
 And round about were tombstones old and grey 
 Stained with the lichens of a hundred years 
 And haply watered once with raining tears ; 
 
 So stood they mouldeiing in my di'eam that day. 
 
 But hark ! again those hallowed strains I hear, 
 The Chapel fills with worshippers long dead. 
 The chaiint is heard, the holy prayer is said. 
 
 And phantom forms in each dim aisle apjDcar. 
 
 Is it indeed the requiem of the dead 
 
 Sung by the dead themselves r Hark how it comes 
 Hollow as voice from out the catacombs ! 
 
 Can there be soiind or voice where life has fled ? 
 
 Doubtless a thousand voices all unheard, 
 Yet not far off, are sounding round us still ; 
 Voices that if they reached us here, would thriU 
 
 The heart, till founts of inward thought were stii'red. 
 
 Ah ! 'twas a di'cam ; the living and the dead 
 Meet in the land of dreams ; and as I gaze 
 Upon the hill-top, see ! the sun-light plays, 
 The wood, the stream, the anthems — all arc fled. 
 1855.
 
 ORIGINAL POEMS. 63 
 
 The coui'se of life by years is measiured, 
 And nature sends her seasons round 
 To fi'uctify the teeming ground 
 
 And bring to light what earth has ti-easured. 
 
 In torpid state the seed is buried, 
 And winter's toi-por o'er it lies, 
 But spring-tide conies, and summer skies 
 
 Pass o'er it, and in Hnes well serried 
 
 Up start the corn-spears bright and yellow, 
 And wave their pennons in the air, 
 "WTiile gardens breathe a freshness fail', 
 
 And every frTiit in turn grows mellow. 
 
 'Tis thus kind Earth -with produce gladdened, 
 Brings forth its harvests year by year ; 
 Save when a mouldering blight di-aws near. 
 
 And hopes are crushed and hearts are saddened. 
 
 But in the coui'se of human action 
 
 We gather not our harvests thus 
 
 A yearly crop is not for us, 
 Nor does each heart reap satisfaction. 
 
 Our harvests are of growth far slower, 
 And take more seasons to matore, 
 For years we toil ere we seciu'e 
 
 The fruits that mav rcAvard the sower.
 
 64 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 rull many a miclnight toils tlie learner, 
 And turns o'er many a pondered page 
 Ere lie hath earned the name of sage 
 
 And proved himself a Tvise discerner. 
 
 And many a year the sage has striven, 
 And many a track of thought pm'sued 
 Through many a pathway wild and rude, 
 
 Before a glimpse of truth was given. 
 
 And man stiives on from generation 
 To generation, ere he finds 
 Some truth that hatflcd former minds. 
 
 And ages spent in contemplation. 
 
 And some there are who toil for ever. 
 From year to year, from mom to night. 
 And yet they never once alight 
 
 Upon the fi'uit of their cndcavoiu\ 
 
 The giddy worldling hunts for pleasiu'e 
 And gives his coursing thoughts the rein. 
 But what he reaps is almost pain, 
 
 Far deeper lies life's hidden treasure. 
 
 The miser at his gold-heaps clutches, 
 And gloats o'er many a useless hoard, 
 But real Avorth he ne'er has stored, 
 
 He tiu'ns to ashes all he touches. 
 
 'Tis not the seed of things material 
 That hest reward the sower's care, 
 Eai'th's richest fruits bear no compare 
 
 "With those that grow in soil ethereal.
 
 1853. 
 
 ORIGINAL POEMS. 65 
 
 The soixl that o"\vns true wisdom's training 
 
 Can feed on products more refined, 
 
 Can in itself a harvest find, 
 And leave a j)lenteous crop remaining. 
 
 Life lasts not long enough to gather 
 The fruits of each far-seeing plan, 
 Such harvest was not meant for man, 
 
 For mortal man on earth, but rather 
 
 For man beyond the grave's dark portal, 
 Where, in exhaustless treasure stored. 
 Heaven's ample granaries afford 
 
 Immortal food for man immortal. 
 
 ^mmt tnn. 
 
 When modem wisdom, grown so bright. 
 Eschews the aid of ancient light ; 
 When pert assurance stalks abroad. 
 And lives on literary fraud ; 
 When plagiarists, a motley crew. 
 Display with art each borrowed hue ; 
 When sickly novelists describe 
 The feelings they could ne'er imbibe ; 
 When politicians and their schemes 
 Resemble di^eamers in their di'cams ; 
 When patriots are dimly seen 
 'Mid rival hosts, that throng the scene ; 
 When all is tui'moil, strife, or sleep, 
 When quackery thrives, and fame is cheap ; 
 
 E
 
 66 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 'Tis then tlie weary passer-by 
 
 Keflects with many a useless sigh 
 
 On long-forgotten days of yore, 
 
 When sages poured forth ancient lore. 
 
 'Twas in those brilliant, early times, 
 
 That verse, unmarried yet to rhymes, 
 
 In stately numbers flowed, and gave 
 
 A charm to thoughts, sublime and grave. 
 
 Homeric grandenr, Attic fire, 
 
 Ionic grace by turns inspire. 
 
 Now Sappho breathes, in fervid strains, 
 
 The lover's raptures, sighs, and pains ; 
 
 And stamps the memory of her name 
 
 In metre, consecrate to fame. 
 
 Pindar, with lyre of many strings 
 
 Like eagle soaring, wildly sings ; 
 
 Or like some falling stream descends. 
 
 And strength with beauty madly blends. 
 
 But hark ! in tones majestic, grand 
 
 As ocean thundering on the strand. 
 
 The epic bard, is heard narrate 
 
 Achilles' rage, and Priam's fate ; 
 
 Or roaming with Ulysses, sings 
 
 The stoiy of his wanderings. 
 
 Grave -ZEschylus, with wisdom fraught, 
 
 Pours forth the pomp of sti'uggling thought ; 
 
 Euripides, in humbler strain, 
 
 Portrays love's jealousy and pain ; 
 
 While Sophocles in softest lines 
 
 Affection's varied hues combines. 
 
 Do sportive ti'ains of humour please ? 
 
 Converse with Aristophanes.
 
 ORIGINAL POEMS. 67 
 
 "Wit, mirthful jest, and satire keen, 
 
 Diversify each pictured scene= 
 
 Is fervid eloquence admired ? 
 
 Call forth the orators that iii'cd 
 
 The men of Athens, when their state 
 
 "Was threatened with a servile fate. 
 
 Historians fill the ample page 
 
 "With deeds of each heroic age. 
 
 The sage who roamed through many a clime 
 
 Repeats, as in the olden time, 
 
 His tales of wonder, or recites 
 
 The struggle for a nation's rights. 
 
 The youth who hung on every word 
 
 Till all his inmost soul was stirred. 
 
 In manhood's years, with rival skill, 
 
 Depicts the mingled good and iU 
 
 That chequered each convulsive year, 
 
 "When warlike hosts spread mutual fear. 
 
 Planning with philosophic eye 
 
 A gift for late posterity. 
 
 Each shade of shifting fate he caught, 
 
 And traced the hidden springs of thought. 
 
 Such are thy sages, Greece, so last 
 
 Thy pictured visions of the past. 
 
 N'or less delights it to behold 
 
 "What graced that Eoman " age of gold," 
 
 "When Virgil sang his hero's praise, 
 
 Or tuned his reed to pastoral lays ; 
 
 "When Ovid moiumed in liquid verse 
 
 His solitude (the exile's curse) 
 
 Or traced each vagrant form and shape 
 
 In which his nymphs pursuit escape ;
 
 68 ORIGINAL POEMS. 
 
 WTien Horace, lively, witty, gay, 
 
 Paiated the maimers of his day ; 
 
 "WTien Tully's accents rose aloud 
 
 And thrilled through all the gathering crowd. 
 
 Such were thy triumphs, Rome ! such men 
 
 Shone in thy coiu-ts, and held the pen. 
 
 Embodied in each feiTid line 
 
 The breathing thoughts still live and shine, 
 
 Stni charm the reader, still inspire. 
 
 Still rouse the bosom's hidden fii'e. 
 
 And open still, with tempting gleam, 
 
 A refuge from an " age of steam."
 
 The plays of Aristophanes ! around that work divine 
 Th' Achamian ivy's clustering wreaths in verdant glory twine. 
 "What inspiration in the page ! 'Tis Bacchus seK! What sounds 
 Of grateful poesy, which yet mth dreaded wit aboixnds. 
 Genius of Comedy ! how just, how true to all that's Greek, 
 "VYhate'er in satire or in jest thy personages speak. 
 
 Greek Anthology, (Dr. Wellesley's Translation.)
 
 €^t 5lrjiarman0 nf MristajijiaHeH, 
 
 ATTEMPTED I'S EXGLISH YEKSE. 
 
 The principal character in this play is Dicaeopolis, a 
 native of the Attic borough of Achamoe, who finds his 
 military service in Athens diu-ing the Peloponnesian war 
 very ii-ksome, and tired of the bustle, trickery, and confine- 
 ment of the city, longs to get back to his home. Accord- 
 ing to the humorous idea of the play he efi'ects a particular 
 treaty of peace for himself, and thereupon opens a market 
 and sets off the blessing of peace and free trade against the 
 miseries of war and restricted commerce. In strong con- 
 trast with him stands Lamachus, an Athenian General, the 
 representative of the war party. After a great deal of 
 boasting and warlike preparations he comes in at the end 
 wounded and groaning, while Dicasopolis is enjoying him- 
 self in the midst of festivities. The Chorus is composed of 
 old Acharnians, who, as their district had suffered severely 
 from the Spartan incursions, were very much averse to peace. 
 They attack the agent of DicaBopolis veiy roughly, but are 
 won over by the eloquence of the advocate of peace. There 
 is an obvious propriety in the selection of Acharnians for 
 the Chorus, for if Dica)opolis can gain the approval of such 
 sturdy partisans of war as these, his triumj)h is complete.
 
 72 THE ACHARNIANS. 
 
 The Englisli reader must fancy himself at Athens more 
 than two and twenty centimes ago (b.c. 425), and surround 
 himself, as far as his classical and historical knowledge will 
 avail him, \ntli the accessories of the time and the place. 
 He must forget for awhile the modern stage and his own 
 beloved and honoured Shakspere, and wandering in imagi- 
 nation to that bright region 
 
 " Where on the Aegean shore a city stands, 
 Built nobly, pure the air, and light the soil," 
 
 must take his seat in the open air in the theatre under the 
 walls of the Acropolis, and catch a glimpse (slight and 
 imperfect as it may be) of the workings of Athenian life 
 and the sallies of Athenian vdt. 
 
 DlC^OPOLIS. 
 
 How many gnawing paiiis have racked my heart ! 
 Few have my pleasures been, at best but four — 
 "Whereas my woes have risen beyond compute 
 Sand-mp'iad-fold, piled up in heaps on heaps. 
 Come, let me reckon up my happy moments — 
 One thing I know rejoiced my heart to see, 
 Those talents five that Clcon has disgorged ; 
 This pleased me hugclj^, and I love the Knights 
 For such a deed, " the act was worthy Greece." 
 Then came another pang, a tragic one : 
 I sat agape all eagerness to hear 
 One of the tragedies of ^schylus, 
 When to my great concern the herald cried 
 " Theognis, lead your Chorus on the stage." 
 Only imagine what a turn it gave me !
 
 THE ACHARNIANS. 73 
 
 And yet another pleasure was in store, 
 
 When, after Moschus, once Dexitheus came. 
 
 And sang a song in the Bcetian measure. 
 
 This year I thought I must have died, 
 
 It made my head swim, and my eye-balls ache, 
 
 To see old Choeris with his back bent double. 
 
 Trying to pipe a bracing martial aii'. 
 
 But never since I first enjoyed a sciaib 
 
 And felt the rough soap make my eye-brows smart. 
 
 Was I so teased and tortiu-ed by the dust 
 
 As now, the day the regular Assembly 
 
 Should meet at morn, and lo ! the Pnyx is empty. 
 
 They're chattering in the Market ; up and dovm 
 
 They're running to avoid the red rope's stain. 
 
 Nor have the Presidents arrived as yet ; 
 
 But when they do come what a rush there'll be 
 
 For the fii'st seat, what pushing, jostling, driving, 
 
 Tumbling o'er one another ia their haste ! 
 
 Little concern they give themselves I ween, 
 
 About the Peace. hapless, hapless city ! 
 
 For my part I am always here the fii^st, 
 
 I take my seat and long to get to business ; 
 
 And while I'm here alone, I groan and gape. 
 
 Yawn, grunt, sneeze, crawl, not knowing what to do. 
 
 Pluck out a hail' or two, begin to reckon. 
 
 Look towards the fields beyond and sigh for peace. 
 
 Hating the City, longing to behold 
 
 My own dear parish, where the cry of " charcoal," 
 
 " Come buy my charcoal, vinegar, and oil," 
 
 Is never heard. The very words, " Buy, buy ! " 
 
 Are altogether strange, for all we want 
 
 Our land supplies ; and to such grating sounds
 
 74 THE ACHARNIANS. 
 
 As cries of "Buy, buy, buy!" we've said "Good-bye," — 
 Now then, I've come on pm-pose and I mean 
 To bawl at, brow-beat, and revile the speakers, 
 Should any dare to broach aught else but Peace. 
 
 But see ! here come the Presidents at last — 
 At noon-day ! There — 'tis just as I foretold — 
 Each man is struggling for the foremost seat. 
 
 Heeaid. — Go forward, sirs, go forward, get within 
 The consecrated precincts of the Court. 
 
 Amphithetjs — Have any spoken yet ? 
 
 H. — ^Who wants to speak ? 
 
 A. — I do. H. — ^Who are you ? A. — I'm Amphitheus. 
 
 H. — Amphibious did you say ? What not a man ? 
 
 A. — No, something more — I'm one of the Immortals — 
 I'll prove it, for Amphitheus was the son 
 Of great Demeter and Triptolemus ; 
 Amphitheus' son was Celeus who espoused 
 My grandmother Phoenarete ; from them 
 Lycinus sprang, my sire, and hence I claim 
 By virtue of descent, to be immortal. 
 Me have the gods enti'usted with the power. 
 And me alone, to make a truce with Sparta, 
 But though immortal, sii's, I'm mortal poor 
 And have no money to defi-ay the charge 
 Of travelling thither, for the Presidents 
 Refuse the means. 
 
 II. — Ho ! javelin men an'cst him ! 
 
 A. — Triptolemus and Celeus wiU ye see 
 
 Your offspring treated thus and not avenge him ?
 
 THE ACHARNIANS. 75 
 
 D. — Hear me, your Honors ; you do wi'ong the Assembly 
 To arrest a man wliose only crime ■was wishing 
 To make a truce and see our shields hung up. 
 
 H. — Silence ! sit do-^-n — 
 
 D. — By ApoUo, I -will not, 
 Unless you use your offices for peace. 
 
 H. — The Ambassadors, with message from the King. 
 
 D. — What King ? I'm sick and tired of embassies. 
 And popinjays, and proud pretensions — 
 
 H. — Silence ! 
 
 D. — Ecbatana ! what strange outlandish figures ! 
 
 Ambassadoes. — ^You sent us on a mission to the King 
 What time Euthymenes was Archon here. 
 And for oiu^ daily charge allowed two drachmas. 
 
 D. — Drachmas indeed ! that's how the money goes. 
 
 Amp. — And truly as we crossed Cayster's plains 
 We suffered grievous hardships and fatigues, 
 Forced to put up with tents to sojoiu-n in. 
 And though on palanqueens reclining softly, 
 Shaken to death ! 
 
 D. — / must have been well off. 
 Stretched on a heap of rubbish on the ramparts ! 
 
 A. — Our hosts were kind and entertained us well ; 
 From crystal goblets and from golden beakers 
 We quaffed perforce unmixed and luscious wine. 
 
 D. — hardy sons of Athens' rugged soil. 
 
 See ye not how these men make sport of you ?
 
 76 THE ACHARNIANS. 
 
 A. — Barbarians, you must know, have strange ideas — 
 And tliose "who most can swallow and can swill, 
 Deserve, and they alone, the name of men. 
 
 D. — With us base pimps and profligates rank highest. 
 
 A. — In the fourth year we reached the King's domains, 
 But he was gone away, his army with him, 
 And for eight months upon the golden hills 
 He sat in incubation on his projects. 
 
 D. — And when did he collect himself and march ? 
 
 A. — At the fall moon he moved his forces homeward 
 And feasted us right royally. Before us 
 Were placed whole oxen cooked in mighty ovens. 
 
 D. — Who ever heard before of oven-cooked oxen ? 
 What bouncing ! 
 
 A. — iN'ay, 'tis true, I swear by Jove. 
 He set before us too a bird that measured 
 Three times the size of fat Cleonymus ; 
 Its name, if I remember right, was Gull. 
 
 D. — And well you've gulled us, taking oiu' two drachmas. 
 
 A. — We've brought with us, and beg to introduce 
 Shamartabas, sumamed the " King's own Eye." 
 
 D. — I only wish some crow would now alight 
 alnd dash your eye out, ilr. Envoy, for you. 
 
 H.— The " King's own Eye "— 
 
 D. — King Hercules ! what's this ? 
 Why, man, what makes that figure-head of yours 
 Glare round so fiercely, like a man of war ? 
 Or arc you peering ro\ind your nasal headland
 
 THE ACHARNIANS. 77 
 
 To see if yoii can find a harboiu' here ? 
 That streak below your eye, I take it, shews 
 The leather rim on which yoiu^ bow-oar works. 
 
 A. — Approach, Shamartabas, and toll the Athenians 
 The object of yoiu' mission from the King. 
 
 S. — Kratarta Xerxes shah panhaKt tamoov. 
 
 A. — D'ye understand ? D. — By Apollo ! no — not I. 
 
 A. — ^He says the Eang intends to send us gold. 
 But tell us, friend, more plainly of the gold. 
 
 S. — ^No go — no gold at all, laimian blackguards. 
 
 D. — Confound it all, that's plain enough ! 
 
 A. — What says he ? 
 
 D. — He says the lonians must be flats and blackguards 
 To look for gold fr'om rude barbarians. 
 
 A. — Kot so ; he speaks of mighty vats of gold. 
 
 D. — "What vats ? you talk at random, idle vaunter. 
 But get you gone — I'll question him myself, 
 And put him to the proof. Come tell me, Sir, 
 Speak plainly, that this man may understand, 
 Unless you wish me to imbue yom* skin 
 With colours brilliant as the dye of Sardis. 
 Is the great King about to send us gold ? 
 He shakes his head. Have not these men deceived us r 
 He nods assent. They nod their heads like Greeks. 
 It must be so, they must be some of ours — 
 One of that pair of eunuchs too I know — 
 I can't mistake, 'tis Cleisthenes I'm siu'c, 
 Sibyrtius' son. Hot-blooded shaven minion,
 
 78 THE ACHARNIANS. 
 
 Why have you come with sucli a beard as this, 
 Dressed like a eunuch to us ? "Who's this other ? 
 Is it not Strato ? 
 
 H. — Silence ! sit you down — 
 The Senate doth invite the " King's own Eye " 
 To be their guest within the Prytaneium. 
 
 D. — Is't not enough to make one hang oneself ? 
 
 "Why should I waste my time in loiteriag here ? 
 There's always open house for such as these. 
 But I will do a deed that shall astound them. 
 "Where is my friend A.mphitheus ? 
 
 A. — Here I am. 
 
 D. — Take these eight drachmas, go and make a truce 
 "With Lacedaemon for myself alone, 
 Childi-en and wife included. As for you (fo the audience) 
 Send forth your Envoys still, and gape and wonder. 
 
 H. — Now let the Envoy from Sitalces come, 
 Theorus — 
 
 T. — Here I am. H. — This way. Come hither. 
 
 D. — ^Another boaster, I suppose, announced. 
 
 T. — "We should not, sirs, have stayed so long in Thrace — 
 
 D. — By Jove ! no, had not pay been plentiful — 
 
 T. — Had not the land been buried deep in snow, 
 The rivers frozen. 'Twas the very time 
 "When dull Thcognis, with his frigid verses 
 "Was striving to obtain the tragic prize ; 
 No douljt this helped to cool the atmosphere. 
 I passed the time in drinking with Sitalces,
 
 THE ACHARNIANS. 79 
 
 And truly he was Atliens-striick indeed, 
 
 Enraptured with, our people, insomuch 
 
 That on the yery walls he used to write 
 
 "Noble Athenians ! Excellent Athenians ! " 
 
 His son, whom we enrolled as an Athenian, 
 
 Longed very much to taste the sausages 
 
 The feast of Apaturia affords. 
 
 And earnestly besought his worthy father 
 
 To aid his son's adopted father-land. 
 
 Libations flowed, and then the Monarch swore 
 
 To send us succours in such multitudes 
 
 That when the men of Athens saw them coming 
 
 They would exclaim " What locust swarm is this ! " 
 
 D. — Hang me if I believe a single word 
 
 Of what you're telling us — except the locusts. 
 
 T. — And now he sends you as a specimen 
 
 The finest fighting men that Tlu:ace can boast. 
 
 D. — Seeing's believing; this is something like. 
 
 H. — Come forward Thracians, marshalled by Theorus. 
 
 D. — What bane is this ? 
 
 T. — A ti'oop of Odomantians. 
 
 D. — Wliat Odomantians ? Odd enoiigh indeed ! 
 The odds are all against them I should say. 
 
 T. — These fellows, if you give them but two drachmas, 
 Will overrun and ravage all Boeotia. 
 
 D. — Two di-achmas for such clipped and shaven creatures ? 
 Om' first rate sailors well might groan to see it, 
 And they're the state's sheet anchor. Ha ! what now !
 
 80 THE ACHARNIANS. 
 
 wretched me ! I'm ruined altogether — 
 
 Those seoTindrels have made off with all my garlic ! 
 Drop it, you rascals, won't you ? 
 
 T. — Fool beware ! 
 Come not too near these men that doat on garKc, 
 It heats their blood and makes them dangerous. 
 
 D. — Presidents, will you put up with this. 
 And tamely see me in my native land 
 Suffer such insults £i-om barbarians ? 
 But I protest against and will oppose 
 The Assembly's entertaining such a question 
 As how to subsidize the Thracians. IsTay 
 
 1 tell you more, the signs of Heaven oppose it, 
 For even now I felt a di'op of rain. 
 
 H. — The Thracians are ordered to depart, 
 
 And come again the day after to-morrow. 
 For now the Presidents dissolve the Assembly. 
 
 D. — Ah me ! what heaps of gaidic I have lost. 
 My savoury dish is robbed of all its flavoui'. 
 But here's Amphitheus come from Laceda)mon — 
 Good cheer, Amphitheus ! 
 
 A. — Spare your greetings yet 
 Until I'm out of danger and cease running, 
 For I must fly to escape the Achamians. 
 
 D. — "Why, what's the matter ? 
 
 A. — As I hastened hither 
 Bringing your tnice, some old Aclianiians, 
 Stu})boni unflinching fellows, smelt me out, 
 Old men that fought and bled at Mai'athon, 
 
 i
 
 THE ACHARNIANS. 81 
 
 TJnwedgeable as oak and tough as maple ! 
 They all set up a shout " Accursed wi'etch, 
 " Is it a truce you're bearing, when our vines 
 " Have been cut down and wasted by the foe ? " 
 "With that they gathered up a stock of stones 
 And filled their mantles. I set off ; they followed, 
 Shouting and bawling at me. 
 
 D. — Let them bawl. 
 But have you really brought a truce Avith you ? 
 
 A. — I have indeed ; here are three sorts to taste ; 
 The fii'st a five-years' treaty, take and try it. 
 
 D.— dear ! 
 
 A. — What now ? 
 
 D. — That does not please me — Pah ! 
 It smells of pitch and fitting out of ships. 
 
 A. — Well, take this ten years' truce ; see how that tastes. 
 
 D. — Too sharp by half; it has a pimgcnt smack 
 Of envoys sent to seek alliances. 
 Of messages, evasions, and delays. 
 
 A. — "WTiat think you of a tiiice for thirty years 
 By land and sea ? 
 
 D. — festival of Bacchus ! 
 This savoTU's of ambrosia and nectar. 
 It does not bid you lay by thi'ee days' rations. 
 But plainly tells you " Go just where you please " — 
 This suits me well ; to this I closely cling 
 And laugh and quafi^ and pour my glad libations, 
 And as for these Achamians I renounce them.
 
 82 THE ACHARNIANS. 
 
 Released from war at last and all its ills 
 I'll get me home and there I'U celebrate 
 The rnral festival of Dionysiis. 
 
 A. — And I must give the Acharnians the slip. 
 
 CHOUTJS. 
 
 Follow me, come all and chase him : question every man 
 
 you meet 
 On the road if he has seen him, for to catch him were a feat 
 "Worth rewarding by the city. Say if any of you know 
 Where the ti'uce -kidnapper's flown to. Tell me which way 
 
 did he go ? 
 
 He has fled, he is gone, he is clean out of sight, 
 'Tis tlie fault of my years that he made good his flight. 
 In the days of my youth when with coals on my back, 
 I raced ■^'ith Phayllus and kept on liis ti*ack, 
 This truce-bearer's paces had then proved too slow, 
 He would not, I warrant, have slipped from me so. 
 
 Now this leg of mine's grown rigid, stiff" as in the frozen 
 
 year 
 Of the archon Lacrateides, see the scoundrel gets off" clear ; 
 Chased he must be though and captured lest he turn the 
 
 laugh at us, '^, 
 
 Boasting that o'er old Acharnians he came off" ^■ictorious. 
 
 Whoever, Jove and ye gods, hath devised 
 
 A truce with the foe, shall by me be despised 
 
 And held as a foe ; and I -will not relax 
 
 Until like a shai^p reed I pierce through their backs. 
 
 And twinge them and rake them so hard they'll not dai'e 
 
 To trample my vines down and lay my lands bare.
 
 THE ACHARNIAIS'S. §3 
 
 But oiu" business is to follow and to seek the runaway, 
 Glancing round with looks of vengeance, frowning like fort 
 
 Flingaway, 
 Turning hither, tui-ning thither, till we catch him. Then 
 
 I know 
 AU our flinty ammunition will not be too much to throw. 
 
 D. — Silence ye that stand aroimd ! 
 
 Hushed be each ill-omened soimd. 
 
 C. — Silence all ! ye heai'd him utter words that should 
 
 propitiate ; 
 'Tis the very man we're seeking. Stand aside and let 
 
 us wait, 
 From his house we soon shall see him coming to officiate. 
 
 D. — Silence ye that stand around ! 
 Hushed be each ill-omened sound. 
 A little farther forward basket-bearer — 
 And hold the sjinbol upright, Xanthias. 
 
 MoTHEE. — Set down the basket. Let the rites commence. 
 
 Datjghtek. — Give me the ladle, mother dear, to pom' 
 The sauce upon this sacrificial cake. 
 
 D. — And truly, lord Bacchus, it is meet 
 * And noble that with grateful joyous heart, 
 I should in due procession with my household 
 Offer thee sacrifice and gladly keej) 
 Thy rural festival ; for I am free, 
 Beleased from arms and favoiu'ed AAdth a truce 
 That bears me hamiless for frill thirty years. 
 
 M. — My daughter fafr, see that with gestiu'c fair. 
 And glance austere as one who's swallowed rue,
 
 84 THE ACHARNIAINS. 
 
 Upon your head you bear the sacred basket. 
 Happy the bridegroom who shall call thee bride, 
 And wake at morn and find thee by his side. 
 Go forward, but amid the crowd beware, 
 Lest any snatch the fruits you bear. 
 
 D. — Exalt the sacred symbol, Xanthias, 
 Hold it erect behind the basket bearer. 
 I'll follow you and chaunt the Festal song, 
 And you, my spouse, behold us from the house-top 
 Spectatress of our festival. — Now forward ! 
 
 Phales, friend of Bacchus free, 
 Partner of our revelry, 
 Wild night-roamer, gay seducer. 
 Boon companion, mirth producer. 
 After five years' war I come 
 Gladly to my native home. 
 By my private truce set fr'ee, 
 I address myself to thee ; 
 "Wars and toils and Lamachus 
 Henceforth ne'er shall ti'ouble us. 
 Por, Phales, sweeter far 
 Lovers' joys and blisses are. 
 Sweet to find some Thracian maid, 
 Stealing sticks from Phelleus' glade, 
 Strymodorus' damsel fair, 
 Gathering brushwood here and there ; 
 Then to clasp her round the waist. 
 And to hold licr fast embraced, 
 Till the girl, thus closely pressed. 
 Yields the kisses you would wrest, 
 Phales, Phales, joys like these
 
 THE ACHARNIANS. 85 
 
 Make us love thy mysteries. 
 If you bear me company, 
 If all night you'll drink with me, 
 Then to ease the thi'obbing pain 
 Of your temples you shall di'ain, 
 In the morn, the cup of Peace, 
 Tliis shall make yoiu' torments cease, 
 And I'll hang this shield of mine 
 In the chimney's smoky shrine. 
 
 Choetts. 
 . This is he ! the very feUow ; Pelt him, pelt him, give it him ! 
 Hit him, beat the horrid villain ! won't you pelt liim ? won't 
 5'ou fling ? 
 
 D. — Hercules ! what's tliis I wonder ? Hold ; you'll break 
 the pipkin — hold ! 
 
 C. — ISot an instant ; we will stone you, villain, till you're 
 dead and cold. 
 
 D. — Condescend to tell me wherefore, wise Acharnians 
 grave and old. 
 
 CnoRUS. 
 Is this your request. 
 Wicked impudent pest ? 
 Can you look in my face, 
 After bringing disgrace 
 On the land you've betrayed. 
 When you've secretly made 
 A truce with the foe. 
 And deceived us all so ? 
 
 D. — Why I did so, Sirs, ye know not. Listen let me tell 
 j-ou why ?
 
 86 THE ACHARNIANS. 
 
 C. — Hear your stoiy : Peiish rather ! 'neath a stone-heap 
 you shall die. 
 
 D. — Nay good friends, pray stay your purpose, till you're 
 heard my history, 
 
 Chokxjs. 
 I'll endiu'e it no more ; 
 Not a word ! so give o'er — 
 For I hate thee, man, now, 
 More than Cleon, I vow. 
 Whose carcase well-tanned I will cut into strips, 
 And present to the Knights to make shoe-soles and whips. 
 As for you I plainly tell you I'll not hear your long appeal, 
 Since you've dared to treat with Sparta, you shall all my 
 vengeance feel. 
 
 D. — Pray, good Sirs, don't talk of Sparta, lest the theme 
 your wrath excite — 
 Hear the terms of my own treaty ; judge ye whether I 
 did right. 
 
 C. — Right ? how could you when you ventiu'cd on a tiiice 
 with men like those, 
 Men who oaths and altars scorning keep no faith with 
 friends or foes. 
 
 D. — Though we hlame them, and against them all oiir wi'ath 
 and hatred bring, 
 'Tis my firm belief our troubles do not all fr'om Sparta 
 spring. 
 
 C. — What ! not aU r base designer ! "Wliat not aU ? and 
 do you dare 
 Plainly teU me so, and shall I condescend your life to 
 spare ?
 
 THE ACHARNIANS. 87 
 
 D. — No, not all, not all I tell you, and it would not take mo 
 long 
 To convmce you that in some tilings they themselves 
 have suffered wrong. 
 
 C. — That's an awful charge, enough to make the stout heart 
 palpitate, 
 If in spite of us you ventiu'e thus to be their advocate. 
 
 D — If I fail to argue justly, if the people deem me naught, 
 Further proof to give I'm willing; let a chopping block 
 
 be brought, 
 I will lay my head upon it, and address you fearlessly. 
 
 C. — "VVhy forbear, people longer ? why not stone him till 
 he die, 
 Till his mangled corse before us clad in blood-red robe 
 shall lie ? 
 
 D. — What hot rage agaia inilames you like a hot and 
 biuTiing brand .^ 
 "Won't you hear me then, Acharnians ? won't you hear 
 and understand ? 
 
 C. — Not a word ! we will not listen. 
 
 D. — I must suffer then I know. 
 
 C, — May I perish if I hear thee. 
 
 D. — Nay, Acharnians, say not so. 
 
 C. — Instant death awaits you, su-rah. 
 
 D. — I'll contrive to vex you, thoiigh ; 
 In retiuTi I'll wreak my vengeance on yoiu- best and 
 
 dearest friends, 
 Hostages in my possession, I will slay to make amends.
 
 88 THE ACHARNIANS. 
 
 C. — Tell me, citizens, what means he by this strange 
 
 mysterious tlireat. 
 What impending fate, Achamians, at his hands awaits 
 
 you yet ? 
 Has he in his house imprisoned some unhappy parent's 
 
 chHd? 
 Or what else can make him utter threats so boasting 
 
 and so wild ? 
 
 D. — Stonemeif itbeyourpleasure, I'll destroy the thing, I vow, 
 I shaU soon see who among you cares at all for charcoal 
 now. 
 
 C. — ^Woe betide us! 'tis the parish charcoal basket threatened 
 so. 
 Oh for pity's sake don't harm it ! Spare it, spare the 
 fatal blow ? 
 
 D. — ^Bawl your loudest — I'U destroy it — for I will not heed 
 your prayer. 
 
 C. — And will you then destroy my cherished friend, 
 Friend of my youth, fond harboui'er of charcoal ? 
 
 D. — You would not hear me lately when I spoke. 
 
 C. — No — but now utter all yoiu' mind. Say on. 
 And if you like, say you've a fi'iendly feeling 
 Towards our foes the men of Lacedasmon ; 
 I'll ne'er betray this darling basket — never ! 
 
 D. — First get rid of all those missiles ; fling the stones upon 
 the ground. 
 
 C. — There they arc. Put up your sword now. 
 
 D. — See that not a stone be found 
 Hidden in your folded mantles. Shake them out and 
 turn them round.
 
 THE ACHARNIANS. 89 
 
 C. — They're shaken out ah'cady don't you see ? 
 Do not deceive me, but put up your weapon, 
 For see we shake and whiii them as we turn. 
 
 D. — You were about to shake forth dreadful cries, 
 And Parnes' charcoal too had well nigh perished , 
 All from the senseless folly of the people. 
 This basket, too, just like a cuttle fish 
 That in its fright pours forth an inky stream, 
 Has stained me and begrimed me with its dust. 
 'Tis shocking that men's minds should be so harsh 
 And cruel as to make them shout, fling stones, 
 And scorn to hear a word of sense or reason, 
 Though I was willing on a chopping-block 
 To lay my head and in that dangerous postui'o 
 To utter aU I have to say for Sparta ; 
 And yet I love my life as well as most men. 
 
 C. — "Why not begin then, wretched man, 
 And tell us all your mighty plan ? 
 Bring forth the chopping-block then, pray, 
 I long to hear what you can say — 
 Here place it. 'Tis your own mad scheme. 
 And now commence the promised theme. 
 
 D. — Behold then, see, this is the chopping block. 
 And here am I, the little orator. 
 Whether or no, I'll wear no shield, by Jove ; 
 But I will teU you what I think of Sparta, 
 And yet I've much to fear ; I know the ways 
 Of country-folks like these, how pleased they are 
 If any boasting speaker flatter them 
 And praise their city, — whether right or wrong ;
 
 90 THE ACHARNIANS. 
 
 They see not how their interests are sold. 
 
 I know the humoiu' of these old men too — 
 
 They think of nothing else but how to bite 
 
 And vex their neighboiu's with the voting-pebble. 
 
 Full well I know what I myseK endui-ed 
 
 From Cleon for my last year's comedy, 
 
 He dragged me to the senate house, accused me, 
 
 Loaded his tongue with falsehoods, bullied me. 
 
 And poui'ed forth torrents of abuse and insult, 
 
 So that amid the pestilential current, 
 
 I well-nigh perished. Therefore I entreat you 
 
 Ere I begin, allow me fii'st to go 
 
 And clothe myself in beggaidy attire. 
 
 Such as befits my miserable plight, 
 
 C. — "Why these tiu'ns and shiftings, pray, 
 "Why so anxious to delay ? 
 Go to Hieronymus, 
 (His attire will do for us) 
 Take a helm, you'U find one there 
 Black with rough and shaggy hair. 
 Such as shades in Hades wear. 
 If you lack contrivances, 
 Sisyphus "nail lend you his. 
 "No more shamming, for the fray 
 "WiU not longer brook delay. 
 
 D. — 'Tis time I summoned all my courage up 
 And called upon Euiipides. Ho ! boy ! 
 
 Servant. — "Who's there ? 
 
 D. — Boy, is Euripides within ? 
 
 S. — He is within, and 3-ct bo's not witliin. 
 If you have sense enough to understand.
 
 THE ACHAKNTANS. 91 
 
 D. — How can he be within and not within ? 
 
 S. — Eightly enough, ohi man. His mind indeed 
 Is out of doors collecting bits of verse, 
 But he himself is sitting up aloft, 
 Writing a tragedy. 
 
 D. — Thrice happy poet 
 To have a slave that gives such clever answers ! 
 But call him down. 
 
 S — Impossible. 
 
 D.— You must. 
 I wiU not go away ; I'll bang the door. 
 Euripides, Euripididkin dear, 
 Listen to me, if ever you have listened 
 To any man. 'Tis Dieoeopolis 
 That caUs you. — I — a native of Cholleidae. 
 
 EiTEiPiDES. — I'm not at leisure. 
 
 D. — Have yourself wheeled out. 
 
 E. — I cannot. 
 
 D. — But you m^^st. 
 
 E. — "Well then to please you 
 I will, but I'm too busy to come down. 
 
 D. — Euripides. 
 
 E. — Wliat makes you bawl and howl so ? 
 
 D. — You sit thei'e making verses up aloft 
 
 When you might make them just as well below — 
 No wonder that your heroes turn out lame. 
 Wliat means this store of rags, this piteous dress 
 Dragged fiom the wardrobe of some tragedy ?
 
 92 THE ACHARNIANS. 
 
 Surely you're making up a set of beggars. 
 But I beseech you, by those knees I'd clasp, 
 Give me a ragged di'ess from some old play, 
 For I've a long oration to deliver 
 Before the chorus, and if I break down 
 Nothing but death awaits me, I assm'e you. 
 
 E. — ^What sort of rags ? "Will those of -^neus do 
 In which that luckless old man played his part ? 
 
 D. — ITot those of JEneus, some one far more wretched. 
 
 E.— Those of blind Phoenix? 
 
 D. — Blind old Phoenix I no, 
 There was another far worse off than Phoenix. 
 
 E. — What kind of tatters is it that he wants ? 
 Mean you the rags poor Philoctetes wore ? 
 
 D. — No, no a poorer man than he by far, 
 
 E. — ^Perhaps you mean the wretched tattered robes 
 In which the brave Bellerophon appeared. 
 
 D. — No, not Bellerophon ; the man I mean 
 "Was lame though, and a needy mendicant. 
 Loquacious, gifted with a supple tongue. 
 
 E. — I know the man, the Mysian Telephus, 
 They lie above the tatters of Thyestes, 
 And close to those of Ino. 
 
 S. — Here you have them ! 
 
 D. — Jove, who secst through and into all things 
 Just as I peer tlirough all these rents and holes, 
 Let luu cuwrup myself in these poor tatters 
 
 i
 
 THE ACHARNIANS. 93 
 
 To give myself a most foiiom appearance. 
 Euripides, siacc thus you've favoiii'ed me, 
 Complete yoiu- bounty ; add to these old rags 
 The Mysian bonnet to protect my head ; 
 "For I must wear a pauper look to day, 
 "Be what I am, appear to be another," 
 Let the spectators know me, not the chorus, 
 But keep them fixed in stupid ignorance. 
 So that with trivial sayings I may try them 
 And hold them up to ridicule and scoru. 
 
 E. — I'll give it you, for I admii-e your tact. 
 
 The prudent way in Avhich yon plan your schemes. 
 
 D. — Blessings attend you ! 'Tis to Telephus 
 I owe my wisdom ^Tiat a copious store 
 Of handy pkraselets I've amassed ah-eady ! 
 Allow me now to crave the beggar's staff. 
 
 E. — Take it and go, now quit these marble haUs. 
 
 D. — See, my soul, how thou art driven away, 
 Thrust out of doors, still lacking many wares. 
 Now be it thine to ti^uckle and to beg, 
 And smoothly fawn upon Euripides. 
 Give me the basket, lamp-smirched as it is. 
 
 E. — wi'etched man, what need have you of that ? 
 
 D. — No need at all ; I'd like to have it though. 
 
 E. — You're gettiug troublesome. Sir — leave the house. 
 
 D. — Ah well-a-day ! yom' mother's luck attend you. 
 
 E. — Leave me. 
 
 D. — Ah no ! grant me this one request, 
 Give me the little cup with broken lip.
 
 94 THE ACHAFvNIANS. 
 
 E. — Take it and go, man, you're a perfect nuisance. 
 
 D. — By Jove, yon know not how you wrong me friend. 
 Sweetest Euiipides, yet grant me this. 
 This only. Let me have the little pipkin 
 That stands there with a sponge stuffed in its mouth. 
 
 E. — You'll carry off my tragedy entire ! 
 There take it, go ! 
 
 D. — I'm going, but alas 
 "WTiat shall I do ? There's one thing wanting yet. 
 The loss of which wiU ruin all my schemes ; 
 Hear me this once, dear sweet Euripides, 
 When I get this I'll go, and come no more, 
 Give me those dried herbs ; put them in the basket. 
 
 E. — You'll ruin me ; my stock of plays is gone. 
 And all through you. 
 
 D. — I'll trouble you no more, 
 I'm off ; I'm yery troublesome I know, 
 ** iNot dreaming that the great ones bear me malice." 
 But woe is me ! I'm ruined, that I am ! 
 I had forgotten that on which depends 
 My whole success. dearest, sweetest man. 
 Give me some Chervil pray, your mother sells it. 
 
 E. — The fellow's insolent. Shut to the door. 
 
 D. — And must I, my soul, depart without 
 
 The Cliervil after aU ? Think what awaits thee ; 
 Thou know'st the dangerous contest thou'rt engaged in, 
 About to advocate the cause of Sparta. 
 (Jnward my soul ! the starting point is reached. 
 Dost stand and hesitate when thou hast drained
 
 THE ACHAPvNIANS. 95 
 
 Euripides and di'iink tliy fill of him ? 
 Thy actions I commend. Take heart, poor heart ; 
 Go hence and fear not to lay down your head 
 On yonder block and say just what you please. 
 Depart , be daring — I admii-e your spuit. 
 
 Choetjs. 
 "WTiat will you say ? what -wiU. you do ? 
 "No shame or weakness troubles you, 
 A man of ii'on nerves indeed, 
 About to risk yoxu' life and plead 
 A cause in wliich yoiu' every word 
 "Will anger all by whom 'tis heard. 
 
 Semi-Chokits. 
 The man is fearless, dreads no ill, 
 Then let him speak, since speak he \vill. 
 
 D. — Be not offended with me, kind spectators. 
 If, though a poor man, I presume to speak 
 Before Athenians on affairs of state, 
 My rightful province being comedy. 
 For even comedy knows what is right. 
 Grave will my words be, but they shall be just. 
 And Cleon shall not now, as once he did. 
 Accuse me that I speak in evil terms 
 About the state, when foreigners are present. 
 We're by ourselves ; 'tis the Lensean feast, 
 No strangers yet are present, for no tiibutes 
 Have reached us yet, nor have the allies arrived ; 
 But here we are alone, well--\vinnowed grain, 
 (For aliens I call the chaff of the city). 
 As for the men of Spai-ta I abhor them,
 
 96 THE ACHARNIANS. 
 
 And may Poseidon, god of Tsenarus, 
 Shake and o'erthro-w their houses every one, 
 For I too had my -v-ines all cut to pieces. 
 But let me ask you, friend, (for such I deem you) 
 "Why should ^e thi'ow the blame of this on Sparta ? 
 Some of our people, (mind — not all the city — 
 Remember this — I say not all the city) — 
 But men, or rather wi'etched mannikins, 
 Clipped coin, disgraced ones, coimterfeits and strangers, 
 Informed agaiast the cloaks of Megara, 
 And if they spied a pig or leveret, 
 A sucking pig, some liunps of salt or garlic, 
 " These must have come from Megara of course/' 
 And so at once they seized the goods and sold them. 
 Yet these "were trifles, simple native wares ; 
 But when some youths -with wdne and play excited 
 "Went off to Megara and kidnapped thence 
 The courtezan Simtetha, then inflamed 
 With raging thi'oes, as if with garlic heated. 
 The men of Megara to be revenged 
 Stole in return two of Aspasia's harlots ; 
 And thus the war that biu'st o'er all the Greeks 
 Took its begimiing from thi'ee coiu'tczans. 
 • Hence was it that Oh-mpian Pericles 
 
 Thimdcred and lightened in his wrath, and stirred 
 
 All Greece together iu one seething mass. 
 
 He laid do-svn laws (phrased like our di'iiiking songs), 
 
 Enacting that the men of Megara 
 
 Should have no restiag-place by land or sea, 
 
 No sufferance in mainland or in mart. 
 
 Hence when the men of Megara began 
 
 To feel the pangs of hunger stealing o'er them,
 
 THE ACHARNIANS. 97 
 
 Tliey tiu'ncd to Laccdajmon and besought 
 
 Her influence, that the harlot-caused decree 
 
 Might be reversed ; and though they oft essayed 
 
 Remonstrance and cntreatj^, we refused, 
 
 And hence arose the present clash of shields. 
 
 " We ought not to have done so " some will say ; 
 
 But tell me then what ought we to have done ? 
 
 Suppose some pettifogging Spartan spy 
 
 Had put off in his skiff to our SerijDlius, 
 
 Stolen a little pu2)py thence and sold it, 
 
 "Would you have sat down quietly at home ? 
 
 'No — far fi-om that ! you would have straightway 
 
 launched 
 Three hundred ships ; the town would have been full 
 Of din of soldiers, shouts to choose a Trierarch, 
 Of givijig pay, of gilding Pallas-busts 
 For figure heads ; the loaded granary groaning ; 
 Of sharing out the rations and the stores ; 
 Of goat-skin bags, oar-thongs, men buying barrels ; 
 Of garlic, olives, onions stored in nets ; 
 Of garlands, pilchards, fifers, blistered hands ; 
 The dock-yard would be full of workmen toiling 
 To shape the oar ; of noise of treenails driven ; 
 Of sailors fitting on the rowlock thong ; 
 Of fifes and boatswaias, pipings and shi'ill whistles. 
 Such would have been your course, I know full well, 
 And ought not Telephus to have his way ? 
 That's why I say we've not a grain of sense. 
 
 FiEST Seiii-Chortjs. 
 
 Indeed, hacknej-ed most disgusting fellow, 
 Poor as thou art, dar'st thou addi'ess us thus?
 
 98 THE ACHARNIANS. 
 
 And if there cliance to be a base informer 
 Among us, dost thou cast it in our teeth ? 
 
 Second Semi-Choetjs. 
 Yes by Poseidon, and whate'er he says 
 He says "with justice, not a word is false. 
 
 First SEMi-CnoErs. 
 Even if just was it his place to say so ? 
 But ne'ertheless thou shalt not dare to make 
 Such vile assertions with impunity. 
 
 Second Semi-Choetjs. 
 "Where are you rushing ? won't you stop at once ? 
 Por if you sti'ike, he'll snap you up in no time. 
 
 FmsT Semi-Chortjs. 
 Ho ! Lamachus ! thou whose very looks 
 Are lightning flashes, Gorgon-crested warrior, 
 Appear and aid us with thy presence now. 
 Ho ! Lamachus, my friend, my fellow-tribesman, 
 Or any other General or Captain, 
 Or breach-assaulter, if there be one nigh, 
 Help quickly, for he's got me in his gripe. 
 
 Lamachus. — Whence comes the warrior- cry I heard just now? 
 Where must I lend my aid ? where spread confusion ? 
 Who's roused the shield-bome Gorgon from its cover ? 
 
 D. — hero Lamachus ! what crests and cohorts ! 
 
 CnoEus. 
 Lamachus, is not this fellow he 
 That has been dealmg forth abuse so long 
 On all our city ? 
 
 L. — "VMiat ! a man like you, 
 A wretched pauper, dare to say such things ?
 
 THE ACHARNIANS. 99 
 
 D. — hero Lamaclms, forgive me i^ray, 
 
 If I, a poor mau, liavc mdulgcd in prating. 
 
 L. — "WTiat hast thou said of us ? "Wilt speak ? 
 
 D. — I cannot — 
 I hardly know — the sight of arms appals me 
 And makes me feel quite dizzy. I beseech thee 
 Remove that di'eadful bugbear fi'om my sight. 
 
 L. — (Taking off his helmet. J 
 
 There 'tis. 
 
 D. — Now place it upside down I pray. 
 
 L. — Well there it lies. 
 
 D. — Oblige me with a feather, 
 Torn from yoiu' crest. 
 
 L. — And here's a feather for you. 
 
 D. — ITow hold my head, I feel I shall be sick, 
 
 That crest of yours affects me with such loathing. 
 
 L. — ^What are you going to do ? To use my feather 
 To make you heave ? 
 
 D. — And pray what feather is it ? 
 
 L. — A bird's of course. 
 
 D.— What kind of bu-d ? a Bragtail ? 
 
 L. — Fellow ! you'll lose your life for this I'm thinking. 
 
 D. — Nay, man, 'tis not a question of brute force. 
 
 If you're so strong, why don't you run me through 
 And flesh your sturdy weapon in my flesh ?
 
 100 THE ACHARNIANS. 
 
 L. — Is tHs the vraj you treat a general, 
 And you, a pauper r 
 
 D. — Pauper ! 
 
 L. — Yes, -what else ? 
 
 D, — An honest citizen, no hungry placeman. 
 But, ever since the war began, a soldier ; 
 You, ever since the war began, a hireling. 
 
 L. — They voted for me. 
 
 D. — Yes — three boobies did ! 
 Disgusted at the farce, I made a truce, 
 Seeing grey-headed veterans keep their ranks 
 While youngsters like yourself shirk active service ; 
 Some sent to Thrace, and paid three drachmas daily, 
 Tisameno-Phsenij)pites, compound rascals. 
 With all the knavery of Hipparchides ; 
 Others with Chares, some to the Chaonians, 
 Compounds of Theodonis and bald Geres, 
 The braggarts of the Diomeian borough ; 
 And some to Camarina, Gela, Gigglia. 
 
 L. — They were elected to those posts. 
 
 D. — And why ? 
 You get well paid of course, go where you will ; 
 But men like these — not one. Tell me, old Charcoal, 
 Grey as j'ou are, have you been ever sent 
 Ambassador ? He shakes his head — and yet 
 The man's a sensible hard-A\-orking fellow. 
 What says old Woodcutter, what say you, Stoker, 
 And Heart of Oak, have any of you seen 
 Ecbatana and the Chaonian people ?
 
 THE ACHARNIANS. 101 
 
 They answer, no ; but Caesyra's son has been there, 
 And Lamachus, men who not long ago, 
 "What with their loans from clubs and other debts 
 "Were so hard vip that all their friends cried out 
 Like those who empty slops at night, " Stand clear." 
 
 L. — Powers of Democracy ! can tliis be borne ? 
 
 D. — IS'o, not if Lamachus should lose his pay. 
 
 L. — Well I'm resolved to wage eternal war 
 
 "With all the Peloponnesians. Everywhere 
 I'll take the lead, and mustering all my forces, 
 Naval and land, do all I can to oppose them. 
 
 D. — And I for my part make this proclamation 
 To all the Peloponnesians and the men 
 Of Megara and Boeotia ; I invite them 
 To come to market, buy and sell with me — 
 But Lamachus is specially excluded. 
 
 Pakabasis. — Chorus. 
 The man prevails in argument, and wins by strong persuasion 
 The peoj)le to that truce of his. But now we'll take occasion 
 To lay aside oiu' cumbrous di'ess, and ranging at our pleasui'e. 
 Address a word or tAvo to you in Anapaestic measure. 
 Ever since we've been trained by the Master who now leads 
 
 oiu' comedy-chorus, he never 
 Has yet come before the spectators to say what a genius he 
 
 is, and how clever ; 
 But being reviled and accused by his foes, and held up to the 
 
 hasty Athenians 
 As one who makes game of our town and insults Athenians 
 
 to suit his convenience,
 
 103 THE ACHARNIANS. 
 
 He begs to be heard in reply, wbile he speaks to Athenians, 
 
 men prone to conversion ; 
 He says that the Poet has done you much good, and has 
 
 served you, while giving diversion, 
 By putting a stop to j'om' being cajoled and deluded by 
 
 foreign orations, 
 And tickled by flattery, made gaping cits, the laughter and 
 
 scorn of all nations. 
 Not a great while ago the Ambassadors came from the cities 
 
 and tried their deceptions. 
 Addressing you first as the '' violet- crowned;" the epithet 
 
 charmed your perceptions ; 
 At the sound of the phrase so elated you were that you sat 
 
 in the strangest position, 
 Half rising, scarce touching your seats in youi' zeal to 
 
 applaud the new-fangled addition. 
 Eut if any one skilfully flattering yoiu' tastes called Athens 
 
 " (he Jat and the shining," 
 Bestowing the praise of anchovies on men, such a speaker 
 
 so shi'ewdly combining 
 The honours of each, would have found in these words all 
 
 he wished without fui-ther divining. 
 The Poet who warned you of these things has proved the 
 
 source of much good to the nation, 
 And shown other people in cities how well Democracy 
 
 merits probation ; 
 ►So now, when from neighbounng cities they come with 
 
 their tributes, the greatest attraction 
 They find is to see this most wonderful bard, the poet who, 
 
 fearless of faction, 
 Dared to utter just truths to Athenians ; and hence, so fai' 
 
 has the fame of Ms daring
 
 THE ACHARNIANS. 103 
 
 Now reached, that the king when j\jnbassadors came from 
 
 Sparta alliance preparing, 
 First asked them which state was the sti'ongest in ships, and 
 
 then, which the Poet most censiured, 
 For those he declared who took this man's advice "U'onld 
 
 succeed best in all they adventured. 
 And tliis was the reason the Spartans sought peace, of 
 
 ^gina would fain get possession, 
 'Not so much for the sake of the island itself, as this Poet to 
 
 gain by the cession. 
 But don't give bim up ; let him still say what's right, as he 
 
 follows his mirthful vocation, 
 For he says he has many good lessons to give that will make 
 
 you a prosperous nation ; 
 Not flattering, holding out bribes or rewards, nor practising 
 
 vile imj^osition, 
 Not bespattering with praises, but showing the course best 
 
 fitted to raise your condition. 
 
 Let Cleon then contrive his best, 
 Use all his arts and interest 
 Against me, my defence shall be 
 That truth and justice fight for me ; 
 And never shall it be my fate 
 To prove a recreant to the state, 
 Like that lewd craven-hearted knave, 
 Anxious alone himself to save. 
 
 Stkophe. 
 Come hither, bold Achamian Muse, 
 Thy blazing strength and fiuy use. 
 Fierce as the fieiy brand that leaps 
 From out the crackling maple-heaps,
 
 104 THE ACHARNIANS. 
 
 Urged by the fan's impulsive "wing 
 Bright sparks and embers forth to fling ; 
 "When fish lie ready to be grilled 
 And artist-cooks, in pickling skilled, 
 Mix up the sauce, prepare the paste, 
 An.d all is bustle, heat, and haste. 
 So let thy stirring sti'ains arise, 
 Rude, heai'ty, rustic melodies, 
 Fitted to rule the hearts of men 
 And me thy fellow-citizen. 
 
 Chobtjs. 
 
 "We old men reproach the city, we, the men of olden tinle. 
 That we are not, as beseems us, for the sea-fights of our prime, 
 In our old age kindly tended by you, but we suffer wrong, 
 Grievous wrong, from those among you who, oiu- misery to 
 
 prolong. 
 Drive us into angry lawsuits, making us old men the sport 
 Of the practised youthful speakers who oppose our cause in 
 
 Court, 
 Treating us as good for nothing, voiceless as a worn-out fife, 
 Men to whom the staff they lean on is the guardian-god of 
 
 life. 
 There we stand at the tribunal, muttering forth our feeble 
 
 talc. 
 Seeing nothing but the dimness of the lawsuit's misty veil, 
 But the youthful prosecutor, eager to advance liis cause, 
 Dashes at full speed against us, neatly joining clause to clause, 
 Then, to puzzle old Tilhonus, drags him forth and questions 
 
 him, 
 Laying Avord-traps for his answers, making all confused and 
 
 dim,
 
 THE ACHARNIANS. 105 
 
 Worrying, vexing, and perplexing, till the poor old man at 
 
 last 
 Mumbles as old age will let Mm, goes away and finds — he's 
 
 cast. 
 Sobbing, to his fiiend he tui'ns Mm, weeps and tells him 
 
 piteously, 
 ""What I've lost in tMs base action would have served to 
 
 bury me." 
 
 Antistkoph-e. 
 Can tMs be decent, fail', or just, 
 To crush an old man in the dust ? 
 To sue the man of hoary head, 
 "Who oft has toiled and fought and bled, 
 And wiped the manly sweat away 
 On many a fimous battle day. 
 Seen many a noble victory won. 
 And saved the state at Marathon ? 
 True, when at Marathon of yore 
 "We fought, we di-ove the foe before — 
 Now, we ourselves are diiven away, 
 Accused by knaves, for in tMs fi-ay 
 "We only fight to lose the day. 
 "Wliat we allege who can deny, 
 AVho dare defend ? will Marpsias try ? 
 
 Choetjs. 
 Is it fitting that an old man bending like Thucydides 
 Should be crushed and made to suifer ScytMan solitude to 
 
 please 
 Bullying CepMsodemus who can talk him down with ease ? 
 Truly I felt pity for him, and I wiped a tear away 
 "When I saw an aged warrior baffled in tMs shameful way
 
 106 THE ACEAEXIAXS. 
 
 By an impudent policeman. By Demeter had it been 
 "WTien Thucydides was youthful, all himself, you -would 
 
 have seen ^ 
 
 He'd have brooked no fierce defiance even from a goddess 
 
 then, 
 'Not Demeter would have awed him, he'd have overpowered 
 
 ten 
 Like Euathlus, and three thousand javelia-men in vaia might 
 
 caU, 
 He'd have roared them down, outbawled them, proved 
 
 triumphant over all, 
 With his well-aimed darts surpassing sire and kinsmen 
 
 great and small. 
 Inasmuch then as your conduct robs the old men of their 
 
 sleep. 
 Pass a law that all indictments henceforth separate bounds 
 
 shall keep ; 
 For the old man let the accuser old and dtdl and toothless be. 
 Let the young men have for suitors youths of like obscenity, 
 Eivalling Cleinias' son, and, like him, gifted with loquacity; 
 Should due process follow after, from defaulters fines be 
 
 wriing. 
 Let the old amerce the old man, and the young amerce the 
 
 young. 
 
 D. — These are the boundaries of my market place, 
 And here the Peloponnesians may ti-ade, 
 Megarians and Boeotians as well, 
 Upon condition that they sell to me, 
 And not to Lamachus. For market-clerks 
 I choose these tlu'cc, appointing them by lot. 
 To keep the market ; they arc good stout thongs
 
 THE ACIIAPvNIANS. 107 
 
 ^ade of the leather Leprea's famous for. 
 Let no informer think to gain admission, 
 Nor any other prying spy -whatever. 
 I'll go and fetch the pillar ^dth the terms 
 On which I make my truce inscribed upon it, 
 To set it uj) conspicuous in the market. 
 
 A Megahian. 
 
 Hail market-place in Athens ! welcome sight, 
 And dear to us of Megara, for I swear 
 By Jove, the god of fiiendly intercoiu'se, 
 I've often longed for thee as for a mother. 
 Go, wi'etched daughters of a wretched sii'e, 
 Go to the barley-cake if you can find it ; 
 Listen, and let your stomachs heed the question, 
 "VSTiich would you rather do ? Be sold or starve ? 
 
 GiELS. — Be sold ! be sold ! 
 
 IT. — That's what I say myself; 
 But who'd be simpleton enough to buy you. 
 Seeing the bargain would be certain loss ? 
 Stay — I've a shi-ewd 3Iegarian device, 
 I'll di-ess you up as pigs and say I've bought you — 
 Here — take these pettitoes and put them on 
 To look like pigs reared by a well-bred sow. 
 There's no help for it — if j^ou go back home, 
 By Hermes you'U soon feel the pangs of himger. 
 "Now put these pigs' snouts on as well, and then 
 Jump in this sack and scj^ucak and grunt away 
 As pigs are wont when led to sacrifice. 
 I'U call for Dicceopolis. Ho Master ! 
 "Where are you ? Do you want to buy a pig .^
 
 108 THE ACHARNIANS. 
 
 D. — Ho-w now, Megarian, wliat's your business here ? 
 M. — ^We've come to market. 
 
 D. — "Well, how fares it with you ? 
 M. — Badly enough, we sit by the fire an d starve ! 
 
 D. — Sit by the fire ! That's pleasant work, by Jove, 
 If you've a piper with you. Pray what else 
 Are you Megarians doing ? 
 
 M. — ^ISIuch as ever. 
 "When we set out upon our joui-ney thence, 
 Our leading men were doing all they could 
 To bring upon us swift and sure destruction. 
 
 D. — In that case you'd be freed from all your troubles. 
 
 M. — That's true enough ; what else can we expect ? 
 
 D. — ^How are provisions selling now, Megarian ? 
 
 M. — monstrous dear ! as costly as the gods. 
 
 D. — You've brought some salt ! 
 
 M. — Do not j/ou claim it all ? 
 
 D. — No garKc ? 
 
 M. — Pray what garlic can we have 
 When you, as often as you come upon us, 
 Dig up the heads, like field-mice, with your mattocks. 
 
 D. — What have you got ? 
 
 M. — Some pigs for sacrifice. 
 D. — That's well ; let's see them. 
 
 M. — Ah, they're real beauties ! 
 Just hold them up, examine them and see 
 How fat and fair they are. 
 
 D.— What evcr's this ?
 
 THE ACHAE.NIANS. 109 
 
 M. — A little pig by Jove ! 
 
 D. — ^What say you ? pray 
 What country did it come from ? 
 
 M. — Megara ; 
 Don't you call this a pig ? 
 
 D. — "WTiy, not exactly. 
 
 M. — Is not this strange ? you see his unbelief, 
 He seems to fancy this is not a pig. 
 But, if you like, just lay me down a wager 
 (And let the stakes be pounded salt and thyme) 
 That this is not a real sucking-pig 
 By all the rules of Greeks, and no deception. 
 
 D. — Is it a man's ? 
 
 M. — It is, by Diodes ! 
 'Tis mine at least, whose do you think it is ? 
 D'ye wish to hear them ? 
 
 D. — By the gods I do. 
 
 M. — Come, Piggy, use your voice and squeak your fastest : 
 Don't sulk ia silence, miserable wretches, 
 For if you do I'll take you home agaia, 
 I will by Hermes. 
 
 G. — Queek — queek — queek — queek — queek ! 
 
 M. — Is this a pig ? 
 
 D. — "Wby certainly it seems so, 
 But if its kept for five years 'twill be bigger. 
 
 M. — 'Twill be the very image of its mother. 
 
 J). — "Well but 'tis hardly fit for sacrifice.
 
 110 THE ACHARNIAXS. 
 
 M. — "WTiy not r what liiiiders it from being offered ? 
 
 D. — It's got no tail ! 
 
 M. — Why, man, 'tis young as yet ; 
 But -when it reaches pighood's full estate, 
 'Twill hare a fine fat red tail of its own, 
 And if you rear it, it will prove a good one. 
 
 D. — ^How much alike one pig is to the other ! 
 
 M, — They're both from the same mother and same father. 
 And when they're fattened, and theu' hern's well grown. 
 Pigs are the finest things to sacrifice 
 To Aphrodite. 
 
 D. — Sure 'tis not the custom 
 To offer pigs to Aphrodite. 
 
 AT.— ^Tiat ! 
 Not pigs to her ? why she of all the rest 
 Is just the only one to whom they're offered ; 
 And I assure you that the flesh of pigs 
 Is most delicious, cooked upon a spit. 
 
 D. — D'ye think they'd eat without their mother by them r 
 
 M. — Yes, by Poseidon, and without their father. 
 
 D.— What's their chief food ? 
 
 M. — Food ! every thing you give them ! 
 Ask them yourself. 
 
 D.— Here, Piggy ! 
 
 G. — Queek — queek — queek ! 
 
 D. — Can you cat vetches ? 
 
 G. — Queek— queek — queek — queek — queek !
 
 THE ACHARNIANS. Ill 
 
 D. — Dried figs from Pliibalis ? 
 
 G. — Qiieek, qucek, queek, queek. 
 
 D. — How loud 5"ou squeaked at mention of the diied figs. 
 Let some one fetch, some diied figs from within 
 And set before the pigs ; d'ye think they'd eat them ? 
 Good Hercules ! just hear them how they guttle ! 
 What kind of breed d'ye call them ? I should say, 
 To see them eat, they came fi'om Guzzleborough, 
 They have not eaten all the dried figs though. 
 
 M. — I took this one. 
 
 D. — By Jove ! they're comely creatures ! 
 What shall I give you for these pigs now, tell me ? 
 
 M. — I'll take a bunch of garlic for the one. 
 
 And if you Kke the bargain you shall have 
 The other for a pint-and-a-half of salt. 
 
 D. — I'll buy them of j'ou then ; don't go away. 
 
 M. — Hermes, god of traffic, at this price 
 I'd sell my wife, aye and my mother too. 
 
 INFOEMEE. 
 
 What countryman are you, my man ? 
 
 M. — I come 
 From Megara and deal in pigs. 
 
 I. — 0, do you ? 
 Then I'll inform against these pigs of yours 
 And you yoiu'self as foes and contraband. 
 
 M. — There 'tis ! the very thing that's been the cause 
 Of all oiu' misery is come again.
 
 113 THE ACHARNIANS. 
 
 I. — ^You'll rue it, man, for playing the Megarian. 
 "Won't you let go the bag ? come, give it up ! 
 
 M. — Ho Dicaeopolis — ^here Dicseopolis ! 
 Help, I'm informed against. 
 
 D. — By whom ? who's he 
 That dares inform against you ? Market- clerks ! 
 Will you not drive the informer out of doors ? 
 "WTiat have you learned, that you can biing to light 
 "Without a wick to throw some light upon it ? 
 
 I, — ^May'nt I inform against our enemies ? 
 
 D. — 'Twill cost you dear unless you exercise 
 Youi" trade of an informer somewhere else. 
 
 M. — what a curse this practice is to Athens ! 
 
 D. — Courage, Megaiian ! you have sold your pigs 
 
 And here's the price. Take up this salt and garlic, 
 And joy be with you. 
 
 M. — Joy ! there's none for us, 
 The word's gone out of fashion in our country. 
 
 D. — "WcU — no great harm, I'll wish it for myself. 
 
 M. — piggies, try youi* best, without yoiu' father, 
 To feed on bread and salt, if any's oifcred. 
 
 CnOETTS. 
 
 Prosperity attends the man ; see how his plan progresses ! 
 Have you not heard of his success, how skilful his address is? 
 
 He'll reap the fruit of this, you'll see, 
 
 Sitting at market quietly ; 
 
 And if a Ctesias comes nigh 
 
 Or any other sneaking spy,
 
 THE ACHARNIANS. 113 
 
 He'll find it will not do to stay, 
 'Twere better to have kept aM-aj'. 
 
 N'o other piircliaser shall hiu-t your trade by cheating prices, 
 No Prepis vile contaminate yoiu" person with his vices ; 
 
 Cleonymus shall not oppress, 
 You'll walk abroad in comely dress ; 
 Hyperbolus you need not fear, 
 He will not run against you here, 
 And, seeking litigation's fruits, 
 O'erwhelm you mth a host of suits ; 
 
 'Nor will Cratinus, di'opping in, walk up to you with loung- 
 ing pace. 
 
 Known ever by his close-clipped locks, the yile adulterer's 
 disgrace ! 
 
 A very Artemon is he, 
 
 Abounding in rascality, • 
 
 Composing verses at a rate 
 
 Paster than I can calcidate. 
 
 And tainted with the hirciue smell 
 
 For which his sire was known so well. 
 
 Henceforth no more shall Pauson scoff, that prating thorough- 
 going scamp, 
 
 Nor in your market-place again shall base Lysistratus 
 encamp. 
 
 Disgrace of the Cholargian ward. 
 
 By every honest man abhon'ed, 
 
 A fellow steeped in villany, 
 
 A prey to constant peniuy ; 
 
 All through each month no change he knows, 
 
 Put starves and shivers as he ffoes.
 
 114 THE ACHARNIANS. 
 
 A BcEOTIAN. 
 
 Bear witness Hercules, I've siiiFered sadly — 
 
 This load has wi'ung mc and raised quite a lump. 
 
 Ismenia, put the mint down carefully ; 
 
 And you that come from Thebes and play the bagpipes 
 
 Ply well youi' bony pipes and blow yoiu- loudest. 
 
 D. — Hold and be hanged ! Wasps, won't you leave my door ? 
 Whence have you flown, you droning piping crew, 
 How came you at my door, vile sons of Chseris ? 
 
 B. — By lolaus, stranger, you do well 
 
 To scold the fellows, for these Theban pipers 
 
 Behind me puffing hard have blown away 
 
 My penny-royal blossoms on the ground. 
 
 But, if you will, piu'chase some things I've brought, 
 
 Some of my chickens or my dainty-locusts. 
 
 D. — What have you got ? 
 
 B. — The good things of Boeotia, 
 At least what we call good, that's all I know — 
 Marjoram, penny-royal, mats and wicks. 
 Ducks, jackdaws, moorhens, wagtails, coots, and divers. 
 
 D. — You've come upon us like a storm of bii'ds 
 Filling our market. 
 
 B. — And I've brought besides 
 Geese, hares, and foxes, hedgehogs, moles, and cats, 
 Beavers and otters, eels from Lake Copais. 
 
 D. — bearer of the most delicious morsel 
 That man delights in, if you've any eels 
 Let mc just say a word to them I pray.
 
 THE ACHAKNIANS. 115 
 
 B. — Eldest of Lake Copais' fifty daughters 
 
 Come forth and gratify the stranger's wish. 
 
 D. — dearest creatui'e, longed for long ago, 
 Thou'rt come to gratify our comic chorus, 
 Dear too to Morychus. Attendants, bring me 
 The brazier hither and the bellows too. 
 Look, boys, observe her well, this noble eel 
 So often wished for, after five years absence 
 Returned at last : speak to her, childi-en, greet her. 
 I'll find you fuel to welcome in this guest, 
 But bring her in, for " never, e'en in death 
 " May I be parted from her " — stewed in beet ! 
 
 B. — But where am I to get my price for this ? 
 
 D. — You'll give me this as market-toll of course ; 
 But if you've any other things to sell 
 Amongst your stores, say so. 
 
 B.— I'll seU them all. 
 
 D. — "What do you ask ? or will you in exchange 
 Take back another cargo from this place ? 
 
 B. — Whatever Athens has that we Boeotians 
 Cannot produce will be acceptable. 
 
 D. — Then will you take anchovies from Phalerum, 
 Or crockery ? 
 
 B. — Fish and crockeiy we have there. 
 Things scarce with us and plentiful with you 
 Are what I want. 
 
 D. — Jiist so, ah, now I have it — 
 Take an Infonner then and pack him up 
 As you would pack up crockeiy.
 
 116 THE ACHAKXIANS. 
 
 B. — By the gods 
 I think 'twould be a profitable scheme 
 To take one Tvith me and exhibit him, 
 Just like a monkey, full of tricks and mischief. 
 
 D. — "Well, here comes one, Xicarchus the Informer. 
 
 B. — There's not much of him. 
 
 D. — Xo, but he's aU devil ! 
 
 JS'lCABCHTS. 
 
 "WTiose goods are these ? 
 
 B. — They're mine, the man before you, 
 Just come fi'om Thebes ; Zeus knows I teU no lie. 
 
 3^. — Indeed ? then I, the man you see, denounce them 
 As things imported from the enemy. 
 
 B. — "Wliat wi'ong then have you siiffered, to make war 
 And battle wage -with all the feathered tribe ? 
 
 N. — I mean to inform against yoiu'self as "well. 
 
 B. — How have I wronged you ? 
 
 X.— I wiU tcU you, Su% 
 For the bystander's sake, I'll teU you how. 
 You're bringing in some -wicks from the enemy. 
 
 D. — "Wliat ? d'ye inform against such things as wicks ? 
 
 ^''. — A wick's a thing would set the docks on fire ! 
 
 D. — A wick the docks? bless me I pray how can that be ? 
 
 ^N". — AMiy a l^oootian knave might chance to fasten 
 One to a beetle, light it up, and send it
 
 THE ACHARNIANS. 117 
 
 ("Watcliing the time a fierce north wind was raging) 
 Into the dockyard by a water-course. 
 And if the fire once caught the ships, they'd blaze 
 And flare up ia a moment all around. 
 
 D. — scoundrel ! they would blaze and flare away 
 
 Enkindled by a wick and beetle, would they ? (striking 
 him. J 
 
 jSr. — I do protest — 
 
 D. — There, stop the fellow's mouth. 
 Give me some cords to tie him up at once 
 Like crockery, lest he break in being carried. 
 
 Choeus. 
 Pack up this piece of goods, my man, 
 The stranger's ordered. That's the plan; 
 
 Just so, you know, 
 That he that bears may'nt break it. 
 
 D. — I'll see to that ; for hark ! he sounds 
 Like one who prates beyond all bounds, 
 
 All cracked by fire 
 And to the gods most hateful. 
 
 C. — How ever will he use him ? 
 
 D.— he'U be fit for all things, 
 A vessel full of troubles, 
 A grinder-up of actions, 
 A lantern throwing light on 
 
 Ofiicial scores, 
 A cup for brewing mischief. 
 
 C. — But who would e'er consent to use 
 A vessel so unseemly,
 
 118 THE ACHARNIANS. 
 
 That tlu'ougli the house 
 Will evermore be ringing ? 
 
 D. — 'Tis tough, good man, remember that ! 
 It never can be broken 
 If by the feet 
 Head-downwards 'tis suspended. 
 
 C. — 'Now here you have it nicely, 
 
 B. — I'E pack my things together. 
 
 D. — Most worthy guest take this as well 
 And pack him with yoiu' other wares. 
 Take where you please 
 This general Informer. 
 
 D. — I've had a job to tie the villain up ; 
 Take up the crock eiy -ware, Boeotian. 
 
 B. — Stoop and take up the load, Ismenichus. 
 
 D. — And see you carry him away "svith care. 
 A sorry load you'll carry ; never mind — 
 Thus much at least yoti'll profit by your bxu-den, 
 You'll be at peace, and fearless of Informers. 
 
 Sekvant. — Ho ! Dicaeopolis. 
 
 I). — ^y}\i\t now, who calls me ? 
 
 S. — My master, Lamachus, has sent mc to you 
 
 And begs you'll lot him have for this one drachma 
 Some thrashes for the Festival of Pitchers, 
 And for three drachmas a Copaic eel. 
 
 D. — What Lamachus is this that wants the eel ? 
 
 S. — Tlio wai-rior dread who shakos the Gorgon-sliicld, 
 And waves tlu'cc crests that spread a shade around.
 
 THE ACHARNIANS. 119 
 
 D. — By Jove, not I— not even for his shield ; 
 
 No, let liini shake his plumes and swallow salt-fish. 
 
 If he's obstreperous I'll call the clerks. 
 
 I'll carry off this bundle for myself, 
 
 And go within 'ncath thi'ushes' wings and blackbirds. 
 
 Choeits. 
 
 You have seen, you have seen, eveiy man within the citj'. 
 What a prudent man he is, how extremely wise and witty ; 
 With that truce of Ms what plenteous store of market 
 
 things he's got, 
 Some useful for his house at home, and some for eating hot. 
 All the good things of their own accord to him now freely 
 
 come — 
 Never more will I receive or harbour War within my home, 
 Ne'er reclining at my table shall he sing the Harmodian song, 
 For a drmiken knave is he, and invades us with his throng 
 When in all good things aboimding ; every e"vil he has 
 
 wrought. 
 He has overset and squandered all, and mischievously fought. 
 Notwithstanding, many a time have we in-\T.ted him to sup, 
 Saying — '^ diink with us — recline with us — and taste of 
 
 friendship's cup." 
 But all the more he set on fij-e the poles that prop our \Tnes, 
 And wantonly by force poured out and wasted all oui' wines. 
 
 To the feast our friend has gone and his thoughts begin to soar, 
 As a sign of fare the feathers he has sti'ewed before the door. 
 Peace ! fair love's companion and the friend of each fond 
 
 Gi'ace, 
 How is it I've so long passed by the beauties of thy face ? 
 would that some kiad god of love, adorned, as painters feign.
 
 120 THE ACHARNIANS. 
 
 With garlands fail' of blooming flowers, -would closely join 
 
 us twain ! 
 Or is it that you think mayhap I'm getting far too old ? 
 !N^ay, if I catch thee, blessings thi-ee I think I can unfold ; 
 For fii'st I'd draw a fiuTowlong and plant it with the vine, 
 And by its side I'd range a row of fig trees in a line. 
 And thii'dly, old man as I am, I'd make the tendi'ils twine ; 
 Then in a circle round the plot I"d bid the olives grow, 
 "Whence for us both, at new-moon feasts, the anointing oil 
 
 should flow. 
 
 Heeaxd. 
 
 Give hear people ! as yoiu' sii'cs have kej)t, 
 >So keep ye now the Feast. At sound of trumpet 
 Quaff the full Pitchers. He who drains the bowl 
 The first, shaU have a goatskin filled with wine 
 Capacious as the paunch of Ctesiphon. 
 
 D. — Slaves, women, heard ye not ? what are ye about ? 
 Do you not hear the herald's welcome shout ? 
 BoU, roast, turn round, draw quickly from the spit 
 The roasted hare, and wreathe fresh garlands fit. 
 Bring me the small spit too 
 To pierce the thi-ushes through. 
 
 C. — I do admire your pnident air; 
 
 Still more the feast you now prepare 
 
 Commands my aijprobation. 
 
 D. — "WHiat will you say then when you see 
 The tlu'ushes roasted properly ? 
 
 C. — I tliink you're right on this point too. 
 
 D. — Stir up the fire, attendant, do.
 
 THE ACHARNIANS. 121 
 
 C. — D'ye hear in what a stylish, way, 
 With science such as cooks display, 
 
 The Artist gives his orders ? 
 
 Husbandman. 
 
 Ah, wi'etched me ! 
 
 D. — Oh, Hercules, what's this? 
 
 H. — A man of evil stars, 
 
 D. — There — go your way then. 
 
 H. — My dearest Sir, you've made a truce alone ; 
 Dole me a share of peace, say five years only. 
 
 D. — What's been the matter ? 
 
 H. — I am worn away 
 "With loss of my two oxen. 
 
 D. — How was that ? 
 
 H. — From Phylae the Boeotians harried them. 
 
 D. — Thrice wretched man! and yet you wear white garments!. 
 
 H. — These oxen too, by Jove, they noiorished me 
 And well manured me. 
 
 D. — Well, what want you now r 
 
 H. — I've lost both eyes with weeping for my oxen. 
 But if 3'ou care for Dercetes fi-om Phylae, 
 Anoint my eyes at once with salve of peace. 
 
 D. — But, fellow, know I'm not a parish doctor. 
 
 H. — Do so, I pray, that I may find my cattle. 
 
 D. — I cannot; tell your griefs to Pittalus' pupils.
 
 122 THE ACHARNIANS. 
 
 H. — Just di'op me but one drop of peace 
 Into this reed. 
 
 D. — 'No, not tte smallest fraction, 
 Be off, and gi-oan elsewhere ; go where you like. 
 
 H. — Ah ■wretched me ! my two unlucky oxen ! 
 
 Choetjs. 
 The man has found his secret truce 
 Can something rich and sweet produce ; 
 It seems he'll share with no one. 
 
 D. — Pour honey on the sausage meat 
 And fry the cuttle-fish. 
 
 C. — D'ye hear him shouting orders ? 
 
 D. — And let the eels be di-essed too. 
 
 C. — ^You'H kill me with sti'ong appetite ; 
 The neighbours too your steams incite, 
 And you, so loudly bawling. 
 
 • D. — Fiy these, and see that they are nicely browned. 
 
 Wedding Gtjest. 
 
 Ho, Dicaeopolis, I say. 
 
 D.— Who's this ? 
 
 G. — A certain bridegroom from his wedding-feast 
 Has sent these meats to thee. 
 
 D. — "Wlioe'er he be 
 'Twas kindly done. 
 
 G. — And in retiuTi he begs 
 You'll pour into this alabaster cup 
 One di'op of peace, that he may not be sent
 
 THE ACHARNIANS. 123 
 
 On a campaign, but stay at home awhile 
 And entertain his bride. 
 
 D. — Take back the meats, 
 Take them all back, give none of them to me — 
 I would not grant it for ten thousand drachmas. 
 But who is this ? 
 
 G. — The bridesmaid, who would speak 
 With you alone. The bride sends you a message. 
 
 D. — "Well, what say you ? — ye gods, how laughable 
 The bride's request, she urges me to grant 
 That she may keep her husband still at home. 
 "Well, bring the truce here that on her alone 
 I may confer the boon, for she's a woman, 
 And ought not therefore to be teased with war. 
 Hold out the pot to put the ointment in. 
 Do you know how to use it ? I will tell you — 
 Go tell the bride, soon as the troops are levied, 
 To anoint her good man's nose at night with tliis. 
 Now take tlie truce away, fetch mo the funnel, 
 That I may pour the wine into the pitcher. 
 
 Chortjs. 
 But here comes one with wild uplifted eyebrows, 
 As if impelled to utter dreadful tidings. 
 
 Heeaxd. — wars ! calamities ! and Lamachus. 
 
 L. — Who's he that makes his ringmg voice resound 
 
 Aroimd my dwelling, bright v.'iih. biu-nished brass ? 
 
 H. — The Generals command you to set out 
 
 This yeiy day with all yoxir crests and cohorts
 
 1£4 THE ACHARNIANS. 
 
 Immediately, and, spite of sno-wy weather. 
 To •watch and guard the passes from the foe. 
 For, at the very feast of Pots and Pitchers, 
 Some one has brought the news that robber bands 
 Have made an inroad from Boeotia. 
 
 L. — Alas these Generals ! they're too plentiful. 
 
 The more there are, the worse. Is it not dreadful 
 To think I'm not allowed to keep the feast ? 
 
 D. — Alas ! the array of Lamachgean warriors ! 
 
 L. — ^Wretch as I am, dost thou make game of me ? 
 
 D. — ^Wnt thou do battle with four-crested Geryon ? 
 
 L. — Alas ! alas ! what news the Herald's brought me ! 
 
 D. — Ha ! what brings he who runs to me with news ? 
 
 H. — Ho, Dicaeopolis ! 
 
 D.— A\Tiat now ? 
 
 H. — To supper ! 
 Come quickly with your basket and your pitcher, 
 The priest of Dionysus sends for you. 
 Make haste — ^you've kept them long enough already. 
 Every thing else is ready ; there are couches. 
 Tables and pillows, cushions, garlands, unguents, 
 Sweetmeats and damsels, biscuits and flat cakes, 
 Cakes made with sesame, and honey cakes. 
 Fair dancers and Harmodius' favourite strain. 
 Haste, use your quickest pace. 
 
 L. — Ah -wretched me ! 
 
 D. — It serves you right for sporting a gi-cat Gorgon. 
 Shut to the door, and let them serve the supper.
 
 THE ACHARNIANS. 125 
 
 L. — Boy, boy, fetch out my wallet ; bring it hither, 
 
 D. — Boy, boy, fetch out my basket ; bring it hither. 
 
 L. — Bring me the salt, and thyme, and onions, boy. 
 
 D. — And me the salt-fish — onions I abhor. 
 
 L. — Bring the stale pickled-fish wrapped in a fig leaf. 
 
 D. — Bring me the leaf- wrapped sausage — I will fiy it. 
 
 L. — Fetch me the feathers for my helmet crest. 
 
 D. — And bring me the wood-pigeons and the thrushes. 
 
 L. — The osti'ich-feather's white and beautiful ! 
 
 D. — The pigeon's flesh is brown and beautiful ! 
 
 L. — Sirrah, desist fr-om laughing at my weapons. 
 
 D. — Sir, will you keep your eyes off li'om my thrushes ? 
 
 L. — Bring me my crest-case with my triple crest. 
 
 D. — Give me the platter with the hare upon it. 
 
 L. — See how the moths have eaten at my crest ! 
 
 D. — See how I'll eat my stewed hare before supper. 
 
 L. — SLr, will you cease to address yourself to me ? 
 
 D. — I do not speak to you. I and my servant 
 Have had a long contention, man, that's all. 
 Wilt lay a wager, (Lamachus the umpire) 
 "Which are the sweetest, locusts or these thrushes ? 
 
 L. — How insolent you are ! 
 
 D. — Good, he decides 
 
 Locusts are best, by Jove ! 
 
 L. — Boy, bring my spear.
 
 126 THE ACHARNIANS. 
 
 D. — Boy, boy, fetcli me the sausage ; bring it hither. 
 
 L. — Come let me drag the cover from the spear, 
 Take hold, boy, j)iill ! 
 
 D. — Boy, take a pull at this. 
 
 ( Offering th e pitcher. J 
 
 L. — Briag me the stand to stay my shield against. 
 
 D. — Bring me the pan-baked loaves to stay my stomach. 
 
 L. — Briag the round shield Tvith Gorgon on its back. 
 
 D. — Bring the round cake with cheese upon its back. 
 
 L. — Does not this joke taste flat and void of flavour ? 
 
 D. — Does not this cake of mine taste full of savour? 
 
 L. — Pom" oil on the shield, boy. In the brass 
 I see an old man who will fly for fear. 
 
 D. — Pour honey on the cake. I see an old man 
 Bidding the son of Gorgasus bewail. 
 
 L. — Bring hither, boy, the breast-plate of the wanior. 
 
 D. — Take up my breast-plate, boy, that trusty pitcher. 
 
 L. — "With this I'll arm my breast agaiast the foe. 
 
 D. — With this I'll arm my breast 'gainst boon companions. 
 
 L. — Tic up the wrappers, boy, upon the shield. 
 
 D. — Tie up the supper, boy, within the basket. 
 
 L. — V\\ iakc the bag and carry it myself, 
 
 I). — I'll take my cloak about me and be off.
 
 THE ACHARNIANS. 127 
 
 L. — Take up the shield, boy ; march ! Bless me it snows ! 
 A wintiy business this. 
 
 D, — Take np the supper, 
 Our business smacks of draining cups together. 
 
 Choetjs. 
 March to the field rejoicingly ; 
 What different paths before you lie ! 
 'Tis his to drink, with garlands crowned, 
 And your's to freeze on sentry's round ; 
 And while you thus j'our vigils keep 
 "With fairest partner he will sleep. 
 
 Antimachus, old Driveller's son, vile bard of vilest ditty, 
 May Jove ( I do not mince my words ) destroy him without 
 
 pity. 
 At the Lenaean festival, Choragus mean and sordid, 
 He sent me supperless away, no feast our toil rewarded. 
 
 "Would I could see him as. I wish, 
 
 Longing to taste some cuttle-fish, 
 
 "Watching it liissing as it fries, 
 
 Till on the board with salt it lies 
 
 Safe stranded. "When, with gloating eyes 
 
 He'd seize the morsel, may some dog snatch up and cany 
 
 off the prize. 
 That's one calamitJ^ At night may something else perplex 
 
 him ; 
 In feverish mood retiuTiing home from riding hard, to vex 
 
 him. 
 May some Orestes in his ciips with fiuy mad attack him 
 "With blows upon his skull : then he, seeking wherewith to 
 
 check him.
 
 128 THE ACHARNIANS. 
 
 Grrasping amid tlic darkness dim 
 To find a stone to fling at him, 
 Should grasp instead fresh fallen dung, 
 And then this missile, fiercely finng, 
 Should miss the di'unken culprit's head 
 And, erring from its proper course, light on Cratinus plump 
 instead ! 
 
 Seryant of Lamachits. 
 
 Ye maids that in the house of Lamachus wait, 
 Fetch water, water ; warm it in. the pipkin. 
 Get cloths and plaister ready, imwashed wool, 
 And don't forget a bandage for the ancle. 
 The chief, essaying to leap o'er a ti'ench, 
 "Was woimded by a stake, put out his ancle, 
 And falling on a shai-p stone, broke his skuU, 
 And roused the Gorgon-monster fi'om his shield. 
 But when the huge and vaunting feather fell 
 Upon the rocks, a di-eadful strain he uttered. 
 " noble ray ! for the last time I see thee. 
 The light I leave — I faint — I am no more ! " 
 Uttering these words he fell into the water, 
 
 % But up he gets again, puirsues the flying. 
 
 Drives them before and plies them with his spear. 
 But here he is himself Fling back the door. 
 
 Lamacuus. — Ah lackaday ! ah lackaday ! 
 
 These chilling horrors bring dismay, 
 I'm lost, undone, and full of woe, 
 Struck by the weapon of the foe. 
 Sad grief too woiild it be for me, 
 "Were Dicrcopolis to sec 
 My Avoundcd frame, and scoff and grin 
 To mark tlie wretched plight I'm in.
 
 THE ACHARNIANS. 129 
 
 D. — Ah. well-a-day ! ah well-a-day ! 
 
 These heaving breasts of maidens gay 
 How firm and quince-like they appear. 
 Give me soft kisses, jewels dear, 
 And let youi- lips with mine unite, 
 And bill and blend, and fondly bite, 
 Por I have won the prize ! 'twas I 
 First drained the mighty Pitcher dry. 
 
 L. — sad mishap that brought these woes ! 
 pangs of wounds that kill repose ! 
 
 D. — All hail, my knightly Lamachus ! 
 
 L. — Ah wretched me ! 
 
 D. — Ah rueful me ! 
 L. — Why fawn on me ? 
 
 D. — "Why snap at me ? 
 
 L. — I'm wretched after such a grievous rub. 
 
 D. — At Pitcher-feast who's called upon to club ? 
 
 L. — Paean, healing god ! come hither, pray. 
 
 D. — You're wrong, there's no Paeanian feast to-day. 
 
 L. — Support my leg — take hold of it ; alas ! 
 Help, help me, friends ! 
 
 D. — Clip me in your embrace, each smiling lass, 
 Enfold me close, dear friends ! 
 
 L. — Struck with the stone, my head begins to swim, 
 Mist dims my sight. 
 
 I
 
 130 THE ACHARNIANS. 
 
 D. — Love swells each vein and bounds tkrough every limb, 
 "Would it -were night ! 
 
 L. — Take me to Pittalus for aid, and bring 
 Me safe -svithin. 
 
 D. — Conduct me to the judges. "Where's the King ? 
 Give me the skin. 
 
 L. — A smartirig lance has pierced my bones ; pain through 
 my limbs is darting. 
 
 D. — You see the empty Pitcher here. Sing victory's song 
 at parting. 
 
 CnoErs. 
 Triumphant strains are due, old man, yonir orders shall 
 be followed. 
 
 D. — And -vrhat is more, a bumper neat at one long draught 
 I swallowed. 
 
 C. — The victory's thine, my noble friend ; go take the goat- 
 skin you have won. 
 
 D. — I^ow follow me, and " Victory " shout, and let the 
 victor's song be sung. 
 
 Choetjs. 
 Out of the love we bear to thee 
 We follow, shouting victory ! 
 
 Thee chaunting and the goatskin.
 
 e /rngH nf Irmto|iljanr0. 
 
 More than twenty centuries have passed since, in the 
 month of January, B. C. 405, this play gained the first prize 
 in that wondi'ous arena of art, the Athenian Theatre. In 
 those days a play was only once performed ; but so greatly 
 were the Athenians delighted with the Frogs, that Aris- 
 tophanes had to bring it forward a second time, and it was 
 again performed, probably at the Greater Dionysia, in the 
 month of March in the same year. Droysen calls it one of 
 the most ingenious, spirited, and interesting comedies ever 
 composed, and classes it as, next to the Birds, the most per- 
 fect production of Aristophanes. At the time of its 
 representation Athens was moimiing the loss of her great 
 men. The fatal struggle with Sparta was drawing near its 
 close. Alcibiades, once the hope and pride of the state, 
 had been banished for the second time. The great thinkers 
 and poets had departed, and the greatness of Athens seemed 
 fading away. In this state of things the poet comes forward 
 with his comedy, adapting it to existing cu'cumstances. 
 The God Dionysus, the patron of the stage, takes a journey 
 to the lower regions to fetch back Euripides. But just at
 
 132 THE FROGS. 
 
 that crisis, a singular dispute was pending. Euripides had 
 laid claim, to the ti'agic throne which was still held by 
 _S]schylus, and a contest of art was to decide between them. 
 ^schylus is successful, and Dionysus takes him back in 
 triumph to the upper world. 
 
 Welcker in the inti'oduction to his translation of the 
 "Frogs" has given an admii-able summaiy of the points of 
 contrast between the two poets as di'awn by Aristophanes. 
 " The comic poet represents Euiipides as having wandered 
 from the faith, and as resolving everything divine and super- 
 natural into the mechanical powers of natiu'e, and the force 
 of intelligence ; as a subtle and dexterous sophist, who holds 
 in high veneration the deceptive and frivolous goddess of 
 Persuasion, and thus often loses himself in combinations 
 and images far too cold and artificial ; as arrogant, self-satis- 
 fied and presumptuous, ready to contend for every thing by 
 turns ; ardent, but incapable of being roused to passion ; as a 
 man who has an excellent and sagacious insight into political 
 affairs, but spoils all by a popularized and ornate school- 
 philosophy ; renders the youth effeminate ; thoughtlessly 
 extends the limits of modesty and decorum ; represents the 
 vices of real life, (gallantry in particular), as unavoidable 
 and pardonable, and abandons the salutary lessons and 
 invigorating influences of poetry for mere intellectual cal- 
 culation and sentimcntalism. In his art, of which he 
 neglects some essential jioints, the same laxity is found as 
 in his moral sj-stem, the same descent to what is expedient 
 and popular. Instead of a skilful arrangement of his plots, 
 he gives, for the convenience of uninitiated hearers, monoto- 
 nous prologues, emptiness and insipidity of i)lan, a motley 
 mixture of persons, scenes, and action, miserable figures, 
 loquacity united with the witty and polished forms of the
 
 THE FROGS. 133 
 
 polite world ; a more careless idiom ; smootli, broad and 
 frequently quite eveiy-day expressions. So, too, were the 
 costume and accessories brought back to those of ordinary 
 life; a less fonnal verse was used in the dialogue; freer 
 and often bimgling Ip-ical rhythms were introduced ; vulgar 
 ditties elegantly modulated, raked together from various 
 quarters ; every thing in short was made more easy in itself 
 and more easy for others. This was why the common people 
 were so attached to him, while superior judges would have 
 rejected him when he aspii-ed to the throne of ^schylus. 
 A stronger contrast than that here shewn with ^schylus 
 can scarcely be conceived. Pious and calm, full of jiower, 
 majestic, vehement, fearful and proud, too proud to enter 
 into the lists with an adversary with any other teeling than 
 aversion, an adversary, too, onlj- set up against him by the 
 populace ; too proud to accept as umpires those whom all 
 are content to receive ; but not too proud to feel an 
 affection for Sophocles, the perfect master of his art, and to 
 offer him the throne. In art thoroughly simple, sublime, 
 and grandly lofty, strictly moral as well, pourtraying 
 heroes and Titans so vividly as to cause terror and alarm, 
 beings who wander calmly and indifferently among wild 
 forms of death, and are yet susceptible of an infinite depth 
 of feeling:. "
 
 €)^ /rng0. 
 
 Xanthetjs. 
 
 Pray, master, may I venttu'e on a joke, 
 
 One of the sort that set the audience laughing ? 
 
 Dionysus. 
 
 By Jove say on, crack just what jokes you please. 
 Only avoid this one — it stirs my bile — 
 Beware of calling out " O how I'm crushed ! " 
 
 X. — No other joke then ? 
 
 D. — Not "7'm squeezed to death /" 
 
 X. — "Well, but you'll let me give my di'oUest saying ? 
 
 D. — Out with it boldly, but beware of one ! 
 
 X.— Which ? 
 
 D. — Do not shift your yoke fi'om side to side 
 And make pretence to be in inward pain. 
 
 X. — May I not say, the weight I bear's so heavy 
 Tliat I shall burst if nobody relieve me? 
 
 D. — Not that, I beg, man, till you see mc retching.
 
 THE FROGS. 135 
 
 X. — "Why then am I to bear this heavy burden 
 If I'm denied the privilege of sajdng 
 What Phrynicus, Anieipsias and Lycis 
 Pass off upon us when they introduce 
 Fellows that carry burdens on the stage ? 
 
 D. — Beware of trash like that, for when I hear 
 
 Such fine-drawn jokes I leave the play disgusted ; 
 They make me feel at least a twelve-month older. 
 
 X. — Oh wretched neck ! thrice wretched neck of mine 
 That when it's wrung is still denied a joke ? 
 
 D. — Is not this monstrous ? huge effeminacy ! 
 
 "When I, great Dionysus, son of — Puncheon — 
 Walk till I'm tii'ed and let this fellow ride, 
 That he may be at ease and bear no burden r 
 
 X. — No bui'den ! how ? 
 
 D. — ^How can you, when you're carried ? 
 X. — I carry this. 
 
 D. — How so ? 
 
 X. — TuR heavily. 
 D.— Does not the Donkey carry what you carry ? 
 X. — !N'ot what / carry ! No, by Jupiter ! 
 D, — ^How can you cany, carried by another ? 
 X. — I know not — but this shoulder aches amain. 
 
 D. — Well, since you say the Ass is of no service 
 Change places with him. — Cany him yourself. 
 
 X. — Fool that I am ! Avoiild I had joLaed the fleet 
 
 And fought at sea, the slave would then be master, 
 I would have made you utter many a wail.
 
 136 THE FROGS. 
 
 D, — Sirrah ! come down. "We're just before the door 
 Where I intend to make my earliest call. 
 
 (KnocTis at the Door.) 
 Ho there ! Ho, porter, youngster ! I say, boy ! 
 
 Heecuues. 
 
 "WTio was that knocking there r How like a centaiir 
 The fellow pHed his heels I And pray who are you r 
 
 D. — My boy ! 
 
 X.— "WeU, what ? 
 
 D. — Didn't you notice ? 
 
 X.— What » 
 
 D. — How terribly alarmed he was. 
 
 X.— By Jove 
 1^0 doubt he was afraid you'd lose your senses. 
 
 H. — No by Demeter ! I can hold no longer. 
 In vain I bite my lips, for laugh I must. 
 
 D. — Good Sir, come hither, I've a thing to ask you. 
 
 H. — Do all I can I can't refrain fi-om laughing 
 To see the Lion's skin on saffron tunic. 
 What crotchet's this ? How came the club and buskin 
 So close together ? Where on earth have you been ? 
 
 D. — I went on board the good ship 
 
 X. — (aside) Clcisthenes ? 
 
 H. — Took you a part in the sea fight ? 
 
 D. — Yes, indeed, 
 And sank some twelve or thirteen of their ships.
 
 THE FROGS. 137 
 
 H. — You two alone ? 
 
 D. — I swear it by Apollo. 
 
 X.— The very thing I dreamt ; of course it's true ! 
 
 D. — "Well as I paced the deck, intent on reading 
 A favourite play, ('twas the Andromeda) 
 I felt a sudden wish within me swelling, 
 A longing indescribable. 
 
 H. — How large ? 
 D. — Not very large, about the size of Molon. 
 H. — "What was its object pray, some smiling damsel ? 
 D.— no. 
 
 H.— A youth ? 
 
 D. — No certainly. 
 
 H. — A friend ? 
 D — Confound you, no ! 
 
 H. — Did Cleisthenes' channs attract you } 
 
 D. — Friend spare your jests, for grievous is my plight 
 Distracted by such furious desires. 
 
 H. — What is it, brotherkin ? 
 
 D. — I can't describe it; 
 Perhaps a simile will make it clear. 
 Pray did you ever feel a sudden longing, 
 A craving eagerness to taste pease pudding ? 
 
 H. — Pease-pudding ! aye — ten thousand times. 
 
 D. — Now is my meaning clear ? Do you xmderstand 
 Or shall I state it in some other way ?
 
 138 THE FROGS. 
 
 H. — Pease-pudding's plain enough. — I know it well. 
 
 D. — Just such a longing now torments my soul 
 To see Euripides. 
 
 H.— He's dead. 
 
 D. — I know it. 
 But that's no matter ; 'tis my fixed resolve, 
 (And no one shall dissuade me from my purpose) 
 To go and find him. 
 
 H. — In the shades below ? 
 D,— By Jove, yes ! — Aye, and were he lower stOl. 
 H. — What would you have ? 
 
 D. — I want a clever poet ; 
 "We have none now — all that remaiu are bad. 
 
 H. — How so friend ? Is not lophon stOl living ? 
 
 D. — The only good one left, such as he is. 
 
 I'm not quite clear about his merits though. 
 
 H. — But why not, rather than Euripides, 
 
 Bring back good Sophocles, if you must fetch one ? 
 
 D. — "No — I must first bring lophon to the test 
 And see what he can do without his father. 
 Besides, Euripides, the crafty schemer 
 Is just the man to plan a secret fiight with, 
 While Sophocles, good easy creature here, 
 Is just as easy and contented there. 
 
 H. — Wlicrc's Agathon ? 
 
 D.— A noble Poet that ! 
 His loving friends lament Ids loss. He's gone !
 
 THE FROGS. 139 
 
 H. — And wluther ? 
 
 D. — To the Banquet of the Blest. 
 
 H. — And what of Xenocles ? 
 
 D. — Perdition seize him ! 
 
 H. — Pythangelus ? 
 
 X. — And not a word of me, 
 So miserably bruised about the shoulder. 
 
 H. — You have some rising youths among you, surely. 
 More than ten thousand scribblers of plays, 
 Loquacious ones who prate at such a pace 
 They leave Euripides some miles behind. 
 
 D. — Thickly enough they sprout ; mere mouthers all. 
 Twittering about ''high art" like learned swallows 
 And doing all they can to ruin it ; 
 "Who if they once can get a company 
 And make a single hit in tragedy. 
 Unable to maintain their giddy flight, 
 Flutter awhile, then sink, and are forgotten. 
 A genuine Poet, clothing noble thoughts 
 In noble words, believe me, you'll not find. 
 
 H. — How genuine ? 
 
 D. — Why, in this way. — One who dares 
 To hazard such original conceptions 
 As "Ether, home of Jove,"—" the foot of Time "— 
 " The tongue may swear, the mind consenting not," — 
 '* A passive oath involvtss no perjury." — 
 
 H. — Do words like these delight you ? 
 
 D. — To distraction.
 
 140 THE FROGS. 
 
 H. — 'Tis roguish language, thougli, you must allow. 
 
 D. — That's your opinion, keep it to yourself, 
 
 Your brain's its home, don't quarter it on mine. 
 
 H. — WeH after all, my friend, they're wretched phrases. 
 
 D. — Teach cookery, not taste. 
 
 X. — Xo word of me ! 
 
 D. — Xow to my business. I will soon explaia 
 Why I thought proper to assume your dress ; 
 'Twas with the hope that you would let me know 
 "What kind of friends you scraped acquaintance with 
 "When you went after Cerberus. Xow, tell me, 
 TVTiat are the ports of refuge, bakers' shops. 
 The inns, the bagnios, bye-ways, springs, and roads. 
 The towns and houses, and the lodgings where 
 The bugs are scarcest. 
 
 X. — Xot a word of me ! 
 
 H. — ^Unhappy man ! wilt thou too venture there ? 
 
 D. — Xo further parley. TeU me of the roads, 
 Which is the quickest way to get to Hades ? 
 The road that's not too hot nor yet too cold. 
 
 H. — "VThich shall I tell thee first ? I know of one 
 In which you mount a stool, then take a halter, 
 And — hang yourself. 
 
 D. — Stop, stop, that's choking work ! 
 
 H. — Then there's another narrow well-worn path, 
 You take a mortar and you pound — 
 
 D. — Some hemlock ?
 
 THE FROGS. 141 
 
 H.— Aye. 
 
 D. — That's too cold and winterly for me, 
 One's shanks grow stiff as ice immediately. 
 
 H. — Pray would you like a swift and certain path ? 
 
 D. — I should, by Jove ! yon know I'm no great walker. 
 
 H. — Then stroll to the Cerameicns. 
 
 D.— Well, what then ? 
 
 H. — Mount the high tower. 
 
 D. — And when I'm there, what then ? 
 
 H. — Take notice when the torch is set a going. 
 
 And when the lookers-on cry out " oj^/ of/" 
 Then "off" yourself! 
 
 D. — And whither ? 
 
 H.— To the bottom. 
 
 D. — I'll none of that ; 'twould split my skull in two. 
 
 H. — Which way then will you go ? 
 
 D. — The way you went. 
 
 H. — 'Tis a long voyage. Listen. First you'll come 
 To a large pool, a fathomless abyss. 
 
 D. — And how am I to get across it pray ? 
 
 H. — An aged man will ferry you across 
 In a small wheriy for two oboli. 
 
 D, — "Wliat a rare value have two oboli ! 
 
 They're cuiTent everywhere ; how came they there ?
 
 142 TEE FROGS. 
 
 D. — Why, Theseus took tliem down there to be sure. 
 Next you will see great snakes and monsters dire 
 Innumerable. 
 
 D. — Play not on my fears ; 
 Forbeai' your terrors, for you'll not deter me. 
 
 H.— Than a great bog of floating filth and ordure, 
 Rolling in wliich you'll see such men as these ; 
 Whoever treacherously wi'onged a guest, 
 Abused a friend, and sent him oif unpaid. 
 Struck at his mother, broke his father's jaw, 
 Swore false, or filched a line from Morsimus. 
 
 D. — By all the gods, then, that man ought to joiu them 
 Who learned the Pyrrhic of Cinesiias. 
 
 E. — Then the soft sound of breathing flutes will greet youj 
 You'll see a light, fair as the simlight here, 
 And groves of myrtle, happy men and maidens 
 Dancing in troops and clappiiig hands together. 
 
 D. — And who are they ? 
 
 H. — These are the Initiates. 
 
 X. — Then surely I'm the "Ass mth the mysteries; " 
 I swear I'll carry them no longer though. 
 
 H. — These men ■wall tell you all you want to know ; 
 They dwell close by the very road that leads 
 To Pluto's portals. So farewell my brother ! 
 
 D. — Farewell ! all health and happiness attend you ! 
 Now Xanthias ! take the baggage up again. 
 
 X. — Why I've had hardly time to put it down.
 
 THE FROGS. 143 
 
 D. — Begone. 
 
 X. — No, no, I pray thee hire one 
 Who's going to be bxiried — we shall meet one. 
 
 D.— But if we fail ? 
 
 X. — I'll caiiy it myself. 
 
 D. — 'Tis well. There go the bearers with a corpse. 
 You there ! I mean the gentleman defunct — 
 Sir, will you take our baggage down to Hades ? 
 
 Dead Man. 
 
 How much ? 
 
 D.— Here 'tis. 
 
 D.M. — "Well, -^oll you pay two di'achmas ? 
 
 D. — '^0, less than that. 
 
 D.M. — Then move on, bearers. 
 
 D.— Stay ! 
 My good sir, stay ; cannot we come to terms ? 
 
 D.M. — Unless you'll pay two di-achmas, no more talking. 
 
 D. — Nine obols ? 
 
 D.M. — Nonsense ! rather than take that 
 I'd e'en consent to come to life again. 
 
 X. — The pompous rascal ! he shall suffer for it. 
 WeU, weU, I'U go. 
 
 D. — That's a right worthy fellow. 
 Now let us to the boat. 
 
 Chaeon. 
 
 Heave ho ! give way ! and shove her alongside.
 
 144 THE FROGS. 
 
 D.— What's tMs ! 
 
 X. — The very pool, by Jove 
 He spoke of; and by Neptune there's the boat. 
 There's Charon too himself. 
 
 D.— Ho! Charon! haH ! 
 Good luck to thee, good Charon ! Charon, hail ! 
 
 C. — Who's for the resting-place from life's turmoils ? 
 
 Who's bound for Lethe's mead ? Who'll shear the ass r 
 Who's going to the crows, or Tsenarus ? 
 
 D.— I. 
 
 C. — Jump on board then quickly. 
 
 D. — Where are you bound? 
 To the crows now really ? 
 
 C. — Eeally, at your service, 
 Only jump in. 
 
 D. — Come, boy. 
 
 C. — I take no slave 
 Unless he fought at sea and risked his carcase 
 In that great sea-fight where, to save a carcase 
 Was the best method to insure your own. 
 
 X. — I staid at home, by Jove ! I had bad eyes. 
 
 C. — Then you must run all round the pool my boy. 
 
 X. — ^Ticrc sludl I meet you ? 
 
 C. — At the drying stone, 
 Close by the place we stop at. 
 
 D. — Do you hear ?
 
 THE FROGS. 145 
 
 X.— I understand. What evil chance, I wonder, 
 Induced me to set out on this advcntui'e ? 
 
 C. — Sit at the oar, man ! I^ow then, come at once, 
 Whoever' s coming ? (to DJ What are yoii about ? 
 
 D. — What am I about ? why nothing that I know of, 
 Save sitting on the oar friend as you bade me. 
 
 C. — Seat your fat carcase here, old fellow, won't you ? 
 
 D.— There ! 
 
 C. — Won't you stretch and jiut your hands out "^ 
 
 D.— There ! 
 
 C. — Come, come, no nonsense ! Set your feet and pull. 
 And send the boat along. 
 
 D. — I don't know how ; 
 How should I, when I'm nothing but a landsman, 
 
 Ne'er went to sea, nor fought at Salamis ? 
 
 C. — You'll find it easy work. Just dip your oar, 
 And presently you'll hear the sweetest music. 
 
 D. — Prom whom ? 
 
 C. — From swan-like frogs, most marvellous. 
 
 D. — Well, give the word then. 
 
 C. — Pull away, my hearty ! 
 
 Feogs. 
 Croak ! croak ! croak ! croak ! 
 Croak ! croak ! croak I
 
 146 THE FROGS. 
 
 Childi-en of the marsli and spring, 
 
 Let us join our notes, and sing 
 Airs that blend harmoniously ; 
 Ours are notes of melody. 
 
 Croak ! croak ! croak ! 
 
 Sing the lay so sweet and wild 
 
 We sang round Bacchus, Nysa's child, 
 
 When the tipsy jocund bands, 
 
 Sacred pitchers in theu' hands, 
 
 Crowded to the holy shi-ine 
 
 In that hallowed grove of mine. 
 
 Croak ! croak ! croak ! croak ! 
 
 D. — I feel this seat as hard as oak 
 
 And you do nothing else but croak ! 
 
 F. — Croak ! croak ! croak ! croak ! 
 
 D. — To you my tortiu'e's all a joke ! 
 
 F. — Croak ! croak ! croak ! croak ! 
 
 D. — Plague take you and your dismal croak; 
 
 You're nothing else but croak ! croak ! croak ! 
 
 F. — I croak with reason, meddling Sir, 
 The Muses love mc, I aver, 
 And Pan too with his horny feet 
 Who tunes his pipe to accents sweet. 
 Apollo with the sounding lyre 
 My homely strains is wont to admire. 
 Charmed with the rusliy lyric reed 
 Whose watery stem our marshes feed. 
 
 Croak ! croak ! croak ! croak !
 
 THE FROGS. 147 
 
 D. — My back, alas ! has long been sore, 
 And now I'm blistered o'er and o'er — 
 What then ? Up leap these hump backed folk 
 And fill the au- with croak ! croak ! croak ! 
 My music-loving friends, pray cease, 
 Do let us have a little peace. 
 
 F. — Louder rather let us sing 
 
 As in the sunny days of spring, 
 
 When, through reeds and rushes leaping. 
 
 Singing, diving, plunging, creeping. 
 
 Blithely rang our melody — 
 
 Or, when Jove o'ercast the sky, 
 
 Shrinking from the coming shower 
 
 "We sought our deep and watery bower, 
 
 And sent forth thence a varied strain 
 
 That to the surface rose again. 
 
 And fi'om each bursting bubble woke 
 
 A gui-gling music as it broke. 
 
 Sing we again then — croak ! croak ! croak ! 
 
 D. — (Makes a dash at the Frogs ivith his oar. J 
 I'll take the hint, beat time for you ! 
 
 P. — And we shall suffer for it too. 
 
 D. — My sufferings will be far the worst, 
 If I'm to tug imtil I burst. 
 
 Y. — Croak ! croak ! croak ! croak ! 
 
 D. — Groan on ! 'tis now my turn to joke. 
 
 (striking them. J
 
 148 THE FROGS. 
 
 P. — "Well, no matter, we will cry, 
 Bawling till our throats be dry, 
 Croak, croak, croak, shall be our lay, 
 Lasting through the live-long clay. 
 
 D. — You shall not out-do me thus — 
 
 F. — Nor shall you o'erpower us — 
 
 D. — ISTor you me, try as you may — 
 If needs be, I'U bawl all day 
 Till I've stopped your croaking lay. 
 
 P. — Croak ! croak ! croak ! croak ! 
 
 D. — Another instant and I'd stopped your croaking. 
 
 C. — Hold ! here we are — now shove the boat ashore. 
 Jump out and pay yoiu' fare. 
 
 D. — Take your two obols. 
 
 D. — Ho, Xanthias! where are you? Xanthias ! 
 
 X.— Aye, aye ! 
 
 D. — Come hither, Sin-ah ! 
 
 D. — Master, hail ! 
 D. — How was it yonder ? 
 
 X. — Darkness all, and quagmire. 
 
 D. — Pray did you sec the paiTicidcs he spoke of 
 And perjured ones ? 
 
 X. — I did, and did not you ? 
 
 D. — I did, by Neptune, and I see them now. 
 
 fpointing to the audience) 
 Wliat's to be done ? 
 
 k
 
 THE FROGS. 149 
 
 X. — 'Twere better to go forward, 
 
 For here's the spot those dreadful monsters haunt 
 He talked about. 
 
 D. — Ah ! he shall smart for this. 
 *Twas all pretence. He tried to frighten me. 
 The envious rogue, he knows my warlike spirit ; 
 There never was a greater brag than Hercules ; 
 To hear his swelling boasts you would suppose 
 None but himself possessed a grain of coui'age. 
 Truly I long to try my martial prowess, 
 To encounter something worthy of this joiumey. 
 
 X. — By Jove ! what's that ? I hear a kind of rustling, 
 
 D.— Where ? Where ? 
 
 X. — Behiad. 
 
 D. — Then come you here behind, 
 
 X. — No, 'tis in front. 
 
 J) — Then come you on in front. 
 
 X. — By Jove, I see it ! 'tis a great huge beast- 
 
 D.— What kind of beast ? 
 
 X. — 'Tis everything by turns — 
 Now 'tis an ox, and now a mule, and now 
 A woman, a most charming creature too ! 
 
 D. — ^Where is she ? teU me. May I venture near her? 
 
 X, — ^Ha ! now it changes. 'Tis no longer woman. 
 The creatui'e's now a dog. 
 
 D. — That's the Empusa. 
 
 X. — Its whole face glows with fii-e. One leg's of brass.
 
 150 THE FROGS. 
 
 D- — By Neptune, yes — the other's all bemired. 
 X. — To be sure it is, 
 
 D. — whither must I flee ? 
 X. — ^And where can / go ? 
 
 D. — Holy Priest preserve me 1 
 (to the Priest sitting hyj 
 One day we two will drink a cup together. 
 
 X. — King Hercules, we're ruined ! 
 
 D. — I beseech you 
 Call me not so, name not that name again. 
 
 X. — "Wm Bacchus please you ? 
 
 D. — jSTo, that's worse than the other. 
 There go yoiu* way. 
 
 X. — Come hither, master, hither. 
 B.— What now ? 
 
 X. — Take coui'age, things are going smoothly, 
 "We now may say as did Hegelochus, 
 " After the waves I see a calf again." 
 The Empusa's gone. 
 
 D. — You'U swear it ? 
 
 X. — Yes, by Jove ! 
 D. — Swear it agaia. 
 
 X.— By Jove \ 
 
 D. — Once more. 
 
 X.— By Jove ! 
 D. — Ah me ! how pale I turned when I beheld it. 
 
 X. — That frightened fellow yonder out-blushed me. 
 He tm-ncd as red as crimson in his terror.
 
 THE FROGS. 151 
 
 D. — Yet whence came all those ills ? which of the gods 
 Am I to charge with plotting my destruction, 
 "Ether, the home of Jove ?" or " Time's swift foot? " 
 (The sound of jlutes is heard.) 
 
 X. — Master ! 
 
 D.— What now ? 
 
 X. — Did you not hear it ? 
 
 D.— What ? 
 
 X. — The sound of flutes. 
 
 D. — I did, and there's a waft 
 Of burning torches, scent most mystical. 
 Hush ! let us crouch do-\vn quietly and listen. 
 
 Chorus. 
 lacchus ! lacchus ! 
 lacchus ! lacchus ! 
 
 X. — That is it, master. The initiate ones 
 He told us of are sporting hereabout. 
 They sing the lacchus as Diagoras sings it. 
 
 D. — I think so too. 'Twere best then to keep silence 
 And listen. We shall hear it then distinctly. 
 
 Choetjs. 
 lacchus ! thou Avho here hast fixed thy shrine, 
 Dwelling in these renowned abodes of thine 
 
 lacchus ! O lacchus, come ! 
 Come join the dance upon the mead 
 Where sacred bands their revels lead. 
 And shake the mp-tle wreath that weaves 
 About thy brow its clustering leaves,
 
 162 THE FROGS. 
 
 Strike with fearless step the groimd 
 In the dance whose sportive round 
 Owns no tame or stinted measure, 
 All is full of grace and pleasure. 
 Pure and hallowed are the bands 
 That in this mystic dance join hands. 
 
 X. — maiden of renown, Demeter's daughter. 
 
 What a sweet savour of roast j)ig floats towards me I 
 
 D. — What if you do smell tripe ? Can't you be quiet ? 
 
 Choexts. 
 Lift the blazing torches high 
 As laechus passes by. 
 Thou, lacchus, comest swinging- 
 High thy torch, bright radiance biinging ; 
 Star that lightens up our night 
 Till all the meadow glows with light. 
 Old men's limbs feel lithe and free, 
 Pliant moves each aged kuee, 
 Years and cares forgotten all 
 At this sacred festival. 
 Lead thou then with blazing brand, 
 Lead the happy glittering band. 
 Keeping step in choral train 
 Through the moist and flowery plain. 
 
 SRMI-CnORUS. 
 
 'Tis meet that all these from our chorus depart, with such 
 
 men we shrink from combining. 
 The men who know nought of our language and phrase, 
 
 whose feelings and taste need refining ;
 
 THE FRCGS. 153 
 
 Who ne'er joined the orgies the muses have graced, never 
 
 mixed in our revels and dances, 
 Nor heard the loud-bellowing accents with which Cratinus 
 
 the Initiates entrances. 
 "We banish the man who delights in foul words, scurrility 
 
 used out of season, 
 Who checks not vile faction, his townsmen disdains, and 
 
 will not be guided by reason. 
 But stirs up fresh strife and keeps fanning the flame, his 
 
 own selfish projects pursuing. 
 The man who when raised to the helm of affairs takes a 
 
 bribe while state-troubles are brewing, 
 Betraying our fortresses, vessels, and stores, sending contra- 
 band goods from ^gina, 
 (Like Thorycion the greedy collector of dues, the crafty 
 
 rapacious designer,) 
 Thus plotting to send Epidaurus a store of smuggled pitch, 
 
 sail-cloth, and tackling. 
 Or scheming to furnish the enemy's fleet with money, our 
 
 own strength thus shackling. 
 Whoever fair Hecate's statue defiles while humming a 
 
 cyclical chorus. 
 Or nibbles away at the poet's small gains, some orator loud 
 
 and sonorous. 
 Who's vexed at the bitter lampoons he must bear when 
 
 held uj) to laughter before us. 
 All these I renounce, I renounce them at once, I renounce 
 
 them again and for ever, 
 I bid them depart fr'om our mystical trains, with such all 
 
 connection I sever. 
 But ye my choice partners lead on the gay throng. 
 And raise ye again your melodious song. 
 Fit for revels and sports that last all the night long.
 
 154 THE FROGS. 
 
 Choeax SoifG. 
 
 Now come all ! step onward gaily 
 To tlie meadow's flowery vale, 
 Dancing, mocking, sporting, jesting, 
 Tripping through, tlie pleasant dale. 
 Plenteously we all have feasted, 
 Forward I and with hearty will 
 Sing and praise the guardian goddess 
 "Who protects our land from ill ; 
 Spite of all Thorycion's scheming 
 She will guide and guard us still. 
 
 Leader of the CnoErs. 
 And now change the rhythm, ye musical throng, 
 
 Sing the praise of the goddess Demeter, 
 The Queen of the Harvest, the pride of our song, 
 
 Let yoiu' sweetest notes joyfully greet her. 
 
 CnOEAL SoxG. 
 Demeter, queen of orgies chaste, 
 To our protection hither haste. 
 Preserve thy own, thy faithful train, 
 And let us dance upon the plain 
 
 And sport the livelong day. 
 Let sober words and jests as well 
 Unite to grace our festival. 
 Grant me, victorious o'er the rest, 
 To take the lead in scoff and jest, 
 
 And bear the Avreath away. 
 
 Leader. 
 And now again 
 Another strain !
 
 THE FROGS. 155 
 
 Invoke the beauteous Deity, 
 The partner of our revehy, 
 And lure him with your melody 
 ^To lead us forth again. 
 
 Single Voice. , 
 
 glorious lacchus ! to whose art we owe 
 The sweetest of joys that our festivals know, 
 To the shrine of the goddess we're bending to day 
 Come with us and lighten the toil of the way. 
 
 Pull Chorus. 
 lacchus, lover of the dance, attend us ! 
 
 Single Voice. 
 'Twas thou that rent this ragged gown, 
 'Twas thou that trod this slipper down, 
 To make me droll and comical, 
 As well as economical. 
 
 Full Choeus. 
 lacchus ! lover of the dance, attend us I 
 
 Single Voice. 
 For know, I stole a secret glance 
 At a young damsel in the dance, 
 
 A maid of beauteous feature ; 
 Her vest was torn, and, as she went. 
 One little breast peeped through the rent. 
 
 She was a lovely creature. 
 
 Full Chokus. 
 lacchus ! lover of the dance, attend us I 
 
 D. — I'm fond of following and should really like 
 To make this girl my partner. 
 
 X.— So shotad I.
 
 156 the frogs. 
 
 Chobus. 
 
 Wtat say you to a joke or two 
 
 At Arcliedeinus and his crew ? 
 An alien, seven years old, and yet without a ward ! 
 
 And now he plays the demagogue 
 
 Among the mummies now in vogue, 
 And takes the lead in all that's mischievous. 
 
 And Cleisthenes they tell me sits 
 
 Among the tombs in moody fits 
 Teaiing his hair and clawing down his cheeks ; 
 
 Then, bending low, he smites his breast, 
 
 Sheds tears, and with deep grief oppressed, 
 Calls for his friend the infamous Sebinus. 
 
 They say, too, an odd thing was done 
 
 By Callias, Hipponicus' son, 
 He went to the sea-fight in a lion's skin. 
 
 D. — Pray, Sirs, is this the road 
 To Pluto's dread abode ? 
 We're strangers both, but lately come ashore. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 You have not far to wander, 
 
 Nor long to wait and ponder, 
 
 For, know, you're close upon his very door. 
 
 D. — Then take your bundles up again, my man. 
 
 X. — There's that old song of thine. 
 Like " Corinth the Divine," 
 'Tis always " take your bundles up, my man." 
 
 Leader of the Chorus. 
 And now in h;illowcd circle move. 
 And trip through Ceres' flowery grove ;
 
 THE FROGS 157 
 
 In sportive glee advance ye all 
 "WTio share the holy festival. 
 
 D. — I'll join these maids and matrons, where, 
 In honour of the goddess fair, 
 They sport all night : amid the throng 
 I'll bear the sacred torch along. 
 
 Choeijs. 
 Then onward to the flowery lawns, 
 Whose sward the clustering rose adorns, 
 And let ns in our wonted way 
 Join in the dance and sport and play, 
 The Dance, the merriest foi'm of mirth 
 The blessed Fates vouchsafe on earth. 
 For us alone the sun shines bright. 
 For us gleams forth the gladsome light. 
 For us, who, in these mysteries 
 Inducted, all our duties prize, 
 And learn to treat as fellow men 
 The stranger and the citizen. 
 
 D. — ^Well, how am I to knock at the door I wonder ? 
 How are the folks about here wont to knock ? 
 
 X. — Don't waste your time but as you wear the dress 
 And have the port of Hercides, make a venture. 
 
 D.— Porter ! 
 
 ^ACiTs. — Who's there ! 
 
 D. — The mighty Hercules. 
 f^acus comes out. Dionysus falls to the ground. J 
 
 ^. — Impudent scoundi'cl ! shameless daring rogue ! 
 Base villain ! monster ! basest of the base !
 
 158 THE FROGS. 
 
 'Twas you that stole my house-dog, Cerberus, 
 
 Seizing him by the throat and running off. 
 
 I watched you all the while ; and now I've caught you. 
 
 For this, the darkly-rifted rock of Styx, 
 
 The peak of Acheron that drops with blood 
 
 Shall be thy prison, and Cocytus' hounds 
 
 EncircKng swift shall clos9 thee in around, 
 
 The Echidna with her hundred heads shall tear 
 
 Thy bowels ; the Tartesian Mursena 
 
 Shall fasten on thy palpitating lungs ; 
 
 The Gorgons of Tithi'acia shall come 
 
 And prey upon thy reins all stained with gore, 
 
 Tearing thy bleeding entrails into shreds. 
 
 I'll hasten forth at once and fetch them hither. 
 
 X. — ^What have you done ? 
 
 D. — Invoke the God. — I've done it ! 
 
 X. — Why what a fool you look ! "Won't you get up 
 Ere some one comes and sees you ? 
 
 D.— I'm afraid. 
 
 X. — ^Why you're the biggest coward in the world. 
 
 D. — A coward, ch ? A coward would have lain 
 There still ; but see ! I'm on my legs again. 
 
 X. — That's brave, by Neptune ! 
 
 D. — Aye, by Jove, I think so ! 
 But how did you feel ? Were not you afraid 
 To hear Ms roaring and his awful thi'eats ? 
 
 X. — Not I, by Jove ! I took no notice of it.
 
 THE FROGS. 159 
 
 D. — "Well, as you're such a bold and manly fellow, 
 Take you my place, put on the lion's skin, 
 And take the club if you're so void of fear. 
 And I will follow you and bear the baggage. 
 
 X. — Quick, give me them. 'No matter. I'll obey you. 
 {They change clothes.) 
 Now look at me. See Xanthias-Hercules ! 
 See if I prove a coward like yourself. 
 
 D. — No, no, by Jove ! j^ou look for all the world 
 Just like a well flogged slave from Melita. 
 Hand me the luggage ; I will take it now. 
 
 Maid Servajstt. 
 
 dearest Hercules, are you come at last ? 
 Come in ! come in ! for when our goddess heard 
 That you were come, she baked some loaves of bread, 
 Put on the fire some two or three pots of beans 
 Mashed in a stew, then roasted an ox whole, 
 
 And made some cakes and biscuits. Pray come in ! 
 
 X. — I'm much obliged. 
 
 M. — By Apollo, that wont do, 
 
 1 will not let you off ; you must not go ; 
 
 She's boiled some fowls and got some sweetmeats ready, 
 And mixed the sweetest wines you ever tasted, 
 So come with me. 
 
 X. — You're very kind. 
 
 D. — TVTiat nonsense ! 
 I will not let you go with her, don't think it. 
 
 M. — The prettiest female piper waits within, 
 
 And two or three dancing girls besides, I tell you.
 
 loO THE FROGS. 
 
 X. — Ell ? dancing girls ? 
 
 II. — All in the bloom of youth, 
 Lately come out. So prithee, friend, walk in, 
 The cook's just going to take the dishes up, 
 The table's laid. 
 
 X. — Go iu and tell the damsels 
 That wait within I'll be with them directly. 
 !N^ow sirrah, follow me and bring the baggage. 
 
 D. — Stop, fellow. This wont do. You're not in earnest, 
 Eecause, in sport, I di'essed you up like Herciiles ? 
 You're going too far. "No nonsense, Xanthias ; 
 Off with those clothes and take your pack again. 
 
 X. — "WTiat do you mean ? You surely will not rob me 
 Of what you just now gave to me yourself ? 
 
 D. — This veiy minute, sh'. Put down the skin. 
 
 X. — I solemnly appeal against this treatment 
 And leave the matter with the gods ! 
 
 D.— What gods ? 
 How senseless and absiu'd of you, a slave, 
 A mortal slave, to fancy for a moment 
 You were the offspring of renowned Alcmena. 
 
 X. — Well, be it so. — Perhaps, if God so will. 
 
 The time may come you'll want my aid again. 
 
 CnoKrs. 
 Now this shows a clever fellow. 
 One whose wit is quick and mellow, 
 
 One who's saQcd through many a sea ; 
 Whcresoe'er the fates may drift him, 
 He prefers to turn and shift him 
 
 Where there's most security.
 
 THE FROGS. 161 
 
 Not to stand, like statue frigid, 
 In one posture fixed and rigid, 
 
 But to find the post of ease ; 
 Turning to the soft side ever ; 
 This displays a man that's clever, 
 
 Dexterous as Theramenes. 
 
 D. — Siu'e 'twould set us all a laughing 
 
 To see my slave, this Xantlaias, quaffing 
 
 Wine, reclining at his ease, 
 On ^Milesian cai-j^ets lolling, 
 Some fair dancing-girl extolling, 
 
 Pleased with her attempts to please. 
 
 If I showed my independence. 
 Scorning menial attendance 
 
 On the assumer of my name. 
 The fellow then his fists would double^ 
 Dash out my front teeth for my trouble^ 
 
 And shew himself devoid of shame. 
 
 Laj^dlady a. — Plathane ! here comes the wicked rogue 
 Who walked iato our ion one day, and swallowed 
 Some sixteen loaves. 
 
 Landlady B. — By Jove, the very man ! 
 X. — There's mischief brewing now for somebody. 
 
 L. A. — Besides those twenty steaks he made away with 
 Worth half an obol each. 
 
 X. — Some one will rue it. 
 
 L. A. — And then the heaps of garlic ! 
 
 I.
 
 163 THE FUOGS. 
 
 D. — Nonsense, woman, 
 Yon don't know wliat yon' re saying. 
 
 L. A. — Did yon think 
 I should' nt know yon with your buskins on ? 
 I have not mentioned yet, hy Jnpiter, 
 The quantity of pickled fish he ate, 
 All the new cheese he swallowed, bolting down 
 Baskets and all, and when I asked for the money, 
 With a fierce stare he roared a loud defiance. 
 
 X. — That's just his way ; he does so everywhere. 
 
 L. B. — And drew his sword and raved just like a madman. 
 
 X. — Poor woman, what a shame ! 
 
 L. B. — "We two, quite frightened. 
 Ran np the staii'case instantly, while he 
 Took to his heels and carried off our mats. 
 
 X. — 'Tis all of a piece, the very man, I see. 
 
 But surely then 'twas time to take some steps. 
 
 L. A. — Fetch Cleon here, the guardian of the people. 
 
 L. B. — And call Hyperbolus, if you can find him. 
 
 That we may give this greedy wretch a drubbing. 
 
 L. A. — Curse on that ravenous man ! I'd gladly take 
 A stone, and break those wolfish teeth to pieces 
 That made such shameful havoc with my larder. 
 
 L. B. — iVnd I would fling you headlong in the dungeon. 
 
 L. A. — And I would take a good shai'p knifc^ and cut 
 That throat that swallowed all my cakes — 
 I'll go to Clcon ; he will summon him. 
 And find out all his crimes this very day.
 
 THE FROGS. 163 
 
 D. — Destruction seize me if I don'i love Xantliias. 
 
 X. — I know — I know your meaning. That will do — 
 No more of that. I won't turn Hercules now. 
 
 D. — My little Xanthias, say not so, I pray you. 
 
 X. — And how can I, a mortal man, a slave. 
 Presume to be Alcmena's mighty son ? 
 
 D. — I know — I know you're cross, and that with reason ; 
 And if you strilce me I'll not say a word ; 
 But if I e'er deceive you for the future, 
 May I be brought to utter wreck and ruin-, 
 May I be blighted, wife and children, all, 
 And blear-eyed Archedemus share my fall. 
 
 X. — I take yoiu' word, and change on these conditions. 
 
 (They change clothes. 
 
 Chorus. 
 Now, my Mend, yoiu- duty's plain, 
 Since you're thus equipped again 
 
 In the dress you wore before, 
 Give yourself a youthful air, 
 Now assume a fearful stare 
 
 Dread as that yom' eyes then wore. 
 
 Bear in mind the mien and state 
 Of the god you imitate. 
 
 But of foolish jokes beware ; 
 If one silly jest be heard. 
 Or one weak unmanly word. 
 
 You this pack again must bear.
 
 164 THE FROGS. 
 
 X. — Friends you advise me well I see, 
 The same ideas occurred to me, 
 
 I think that's just about it. 
 Soon as the prospect turns to fair. 
 He'll try again to strip me bare, 
 
 He will, I cannot doubt it. 
 
 Well, well, I'll shew myself a man, 
 Look fierce as daggers, if I can, 
 
 And frighten all around : 
 And well I may, the foe is near, 
 For hark ! close at the door I hear 
 
 A rattling bustling sound. 
 
 -S. — Seize that vile dog-stealer and bind him quickly ; 
 He shall be punished. 
 
 D. — It goes ill with some one ! 
 
 X. — Go to the Infernals ! Come not near me, fellow ! 
 
 ^.—^WTiat ! do you fight ? Ho ! Ditylas and Skeblias ! 
 Ho ! Pardocas, come here and fight with him. 
 
 D. — Is not this shameful now to dare to fight, 
 
 After the man has stolen his neighbour's goods ? 
 
 X. — 'Tis monstrous. 
 
 M. — Monstrous, yes — abominable ! 
 
 X. — By Jupiter ! if ever I came hither 
 Or stole a thing the value of a hair 
 Belonging to }'ou, may I lose my life ! 
 I'll show you I'm an honourable man, 
 Take now this slave of mine and torture him, 
 And if you find I've wronged you, take and kill me.
 
 THE FROGS. 165 
 
 M. — How shall I torture him ? 
 
 X. — In every way ; 
 Bind him and stretch him on a ladder ; flog him, 
 TJsuig a whip of hristles ; flay and rack him ; 
 Pour vinegar in his nose ; press tiles upon him ; 
 And torture him in every way save one, 
 Don't flog him with a leek or garlic. 
 
 M . — Your off'er's fair ; and if I lame the man 
 You shall have compensation. 
 
 X.— No, not I, 
 Take him away and piit him to the test. 
 
 JE,. — 'Eo. Here hefbre yoiu" own eyes he shall answer. 
 Quick, put your bundle down, but mind, no lies. 
 
 D. — I warn you not to torture an Immortal : 
 But if you do, then take the consequence. 
 
 M. — What's that you say .^ 
 
 D. — I'm an immortal God. 
 I'm Dionysus, son of Jove, and he, 
 This feUow here's my slave. 
 
 JE. — Do you hear that ? 
 
 X. — I don't deny it ! but so much the more 
 Is he the pi'oper person to be flogged. 
 For if a God he will not feel the lash. 
 
 D. — Well, as you say that you're a God as well, 
 Should not you have as many blows as I ? 
 
 X. — A fair proposal. Then whichever fii'st 
 
 Is seen to weep or shrink when he is struck, 
 Take it for granted he is not the God.
 
 166 
 
 THE FROGS. 
 
 ^. — There's no denying you're a -well-bred man, 
 
 You seek wliat's just. Now then strip off your clothes. 
 
 X. — How will you test us fairly ? 
 
 ^. — Easily ; 
 Give each a blow in turn, man. 
 
 X.— That will do. 
 "Well here am I. See if I wince the least. 
 
 f^aciis strikes him. J 
 ■3Si. — There was a blow for you. 
 
 X. — By Jove, 'twas nothing ! 
 
 JSa. — So it appears. Well, then, I'll try the other. 
 
 {he strikes Dionysus.) 
 
 D. — When did you strike ? 
 
 ^. — Just now. 
 
 D. — Indeed ! how was it 
 It did not make me sneeze ? 
 
 ^. — I camiot tell. 
 Well, now I'll try the other man again. 
 
 X.— Be quick then. Oh ! ah ! oh ! 
 
 M. — ^Why what's the matter ? 
 What means this " oh ! ah ! oh ?" Were you in pain ? 
 
 X. — Not in the least ; I happened to be thinking 
 About the Diomcian feast of Hercules. 
 
 M. — The man's quite pious. I must tiu-n to the other. 
 I).— dear ! dear ! 
 
 iE.— What now ? 
 
 D. — I sec some Knights.
 
 THE FKOGS. 167 
 
 M. — What makes you weep ? 
 
 D. — There's such a smell of onions. 
 
 JEi — You did not mind the blow then ? 
 
 D.— Not a bit. 
 
 JE. — Then I must try my hand upon the other. 
 
 X. — Ah me ! 
 
 M. — "What now ? 
 
 X. — Take out tliis thorn. I pray. 
 
 2Ei. — "What does this mean ? I'U try the other. There ! 
 
 D.— ApoUo, God of Pytho, Lord of Delos ! 
 
 X. — That slimg him. Did you hear ? 
 
 D. — I'm sure it did'nt. 
 I called to mind an Iambic of Hipponax. 
 
 X. — You don't succeed. Just try a blow in the flank. 
 
 JEa. — -I see I don't. Stick out your belly, man. 
 
 D. — Poseidon ! 
 
 X.— Ah ! he felt the pain of that. 
 
 D. — " Thou, who from Ocean's cavern deep 
 " Dost guard the proiid -liEgean steep 
 "Round which thy azure waters sweep," — 
 
 2E,. — Well, by Demeter, I can not decide 
 
 Wbich of the two's the God. So enter both, 
 My Master and Persephone will know you 
 Immediately, for they are gods themselyes.
 
 168 THE FROGS. 
 
 D. — ^You're right ; however, I could wish, my Mend, 
 You'd thought of that before you cudgelled me. 
 
 Chorus. 
 Descend, Muse ! upon our hallowed quire, 
 And share the joy our festal songs inspire ; 
 Come and behold the people's vast array. 
 The multitude whose shrewd and countless schemes 
 Surpass in daring Cleophon's wild dreams, 
 Upon whose chattering lips there sits all day 
 A Thracian swallow perched on foreign spray, 
 That twitters forth a mournful wail. 
 Like song of love-sick nightingale. 
 " Alas ! alas ! must all my projects fail ? " 
 And though the votes be equal, still 
 The creatiu-e bodes of coming ill. 
 
 Leader of the Chorus. 
 'Tis the duty of the Chorus to consult the City's weal, 
 TJrging and expoimding measiu'es that will tend oiu' strifes 
 
 to heal. 
 First, it strikes me, all our townsmen should have equal 
 
 rights \vith us ; 
 "We must check the reign of terror ; if, deceived by 
 
 Phrjaiichus, 
 Any heretofore have stumbled, brand them not in one base 
 
 class. 
 But if they confess their failings, let their former eiTors 
 
 pass. 
 Next, no man should be excluded from the honours of our 
 
 town; 
 'Tis a shame that by one sea-fight men should earn such 
 
 cheap renown.
 
 THE FROGS. 169 
 
 Slaves tui-n masters and Platseans, tuming all things upside 
 
 down. 
 Yet I cannot blame your measures, nor affirm they tui'ned 
 
 out ill, 
 No, I praise them; they're the only actions that showed 
 
 sense or skill. 
 Then 'twere meet you should remove now that one stigma 
 
 that befel 
 Those who oft have fought beside you, they and their brave 
 
 sires as well. 
 They're your kinsmen ; hear them pleading, and remit your 
 
 kindling rage. 
 Know, ye men of honest wisdom, we shall then all hearts 
 
 engage, 
 Men of honour we shall gain too, men who will our contests 
 
 share ; 
 But, if swollen with pride and anger, we assume a lofty air 
 When the billows rise around us threatening to o'erwhelm 
 
 the state, 
 We shall rue our senseless errors and bewail them when 
 
 too late. 
 
 If I have rightly learned to scan 
 
 The life and habits of the man 
 
 Whose fate 'twill be erelong to rue 
 
 The mischief he's been wont to do. 
 
 This monkey, Cleigenes, is one 
 
 Whose race, I think, is nearly run ; 
 
 A dwarfish bathman, vilest of the crew 
 
 Wlio deal in soap, adulterated sadly. 
 
 Sham nitre, ashes, fullers' earth mixed badly, 
 
 Striving to cheat us all that they can do.
 
 170 THE FKOGS. 
 
 His day Tvill soon be o'er, I see, 
 And hence no fiiend of peace is he. 
 Afraid to stir without his stick, 
 Lest some one pouncing on him quick, 
 "When staggering drunk along the road, 
 Should stop and strip him of his load. 
 
 Leadek. 
 Often have I thought our city treats the men of highest 
 
 worth 
 Just as people treat old coinage when the bran-new coLq 
 
 comes forth. 
 Not the unalloyed and purest, not the fairest coins we use, 
 Xot the pieces stamped and proven, 'tis not such as these 
 
 we choose, 
 Not the coins whose trusty merits Greeks and rude 
 
 Barbarians try, 
 But those bits of baser copper that we now so magnify. 
 Struck to-day or lately issued, coinage of the rudest die. 
 Men of noblest birth and nature, citizens of finest mould, 
 Men of justice, truth, and honour, trained as were their 
 
 sii'es of old, 
 Trained to strive in the Palaestra, taught to joia the choral 
 
 band, 
 Taught to feel the charms of music — such we banish from 
 
 the land. 
 But the men of bronze, the base ones, sons of sires as base 
 
 as they. 
 Strangers, mountebanks, new-comers, these we use in every 
 
 way; 
 Men too mean to serve as victims at the Expiatory Feast, 
 No ! the cit}- would have scorned them, in the good old times 
 
 at least.
 
 THE FROGS, 171 
 
 But, ye foolish ones, now turn ye ; change your courses, 
 
 mend your plan, 
 Use once more the useful burgess; choose the right and 
 
 proper man ; 
 If you fail, yet praise awaits you whilst you strive to rise 
 
 again; 
 Should you meet with fresh disasters, let this thought relieve 
 
 your pain, 
 Failure in a good cause fixes no dishonoui'able stain. 
 
 JE. — ^By Jupiter ! you serve a noble master. 
 
 X. — Noble ? Why is not every body noble 
 
 That thinks of nothing else but wine and women ? 
 
 2E. — And that he did not rate or cudgel you, 
 
 AYhen you, the slave, affirmed yourself the master. 
 
 X. — He would have rued it. 
 
 JE. — 'Twas 3 famous slave's trick, 
 Just such an one as I should glory in. 
 
 X. — You would ? Pray tell me. 
 
 JE. — TVTiy, if I contrive 
 To vent a ciu'se in secret on my master, 
 I feel as much elated as a Mystic. 
 
 X. — And how, when after many a kick or cuff, 
 You go outside and grumble to yourself ? 
 
 JE. — That too delights me. 
 
 X. — And to pry and meddle ? 
 xE. — By Jupiter ! I know of nothing like it. 
 
 X. — Zeus ! God of Kindred ! how alike we are ! 
 And then to listen when our lords ai'e talking.
 
 172 THE FROGS. 
 
 JEi. — It puts me in a frenzy. 
 
 X. — Then, to tattle 
 And tell it to one's neighbour. 
 
 ^. — That transports me. 
 
 X. — Phoehus ApoUo ! man, give me your hand, 
 Embrace me, kiss me. Tell me, I adjure thee, 
 By Jove the worthy partner of our stripes. 
 What's all this noise withia and loud upbraiding ? 
 
 M. — 'Tis iEschylus and Euripides. 
 
 X.— Indeed ? 
 JEi. — A weighty matter, a grave and serious matter 
 Now occupies the dead ; there's great dissension. 
 
 X. — For what ^ 
 
 JSa. — There is a law enacted here, 
 That whosoever ia the higher arts 
 Displays a skill superior to his fellows 
 Shall have a table in the Prytaneium, 
 And take the seat next Pluto. 
 
 X.— WeU, what then ? 
 
 M. — He holds it tiU some cleverer man arrives. 
 
 More skilled in art, and then he must resign it. 
 
 X. — But what puts iEschylus in such a pother ? 
 
 JE^. — 'Twas he who as the master of his art 
 Had hitherto possessed the Tragic throne. 
 
 X. — And who now claims it ? 
 
 JEi. — "Wlien Euripides 
 Came down below, he introduced himself 
 To all the thieves that hang about the baths.
 
 THE FROGS. 173 
 
 Cutpixrses, panicides, and housebreakers 
 
 That throng in Hades. When they heard his story, 
 
 His quips and quirks, his turns and counter-turns, 
 
 They raved again, and swore he was the cleverest. 
 
 He, quite elated, went up to the thi'one 
 
 "Where ^schylus was sitting and laid claim to it. 
 
 X. — "VVas'nt the fellow thrust aside at once ? 
 
 JE. — Not so ; the people called out for a trial 
 -To settle which possessed the greatest talent. 
 
 X.— The rabble ! 
 
 ^. — Yes, their clamour reached to heaven. 
 
 X. — And were there none to stand by ^schylus ? 
 
 JE. — Good men are scarce above and scarce below. 
 
 X. — "WTiat then does Pluto now intend to do ? 
 
 JE. — To let the trial of art begin at once 
 And bring the contest to a speedy issue. 
 
 X. — "VYhy did not Sophocles demand the throne ? 
 
 JE. — By Jove ! not he. As soon as he came here 
 He went to ul^schylus, gave him his hand 
 And kissed the poet, who, with generous feeling 
 Would fain have yielded up the throne to him. 
 But now he means (so says Cleidemides) 
 To sit expectant, ready for the victor, 
 And should the victory fall to -^schylus 
 He'll leave the field ; but should he lose the day 
 Then Sophocles himself will try his skill, 
 And have a struggle with Eiuipides.
 
 174 THE FROGS. 
 
 X. — How will they manage it ? 
 
 jE. — Whj in a trice 
 There'll be the strangest stir and bustle here. 
 A pair of scales shall test the Poet's art. 
 
 X. — What, will they weigh it out by grains and scruples r 
 
 ^. — They'll bring out foot-rules, measuring-rods for verses, 
 And oblong moulds like those of brickmakers, 
 With lines to mete diameters, and wedges. 
 For this Eui-ipides intends, he says, 
 To test his tragic pieces, word by word. 
 
 X. — Then xEschylus, me thinks, is somewhat sullen. 
 
 JE. — With head bent low he stared like a wild bull. 
 
 X.— Who's to decide ? 
 
 ^. — Why that's a knotty point, 
 For here you'll find a lack of connoisseurs, 
 And ^schylus displeased the Athenians. 
 
 X. — Perhaps he had a low opinion of them, 
 
 And thought them for the most part rogues and burglars. 
 
 JE. — True, and the rest too silly and weak-minded 
 To imdcrstand the merits of their poets ; 
 So they have left the matter with yoiu' master, 
 For he's a thorough connoisseur in art. 
 But let's go in ; for when our lordly o"v\Tiers 
 Arc bent on something in a driving hurry, 
 I find we're sometimes apt to smart for it. 
 
 CnoErs. 
 Gnmly indeed will the thundering combatant bridle his fury 
 When he beholds the grimacing and airs of his shrill- voiced 
 opponent,
 
 THE FROGS. 175 
 
 "Whetting his teeth for the prey ; then lashed into frenzy 
 "Wiklly his eyes will roll roimd. 
 
 Hehncts vnil flash, and high words toss their crests, as they 
 
 mingle in combat, 
 Axlea \viil brush, as the splinters and carved \yorks fly 
 round, while the other 
 Tries to repel the assault of the high sounding language 
 Coined by the man's fertile brain. 
 
 Bristling his mane that adown his rough neek in v/ild loose- 
 ness is streaming, 
 Knitting his threatening brow, with a terrible roar will he 
 utter 
 "Words clamped together like planks, huge and intricate 
 compounds 
 Fit for a giant to breathe. 
 
 Then will the restlessly chattering tongue put his words to 
 
 the torture. 
 Bridling with envious rein the proud muse, and with subtle 
 refinement 
 Mincing his phi-ases and mocking the noble and manly 
 expressions 
 Poiu'ed from his labouring breast. 
 
 EraiPiDES. — I'llnotgiveup the throne, so spare your counsels, 
 For I contend I excel this man in art. 
 
 DiONTsrs. — What, sUent, ^schylus ? thou hear'st his words. 
 
 E. — He gives himself grave pompous aii's at first 
 Just as in all his solemn tragedies. 
 Making a show of monstrous prodigies. 
 
 D. — My clever friend, don't talk too largely, pray.
 
 176 THE FROGS. 
 
 E. — I know the man and long have scanned him well, 
 A framer of wild visions, proud, contemptuous, 
 With mouth unbridled, unrestrained, unban'ed, 
 A prater not to be talked down, a dealer 
 In bundles of bombastic turgid words. 
 
 JEscHTXTTS. — Indeed ! thou offspring of a garden goddess, 
 Are these thy taunts, thou picker up of gossip. 
 Thou beggar's poet, patch er of old rags ! 
 Thy chattering insolence may cost thee dear. 
 
 D. — Stay ^schylus, rouse not thy soul to wrath. 
 
 JE. — I'll not refr-ain until I make it clear 
 
 How emptily this bard of cripples boasts. 
 
 D. — A lamb ! a black lamb ! fetch one, slaves, directly, 
 A hurricane is just about to burst. 
 
 JEt. — gatherer of loose Cretan monodies. 
 Polluting art with impious marriages. 
 
 D. — Restrain thyself, illustrious ^schylus ; 
 Out of the hailstorm, quick, Euripides, 
 If you are prudent, get away at once. 
 Lest in his fiuy with some ponderous word 
 He smite your temples, split yoiu" skull, and doom 
 Your precious Telephus to clii-e dcsti-uction. 
 And thou, iEschylus, bring forth thy charges, 
 Not with such wrath, but in more temperate mood. 
 Men that are poets should not stoop to rail 
 Like market women squabbling o'er their loaves ; 
 But you as soon as you're attacked roar out. 
 Like blazing oak log crackling in the flames.
 
 THE FROGS. 177 
 
 E. — I, for my part, am ready and refuse not 
 To criticize and to be criticized, 
 Wliicliever first my rival here j)refcrs. 
 I'm quite prepared to liave my poems tested, 
 My songs, my odes, the marrow of my plays ; 
 Take now, by Jove, my Peleus, ^olus, 
 My Meleager, aye, and Telephus. 
 
 D. — But what do you intend ? Speak, -iSIschylus. 
 
 2Si.—\ wish not for a contest in this place. 
 
 For here we shall not fight on equal terms. 
 
 D. — How so ? 
 
 ^. — My poetry died not with me! 
 His sank with him ; he'll have it then to quote. 
 However, since you wish it, be it so. 
 
 D. — "Well, then, bring forth the incense, kindle fii'e. 
 That, ere this strife of art and skill commences, 
 I may with reverence implore the power 
 To judge aright in this poetic contest. 
 Sing ye the while a Chorus to the Muses. 
 
 CnoErs. 
 
 Daughters of Jove ! ye Virgia JN'iae ! 
 
 Muses, who mark with what subtle and iatricate workings of 
 
 reason 
 Men rack their brains when they meet in sharp strife, and 
 
 ^dth twistings and turnings 
 Strive to out-ai'gue each other, and ply each sophistical 
 weapon ; 
 
 Come and behold this affray.
 
 178 THE FROGS. 
 
 Mark ye the might of these masters ia song, 
 Both skilled in language, in eloquence strong. 
 Helj) them with words fine as saw-dust to jangle, 
 Help them, for now comes the critical wrangle, 
 INow the great contest of talent draws nigh, 
 E'ow the two Poets their prowess will try. 
 
 D. — Now, ere you quote your verses, breathe a prayer. 
 
 M. — Demeter ! thou who with thy lore hast fed 
 
 And trained my mind, fulfil this prayer of mine ; 
 Let me walk worthy of thy mysteries. 
 
 D. — Take you the incense now and strew it there. 
 
 E. — I thank you, I have other gods to pray to. 
 
 D, — Indeed ! what, special ones, of a new coinage ? 
 
 E.-Yes. 
 D. — "WeU, then, invoke these special gods of yours. 
 
 E. — Ether ! pasture where my soul doth feed, 
 
 Glibness of tongue, sharp sense and keen-nosed scent. 
 Help me to crush each sentence I alight on. 
 
 Choeus. 
 And wc too long to hear you twain, 
 Anxious to gather in what strain 
 
 You'll guide your hostile course. 
 Eor both arc fvu-ious in speech, 
 A daring will belongs to each, 
 
 A mind defying force. 
 Doubtless from one we may expect 
 The thought refined, the tone con'cct. 
 
 The nicely polished phrase ;
 
 THE FROGS. 179 
 
 The other, armed with words of might 
 Deep-rooted in his soul, "will fight, 
 And falling on those phrases light, 
 Dash through each windy maze. 
 
 D. — Now set to work as quickly as you can, 
 And utter witty sayings both. But mind, 
 No worn out similes, no common-place. 
 
 E. — Of my own merits and poetic skiU 
 I will diseoiu'se hereafter ; as to him 
 I'll just convince you what an empty boaster 
 And crafty quack he is ! how he imposed 
 On the spectators, introducing fools 
 That learned their stupid art from Phrynichus. 
 For first he'd set before them some one figure. 
 Some weeping Niobe, or proud Achilles, 
 Close muiiled, not a feature to be seen, 
 Displaying a dumb show of Tragedy, 
 For not a whisper or a sound was heard. 
 
 D. — No, not a word by Jove ! 
 
 E. — The Chorus, then, 
 "Would burst upon us with four sets of verses 
 Sung in continuous strain ; the rest kept silence. 
 
 D. — I liked their silence much ; 'twas quite as pleasant 
 As listening to oiu' prattlers now-a-days. 
 
 E. — The more fool you ; it shows your want of sense. 
 
 D. — Perhaps it does. But, pray, what was his object ? 
 
 E. — 'Twas all a piece of empty vapouring, 
 To make the audience sit in expectation 
 That Niobe would speak ; thus the dull play crept on.
 
 180 THE FROGS. 
 
 D. — the base man, wliat shameful tricks he played me ! 
 
 (To Mschylus.) 
 
 "What makes you yawn and twist so impatiently ? 
 
 E. — Because I tell him of his faults. Well, then, 
 When all this sOly foolery was o'er, 
 Ajid when we'd reached the middle of the play, 
 Then, out would come twelve words as big as bullocks, 
 With shaggy manes and eye-brows, hideous bugbears, 
 Unknown to all the audience. 
 
 M. — ^Wretched me ! 
 
 D. — Keep silence. 
 
 E. — Not a single word he uttered 
 That could be understood. 
 
 D. — Don't gnash your teeth ! 
 
 E. — ^Nought but Scamanders, trenches, griffin-eagles 
 
 On shields emblazoned, wrought in bronze ; and words 
 Of wild precipitous aspect filled the air, 
 Hai'd to be understood. 
 
 D. — Well, by the gods, 
 I've lain awake myself for hours in the night, 
 Puzzling my brains to guess what kind of bird 
 That feathered brute a Hippogriff could be. 
 
 ^. — Most sapient Sii", I hardly need remind you, 
 It means the figure head that's carved on ships. 
 
 D. — I took it for Eryxis, I assure you. 
 The clumsy son of old PhUoxenus. 
 
 E. — And pray arc Hippogrifis to strut the stage ?
 
 THE mOGS. 181 
 
 M. — enemy of heaven ! what things were those 
 
 You introduced ? AWiat have you done yourself ? 
 
 E. — By Jove, I brought no grifiins on the stage, 
 Creatures half stag, half goat, such as we see 
 Embroidered upon Medic tapestry. 
 Rather, when I received the art fi'om you 
 Inflated with bombast and pompous words, 
 I first reduced its size, and broiight it down 
 "VYithin due compass, lessening its weight 
 "With versicles, sweet herbs, and exercise, 
 Feeding it with the juice of bagatelles 
 Drawn from choice books and codes of polished manners ; 
 Then nourished it with graceful monodies 
 Mixed with a tin.ctui-e of Ccphisophon, 
 I did not gabble nonsense, talk at random, 
 Or jumble things together in confusion ; 
 The first that came upon the stage explained 
 The characters, their race and lineage. 
 
 JS,. — By Jove it suited thee far better, man, 
 To hear their pedigree than trace thy own. 
 
 E. — Then, when these first few words had been delivered, 
 I left no actor idle in the play : 
 In turn the master spoke, in turn the slave, 
 The lord, the maiden, and the aged nurse. 
 
 M. — And did you not deserve to lose yoiu' life 
 For such degrading arts ? 
 
 E.— By Apollo, no ! 
 I showed a proper democratic spirit. 
 
 D. — ^Well, let that pass my friend ; that's not the point 
 On which to raise yoiu' strongest argument.
 
 182 THE FROGS. 
 
 E. — Tlien too 'twas I that taught them how to speak, 
 
 M. — I know you did, and would that ere you ventured 
 To give such lessons, you had hurst asunder. 
 
 E. — I showed them all the suhtle rules of art, 
 
 The twists and turns of language ; how to think, 
 To ohserve, to know, to turn, to plan with art, 
 To manage an amoxir, to spy out mischief, 
 In short to scrutinize all things. 
 
 ^.— So say r. 
 
 E. — I represented plain and homely matters, 
 Occurrences of daily life and action. 
 And thus set up a mark for criticism 
 Eor all who with such scenes were conversant. 
 I did not rant in tones magniloquent. 
 Distracting people from their sober senses, 
 'Nov frightened them with Cycnuses and Mcmnons 
 Moxinted on chargers hung with clanging bells. 
 His followers may soon be known from mine, 
 Phormysius, and the slave IMcgtenetus, 
 Glim-looking bearded men, with lance and trumpet. 
 Scornfully boasting their piiie-bcnding strength. 
 Such are his scholars. Mine arc Cleitophon, 
 And that accomplished man, Theramenes. 
 
 D. — Theramenes ! aye he's the clever fellow. 
 Versed in all matters, one who if he light 
 On troublous times, or sees disasters nigh, 
 Contrives to extricate himself by crying 
 " No rogue of Chios I, an honest Ceian." 
 
 E. — 'Twas thus I taught these men the art 
 Of tliinking, wliile I tried to impart
 
 THE FROGS. 183 
 
 Some skill in reasoning l;esidc, 
 Making my poetry their guide, 
 Sharpening their wits to keen discerning 
 And skill in every kind of learning ; 
 So that they manage house and store 
 Par better then they did before, 
 And, with a thoughtful air you'll hear them say 
 " How's tliis? where's that? who's taken that away?" 
 
 D. — Yes, by the gods, 'tis true, I vow. 
 And so each wise Athenian now 
 Enters his house and loudly calls 
 His servants, and in anger bawls 
 '* Where is the pipkin ? "Who has dared 
 " To eat that fish's head I'd sjoared ? 
 ■''•' The platter too I bought last year, 
 " That's gone, of course — it is not here. 
 "■ Where are the leeks of yesterday ? 
 " Wlio's nibbled at those olives, pray ? " 
 So he goes on till down they sit 
 Poor fellows in a stupid fit. 
 Gaping and staling at each other, 
 Like childi-en that have lost their mother. 
 
 Choeus. 
 " Thou hear'st all this, renowned Achilles ! " Say, 
 How wilt thou answer in tliis wordy fray ? 
 Beware of one thing ; let not fiuious wrath 
 Possess your soul and diive you fi-om joiiv path : 
 Fearful and bitter charges he has made. 
 But be not thou, my noble fi'iend, betrayed 
 To hasty rage and desj)erate repl)', 
 Purl your sails close and pass sedately by.
 
 184 THE FROGS. 
 
 Then, as you catch a smooth and constant breeze, 
 Urge on your vessel faster by degrees. 
 
 Leader of CnoErs. 
 Thou, the fii'st of Grecian race to build 
 Stately phrases with deep meaning filled, 
 Fii'st to exalt the pomp of tragic lore, 
 Pirst to dignify the myths of yore. 
 Ope the flood-gates, boldly pour along 
 Thoughts of eloquence like ton-ent strong. 
 
 JE. — It rouses my anger and makes me indignant 
 
 To think I must stoop to confute this Malignant ; 
 To think that I needs must encounter the fray 
 For fear he shordd boast I had nothing to say. 
 Come, answer me, what should make people admire 
 The Poet, the man whom the lluses inspire ? 
 
 E. — His dexterous art, the advice he can give ; 
 Besides, we teach people more wisely to live. 
 
 JEi. — "Well, then if you've failed to do this and instead 
 
 Have changed noble and good men to base and iU-bred, 
 "What punishment think you ought you to endui'e ? 
 
 D. — Don't ask htm the question — "VVhy, death to be siu'c ! 
 
 JE. — Then reflect what a proud race I left him at first. 
 Men full sfe; feet high, with no cowardice cursed, 
 No shii'kcrs or demagogues, sharpers or thieves, 
 But men with the spear, and the lance, and the greaves, 
 With white -crested helmets, high casques flashing 
 
 bright. 
 And hearts strong as bucklers, wcll-braccd for the fight.
 
 THE FROGS. 185 
 
 E. — Thicre, now conies the din ! 
 
 D. — If he takes a fresh fit 
 And makes helmets again, my poor noddle will split. 
 
 E. — And what did you do, pray, such heroes to fashion ? 
 
 f^schylua '•« sUcnl.J 
 D. — Speak JEschylns, do not give way to grim passion. 
 
 ^. — I wrote them a drama rei)lete with war's deeds. 
 
 E. — "What drama was that ? 
 
 ^.— The '' Seven Chieftains at Thebes." 
 Every one that beheld it quite longed to be fighting. 
 
 D. — Ah ! see now the mischief you did by such wiiting ; 
 The Thebans you made more pugnacious and rash. 
 And this is the reason you now feel the lash. 
 
 ^. — But you might have practised your prowess as well, 
 Only nothing could rouse you to shake off the spell. 
 Then next with the " Persians," by lending a grace 
 To the noblest of deeds that a poet can trace, 
 I strove to inspii'e fresh ardoiu* in fight, 
 To make all oui- enemies bend to oui- might. 
 
 D. — I rejoiced when Darius was dead, I must say, 
 
 And the chorus came wringing their hands in dismay. 
 
 ]£a. — And these are fit subjects for Poets ; for mark 
 How the old Poets guided the nation, 
 By their ardour enkindling the generous spark, 
 
 And serving thek own generation. 
 For Orpheus taught us the initiate rites, 
 
 And stamped murder as foul and forbidden ;
 
 186 THE FROGS. 
 
 'Twas Musseus that shoTVcd how disease might be healed, 
 Teaching truths in dim oracles hidden ; 
 
 Then Hesiod wrote of the works of the field, 
 Of ploughing and sowing and reaping ; 
 
 And whence came old Homer's renown but from this, 
 That his battles set brave men's hearts leaping ? 
 
 He shewed them the gii-ding of arms for the fray, 
 . The ranks, the fierce onset, the furious melee. 
 
 D. — Yet not even he could teach Pantacles right 
 
 How men in those days were equipped for the fight ; 
 For the simpleton, lately, when trying his best 
 To appear in procession, in full armour drest. 
 Donned his helm first and then — tried to fasten his crest! 
 
 JE,. — But many brave men caught the Poet's high tone. 
 Among whom the hero, brave Lamachus, shone. 
 I sang of Patrocluses, Teucers, and those 
 "Whose hearts sprang like lions to grapple their foes. 
 But I painted no Phoedras, no vile Stheneboeas, 
 No women in love and no savage Medeas. 
 
 E. — By Jupiter, no — for you ever were proof 
 Against Venus' s charms ! 
 
 2E. — May she still keep aloof. 
 And reserve all her fiivours for you and for yours. 
 Till she ruin you all with her perilous lures. 
 
 D. — B}' Jove, 'tis e'en so ; for the women you drew 
 Are a ty^c. of the trcasiu-e that's fallen to you. 
 
 E. — And pray trll inc how my coiTupt Stheneboeas 
 Infected the town with such shocking ideas ?
 
 THE FROGS. 187 
 
 JE. — Why 'twas you that induced om' brave men and their 
 "wives, 
 When stung with disgrace, to get rid of their lives 
 By hemlock ; such shame your Belleroj)hons spread. 
 
 E. — Did the story of Phaedra, then, spring from tny head? 
 
 JE. — The tale was not new to be sure ; but 'tis right 
 
 That the Poet should hide what is base from men's sight, 
 
 Not teach and parade it about in the light. 
 
 For, as children have tutors to teach them in youth. 
 
 So men look to Poets for lessons of truth. 
 
 'Tis oiu' duty to say what is right. 
 
 E. — Is it right 
 To prate of Parnassus, to rave of the height 
 Of the hill Lj'cabettus ? Is this fit discoiu'se 
 For one who in plain words his truths should enforce ? 
 
 JE. — Base maligner, 'tis fit that great thoughts should give 
 
 birth 
 To words that can duly express aU their worth. 
 And beside it is meet that when demi-gods speak 
 They should use fitting language, not feeble and weak. 
 But words full of strength, words of grandem- and 
 
 weight. 
 Like the vestments they wear, well befitting theii' state. 
 'Twas thus that I gave such a dignified tone 
 To the stage. You have spoiled it. 
 
 E. — Pray, what have I done r 
 
 JE. — You fh'st drcst up monarchs in rags to excite, 
 Deep pity in men at the soiTowful sight.
 
 188 THE FROGS. 
 
 E.— "Wiat harm did that do ? 
 
 JEi. — Not a single rich man 
 "Would come forward as Trierarch ; this was their plan. 
 They dressed up in rags, wept, and pleaded distress. 
 
 D. — ^By Demeter ! 'tis true ; but beneath this old dress 
 They wore good thick tunics of wool on their backs, 
 And if they contiived to get rid of the tax, 
 They chuckled to think they'd accomplished their wish, 
 And sneaked to the market to cheapen some fish. 
 
 2E. — In the nest place, you taught them to chatter and prate, 
 And this chattering habit has made them of late 
 Desert the palaestra and stick to then* seats, 
 "While young striplings perform oratorical feats. 
 E'en the sailors have caught this infection of speech, 
 And are boldly presuming their masters to teach ; 
 But when I was alive things were different, I know ; 
 They only thought then of their rations of dough. 
 And their eloquence reached but to Yo-ho ! heave -ho ! 
 
 D. — Yes, by Phoebus ! and then in their coarse comic way. 
 They'd play tricks with messmates or go and waylay 
 Some poor fellow they happened to meet with ashore : 
 But now they're all tails, no one handles the oar, 
 Or sails here and there like the sailors of yore. 
 
 JE. — Wliat crime is he guiltless of? Has he not drawn 
 Vile pandars, and women whose childi'cn were born 
 (To their shame) in the temples, incestuous maids 
 "Who said " life was no life, a world full of shades ? " 
 And is it not hence that oiu* city is full 
 Of pert scribes and demagogues, ape, cheat, and gull ?
 
 THE FROGS. 189 
 
 They impose on the public with plausible face, 
 
 But so nerveless their frames that, to crown their 
 
 disgrace, 
 Not one man can carry the Torch in the race. 
 
 Jj. — By Jupiter ! no, for I e'en laughed outright, 
 At the Panathenoea, to see a poor wight 
 Slowly limping along, left behind in the race, 
 A corpulent fellow quite pale in. the face. 
 All piifSiig and pantiag to find he was last, 
 While the potters who stood at the gates as he passed 
 Dealt such blows at his shoulders, his ribs and his back, 
 That at last in. his fluiTy he tried a fresh tack, 
 All the breath in his body condensed in one blast, 
 Fairly blew out the Torch, and got off safe at last. 
 
 Choeits. • 
 Grave will the strife be, 
 Mighty the struggle, 
 Earnest the battle that now draws nigh : 
 Truly 'tis difficult how to decide 
 Which has the mightiest claims on his side ; 
 One presses on with such vigoroiis will. 
 While the other can turn with such dexterous .skill. 
 And recover his ground and retaliate stiU, 
 Sit ye not down then, your task is not ended^ 
 Many fi'csh coiu'ses are left you to try. 
 Different sti'atagems wary and clever ; 
 Sj)eak then, poiu" forth yoiu' words faster than ever, 
 Bring forth the old and the new on the scene, 
 And hit upon something that's subtle and keen. 
 
 But if you fear lest want of sense 
 Should keep the audience in suspense,
 
 190 THE FROGS. 
 
 And blunt theii- power to discern 
 
 The subtle truths you'd have them learn, 
 
 DLsmiss such fancies from your mind ; 
 
 These men have been well drilled, you'll find, 
 
 They've seen some service too, and look ! 
 
 Each one is seated with his book, 
 
 Conning the wittiest passages ; 
 
 "No dunces, I assure you, these : 
 
 Their natui-al talents, blunted never, 
 
 !Xow bear a keener edge than ever. 
 
 Feai' nothing then, but utter all your mind. 
 
 To entertain an audience so refined. 
 
 E. — "Well, I will venture on your prologues next, 
 I'U test the fii'st essentials of the play, 
 The opening Unes of this accomplished Poet. 
 In laying out his plot he's quite obscure. 
 
 D. — ■^Tiich do you mean to test ? 
 
 E. — 0, a great many ; 
 But read me first some of the Oresteia. 
 
 D, — Keep silence all. ^ow ^.Eschylus, read on. 
 
 JE. — " Hei-mcs, great god of shades, thou who dost watch 
 " And guard the realm of my illustrious sire, 
 " Save and defend me when I call iipon thee, 
 "Unto this land I come and now rctiuTi." 
 
 D. — Have you a fault to find ? 
 
 E. — ilorc than a dozen. 
 J). — A dozen ? AVhy there ai-c but foiu' short lines. 
 E. — AjxCl each of them has twenty faults at least.
 
 THE FROGS. 191 
 
 D. — I do beseech you, ^schyhis, keep quiet ; 
 Quote not another line, for if you do 
 You'll find yourself obliged to lose far more 
 Than foui- iambic verses, I assure you. 
 
 ^. — / hold my peace for him ? 
 
 D. — I woidd advise you. 
 
 E. — He's made a monsti'ous blunder to begin with. 
 ^. — There, do you see what nonsense you are talking ? 
 D. — Well, be it so, 'tis no concern of mine. 
 2Ei. — Where's the mistake ? 
 
 E. — Begin the lines again. 
 
 ^. — "Hermes, great god of shades, thou who dost watch 
 ''And guard the realm of my illustrious sii'e " — 
 
 E. — Does not Orestes say this at the tomb 
 Of his dead father ? 
 
 iE. — Yes, I don't deny it. 
 
 E. — And does he, knowing that his father perished 
 By violence and craft beneath the hands 
 Of his own spouse, does he intend to say 
 That Hermes kept a watchful eye upon him ? 
 
 ^. — Not to that Hermes is his praj-er addressed. 
 But to the God the giver of good fortune. 
 Him he invokes as Hermes, god of earth. 
 And rightly, since his father's earthly honours 
 To him descended. 
 
 E. — This is worse and worse 
 To make him share his father's earthly place.
 
 192 THE FROGS. 
 
 D. — 'TwoiJd be to rob Ms father of bis grave. 
 
 ^. — Baccbus, the wine you drink is somewhat flat 
 If it produces such dull jokes as that. 
 
 D. — ^Well, quote another line : mark you the faults. 
 
 ^, — " Sare and defend me when I call upon thee, 
 " Unto this land I come and now retmn." 
 
 E. — "Wise .iiEschylus tells us the same tbiag twice 
 
 D. — How so ? 
 
 E. — Observe the phrase, and I wiU show you- 
 "Unto this land I come and now return." 
 To come and to return are jast the same. 
 
 D. — By Jove ! yes, just as if you asked your neighbour 
 " Lend me a kneading-trough, a trough for dough." 
 
 M . — It is not so, you babbling prating fellow, 
 'Tis not the same ; the verse is excellent. 
 
 J). — How so ? Explain. I'm dull of apprehension. 
 
 JE. — He may be said to " co7ne into the land " 
 ^VTio has a home upon his native soil ; 
 He comes without misfortune or distress, 
 Whereas an exile both returns and coynes. 
 
 D. — Good, by Apollo ! "Well, Euripides, 
 And what say you ia answer to all this r 
 
 E. — I stiU deny that it is right to say 
 
 Orestes was "returning to his home ; " 
 For he came secretly, mistrusting those 
 TVlio in liis native country then bare sway.
 
 THE FROGS. 193 
 
 D. — Good, good, by Hermes ! though I must confess 
 I do not see exactly what you mean. 
 
 E. — Go on now with the other Terse. 
 
 D. — Aye do. 
 Quick, ^schyhis, the other verse : and you 
 Keep a sharp eye and let no blunder pass. 
 
 M . — "Here, at his funeral mound, I bid my father 
 " Listen and hear." 
 
 E. — The same mistake again ! 
 For " hear " and " listen " mean the same most clearlj'. 
 
 D. — My captious friend, he's speaking to the dead, 
 And you forget 'tis hard to make them hear 
 E'en when we patiently invoke them thrice. 
 
 JE. — But how did you make prologues ? 
 
 E. — You shall hear ; 
 And if I say the same thing twice, or thrust 
 Some trifling word in, just to fill a gap, 
 Then shew your spite and spit your venom at me. 
 
 D. — ^Well then, say on, my task is simply this, 
 To listen, all attention, to your prologues, 
 And mark the smooth correctness of yoiu' verse. 
 
 E. — "A fortixnate man was Oedipus at first." 
 
 JEi. — Not so, by Jove ! a most unfortimatc wretch ! 
 A man, of whom, even before his bii-th, 
 Apollo said that he would slay his father ; 
 How then was he a fortunate man at first ? 
 
 E. — "And then became of all men the most wretched."
 
 194 THE FROGS. 
 
 JE.. — Not SO, by Jove ! he never ceased to be so. 
 Remember bow, as soon as he was bom, 
 They exposed the infant in an earthen vessel, 
 In winter time, lest if he grew to manhood. 
 He should become the mni'derer of his father ; 
 Then how he fared with Polybus, his feet 
 All swollen and crippled ; then too, in his youth 
 He married an old woman, his own mother ; 
 Then put his eyes out. 
 
 D. — "What a lucky man 
 He would have been if he had shared command 
 With Erasinides at Argiausae ! 
 
 E. — stuff ! I'm a good hand at making prologues. 
 
 M. — Forbid it, Jove, that I should criticize 
 Or nibble at your verses woi^d by word ; 
 But with the god's assistance, I'll destroy 
 Your clever prologues ^\'ith a little cruet ! 
 
 E. — My prologues with a cruet ? 
 
 M. — Yes, with one! 
 For you compose them all La such a way 
 That any little skin, or bag, or cruet 
 "Wni fit on well to your iambic lines. 
 I'U shew you in a moment. 
 
 E.— 0, you will ? 
 JE.— Yes, that I wiU. 
 
 D. — The lines then must be quoted. 
 E. — "-^gyptus^ as the wide-spread story runs,
 
 THE FROGS. 195 
 
 "Crossing the ocean mtli his fifty sons, 
 " Landing at Argos " — 
 
 JE. — Lost his little craet ! 
 E. — "WTiat means that cruet ? Won't he smart for this ? 
 
 D. — Read him another prologue, don't give o'er, 
 That he may see the effect and tiy once more. 
 
 E. — "Bacchus who hears the thyrsus and the hide 
 " Of dappled fawn, mid torches on Parnassus, 
 " Leaping and dancing " — 
 
 JE. — Lost his little cruet ! 
 
 D. — Alas ! that cruet's smitten us again. 
 
 E. — No matter ; here's a prologue now of mine 
 He'll try in vain to fix his cruet to. 
 " There's not a man who is completely happy ; 
 " For either one, though born of noble blood 
 " Has not enough to live upon, or else 
 " Ignobly bom " — 
 
 M. — Has lost his little cmet ! 
 
 D. — Euripides ! 
 
 E.— What now ? 
 
 D. — ^Why, shorten sail ; 
 That little cruet bodes a rising gale. 
 
 E. — 0, by Demeter, friend, I shall not heed it, 
 You'll see it dashed to pieces in a tiice. 
 
 D, — Repeat another, but avoid the cruet !
 
 196 THE FROGS. 
 
 E. — " Cadmus departing from the city Sidon, 
 " Son of Agenor " — 
 
 JEi. — Lost his little cruet ! 
 
 D. — !My \rorthY fi-iend, do buy that cruet, pray, 
 Before he knocks our prologues all to pieces. 
 
 E. — /buy of him ? 
 
 D. — Yes, if you'll be advised. 
 
 E. — I certainly -will not ; for I can quote 
 
 More prologues still, such as this man "vrill try 
 In vain to tag his little cniet to. 
 " Pelops, the son of Tantalus, with horse 
 " To Pisa coming "— 
 
 M. — Lost his little cruet ! 
 
 D. — D'ye see? he's tagged the cruet there again. 
 fTo ^schylus.J 
 My good man do by all means sell it him, 
 You'll get a most genteel one for an obol. 
 
 E. — By Jove, not yet ; I've many more to quote. 
 " .^neus once gatheiing " — 
 
 ^. — Lost his little cruet ! 
 
 E. — Stay, let me quote the verse entire, first. 
 
 " .^neus once gathering in a plenteous crop, 
 " Offering the fii'st fruits " — 
 
 JEi. — Lost his little cruet ! 
 
 J). — "\Mnlc he was offciing ? "Wlio could be the thief ? 
 
 E. — No matter, friend ; but let him tiy this one. 
 " Zeus, as the storv mns and truth aflinns '' —
 
 THE FROGS. 197 
 
 D. — He'll ruin you, he'll call out " Lost his cruet," 
 This cruet sticks as closely to your prologues 
 As ugly warts that grow ou people's eyelids. 
 But leave tliis now ; turn to his choral songs. 
 
 E. — Aye, there forsooth, I shall expose him well, 
 And show how badly he composes songs, 
 Saying the same thing o'er and o'er again. 
 
 CnoRTJS. 
 "WTiat's coming now ? and what will be 
 The issue of this rivahy ? 
 I rack my brains in yain to know 
 What faults he will presume to shew 
 In him whose genius gave us lays 
 Surpassed by none in modern days. 
 I marvel much how he'll arraign 
 This monarch of the Bacchic sti'ain, 
 The critic's rashness makes me fear 
 He'll find himself mistaken here. 
 
 E. — And wondrous strains you'll find they are ! 
 I'll sum up all his notes in one short lay. 
 
 D. — I'll take a pebble, fiiend, and keep account. 
 
 E. — "Achilles of Phthiotis, when thou hear'st 
 " The cry of slaixghter and the din of arms, 
 
 " Dost thou withhold thy blow-averting aid ? 
 ""We dwellers in the marsh with reverence fall 
 " Before thee, Hermes, oxu* protecting sii-e, 
 
 " Dost thou withhold thy blow-averting aid? " 
 
 D. — Two blows for thee, friend ^schylus, already !
 
 198 THE rUOGS. 
 
 E. — "Most glorious of the Acliaeans, Atreus' son, 
 " "Wlio rulest over many, learn of me ; 
 
 "Dost thou withhold thy hlow-ayerting aid? " 
 
 D. — And there's a third blow for thee, JEschylus. 
 
 E. — " Keep silence, for the priestesses of Delphi 
 "Approach to ope the slirine of Artemis, 
 
 " Dost thou withhold thy blow- averting aid ? " 
 
 D. — what a shower of blows was that, great Jove ! 
 I'll get me to the bath to ease my pains, 
 These blows affect my kidneys and my reins. 
 
 E. — Stay till you've heard another stave or two, 
 Compounded from his grandest lyric measures. 
 
 D. — Rehearse it then ; but let no blow be added. 
 
 E. — " How the impetuous bird of wai- sent forth 
 " The proud twin-sceptred anny of Achoea, 
 " The youth of Hellas, aiTucd with spear and shield. 
 
 "Sing — Phlatto — thratto — pUatto — thratto — phlat ! 
 " The ominous Sphinx that brooded o'er the land, 
 "A hound of haughty domineering sway, 
 
 " Sing— Phlatto— thratto— phlatto— thratto— phlat ! 
 " Proffering the spoil to winged hounds that cleave 
 " The plain of Ether, eager for their prey; 
 " The impending force o'er Ajax seems to sweep, 
 
 " Sing— Phlatto— thi-atto— phlatto— thratto— phlat! " 
 
 D. — "^liat patter's this ? "Was it from Marathon 
 
 You stole it ? Or where else could you string up 
 
 Such ditties as the water-carriers sing, 
 
 "Wlicn winding up their buckets from the well. 
 
 yE. — Whate'cr I gathered from the beautiful 
 I moulded into beauteous forms again,
 
 THE FROGS. 199 
 
 That I might not appear to pluck my flowers 
 From the same sacred meadow of the Muses 
 Wheuce Phrpiichus was wont to gather his. 
 But this man plunders every ribald store, 
 The baUads of Meletus, funeral dirges 
 Sung to the Carian pipes, and dancing-tunes. 
 Bring me a Ij-re, I'll shew you how he does it. 
 But stay, we want no lyre to play to this, 
 Where's the old lady with her earthen cymbals, 
 Two rattling potsherds loudly clashed together 
 To beat a suitable accompaniment ! 
 Muse of Euripides ! come lend thy aid 
 These are fit melodies to match thy music. 
 
 D. — Siu'ely this Muse of his, while yet a miss, 
 IS'ever, oh ! never gave the Lesbian kiss ! 
 
 JE. — "Ye halcyons that skim o'er the wild sea- wave, 
 " And twitter and scream as ye stoop to lave 
 " Your wings in the waters whose drops bedew 
 " Your forms as ye rise from the deep anew ; 
 " And ye who in sheltered caverns sly, 
 ** Sit we — we — weaving yoiu- tapestry, 
 " Spinning your webs with even line, 
 " And twisting the cords with fijigers fine; 
 "Humming the while a weaver's song, 
 " As the rattling shuttle flics along ; 
 "Where the Dolphin, aUarcd by the flutes' soft sound, 
 " Near the blue-pro wed vessel is seen to bound; 
 "Where the oracle mutters its answers low, 
 " And the juice of the grape is seen to flow 
 ' ' From the crowded clusters that grace the vine.
 
 200 THE FROGS. 
 
 " And fiimisli the cai-e-dispellmg -wine — 
 
 " Come fold me, my child, in those anns of thine." 
 
 (To Dionysus.) 
 Do you mark the fine measure ? 
 
 D. — Indeed I do. 
 
 Ml. — Do you notice this foot ? 
 
 D. — Yes, I note that too. 
 (To Euripides.) 
 
 Ma. — ^And -yrhen you write such lines as these. 
 How dare you blame my melodies ? 
 You who can modulate your measures 
 To suit Cyrene's round of pleasru'es. 
 These are your choral songs, and now 
 I want to show the audience how 
 Those monodies you boast of run ; 
 Here is a specimen of one. 
 
 " gloomy shade of night 
 
 " That banishest the light, 
 
 " "N^Tiat wretched dream is this 
 
 " Sent fi'om thy dark abyss ? 
 " The messenger of Hades drear, 
 "With lifeless spirit wandering here, 
 
 " Child of black night, 
 
 " Whose hideous sight 
 '* Doth harrow up the soul with fright ; 
 " In sable funeral garb arrayed, 
 *' "With talons long, this honid shade 
 " With murderous, murderous gaze and stare 
 " Affrights me with its hideous glare. 
 " But light the taper, maids, and biing 
 " Fresh water li'om the ncighboui-ing spring,
 
 THE FROGS. 201 
 
 " Dipping your buckets in the stream, 
 
 " That I may wash, away tliis dream. 
 
 " But make the water hot I pray, 
 
 " God of the sea, thou hear'st my lay ! 
 
 " Look neighbours, look, with all your eyes 
 
 " Behold these monstrous prodigies. 
 
 " Glyce's stol'n my Chanticleer 
 
 " And gone ! mountaiu-nymphs, appear ! 
 
 '' rage insane 
 
 " Torment her brain. ! 
 " 'Twas as I sat, intent to ply 
 "My quiet work of industiy, 
 " Twirl — twirling with unceasing toil 
 " The spindle and its flaxen coil, 
 " Making a ball of yam to take 
 " To market for a bargains' sake 
 " And sell it soon as day should break ; 
 " 'Twas then my bird took flight — took flight — 
 '' Soared iu the air on pinions light 
 " And fluttered quickly out of sight. 
 '' But 0, the bitter, bitter woe^ 
 " His loss has caused me, none can Icnow ; 
 " The tears I shed, the tears I shed 
 " To fijid my favorite bu'd was fled. 
 "But rouse, ye Cretans, take the bow, 
 " Children of Ion, help me now, 
 " SiuToimd the house, in leaguer close, 
 " And storm it with your frequent blows ; 
 " And thou too, Artemis^ fail' child 
 "Dictpina, bring thy beagles wild, 
 " Roam thi-ough the house iu eager chase 
 "And every crook and cranny trace ;
 
 202 THE FROGS. 
 
 "And come, thou child of Jove, draw nigh, 
 "And lift thy two bright torches high, 
 " Come, Hecate, with eager hands 
 " And light me with your blazing brands ; 
 " Light me to Glyce's house, and there 
 " I'll seize the creature in her lair." 
 
 D. — Well, cease your singing, that will do. 
 
 2E,. — I've had enough as well as you. 
 
 K"ow for the scales, I long to try this plan, 
 
 Por 'tis the only way to test our poems ; 
 
 The weight of words will be the proper touchstone. 
 
 D. — Come then, I'll irj it if it must be so. 
 And bring the art of poets to the scale 
 Just as a cheesemonger would weigh out cheese. 
 
 ChOEI7S. 
 
 These clever men take wondrous pains 
 To rack their shai^p inventive brains. 
 Here's a new wonder brought to light. 
 The strangest whim, the oddest sight ; 
 "Wliat other people would have hit 
 On such a scheme for testing wit ? 
 I vow if any other man 
 Had told me of this novel plan 
 I should at once my head have shaken 
 And told him he must be mistaken, 
 His story for a jest might do, 
 But I could ne'er believe it true. 
 
 D. — Now come, stand close beside the scales. 
 
 Both. — We're here.
 
 THE FROC. 203 
 
 D. — And each take hold of one and quote a verse, 
 And when I call out " Cuckoo ! " then let go, 
 But not before, mind. 
 
 JE. — Well, we've both got hold. 
 
 D. — Now quote yoiu* verse and ckop it in the scale. 
 
 E. — " that the bark of Argos ne'er had flown" — 
 
 ^. — " Stream of Spercheius ! pastui-es rich in cattle" — 
 
 D. — Cuckoo ! let go ! His scale sinks far the lowest. 
 
 E. — And how was that, pray ? 
 
 D. — He put in a river : 
 This gave a weighty moistiire to his verse. 
 Just as you moisten wool to give it weight ; 
 But 1/ou pxit in a verse with fluttering wings. 
 
 E. — "Well, let him try again, and quote another. 
 D. — Take hold again. 
 
 /R. and E.— We're ready. 
 
 D. — Now say on. 
 E. — "Persuasion's shrine is nought but well-framed speech." 
 ^,—'' The only God that loves not gifts is Death." 
 
 D. — Let go ! let go ! His scale again sinks down. 
 He threw in Death, the hea\'iest of ills. 
 
 E. — And I, Persuasion, a most excellent word. 
 
 D. — Persuasion's light, and void of solid sense. 
 But tiy another, choose some weighty word, 
 Some great and ponderous phrase to turn the scale.
 
 204 THE FROGS. 
 
 E. — Stay, let me see — where shall I fiud one handy ? 
 
 D. — "Achilles threw the four and deuce," would do. 
 But speak at once, for this must be the last. 
 
 E. — " He grasped the ponderous bludgeon cased with iron." 
 2E. — " Eor chariot rolled o'er chariot, corpse o'er corpse." 
 D. — He's disappointed you again. 
 
 E.— But how ? 
 
 D. — He put two chariots and two corpses in, 
 A load a hundred stout Egyptian porters 
 Would fail to lift. 
 
 JE. — Well, that's enough. 
 No longer bandy verses ; let him seat 
 Himself upon the scale, his children with him, 
 His wife, Cephisophon, and all his books ; 
 And I'll pronounce but two short lines of mine. 
 
 D. — The men are friends of mine ; I won't pretend 
 To pass my judgmcut on their separate merits, 
 For I've no wish to give offence to either. 
 One I think shrewd ; the other quite enchants me. 
 
 PlTTTO. 
 
 "What ! will you leave your mission unperformed, 
 Neglecting all for which you came below ? 
 
 D. — And if I do pass sentence here, what then ? 
 
 P. — Take back with you the one you deem tlic best. 
 
 Else you'll have had your joou-ncy here for nothing. 
 
 D. — Blessings upon you ! AVell now, listen both. 
 I came down here to find a poet. 
 
 E.— Why ?
 
 THE mOGS. 205 
 
 D. — ;In order that the city, saved from ruin, 
 Might still keep up her choral festivals. 
 Whichever then can give the state best counsel, 
 I mean to take with me. So tell me, first, 
 "What think you both of Alcibiades ? 
 Tell me, for all the town's in sore distress. 
 
 E. — What's their opinion of him r 
 
 D.— Wliat ? why this ; 
 They long and yearn for him, although they hate him, 
 And yet they wish to have Mm back again. 
 But tell me what you think about the man. 
 
 E. — I hate the citizen who shows himself 
 
 Tardy to save his country, prompt to wound it ; 
 Quick at devising schemes to serve himself. 
 Helpless to plan the welfare of the state. 
 
 D. — Well spoken, by Poseidon ! What think you? 
 
 (To ^schylus.j 
 jE. — It is not safe to rear a lion's whelp 
 Within a city. 
 
 D. — K'or a Hon either. 
 
 JE. — But if you rear one, you must humour him. 
 
 D. — By Jove ! I'm in a strait and can't decide : 
 One man speaks cleverly, the other clearly. 
 I'll put one question more : tell me yoiu' minds. 
 What plan can you devise to save the city ? 
 
 E. — If one should fit the lean Cinesias, 
 By way of wings, to fat Cleocritus, 
 And then the winds should waft them o'er the sea. —
 
 206 THE FROGS. 
 
 D. — 'Twere a droll sight indeed! But what's your meaning ? 
 
 E. — ^TiY; if they chanced to hover o'er a sea-fight, 
 Then they might take their cruets out and squirt 
 Some drops of vinegar in the enemy's eyes. 
 There's something else I know and wish to tell you. 
 
 D. — Say on. 
 
 E. — As soon as we place confidence 
 In what we now disti'ust, and place no tiaist 
 In what we now esteem. 
 
 D. — "What do you mean ? 
 I do not understand you. Speak more plainly. 
 Express yourself in terms not quite so learned. 
 
 E. — If we mistrust those citizens whom now 
 "VYe honour with our willing confidence, 
 Take to onr counsels those whom now we slight, 
 The state may yet he saved. For if we now 
 Are hrought by these men to the verge of ruin, 
 Shall we not prosper if we change our course ? 
 
 D. — "Well spoken, Palamedes ! what rai'e wisdom ! 
 AYas that your o^vn, or friend Cephisophon's ? 
 
 E. — My own ; the cruets were Cephisophon's. 
 
 D. — "WTiat do i/ou say ? 
 
 ^To ^schjlus.J 
 
 JE. — TeU rae, before I speak. 
 What kind of men the city now employs ; 
 The good ? 
 
 D. — How so ? it hates them worse than any.
 
 THE FROGS. 207 
 
 -ZE. — Then are they pleased with bad men ? 
 
 D. — No, indeed, 
 'Tis true they use them, but they're forced upon them. 
 
 ^. — How can one save a city such as this, 
 That neither cloak nor gaberdine will fit. 
 
 D. — Bj' Jove ! find out how she may float again. 
 
 JE,. — I'll speak out the^-e ; but here I'd rather not. 
 
 D. — No, no, speak now ; send them some good advice. 
 
 JEi. — "WTien they have learned to deem the enemy's land 
 Their owu, and think their own the enemy's ; 
 When they hare found their best resource in ships, 
 Eveiy resoiu'ce but that a soui'ce of failure. 
 
 D. — Good ! but the jurors swallow all the cash ! 
 
 P. — AYill you decide ? 
 
 D. — "Well, now for the decision, 
 For I shall choose the man my soul approves. 
 
 E. — Think of the gods above by whom you swore 
 To take me home ; and then select youi* friend. 
 
 D. — " My tongue has sworn," but ^schylus I'U choose. 
 
 E. — "What have you done, most infamous of men ? 
 
 D. — I ? I decide that -/Eschylus has won. 
 ■^liy not ? 
 
 E. — And dare you look me in the face 
 After you've played me such a shameful trick ?
 
 208 THE FROGS. 
 
 D. — "WTiat's shameful, if tlie audience deem it not ? 
 
 E. — 0, cniel one ! wilt sligM me, leave me dead ? 
 
 D. — And who knows whether death be not true life ? 
 Breathing, the same as feeding r sleep, a blanket ? 
 
 P. — Go in, good Dionysus. 
 
 D. — "WTiat's yoiu' pleasure ? 
 P. — That I may feast you both before you go. 
 D. — That's kind, by Jove : I've not the least objection. 
 
 Choeus. 
 Happy the man whose mind is found 
 Well disciplined, exact, and sound : 
 This truth from many proofs we learn, 
 Por mark the honour talents earn. 
 This man whose genius has been shown 
 Is now returning to his own. 
 Grateful to every citizen, 
 Grateful to friends and fellow men. 
 And how delightful, not to sit 
 By Socrates in prating fit. 
 Rejecting all the Muses' claims, 
 And spurning too the liighcst aims 
 Of Tragedy, that art refined. 
 The noblest triumph of the mind. 
 To spend the hours in idle chat, 
 In solemn talk of this or that, 
 With poor attempts at wit perhaps, 
 Nonsense served up in sketchy scraps 
 Befits a man obtuse and dense, 
 With neither learning, wit, nor sense.
 
 THE mOGS. 209 
 
 p. — Depart then, ^schylus, in joy and peace ! 
 Preserve our city, bid her discords cease. 
 Let thy wise counsels guide her noble sons, 
 And teach that numerous class, the selfish ones. 
 f Giving ^schylus a mije and other implements of self 
 destruction. J 
 Give this to Cleophon from me, 
 And take these to the worthy three 
 Who lord it in the Treasury ; 
 You know them well, Nicomachus 
 And Myi-mex and Archenomus, 
 And tell them all to come to us 
 
 Without delay. 
 
 For if they stay 
 I swear I'll have them branded every one, 
 Fettered with Adeimantus, White-Crest's son j 
 And if this message they refuse to heed 
 I'll send them all below the earth with speed. 
 
 JEi. — I'll do your bidding ; but let Sophocles 
 Keep and protect my throne till I return, 
 I deem him next to me in skill and wisdom. 
 But pray remember not to let that knave, 
 That lying sophist, parasite, buffoon, 
 At any time usurp my honoiu-ed seat, 
 E'en if he shi^ink from what men force upon him. 
 
 P. — Up ! lift him along, bear your torches before him. 
 
 And chaunt on your way as ye march to restore him ; 
 In strains like his own let yoiu' voices ring out, 
 And escort him to earth with a jubilant shout.
 
 210 the frogs. 
 
 Choetjs. 
 Grant first, ye Gnomes of tte Earth, to the Poet while 
 
 homeward returning. 
 Blessings to light on his path as he springs to the radiance 
 
 of hearen : 
 Give to the state the wise thoughts of the great and the good 
 
 men among them ; 
 Thus may we cease to he wiiing with deep woes and rude 
 
 conflicts in battle. 
 Then if Tile Cleophon hankers for war, and the rest of his 
 
 party, 
 "Why let them fight in their own native fields and much 
 
 good may it do them !
 
 l^asBEgts frnm \\}t fMs nf iiristfljijiaiirs. 
 
 This singular Comedy was performed at Athens in the 
 month of March b.c. 414, iu the eighteenth year of the 
 Peloponnesian war. Nine months before its representation 
 a fleet the most costly and magnificent that Athens had ever 
 equipped set sail from the harbour of Pirseus on the cele- 
 brated expedition against Sicily. With it went Alcibiades, 
 the heart and soul of the enterprise ; his partners in com- 
 mand being the cautious Nicias and the soldierly Lamachus. 
 The bright prospects of the Athenians were somewhat dim- 
 med however by the cloud that then himg over Alcibiades. 
 He was suspected of having been concerned in a mysterious 
 nocturnal outrage (the mutilation of the Hermes-busts 
 thi'oughout the city) perpeti'ated shortly before the armament 
 set sail. Enquiries were set on foot, large rewards were offered 
 for the discovery of the offenders, the utmost excitement 
 prevailed, and a reign of terror commenced. Accusations 
 were levelled against all who were obnoxious to the popu- 
 lace, and the enemies of Alcibiades found in this offence a 
 fitting occasion to effect the downfall of this brilliant states- 
 man. He was recalled to take his trial, but not being
 
 212 THE BIRDS. 
 
 under arrest, lie sailed back in company with the govern- 
 ment vessel as far as Tliuiii in Italy, and there deserted his 
 ship and escaped. From that time he was lost to Athens ; 
 and the Sicilian expedition, deprived of its greatest leader, 
 turned out most disasti'ously for the country that sent it 
 forth. 
 
 vSuvern has written an ingenious essay to shew that the 
 Comedy of the Birds was intended as an allegorical dissua- 
 sive against the project of Alcibiades. Later critics have 
 taken a different view of the play. Some see in it a bold 
 attempt to throw ridicule on the national mythology, and 
 subvert the established religion. Others, with more reason, 
 believe that the poet's intention was, to depict the state of 
 the Athenian mind at this eventful crisis. The high- 
 wi'ought expectations of the Athenians had produced an 
 exaggerated sense of their own importance, and an insane 
 passion for new and daring enterprises. The Utopia of 
 Aristophanes, a City in the Clouds peopled by birds, is a 
 hajipy burlesque on the wild fancies of the speculators of 
 the day. But side by side with this craving for novelty, so 
 aptly satirized in this play, there lurked the anxiety attending 
 a state of mutual suspicion. Here and there Aristophanes 
 gives hints of the existence of this dread evil also. The 
 whole play is one subtle phantasy ; and, while personalities 
 are sparingly introduced, it is easy to see that its witty 
 composer has shown "the veiy age and body of the time, 
 its form and pressure." 
 
 The scone is a wild and trackless heath. In the back- 
 gi'ound is a wood, and rocky ravines. Two old Athenians 
 come forward equipped for a journey, one bearing a jackdaw,
 
 THE BIRDS. 213 
 
 the other a crow in his hand. They are leaving Athens in 
 search of a better city. The names of the two Athenians 
 are typical of theii" dispositions, and the two together com- 
 bine the principal features of the Athenian character. 
 Peisthetserus (the Priend who counsels) is keen and far- 
 seeing, full of new projects and speculations : Euelpides 
 (Master HopeweU) is a light-hearted fellow, fond of a joke, 
 prone to argue the point, a man of no great courage, with- 
 out a will of his own, and able to accommodate himself to 
 any circumstances. The two birds are to act as guides to 
 the pilgrims ; but at the opening of the play they aj)pear to 
 be in as great a puzzle as their masters. 
 
 The door is opened by a buxl who asks the visitors their 
 business, and goes to call his master, the Hoopoe. The 
 Hoopoe comes forth, adorned with a sj^lendid crest and an 
 odd-looking beak, but somewhat bare of feathers. After a 
 few jokes on his appearance the Athenians explain theii' 
 wishes. The Hoopoe recommends several places as eligible 
 retreats for these world-weary men, but the ti'aveUers reject 
 them, and after making a few enquiries as to the kind of 
 life the bii'ds lead, Peisthetterus suggests the desirableness 
 of a city of theu' o^ni for such a happy community. The 
 Hoopoe is struck with the novelty of the idea and proposes 
 to summon a CounclL of Pii-ds to deliberate upon the prac- 
 ticability of the scheme. 
 
 PEISTHETiEEtrS. 
 
 How wiU you call them hither ? 
 
 Hoopoe. — Easily. 
 I'U go at once to yonder copse, and rouse 
 Hy nightingale, and we will summon them ;
 
 214 THE BIRDS. 
 
 And when they hear the voices of us twain 
 They'll run to meet us at their utmost speed- 
 
 P. — Dearest of hii'ds, then tarry not a moment, 
 But prithee speed thy quickest to the copse ; 
 Go in, and waken up the nightingale. 
 
 H. — Come, partner mine, cease slumbering now 
 And let thy holiest music flow ; 
 The strains that thi'ough thy lips divine 
 Thou pour'st for loss of mine and thine, 
 Lamenting one to both so dear, 
 Itys, bewailed with many a tear, 
 Pouring from out thy thrilling throat 
 The liquid and melodious note. 
 The pure strain speeds through leafy grove 
 Of yew-trees to the seat of Jove, 
 Where Phoebus with the golden hair. 
 His lyi-e, inlaid with ivory fair, 
 Responsive strikes to plaining love. 
 And bids the gods in dances move. 
 Then from immortal lips is sent 
 Symphonious with thy murmurs blent, 
 A burst of heavenly harmony, 
 The music of the blest on higli. 
 
 P. — royal Jove ! how ravishing that bird's note I 
 It loathes the copse Avith richly honied strain. 
 
 EuELPiDEs. — I say. 
 
 l>._Wliat now ? 
 
 E. — Won't you be quiet ? 
 
 p._Wliy ? 
 E. — The Hoopoe seems about to sing again.
 
 THE BIRDS. 215 
 
 Hoopoe. 
 
 Come away I Come away ! 
 
 Come away ! Come away ! 
 Come hither my comrades of every feather, 
 Come hither all ye who in flocks fly together ; 
 Come ye who thrive best in the husbandman's fields, 
 And feast on the grain that his good tillage yields : 
 Te mpiads of tribes that on barley-corns feed, 
 And swift-flying races that revel in seed, 
 
 Who, fast as ye flit, 
 
 A soft warble emit ; 
 And ye who in flocks seek the furrow, 
 And caw with delight as ye burrow, 
 
 And soberly plod 
 
 O'er each mouldering clod ; 
 With a twit-twit-twitter, I twitter my lay, 
 Come away from the fields, come away, come away ! 
 
 And ye who in gardens mid ivy-leaves hid 
 
 Eind food in abundance, come forth as I bid. 
 
 Ye birds of the mountains descend from your heights, 
 
 And ye whom the arbutus-berry delights. 
 
 And ye whom the wild olive-berry invites, 
 
 Come hither, come quickly, 
 
 Come flocking full thickly ! 
 With a twit-twit-twit-twitter, I twitter my lay. 
 Come away at my call, come away, come away ! 
 
 Come ye who seek the marshy flats. 
 Intent to swallow stinging gnats ; 
 Who in moist plashy places feed. 
 And Marathon's delightful mead;
 
 216 THE BIRDS. 
 
 Come hird of pied and painted wing, 
 
 Shy wild fowl, join our gathering; 
 
 And tribes that with the halcyons sweep, 
 
 Along the billows of the deep ; 
 
 Come hither, come, your courses change 
 
 To hear of something new and strange. 
 
 Tor here we gather : to this place 
 
 Flock long-necked bu'ds of every race. 
 
 Por there's a certain shrewd old man 
 
 Arrived, with many a novel plan ; 
 
 He deals in notions fresh and new 
 
 And aims at novel actions too. 
 Then come, and talk over the matter together, 
 Come all of you, come, birds of every feather. 
 Tiraloo! Tiraloo ! 
 Tu-whit! Tu-whoo! 
 
 Lured by the sound of the ^Nightingale's voice the bii'ds 
 come flocking to the scene of action. First one, then 
 another, makes its appearance, till at last a complete chorus 
 of birds is collected. As they come in, the two Athenians 
 enquii'c of the Hoopoe their names and characters, Theii' 
 names give rise to sundry jokes at the expense of one or 
 two of the noted characters of the day. The timorous 
 companion of Peisthetasrus gets alarmed at last, especially 
 when the feathered strangers assume a tlireatcning attitude. 
 
 A colloquy now ensues between tlieir leader and the 
 Hoopoe as to the nature of this strange intrusion of human 
 beings. The Birds express their aversion and disgust at 
 the conduct of the Hoopoe, and assume a very hostile 
 attitude. The two Athenians prepare to resist, Euclpides 
 being extremely nervous about the result. He is reassured 
 
 i
 
 THE BIRDS. 217 
 
 by his companion, and the Hoopoe finally expostulates with 
 the Chorus and obtains a hearing for the strangers. 
 
 Thus encouraged, Peisthetaerus proceeds to expound to 
 the Birds the antiquity and former sovereignty of their 
 race. His companion^ who is not very imaginative, 
 interposes every now aud then with some absurd practical 
 commentary. 
 
 CHOEtrs. 
 A crafty animal is man, 
 Deception lurks in every plan ; 
 1^0 matter — speak your mind to day, 
 I'll hear what you may have to say. 
 It might so happen now that you 
 Might utter a good thing or two, 
 "Which you yoiu'self would quickly see 
 Would be the veiy thing for me, 
 Or mind me of some greater power 
 That I, until this very hoiu'. 
 Had never thought to exercise. 
 Such dullness in my weak brain lies, 
 And yet you see it. Then speak out. 
 Tell all the public round about. 
 For whatsoe'er you gain for me, 
 I'll share Avith the community. 
 
 But whatever the plan you bring forward, old man, now 
 you've made up your mind to the task. 
 
 Speak fearlessly out without tremor or doubt^ for we'll not 
 break the truce that you ask. 
 
 P. — I bum to reveal all I inwardly feel, and by Jove I've 
 one subject in hand ;
 
 218 THE BIRDS. 
 
 It begins to ferment, and there's nougM to prevent my 
 
 kneading out what I have planned. 
 Bring the chaplet then, slave, and water to lave my 
 
 hands. 
 
 E. — Shall we sup then r or what ? 
 
 P. — By Jupiter, no, but I've wished long ago to descant on 
 
 a fine theme I've got. 
 So rich, 'twill enthral their spirits withal ; for my 
 
 grief's more than I can describe, 
 To see the poor things who were once mighty kings — 
 
 Choeits. — We kings ? of what nation or tribe ? 
 
 P. — You really were kings over all living things, over me 
 
 and this man ; and what's more, 
 Zeus himself had to own your right to the throne, for 
 
 your race was existing before 
 Great Cronos of old or the Titans so bold, nay before 
 
 Earth had being I vow. 
 
 C— Before the Earth too ? 
 
 P.— ByApoUo! 'tis true. 
 
 C. — By Jove I ne'er heard that till now. 
 
 P. — That's because you lacked learning and worldly discern- 
 ing, and ne'er thumbed your ./Esop when yoiing. 
 
 For he makes the remark that that sweet bird the lark 
 was the first thing to being that sprung ; 
 
 In the date of its birth it exceeded the earth ; when 
 disease killed the old parent bird. 
 
 No earth could be found for its burial-ground, and it 
 lay for five days unintcrred.
 
 THE BIRDS. 219 
 
 The lark sore perplexed, puzzled wliat to do next, 
 
 contrived a fit place for his rest. 
 She buried the dead in her own little head ; that 
 
 accounts for her having a crest. 
 
 Yj. — So the sire of the bird being dead lies inteiTed in 
 Cephale ; "well, that was best. 
 
 P. — Then if they had birth before mother Earth, before the 
 great gods, it is clear 
 To them as of right, fall the kingdom and might, as 
 the eldest of all beings here. 
 
 E. — By Apollo ! 'tis true ; it were best then for you hence- 
 forth of your beaks to be tender : 
 Zeus will not give way to a woodpecker's sway, nor 
 his sceptre so quicklj- siuTender. 
 
 P. — That the gods did not then rule the children of men, 
 
 but that birds held the sceptre of old, 
 Can be made to appear by proofs many and clear, as I 
 
 now vrill proceed to imfold. 
 And first I will show how the Cock, as we know, 
 
 ruled the Persians and lorded it o'er them. 
 Ere Darius arose, Megabazus, or those who were princes 
 
 or tjTants before them. 
 And from that kingdom's fame he is called by the name 
 
 of the " Persian bii'd " unto this day. 
 
 E. — To be sure he alone of all birds that are known, like a 
 right royal bird in his way. 
 Struts about proudly decked with his comb all erect, 
 just as kings their tiaras display.
 
 S20 THE BIRDS. 
 
 P. — He then -waxed so great, and so proud was his state, 
 that e'en now from the fame he won then. 
 
 If at hrealdng of day he hut gives his lungs play, up 
 start all the children of men. 
 
 The tanners of hides and cohblers besides, the braziers 
 and potters and plyers 
 
 At baths, those who deal in flour and meal, shield- 
 fitters and framers of lyres, 
 
 "Wliile those whose delight is to rove out at night, 
 sneak home as the darkness retires. 
 
 E. — I can answer for that ; I was once such a flat as to lose 
 
 a good mantle by one, 
 'Twas of Phrygian wool, and 'twas all through that 
 
 fool of a bird that the mischief was done. 
 Being asked by a friend up in town to attend at the 
 
 feast on his child's name-day kept, 
 I drank rather too deep and fell fast asleep ; but ere 
 
 ' supper was served, wliile I slept 
 The cock crowed out clear ; I thought daylight was 
 
 near, and towards Halimus wended my way. 
 I managed to crawl just outside the wall, when a rob- 
 ber in ambush that lay. 
 Came and dealt such a thwack with a club on my back, 
 
 that down I fell prone 'neath the stroke. 
 I was going to bawl, but 'twas no use at all, for the 
 
 fellow whipped ott' with my cloak. 
 
 P. — At that time of day the Kite had the sway, and was 
 King of the wliolc Grecian nation. 
 
 C. — The Grecians ?
 
 THE BIRDS. 221 
 
 P. — 'Twas lie who first made the decree 
 that men should make humble prostration 
 "Whene'er they caught sight of that royal bu'd, Kite. 
 
 E — By Bacchus, I've reason to know it. 
 I once saw a Kite ; down I fell at the sight, and lay 
 
 gaping in wonder below it. 
 As its soarings I followed, an obol I swallowed, and 
 
 took home an empty purse tlirough it. 
 
 P. — Phoenicia's land owned the Cuckoo's command, and all 
 
 Egj-pt he held in his keeping, 
 And when from that bu'd the sound " Cuckoo " was 
 
 heard, the Phoenicians all set to work reaping. 
 The barley and wheat fell in swathes at their feet, and 
 
 they gathered the harvest of grain. 
 
 E. — That accounts for the phrase still heard in our days, 
 " Cvickoo, clipped ones, away to the plain! " 
 
 P. — Such rank and command they obtained in the land, 
 that whoe'er in Greek cities was King, 
 
 Menelaus or great Agamemnon, there sate, when court- 
 iers their gifts used to bring. 
 
 On the sceptre a bird to this honoiu' ^Jreferred, partaking 
 of each dainty thing. 
 
 E. — That I knew not forsooth, and to tell you the truth, I 
 
 have very much wondered to see 
 In the plays acted here, some old Priam appear with a 
 
 bird in his company. 
 I suppose that must be just to watch and to see what 
 
 Lysicrates took for his fee.
 
 222 THE BIRDS. 
 
 P. — But what's stranger still is, that Zeus who doth fiU. the 
 thi'one and now holds the chief sway, 
 
 Should bear on his head, as a sovereign di^ead, an Eagle. 
 His daughter they say, 
 
 Bears an Owl so wise, while Apollo who flies on his 
 errands a Hawk doth display. 
 
 E. — By Demeter you teach many truths by your speech ; 
 but wherefore this usage I pray ? 
 
 P. — That when any one makes an ofifering and takes (as is 
 usual) the entrails aside 
 
 And hands them to Jove, this bii'd up above may first 
 have his cravings supplied. 
 
 In the days gone before not a man ever swore by a god ; 
 all appealed unto birds, 
 
 And Lampon from use still swears by a Goose, when 
 he pledges himself to false words. 
 
 And thus it appears that in old bygone years, all es- 
 teemed you as sacred and great. 
 
 But now you are thought only things to be caught, 
 silly fools, doomed to sei-vile estate. 
 
 They treat yoii now as things gone mad. 
 And shoot at you, or, what's as bad, 
 Within the shrines the fowler keen 
 Sets gins, and snares, and traps unseen, 
 Gauze nets and every crafty lure 
 Fitted your capture to secure. 
 When caught, you're sold in quantities, 
 And buyers keenly scrutinize, 
 And laidely handle you to know 
 Whether yom- frames tu'C plmnp or no.
 
 THE BIRDS. 223 
 
 Not only, if it so seem good, 
 
 They roast and serve you up for food, 
 
 But, mixing oil and grated cheese. 
 
 They add such condiments as these, 
 
 Silphium and vinegar, to make 
 
 The mixture pungent. Then they take 
 
 Other materials rich and sweet, 
 
 Pound them, and let their juices heat ; 
 
 Then pour the mixture hotly on 
 
 Your flesh, as if 'twere carrion. 
 
 Choetjs. 
 Sad indeed, sad indeed, most distressing are the words 
 You have spoken, man, to us, of the foolishness of birds. 
 
 How I wept at the disgrace 
 
 Of our fathers' fallen race. 
 Who, receiving from their su-es such renown, 
 
 Have abandoned every claim 
 
 To j)romotion and to fame. 
 And in our days so low have fallen down. 
 
 As good fortune would decree. 
 
 And my guardian deity. 
 You have come as my saviour and my fiiend. 
 
 For, entrusting all to thee, 
 
 Self, and infant progeny, 
 I shall safely hold my own to the end. 
 
 Peisthetaerus goes on to expound his plan, and shows the 
 advantages to be gained by the Bii'ds in having a city of 
 their own. The Chorus next explaias to the audience, 
 in a Parabasis, the bird-theory of cosmogony. The poet no 
 doubt intended by this a sly satire on the speculations of 
 the day.
 
 2£4 THE BIUDS. 
 
 Choexjs. 
 fair one ! dear one, 
 dearest to me 
 Of all the fair birds 
 In our company, 
 My partner and sharer 
 Of each, melody^ 
 Sweet Nightingale, hither 
 Thou'st come then again, 
 Thou hast shewn thy sweet presence 
 And brought thy sweet strain, 
 IS'ay then, thou who tunest 
 To measures of spring 
 The sweet sounding flute 
 Let thy music begin. 
 And let the quick anapoests merrily ring. 
 Come men, who can boast of a life that at most is but dark- 
 ness, who justly resemble 
 Leaves that wither away, creatures fashioned of clay, tribes 
 
 so nerveless like shadows ye tremble, 
 Unfavoured with wings, poor ephemeral things, evanescent 
 
 as dreams, wi'etched mortals. 
 Come listen to us while grave points we discuss, wc, the 
 
 ever existing Immortals, 
 Ethereal race whom old age can't disgrace, whose thoughts 
 
 are of things that ne'er perish ; 
 Come, that hearing aright things transcending your sight 
 
 you more sensible notions may cherish 
 Of the nature of birds, and whence, in plain words, gods and 
 
 rivers received generation. 
 Trace Erebus back and discover the track of Chaos in primal 
 creation, 
 
 1
 
 THE BIRDS. 225 
 
 Knowing well things like these, yon can, if yon please, make 
 
 Prodicns weep for vexation. 
 First Chaos and Night and black Erebus rose, and Tartaras 
 
 widely expanding ; 
 iN'either heaven nor earth nor air then had birth ; bat on 
 
 Erebus' broad bosom landing. 
 The sable winged jS^ight first brought forth to light an egg 
 
 that the breeze brooded over, 
 And thence sprang at last, when the lioiu's had floAvn past, 
 
 fond Love, the fond god of the lover. 
 Resplendent he springs with his two golden wings on his 
 
 back, and, so fleet is his motion. 
 That if he's inclined he can outstrip the wind when the hur- 
 ricane raises commotion. 
 Love Chaos then met, with her wings black as jet, down in 
 
 Tartarus' ample dominions, 
 And became in that place the sire of our race, and fii'st 
 
 brought to light our young pinions. 
 Tip to this time no line of Immortals divine existed, till Love 
 
 all things mated. 
 Each with each then combined as affection inclined ; heaven, 
 
 ocean, and earth were created, 
 And the Gods, ever blest, then arose with the rest. So thus 
 
 we are right in contending 
 That of all the blest race we the farthest can trace our 
 
 pedigree upwards ascending. 
 'Tis easy to prove we're the childi-en of Love, for we fly and 
 
 we wait on the lover. 
 For many a youth who'd forsworn love forsooth when the 
 
 prime of his beauty was over. 
 Consented once more to be wooed as before, induced by our 
 
 potent atti'actions, 
 
 p
 
 226 THE BIUDS. 
 
 Wien the gift of a quail or a goose, would prevail, or a Persian 
 
 bird win his affections. 
 'Tis we birds that bestow the chief blessings men know ; all 
 
 the choicest of bounties we bring, 
 First, the seasons we show, how they come and they go, the 
 
 autumn, the winter, and spiing ; 
 The season to sow doth the clanging crane show when he 
 
 leaves you towards Libya to roam, 
 Then the seaman well knows 'tis his time to repose and to 
 
 hang up his rudder at home. 
 A mantle prepare for Orestes to weai", for when the cold 
 
 pinches he steals. 
 Next mai'k how the kite when he comes into sight another 
 
 kind season reveals, 
 "WTien the flocks have been shorn of the fleece they have worn 
 
 in the spring. Then the swallow comes nigh, 
 And now 'tis as well your mantle to sell, and a light summer 
 
 garment to buy. 
 "We stand you instead of Ammon the dread, of Delphi, Do- 
 dona, Apollo, 
 For to bii'ds you apply yoiu- fortune to try, and consult us in 
 
 all that you follow, 
 In buying and selling, food, raiment, and dwelling, in plan- 
 ning a man'iage as well, 
 AU the signs of the same you denote by oiu* name ; a bird 
 
 is each magical spell. 
 If an omen is heard, you call it a bird. A sjTubol, a sneeze, 
 
 and a voice. 
 All go by that name, and a servant the same ; nay an ass in 
 
 the same doth rejoice. 
 
 Then is it not plain that our counsels you follow 
 As those of the wisely prophetic Apollo ?
 
 THE BIRDS. )i2i 
 
 If you take us for gods then you'll have at command. 
 
 As spirits prophetic, a musical band, 
 
 The breezes shall come and the seasons shall go, 
 
 Summer, winter, mildspiing, each in turn you shallknow, 
 
 And we shall not desert you and haughtily sit 
 
 In the clouds up aloft, as Zeus sometimes thinks fit, 
 
 But, ever at hand, we shall fi'eely bestow 
 
 On you, and yoiu" children, and theirs, a full flow 
 
 Of health, wealth, .aud happiness, long life, and peace, 
 
 Youth, mii'th, feasts, and dances delights that ne'er cease, 
 
 And plenty of bml's milk ! of good things such store 
 
 That sated mth pleasm'e you'll want nothing more. 
 
 Leadee. 
 O Woodland Muse ! 
 Tereu, tereu, tereu, tereu, tereu ! 
 Songster with painted wing, 
 With whom I love to sing 
 'Mid groves, or on the crest 
 Of mountain haunts at rest, 
 
 Tereu, tereu, tereu ! 
 Seated upon the leaf-tressed spray 
 Of ash tree thence I pour my lay, 
 
 Tereu, tereu, tereu ! 
 And from my quivering yellow bill 
 To Pan the sacred measures trill, 
 And strains that lead the harmony 
 Whene'er the Mountain Deity 
 With all her troops comes dancing by. 
 Whence Plu-ynichus, like pilfering bee, 
 Tceds on immortal melody, 
 And ever as his own displays 
 The best and sweetest of my lays.
 
 THE BIRD?. 
 
 If, Spectators, any of jou wish to spend right pleasant days, 
 Living "vnth the bii'ds so gaily, let them come and leam oui 
 
 ■ways. 
 Things which you consider shameful, things on which youx 
 
 statutes frown. 
 These we birds consider noble, and their practise brings 
 
 renown. 
 If, for instance, here 'tis shameful for a son to strike his sire. 
 That's a noble deed among us, one that shows the youngster's 
 
 fii'e. 
 If he runs up to his father, strikes him, crowing with 
 
 delight, 
 " Come old fellow, lift yoiu' spur up, if you've any wish to 
 
 fight." 
 If some runaway among you chance to bear an ugly brand, 
 He'll be called a bright pied wildfowl, and be honoured in 
 
 our land. 
 If one chance to be a Phintian foreig-ner like Spintharus, 
 As aTinch he'll be respected, of Philemon's brood, with us, 
 If there be a slave or Carian, one like Execestides, 
 Let him breed a brood of old ones and make ancestors of 
 
 these. 
 He can claim them then as kinsmen and enroll hunself with 
 
 ease. 
 If the son of Pcisias unto outlaws would the gates betray, 
 Lot him join us as a Partridge, father's chick, as bii'ds would 
 
 say. 
 For with us 'tis no such foul tiling for a fowl to fly away. 
 
 CnoKUS. 
 In such wild strain, 
 Tereu, tcrcu, tercu, tcrcu !
 
 THE BIRDS. 229 
 
 The swans, with mingled cry, 
 Their clashing pinions ply, 
 And to Apollo raise 
 The festal song of praise 
 
 Tercu, tercii, tereu ! 
 Stationed along the river side 
 'WTiere Hebrus rolls his waters wide, 
 
 Tereu, tereu, tereu ! 
 The clamour cleaves the clouded sky, 
 Wild beasts are startled at the cry. 
 And then there comes a calm so deep 
 It kisses every wave to sleep, 
 Tereu, tereu, tereu, tereu ! 
 And all Olympus rings again 
 With clanging echoes of the strain ; 
 Amazement strikes the gods on high, 
 And, with responsive minstrelsy, 
 The Graces and the Muses fair, 
 Exulting, fill the laden air, 
 
 Tereu, tereu, tereu ! 
 
 Leadee, of the CnoErs. 
 Notliing's better, nothing sweeter than to sport a pair of 
 
 wings : 
 If for instance, kind spectators, one of you possessed such 
 
 things, 
 And, of tragic chorus weary, longed his anger to appease. 
 He could homeward fly and straightway take his luncheon 
 
 at his ease, 
 And when appetite was sated, fly back to us if he please. 
 If some luckless Patrocleidcs felt his stomach trouble him, 
 He could fly away a moment and return in proper trim.
 
 230 THE BIUDS. 
 
 If percliance some sly intrig-uei' wislicd an opportunity, 
 "When lie saw the husband seated in the front, away he'd fly. 
 And, his courting o'er, come flying back and sit down 
 
 quietly. 
 Is it not a mighty privilege thus to be equipped with wings ? 
 See Diitrephes, with only wicker ones, how high he springs ! 
 Now a Captain, now a Colonel, raised from nothing to the 
 
 skies ; 
 Now a monstrous tawny Griffln, full of prowess up he flies. 
 
 The two Athenians now appear on the stage equipped as 
 bii'ds in full feather. They and the Hoojioe discuss the name 
 of the new city. They hit upon '^ Cloud- cuckoo-town," and 
 resolve next to consecrate the place. A priest is ordered 
 to offer up sacrifice and prayer. His prayers are so compre- 
 hensive, and he invites such a host of birds, that Peisthe- 
 tferus gets alarmed, and begs him to desist. Peisthetoenis 
 is on the eve of renewing his supplications when he is 
 interraptcd by a poet who comes shiveiing in, and aff'ects 
 the Pindaric style. He aims to be the Poet-Laureate of the 
 new city, but does not succeed. The Poet being got rid 
 of, another intruder ai)pears, a soothsayer, whose sham 
 oracles are parodied and exposed, and cam for him a sound 
 beating. Meton, an astronomer and gcometiician, comes 
 forward next and proffers his s(;r\dcc.s. The matter-of-fact 
 Peisthcta)rus will have nothing to do with him. An 
 Inspector who obtrudes himself fares no better than the rest ; 
 and a dealer in Decrees, a kind of amateur legislator who 
 ventures near, is di-ivcn off very unceremoniously. Released 
 from these the Chorus interpose with a second Parabasis, in 
 wliich (ho ])i-aiscs (jf birds are intermingled with the censure 
 of men.
 
 THE BIRDS, 231 
 
 Pakabasis. 
 l^ow to me, supreme, all-seeing, 
 Henceforth shall each mortal being 
 Offer sacrifice and prayer. 
 For my glance is everywhere. 
 I j)rotect the fruit from harm, 
 I destroy the insect swarm. 
 Countless tribes that with voracious jaws upon each flower- 
 
 bnd seize, 
 Or, upon the branches settling, strip the fi'uitage from the 
 trees. 
 
 All the noxious things I slay 
 That on scented gardens prey, 
 All that creep and crawl and bite, 
 Perish where I bend my flight. 
 
 On this day is proclamation made — " Whoe'er of you shall 
 
 "slay 
 " That Diagoras the ITelian takes a talent for his pay. 
 " And whoever kills a tyrant, be it dead or living one, 
 "He shall have a talent also for the good deed he hath done." 
 We too wish to issue notice and proclaim such things as these, 
 " Whosoe'er of you -will kill us Sparrowman Philocrates, 
 " Shall receive a talent for it ; if alive you bring him though, 
 " Talents foiu-, for he's the villain sti'ings up finches in a row, 
 " Selling them at seven the obol ; tlu'ushes too he uses ill, 
 " Blowing them and shewing them exposed with most 
 
 "malicious skill. 
 " Then the way he treats the blackbu'ds, up their nostrils 
 
 " feathers thrusts, 
 " Catches doves, and as decoy bii-ds cages them — all this 
 
 " disgusts.
 
 THE BIRDS. 
 
 " These are things we want announced now, and if any one 
 
 " you know 
 " In tliis hall keeps birds imprisoned, we command you let 
 
 " theni go. 
 *' If you heed not this oiu- order, you in tm-n by birds shall be 
 " Caught and fettered, kept among us as decoys to entrap 
 " the free." 
 Happy the race endowed with wings 
 Who want no winter coverings, 
 1^0 cloak or mantle round them thrown, 
 But warm in plumage of their own. 
 Nor do the sun's far-shining rays 
 Oppress us with their stifling blaze, 
 But nestled 'mid the leaves I dwell 
 l^ear flowery mead and shady dell. 
 While the sacred grasshopper, sun-maddened by the noon- 
 day fii-es. 
 Chirps his quick shrill strain of music, melody the heat 
 inspires. 
 
 In winter time I hide away 
 
 In hollow caves, and sjiort and play 
 
 With mountain nymphs ; but when the spring 
 
 Its vii'gin buds and blooms doth bring. 
 
 We feed on myrtle blossoms white. 
 
 Unsullied by decay or blight, 
 
 And feast upon the richest places 
 
 Within the gardens of the Graces. 
 
 We've a wish to tell the Judges Avhat they may expect from us 
 In this contest, if tlicy place us o'er the rest \actorious, 
 Gifts by far surpassing those that Paris for his judgment got. 
 For we offer first what every Judge most covets for his lot,
 
 THE BIRDS. 233 
 
 Laurion's silver owls shall flutter round you, never leave 
 
 the sj)ot, 
 Take up their abode amoug you, and within your piu-scs 
 
 rest, 
 Hatching silver eggs and small coin in the overflowing 
 
 nest. 
 Then moreover you shall dwell in houses grand as temples 
 
 shine, 
 "We will croAvn the roof with figures ranged along in stately 
 
 line. 
 If you gain some little post, and feel inclined to increase 
 
 your pay, 
 We'll provide you with a falcon keen and swift to seize the 
 
 prey. 
 If you're going out to supper we'll supply capacious crops 
 Fitted to receive whatever down your eager gullet di'ops. 
 But if you decide against us you must do as statues do, 
 Have some crescent disks of copper fashioned out to shelter 
 
 you, 
 And if any go without one, when you wear a mantle wliite. 
 Then will. be the time to make you feel our vengeance and 
 
 GUI' spite, 
 For when all the birds salute you you'll be in a pretty 
 
 plight. 
 
 A Messenger arrives, and gives an account of the mode 
 in which the Bird-city was built. 
 
 P. — The holy rites, birds, have turned out well ; 
 But I'm sui-priscd that from the walls as yet 
 'No messenger has come to bring us news 
 How matters there arc going on. But see. 
 Here comes one ruuning at OljTupian speed.
 
 234: THE BIRDS. 
 
 FiEST Messenger. 
 
 "Wliere is he? "vrhcre, where, Tvhere? where is he? where? 
 Where is the goyemor Peisthetcerus ? 
 
 P.— Here. 
 
 M. — Your wall is built and finished. 
 
 P. — That's good news. 
 
 M. — A splendid wall and most magnificent, 
 So wide that on its top Proxenides, 
 The man of Bounce, and great Theogenes 
 Might drive two chariots there, and meet and pass 
 "With horses, quite as big as that of Troy. 
 
 P.— Hercules ! 
 
 M. — Its length's a hundi'ed cubits, 
 I know it, for I measured it myself. 
 
 P. — Poseidon, what a length ! and pray who were they 
 That built a thing of such a monsti'ous size ? 
 
 M. — Bu'ds^ and none else ; no bricklayer of Egypt, 
 No stonemason or carpenter was there, 
 "With their own hands they wrought ; I stared to see it. 
 From Liliya came some thirty thousand cranes, 
 Wlio'd swallowed stones to make foundations Avith. 
 These stones the cornrails witli their bills wrought square. 
 Ten thousand storks besides kept making bricks^ 
 Curlews and other birds that haunt the streams 
 Brought water from below to those in the air. 
 
 P. — And wlio brought clay for them to make the mortar?
 
 THE BIRDS. 235 
 
 M. — Herons, in trays. 
 
 P. — How did they throw the ehiy in ? 
 
 M. — This was devised, good sir, most clcYcrly. 
 
 Plunging their feet below, geese threw the clay up 
 As if with shovels, and tossed it on the trays. 
 
 P. — Upon my word i what cannot feet perform ! 
 
 M. — And then^ by Jove, the ducks with their white girdles 
 Can'ied the biicks ; the swallows flew aloft 
 Each prentice-wise with trowel on his back, 
 And carrying the mortar in their mouths. 
 
 P. — Henceforth why need one hire paid labourers ? 
 
 Let's see, what next? who Avi'ought the wood-work there? 
 
 M. — Birds were the carpenters, most clever ones, 
 The pelicans, for with their bills they hewed 
 And fashioned out the gates, and as they hewed 
 The noise was like the clatter in a dockyard. 
 And now the whole is well shnt in with gates. 
 And bolted too, and guarded all ai^ound, 
 Patrolled with sound of bell, and every where 
 Sentries are fixed, and beacons on the towers. 
 Excuse me though, I'll run and get a wash, 
 And you, take charge of all the rest yoiu'self. 
 
 Chokts. 
 "What now, my friend ! Lost in amazement, eh ? 
 To find the wall has been so quickly built ? 
 
 P. — By the gods I am, and well indeed I may be, 
 Por really now these things seem just like lies.
 
 236 THE BIRDS. 
 
 Another messenger comes announcing the approach of one 
 of the gods, who has found his way into the City, to the 
 great dismay of the inhabitants. The intruder proves to 
 be Iiis, the Messenger of the Gods, who is sent to remind 
 men of their obligation to offer sacrifices as usual to the 
 Grods. Stoj^ping at Cloudcuckootown on her way, the 
 goddess is very roughly questioned by Peisthetoerus, who 
 derides her threats and treats her very imgallantly indeed. 
 A Parricide, or rather an intentional one, tries to claim 
 the protection of the laws of the new community. He is 
 dismissed with some wholesome advice. Cinesias, a high- 
 flown poet, gives some samples of his style, which only 
 gain for him a gentle castigation. The last human visitor 
 is an Informer, who, after explaining his vocation, is whip- 
 ped off the stage by Peisthetserus. Two choral passages of 
 a satirical character intervene, one aimed at Cleonymus, the 
 broad-shouldered, loud-voiced, popular orator, who was 
 always exhorting others to fight and always running away 
 himself; the other, at another notorious character, Orestes, 
 the tj^e of the light-fingered gentry and footpads of those 
 days. His name being an heroic one, suggests an allusion 
 to the popular traditions as to the land of heroes, a mythical 
 region in the north, where strange adventures were encoun- 
 tered. Having disposed of his human assailants, Peisthe- 
 tserus has now to conciliate or cajole the gods. Prometheus, 
 the fi-iend of tlic human race, and the foi'mer deficr of the 
 gods, comes forward, proffers his advice, and suggests the plan 
 of action. The Cliorus directs its satire against Socrates and 
 his fi-iend and follower Cha^rcphon. During the preceding 
 Choral song the marriage-train has been prepaiing, and 
 comes forth licralded by a messenger who expatiates on the 
 glories and pomp of the festival, and the felicit}^ of the
 
 THE BIRDS. 237 
 
 birds in having such, an iUustrious ruler. Pcisthetserus 
 appears with his bride, and the Chorus hail the wedded 
 pair. 
 
 M. — ! blest with all good things, ! past description 
 Thiice-blessed race of birds, endued with flight, 
 Eeceive your Ruler in your hajDpy homes ; 
 For, girt with splendour such as no bright star, 
 Gleaming from out its gold-refulgent haunt 
 Can rival, he approaches ; nor can blaze 
 Of sunbeams darting far shine forth so lustrous 
 As this fail' being's beauty whom he leads. 
 Beauty that cannot be expressed in words. 
 And brandishing the while the thunderbolt, 
 The winged weapon of high Zeus himself. 
 A nameless odour through the very depths 
 Of ether is diffused, resplendent sight, 
 And gales of sacrificial odours sweet 
 Wafted aloft cleave through the wreaths of smoke. 
 Behold him here himself. 'Tis fitting now 
 To ope the lips of the inspired Muse 
 In holy utterance of auspicious strains. 
 Make way, sweep back, give place, and hover round 
 The fortunate man with fortune's favours crowned. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 What beauty in that face ! 
 
 A\niat loveliness ! what grace ! 
 thou whose most propitious choice 
 The city hails "svith grateful voice. 
 
 Great is the fortune, great the gain, 
 
 Oiu' race through this man doth attain,
 
 238 THE BIRDS. 
 
 Receive him now and greet the bride, 
 Fair Basileia, by his side, 
 "With mnsic meet for wedded pair, 
 With mamage ode and nuptial air. 
 
 Such the strain that hailed the bride 
 "WTien to Olympian Hera"s side 
 The Fates that nile o'er destiny 
 Brought the great Ruler of the sky, 
 The Lord of all the thrones on high. 
 
 Hail Hymen ! God of wedded love ! 
 And Eros, blooming child, 
 Reined back the coursers wild, 
 Eros, with wings of gold, 
 AYho, as the chariot rolled, 
 Sat partner by the side 
 Of Zeus and his fair bride. 
 
 Hail Hymen ! Hymen ! God of wedded love ! 
 
 P. — Your hymns they delight me, 
 Tour songs they incite me, 
 Yoiu' words and yoiu' wisdom I greatly admii'e. 
 Extol now the wonders 
 Of deep-roaring thunders. 
 The bright bolt of Jove with its terrible fire ; 
 
 The lightning's white flash 
 
 And the thunder's loud crash. 
 
 CnoEus. 
 ! mighty flash of golden light, 
 Jove's fiery dart, unmortal, bright, 
 ! thunders booming under ground 
 That make the very earth resound,
 
 THE BIRDS. 239 
 
 Thunders that give the showers bu-th 
 
 "With which this man now shakes the earth ; 
 
 Dominion over all through thee 
 
 Has he obtained and sovereignty 
 
 And Basileia, who beside 
 
 Jove's throne once sat, is now his bride. 
 
 Sing Hymen 1 Hymen, God of wedded love ! 
 
 P. — Now follow in our wedding-train, each Avinged tiibe 
 
 and company 
 Escort us to our nuptial couch, to Jove's high mansion 
 
 in the sky. 
 Stretch forth thy hand, blest consort fair, and hold my 
 
 wings and dance with me. 
 And, borne on pinions light and free, I'll lift thee up 
 
 and soar with thee. 
 
 Chorus. 
 Sing lo Poean, hail ! 
 Highest of Powers divine, 
 All hail ! the victoiy's thine.
 
 (bpigrntiiH 
 
 TEAKSLATED AND IMITATED FEOiX THE GEEEK AN^THOLOGY. 
 
 1. 
 
 The Graces no longer are three, as of yore, 
 
 Their number must henceforth be reckoned as four ; 
 
 Two Yenuses now and ten Muses have place, 
 
 For Dapline's among them, IiJ^use, Yenus, and Grace. 
 
 2. 
 
 Short is the rose's bloom ; seek when 'tis gone, 
 And in its place j-ou'll find the prickly thorn. 
 
 3. 
 
 If beautj''s fading, share it e'er it flies ; 
 If lasting, why not share it e'er it dies. 
 
 4. 
 The likeness of Menodotus 
 
 Was thought a general hit, 
 'Twas so like everybody else, 
 
 But — not like him a bit.
 
 EPIGRAMS. 241 
 
 5. 
 Who carved you as a speaker, standing dumb ? 
 The likeness is exact — you're always mum ! 
 
 6. 
 
 Choose well thy words when babbling Echo's nigh ; 
 Babbling or not, expect the same reply. 
 I'll give thee back the voice thou send'st to me, 
 Silence as well ; what tongue more just can be ? 
 
 7. 
 In youth a poor man, rich Avhcn bent with years, 
 In both my miserable fate appears ; 
 When I could spend the money I had none ; 
 And now I've plenty, when its use is gone. 
 
 A bad man's like a leaky cask, 
 The more you poiir, the more 'twill ask ; 
 The liquid flows through every hole, 
 Fast as your favoiu's thi'ough his soul. 
 
 9. 
 
 A mouse espied poor little Long 
 
 Asleep one summer day. 
 He seized the sleeper by the leg, 
 
 And bore his prize away. 
 The little fellow all im armed 
 
 Attacked, with daring soul. 
 The mouse, compressed him in his arms. 
 
 And killed him in his hole. 
 *' Great Jove," the victor shouted, " See 
 
 " A second Hercules in me ! " 
 a
 
 242 EPIGRAMS. 
 
 10. 
 
 Mean Pheidon weeps, but not at Death's cold touch, 
 He weeps to think his coffin costs so much ; 
 To gratify him, fling then in his tomb 
 One of his many sons, there's ample room. 
 
 11. 
 
 A simpleton bitten by fleas in the night, 
 
 Put the light ont, and said — " Xow I'm out of your sight." 
 
 12. 
 
 j^o heaven-bom sense inspires yon flautist's lay, 
 "Wliat little sense he's got he pu:flfe away. 
 
 13. 
 
 Aristides, poor man, thinhs he's very rich now, 
 
 AVith his flock of one sheep, and his herd of one cow. ■ 
 
 14. 
 If Alexander's tomb demand a line. 
 Say that both continents, Poet, form his shrine. 
 
 15. 
 
 The thin Diophantus once wished himself dead. 
 So he hung himself up with a spider's thin thread. 
 
 16. 
 
 If the length of the beaixl is a sign of sagacity, 
 The goat must be gifted with Plato's capacity. 
 
 17. 
 Endowed with rich man's wealth and poor man's mind, 
 Thou'rt poor thyself, to leave rich heirs bcliiud.
 
 EPIGRAMS. 243 
 
 18. 
 In my sickness the doctor ne'er physicked nor touched me, 
 But I thought of Ids name, — 'twas enough — and Death 
 clutched me. 
 
 19. 
 The screech-owl sings and death ensues 'tis said ; 
 When Simkins sings e'en screech-owls drop down dead. 
 
 20. 
 Brown once caught sight of Jones's cane, 
 Jones ne'er caught sight of it again. 
 
 21. 
 Sam cannot use his handkerchief at all, 
 His arm's so short, his nose so long withal. 
 To sneeze, and say "God bless me," you can't teach him, 
 The sneeze is so far off its sound can't reach him. 
 
 22. 
 Ere troubles arise 
 'Tis the part of the wise 
 By method and plan 
 To avert all they can. 
 Ills he cannot arrest 
 The brave man bears best, 
 And from all he endures 
 Some advantage secui'es. 
 
 23. 
 'Tis well yoiu- mirror's false ; if it were true 
 You wordd not gaze so often as you do.
 
 244 EPIGRAMS. 
 
 24. 
 
 "Without the Graces' -witchery 
 
 Beauty can only please the eye ; 
 
 A bait without a hook it lies, 
 
 That tempts, but can't secure the prize. 
 
 25. 
 
 Star of my soul ! when I behold thy gaze 
 Fixed on the glories of the stany maze, 
 I long myself to be heaven's canopy, 
 That I with myriad eyes might gaze on thee.
 
 I
 
 €^t mik tn tjiB fmH 
 
 FKOM THE GEEMAlSr OP SCHULEK. 
 
 A trusty page was Fridolm, 
 
 And, in the fear of God, 
 He served the Coimtess of Savern, 
 
 Obedient to her nod. 
 So mild was she, she was so good, 
 That e'en her whims of wayward mood 
 To please he gladly would have striven. 
 If only for the will of Heaven. 
 
 At early mom from dawn of day 
 
 Till stroke of vesper bell, 
 He lived to do her will alone. 
 
 Nor dreamt he served too well. 
 Said but the lady " Toil not so," 
 His eye grew moist ; it seemed as though 
 He thought he fiiiled of duty's call. 
 If ser\dce brought no pain at aU.
 
 248 SCHILLER. o 
 
 Therefore to Mm of all her ti'ain 
 The Coimtess honoiu' showed, 
 From her fail* lips in constant strain 
 
 His praise exhaustless flowed. 
 She looked not on him as her slave, 
 Her heart a child's own privilege gave. 
 Her clear eye hung with kindling pleasiire 
 On the fair features of her treasure. 
 
 Thence in the huntsman Eobert's breast 
 
 There kindles poisonous rage ; 
 His black heart long had swollen, opprest 
 
 With malice towards the page. 
 He sought the Count, a hasty man. 
 One open to the ti-aitor's plan. 
 And from the chase as home they rode 
 The seeds of jealousy he sowed. 
 
 " How art thou favoured, noble Count," 
 
 The knave began, " In sooth 
 " Thy golden slumber's undistui'bed 
 
 " By doubt's empoisoned tooth. 
 " A noble prize has fallen to thee, 
 " A wife begirt with chastity ; 
 " To move her honour, hu'c her lieai't, 
 " 'Would baffle the seducer's art." 
 
 The Count, he knit his gloomy brows, 
 " Wliat .say'st thou, man, to me? 
 
 " Think' st thou I ti'ust to woman's faith, 
 " "Weak as a wave of the sea ?
 
 *» SCHILLER. 249 
 
 " The flatterer's lips can soon allure ; 
 " My faith rest on a ground more sure : 
 " The wife, I trow, of Count Savern, 
 " Is one the tempter durst not turn." 
 
 Eeplies the other,'' Thou art right, 
 
 " He but deserves thy scorn, 
 " The simple fool who thus presumes, 
 
 " A youth to service horn, 
 " And dares indulge base thoughts towards her, 
 " The Lady fau*, his governour." 
 " What !" cries he, trembling with misgiving, 
 " Speak' st thou of one who yet is living ?" 
 
 " "WTiat ! that which fills each babbler's mouth 
 
 " Not to my lord revealed ? 
 " Nay then, what you would fain suppress 
 
 " I'd gladly keep concealed." 
 " Speak, villain, speak, or thou art dead!" 
 He shouts in accents loud and dread, 
 " Who dreams of Cunigonda, pray ?" 
 " My lord, the fair-haked youth, I say." 
 
 " He's not ill-favoured too," resumes 
 
 The knave in crafty strain ; 
 The Count the while feels heats and chills, 
 
 Coursing through eveiy vein. 
 " And can it be, my Lord, you ne'er 
 " Observed how well he watched the fair ? 
 " At table e'er your service spuiTong, 
 " Fixed to her chair and inly yearning.
 
 250 SCHILLER. * 
 
 " See, too, the verses that he wrote, 
 " Wherein his flame's confessed." 
 " Confessed ?" "And then the daring fool 
 
 " Prays her to make him blest. 
 " The kind good Countess generously 
 " In pity hid the thing from thee. 
 " It grieves me now for what I've said, 
 '' Por what have you, my lord, to dread ?" 
 
 Then in his furious wrath the Count 
 
 Eode to the wood hard by, 
 Where in the glow of furnace fires 
 
 The molten ore they ply. 
 Early and late with busy hands 
 The workmen fed the flame with brands : 
 The bellows roar, the sparks fly fast. 
 E'en rocks would melt before the blast. 
 
 The might of water and of fire 
 
 United here are found ; 
 The miU -wheel, by the swift stream driven. 
 
 Sweeps ever round and roimd. 
 The works are clattering night and day, 
 With measured beat the hammers plaj'. 
 And into form the iron, glowing, 
 Beneath their mighty strokes is groTVTiig. 
 
 He beckons to two workmen there, 
 And speaks, with meaning gaze, 
 
 " The first man that I send this way 
 " Wio asks you thus, and says
 
 <. SCHILLER. ^51 
 
 it ' "V^Troiight ye yoiu- master's bidding well ? ' 
 " Him hurl at once in yonder hell, 
 " That, turned to ashes instantly, 
 " His form again. I ne'er may see." 
 
 The inhuman pair rejoice thereat 
 
 With savage murderous zest, 
 Por hard as iron were the hearts' 
 
 That beat within each breast. 
 They urge the blast with readier -wall 
 To heat the furnace hotter still, 
 And, bent on mui'der^ busily 
 Await the victim doomed to die. 
 
 Then Eobert to his comrade speaks 
 
 With false hypocrisy, 
 " Quick ! haste thee, page, and tarry not, 
 
 " Thy lord has need of thee." 
 The Count, he speaks to Pridolin, 
 " Haste to the Foundiy — go within, 
 " And ask the men if they have striven 
 '' To obey the orders I have given." 
 
 " It shall be done," the youth replies, 
 
 And hastes to go, but stands 
 A moment thoughtful, musing, " Has 
 
 " My lady no commands ? " 
 Unto the Countess straight he went, 
 " "With message to the forge I'm sent, 
 " What would my lady have of me ? 
 <' My duties all belong to thee."
 
 252 SCHILLER. 
 
 Thereat the lady of Savem 
 
 In accents soft replies, 
 " The holy mass I long to hear, 
 
 " My son in sickness lies, 
 " Go then, my child, and on thy way 
 " Por me and mine devoutly pray ; 
 "And if repentance melts thy heart, 
 " Let me, too, in that grace take part." 
 
 Pleased with the message given he flies 
 
 The grateful task to do, 
 Down through the village swiftly runs, 
 
 'Nov yet has passed it through, 
 When clear and loud the village beU 
 Sends to his ear its pealing swell. 
 Inviting sinful men to torn 
 And sacramental blessings earn. 
 
 "If on the way thy God is found, 
 
 " Pass not without a prayer," 
 He says, and seeks the house of God, 
 
 But not a soim.d is there. 
 For 'twas the harvest time, and now 
 The reapers Ma-ought with glo^svong brow, 
 1^0 sound of choral aid was there 
 To serve tlie mass and swcU the prayer. 
 
 He is resolved on what to do. 
 The Sacrist's post he'll fill, 
 
 " That can bo no dclaj'^," he says 
 " Which leads us heavenward still."
 
 SCHILLER. 253 
 
 The stole and cingulum he takes 
 
 And girds the Priest, then quickly makes 
 
 The vessels ready and the plate 
 
 To this high service consecrate. 
 
 That duty quickly done, he hastes 
 
 Before the Priest to stand, 
 And to the altar leads the way, 
 
 The mass-book in his hand. 
 Kneels right and left, and notice takes 
 Of every sign the good Priest makes, 
 And when the holy Sanctus came, 
 The hell thrice tinkled at the name. 
 
 Then, when the Priest before the shrine 
 
 Bows reverentially. 
 And shows the holy Presence raised 
 
 In hand uplifted high, 
 The Sacrist with the bell's clear sound 
 Announces it to all around ; 
 All kneel, and beat their breasts for shame, 
 And cross themselves at Christ's great name. 
 
 Thus every point he well observes 
 
 "With ready aptitude, 
 For every usage of God's house 
 
 By him is understood ; 
 Nor wearies he, but serves there thus 
 Till sounds Vobiscum Dominus ! 
 The priest tmms round, the crowd addressing, 
 The holy service ends with blessing.
 
 254 SCHILLER. 
 
 Kow he replaces all again 
 
 In orderly array, 
 He cleanses first th.e holy fane, 
 
 And then goes on his "way, 
 "With peace of conscience hastens on 
 Until the Iron-foundry's won ; 
 But still devotion's warmth he fosters, 
 And says, the whUe, twelve Paternosters. 
 
 And when he sees the chimney smoke. 
 
 And sees the workmen stand. 
 He ciies out, " Servants have you done 
 
 " My lord the Count's command ? " 
 With wild grimace they grin at him. 
 And point unto the furnace-brim, 
 " He's cared for well and safely gone, 
 " The Count will praise the work we've done." 
 
 In haste to take the answer back. 
 
 Unto his lord he flies, 
 Who sees him coming from afar. 
 
 And scarce can trust his eyes. 
 " Unhappy one ! whence com'st thou, say." 
 " Back from the Iron-foundiy." " "^aj, 
 " Hast tanicd when thou should' st have sped ? " 
 " Sir, only till mj'- pi'aycrs were said." 
 
 " For when 1 left yom' sight to-day 
 
 " I went, (forgive me, Sii' ! ) 
 ' * To ask my mistress' pleasure first, 
 
 ' ' And take commands from her.
 
 SCHILLER. 255 
 
 " She bade me hoar the mass, my Lord, 
 
 " And ghidly I obeyed her word, 
 
 " Pour rosaries of prayers I said 
 
 " For blessings on each honoured head." 
 
 At this the Count, with suildiig heart. 
 
 Is struck with deep dismay. 
 " And when you reached the Foundry- works 
 
 " What was the answer ? Say ! " 
 " Their speech, my Lord, was dark to me — 
 " They showed the fires, and said with glee, 
 " He's cared for well and safely gone, 
 " The Count will praise the work we've done." 
 
 " And Robert, then ? " the Count breaks in, 
 
 Cold shuddering chills his blood, 
 " Surely you met him on the way, 
 
 " I sent him to the wood." 
 " l^or in the wood nor open space 
 "Found I of Robert any trace." 
 " Now," cries the Count, with horror riven, 
 " Hath God in heaven his judgment given! " 
 
 And graciou.sly, as ne'er before. 
 
 His hand he took, and went. 
 Deep moved, to take him to his wife, 
 
 "Wlio knew not what it meant. 
 " This child, no angel is so piu'e; 
 " His scr-sdce keep, his love secm-e. 
 ' ' Base were the coimscls to us given, 
 " God guards him, and the Host of Heaven."
 
 256 SCHILLER. 
 
 Inigjit fnggnihtirg. 
 
 " KnigTit, this heart devotes a sister's 
 
 " Paithful love to thee ; 
 "Plead not for a love more tender — 
 
 " That distresses me. 
 " Tranquil would I seem before thee, 
 
 " Tranquil see thee go ; 
 ' ' And I know not why those silent 
 
 "Tears so sadly flow." 
 
 And he hears with speechless anguish, 
 
 Feels his torn heart bleed, 
 Folds her wildly to his bosom. 
 
 Vaults upon his steed ; 
 Sends to all his Swiss retainers. 
 
 Summons them to horse. 
 To the Holy Grave they wander, 
 
 On each breast a cross. 
 
 Mighty deeds those valiant heroes 
 Wrouglit, all dangers braved, 
 
 "VMiero the foe was gathered tliickest 
 There the helm-plumes waved. 
 
 Toggcnburg's dread name spreads terror, 
 !^^alccs the Paynim start ; 
 
 Still the son'ow that consumes him 
 . "Will not leave his heart.
 
 SCHILLER. 257 
 
 One whole year lie's borne this bui'den, 
 
 More he cannot bear, 
 Peace eludes him, and the Warrior 
 
 Leaves his followers there ; 
 Sees a ship of Joppa riding 
 
 Wooed by favoring gale, 
 Straight to that dear land she breathes in 
 
 Homeward he sets sail. 
 
 At her castle gate the pilgrim 
 
 Knocks to learn his fate, 
 Ah ! and with these words of thunder 
 
 Open flies the gate. 
 " She you seek the veil has taken, 
 
 And is Heaven's bride, 
 Yesterday her vows were uttered, 
 
 God is now her guide." 
 
 Then he leaves the halls ancestral, 
 
 Never more to heed 
 Sight of arms or miss the presence 
 
 Of his faithful steed. 
 From the Toggenburgcr's castle 
 
 Speeds the Knight unltaown, 
 For a garb of sackcloth o'er his 
 
 Noble Kmbs is thrown. 
 
 And ho builds himself a cottage 
 
 Near that charmed place. 
 Where the Convent gleams through lime-trees 
 
 Clad in moiu-nful grace. 
 
 R
 
 258 SCHILLER. 
 
 Constant, from the liglit of moiTiing 
 
 Until evening shone, 
 Silent Hope upon Ms yisage, 
 
 There he sat alone ; 
 
 Gazed for hours upon the Convent, 
 
 Gazed with nptumed look 
 Tovrards the casement of the loved one 
 
 Till the casement shook, 
 Till the loved one showed her presence, 
 
 Till the cherished fair 
 Scanned the vale with looks so tranquil 
 
 Mild as angels wear. 
 
 Then he laid him down contented. 
 
 Patient sought repose, 
 Gladly looking for fresh visions 
 
 "When the morning rose. 
 Thus for many a day he sat there, 
 
 Sat without a pang 
 Many a year without complaining. 
 
 Till the casement rang, 
 
 Tni the loved one showed her presence. 
 
 Till the cherished fair 
 Scanned the vale with looks so tranquU, 
 
 Such as angels wear. 
 And in posture fixed one morning 
 
 There a corpse ho sat ; 
 StiU the pale face sought the casement. 
 
 Fixed alone on that.
 
 SCHILLER. 259 
 
 €^t Diner. 
 
 ""Wliat ventui'oiis squire or cavalier 
 
 " Dares dive in the gulf below ? 
 " A golden goblet down thither I fling, 
 
 " Yon black maw has whelmed it already, I vow, 
 " And he who can shew me the goblet again 
 I ''May keep it — 'tis his — for his toil and pain." 
 
 So speaks the Monarch, and down from the crest 
 Of the steep rugged cliff that hangs o'er 
 
 The boundless ocean beneath, he flings 
 The cup in the midst of Charybdis' roar ; 
 
 " Andwhere's the bold heart, now again I ask, 
 
 " That will dive in the depth on this daring task ? " 
 
 And the knights and the squires that stand around 
 Hear the challenge, but none dares speak, 
 
 They look do'svn below on the raging sea, 
 
 Not a man there feels willing the goblet to seek, 
 
 And again, for the thu-d time, the king doth ask, 
 
 " Is there no one will risk this adventurous task ? " 
 
 But all remaiu silent and dumb as before — 
 
 Then a gentle page, bold and gay, 
 Steps out from the timorous serving thi'ong, 
 
 Flings his girdle aside and his mantle away. 
 And the coui'tiers all, and the fair dames forsooth. 
 Survey with amazement the noble youth.
 
 260 SCHlLLEPw 
 
 And when to the brink of the rock he steps 
 
 And peers in the gulf below, 
 The waters that lately she sucked witliin 
 
 Charybdis flings back with a gurgling flow. 
 And, like distant thander's bellowing crash, 
 Upon her dark bosom in foam they dash. 
 
 And it seethes and it hisses, it whizzes and raves, 
 
 As when water with fire is blent. 
 Till to heaven the steaming froth spouts up on high, 
 
 And flood rolls o'er flood without ceasing sent, 
 And ne"er will the waves lull, ne'er pause or feel dearth, 
 As though ocean itself to a sea would give bii'th. 
 
 But at last the wild violence rests for awhile. 
 And black, 'mid the whitened foam's swell. 
 
 Yawns a chasm below of a fathomless depth, 
 
 Stretching downward as if it would reach unto Hell, 
 
 And the waves are seen surging in angry mood, 
 
 Dragged down the deep funnel where whirls the flood. 
 
 Now quick, e'er the surges return, the youth 
 
 To his God doth commend him true. 
 And — a cry of strange hoiTor is heard aro^md — 
 
 Tor the whirlpool already has swept him from view, 
 And o'er the bold swimmer in secrecy dread 
 The a])yss closes in, and all trace of him's fled. 
 
 All is silent above o'er the watciy gulf, 
 
 In the depths alone hollow sounds swell, 
 And with trembling "^tis muttered from mouth to mouth, 
 
 " Noble-hearted young stripling, now speed thee well ! " 
 And hoUow, more hollow, the howling is heard. 
 And they watch, with a fearful anxiety stii'rcd.
 
 SCHILLER. 261 
 
 ''Nay, wcrt thou to fling in the Crown itself, 
 " And say, ' He who brings me the Crown, 
 
 " ' Shall wear it himself, shall himself be the King,' 
 "I'd care not to call such a dear prize my own ; 
 
 ''"WTiat the rude howling depths down below may conceal, 
 
 "No soul that is living hath power to reveal. 
 
 ' ' Haply many a bark in that whirlpool seized, 
 
 " Shot headlong beneath the deep wave, 
 ''But the mast and the shattered keel's fragments alone, 
 
 "Are seen to jut forth from that ravenous grave — " 
 And clearer and clearer, like storms rushing o'er. 
 Still nearer and nearer one hears the waves roar. 
 
 And it seethes and it hisses, it whizzes and raves," 
 
 As when water with fire is blent. 
 Till to heaven the steaming froth spouts up on liigh. 
 
 And wave rolls o'er wave without ceasing sent. 
 And like thunder's distant bellowing crash, 
 On the gulf's dark bosom in foam they dash. 
 
 And see ! from amid the dark circling flood 
 
 Something swan- white is seen to emerge ; 
 Nought appears but an arm and a neck sparkling bright. 
 
 And it toils with strougvigoui" and ploughs through tliesurge, 
 And 'tis he I — and, aloft in his left hand, the boy 
 Swings the goblet, "sdctorious, with glances of joy. 
 
 And he panted for breath deep and long, and he hailed 
 
 The heavenly light of the day ; 
 Bejoicingly each to the other cried out — 
 
 " He lives ! it is he I he is not made a prey I 
 " Prom the grave, from the Iiollows where whirling wa-. es roll 
 " The brave one has rescued his brave living soul."
 
 262 SCHILLER. 
 
 And he comes, and the glad crowd enchx-le him round. 
 
 At the feet of the king sinks he there, 
 He hands him the cup as he kneels down hefore, 
 
 And the king makes a sign to his daughter faii\ 
 She fills it with sparkling wine to the brim. 
 Then he turns to the king, and thus speaks to him : 
 
 " Long life to the King ! Let each soul rejoice 
 
 " That breathes in the rosy light, 
 " And henceforth to tempt the great gods forbear, 
 
 " For down there below 'tis a ten-ible sight, 
 " And never let any one yearn to know 
 " What in mercy they hide in grim night below. 
 
 " Quick as lightning the waves bore me down beneath, 
 
 " Then dashed forth a current strong 
 " From the crag-covered pit, and it swept me by, 
 
 " The twin eddies' fierce might bore me swiftly along, 
 " And just like a top whii'ling roimd, where it list, 
 " It drove me along and I could not resist. 
 
 "Then the merciful God unto whom I cried 
 
 " In my fearfullest hour of need, 
 " Shewed me where from the deep rose a rocky ledge, 
 
 " I grasped it — from death I was freed. 
 " And there on a coralline peak hung the cup ! 
 " Else the bottomless ocean had swallowed it up. 
 
 " For beneath me it laj^, though mountains-deep, 
 
 " In purple darkness and gloom, 
 " And though to the ear all eternally slept, 
 
 " Still the eye could see strange creatures loom, 
 " Salamandci's and dragons, and reptiles fell, 
 " Starting up from the horrible jaws of Hell.
 
 SCHILLER. S63 
 
 " And black they crawled forth, in concourse grim, 
 
 " Rolled up in a hideous clump, 
 " The prickly ray, and the lob-fish foul, ' 
 
 " The horrible fish with mis-shapen hump, 
 " And, shewing its terrible teeth, I could mai*k 
 " The sea-hycena, the terrible shark. 
 
 " And there I thus hung, and with terror I felt 
 
 " I was far from all human aid, 
 " 'Mid spectral forms, the sole sensitive thing, 
 
 " Alone in that hideous lonesomeness laid, 
 " Far below every sound that is human, and placed 
 " With the monsters that people that gloomy waste. 
 
 " I shuddered to think it — then something crept nigh, 
 " All its hundred arms towards me it flung, 
 
 " Would have grasjied me, but then in the frenzy of fi'ight 
 "I let go the coral branch where I clung, 
 
 " And the swift eddy seized me with fui'ious roar, 
 
 " But it proved ni}- deliverer, for upward it bore." 
 
 The Monarch was stiaick with amazement thereat, 
 
 And says " Now the goblet's thy own, 
 " And this bright ring as well I intend shall be thine — 
 
 " 'Tis adorned Tvith the costliest precious stone, — 
 '' If you'll ventui'e once more and bring tidings to me 
 " Of the sights in the uttermost depths of the sea." 
 
 The daughter heard this, and it grieves her kind heart, 
 
 And with accents enticing she i)rays, 
 " Father ! enough of this tenible sport, 
 
 " He's displayed what no other displays, 
 " And if yoxu- heart's longings you still cannot tame, 
 " Let the gallant knights put the yoimg squire to shame."
 
 264 
 
 SCHILLER. 
 
 On a sudden the king grasps the goblet again, 
 Hurls it forth in the whu-1 of the sea, — 
 
 " J£ thou bring' st back the goblet once more to my sight, 
 " The choicest of all my brave knights shalt thou be, 
 
 " And this day thou shalt take to thy arms the fair' maid 
 
 " Who just now for thy safety so pitjingiy prayed." 
 
 "With force superhuman he feels his soul swell, 
 
 And hi« eyes they flash boldly around, 
 And he sees those fair featiu-es in blushes arrayed. 
 
 Sees them pale with emotion, she sinks to the ground. 
 A strong impulse moves him the rich prize to win, 
 And for life or for death he straightway plunges in. 
 
 They hear the loud dash as the surges roll back, 
 
 And re-echo the thunders below. 
 They bend o'er the brink with a long loving look. 
 
 The waves all keep coming, they come and they go. 
 They swiii up on high and they swirl do-wn amain, 
 But none ever brings back the stripling again. 
 
 €jiB 23Dj5tngr. 
 
 With dirk 'neath his mantle Macros stole 
 
 To the Tyrant-lord Dionysius ; 
 
 Guards bind the adventurer malicious. 
 " What means tlicii Ihy dagger ? What lurks in thy soul r " 
 Mad with rage hv replies as his eyes darkly roll, 
 
 " From the Tyrant the town I'd deliver ! " 
 
 " Ou the cross thou shalt rue thy endeavour."
 
 SCHILLER. 265 
 
 " I'm ready," rejoins he, " to die and to dare, 
 
 " I scorn for my life to petition, 
 
 "But if you'll accept the condition, 
 " I crave but three days and enti-eat you to spare 
 " My life till I've mated my sister fair ; 
 
 " My friend as a hostage I leave you, 
 
 " Him slay, if I chance to deceive you." 
 
 Then craftily smiling the King replies, 
 
 After pausing awhile for reflection, 
 
 *' For three days I grant thee protection ; 
 " But knovr, if you venture to waste as it flies 
 " The time e'er you're yielded again as my prize, 
 
 " In your place must yoiu- hostage expire, 
 
 " And yourself be reserved for my ire." 
 
 To his friend he betakes him, " The Monarch commands 
 
 " That I on the cross must now perish 
 
 " Eor the bold scheme I ventured to cherish ! 
 " Yet three days he grants me, and loosens my bands 
 " Till I've wedded my sister and joined plighted hands. 
 
 " So abide you my Bond to the King 
 
 " Till I come and deliverance bring." 
 
 And that true friend enfolds him in silent embrace, 
 
 Yields up to the Tyi'aut's condition, 
 
 And the other sets forth on his mission ; 
 And e'er the third morn shewed its roseate face 
 He hath wedded his sister, and home with swift pace 
 
 He hurries oft anxiously weighing 
 
 Lest peril may come by delaying.
 
 266 SCHILLER. 
 
 Then rain without ceasing in torrents doth pour, 
 The springs hiuTy down from the mountains, 
 The brooks and the streams swell their fountains, 
 With his wanderer's staff he has just reached the shore, 
 "When the eddying stream makes the bridge topple o'er, 
 And the thundering billows come dashing 
 O'er the vault of the arches wide-crashing. 
 
 And sadly he paces the edge of the strand. 
 
 And far as his eye is exploring, 
 
 And loud as his voice aid imploring, 
 No boat from the safe-trodden shore is manned 
 To bear him across to the wished-for land, 
 
 No hand guides the ferry's rude motion, 
 
 And the wild stream now swells to an ocean. 
 
 On the shore then he sinks and he weeps and he prays 
 "With hands raised to Zeus thus imploring, 
 " stem thou the torrent's mad roaring ; 
 " The hours arc flying, his mid -day blaze 
 " The sun has attained ; if he sink his last rays 
 " And I fail to arrive at the City, 
 " My friend must die for me — Have pity ! " 
 
 Yet the i-ago of the torrent still rises and grows, 
 
 And l)illow o'er billow is liieing. 
 
 And hoiu' after hour fast flying, 
 Then anguish impels him, his spirit o'erflows. 
 And he flings himself in tlu; Avild flood as it goes. 
 
 And his stout arms in desperate fashion. 
 
 Cleave the stream, and a God has compassion.
 
 SCHILLER. 267 
 
 And he -wins the shore and he speeds him away, 
 
 And the God of deliverance he praises, 
 
 When forth from the forest's dark mazes 
 Fierce robbers rush out and stand full in his way. 
 And, breathing forth miu'der, his onward course stay, 
 
 And the wauderer's hmny must fail him 
 
 If their threatening bludgeons assail him. 
 
 " What would you r " he cries, turning pale with fear, 
 
 "I've nought but my life to surrender, 
 
 "And that to the King I must tender." 
 And he snatches the club from the one that is near, 
 " For my friend's sake shew pity or hope for none here ; " 
 
 And three 'neath his stout blows ai'e dying, 
 
 The others in terror are flying. 
 
 And the sun sheds his fierce rays with withering hand, 
 And with infiioite trouble embarrassed 
 His knees sunk beneath him sore harassed. 
 " Hast thou graciously saved fi'om the robber's band, 
 " Brought me safe thi'ough the stream to the sacred land, 
 " And must I now languishing perish, 
 " And my friend die, whose love I so cherish ? " 
 
 And hark ! ^\\{\\ a clear and silvery sound, 
 
 Like a gui-gling ripple 'tis gi;shing. 
 
 And he pauses to list to its rushing. 
 And see ! fi-om the rocks with a hurrying bound 
 A living spring dashes low murmuring roimd. 
 
 And gladly he stoops as it rushes. 
 
 And cools his chafed limbs in its "aishes.
 
 268 SCHILLER. 
 
 And tlie sun thi-ough tlie brandies green doth pry, 
 
 And paints o'er the glistening meadows 
 
 The forest-trees' giant-like shadows. 
 And he sees two wayfarers passing by, 
 And with hurrying pace he would past them fly, 
 
 "When these horrible accents assailed him — 
 
 " On the cross even now they hare nailed him." 
 
 And anguish gives wings to his feet as they fly. 
 
 And the pangs of solicitude chase him. 
 
 And the towers of Syracuse face him 
 As they gleam in the rays of the evening -sky, 
 And Philostratus, chief of his household, draws nigh ; 
 
 The honest one augurs disaster, 
 
 And shudders at sight of his master. 
 
 " Turn back ! thou canst rescue thy friend no more, 
 
 " So rescue thy own life by flying, 
 
 " Even now on the cross he is dying ; 
 " From hour to hour he watched, nor gave o'er 
 " B.elj'ing with hope on thy coming before ; 
 
 "His confident faith and reliance 
 
 "Bade the scorn of the Tyrant defiance." 
 
 " And is it too late ? Must I fail to appear 
 
 " The welcome deliverer I might be ? 
 
 " Then death to my friend shall imite me ; 
 " The blood-thirsty tyrant shall ne'er "with a sneer 
 " Boast that friend can breakfaith withthefriendheholdsdear, 
 
 " Let him sacrifice two to his notion, 
 
 " And have faith in tme love and devotion."
 
 SCHILLER. 269 
 
 And the sun-liglit goes down and he stands at the gate, 
 Sees the cross that the men have heen raising, 
 And the mnltitude standing and gazing, 
 Already they're dragging his friend to his fate. 
 When he cleaves the dense crowd and before 'tis too late. 
 Cries, ' ' Hangman ! slay me — not another — 
 " I am he whom he bailed like a brother." 
 
 And astonishment seizes the circling throng, 
 
 The t-ft'o, to each other's arms leaping, 
 
 For joy and for sorrow are weeping, 
 Not a di-y eye is seen the beholders among. 
 And the King hears the marvellous tale borne along, 
 
 And a human emotion steals o'er him, 
 
 And he summons the tried friends before him. 
 
 And long he beholds them with wondering eye, 
 
 Then speaks, " You have won, you have gained me, 
 " You have conquered my heart and restrained me, 
 
 "1^0 hollow illusion is Constancy; 
 
 "Admit me henceforth to your company, 
 
 " Grant me this, and your faith shall conti'ol me, 
 *' The third in your league I'll enrol me."
 
 270 SCHIT,LER. 
 
 piiriL. 
 Fortunate am I to find you, Sirs, here in full conclave 
 assembled ; 
 One indispensable want diives me below for advice. 
 
 AEISTOTLE. 
 
 Out with it, friend, then at once. E'en down here we're 
 supplied with the papers. 
 And the last Jena Gazette gives us the latest of news. 
 
 njriL. 
 So much the better ! Then grant me this boon (I depart 
 not without it) — 
 Lay me some principle down warranted never to fail. 
 
 FIUST rniLosorHEE. 
 Cogito, ergo sum. I think — hence 'tis plain I exist too ! 
 If one assertion be true, then the next follows of course. 
 
 prriL. 
 Finding I think, I exist. Very good — but who thinks 
 without ceasing ? 
 Many a time I exist, thinking of nothing at all. 
 
 SECOND rniLosornEK. 
 Since there arc separate things, there is somewhere a great 
 Thing of all things ; 
 In this said Thing of all things floating about we all 
 swim.
 
 SCHILLER. 271 
 
 THIRD PHIXOSOPHEK. 
 
 Just the reverse I affirm. Save myself there is nothing 
 whateyer ; 
 Every thing else, so to speak, floats as a bubble in me. 
 
 POTTRTH PHILOSOPHER. 
 
 Two kinds of Being I freely admit, the World and the 
 Spii'it, 
 None else I know, and e'en these indicate both only one. 
 
 FIFTH PHELOSOPHER. 
 
 Nothing of Substance I know, and not a whit more of the 
 Spii'it ; 
 True both appear, and that's all ; no mere phenomena 
 though ! 
 
 SIXTH PHILOSOPHER. 
 
 I am an Ego and posit myself, and if I but posit 
 SeK as non-posited, then I a Non-Ego create. 
 
 SEVENTH PHILOSOPHER. 
 
 Surely there is such a thing as Conception, an object Con- 
 ceived too, 
 Also a mind that Conceives. That, with the former, 
 makes three. 
 
 PTTPH,. 
 Sirs, this is all very fine I allow, but it profits me nothing ; 
 I want a maxim for use, something that lays down a law^ 
 
 EIGHTH PHILOSOPHER. 
 
 Theory's field you may search as you will, but you'll find 
 nothing further : 
 Still serves the practical ti'uth, ' ' "WTiat you should prac- 
 tise you can.^^
 
 272 SCHILLER. 
 
 prpix. 
 Ah, if I th-ouglit so ! "Wlien folks in reply can give no 
 better reason, 
 Finding themselves at a loss, straight at one's conscience 
 they fly. 
 
 DAVTD HTiEE. 
 
 Cease to converse with this herd ! Kant has driven them all 
 to distraction; 
 Question me ! Even down here I'm just the same as 
 before. 
 
 QrESTIOX OF LAW. 
 
 Many a yeai' I've made use of my nose for the purpose of 
 smelling ; 
 Have I then now after all any strict right to the same ^ 
 
 PrFFEXDOEF. 
 
 That's a remarkable case ! Still, being the first in possession 
 Seems a strong point on your side ; therefore make use 
 
 of it stm. 
 
 SCETTPLE OF COXSCIEXCE. 
 
 Freely I do my friends service, but ah ! this is mere inclina- 
 tion; 
 Therefore I'm often distressed so little virtue to have. 
 
 DF.crsiox. 
 As there is no other plan, endeavour henceforth to despise 
 them. 
 Then with disgust you can do all that dull dutj- demands.
 
 SCHWAB. 273 
 
 % €limihr ItDrm. 
 
 Great-grandmother, granclmotlier, mother, and child, 
 In a close chamber sitting, the hours beguiled. 
 The child is at play ; at her toilet the mother ; 
 The grandmother's spinning; bent double the other 
 
 By the stove on a stool sits there — 
 
 How sultry and stiiling the air ! 
 
 The child says "To-morrow's the festal day; 
 in the green wood how I'll sport and play, 
 How I'll dance down the valley and skip up the hill. 
 And with how many flowers my basket I'll fill 
 From the mead where I love to stroll." 
 Did you hear the loud thimder roll ? 
 
 Says the mother " To-moiTow"s the festal day. 
 
 Then gaily we'll all keep liolidaj^ ; 
 
 As for me I've got ready my lioliday dress, 
 
 In life after sorrow comes happiness. 
 
 Then shines forth the sim like gold ! " 
 Did you hear how the thunder roUed ? 
 
 Says the grandame " To-morrow's the festal day. 
 
 But grandmother keeps no holiday ; 
 
 She has meals to get ready, and clothes to spin, 
 
 Life's all toil without and all care within, 
 
 "Well for him who's done weU ere he's old." 
 Did you hear how the thunder rolled ?
 
 274 SALLET. 
 
 Great-grandmother says " To-morro-w's the day, 
 On the mom -^oiild I die, and Tvould that I may ! 
 I can sing no longer and sport no more, 
 I can bear no burden nor toil as of yore, 
 "What room in the world for me ? " 
 How the lightning flashed ! did you see r 
 
 They hear no sound and they see no sight, 
 
 The chamber is all one blaze of light. 
 
 Great-grandmother, grandmotlicr, mother, and child. 
 
 Are all at once struck by that flash so wild ; 
 One flash ! and foiu- lives are gone I 
 And to-morrow's the festal morn ! 
 
 €\)i Ijiontiiig Itnr. 
 
 Know ye what this betokens, 
 "When, from its place of birth, 
 
 A star, from hoavcn's vault gliding, 
 Shoots swiftly doAvn to earth. 
 
 The lights that gleam and glisten 
 With mild cff'ulgence there, 
 
 Stand, grouped in -wTcaths of splendour, 
 Thousands of angels fair. 
 
 These aU as faitlif'ul watchers 
 
 In heaven are set to know, 
 And note wliate'er is passing 
 
 IT2)ou the world below.
 
 SALLET. 275 
 
 When down on earth a good man, 
 
 Oppressed with grief and care, 
 Amid his sonl's sad burdens 
 
 Looks up devoutly there ; 
 
 And turns him to his Pather 
 
 In his deep misery, 
 Straightway a pitying angel 
 
 Is sent him from on high ; 
 
 Glides to the good man's chamber, 
 
 In peaceful radiance drest, 
 And, in a gentle slumber, 
 
 Kocks all his griefs to rest. 
 
 This is the aid betokened, 
 
 "When, from its place of bu'th, 
 A star, from heaven's vault gliding, 
 
 Shoots swiftly down to earth. 
 
 €liB Uiglitingnb niA tlje t\nt 
 
 In her sweetest tones one day 
 Sang the Nightingale this lay — 
 " how fail', how passing fair. 
 Lovely Rose, thou bloomcst there ! 
 
 Blowing, 
 
 Glowing, 
 
 Odoui's throwing. 
 I, alas ! my bosom's stress 
 Must in fleeting sound express, 
 Sound that with the might of song 
 Thi-illing floats in air along ;
 
 276 SALLET. 
 
 But the lay, 
 
 Too faint to stay, 
 
 Soon dies away. 
 Ah ! conld I but fi^ame a mould 
 These fast-fleeting tones to hold, 
 They would perish not as now 
 Gushing fi-om this breast of mkie, 
 
 But would shine 
 
 Fair as thou ; 
 
 Blowing, 
 
 Glowing, 
 
 Odours throwing. 
 Eose would bloom when Song had fled. 
 Each sweet tone a rose-leaf red ; 
 Therefore Eose, I doat on thee 
 
 Lovingly." 
 
 Then the Eose with perfumed sigh 
 Gently whispered in reply ; 
 " Ah ! sweet Bird, in thy rich notes 
 What surpassing beauty floats, 
 
 Heart- wi'ought. 
 
 Love-fraught, 
 
 Stooped in sweet thought. 
 That which (lce])ly swells my heart, 
 Thrilliug me -with glowing smart, 
 Lives in perfume rich and fair, 
 Floating blissfully in air ; 
 
 But its breath 
 
 Doomed to death, 
 
 Soon vanishoth.
 
 HERDER. 277 
 
 Ah ! could I with voice endow 
 That which mutely leaves me now, 
 All unknown, forgotten soon, 
 Could I borrow thy sweet tune, 
 Breathe in melody and sing, 
 
 It would ring, 
 
 Heart-wi'ought, 
 
 Love-fi'aught, 
 
 Steeped in sweet thought. 
 Odours — song of Nightingale, 
 Every breath a tender tale. 
 Nightingale ! I doat on thee 
 
 Lovingly." 
 
 €^t €\)l\]i nf €m. 
 
 HEEDEE. 
 
 By the side of a murmuring streamlet 
 
 Pensive Care sat her down one day. 
 And, musing awhile, with her fingers 
 
 She fashioned a figure of clay. 
 
 •' Pray what have you there, thoughtful Goddess ? " 
 
 Cried Jove as he passed on his way ; 
 •' A figui-e of clay that I've moidded. 
 
 Give it life, great Creator, I pray."
 
 278 HERDEU. 
 
 " AVell be it so. There ! let it live then, 
 " But remember this ; mine it must be." 
 
 " All no ! " cried the goddess af&-ighted, 
 " Pray leave it, leave it to me. 
 
 " 'Twas formed by my fingers alone, Jove." 
 "Nay, 'twas I that endowed it with life." 
 
 "While the two for the prize are contending 
 Comes Tellus and joins in the strife. 
 
 " 'Tis mine," she exclaimed, "■ for the goddess 
 " Has taken the child from my side." 
 
 ""Wait awhile," Jove replied, "here comes Saturn, 
 "And he the dispute shall decide." 
 
 " It belongs to you all," answered Saturn, 
 " So speaks the decree of the skies ; 
 
 " Do thou, by whose hand life was given, 
 " Take the spirit with thee when it dies. 
 
 " Thou, Earth, its dry frame must inherit, 
 
 " 'Tis all that belongs unto thee ; 
 " And Care, gentle Goddess, its mother, 
 
 " Thy offspring through life it must be. 
 
 " Thou wilt not, fmd mother, desert it, 
 " But watcli o'er it while it has breath ; 
 
 " Like then, too, 'twill pine and be troubled 
 " From day luito day until death." 
 
 The sentence of Fate is fulfilling 
 
 For Man is this vivified clod ; 
 In life for her own Care may claim him, 
 
 Death yields him to earth and to God.
 
 MUliLLER. 279 
 
 Smjiaiinirc. 
 
 jnJELLEE. 
 
 Fain would I carve it upon every tree, 
 Pain -woTild I grave it on each, stone I see ; 
 Would I could sow it in each fresh parterre 
 With cress, swift springing to reveal it there ; 
 On each white page I'd have it wi'it for me, 
 " Thine is my heart and shall for ever he." 
 
 I'd have a starling, and wordd train him young 
 Until the words full clear and loud he sung. 
 Until he spake them with my very tone 
 And made my heart's full fervour all his own ; 
 Then at your window he should sing for me, 
 " Thine is my heart and shall for ever he." 
 
 I'd have it miirmured in the morning breeze, 
 
 I'd have it whispered through the quivering trees ; 
 
 that it beamed fi'om out each flower-star 
 Wafted by odours to her near and far ; 
 
 Would that ye waves rolled this one strain for me, 
 " Thine is my heart and shall for ever be," 
 
 1 thought it might be flashing in my eyes. 
 That on my check its burning mark would rise. 
 That on my silent lips it would be read. 
 
 That every breath would all my secret spread. 
 Yet she heeds nought of all that stii's in me ! 
 " Thine is my heart and shaU for ever be."
 
 280 ANASTASITJS GRUEN. 
 
 ANASTASirs GETJEX. 
 
 Maiden, didst thou see me weeping ? 
 
 Look, methinks a woman's tear 
 Heaven's dew the most resembles 
 
 In a flower-cup glistering clear. 
 
 Whether wept by saddened nightfall, 
 Or by smiling morning shed. 
 
 Still the flower ever drinks it 
 And refreshed lifts up its head. 
 
 But the tear man sheds resembles 
 Precious gum the East bestows ; 
 
 Deep within the tree's heart hidden, 
 Earely of itself it flows. 
 
 You must make a deep incision, 
 
 Cutting to the very core. 
 Forth the precious juice then trickles, 
 
 Clear and pure as golden ore. 
 
 Soon perhaps the spring's exhausted. 
 And the tree its bloom regains, 
 
 Destined many a spring to welcome. 
 But the scar, the A\'ound, remains. 
 
 Maiden, think then of the wounded 
 Tree the glowing Orient rears, 
 
 Then, too, of the man botliiiiFv thee 
 Thou didst once behold in tears.
 
 BAKONESS VON DROSTE-HUELSHOFF. 281 
 
 THE BAHONESS TON DKOSTE-HUELSHOFF. 
 
 In fragrant cliamber, 'neath green canopy, 
 On a white pillow the young mother's lying ; 
 
 How hot her brow ! she lifts her languid eye. 
 The cage that held the nightingale es2)ying. 
 
 And watched it feed its callow progeny. 
 
 " Poor hu-d," she whispers, " though imprisoned here 
 Like me, while spring without and sunshine cheer, 
 
 Yet hast thou got thy little ones with thee." 
 
 The grey -haired niu^se the ciu-tains lifts and lays 
 
 Her finger warningly upon her lips ; 
 Thereat the sick one turns her heavy gaze 
 
 And patiently the proifered potion si])s. 
 It cheers already, and with firmer stay 
 
 Her pale hand grasps the glass. soothing joy ! 
 
 " EHzabeth, and how's my little boy ? " 
 "He sleeps," the matron said and turned away. 
 
 " Poor little thing ! how sweetly must he lie !" 
 And with a smile of bliss her couch she pressed. 
 
 And was that veil his cradle's canopy, 
 The veil so sadly rent at harvest -feast ? 
 
 She darned the rent so well, 'tis scarcely seen. 
 And all the ladies praised her workmanship, 
 She'd hidden it beneath a branching slip — 
 
 " Elizabeth, what does that church-beU mean ? "
 
 282 BARONESS VOX DROSTE-HUELSHOFF. 
 
 " Madam, the feast of ITary falls to-day." 
 
 So early yet ? she cannot understand ; 
 How could it be ? her mind must surely stray ; 
 
 Then from the clothes she draws with noiseless hand 
 A little cap, and after many a hitch 
 
 She threads the needle in the moonbeam's light ; 
 
 (She means to work at this in secret quite) 
 And so by slow degrees adds stitch to stitch, 
 
 • 
 The chamber-door creaks open ; one di'aws near 
 
 With cautious footsteps gliding noiselessly ; 
 " Dearest, I cannot sleep, come here, come here. 
 
 When will they bring my little boy to me ? " 
 The husband casts a secret glance to Heaven, 
 
 And then to kiss her small hot hand doth bend, 
 
 " Patience my darling, patience to the end, 
 " Too much, dear heart, already hast thou striven." 
 
 " Thou smcirst of incense, love." " I've come from church, 
 " Sleep child," he says, and gently glides away. 
 
 She still sows on, while gleams of waving biixh. 
 And flowers and meads around her vision play. 
 
 Ah, when once more the green mead thou shalt see, 
 Thou'lt sec the firs wave o'er a little mound 
 Their branching sprajs, witli flowers to deck the ground ; 
 
 Then, poor young wife, God help and comfort thee !
 
 CHAMISSO. 283 
 
 CHAMISSO. 
 1. 
 
 Since I saw him, blinduess 
 
 Seems to light on me ; 
 Wheresoever gazing 
 
 !None but him I see. 
 Bright as in a day-dream 
 
 Floats his image near^ 
 From the depths of darkness 
 
 Merging still more clear. 
 
 Void of light and colour 
 
 Seems all else I see, 
 Sjjorts that please my sisters 
 
 Henceforth please not me ; 
 Rather in my chamber 
 
 Would I weep and pine ; 
 Since I saw him, blindness 
 
 Dims these eyes of mine. 
 
 2. 
 
 He, the noblest of all beings, 
 how gentle and how good ! 
 
 Loving lips, and eyes so lustrous, 
 Lucid sense, and manly mood. 
 
 Just as in the bright depths yonder, 
 Brightly, proudly shines yon star, 
 
 So upon mj^ heaven, brightly, 
 Proudly high, he shines afar.
 
 284 CHAMISSO. 
 
 Wander, -waiider, ttrougli thy orbit, 
 
 Let me but thj^ lustre see, 
 Lowly bending but behold it, 
 
 Mournful bliss indeed for me. 
 
 List not to my silent pleading 
 
 'Tis but for thy happiness ; 
 Me, poor maid, thou canst not stoop to, 
 
 Lofty star of nobleness ! 
 
 None shall of thy choice prove worthy 
 
 But the worthiest, none beside, 
 And a thousand times I'll bless her, 
 
 Bless her in her place of pride. 
 
 Then will I rejoice, then weep too. 
 Blest e'en while my tears fast flow ; 
 
 What if e'en my heart is breaking, 
 Break, poor heart, what matters now ? 
 
 3. 
 
 I cannot conceive or believe it, 
 A dream hath my senses beguiled, 
 
 How came he to pass by all others 
 And stoop to raise me, poor child ? 
 
 Methought that I heard the words spoken 
 "I am thine and for ever thine." 
 
 Methought— but 'twas nothing but dreaming. 
 He surely can never be mine. 
 
 let me but die in such dreaming. 
 Rocked softly to sleep on his breast, 
 
 In the rapture of tears never ceasing, 
 Such death let me taste and be blest.
 
 CHAMISSO. 285 
 
 4. 
 
 Help me, kind sisters, 
 
 Help to adorn me, 
 Do me, the blest one, this service to-day ; 
 
 Busily weave ye 
 
 A garland of myrtle, 
 Binding my brow in its blooming array. 
 
 As with contented heart, 
 
 Joyous, and free fi'om care, 
 On my belov'd one's arm silent I lay, 
 
 He with a longing love. 
 
 Yearning for happiness. 
 Ever impatiently sighed for to-day. 
 
 Help me, ye sisters, 
 
 Help me to drive away 
 Foolish anxieties, passion's alloy. 
 
 That with an undimmed eye 
 
 I may receive him. 
 Him, the bright foimtain of love and of joy. 
 
 Art thou indeed, my love. 
 
 Present before me ? 
 Sun of my life, thy bright beams dost thou lend ? 
 
 Let me devoutly. 
 
 Let me in lowliness, 
 Greeting my lord, in humility bend. 
 
 Strew, sisters, strew ye 
 
 Flowers before him. 
 Bring budding roses to place in his hand ; 
 
 But with emotion. 
 
 Sisters, I greet you, 
 Parting with joy from your sisterly band.
 
 IS6 CHAMISSO. 
 
 5. 
 Dearest friend, thou gazest 
 
 Wondering on me now, 
 Canst not tell what moves me, 
 
 "WTiy my tears should flow. 
 Let the pearly dew-drops, 
 
 Grace so rarely seen. 
 In my eyelids tremble. 
 
 Bright with joy serene. 
 
 Anxious, rapturous bosom, 
 
 How its throbbings play ! 
 Had I words to tell it, 
 
 Knew I what to say ! 
 Come, and on my bosom, 
 
 Love, thy face conceal, 
 In thy ear I'll whisper 
 
 All the joy I feel. 
 
 Now thou Icnow'st the reason 
 
 "Why my fond tears flow. 
 They shall flow no longer, 
 
 No, bclov'd one, no ! 
 On my heart still rest thee. 
 
 Feel its throbbings free, 
 That with closer pressure 
 
 I may clasp but thee. 
 
 Here, love, at the bedside 
 
 Can tlie cradle lie, 
 Wlierc my dream in silence 
 
 Meets no other eye.
 
 CHAMISSO. 287 
 
 Future morn shall find it 
 
 Made reality, 
 iVnd thy beaming visage, 
 
 Love, will smile on me. 
 
 6. 
 Here close to my heart and clasped to my breast, 
 Thou, all my delight and my joy dost rest, 
 For bliss it is love, and loving is bliss, 
 I've said it and ne'er -vvill I swerve from this. 
 I thought my cup did with bliss o'erflow, 
 But indeed it is filled to o'erflowing now. 
 I^one but she who has nourished, and she who loves 
 The child that she noraishes, full joy proves. 
 For none but a mother's heart can know 
 What love and what happiness mean below. 
 And ! how I pity man's harsher lot. 
 The joy of a mother, he feels it not ! 
 Thou art gazing and smiling upon us now, 
 Thou darling beloved, thou angel, thou ! 
 Here close to my heart and upon my breast 
 Thou, all my delight and joy, art pressed. 
 
 7. 
 Now the first pang I feel e'er caused by thee, 
 
 It stays my breath; 
 Thou sleep' st, cruel man, not pitying me, 
 
 The sleep of death. 
 
 The sad forlorn one looks roimd piteously, 
 
 The world's a void ; 
 I've loved and I have lived, but now for me 
 
 Life's all destroyed.
 
 288 FREILIGRATH. 
 
 Within my soul in silence I retreat, 
 The Ten doth fall, 
 
 There my past happiness and thee I meet, 
 My world, my all ! 
 
 FKEELIGKATH. 
 
 On hlood-stained bier reposing 
 
 A coi-pse lies cold and pale. 
 Six men, sore burdened, bear it 
 
 Ado\rn the forest dale : 
 Six, "^ith black bearded faces, 
 
 All ai-med with steel and lead. 
 Bearing the bier in silence, 
 
 The gloomy pine-vale tread. 
 
 The bier, 'tis but two muskets 
 
 "With baiTels long and round. 
 Three naked swords laid crosswise — 
 
 'Twas aU the bier he found. 
 On swords he rests, the swordsman, 
 
 '\^^lo once dealt many a blow. 
 His head, defaced and gory. 
 
 Hangs backward drooping low. 
 
 Upon his pale left temple 
 
 The wound gapes wide and red, 
 
 Where in a fatal moment 
 
 The death-fraught bullet sped.
 
 FREILIGRATH. 289 
 
 The blood and brains are trickling 
 
 In gory di'ops below, 
 Dried by tbe mountain breezes 
 
 They clot on neck and brow. 
 
 His eye is dim and bloodshot, 
 
 His cheeks — their dark hue's gone, 
 The lips knit close together 
 
 Are wreathed in bitter scorn. 
 The right hand that in battle 
 
 The sword with might could wield 
 Still grasps, with gripe tenacious. 
 
 The blade it will not yield. 
 
 Its death -flash smote the sbirri ; 
 
 His hold he'd ne'er relax, 
 It di'ags -with smothered clatter 
 
 Thi'ough moss and stony tracks. 
 The blood iiins trickling down it, 
 
 Like thick red tears it creeps ; 
 The falchion, one may fancy. 
 
 Thus for the dead man weeps. 
 
 His left hand, closed and stiffened, 
 
 Still grasps the sash he wore, 
 As if, in his last death-throes, 
 
 Clutched fast ere all was o'er. 
 The strings are waving loosely 
 
 That once his hacked vest laced,. 
 A dagger sharply pointed 
 
 Swings idly fi-om his waist. 
 
 X
 
 290 FREILIGRATH. 
 
 So lies the pallid outlaw, 
 
 He once so -wild and brave, 
 And so the bearers bear him 
 
 To his dark Apennine grave ; 
 So rests he on the sword-blades 
 
 In the wood's deepest vault ; — 
 Kemote from streets and pathways 
 
 The leader cries out, " Halt ! " 
 
 They set the bier dowB, rattling, 
 
 That now must be their spade, 
 And then his comrades dig him 
 
 A grave deep in the glade. 
 His form no coffin cumbers, 
 
 Unhampered, free fr"om harms, 
 His bed, the earth, he welcomes 
 
 Arrayed in blood and arms. 
 
 The solemn rite is over, 
 
 The grave lies bare and black ; 
 In gloomy silence pacing 
 
 The little band turn back. 
 They look well to their weapons, 
 
 They load — tlicn echoes shrill 
 A whistle ! In the fir-trees 
 
 Each plunges ! All is stiU !
 
 FREILIGRATH. 291 
 
 '^t Wpkn h tjiB imrt. 
 
 Beside the Wile, 'mid desert sands, 
 A royal-lookiag lion stands. 
 As yellow as the sand he treads. 
 Or the simoon that round him spreads. 
 
 A royal mantle's shaggy train 
 Waves round his breast, his ample man£ 
 A royal crown of passing show, 
 B-is stiif hair, bristles on his brow. 
 
 He lifts his head and roars amain ; 
 So wild and hollow is the strain. 
 It booms along the desert sand 
 And shakes the flood on Moeris' sti'and, 
 
 Stiffens the panther's roseate hide. 
 The fleet gazelle flies terrified ; 
 Camel and crocodile ashore 
 List to the monarch's angry roar. 
 
 Its echoes from the Nile rebound. 
 The Pyramids fling back the sound, 
 The royal mummy, brown and weary. 
 It wakes fr'om out his slumbers dreary. 
 
 He rises in his narrow shrine, 
 " Thanks, Lion, for that roar of thine ! 
 Thousands of years iu sleep I've passed. 
 Awoke by thy loud roar at last.
 
 292 FREILIGRATH. 
 
 Long time I've dreamed away, All me ! 
 Years fringed with, splendour, where are ye ? 
 When victory's banners roujid me flew, 
 Lion, thy sires my chariot di'ew. 
 
 High on a golden car I rolled, 
 Its pole was bright vdih burnished gold. 
 And spokes and wheels -udth pearls did shine ; 
 The town of hundred gates was mine. 
 
 This foot-sole too, now dry and spare, 
 Trod on the black Moor's matted hair, 
 On Indian's j-ellow brow was placed, 
 On necks of children of the waste. 
 
 And this right hand once swayed the world, 
 Now vrith stiff byssus close enfurled ; 
 What yonder hieroglyphics tell 
 This bosom bore and knew full weU. 
 
 The tomb that now enshrines me here 
 With my own hand I helped to rear ; 
 I sat upon a spear-girt throne. 
 My steward made the brickfields groan. 
 
 My subject, the broad-bosomed Nile, 
 Rocked nic on rapid keel awhile. 
 The Nile that still for ever flows. 
 Long have I lain in deep repose, 
 
 To such thick darkness have I come," — 
 That instant is the lion dumb. 
 And sadness o'er the dead doth creep. 
 And back he leans again to sleep.
 
 FREILIGRATH. 293 
 
 On her downy couch soft pillowed, 
 Sunk in slumber, rests the maid, 
 
 Deeply closed her dark eyelashes, 
 
 Cheeks deep flushed with purple shade. 
 
 On the rushen chair, soft gleaming, 
 Stands the vase in rich array, 
 
 And withiu it flowers are shining 
 Fragrant, newly-plucked and gay. 
 
 Through the chamber stifling closeness 
 
 Heavily around doth brood. 
 Summer heat has banished coolness, 
 
 Windows closed all air exclude. 
 
 Stillness all around, deep silence ! 
 
 Sudden, hark ! a whispering low ! 
 From the flowers and their tendrUs 
 
 Murmuring sounds impatient flow. 
 
 Airy forms, like spirits, trooj^ing 
 
 From their cups wave up and down. 
 
 Misty gauze their only raiment. 
 
 Each equipped with shield and crown. 
 
 From the Eose's purple bosom 
 
 Up a slender maiden flew, 
 Loose her waving ringlets flutter, 
 
 Pearls are flashing there like dew.
 
 294 FREILIGRATH. 
 
 From the Aconite's dai'k helmet, 
 "With its leaf of dark-green hue, 
 
 Steps a knight of daring spirit, 
 Falchion gleams, and helmet too. 
 
 On the helmet nods a feather 
 Of the heron, silver-pale ; 
 
 From the Lily floats a maiden. 
 Thin as gossamer her veil. 
 
 From the cup of Turkish lily 
 Comes a Negro, proud of mien, 
 
 Brightly shines the golden crescent 
 Flashing on his turban green. 
 
 Proudly from the Crown Imperial 
 Stalks a form in king's array ; 
 
 From the Iris blue his Jagcrs 
 
 Gii't with swords march on theii- way. 
 
 From the leaves of the Narcissus 
 Springs a boy with looks that loui', 
 
 Seeks her couch, his burning kisses 
 On the maiden's lips to shower. 
 
 Yet the rest all turn and hover 
 Round the couch in circles wild, 
 
 Turn and waAO, and in this fashion 
 Sing Ihcy to the shimbering child. 
 
 " Maiden ! maiden ! thou hast torn us 
 Cruelly from earth away, 
 
 In this vase imprisoned must we 
 Languish, wither, and decay.
 
 mEILIGRATH. S95 
 
 how happily reposing 
 
 On om' mother's breast ^ve lay ! 
 Where the sunbeams through the tree-tops 
 
 Kissed us with their glowing ray. 
 
 Where the soft sj)ring breezes cooled us 
 
 Bending down each slender blade, 
 Where at night, our leafy dwelling 
 
 Leaving, eliin games we played. 
 
 Heaven's pure dew and raia then bathed us, 
 Steeped in dismal swamp to-night — 
 
 We are doomed — but, ere we perish. 
 Our revenge on thee shall light ! " 
 
 Ceased the strain ; again they bend them 
 
 Down to where the sleejjer lies, 
 'Mid the former stifling silence 
 
 Whisperings soft agaiu arise. 
 
 What a buzzing, what a bustling, 
 How the maiden's hot cheeks glow ! 
 
 How the spirits breathe upon her ! 
 How the sultry vapours flow ! 
 
 Then the sun illumed the chamber 
 
 And away the phantoms rolled, 
 On the pillowed couch, fast slumbering, 
 
 There the loveliest corpse lies cold. 
 
 She herself a -withered flower, 
 
 With her cheeks still tinged with red, 
 
 Rests beside her withered sisters, 
 By the flower-breath stiicken dead.
 
 296 FREILTGRATH. 
 
 jCntjs nf tlje hA 
 
 1. 
 
 I do not mean the desert sand 
 
 "WTiere roaming herds of wild stags meet ; 
 I mean the grains that on the strand 
 
 Of ocean crash beneath my feet. 
 
 The one a waving cni-se I call, 
 The restless spirit of the waste ; 
 
 It lies outspread, a burning pall, 
 O'er camels and their riders placed. 
 
 The ocean strand is cool and fresh, 
 Adown its furrows moisture steals, 
 
 A table ever spread with flesh, 
 
 Where sea-gulls take theu- fishy meals. 
 
 2. 
 From ocean rising sweeps the wind. 
 
 The sands are stu'red, the seaweeds reel ; 
 Upon the fleeting sand, the mind 
 
 Unsteady, fleeting thoughts must feel. 
 
 Just as this sand 'neath wave and wind 
 Chases itself in whirling shapes, 
 
 So moves and waves my wandering mind. 
 And every constant mood escapes. 
 
 3. 
 what a wondrous soil is this ! 
 
 And what strange wonders it can do, 
 It shatters ships in its abyss, 
 
 And lets them ride at anchor too.
 
 FREILIGRATH. 297 
 
 The raven finds it ever fresh, 
 
 'Tis dry upon the sea- worm's tongue, 
 Upon it languishes the fish^ 
 
 It feeds the sea-gulls and their young. 
 
 I saw a man too turn away 
 
 Shivering and sated wdth the sight, 
 But I upon the sand would stay, 
 
 And build me ships and bridges bright. 
 
 4. 
 
 The heathy sea-wall bleak and bare 
 
 Has all the landwa:"d view confined ; 
 No matter ! on the wild waves there 
 
 I gaze around, nor look behind. 
 
 If land there be, I do not know, 
 
 The waves fling foam and sparkles here ! 
 
 Yet moimtain, mead, and grove, all go, 
 All in the ocean disappear. 
 
 This little yellow strip alone 
 
 Is left of all the world to-day, 
 There, like a king that's lost his throne. 
 
 Of ring and sceptre stript, I stray. 
 
 I cannot realize it now. 
 
 That once through forest paths I strode, 
 That e'er I sat on mountain's brow, 
 
 Or ever o'er the wild heath rode. 
 
 In the deep sea they rest ; there lie 
 
 My love, my hope, my heart's strong yearning. 
 And, fast as foaming breakers fly. 
 
 Gush forth my tears o'erflowing, burning.
 
 298 FREILIGEATH. 
 
 And am I like the stream that deep 
 In mountain forests rising wanders, 
 
 That through broad lands and realms doth sweep, 
 And onwai'd to the sea meanders ? 
 
 Would it "vrere so ! to manhood come, 
 The roar of ocean suits man's craving. 
 
 And yet in youth's eternal home 
 
 His spring the hallowed roots is laving. 
 
 6. 
 Over my head there move 
 
 Three sea-gulls, didl and slow, 
 I look not up ahove, 
 
 Yet still theu- coiu'se I know. 
 
 For on the sands that lie, 
 
 And in the sunshine glow, 
 "With outspread pinions fly 
 
 Black shadows to and fro. 
 
 Down falls a feather light, 
 
 "WTiercwith this veiy day, 
 Of sand and sea-gulls' flight, 
 
 I may I'ccord my lay. 
 
 €^t Drn'i iii tlju §m. 
 
 Deep down below the gi-een sea- wave, 
 On Siiclls and pebbly sand. 
 
 There slumbers many a seaman bold 
 Who gaUy left the land.
 
 rHEILIGPATH. k;99 
 
 The ocean swept liis vessel frail 
 
 Down in hev deep abyss, 
 In storm lie found an early death., 
 
 "While sturdiest life was his. 
 
 Deep down below the billows green, 
 
 On gravelly shell-strewn bank. 
 There slumbers many another one 
 
 "WTio 'neath no tempest sank. 
 
 In narrow cabin cold he lay 
 
 And ne'er returned to port ; 
 They lashed his corse upon a plank 
 
 And heaved him overboard. 
 
 The ocean-bed is one huge grave. 
 
 The sea a churchyard green, 
 The rounded billows as they swell 
 
 Ai'e grave-mounds o'er the unseen. 
 
 O could we be with them below, 
 
 "Were ocean's bed laid dry, 
 The eye would rest on many a row 
 Of sleepers, whose white bones would show 
 
 Wreathed with red polypi ; 
 
 Would mark their pillow, yielding moss, 
 
 And sand, and sea- weeds long, 
 And how with fleshless teeth they grin 
 
 Among the fishy throng ; 
 
 "Would see the saw-fish busily 
 
 Smoothing each armbone bare, 
 And how the bauds of meimaids deck 
 
 Theii' forms with presents rare.
 
 300 FREILIGRATH. 
 
 One unguents pours, another plaits 
 Their hair unkempt and loose, 
 
 And pranks and paints each bony face 
 "With purple-fish's juice. 
 
 One chants a moumfal dirge-like lay, 
 One brings the byssus thread, — 
 
 Fantastic oraaments bedeck 
 The grimly clustered dead. 
 
 Bracelets of yellow amber gleam 
 
 On ■wrists of stiffened dead ; 
 And naked skulls are wi'eathed and crowned 
 
 With coral branches red. 
 
 And precious pearls of purest white, 
 These are the dead men's eyes ; 
 
 The motley swimmers greedily 
 
 Swarm round their marrowy prize. 
 
 Then might we see each slender mast 
 
 That once the billows bore, 
 Now bedded in an ocean rock. 
 
 High o'er some dead man soar. 
 
 There lies he, gnawed by fish and worm, 
 
 Fixed in his turfy tomb. 
 The sleeper thinks yon mast the tower 
 
 Of his own village home. 
 
 Yes, deep beneath the green sea- wave, 
 • "With silvery pearls beside. 
 Reposes many a sturdy one 
 Who in the sea- wave died.
 
 FREILIGRATH. 301 
 
 He slumbers far from house and home, 
 
 His grave no flowers grace ; 
 No friendly tear-drops ever wet 
 
 The dying seaman's face. 
 
 His sleep is sweet ; — although his grave 
 
 No rosemary doth screen, 
 No rosebush whispers in the breeze, 
 
 No weeping willow green. 
 
 What matters ? and although no tears 
 
 Upon his pale face fell, 
 That troubles not the ocean-dead ; 
 
 The waters lave him well. 
 
 ^iibr tjiu ^.^nliH €xm. 
 
 Eustling manes flit through the bushes ; in the forest-depths 
 
 the fight 
 Rages. Hear'st thou from the Palm-grove roar and tramp 
 
 their crash unite r 
 Come and climb with me the teak-tree. Gently ! lest the 
 
 quiver's rattle 
 Startle them ; behold the Tiger with the Leopard fierce in 
 
 battle. 
 
 Eound the body of a dead man up to whom the Tiger crept 
 As upon the scarlet pillow of this floweiy slope he slept. 
 Round the stranger who these thi'ee months in our tent in 
 
 peace was living, 
 Come in quest of plants and insects, are the spotted 
 
 murderers striving.
 
 0\)^ FRSILIGRATIT. 
 
 All ! nc arrow now can save liim, closed already is his 
 
 eye, 
 Red Mb temple, like tlie fiower of the jS'opal's crimson 
 
 dye. 
 On the hiU the sunken liollo-w "where he lies shows like a 
 
 bowl 
 Filled wich blood ; the tiger's talon on his cheek has left its 
 
 scroll. 
 
 "Woe's the day ! Oh how thy mother, poor white man, will 
 
 mourn for thee ! 
 Foaming at the raging tiger flies the leopard fmiously, 
 But his left paw on the body of his murdered victim lay, 
 And his right he held up threatening, raised to diive the 
 
 foe away. 
 
 Look now, what a spring ! the springer grasjDs the dead 
 
 man's arm, and so 
 Straining flies ; the other will not let his bleeding burden go. 
 "Wrestling, wildly closing, stand they on their hind legs 
 
 rearing high, 
 "With the bare corpse stiff and upright reared between them 
 
 hideously. 
 
 Then — Oh see ! what's that that o'er them from the tree 
 
 imcoils its wi'cath. 
 Shining green, with jaws Avide open, poisonous foam upon 
 
 its teeth ? 
 Giant-sci-pcnt, thou wilt suff'cr none from thee the prey to 
 
 force. 
 Thou enfold' st them, thou dost crush them, tiger, leopard, 
 
 white man's corse.
 
 PREILIG5.ATH. 303 
 
 €\)t ^iiiijijiitritL 
 
 Seest thou ths Amphitrite 
 
 At anclior yonder lie ? 
 A festal gleam plays round h.er, 
 
 The crimson streamers fly. 
 
 Hauled to the yards are hanging 
 
 The sails now laid aside, 
 The foam-lijiped sea-god kisses 
 
 The cheeks of his sea-hride. 
 
 She's newly reached the haven, 
 From the far East arrived, 
 
 Has bi'aved the tempest's fury, 
 And tropic heats survived. 
 
 The Captain by the mainmast, 
 Stands girt with cinetiu^e red, 
 
 Nor knows what guest he harboured, 
 As home the good s^hip sped. 
 
 'Tis May, the young, the blooming, 
 "Wh.0 calls the South his home, 
 
 That in the stately vessel. 
 O'er the blue wave has come. 
 
 On India's strand reclining, 
 'Neath banyan shades he lay. 
 
 And saw the sliip weigh anchor, 
 Prepared to sail away. 
 
 Upon the sand up sprang he. 
 
 His sandal-sti-ings to tie. 
 To gather up his raiment. 
 
 Soft shawls of richest dye.
 
 304 FKEILIGRATH. 
 
 Then toward the sea he darted, 
 Leaped headlong in the tide, 
 
 'Not rested till he grasped at 
 The rope at the ship's side. 
 
 "With nimble step and daring. 
 Unseen by all the crew, 
 
 He swung on board the vessel. 
 Straightway the land-wind blew. 
 
 As soon as in the haven, 
 The brig had safely come. 
 
 Bedecked with gayest colours, 
 At once to land he swum. 
 
 The storks with flight prophetic, 
 Are floating on before ; 
 
 A juggler, a magician. 
 
 He treads the distant shore. 
 
 He clothes the trees with verdiu'e, 
 Bare plots with flowers he fills, 
 
 Bids hyacinths to blossom. 
 Gay tulips, dafi'odils. 
 
 The earth in marvellous splendour 
 He decks ; bright hues appear. 
 
 Thanks, bold Lascar ! and welcome, 
 Lithe swimmer, welcome here. 
 
 Scest thou the Amphitrite 
 At anchor yonder lie ? 
 
 A festal gleam plays round her. 
 The crimson sti'camers fly.
 
 FREILIGRATH. 305 
 
 Xigjitiiing nu WIjWbm fe. 
 
 Will He, in shining flames of fire, 
 
 From His celestial citadel 
 His Spirit send anew to inspire 
 
 As it on Christ's disciples fell ? 
 Whence is that swift and dazzling glare 
 
 That flits around yon jet black cloud, 
 Just like a mantle white and fair 
 
 That swarthy limbs of Moor doth shroud ? 
 
 These are the doors of heaven flung back, 
 
 This is the glow that through them streams : 
 This sheeted light the earth will deck. 
 
 Like saiat-encircling halo-beams. 
 The vales and mountain-tops to-day 
 
 The Spirit's torch of flame will own ; 
 O'er the whole work? its flash will play 
 
 As once it touched the Twelve alone I 
 
 For on the mom the Holy Feast 
 
 Of outpoui'ed grace we celebrate. 
 Hence the High consecrating Priest 
 
 Earth with his flames doth consecrate. 
 And as those jets of golden light 
 
 On the horizon sparkle low, 
 So La all Christian hearts, a bright 
 
 And holy fire of grace will glow. 
 
 V
 
 306 FREILIGRATH. 
 
 Monarch of the waste's the Lion ; through his realms intent 
 
 on sweeping 
 Towards the still lagoon he wanders, 'mid the lofty rushes 
 
 creeping. 
 Where Gazelles and mild Giraffes are di-inking, in the reeds 
 
 he lies ; 
 O'er the mighty one the qui-vering leaf of sycamore-tree 
 
 sighs. 
 
 When in Kraal of Hottentots at eve the fires hrightly glow, 
 When no more the shifting signals of the Table- mountains 
 
 show 
 Varied hues, the lonely Caffre sweeps in silence the Karroo, 
 In the bush the Antelope is slumbering, by the stream the 
 
 Gnu; 
 
 See, with stride majestic through the Desert paces the 
 
 Giraffe, 
 At the dark lagoon's thick waters cooling draughts in haste 
 
 to quaff; 
 Panting, throi:gh the naked plains he hiu'ries, his hot tongue 
 
 to cool, 
 Kneeling, with long neck he slakes his thu'st from out the 
 
 slimy pool. 
 
 On a sudden in the rushes there's a stir, and, with a roar, 
 On his neck the Lion fastens ! What a steed ! were e'er 
 
 before 
 Richer housings in the stately stables of a monarch shown 
 Than the mottled skin the King of Beasts bestrides and 
 makes his throne ?
 
 FREILIGRATH. 307 
 
 In the muscles of the neck he sets his teeth, his steed to 
 rein. 
 
 Round the giant courser's shoulders streams the rider's 
 yellow mane, 
 
 With a hollow shriek of anguish up he springs, with tor- 
 ture rent 
 
 On he flies ; see how the Panther's skin with camel's speed 
 is blent ; 
 
 See, he smites the moon -swept level with his feet that skim 
 the plain, 
 
 From his head the eyes are starting ; drops of black blood, 
 trickling, rain 
 
 Down upon his neck, with brown spots mottled, and the 
 desert waste 
 
 In its stillness hears bis heart-tlu'obs as he flies with mad- 
 dened haste. 
 
 Like the cloud, whose gleaming guided Israel through 
 
 Yemen's coast, 
 Like a spirit of the desert, like a pale and airy ghost. 
 In the sea of sand a whirlpool formed of sand and borne on 
 
 high. 
 See, the yellow sandy pillar whuis behind them as they fly. 
 
 In the track the vulture follows, croaking through the air 
 
 he booms ; 
 Follows too the foul hysena, desecrator of the tombs. 
 And the panther, robber, waster of the herds the Cape-lands 
 
 bred. 
 Blood and sweat-drops mark the fearful journey of this 
 
 monarch dread
 
 308 FREILIGRATH. 
 
 Trembling they beliold their ruler seated on his living 
 
 throne, 
 And his sharp claws rend the spotted cixshion he has made 
 
 his own ; 
 Pauseless the Gu'affe must bear him tiU his strength and 
 
 powers fail, 
 'Gainst a rider so imperious, kickings, plungings nought 
 
 avail. 
 
 Reeling, on the desert's edge he falls, and in the death-throes 
 
 lies. 
 Dead, besprent with blood and foam, the steed becomes the 
 
 rider's prize. 
 Far away o'er Madagascar and the East the daylight 
 
 glows, 
 Nightly thus the King of Beasts all through his kingdom's 
 
 borders goes. 
 
 % €nle nf tjiB lainllnnii 
 
 On the still and sweltering pool 
 Wliirls the water-spider lean, 
 
 Down below on ciystal stool 
 
 Sits enthroned the young Frog-Queen. 
 
 Round her head a sparkling wreath, 
 "Wrought of richest ore, is bound, 
 
 Voices of tlic frogs beneath 
 Peal like silver bells around.
 
 FREILIGRATH. 309 
 
 For 'tis Spring ; no ice-flake's there, 
 Trembling peep the bursting blooms, 
 
 Hoarse spring-thunder fills the air 
 
 Black "with squalls and sudden glooms. 
 
 O'er the pool's dark mirror creeping, 
 
 Cups of water-lilies spring, 
 And the earliest swallows sweeping 
 
 O'er it flit with rapid wing. 
 
 Twitterings soft from bills so slender 
 
 'Neath the waves sound cheerily, 
 " Many a greeting we've to tender 
 
 From our travels, Queen, to thee. 
 
 Long o'er foreign lands we hovered. 
 Lands where burning sand-plains glow, 
 
 Where with flowing caftans covered. 
 Turban-wearers loiter slow. 
 
 Wondrous plants, with purple glancing, 
 Served as milestones where we went, 
 
 Yellow Moors we saw there dancing 
 Bare before their linen tent. 
 
 On his heated saddle panting, 
 
 Sat the Arab, light of limb. 
 Whilst his wife, kind service granting, 
 
 Dates and goats' milk handed him. 
 
 Swift in chase of Antelopes, 
 
 Warrior-like with dart and spear, 
 Wandered forth slim Ethiopes, 
 
 Memnons statue plaining near.
 
 310 TREILIGRATH. 
 
 "We have sipped the Nile-stream, meeting 
 Faint and wearied on our way. 
 
 Queen of Frogs, we bring thee greeting 
 From the monarch old and grey. 
 
 All things, leaves and flowers, render 
 Greetings due ; but from the Nile 
 
 Heartiest greetings must we tender 
 From thy cousin Crocodile." 
 
 CIjB !Hrrr|itrli Xonrr. 
 
 Thus let me sit, for ever blest, 
 
 Thus let me sit entranced, and thou 
 With both Ihy gentle hands impressed 
 
 Upon my throbbing, burning, brow. 
 Sunk on my knees, and at thy feet, 
 
 There let me all enraptured rest. 
 Closing my eyes in bliss so sweet. 
 
 Upon thy arm, ujjon thy breast ; 
 
 And only let theii' lids unclose. 
 
 To the bright lustre thine let fall, 
 Wherein I now for aye repose, 
 
 thou, my life, my world, my all ! 
 Or oi\\y to the burning tear 
 
 That comes unbidden, will not stay. 
 But briglit with joy, and glistering clear, 
 
 Through the closed eyelids rends its way.
 
 FREILIGRATH. 311 
 
 And now I feel such peace divine, 
 
 I feel so calm, so good, so blest, 
 Possessing thee, all else is mine ! 
 
 "With thee my yearnings sink to rest. 
 Thy arm's the cradle of my care. 
 
 For Love can soothing balm supply, 
 And every breath of thine, my fair. 
 
 Breathes o'er my heart a lullaby. 
 
 And every breath is life to me ! 
 
 Ah ! thus to rest from day to day ! 
 To listen thus with ecstacy 
 
 To our hearts' pulses' mutual play. 
 Thus in the night of love deep sunk. 
 
 From time and from the world we've fled, 
 We rest and dream, with rapture drunk. 
 
 Blest if the world account us dead. 
 
 €\}i ^y\i\m fMh 
 
 Friend of the days of childhood, 
 
 Brown folio, often scanned 
 When opened out before me 
 
 By fond afiection's hand ; 
 Thou, whose pictorial treasures 
 
 Were wont mine eyes to feast, 
 The boy, of play regardless. 
 
 Transporting to the East;
 
 31S FKEILIGKATH. 
 
 'Twas thine to nnbar the portals 
 
 Of that far distant zone, 
 A small clear glass reflecting 
 
 The glories there that shone. 
 Thanks ! for through thee my glances 
 
 On a strange world wei-e bent, 
 Saw desert, palms, and camels. 
 
 Herdsman and herdsman's tent. 
 
 Thou broughtest nearer to me 
 
 Sages and chiefs of old, 
 Of whom the seers inspired. 
 
 In that best Book have told. 
 The maidens fair and bridelike. 
 
 Such as their words portray. 
 Within thy pictured pages 
 
 I saw them clear as day. 
 
 The Patriarchs and their customs. 
 
 The simple life they led, 
 How angels hover round them 
 
 At every step they tread ; 
 Theii' journcyings and herd- waterings 
 
 How often have I scanned. 
 In quiet musing could I 
 
 Before thy pages stand. 
 
 Mesccms as if thou laid"st there 
 Upon the chair once more. 
 
 As if I bent down, longing 
 To trace thy pictures o'er ;
 
 FREILIGRATH. 313 
 
 As if the scenes of wonder 
 
 Mine eye saw years ago 
 Stood out in fresh bright colours, 
 
 A fair and wondrous show. 
 
 As if again I gazed on 
 
 The pictures of Moresque 
 That bordered every picture 
 
 "With forms and shapes grotesque, 
 Varied in rich profusion 
 
 Now flowers, and now sprays, 
 Adapted to the picture 
 
 That food for thought displays. 
 
 As if, as in the old time, 
 
 I to my mother went 
 And begged of h'er to tell me 
 
 What each strange picture meant ; 
 As if, for ereiy picture 
 
 Some pious word or strain 
 She taught me, while my father 
 
 Looked fondly on us twain. 
 
 Elest time ! thou hast departed, • 
 
 Thou'rt like a tale to me ! 
 The Picture-Bible's splendour, 
 
 The eye of faith to see. 
 The two beloved elders, 
 
 The mind at ease and gay, 
 The joy and bliss of childhood. 
 
 All, all, have passed away !
 
 314 FREILIGRATH. 
 
 Xfnlntljnii. 
 
 Thou didst divide the sea by thy strength ; thou brakest 
 the heads of the dragons in the waters. Thou brakest the heads 
 of leviathan in pieces, and gavest him to be meat to the people 
 inhabiting the wilderness. Psalm 74. 
 
 Upon an early autumn day I went along the ocean-strand 
 Bareheaded, looking down the while, the songs of David in. 
 
 my hand. 
 The sea rose high, the surges swelled, a piping gale from 
 
 Eastward blew ; 
 On the horizon, towards the "West, a white-sailed vessel 
 
 onward flew. 
 
 And as within the book of songs sung by the King of 
 Israel 
 
 Gazing, and turning o'er the leaves, mine eyes upon the 
 passage fell 
 
 Ye read above this lay of mine, there came into the desert- 
 strand 
 
 Three fishing-vessels, that had raised their grey sails and 
 were fully manned. 
 
 Behind them, on the hoary flood, a monster of a giant - 
 
 size 
 Floated along, a dark grey mass ; a cable drew the mighty 
 
 prize. 
 The breakers roar, loud creaks the mast, the anchor drops 
 
 the harpooneer. 
 Ashore and on dry land they rest, the vessel and that 
 
 creature drear.
 
 FREILIGRATII, 315 
 
 And now at call of neighbours, friends, and brethren, with 
 
 rejoicing roar 
 The dwellers in the wilderness pour from their haunts and 
 
 crowd the shore. 
 His body gashed with iron, there they see the son of ocean 
 
 lie. 
 His head all crushed, that never more wUl spout the foaming 
 
 stream on high. 
 
 The icy pole a few short years ago the dripping monster bore, 
 A novice yet, perchance he strayed, and wandered to this 
 
 level shore ; 
 Shallows and banks checked his retreat to ocean, when he 
 
 would advance. 
 The Lord brake the young giant's head, e'en with a simple 
 
 fisher's lance. 
 
 They danced around the bleeding one, and shouted ; but it 
 
 seemed to me 
 As if, with half-closed eye, he glai'ed in scorn on their rude 
 
 revelry. 
 Methought his purple blood that oozed and trickled down 
 
 reproached me then. 
 As if his death-gasps muttered forth, " miserable race of 
 
 men ! 
 
 pigmies, you have captive led the giant, by mean craft 
 
 undone, 
 crawlers on the dry land, ye, who my domain must ever 
 
 shun, 
 "Weaklings, who only tempt the sea in shelter of a hollow boat, 
 Just like the wretched shell-fish there, that never from its 
 
 shell can float.
 
 316 FREILIGRATH. 
 
 barren shore, insipid, dull ! bare, insipid, doings there ! 
 
 how they trembled, worthless folk, soon as my snorting 
 
 smote the air ! 
 How comfortless upon the heath their reeking village-hovels 
 
 Ue! 
 And art thou better then than these, Poet that dost see 
 
 me die ? 
 
 "Would I were where the ocean ends, and where the world's 
 
 last boundary Hes, 
 Where, crashing in the darkness, floats grim Winter's palace 
 
 reared of ice ! 
 Would that a swordfish, sharpening his sword upon the ice 
 
 would steer 
 Straight on, and pierce me through the breast, to perish 
 
 anywhere but here ! " 
 
 It was an early autumn day, the sea rose high, the East 
 
 wind blew ; 
 On the horizon, towards the West, a white-sailed vessel 
 
 onward flew. 
 
 1 turned away, and on the heath I threw myself. The 
 
 Lord that day 
 Brake the whale's head, and made him there the people of 
 the desert's prey.
 
 till
 
 linirs. 
 
 Page 30. — The New Bridge. — AVhile these sheets are passing 
 through the press, this elegant structure i.s rapidly approaching 
 completion. At the time these lines were written, the most 
 
 striking point in connection with the Bridge was the novel and 
 ingenious mode adopted for laying the foundations. 
 
 Page 53. — In Memoriam. — Written on the occasion of the sudden 
 and lamented death of the late Dr. George E. Ely, of Rochester. 
 
 Page 54. — Bucldand House. — A few years ago this house was in 
 the occupation of Mr. W. H. Bensted, of Maidstone, a gentleman 
 who has paid much attention to organic remains, and made some 
 interesting discoveries. 
 
 Page 72. — Cleon. — An Athenian demagogue of low origin, who 
 at ihis time took the lead in Athenian politics, and was urgent for 
 carrying on the war \viih vigour. Aristoplianes pursued him with 
 relentless fury ; and devoted a whole comedy to a systematic attack 
 on his character and policy. The man was not insensible to bribes, 
 and the p' et here alludes to a recent exposure of the venality of 
 Cleon by the Knights, the upper middle class of Athens. 
 
 Thengnis.— ln. recounting his miseries, Dicaeopolis enumerates 
 the disappointment of he;;ring a bad pi-rlbrmance instead of a good 
 one. Theognis was a frigid poet ; Moschusabad singer, Dexitheus 
 a good one ; Chocris apparently a worn-out player, who attempted 
 on his instrument more than he could perform. 
 
 Page 73 — Pnyx. — The place of meeting of the Athenian Assem- 
 bly. When the people were reluctant to attend these Assemblies, 
 men were employed to sweep the loitering chattering crowd before 
 thtm with a rope stained with vermilion. The red mark left on 
 their white garments subjected them to a fine ; hence the scuffling 
 to avoid it.
 
 320 NOTES. 
 
 Charcoal. — Acharna? was famous for its charcoal, the wood for 
 which was supplied by the forest growth on Mount Parnes, 
 
 Page 74. — Amphibimis. — Here, as elsewhere, the translator has 
 
 been forced to substitute one joke for another. Verbal wit cannot 
 
 be literally replaced. The formal exposititm of the pedigree of 
 
 Amphi hei s has a quizzing reference to the well-known practice of 
 
 Euripides in introducing his principal characters in a similar way. 
 
 Page 76 — Whole Oxen. — Dicaeopolis seems very incredulous about 
 this ; hut the fact of its being an oriental custom is evident from 
 Herodotus I. 33, who speaks of the wealthy Persians, on their birth- 
 day festivals, setting before their guests not merely oxen, but 
 horses, asses, and camels, baked whole, 
 
 Cleonymus. — One of the demagogues of the day, a cowardly, cor- 
 pulent, effeminate fellow, whom Aristophanes unsparingly lashes. 
 
 The King's Own Eye. — Droysen imagines that this character was 
 dressed up in a very grotesque way, the whole of the man's head 
 forming one immense eye, the eyebrows and eyelashes being made 
 out of cords or thongs of leather. Mueller merely suggests that the 
 actor wore, as emblematic of his office, a large painted eye fastened 
 on to his forehead by a leather band. 
 
 Page 77. — Shamartabas. — In the original Pseudarfahas, indicating 
 that the character represented was not what he pretended to be, 
 but on'.y a Greek dressed up like a Pel sian Ambassador. In accord- 
 ance with ihis, the personage talks a kind of gibberish or sham 
 Persian, which turns out to be Greek in disguise. The officers of 
 the Persian court, from the ministerial functions they pei formed, 
 were stj-led the "eyes" and "ears" of the King. See Herod. I. 114. 
 Xen. Cyr. 8. 2. 10. 
 
 Kratarta Xerxes. — In the original '^lartaman cxarx' anapissonai 
 satra." Oriental scholars tried to find a meaning in these words, 
 but without success. Suevern ingeniously .suggested that they were 
 nothing but Greek words distorted, and that their meaning was, 
 "It was very difficult to persuade Artaxerxes," Droysen and 
 Jerome Mueller both follow Suevern. 
 
 Blackguards. — " Bark's parts of speech are of an awful sort, 
 " principally adjectives. I won't, says ]5ark, have no adjective 
 " police, or adjective strangers in my adjective premises ! I won't by 
 " adjective and substantive. Give me my adjective trousers, and I'll 
 " send the whole adjective police to adjective and substantive ! I'll 
 " put my adjective knife into the Avhole bilcing ot 'm. Ill pimch 
 " their adjective heads, &c." Dickens's Household Words, 
 vol, iii. p. 270, The epithets made use of by our author are quite 
 as awful as those familiar to Mr. l^ark. The translator of 
 Aristo])hancs is often sorely puzzled to know how to deal with 
 them, and finds himself continually compelled to sacrifice wit to 
 decency.
 
 NOTES. 321 
 
 Cleisthenes, Strata. — Two efFeininate fopliiigs of the day, who 
 took the greatest pauis to divest their persons of every manly fea- 
 ture. Being now dressed up as Orientals, they wore long flowing 
 beards, which made the contrast between their real and their 
 assumed characters still more striking. 
 
 Page 78. — The Pnjtaneium. — The Town Hall, or Hall Avhere the 
 Prytanes or Presidents took their meals during their term of office. 
 It was considered a mark of distinction to be invited to their table. 
 
 Sitalces, — An historical personage mentioned by Thucydides. His 
 son Sadocus Avas actually enrolled among the citizens of Athens. 
 Thuc. ii. 67. The feJ-tival of Apaturm was celebrated in the 
 autumn of the year. It lasted three days, the first of which was 
 devoted to feasting, the second to solemn sacrifices, and the third to 
 the enrolment of young citizens. The first part of the word 
 "Apaturia" means "deceit," and although the words are only 
 accidentally and not etymologically connected, some have thought 
 that Aristophanes intended to hint at the deceptive character of 
 these foreign alliances. Eut this is rather far-fetched. 
 
 Page 79. — Odomontians. — A Thraeian tribe. This foreign con- 
 tingent no doubt cut a deplorable figure, somewhat, as Mueller 
 remarks, after the fashion of Falstaff's ragged regiment in Hemy 
 
 Two Drachmas. — The drachma, a silver coin, was about the value 
 of the French franc. The pay of a sailor was not more than one 
 drachma a day. The sailors here mentioned are those who sat 
 highest and pulled the longest oars, consequently had the hardest 
 work. 
 
 Page 80. — Garlic, — Garlic was given to game-cocks to increase 
 their spirit. Dicaopolis had come i)repared for a long sitting, and 
 brought his luncheon with him. 
 
 A drop of rain. — Thunder, lightning, rain, and other ominous 
 occiu-rences were sufiicient to break up the Assembly. 
 
 Page 81. — To taste. — A Greek "treaty" derived its name from 
 the libations of wine which accompanied its ratification. Hence 
 the treaties here spoken of are brought forward as so many wine- 
 samples. Some think the length of the truce was denoted by the 
 size of the bottles ; the five years' truce being represented by a 
 tiny bottle, and thii'ty years' truce by a very cai^acious one. 
 
 Three dai/s' rations. — Soldiers when called out had to make this 
 provision. 
 
 Page 82. — The rural festival. — One of the four Attic festivals of 
 Dionysus, held in the month of December and called the lesser 
 Dionysia. The ensuing scene depicts some of its features. The 
 maiden carries a basket on her head containing some of the sacri- 
 ficial implements. The slave carries the mysterious symbol, and 
 the master of the household chaunts the praises of the god of wine.
 
 322 NOTES. 
 
 Phayllus. — A celebrated runner and athlete who performed some 
 wonderful exploits about 60 years before. One of his marvellous 
 feats was a leap of 55 feet ! 
 
 The frozen year. — The archonship of the person here named was 
 remarkable for a very hard winter. 
 
 Page 83. — Fort Flingawaij, — An indifferent substitute for the 
 play upon words in the origuial. 
 
 Rue. — The taste of bitter or nauseous herbs communicated a 
 rigid and forbidding expression of countenance ; the direction 
 seems merely to imply that the maiden is to look grave, stern, and 
 serious. 
 
 Page 86. — Cleon. — This threat was ominous of what was to 
 follow ; for the very next year Aristoplianes brought out " the 
 Knights," in which the low-born demagogue was attacked with 
 the utmost bitterness. But such attacks were more dangerous to 
 the poet than to the object of his scorn ; Cleon's popularity and 
 power remained unshaken, while, in all probability, Aristophanes 
 suffered in person for his boldness. See the " ^Yasps " 1284 — 1291. 
 
 Page 88. — Charcoal-basket. — It was usual for those who sought 
 protection from impending danger to possess themselves of some 
 object deal' to their pursuers, and fly with it to the altar or the 
 hearth of the household The Greek tragedians frequently intro- 
 duced such scenes, and Aristophanes here takes occasion to make 
 a pai'ody of one. Instead of a child, Dictcopolis seizes the symbol 
 of Acharnian prosi:)erity, the basket used for carrying charcoal. 
 To an Athenian of those days the name of Acharnie was probably 
 as suggestive of charcoal as our Newcastle is of coals to a Londoner. 
 
 Page 90. — Voting Pebbles. — ^^''otes were given in the courts by 
 putting a pebble into an urn. The rage for litigation in Athens 
 was just now at its height. All decisions rested with the jurors 
 or dicasts, a numerous body drawn from the people and instinct 
 with democratic feelmg. The play of the " Wasps " satirizes this 
 insane passion. 
 
 Last year's Comedy. — The " Babylonians," of which only a few 
 fragnrents remain. The poet was not of age when this play was 
 exhibited, and shewed his dai-ing spirit in attacking " the man of 
 the people." Some think that the author was unknown at the 
 time, and that the person who suifcred was Callistratus, who 
 brought it on tlic stage. It is diflicult to reconcile this with other 
 jiassages which point to tlic early renown of Aristophanes himself. 
 Cleon was annoyed at being held uj) to ridicule belore the repre- 
 sentatives of the tributary states. 
 
 Ilicronymus, — A lyric and tragic poet whose stage pi'oductions 
 were rather bombastical, and tasked the ingenuity of " the property- 
 man," to i)ut them on the stage in an effective manner. 
 
 Sisyphus.— llomcv calls him the very craftiest of mortals.
 
 NOTES. o'iio 
 
 Page 91. — Wheeled out. — One of the stage contrivances of the 
 ancients was a moveable chamber which could be brought forward 
 and withdrawn at pleasure. An interior could thus be exhibited, 
 and it is in this way that the audience now catch a glimpse of the 
 tragic poet in his studio. 
 
 Bags.— The purport of this episode is to satirize the fondness of 
 the poet for exhibiting exaggerated pictures of human distress. 
 
 Page 92. — yEneus, Phanix, ^-c. — The persons here mentioned 
 were all heroes of some of the poet's plays. Their adventures 
 cannot be given in a note ; the reader will tind them in any Clas- 
 sical DictionarJ^ But they were chietiy monarchs, or eminent per- 
 sonages, reduced from prosperity to great distress. 
 
 Page 93, — For I must wear. — This and the next line are taken 
 from the Telephus of Euripides. 
 
 Blessings attend you. — Another parody on Euripides. Dicoeopolis, 
 hoping to succeed in his appeal by using the dress and phraseology 
 of Telephus, expresses the obligations he is under to the poet and 
 liis hero. 
 
 Page 94. — Chervil, — The mother of Euripides was a herb-seller. 
 This was quite enough for Aristophanes, who spares nobody. 
 Satirical writers never lose sight of a man's antecedents ; wit of 
 this kind displays the malice of the satirist, but does not do liini 
 much credit. 
 
 Page 95. — The Lencean Feast. — This festival was celebrated in 
 January, consequently two months before the greater Dionysia. 
 It was in the spring that the foreigners visited Athens, and the 
 tributary states sent up their tribute. 
 
 Aliens. — Resident foreigners who were subject to several restric- 
 tions. Droysen thinks they were excluded from participation in 
 the Lena;an festival. 
 
 Poseidon, — To this god earthquakes were attributed. A temple 
 was erected to him on the promontory of Tienarum ru Laconia. 
 This allusion to earthqiudtes must have been very significant. The 
 year before, several shocks had been felt, which so much alarmed 
 the Spartan invaders that they turned back home again. See 
 Thuc. iii. 89. 
 
 Megara. — The people of Megara had revolted from Athens, and 
 all commercial intercouise between them and Attica was strictly 
 forbidden. Shortly before the breaking out of the Peloponnesiaai 
 war, the Spartans eudeavouied to get these restrictions removed, 
 but this only increased the hatred of Athens towards the Megarians. 
 Voss. 
 
 Aspasia. — The celebrated and accomplished friend and adviser of 
 Pericles. 
 
 Page 97. — Scrij)/iiis, —A small island in the -Egean.
 
 324 NOTES. 
 
 Page 98. — Shield-borne Gorgon. — The shield of Lamachus -was 
 decorated ■R'itli a terrible Gorgon's head. "When not in use, the 
 shield Avas kept in a kind of case or covering. 
 
 Page 100. — Tisameno-Phcenipjntes. — The speaker here vents his 
 spleen on certain public characters concerning whom -we possess 
 little information. 
 
 Old Charcoal. — The persons thus familiarly addressed are Achar- 
 nians, and each has a name given him allusive to the trade of 
 charcoal-burning. 
 
 Page 101. — Ccesyras son, — Alcibiades. 
 
 Parabasis. — The action of the play is here suspended wliile the 
 Chorus turn aside to indulge in a popular address. The Chorus- 
 trainer speaks in the name of the author, and vindicates his fame. 
 Then comes a Strophe, followed by another address by the old men 
 of the Chorus on one of the grievances of the day. The Antistrophe 
 follows, in which the cause of the aged is espoused ; this is succeeded 
 by another address, the coimterpart of the former. Droysen brings 
 forward many arguments to show that it is Callistratus, and not 
 Aristophanes, who is the subject of the eulogies in this Parabasis. 
 He relies chiefly on the improbability that a young poet like 
 Aristophanes would have attained such early and wide-spread 
 renown. But surely some account must be taken of that buoyant 
 spirit of humorous exaggeration which characterizes our author. 
 The comic poets of those days were as fond of self-glorification as 
 our own universal favourite Piotch. This very mock egotism 
 heightens the humour of both. 
 
 Page 103 — JEffina. — Aristophanes had possessions in this island. 
 
 Page 105. — Marpsias. — A comic poet who occasionally aroused 
 the anger of Aristophanes, 
 
 Thttcydides. — The case here mentioned was probably recent and 
 notorious. The whole of this Parabasis abounds with difficulties. 
 The allusions are obscure, and the opinions of commentators are 
 divided as to the true sense of many passages. The present trans- 
 lator, following the text of Dindorf, and the Scholia as edited by 
 Ducbiicr, has had no opportunity of comparing his version with any 
 other English one, but he has collated it with the German transla- 
 tions of Droysen and Mueller. 
 
 Page 107. — Mcgarian. — In the original this personage uses a dia- 
 lect of his o^vn, and no doubt this helped to heighten the ludi- 
 crousncss of the dialogue. To imitate this in English is impos- 
 sible : the Germans puzzle themselves and their readers with a 
 dialect of their own manufacture to meet the case. The translator 
 made an attempt to introduce the brogue of an Irishman here, but 
 after a few lines gave up the task in despair. Paddy's inythology 
 and tliat of the (i reeks are .so widely different, that an Irish version 
 of a Greek play woidd be one scries of anachronisms and blunders. 
 There is an objection to tlic use of Englisli provincialisms, for they
 
 NOTES. 325 
 
 are generally coarse and ungrammatical, whereas the Megarian 
 talks grammatically, and his dialect, though broad, was undoubtedly 
 not coarse, or suggestive of ignorance and boorishness. 
 
 Dress you np as pigs. — The whole of this scene will probably aji- 
 pear farcical and silly enough to an English reader. There is more 
 wit in the original than can appear in a translation ; but it is not 
 the kind of wit that would suit the modern stage. 
 
 Page 112, — C/i ones.— The Chorus takes the opportunity of satir- 
 izing some noted characters. The several personges named were 
 A'ery disreputable, and the little that is known of them would not 
 interest the reader. 
 
 Page 114. — Lake Copais. — "The marshes of the Copais were 
 frequently covered with Avater-fowl, and large quantities of fish 
 were caught in the lake. These, as well as many other productions 
 of Boeotia, found a ready sale in the Athenian market. The eels 
 of the lake Copais were, however, most prized by the Athenians. 
 They still retain their ancient celebrity and are described by a 
 modern traveller as ' large, white, of delicate flavour, and light of 
 digestion.' The plains of Thebes abound with moles and their 
 skins were an article of foreign commerce." — (Smith's Dictionary 
 of Greek and lioman Geography, Art. Boeotia.) 
 
 Page 115. — Eldest of Lake Copais' fifty daughters. — A parody on 
 a line in one of the lost plays of iEschylus, where one of the fifty 
 daughters of Nereus is addressed. 
 
 Morychus. — An epiciu'e of the day who was often seen at the fish- 
 market. 
 
 Never e'en in death. — In the Alcestis of Euripides Admetus thus 
 addresses his wife Alcestis : 
 
 " For never e'en in death 
 " May I be parted from thee, who, in life, 
 ** Alone wast faithful." 
 
 rhalerum. — One of the port towns of Athens. Its bay abounded 
 with fish. 
 
 Page 116. — Wicks. — The moist marshy grounds of Boeotia jirob- 
 ably yielded an abundance of rushes which were employed for the 
 same purpose as with us, "The stems of Junctis louglomeratus (the 
 Common liush) and iheJuncus effu.ms (the Soft Rush) are employed 
 for making mats and chttir-bottoms, and their pith, as wicks for 
 candles, thence called rush-lights" Sowerby's English Botany, 3rd 
 Ed., vol iii., page 61. 
 
 118. — Festival of Pitchers. — This feast was held on the second 
 day of the tlu-ee days' festival ( Anthesteria) in honour of Dionysus, 
 celebrated in the spring of the year. The first day was the Feast 
 of Casks ; the second the Feast of Pitchers ; the third the Feast of 
 Pots. The opening of the wine-casks, the draining of wine-pitchers, 
 and the offering of fruits and flowers in pots, followed each other in 
 succession.
 
 326 KOTES. 
 
 Page 119, — Salt fish. — Part of a soldier's rations. Lamachug 
 must henceforth forswear all delicacies and put up with common 
 fare. 
 
 Page 134. — j^Icy I venture on a joke? — It was the custom of in- 
 ferior comic Avritcrs to introduce a great deal of trivial jokmg and 
 buffoonery ; and Aristophanes here satirizes the excess to which 
 this practice was carried by his contemporaries. One of them, 
 Phrynichus, on this very occasion gained the second prize ; the 
 "Progs " being honoured with the first. 
 
 Page 135. — Foiijht at sea. — A naval action had lately been 
 fought at Arginusa; ; and slaves who took part in it were rewarded 
 with theii' freedom. 
 
 Page 137. — The very thing I dreamt. — This was a polite way of 
 telling a man you didii't believe a word he was saying. 
 
 Page 1 ?i%.—Iophon. — The son of Sophocles. Agathon was an ac- 
 complished poet and general favorite. The other two were probably 
 wretclied pretenders. 
 
 Page 139. — Ether, home of Jove, S^-c, — Fantastic expressions made 
 use of by Euripides. 
 
 Page 140. — Teach cookery, not taste, — Dionysus, the god and 
 patron of art, scorns the criticisms of the gourmand Hercules, re- 
 minding him that he is a better judge of culinary, than of poetical, 
 achievements. 
 
 Page 141. — Ccrameicus. — The Potters' Quarter. A suburb of 
 Athens where certain festivals were celebrated. 
 
 Page 142. — Two ohols, — The obol Avas worth about three half- 
 pence ; so that Charon's fare was only a three-penny one, the price 
 of admission to the Athenian theatre. I3ut elsewhere we find 
 Charon charging only one obol. 
 
 Morsimus. — An indifferent poet ; Cinesias, a lean and miserable 
 poet, whose verses were as feeble as his person. 
 
 The Ass with the mysteries. — At the Eleusinian festival an ass 
 can'ied the mystical implements. 
 
 Page 143. — Two Drachmas, — Is. Sd, nearly. Nine Obols, — Is. 4d. 
 nearly. 
 
 Page 144. — Lethe's mead, ^c, — Proverbial expressions to denote 
 the other world. 
 
 Great sea-fight. — Arginnsrc is meant, after which the victorious 
 admirals were tried, and condemned to death for neglecting to secure 
 the coriiscs of the slain. 
 
 Page 149. — The Empusa. — A disgusting-looking hobgoblin, sent 
 I'orlh by Hecate to waylay travellers.
 
 NOTES. 327 
 
 Page 150. — Uegelochus. — An actor -who made a slight mistake in 
 delivering a line of Euripides. His breath failed him, and the acute 
 ears of an Athenian audience at once discovered that he had turned 
 " a calm," the word he meant to utter, into " a weasel." The trans- 
 lator has ventured to make a " calf" of the latter, to render the 
 mistake more palpable to an English ear. 
 
 Page 151. — laccJais. — The name given to Dionysus at the Eleu- 
 sinian festival. It was also the name of the song sung in his 
 honour. Diagoras was an unbeliever, and to sing as he sings it, 
 says Droysen, means, with as little belief in the gods as he had. 
 
 Page 153, — Cratimis. — A predecessor of Aristoi^hanes, and often 
 satirized by him. Thorycion. — A kind of toll-collector, v.ho had 
 j)eculiar faciKties for smuggling. 
 
 Page 156. — Archedemus . — A foreigner who had never qualifiedand 
 been enrolled in the usual waj', b\it was taking a prominent j^art 
 in Atheniair politics. Cleisthenes and Callias were effeminate and 
 dissipated characters, often satirized by Aristophanes, 
 
 Corinth the Divine. — Literally, "Jove's Corinth." A phrase 
 introduced by a Corinthian orator on one occasion with such tire- 
 some frequency, that it became proverbial to denote wearisome 
 repetitions. 
 
 Page 161. — Theramenes. — A famous political character, noted as 
 a trinmier and turncoat, who always managed to take care of 
 himself. 
 
 Page 162. — Cleon and Hypo-bolus. — The poet consigns both these 
 politicians to the realms of Pluto. Hyperbolus had been ostracized 
 and was a most oft'ensive democrat, always bent on injuring the 
 characters of his superiors. He was deservedly caught in his own 
 trap. 
 
 Page 168. — Cleophon. — A tragic poet, of Thracian extraction, 
 whose political adventures involved him in destruction. 
 
 Phrynichus. — An oligarch who joined with Theramenes and 
 others in establishing the government of the Four Hundred. 
 
 Page 169. — Plataans, — Equally honoured with those two hun- 
 dred Platieans who escajjed from the celebrated siege of that city 
 in the Peloponnesian war. 
 
 Cleigenes, — A vulgar prating democrat Avho, in spite of his mean 
 origin and shameless character, was always thrusting himself for- 
 ward, and endeavouring to take a prominent part in Athenian 
 poUtics. 
 
 Page 181. — Cephisojjhon, — A slave and intimate friend of Eu- 
 ripides. 
 
 Page 182. — Chian, Ccian. — The similarity of the names admitted 
 of such an evasion.
 
 328 NOTES. 
 
 Page 194, — A little cruet. — Tlie object of iEschylus is to show 
 tlie monotony of the rhythm of Euripides. The caesura so often 
 fell in the same place, that it was easy to tack on a nonsensical 
 supplement that made the verse ridiculous. 
 
 Page 197. — The verses quoted by Euripides are a kind of cento 
 of high-sounding phrases taken from various plays, and possessing 
 little or no meanmg. 
 
 Page 21 1. — Itijs. — The infant son of Tereus, slain by Procne and 
 Philomela. 
 
 Page 218. — Brinrj the Chaplet. — The speaker prepares himself for 
 his solemn task as if he were about to partake of a sacrificial ban- 
 quet. His friend catches at tliis directly, and his mouth waters at 
 the thought. 
 
 JEsop. — ^Esop's Fables were a favom'ite school-book, ^Elian 
 (Hist. Anim. xvi. 5) tells a story of a royal pair in India flying 
 from theu- country to avoid the ill-treatment of an im grateful elder 
 son. Their youngest son kept them company. The journey was 
 too much for the old folks, who died on the road, and the affection- 
 ate survivor very kindly split his own head open to make a tomb 
 for his parents. The Indian God of the Sun metamorphosed the 
 virtuous youth into a beautiful bird adorned with a crest. Cephale 
 in Greek means " head." It was also the name of a deme or 
 borough in Attica. 
 
 Page 220, — While those whose delight. — Both Droysen and Mueller 
 make this refer to thieves, whereas Mr. Frere and others think it 
 describes workmen who get up in the dark to go to tlieir work in 
 the morning. I have followed the former, and theu- interpretation 
 perhaps agrees best with what follows. 
 
 Page 225. — Prodicus. — A philosopher in vogue at that time. 
 
 Page 238. — Basileia, — Her name implies "Sovereignty." 
 
 Page 2iS,— Schiller.— Born, 1759. Died, 1805. 
 
 Page 273.— ScAwai.— Born, 1792. Died, 1850. 
 
 Page 27 'i.—Sallct— Born, 1812, Died, 1853. 
 
 Page 277.— Herder.— Born, 1744. Died, 1803. 
 
 Page 279.— 3/MeKer,— Born, 1795. Died, 1827. 
 
 Page 282, — Anastasias Gruen. — Count Auerspcrg. Born, 180G. 
 Still living at Vienna. 
 
 Page 2d,\.—Droste Uuelshoff.— Born, 179G. Died, 1840. 
 
 Page 283.— C/t«»u"«so.— Born, 1781. Died, 1833. 
 
 Page 2i?,.—FreiU(jrath.—Bovn, 1810. Still living in London. 
 
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