UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA. GIFT OF Class lilt? THE POETS AND THE POETRY OF THE ANCIENT GREEKS; WITH AN HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION, AND A BRIEF VIEW OF GRECIAN PHILOSOPHERS, ORATORS, AND HISTORIANS. ABRAHAM MILLS, A.M. AUTHOR OF THE LITERATURE AND THE LITERARY MEN OF GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND, ETC. ETC. BOSTON: PHILLIPS, SAMPSON, AND COMPANY. 1858. C.T, Entered, according to Act -of Congress, in the year 1853, by ABRAHAM MILLS, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for the Southern District of New York. STEREOTYPED BY THOMAS B. SMITH, 216 WILLIAM STREET, N. Y. TO CHARLES KING, L.L.D., PRESIDENT OF COLUMBIA COLLEGE, IN THE CITY OF NEW YORK, %\n :ARK Jnscribsb BY THE AUTHOR. Of THB Tiim T PEEFACE. 1 IN offering to the public the following Lectures on Grecian Literature, the author would avail himself of the opportunity thus afforded, to express his unfeigned gratification with the flattering manner in which his recent lectures on the Literature of Great Britain and Ireland were , received, and to assure the generous admirers of that work, that such unexpected com- mendation of his past labors are duly appreciated by him. In the present volume the author has endeavored to present the result of many years' study and investigation in the Depart- ment of literature to which it pertains, in a style sufficiently removed from antiquity to give to the subject all the freshness of which it is susceptible, or to which his own abilities are equal ; and should he have failed to excite the sympathy and elicit the interest of his readers in the literary affairs of the great nation and the distinguished men of whom he treats, he will be con- strained to feel and free to confess, that his failure is not attributable to a want of value in the materials at his command, but to a want of skill in the use he has made of them. To avoid burthening and deforming his pages with the numerous authorities which he has consulted in the preparation of this work, the author deems it proper here to remark, that he has availed himself of every aid that the labors of previous writers on this subject, with whose works he is familiar, afford. Besides to Plutarch, Aihenceus, Suidas, and many other ancient biographers and grammarians, the author acknowledges himself vi PREFACE. particularly indebted to EschenburgKs Manual of Classical Lit- erature, Mailer's History of the Literature of Ancient Greece, SchlegeTs Lectures on the Greek Drama, Browne's History of Greek Classical Literature, Mitre's History of the .Language and Literature of the Greeks, Peter's Poetry of the Ancients, Smiths Dictionary of Greek and Roman Antiquities, and Smiths Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology. From the papers in Cum- berland's Observer, on the Comic Drama of Athens, the author has also derived much valuable information, and obtained many gems of poetry very accurately and sweetly rendered into Eng- lish. The poetical translations with which the work so exten- sively abounds are uniformly taken from authors whose reputa- tion as translators, is established beyond a peradventure ; but as each translation will indicate the source whence it is taken, any farther reference here to the subject, would be superfluous. With these brief remarks, the author sends forth to the world this second literary venture, fondly hoping that it may be wafted over the sea of public opinion by as favoring gales, and finally be moored in as safe a haven, as its predecessor. GLOBE HOTEL, BROOKLYN, ) June, 1853, ) AUTHORS' NAMES. PAGE A-CH^E'-US 323 A-CU-SI-LA'-US 465 JE'-LI-AX 485 JE-MIL-I-A'-XUS Ni-c^'-us 239 jiEs'-cm-XES 454 JEs'-CHY-LUS 250 jE'-sop 89 A-GA'-THI-AS 241 AG'-A-THOX 323 -AL-c^:'-us 86 ALC'-MAN 84 A-LEX'-IS 394 A-MEIP'-SI-AS 347 AM'-PHIS 347 A-XA'-CRE-OX .- 105 AX-AX-AG'-O-RAS 419 AN-AX-AX'-DRI-DFS -. 382 A-XAX-I-LA' us 383 AN-AX-I-MAN'-DER 416 AN-AX-IM'-E-NES 417 AX-DOC'-I-DES , 442 AX-TAG'-O-RAS 209 AX-TIP'-A-TER OF SI'-DOX 227 AX-TIP'-A-TER OF THES-SA-LO -Xl'-CA.. . 238 AN-TIPH'-A-LUS 237 AX-TJPH'-A-XES 384 AX'-TI-PHOX 440 AN-TI-S'-THE-XES ' 428 AX'-Y-TE 184 A-POL-LO-DO'-RUS 411 AP-OL LO'-XI-US RHO'-BI-US 194 AP'-PI-AX 484 A-RA'-ROS .-^ 381 A-RA'-TUS 179 AR-CES-I-LA'-US 430 AR-CHE-LA'-US 421 AR'-CHI-AS 230 AR-CHIL' O-CHUS 79 AR-CHY'-TAS 147 AR'-I-PHRON 148 AR-IS-TAR'-CHUS 323 AR-IS-TIP'-PUS 427 AR-IS'-TO-PHON 387 AR-JS-TOPH'-A-XES 351 AR'-IS-TO-TLE 430 AR' RI-AX 484 AS-CLE-PI'-A-DES 182 AX-I-O-XI'-CUS 383 BAC-CHYI/-I-DES 143 BA'-THOX 383 Bi'-ox 213 CAD'-MUS 464 CAL-LIM'-A-CHUS 187 CAL-LIS'-TRA-TUS 150 CAR-CI'-XUS. . . 323 PAGE CAR NE'-A-DES 430 CAR-PHYI/-I-DES 240 CH.E-RE'-MOX 324 CHA'-ROX 465 CHI-OX'-I-DES 329 CHCE'-RI-LUS 251 CHRY-SIP'-PUS 429 CLE-AX ; -THES 206 CLE-AR'-CHUS 388 CRA'-TES 341 CRA TI'-XUS 335 CRI-XA'-GO-RAS 237 CRI'-TOX 388 CRO'-BY-LUS 388 CTE'-SI-AS 480 DAM-A-GE'-TES.- 212 DA-MOX'E xus 389 DE-MA'-DES 457 DK-ME'-TRI-US 389 DE-ME'-TRI-US PHA-LE' -RE-US 457 DE-MOCH'-A-RIS 242 DE-MOC'-RI-TUS 389 DE-MOS'-THE-XES. 448 DI-XAR'-CHUS 457 DI-XOL'-O-CHUS 333 DI-O-DO'-RUS 389 DI-O-DO'-RUS SIC'-U-LUS 482 DI-OG'-E-XES 428 Di OG'-E-XES OF A-POL-LO'-XIA 428 Di'-ox CAS'-SIUS 485 DI-O-NY'-SI-US HAL-I-CAR-XAS'-SUS 483 DI-O-NY'-SI-US OF SYRACUSE 389 Di O-XY'-SI us OF SI-XO'-PE 389 DI-O-XY'-SI-US 240 DI-O-SCOR ; -I-DES 210 DI-O-TI'-MUS 182 DIPH'-I-LUS 410 EC-PHAX'-TI-DES 330 EM-PED'-O-CLES 146 E-PHIP'-PUS 389 EP-I-CHAR'-MUS 330 E-PIC'-RA-TES 389 EP-I-CU'-RUS 432 E-RIX'-XA 97 ER'-I-PHUS 391 EU-BU'-LUS 381 EU'-CLID 428 EU-CLI'-DES , 428 EU-PHO'-RI ON 211 EU'-PHROX 391 EU'-PO-LIS 338 EU-RIP'-I-DES .- 299 EL-X-EN'-I-DES 331 E-VE'-XUS , ... 147 EV'-E-TES. . 149 Vlll AUTHORS' NAMES. PAGE GER-MI' NUS ...... . ............... 239 GREG'-O-RT NA-ZI-AN'-ZEN .......... 241 HEC A-T.E'-US ..................... 464 HEL LAN'-I-CUS ................... 466 HE-NI'-O-CHUS .................... 391 HER-A-CLI'-TUS .................... 418 HER-ME SI'-A-NAX ................. 156 HER-MIP'-PUS .................... 348 HE-ROD'-I TUS. . . ................. 467 HE-RO-DO'-RUS .................... 466 HE'-SI-OD ........................ 69 HIP-PAR'-CHUS .................... 348 HO'-MER ........................ 43 HY'-BRI-AS ...................... 155 HY-PER'-I-DES .................... 456 IB'-Y-CUS ................ ....... '. 100 I'-ON ........................... 322 l-sjs'-us.. . . , ..................... 446 I-SOC'-RA-TES ..................... 444 Ju'-LI-AN OF E'-GYPT .............. 241 LE-ON'-I-DAS OF TA-REN'-TUM ........ 203 LE-ON'-I-DAS OF AL-EX-AN'-DRI-A ..... 238 LEU-CIP'-PUS ..................... 426 LU'-OI-AN ......................... 239 LU-OIL'-I-US ....................... 241 LYO'-O-PHRON .................... 162 LY-CUR'-GUS ...................... 447 LYS'-I-AS ........................ 442 MA-CE-DO'-NI-US ................... 242 MAG'-NES ........................ 329 MAR-CI-A'-NUS ..................... 335 MAR'-CUS AR-GEN-TA'-RI-US ..... .... 239 MEL-E-A'-GER ..................... 231 ME-LIS'-SUS ....................... 247 ME-NAN'-DER ...................... 401 MIM-NER'-MUS .................... 99 MNA-SAL'-CAS ..................... 155 MNE-SIM'-A-CHUS ................... 391 MOS'-CHI-ON ...................... 393 MOS'-CHUS ........................ 219 Mu-s^;'-us ....................... 241 MYL'-LUS ......................... 329 NE'O-PHROX ...................... 322 NI-C^E'-NE-TUS .................... 210 NI-CAN'-PER ...................... 224 NIC' -i AS ........................ 183 NI-COS'-TRA-TUS ...... .............. 394 Nos'-sis ......................... 184 O-NES'-TES ........................ 239 O-NO-MAC' RI-TUS ................... 137 PAL'-A-DES PAR-MEN ' -i DES PAR-ME'M'OX PAUL THE SI-LEN'-TI-A-RY 240 382 239 242 PER'-I-CLES ...................... 436 PER'-SKS .......................... 158 PH,ED'-I-MUS ..................... 183 PELE'-DO. . ,. 428 PAGE PHE-REC'-RA-TES .................. 344 PHER-E-CY'-DES OF LE'-ROS ......... 463 PHI-LE'-MON. . . ................... 406 PHIL'-IP OF THES-SA-LO NI'-CA ....... 238 PHI-LIP'-PI-DES ................... 411 PHI-LIP'-PUS ....................... 238 PHI-LO-DE'-MUS .................... 236 PHI-LOS'-TRA-TUS .................. 240 PHI-LON'-I-DES .................... 346 PHCE-NIC'-I-DES ..................... 394 PHOR'-MIS ........................ 333 PHRYN'-I-CHUS ................ 248, 347 PIN'-DAR ........................ 122 PI-SIS'-TRA-TUS .................... 436 PLA'-TO THE POET ................ 342 PLA'-TO THE PHILOSOPHER .......... 429 PLU'-TARCH ...................... 483 PO-LYB'-I-US ...................... 481 PO-LYS'-TRA-TUS ................... 227 PO-SI-DIP'-PUS .................... 412 PRAT'-I NAS ...................... 251 PYR'-RHO ........................ 433 PY-THAG'-O-RAS ................... 423 RHI-A'-NUS ................... _____ 208 RU-FI'-NUS ........................ 240 SAP'-PHO ......................... 91 SIM'-MI-AS ........................ 149 SI-MON'-I-DES ..................... 115 SOC'-RA-TES ....................... 426 SO'-LON ......................... 89 SOPH'-O-CLES ..................... 269 SOT'-A-DES ........................ 397 STE-SICH'-O-RUS ................... 84 STRA'-TO ....................... 240 STRA'-TON ....................... 392 SU-SA'-RI-ON ...................... 327 TER-PAN'-DER .................... 83 THA'-LES ........................ 415 THE-MIS'-TO-CLES .................. 436 THE-OC'-RI-TUS .................... 164 THE-O-DEC'-TES ................... 225 THE-OG'-NIS ....................... 101 THE-OPH'-I-LUS ................... 398 THE-O-POM'-PUS .................... 348 THES'-PIS ...... ....... : .......... 248 THU-CYD'-I-DES .................... 473 TI-MO'-CLES ...................... 398 TUL'-LI-US GEM'-I-NUS .............. 239 TYM'-NES ......................... 226 77 XAN' THUS ........................ 466 XE-NAR'-CHUS .................... 438 XE-NO THE ELDER ................ 438 XE-NO THE YOUNGER ............. 43*8 XEN'-O CLES. .. .................... 400 XEX-OC'-RI-TES ................... 239 XE-NOPH'-A-NES ................... 438 XEN'-O-PHON ...................... 478 ZK'NO. . ......................... 428 ZO'-NAS OF SARDIS... . 237 CONTENTS. LECTURE THE FIKST. PAG1 INTRODUCTION 21 LECTUBE THE SECOND. TRANSLATORS. HOMER 43 Hymn to Apollo ^ Elton 44 Contest between Ulysses and Thersites Pope. 61 Parting Interview of Hector and Andromache Elton 63 Embassy of Ulysses, Ajax, and Phosnix to Achilles. .Pope jfe.. 66 Battle of the Gods Elton 60 Achilles Going Forth to Battle ibid. 61 Suit of Priam to Achilles Pope 63 Grot of Calypso ibid. 65 LECTUKE THE THIED. HESIOD 69 Creation of Pandora Elton 72 Dispensations of Providence, to the Just and the Unjust, ibid. 74 Battle of the Giants ibid. , 75 TYRT^EUS 77 War Elegy Elton 78 ARCHILOCHUS 79 Exhortation to Fortitude under Affliction Elton 82 On an Eclipse of the Sun ibid. 82 Equanimity ibid. 82 Two Military Portraits Merivale 83 The Storm ibid. 83 The Mind of Man ibid. 83 Life and Death ibid. 83 TERPANDER ; 83 ALCMAN 84 To Megalostrata Merivale 84 A Fragment Thos. Campbell 84 STESICHORUS 84 The Sacrifice of Tyndarus H. N. Coleridge 85 X CONTENTS. TRANSLATORS. PAG*. Voyage of the Sun Merivale 85 The Procession ibid 86 A Fragment. Langhorne 86 ALGOUS 86 A Convivial Song '. Merivale 8*7 A Convivial Song. ibid. 87 The Storm ibid. 88 The Poor Fisherman W. Hay 88 Poverty Merivale 88 The Spoils of War ibid. 88 The Constitution of a State Sir Wm. Jones 89 .^Esop 89 Death the Sovereign Remedy Robt. Bland. 89 SOLON 89 Justice Merivale 9-0 The Constitution of Athens ibid. 90 A Fragment Langhorne 90 Remembrance after Death.. ..Merivale... ... 90 LECTUEb THE FOUBTH. SAPPHO 91 Ode to Venus Elton 93 To a Girl Beloved ibid. 94 An Illiterate Woman Robt. Bland. 95 Fragments Ch. North Th. Moore Merivale. . 95 Inscriptions , Elton 96 ERINNA 97 Epitaph on Myrtis of Mitylene Elton 97 Another on the same ibid. 98 Ode to Rome ibid. 98 MlMNERMUS 99 Youth and Age H. N. Coleridge 99 Shortness of Life Elton 99 IBYCUS 100 The Influence of Spring H. N. Coleridge 100 THEOGNIS 101 On Friendship Elton 101 Arguments for Social Enjoyment ibid. 102 Return to my Native Land J. H. Frere 103 Youth and Age Robt. Bland. 104 Poverty J. H. Frere 104 Friends and Foes ibid. 104 ANACREON 1U5 The Dove Dr. Johnson 105 To a Painter Elton '. 108 Cupid Benighted Thos. Moore. 109 A Dream Elton 110 Return of Spring ibid. Ill Beauty Thos. Moore. Ill CONTENTS. xi TRANSLATORS. PAGE The Rose Thos. Moore Ill Folly of Avarice ibid. 112 Cupid and the Bee ibid. 112 Drinking ibid. 113 Happy Life Cowley 113 Convivial... Fawkes 114 LECTUKE THE EIBTH. SEMONIDES 115 Lamentation of Danae Elton 118 The Miseries of Life ". Bland 118 Virtue Elton 119 Inscription on Anacreon Hay 119 " On Those who Fell at Thermopylae Bland 120 " On the same ibid. 120 " On Cimon's Land and Sea Victories Merivale 120 " On Those who Fell at Eurymedon ibid. .. . .^ 121 " On the Death of Hipparchus ibid. 121 " On the Daughter of Hippias ibid. 121 " On a Statue of Cupid by Praxiteles Hodgson 121 " On a Cenotaph ibid. 121 Fragments Merivale 122 PINDAR 122 The First Pythian Ode Cary 127 Extract from the Second Olympian Ode A. Moore 132 " From the Fourteenth Olympian Ode Cary 133 " From the Third Nemean Ode ibid. 134 " From the Eighth Nemean Ode ibid. 135 To the Sun under an Eclipse. A Fragment Blackwood 136 LECTUKE THE SIXTH. ONOMACKITUS 137 Visit of the Argonauts to the Cave of Chiron Elton 139 The Orphic Remains ibid. 141 To the Moon ibid. 142 From the Lithics ibid. 142 BACCHYLIDES 143 An Anacreontic Merivale 143 Peace Bland. 144 On the Death of a Child Merivale 144 The Husbandman's Offering ibid. 144 Fragments ibid. 144 EMPEDOCLES 145 Epitaph on a Physician Merivale 147 EUENUS < 147 The Vine and the Goat.. ..Merivale... . 147 xii CONTENTS. TRANSLATORS. PAGB The Swallow and the Grasshopper ................. Merivale ........... 147 Contradiction .................... . ................ ibid. .......... 148 ARIPHRON- ................... ......................... : ............... 148 To Health .............. . ........................ Bland. ............ 149 SlMMIAS .......................................... . ................... 149 On Sophocles .................................... Addison ........... 149 CALLISTRATUS ................................... . .................... 150 Ode to Harmodius ............................... Denman ........... 150 PLATO .......................... .... ................................. 151 The Answer of the Musis to Venus ............... Merivale .......... 151 On a Rural Image of Pan ........................ ibid. .......... 152 On a sleeping Cupid .............................. Bland ............ 152 A Satyr and a Cupid bj a Fountain .............. ibid. ............ 152 On Dion of Syracuse ............................. Merivale .......... 153 A Lover's Wish ................................. T. Moore. ......... 153 The Kiss. ...................................... Merivale. ......... 153 On his Beloved ................................... T. Moore. ......... 153 On Aristophanes .................................. Merivale. ......... 153 On the Tomb of Themistocles ..................... Cumberland. ....... 153 ARISTOTLE..- .......................................................... 154 Hymn to Virtue ................................. Merivale. ......... 154 On the Tomb of Ajax ...................... ...... ibid. .......... 154 MNASALCAS ........................................................... 155 Parody on the Inscription of Aristotle ............. Merivale .......... 155 Inscriptions ..................................... Hodgson ........... 155 HYBRIAS ....... . ..................................................... 155 The Warrior's Riches ............................ Campbell ......... 156 HERMESIANAX .............. . .......................................... 156 The Loves of the Greek Poets ..................... Cumberland. ....... 156 PERSES ...................... . ....................................... 157 On the Monument of a Daughter ................... Merivale .......... 158 LECTUEE THE SEVENTH. LYCOPHRON .......................................... . ................ 161 Prophecy of the Death of Hector .......... . ....... Elton ............ 163 THEOCRITUS ........................................................... 1 64 Character of Ptolemy Philadelphus ................ FawJces. ........... 166 Praises of Ptolemy Philadelphus ................... ibid. ............ 166 The Syracusian Gossips .......................... Elton ............ 169 The Infant Hercules ............................. ibid. ............ 174 Liberality to Poets Enjoined ....................... Polwhele. ......... 175 Epithalamium of Helen ................... ' ........ Elton ............ 176 Epitaphs ........................................ Blackwood ........ 178 ARATUS. . . ............................................................ 179 Proem to the Phsenomena ........................ Elton ............ 179 Prognostics of Weather ........................... ibid. ............ 181 DIOTIMUS .................................... . ....................... 182 On a Flute-Player . ............. _____ . ............ Merivale. ......... 182 CONTENTS. xiii TRANSLATORS, PAGE ASCLEPIADES 182 On a Picture of Berenice Merivale. 182 On Hesiod Haygarth 182 PiLEDIMUS 183 Heroic Love Merivale *183 NICIAS 183 On the Tomb of an Infant Merivale 183 The Bee Blackwood 183 Nossis 184 On an Image of her Daughter Merivale 184 Love ibid. 184 On the Picture of Thymarite ibid. 184 ANYTE 184 On the Entrance to a Cavern Blackwood 185 On a Grove of Laurel Hodgson 185 On a Dolphin Cast Ashore ibid. 185 On a Statue of Venus Merivale 185 On the Young Virgin Phillida ibid. 186 On the Maid Antibia Hay 186 LECTURE THE EIGHTH. CALLIMACHUS 187 Hymn, on the Bath of Minerva Elton 189 On Heraclitus Coleridge 193 The Death of Cleombrotus Merivale 193 On a Brother and Sister ibid. 193 The Chase ibid. 194 APOLLONIUS RHODIUS 194 Sailing of the Argo Elton 196 Passion of Medea ibid. 197 Deliberation of Medea ibid. 198 Medea and Jason in the Temple of Hecate ibid. 200 LEONIDAS 203 Home Bland. 204 The Return of Spring to Sailors ibid. 204 A Mother on her Son i bid. 204 Inscription on a Boat. Merivale. 204 On a Statue of Anacreon ibid. 205 On Homer Hodgson 205 On Himself Merivale 205 CLEANTHES 206 Hymn to Jupiter Elton 207 RHIANUS 208 On Human Folly, Elton 209 Amatory Epigram ibid. 209 ANTAGORAS 209 Cupid's Genealogy Merivale 209 On Two Cynic Philosophers ibid 210 xiv CONTENTS. TRANSLATORS. PAGE NKLENETUS 210 The Precept of Cratinus .T. Moore 210 The Fete Champetre ' Merivale 210 DlOSCORIDES , 210 'The Persian Slave to his Master ...... .Merivale 211 Spartan Virtue . . . ibid. 211 ETTPHORION 211 On a Corpse Washed Ashore ; Merivale. 211 On Tears ibid. 212 DAMAGETES 212 On a Wife Dying in her Husband's Absence Merivale 212 On Two Theban Brothers, Slain in Thrace ibid. 212 LECTUEE THE NINTH. V BION 213 Elegy on Adonis Elton 214 Hymn to the Evening Star Merivale 217 The Teacher Taught Fawkes 217 The Seasons Elton 217 Shortness of Life ibid. 218 Friendship Fawkes 218 v MOSCHUS 219 Lament for Bion Elton 220 Alpheus and Arethusa Bland 223 The Contrast ibid. 224 A Mother Lamenting her Children Faiokes. 224 NlCANDER 224 Of the Serpent Cerastes Elton 225 From the Counter-Poisons ibid. 226 TTMNES 226 On One who Died in a Foreign Country Merivale 227 Spartan Virtue ibid. 227 ' POLYSTRATUS 227 On the Destruction of Corinth Merivale 227 ANTIPATER OF SIDON 227 On Orpheus Bland 228 On Homer's Birth Merivale 228 On Sappho Hodgson 228 On Erinna. Merivale. 229 On Anacreon Bland. 229 On Pindar Merivale 229 The Widow's Offering ibid. 229 The Honest Shepherd Prior 229 AECHIAS 230 Life and Death Bland. 230 On a Shipwrecked Mariner Wrangham 230 On an Old Race Horse Hay 230 MELEAGER 231 The Return of Spring Bland. 232 CONTENTS. xv TRANSLATORS. PAGE Song T. Moore 232 The Din of Love ibid. ^ . 233 To his Mistress Sleeping Merivale 233 The Vow ibid. 233 The Comparison ; Shepherd 234 The Gifts of the Graces Keen 234 Music and Beauty Merivale 234 The Sailor's Return t ibid. 234 Niobe...' ibid. 235 The Morning Star ibid. 236 Epitaph on a Young Bride ibid. 235 Epitaph on Heliodora ; . . ; ibid. 235 Epitaph on ^Esigenes ibid. 236 Epitaph on Meleager of Gadara ibid. 236 PHILODEMUS 236 Invitation to the Anniversary of Epicurus Merivale. 237 ZONAS 237 On a Shipwrecked Mariner Bland. 237 ANTIPHILUS 237 On an Ancient Oak Merivale. 237 ANTIPATER OF THESSALONICA 238 Greek Poetesses C. North 238 XENOCRITES 239 On a Daughter Drowned at Sea. Bland. 239 CAEPHYLIDES 240 On a Happy Old Man Bland. 240 PALLADUS 241 All the World 's a Stage Merivale 241 DEMOCHARIS 242 On the Picture of Sappho Hodgson 242 LECTUKE THE TENTH. EPIO AND DRAMATIC POETRY COMPARED. 243 ORIGIN OF THE DRAMA 245 THESPIS 246 PHRYNICHUS 246 CHCERILUS 251 PRATINAS 251 Lines on the Falling of the Platform Cumberland. 251 ^SCHYLUS 251 Invocation of Prometheus to the Air Bulwer 255 Prometheus' Reply to Ocean ibid. 255 Prometheus Hurled into the Watery Abyss Potter 257 Clytemnestra's Reply ibid. 257 Lament for the Loss of Helen ibid. 259 Sceiie from the Persians.. . ibid. .. ,.260 xvi CONTENTS. LECTURE THE ELEVENTH. TRANSLATORS. PAGB SOPHOCLES 269 Scene from the Antigone Bulwer 278 The Pythian Races ibid 290 Chorus from The Trachinise Potter 291 Ajax's Dying Speech , ibid. 293 Chorus of Sailors from Philoctetes Cumberland. 295 COMPARISON BETWEEN ^SCHYLUS AND SOPHOCLES 296 LECTUBE THE TWELFTH. EURIPIDES 299 Lines from the Cyclops Cumberland. ...... 305 Part of a Chorus in the Hecuba ibid. 306 Part of a Chorus in the Alcestes Chapman 306 The Death of Alcestes ". Potter. f . . 307 Scene from the Medea ibid. 309 Phaedra's Passion , Cumberland 314 Sc'ene from the Hecuba Potter 315 Scene from the Orestes ibid. 318 Fragments Rogers 321 NEOPHRON 322 ION 322 ARISTARCHUS 328 ACH^EUS 323 CARCINUS 323 XENOCLES 323 AGATHON 323 CH/EREMON 324 THEODECTES. . . 325 LECTUKE THE THIRTEENTH. , SUSARION 327 MYLLUS 329 ENETES 329 EUXONIDES 329 CHIONIDES 329 MAGNES , 329 ECPHANTIDES 330 EPIOHARMUS 330 Marriage Cumberland. 332 Genealogies ibid. 332 Moral Maxims ibid. 332 PHORMIS >...'. 333 DINOLOCHUS . . .333 CONTENTS. xvii TRANSLATORS. PAGE CRATINUS. , 335 Descriptioa by Aristophanes . ^. Brown 837 EUPOLIS . 338 Altered Condition of Athens Cumberland. 339 The Parasite ibid. 339 CRATES 340 On Old Age Cumberland. 341 PLATO 342 Address to a Statue of Mercury Cumberland. 343 The Tomb of Themistocles ibid. 343 Dialogue between a Father and a Sophist ibid. 343 PHERECRATES 344 On Old Age Cumberland. 344 Satire upon "Woman ibid. 345 Scene from the Miners ibid. 345 PHILONIDES 346 Fragment Cumberland. 346 LECTUKE THE FOURTEENTH. ARISTOPHANES S51 Scene from the Acharnians Cumberland. 359 Scene from the Knights Mitchell 362 Parabasis from the same ibid. 364 Choral Hymn ibid. 365 Scene from the Clouds Cumberland. 368 Chorus from the Peace Mitchell 373 Parabasis from the Birds.. ..Frere.. . 375 LECTURE THE FIFTEENTH. THE MIDDLE COMEDY 379 PHILIPPUS 381 Loquacity Cumberland. 381 EUBULUS 381 Bacchus' Directions not to Abuse his Blessings Cumberland. 381 ANAXANDRIDES 382 Old Age Cumberland. 383 ANTIPHANES 384 Satire upon Woman. Cumberland. 384 Dialogue between a Traveller and the King of Cyprus ibid. 385 Raillery from a Servant of his Master ibid. 385 Conscience the Best Law ibid. 386 No Life without Love ibid. 386 Not Lost, but Gone Before ibid. 386 Death ibid. 386 The Parasite ibid. 386 Lines on a Fountain ibid. 386 2 xviii CONTENTS. TRANSLATORS. PAGE ARISTOPHON 387 Marriage Cumberland.. ...... 387 Love. * ibid. 388 The Disciples of Pythagoras ibid. 388 CLEARCHUS 388 Drunkenness Cumberland. 389 EPICRATES 389 Disquisitions of the Academy. Cumberland. 390 MNESIMACHUS 391 A Company of Banditti Cumberland. 392 STRATON 392 Conceited Humor of a Cook. Cumberland. 392 MOSOHIOX , 393 The Exile Cumberland. . T 393 The Dead ibid. 393 ALEXIS 394 Gluttons and Drunkards Cumberland. 394 The Epicureans ibid. 395 Parents and Children ibid. 396 Wickedness of Woman ibid. '. . . 396 Love ibid. 397 SOTADES 397 Unhappy Fate of Genius Cumberland. 398 THEOPHILUS 398 Love Cumberland. 398 TIMOCLES 399 Eloquence of Demosthenes Cumberland. 399 Moral Use of the Tragic Drama ibid. 399 THE NEW COMEDY 400 MENANDER 401 Moral Maxims Cumberland. 403 Misanthropy and Discontent ibid. 403 Of all Creatures Man is Most Unhappy ibid. 404 Lustration ibid. 404 Woman and Marriage ibid. 404 Life ibid. 405 Envy ibid. 405 Advice to the Covetous ibid, 405 The Rich not Happier than Others ibid. ..' 406 Consolation in Misfortune ibid. 406 PHILEMON 406 Moral Maxims Cumberland. 408 Effect of Riches ibid. 408 Truth ibid. 408 The Just Man ibid. 408 The Sovereign Good ibid. 409 Hopeless Anguish ibid. , 409 A Word to the Idle and Thoughtless ibid. 409 DIPHILUS 410 Law against Spendthrifts Cumberland 410 APOLLODORUS 411 Fragments , Cumberland. 411 A Friendly Welcome ibid. 41 1 CONTENTS. xix LECTUKE THE SIXTEENTH. PA.OB PHILOSOPHY 413 THALES 415 ANAXIMANDER. 416 ANAXIMENES 417 HERACLITUS 418 ANAXAGORAS 419 ARCHELAUS ^ 421 PYTHAGORAS 423 SOCRATES 426 ARISTIPPUS .' 427 EUCLID 428 PHJEDO 428 ANTISTHENES 428 ZENO 428 CHRYSIPPUS 429 PLATO '. 429 ARCESILAUS 430 CARNEADES 430 ARISTOTLE 430 XENOPHANES 432 EPICURUS 432 PYRRHO... ,. 433 LECTUKE THE SEVENTEENTH. ORATORY. 434 PlSISTRATUS 436 THEMISTOCLES 436 PERICLES 437 ANTIPHON 440 ANDOCIDES , 442 LYSIAS 442 ISOCRATES 444 IS^EUS 446 LYCURGUS *. 447 DEMOSTHENES ; 448 ^ESCHINES 454 HYPERIDES 456 DEMADES ., 457 DlNARCHUS 457 DEMETRIUS PHALEREUS... . 457 LECTUKE THE EIGHTEENTH. HISTORY 459 PHERECYDES 463 CADMUS... , 464 xx CONTENTS. PAGE HECAT^EUS 464 ACUSILAUS 465 CHARON 465 XANTHUS 466 HELLANICUS 466 HERODOTUS 467 THUCYDIDES , 473 XENOPHON 478 CTESIAS 480 POLYBIUS 481 DlODORUS SlCULTTS 482 DIONYSIUS OF HALICARNASSUS 483 PLUTARCH 483 ARRIAN 484 APPIAN 484 DION CASSIUS 485 ,. 485 Kttlun t)rt fnst. INTRODUCTION. OF all the countries of Ancient Europe, none was so advantageously situated as Greece. On the eastern side the .ZEgean sea, studded with islands, brought it into immediate contact with Asia Minor and the fron- tier of Phoenicia ; and the voyage to Egypt, across the Mediterranean, though it afforded not so many resting places for the mariner, was neither long nor difficult. Towards the west, the passage to Italy was both short and easy, being interrupted only by the Adriatic. This interesting country, according to information received from both sacred history and tradition, was peopled at an earlier period than any other portion of the western world. The first inhabitants were tribes of hunters and shepherds, whose earliest approaches to civil- ization were associations for mutual defence against the robber-tribes, and the Phoenician pirates, whose vessels swept the coast of the JEgean, to seize unsuspecting men and women, and reduce them to slavery. Of these tribes the Pelasgi were the most conspicuous, and the first that acquired any ascendancy in Greece. They were, doubtless, of Asiatic origin, and their earliest permanent settlements were Sipyon and Argos, both within the Peloponnesus. The former was founded about 2000 A. C., and the latter two centuries afterwards. Of the ad- venturers who formed the first of these settlements, Inachus, a contem- porary of the Jewish patriarch Abraham, was the leader ; but of his his- tory nothing certain is known. From the Peloponnesus, the Pelasgi extended themselves northward to Attica, Bceotia, and Thessaly, under different leaders, and here learned to apply themselves to agriculture, and continued to flourish undisturbed until 1500 A.C. The Pelasgi were followed by the Hellenes, a milder and more humane race, who first appeared on Mount Parnassus, in Phocis, under Deucalion, about 1433 A.C. Being, however, soon after driven thence by a flood, they migrated into Thessaly, and expelled the Pelasgi from that territory. From this period the Hellenes, who derived their name from Hellen, one of the sons of Deucalion, rapidly increased, and finally extended their 22 INTRODUCTION. [LECT. I. dominion over the greater part of Greece, dispossessing the more ancient race, who retained only the mountainous parts of Arcadia, and the land of Dodona. Numbers of the Pelasgi, thus driven from their own coun- try, emigrated into Italy, and there laid the foundation of those Etruscan States which afterwards held so prominent a place in the history of that peninsula. The Hellenic race soon became divided into four great branches the ^Eolians, the Dorians, the lonians, and the Achseans, each of which, in the historic age of Greece, was characterized by many strong and marked peculiarities of dialect, customs, political government, and we may, perhaps, add religion ; or, at least heroic traditions, though these appear to be connected more with the localities in which they settled, than with the stock from which they sprung. Of these different races, the first and second received their names from j^Eolis and Dorus, two of the sons of Hellen, and the third and fourth from his grandsons, Ion and Achseus. The attractive features of the Grecian territory becoming, about this time known throughout the more advanced nations of the east, many adventurers thence flocked thither, and, from the middle of the sixteenth to the middle of the fourteenth century before the Christian era, established colonial settlements in the country. These colonists were chiefly from Egypt, Phoenicia, and Phrygia ; and as they brought with them the im- provements in arts and sciences that had been made in their respective countries, they greatly advanced the progress of civilization in Greece. The first of these was an Egyptian colony from Sais, in the Delta, and was led by Cecrops into Attica, 1550 A.C. This prince is said to have brought with him, and introduced into the country, the institution of marriage and the first elements of civilization. A second colony, from Lower Egypt, was led by Danseus, who fled from a brother's enmity, and settled in Argos, 1500 A.C. The fable of his fifty daughters is well known ; but its historical foundation is altogether uncertain. About the same time that Danaeus settled in Argos, Cadmus, a Pho3- nician, led a colony into Boeotia, and founded Thebes. To this adven- turer the Greeks are indebted for the first introduction of alphabetical characters into their country. Phrygia also, the north-western kingdom of Asia Minor, contributed, at this time, her share towards the improve- ment of the Greeks. Pelops, a prince of that country, led a colony into Peloponnesus, 1400 A.C. ; and though he did not acquire so large af king- dom as the other adventurers just mentioned, yet his descendants, by in- termarriages with the royal families of Argos and Lacedsemon, acquired such permanent influence, that they became supreme over the peninsula, and gave it the name of their great ancestor. But, notwithstanding the presence of these more enlightened settlers, several circumstances still contributed to impede the progress of Grecian civilization. The coasts of the country were temptingly exposed to the Pho3nicians, the Carians, and the islanders of the ^Egean, who at first 1225 A.C.] INTRODUCTION. 23 made the art of navigation subservient to piracy rather than commerce ; and the Thracians, the Amazons, and other barbarous tribes from the north, made frequent incursions into the exposed Hellenic provinces. To resist these incursions, the celebrated Amphyctionic league was founded by Amphyction, a descendant of Deucalion ; and the confederation thus formed was soon found to be so beneficial, that it gradually received fresh accessions, until it soon embraced the greater part of the States of Greece. The deputies to the council representing this league met semi- annually, and alternately at Delphi and Thermopylae. Greece was also, at this period, infested with bands of robbers, who deemed plunder an honorable profession, and some of whom exercised the most atrocious cruelties on their hapless victims. These freebooters eventually became so bold and desperate, as to render their destruction the only security for the prosperity of Greece ; and the adventurers who acquired most fame in the contest that followed were Perseus, Hercules, Bellerophon, Theseus, and Castor and Pollux, whose romantic histories form a very large portion of that part of Grecian mythology which was of native origin. In this early and uncertain period of Grecian history, the most cele- brated events are the Argonautic Expedition, the Theban Wars, the Siege of Troy, the Return of t/ie Heraclidce, and the Migration of tJie lonians and JEolian Colonies to Asia Minor. "What was the real nature, and what were the objects of the Argo- nautic expedition, it is very difficult to discover. It appears certain, how- ever, that in the thirteenth century before the Christian era, a Thessalian prince, named Jason, collected the young chivalry of Greece, and sailed on an expedition, partly commercial and partly piratical, in a ship called the Argo, to the eastern shores of the Euxine sea. After a series of wild and romantic adventures, and many severe contests with the natives, the Argonauts succeeded in planting a colony in Colchis ; and on their return, Jason, their leader and chief, brought Medea, a princess of that country, home with him to Thessaly. But though impenetrable darkness veils the nature of this expedition, there can be no doubt as to the con- sequences that resulted from it. From the era of the Argonauts, we discover among the Greeks not only a more daring and more enlarged spirit of enterprize, but a more decisive and rapid progress towards civil- ization and humanity. Cadmus had no sooner given permanence to his new settlement in Bceotia, than he established at Thebes the worship of Bacchus; and the mythology of the country is full of the miseries and crimes that debased and eventually ruined the family of the founder of the State. QEclipus, the most remarkable of the descendants of Cadmus, having been removed 24 INTRODUCTION. [Lscr. I. from his throne for an involuntary series of criminal acts, his sons, Etiocles and Polynices, seized the kingdom, and agreed to reign alter- nately. Etiocles afterwards refused to conform to the terms of the agreement; and Polynices being joined by six of the most eminent gen- erals of Greece, commenced the memorable war of The Seven against TJiebes. This event occurred 1225 A.C., and the result was entirely favorable to the allies. Etiocles and Polynices fell by mutual wounds, and Creon, who succeeded to the Theban throne, routed the confederate forces, five of whose leaders were left dead on the field. After the lapse of about ten years, the sons of the allied princes, called the Epigoni, marched against Thebes, to revenge the death of their fathers; and a sanguinary conflict ensuing, the Thebans were routed with great slaughter, their leaders slain, and their city captured. These wars ren- dered the Thebans, for a long time, odious to the rest of the Greeks ; and we shall see that they repaid this hatred by infidelity to the Hellenic cause during the Persian war. In a plundering expedition of the Pelopidse to the Phrygian cost, a .young prince named Podarces, was carried away captive, and detained until a large ransom was paid for his liberation. From this circumstance he was afterwards called Priam, or " the ransomed." At a subsequent period, Priam having become king of Troy, sent his son Paris, or Alexander, as an ambassador to the Peloponnesian princes, probably to negotiate a peace. By his winning address and other accomplishments, the young prince beguiled Helen, the beautiful wife of Menelaus, king of Sparta, of her affections, and conveyed her with some valuable treasures to Troy. The injured husband applied to his countrymen to aid him in seeking such redress as the outrage demanded, and a large army was accordingly raised by the confederate kings of the country, and placed tinder the command of Agamemnon, the brother of Menelaus. -Troy was at this time the capital of an extensive and powerful king- dom, and possessed, besides its own subjects, many allies. It could muster, according to Homer, an army of fifty thousand men, while its walls were sufficiently strong to defy the imperfect machine then used in sieges, and its citadel was impregnable. Against this powerful kingdom the Greek princes undertook their expedition, with an army of one hun- dred thousand men, conveyed to the enemies coast in eleven hundred and eighty-six ships. These ships were very rudely constructed and fitted out, having only half decks, and using stones for an anchor : they were rowed by the common soldiers, and when they reached their destina- tion, were hauled upon land, and many of them constructed into a camp. The war was protracted for ten years, during which many battles were fought under the walls of Troy ; and the military weapons used were, in every respect, similar to those employed by the ancient Egyptians. The city was finally taken by stratagem, 1183 A.C. r and razed to the ground, 1116A.C.] INTRODUCTION. 25 many of the inhabitants being slain or taken prisoners, whilst those that escaped were forced to become exiles in distant lands. The victors, however, suffered nearly as much as the vanquished ; for during the pro- tracted absence o/ the chiefs, usurpers, aided by faithless wives, and the rising ambition of youthful aspirants to distinction, seized upon many of their thrones, and obtained possession of their kingdoms. These circum- stances necessarily led to fierce wars and intestine commotions, which again greatly retarded the progress of Grecian civilization. The posterity of Pelops, as we have already observed, obtained by art and address the possession of the entire Pelopennosus, to the exclusion of the more ancient dynasties. Their most formidable rivals were the Perseidae, who claimed through their ancestor, Perseus, the honor of a divine descent, and who could boast of having in their family such heroes #s Perseus, Bellerophon, and Hercules. From the last of these heroes, a powerful branch of the Perseid family received the name of the Hera- clidse. They were dreaded by the Pelopid sovereigns, and hence were persecuted by them, and finally driven into exile. These exiles first repaired to Athens, where they were hospitably received, and for some time kindly entertained ; but desirous of obtaining an independent abode, they retired to the mountainous district of Doris, and soon became masters of that wild and barren province. Amid the Dorian mountains, which were ill calculated to satisfy men whose ancestors had inherited the fertile plains of the Peloponnesus, the Heraclidae remained, awaiting an opportunity to regain possession of their ancient inheritance. The confusion with which the Trojan war filled all Greece, and to which we have just alluded, at length presented such opportunity ; and appointing Naupactus, on the Corinthian gulf, as their rendezvous, they there met, and were soon joined by a body of jEtolians, and several of the Dorian tribes. Every circumstance now favored the enterprise. A prosperous gale wafted their armament to the eastern coast of the Peloponnesus by secret intrigue a party was gained in Lacedaemon Laconia was betrayed into the hands of the invaders Argolis, Messenia, Elis, and Corinth, submitted to their authority leav- ing, in the whole peninsula, only the mountainous district of Arcadia, and the coast province of Achaia, unsubdued. The revolution was com- plete ; and though effected with little bloodshed, it was not without great oppression of the ancient inhabitants, many of whom migrated to other parts of Greece, while those who remained were reduced to the most ab- ject slavery. The return of the Heraclidae occurred about 11 16 A.C. The last of the great event, that distinguished the uncertain period of Grecian history to which our attention has hitherto been directed, was the establishment ef the JEolian and Ionian colonies in Asia Minor. The motives which induced their migration thither, and the spirit of enterprise 26 INTRODUCTION". [LECT. I and independence which they carried with them into their new settlements, soon raised them to the most commanding position. Their commerce, within less than a century, exceeded that of the parent state, and in learning and the arts they equally excelled. The earliest of the Grecian poets, Homer and Hesiod, and Thales and Pythagoras, their first philos- ophers, were all natives of the country. The .ZEolian emigration occurred 1124 A.C. Passing out of the Peloponnesus, they first established themselves in Thrace, whence, after the first generation had passed away, they removed to Asia, and occupied the coast of Mysia and Caria, to which they gave the name of jEolia. They acquired possession, also, of the islands of Lesbos, Tenedos, and a large cluster of smaller islands in the vicinity. They erected on the main land twelve cities, of which Cyme and Smyrna were the chief. The latter city flourished in great splendor for over five centuries; but in 600 A.G. it was destroyed by the Lydians, and was not rebuilt until four hundred, years afterwards, when it became an important and prosperous Macedo- nian colony. The .ZEolian cities maintained their independence until Lydia was conquered by Cyrus the Great, when those on the main land were reduced under the power of the Persian, monarchy. The Ionian migration took place 1044 A.C. about eighty years after the JEolian. It was the largest and most important migration that ever left Greece ; and, very fortunately, many of the details of its history have been preserved. It originated in the abolition of royalty at Athens; the younger sons of Codrus, not being willing to live as private citizens, resolved to lead a colony into Asia, and there form a new settlement. They were readily joined by the Ionian exiles from the northern Peloponne- sus, who were straitened for corn in Attica, and by large bands of emigrants from the neighboring States, who were not satisfied with the political state of things at home. With a liberal supply of ships and munitions of war, they set sail, and pursuing their voyage to Asia Minor, they landed on the coast south of jEolis. After a sanguinary struggle of many months, the barbarian natives were compelled to resign their lands to the intruders ; and the lonians thus acquired possession of the whole of the valuable district between Miletus and Mount Sipylus. Having thus obtained possession of the country, the lonians at once began to build cities, and soon built Ephesus, Erythrae, Clazomense, Colophon, Myus, Miletus, Priene, PhocaSa, Lebedos, Samos, Teos, and Chios, all of which were united by an Amphictyonic confederacy. Of these colonies Miletus was the chief, though Ephesus was the most cele- brated of the cities. The deputies from these colonies met in Amphicty- onic council at stated times, in. a temple of Neptune, erected on the headland of Mycale, and deliberated on all matters that affected the Ionian league ; but the council never interfered with the domestic govern ment of the several cities. They also celebrated festivals and public games, which rivalled, in magnificence, those of the parent country. In 1000A.C. INTRODUCTION. 2? the midst of their prosperity, the Ionian cities became involved in a long and arduous struggle with the kingdom of Lydia, which continued, almost without intermission, until both eventually became absorbed in the rising greatness of the Persian empire. From the early condition of Greece to which our attention has hitherto been directed, and which may properly be called the first period of the history of that country, we now proceed to notice those events and inci- dents in her history, upon which more reliance can be placed. The origin of the kingdom of Sparta, and the institutions of Lycurgus, will first demand our attention ; after which we shall briefly review the early his- tory of Athens. This second period in the history of Greece embraces nearly five hundred years, and extends from about 1000 A.C. down to the final expulsion of Hippius, 510 A.C. After the Heraclidse, on their return into the Peloponnesus, had gained possession of the country, the associated princes divided the con- quered provinces among themselves by lot. To the share of Aristodemus Laconia fell ; and he, at his death, left the kingdom to his twin sons, Eurysthenes and Procles, who reigned conjointly ; and from that time forward 1004 A.C. Sparta was governed by two kings. During the two centuries that followed the accession of Eurysthenes and Procles to the throne of Sparta, the Spartans were engaged in tedious wars with the Argives, and their State was also agitated by domestic contests, resulting from the unequal division of property, the ambition of rival nobles, and the diminished power of the kings. In this emergency Lycurgus, in 880 A.C., obtained the superior power as guardian of his nephew Chare- laus, and at once directed his attention to the establishment of a system of law, which would prevent the recurrence of such disorders. The principal object of the institutions of Lycurgus, was to insure the continuance of the Spartans as a dominant military caste, by perpetuating a race of athletic and warlike men ; and hence his laws referred rather to domestic life and physical education than to the constitution of the State, or the form of its government. To effect this important purpose, however, great skill and address were requisite ; as the Spartan nobility r especially the youthful portion of them, were violently opposed to any change by which their power and influence would be curtailed. To gratify them, therefore, he retained the caste between the Spartans and Laconians, and the double line of kings as leaders in war and first magis- trates in peace. But to restrain the power of the latter he instituted a senate of thirty members, to which the kings belonged, and over whose deliberations one of them presided ; though with no more authority than the other members. To increase the authority, and add to the respectabil- ity of the senatorial body, no citizen was eligible to a seat in that body who did not sustain an unblemished character, and had not passed the sixtieth 28 INTRODUCTION. [LKCT. L year of his age. The court of the Epkori, though frequently attributed to Lycurgus, was not founded until about one hundred and fifty years after that legislator's death. The power of the ephori was entirely of a negative character, being very similar to that of the tribunes at Rome. The domestic regulations which Lycurgus introduced into Sparta were of much more importance, and exerted a much greater influence over the community, than his public institutions. The first of these was the division of all the land of Sparta and Laconia into thirty-nine equal parts, and the appropriation of one of these parts to each of the citizens. He next banished the use of gold and silver money from the State, and introduced in its place an iron currency, so heavy and unwieldy as to be of no service in any other part of Greece. The third of his regulations was the division of all the citizens 'into families of fifteen persons each, and the arrangement of public tables, at which all, without distinction, were required to take their meals. Their food was of the simplest kind, and as private tables were unknown, every species of luxury was thus entirely banished from the Spartan community. Indeed, every arrange- ment of Lycurgus had a direct tendency towards the formation of a military commonwealth ; and as no citizen was permitted to follow any trade or occupation of a domestic nature, these being confined exclusively to their Helots or slaves, their excessive leisure threw them constantly together in the porticoes, or other public places, where their entire time was passed. Sparta, their capital city, was built on a series of hills, whose outlines were varied and romantic, along the right bank of the Eurotas, within sight of the chain of Mount Taygetum. It was not originally surrounded with walls, but the highest of its eminences served as a citadel ; and round this hill were ranged five towns, separated by corridor walls, occupied by the five Spartan tribes. The great square or forum, in which the principal streets of those towns terminated, was embellished with temples and statues : it contained also the edifices in which the senate, the ephori, and other bodies of Spartan magistrates were accus- tomed to assemble. Here, also, the splendid portico, erected by the Spartans from their share of the spoils taken at the battle of Plataea, was placed. The roof of this portico, instead of being supported by pillars, rested on gigantic statues, representing Persians habited in flowing robes. On the highest of the eminences stood a temple of Minerva, which, as well as the grove that surrounded it, had the privileges of an asylum. It was built of brass, destitute of ornaments, and like most of the other public edifices of the city, had no pretensions to architectural beauty. More than a century elapsed after the formation of the institution of Lycurgus, before the Spartans were brought in hostile contact with any of the neighboring Grecian States. At length, however, in 743 A.C., a war broke out between them and their neighbors, the Messenians, which, after a long series of sanguinary engagements, whose horrors were aggra- 1550 A.C.] INTRODUCTION'. 29 vated by cruel superstitions, the Messenians were totally subdued, and compelled to surrender half the revenue of their lands to the Spartans. The victors used their triumph in the most offensively oppressive man- ner ; until the Messenians, no longer able to bear the degradation of their servile condition, were driven to revolt. Aristomenes, the worthy Mes- senian leader^ in this second contest with the Spartans, was descended from the ancient line of Messenian kings ; and so rapid and decisive were his successes, that the Spartans, in despair, sought the advice of the oracle, and received the mortifying response that they should solicit a general from the Athenians. Ambassadors were accordingly sent to Athens to urge this request ; and the Athenians sent them the poet Tyrteeus, who, though he had frequently borne arms, had never distin- guished himself as a warrior. With his patriotic odes he roused the spirit of the Spartan soldiers to the greatest height ; but notwithstanding this advantage, Aristomenes found means to protract the defence of his country for more than eleven years ; and when Messene was at length taken, it was taken by treachery, and not by force of arms. This event occurred 671 A.C. ; and from that period Sparta remained in comparative peace until the Persian war, strengthening herself, and preparing for the conspicuous part she was destined to take in that great contest. The kingdom of Athens is generally supposed to, have owed its origin to Cecrops, an Egyptian, who landed in Attica about 1550 A.C., married the daughter of Actaeus, king of the country, and at his death succeeded to the crown. He taught the people, who had hitherto led a wandering life, to use fixed habitations, divided them into four tribes, and instituted the celebrated court of Areopagus. The political history of the State does not, however, begin until the reign of Theseus, w'ho succeeded his father .ZEgeus about 1300 A.C, He united the four independent districts or tribes into which Attica had been divided by Cecrops, into one body politic, and made Athens the seat of government. Among his successors the most distinguished were Amphictyon, the founder of the celebrated Amphictyonic council ; Menestheus, who fell before Troy; and Codrus, whose generous devotion to the good of his country, in a war between the Athenians and the Heraclidse, led to the total abolition of royalty. ' The chief magistrate of Athens, after the abolition of royalty in 1 068 A.C. was styled Archon ; and of the family of Codrus, thirteen archons ruled in succession, differing from kings only in being accountable for their administration. The first of these archons was Medon, and the last was Alcmaeon; and after the death of the latter in 752 A.C., the duration of the office was limited to ten years ; but the archons were still chosen out of the family of Codrus. Under this latter arrangement, seven archons succeeded each other ; but the office finally ceased in 682 A.C. Thenceforward nine annual magistrates were appointed by the most powerful of the nobility, and selected not only from the descendants 30 INTRODUCTION. [Lnor. L of Codrus and such foreign princes as had taken refuge in Athens, but from those Athenian families which time and accident had raised to opulence and distinction. These changes brought, however, no advan- tages to the great body of the people, as the equestrian order, so called from their fighting on horseback, enjoyed all authority religious, civil, and military. The Athenian populace were, in fact, reduced to a con- dition of the most miserable servitude their lives and fortunes being left to the discretion of magistrates, whose usual decisions were in accord- ance with party prejudices or their own private interests. Groaning under the weight of these oppressions, and observing, at the same time, the happy results of the recent institutions established by Lycurgus in Sparta, the people of Athens now demanded a new organiza- tion of their government. For this purpose Draco, a man of unswerving integrity, but of unexampled severity, was chosen in 622 A.C. to prepare for them a code of laws. His laws unfortunately, however, bore the im- press of his own severe character, inflicting the punishment of death upon every description of crime, whether small or great. But this indis- criminate cruelty rendered the whole code inoperative : human nature revolted against such legal butchery ; and Draco, in order to avoid the public indignation, fled to jEgina, where he soon after died. This ineifectual effort to establish a system of laws only encouraged the excesses of the *aristocratic factions, whose oppressions produced a state of perfect anarchy, and excited the most violent indignation. To remedy these disorders Solon, a man eminently qualified for this import- ant station, was, in 594 A.C. unanimously raised to the dignity of first magistrate, legislator, and sovereign arbiter of the State. Descended from the ancient kings of Athens, he applied himself in early life to com- mercial pursuits, and having by honorable industry acquired a competent fortune, he travelled in distant lands in search of knowledge. The emi- nence to which he attained was such, that he was reckoned the chief of those sages commonly known as the Seven Wise Men of Greece. Preparatory to the formation of his new constitution, Solon abolished all the laws of Draco, except those against murder. He next turned his attention to the relation between debtors and creditors, abolishing the debts of the former, and, as an equivalent to the latter, raising the stand- ard value of money. He next abolished slavery and imprisonment for debt, both of which had led to great abuses and cruelties. He still pre- served, however, the ancient local divisions of society, by arranging the citi- zens into four classes, according to their respective incomes. The first class comprised all those citizens whose income, in grain, exceeded five hundred bushels ; the second class, those whose income exceeded three hundred ; the third, two ; and the fourth, those whose yearly income fell short of that sum. The citizens of all classes enjoyed the right of voting in the popular assemblies, and in the courts of judicature ; but magisterial offices were limited to the first three classes. Solon thus, 561A.C.] INTRODUCTION. 31 by the universal suffrage in the popular assemblies, restrained the excessive power of the aristocracy, and, at the same time, by confining the offices of state to the highest orders, prevented the introduction of a pure democracy. The archonship Solon left as he found it ; but introduced a clause into the condition of the election of these magistrates, prohibiting them from holding military command during the year of office. After the archons followed a council of four hundred, chosen from the first three classes, and possessing senatorial authority. The members of this council were selected by lot ; but they were obliged to undergo the strictest scrutiny into their past lives and characters before they were permitted to assume their official functions. The archons were required by law to consult the council in every important public matter ; and no. subject could be dis- cussed, in the general assembly of the people, which had not previously received the sanction of the four hundred. The popular assemblies were composed of all the four classes, and had the right of confirming or re- jecting new laws, of electing the magistrates, of discussing all public affairs referred to them by the council, and of judging in all State trials. But notwithstanding all the care with which Solon arranged the fore- going departments of the government, the court of Areopagus was still to be the chief pillar of the Athenian constitution. This court had hitherto been a mere engine of aristocratic oppression ; but Solon modi : dified its constitution, and enlarged its powers. It "was now to be exclu- sively composed of persons who had held the office of archon, and was made the supreme tribunal in all capital cases. It was likewise intrusted with the superintendence of morals, with the censorship upon the conduct of the archons at the expiration of their office ; and it had also the privi- lege of amending or rescinding the measures that had passed the general assemblies of the people. Having thus completed his constitutional arrangements, and placed the magistrates in their respective positions, Solon left Athens, in order to test the stability of his institutions, when left to rest upon their own intrinsic virtue. For some time the most sanguine expectations of those who had intrusted him with the power of remodelling the government, seemed to be entirely realized ; but, unfortunately, after Athens had en- joyed a few years of tranquillity, the restless and ambitious spirit of Pisistratus led him to subvert the laws of Solon, and usurp supreme power. Like Solon he was descended from the ancient kings of Athens, and, to add to his influence, had an enormous fortune, which he distributed amongst the poorer citizens with lavish munificence. His generosity, his eloquence, and his courteous manners, soon won for hrm universal favor ; and taking advantage of his position, he persuaded the lower ranks of his countrymen that his popularity had rendered him odious to the nobility, and that the protection of a body-guard was necessary for the safety of his life. Scarcely had this protection been granted than he seized on the Acropolis, and made himself absolute master of the State. 32 INTRODUCTION. [LECT. I The usurpation of Pisistratus took place 561 A.C. ; and though it must be confessed that he acquired his power by wicked and illegal means, yet he exercised it with mildness and equity. During his whole administration of the government, he constantly exerted himself to ex- tend the glory of Athens, and secure the prosperity and happiness of the people; and at his death, in 528 A.C., his sons Hipparchus and Hippias succeeded, without opposition, to his power. After reigning conjointly for fourteen years, Hipparchus was murdered by two young Athenians, Harmodius and Aristogeiton, whose resentment he had provoked by an atrocious insult. The death of his brother aroused the bitterest resent- ment of Hippias ; and the cruelty with which he punished all whom he suspected of having had a share in his brother's death, alienated the af- fections of the people, and encouraged a strong party opposed to him, to make an effort for his expulsion. With this view they bribed the Del- phian priesthood, and obtained a response from the oracle, commanding the Spartans to expel the Pisistratidao from Athens. This expulsion occurred in 510 A.C. ; and Hippias thenceforward lived in exile at the court of the King of Persia, and finally met, on the plains of Marathon, a more glorious death than his inglorious life deserved. With the. expulsion of Hippias, and the abolition of tyranny in Athens, the second period of Grecian history ends ; and here it may be proper briefly to survey the aspect which the entire country now presents. Long previous to this period, however, we find the whole nation divided be- tween two races the lonians and the Dorians ; and these were distin- guished from each other by some striking characteristics which were never entirely obliterated. The lonians were remarkable for their de- mocratic spirit, and consequent hostility to hereditary privileges. They were vivacious, prone to excitemejit, easily induced to make important changes in their institutions, and proud of their country and themselves. Without being destitute of martial vigor, their love of refined enjoyments made them early and diligent cultivators of the fine arts, and all those intellectual pursuits for which they afterwards became preeminent. The Dorians, on the contrary, were remarkable for the severe simpli- city of their manners, and their strict adherence to ancienj, usages. They preferred an aristocratic form of government, and required age as a qualification for magistracy, because the old are usually opposed to inno- vation. They were ambitious of supremacy, and the chief object of their institutions was to maintain the warlike and almost savage spirit of the nation. Slavery, in its worst form, prevailed in every Dorian State ; and the condition of slaves was altogether hopeless, for it was the policy of Dorian legislation to fix every man in his hereditary condition. The dif- ference, in fact, between the lonians and the Dorians, is the chief charac- teristic of Grecian politics : it runs through their entire history, and was the principal cause of the deep-rooted hatred between Athens and Sparta. .628A.C.] INTRODUCTION. 33 In addition to the contrast between the lonians and the Dorians, another marked feature in the political aspect of Greece was, that it con- tained as many free States as cities. Attica, Megaris, and Laconia, were civic rather than territorial States ; but there were few of the other divisions of the country that were united under a single government. The cities of Achaia, Arcadia, and Bceotia, were independent of each other, though the Achaian cities were united by a federative league ; and Thebes generally exercised a precarious dominion over the other cities of Boeotia. Where a supremacy actually did exist, as eventually in the case of Athens and Sparta, it included the right of determining the foreign relations of the inferior States, and binding them to all wars in which the capital engaged, and all treaties of peace which it concluded ; but it did not allow of any interference in the internal administration of each government. Various and conflicting, however, as were the policies and interests of the Grecian States, yet many circumstances still contributed to unite the whole Hellenic race by a common bond of nationality. Of these, the chief was a unity of religion connected with which were the national festivals and games, in which the entire Hellenic race, but no others, were allowed to take a part. The Greeks evidently derived the elements of their religion from Asia and Egypt ; but they soon made it so pecu- liarly their own, that it retained no features of its original source. All Asiatic deities symbolized some natural object, such as the sun, the earth, or an important river ; or some power of nature, such as the creating, the preserving, and the destroying power. The gods of Greece, on the contrary, were human personages, possessing the forms and attributes of men, though in a highly-exalted degree. The paganism of Asia was consequently a religion of fear, and had a fixed priesthood ; while that of the Greeks was a religion of love, and the priesthood was equally open to all. The latter regarded their gods as a kind of personal friends, and hence their worship was cheerful, and even joyous. That the reli- gion of the Greeks received its peculiar form from the beautiful fictions of the poets, especially from those of Homer and Hesiod, there can be no doubt ; for in all its features it is essentially poetical. The effect of this system was to beautify and perfect the fine arts, and to facilitate the progress of knowledge, by separating religion from philosophy. The oracles of Dodona and Delphi, the temples of Olympia and Delos were national, and belonged to the whole Hellenic race. The responses of the oracles were more reverenced by the Dorians than by the lonians ; for the latter early emancipated themselves from the trammels of super- stition. The worship in all was voluntary, and the large gifts emulously Bent to them were the spontaneous offering of patriotic affection. Delphi was under the government of the Amphityonic council ; but that council, eo far from limiting its attention to the affairs of the temple alone, ac- quired, through its influence with the oracle, no small share in the affairs 3 34 INTRODUCTION. [LECT. I. of different States, and generally superintended the administration of their national laws, even at times when the States represented in it were at war with each other, or with a distant foe. * The four great public games of Greece the Olympian, the Pythian, the Nemean, and the Isthmian were another strong bond of union. At these games, though strangers and foreigners were welcomed as specta- tors, none but the Hellenic race could contend for the prize. This right belonged, however, to the colonies as well as to the parent Sta'tes ; and, as it was deemed a privilege of the highest value and the greatest im- portance, it preserved the unity even of the most distant branches of the great Hellenic race. At the period to which our remarks have now brought us down, Greece was fully prepared for those wonderful developments both in arts and in arms, which the sequel of her history exhibits. The poetical nature of her religion, and the free constitution of her States, not only rendered her peculiarly favorable to the progress of literature, philosophy, and the fine arts, but gave these, in turn, a decided influence on the government. The poetry of Homer had been rendered familiar to the Spartans by Lycurgus, and to the Athenians by Pisistratus the lyric and tragic poets began to produce their pieces in honor of the gods the comic poets at Athens now commenced the discussion of public affairs on the stage with a freedom which, unfortunately, soon degenerated into licen- tiousness and the influence of the Athenian orators rendered them the leaders of the State. The seeds of dissolution were, however, thickly sown in the whole social system of the Greeks ; for the natural rivalry between the Dorian and Ionian races, was only briefly suspended, in con- sequence of the threatening aspect which the vast power of the Persian empire now assumed towards all Greece. Darius Hystaspes, soon after he became firmly seated on the Persian throne, resolved to retaliate upon the Scythians, for an irruption which that rude people had made into the Persian dominions during the reign of his predecessor. With this view he advanced with a vast army to the banks of the Danube; and having thrown a bridge of boats over that river to facilitate the passage of his troops, he left the Ionian Greeks, and his tributaries from Thrace, to guard it during his absence. Miltiades, tyrant of the Thracian Chersonese, united with other Grecian leaders in the army, in a plan to destroy the bridge, and leave the Persian monarch to perish in the Scythian deserts. The design was, however, frustrated by the opposition of Histiaeus, tyrant of Miletus ; and Miltiades, in dis- gust, retired to Athens, his native city, where he subsequently rose to the highest honors^ while Histiaeus accompanied the monarch he had saved, to the court of Persia. Histiseus soon discovered, however, that the very magnitude of his services exposed him to the most imminent danger ; 493A.C.] INTRODUCTION. 35 and he therefore concerted, with his lieutenant Aristagor.as, a plan for the revolt of all the Ionian colonies. To secure the success of this attempt to free themselves from the Persian yoke, Aristagoras sought the aid of the Grecian States ; and with this view he applied first to the Spartans, and afterwards to the Athenians. At Sparta he was coldly received ; but the Athenians, hav- ing so recently expelled their own tyrant, at once favored the design, and accordingly fitted out twenty ships, which were afterwards joined by five from the small State of Eretria, for his assistance. The combined forces were, at first, entirely successful, having soon taken and plundered Sardis, the rich capital of Lydia ; but Aristagoras did not possess the talents of a general, and he could not, therefore, keep the several divisions of his army together. The European Greeks accordingly returned home, and left their Asiatic countrymen exposed to the full vengeance of their merciless masters. Miletus was taken, its walls razed to the ground, and its citizens either massacred or reduced to slavery ; and many of the smaller States suffered a similar fate. Aristagoras fled into ThracS, where he was murdered by the barbarians ; and Histiaeus, after having been detained for a short time as a prisoner at Sardis, was publicly cru- cified, by order of the Persian satrap. Incensed at the temerity, as he regarded it, of the Athenians and Eretrians, Darius now resolved, as a proper retaliation, to subdue all Greece ; and preparatory to his invasion of that country, he sent ambas- sadors thither to demand, from the several States, the usual expression of homage requiring also the Athenians to restore Hippias their exiled tyrant. Alarmed at the Persian power, all the States, except Athens and Sparta, at once proffered submission ; but those noble republics sent back a haughty defiance, and fearlessly prepared to encounter the whole strength of the Persian empire. Darius, in 493 A.C., and seven years after the Ionian revolt, having prepared a vast armament, intrusted its command to his son-in-law Mar- donius, who soon subdued the island Thasus, and the kingdom of Mace- donia ; but his fleet, while doubling Mount Athos, was shattered by a violent storm, during which three hundred vessels were dashed to pieces against the rocks, and twenty thousand men perished in the waves. Un- dismayed by the disastrous termination of this first expedition, Darius prepared, in 490 A.C., a second and more powerful armament, over which he placed his two best generals, Datis and Artiphernes. The fleet arrived safely at the island of Euboea, and the army, consisting of over five hundred thousand men, and conducted by the exiled Hippias, passed thence to the plains of Marathon, within forty miles of Athens, and there encamped. The Athenians, in this emergency, armed to a man ; but their whole force consisted of only ten thousand citizens, and twenty thousand slaves 36 INTRODUCTION. [Lzox. I this unusual extremity requiring, for the first time, the military ser- vices of the latter. The little city of Plataea sent an auxiliary force of one thousand men ; but the Spartans, yielding either to superstition or to jealousy, refused to march before the full of the moon. Miltiades, who was now the principal commander of the Athenian forces at once led his little army to Marathon, and formed his lines at the foot of a hill which protected his rear and flank; while his left was secured by an extensive marsh, and his front, by trunks of trees, strewn for some distance, to break the force of the Persian cavalry. The Athenian citizens occupied the right, the Platseans the left, while the raw levies of slaves were sta- tioned in the centre. The Persian generals saw the advantages of thi? position ; but confident in their superior numbers, they, notwithstanding gave the signal for battle. The Greek centre, as Miltiades had antici- pated, gave way as soon as it was pressed by the Persians ; but as the two wings of the army had repulsed their opponents, they wheeled round, attacked the enemy in their flanks, and soon rendered their victory com- plete. The Persians, in confusion, rushed to their ships, and soon after took advantage of a favoring gale, and returned to Asia. The gratitude of the Athenians towards Miltiades, for this signal vic- tory, was unbounded. They erected numerous statues to his memory, and caused a magnificent picture to be painted, representing him at the head of his army, rushing into the midst of the conflict. But the volitile Athenians soon forgot their debt of gratitude to him for his eminent ser- vices. Being unsuccessful in a subsequent expedition to relieve some of * their distant allies, he was accused of having received a bribe, convicted upon doubtful evidence, and sentenced to pay a heavy fine. As presump- tive evidence of his innocence, the fine was entirely beyond his ability ; and he was therefore thrown into prison, where he soon after died of his wounds. Fortunately, notwithstanding her ingratitude to Miltiades, Athens still possessed two other citizens who had shared with him the glories of Marathon, and who were fully competent to wield the power which he had previously possessed. ^ Those citizens were Themistocles, the most able statesman, and Aristides, the most virtuous patriot of Greece. The rivalry between them was, however, intense ; and in the course of their struggle for power, Aristides was condemned by ostracism to banishment. Themistocles himself, however, soon perceived that he needed his wise counsels ; and he, therefore, on the first emergency, successfully moved that he should be recalled. From this time their active rivalry ceased , and Themistocles, now supreme in authority, thenceforth directed all his efforts towards improving the Athenian naval power ; and he finally succeeded in securing for his country the complete supremacy of the Grecian seas. The death of Darius, which soon followed the overthrow of the Persian 500A.C.] INTRODUCTION". 37 army at Marathon, protracted, but did not end the war. Xerxes, his son and successor, renewed hostilities with a fixed resolution of over- whelming the whole of Greece. With this view he collected an army, which, after making every allowance for the exaggerations of ancient his- torians, was doubtless the most numerous ever assembled. From Susa he marched to the Hellespont; and having crossed the strait upon a bridge of boats, he poured down through Thessaly to the pass of Thermopylae, where he was surprised to find Leouidas, one of the kings of Sparta, with a small army of eight thousand men, prepared to defend the passage. The haughty Persian immediately sent a herald, commanding Leonidas and his companions to surrender up their arms ; and was maddened to frenzy by their contumelious reply, ' Come and take them.' After many ineffec- tual attempts to break the Grecian lines, all of which were repulsed with great slaughter, Xerxes was about to retire in despair ; when the treachery of Ephialtes, a Trachinian deserter, revealed to him a secret path that led to the top of the mountain, and by which a detachment of his army could reach the Grecian flank. Leonidas, perceiving that open resistance would now be fruitless, advised his allies to retire to their homes ; but, as he and his Spartan associates were forbidden by law to abandon their posts, they resolved to remain and show the enemy the spirit, at least, of the foe with whom they had to contend. Planting themselves in the upper part of the pass, to receive the multitudes by whom they were sur- rounded, they fought with the energies of despair, until they sunk, exhausted rather than vanquished. About the same time the Greeks obtained a signal victory over the Persian fleet near Artimisium ; but this triumph was rendered fruitless by the loss of the pass of Thermopylae. Themistocles, after the naval engagement near Artimisium, persuaded the allies to concentrate their combined fleet, consisting of three hundred and eighty sail, in the Saronic gulf, near the island of Salamis ; and Xerxes, having passed Thermopylae, entered Phocis, and sent a detach- ment of his army to plunder and destroy the temple of Delphi. These were met by the enraged Phocians, who attacked them with such deter- mined energy that only a miserable remnant of them escaped to the Per- sian camp. The rnam body of Xerxes' army was, however, more success- ful. Having taken and destroyed the cities of Thespiae and Platsea, they advanced without farther resistance upon Athens ; and the Athen- ians, conscious of not being able to resist the vast numbers of the enemy, abandoned their beloved city those who were capable of bearing arms retiring to the island of Salamis, and those whom age or sex rendered unfit for- war, to -the hospitable city of Trcezene. Athens was entirely demolished ; and Xerxes now, in the pride of success, resolved to anni- hilate the last hopes of the Greeks in a naval engagement. With this view he directed his whole fleet, consisting of twelve hundred sail, to enter the Saronic gulf, and blockade the Grecian fleet, as it lay at anchor in the harbor of Salamis. This was precisely what Themistocles had 38 INTRODUCTION. [LECT. I anticipated ; and in the engagement that immediately followed, Xerxes had the mortification to see, from the rocky eminence -of j3Sgaleas, his magnificent navy utterly annihilated. With the battle of Salamis, Xerxes' personal schemes with regard to the conquest of Greece terminated, and he therefore returned at once to Asia ; but that he might not seem to relinquish the design of subduing the country, he left Mardonius, with an army of three hundred thousand men, to prosecute the war. These were met in the following year by the combined army of Greece, under the command of Aristides of Athens, and Pausanias of Sparta ; and a battle ensued, near the city of Plataea, which ended in the total defeat of the Persians, leaving but forty thou- sand of them to escape from the field of carnage, under Artabazus, by the way of the Hellespont, into tjieir own country. On the same day an- other equally important victory was gained by the confederate fleet, commanded by Xanthippus, the father of Pericles, and Leotychides, one of the kings of Sparta, at Mycale, on the coast of Asia Minor. The vast treasures which the Greeks obtained from the Persian camps, as the fruits of these two last victories, required the selection of some individual into whose custody they might be placed ; and the pure and exalted character of Aristides, for which he had already obtained the title of ' The Just,' at once turned the eyes of all Greece upon him for this important trust. In this honorable position he passed the few re : maining years of his life ; and such was the integrity with which he dis- charged the duties of public treasurer of the Grecian confederacy, that at his death he did not leave the means of defraying his own funeral expenses. Immediately after the battle of Plataea, the Athenians returned to the city, and Themistocles, at the head of the government, rebuilt its defences, fortified the harbor of the Piraeus, and joined it to Athens by what were called ' the long walls.' The glorious career of this great leader was, however, soon after unhappily terminated. Pausanias, the Spartan commander at the battle of Plataea, being dazzled with his re- cent success, and ambitious of reigning over all Greece, opened a corre- spondence with Xerxes, and proposed to that monarck to make him master of Greece, on condition that he would place him as his satrap over the country, and give him his daughter in marriage. The terms were accepted by the Persian king ; but before the plan could be matured, the plot was discovered ; immediately after which, Pausanias was brought to trial, condemned, and shut up in the temple of Minerva, where he was allowed to starve to death. Irritated at this disgraceful conduct in one of their principal leaders, and jealous of the increasing glory of the Athenians, the Spartans basely charged Themistocles, though without a shadow of evidence, with being one of Pausanias' accomplices. Themistocles was, accordingly, tried by ostracism, con- victed, and sentenced to ten years' banishment. ' After wandering for 468A.C.] INTRODUCTION". 39 some time through the northern states of Greece, he finally took refuge at the court of Persia, where he was hospitably entertained for a number of years ; but at length, wearied with his absence from his beloved Athens, he terminated his life by poison. The death of Aristides, in 468 A.C., and the banishment of Themis- tocles, a little before, left Cinion, the son of Miltiades, the chief command of the combined naval force of Greece ; and pursuing the Persian fleet, which still lingered in the Eastern seas, he came up with it off the coast of Cyprus, and there gained as signal a victory as that of Salainis. The Persian army was, meantime, encamped on the Asiatic coast, near the mouth of the river Eurymedon, and thither Cimon at once hastened, hav- ing dressed lus men in the vestures and arms of his prisoners. The attack was so sudden and unexpected, that the enemy were thrown into the utmost confusion, and before they could recover themselves, their destruction was cpmpleted. These two victories induced the Persians to sue for peace ; and. in the treaty which followed, it was stipulated that the independence of the Greek cities of Lower Asia should be restored that no Persian vessel should appear between the northern extremity of the Thracian Bosphorus, and the southern promontory of Lysia that no Persian army should come within three days' journey of the sea-coast ; and that the Athenians should withdraw their fleets and armies from the island of Cyprus. This treaty was made 449 A.C., and thus gloriously were terminated the Persian wars, which, from the burning of Sardis, had lasted, with little intermission, fifty -one years. Chnon died immediately after the battle of Eurymedon, and left Peri- cles, who had long been associated with him in power, without a rival in the State. A disastrous earthquake, in which one hundred and twenty thousand citizens perished, and which overwhelmed Sparta itself, occurred about the same time hi Laconia ; and by this means Athens became the supreme power in Greece. The city itself, under the splendid adminis- tration of Pericles, rose to unparalleled magnificence ; but as the ambi- tion of that great leader knew no bounds, the smaller States were taught to feel their dependence, and even to groan under the weight of the op- pressive yoke which they were compelled to bear. The necessity of union between the leading States of Greece, having also been removed by the close of the Persian war, the old animosities between the Dorian and the Ionian races were once more revived, and only waited for a suitable occasion to break forth into open hostility. A quarrel between the Co- rinthians and the Corcyrians at length afforded such an occasion ; and hence, in 431 A.C., commenced the Peloponnesian war. Sparta had, by this time, recovered, in a great measure, her former strength, and become the leader of the Dorian States, whilst Athens commanded the sea, and embraced in her alliance all the -ZEgean islands. The contest lasted, 40 INTRODUCTION. [LEOT. 1 with only occasional intervals, for twenty-seven years, and finally ended in the total prostration of the Athenian power, at the fatal battle of JEgos-potamos, 406 A.C., and the occupation of Athens by a Spartan gar- rison two years afterwards. Sparta, in her turn, now became the ruling power in Greece, and her first act of oppression, after demolishing the walls of the city, was to place over Athens her former rival, the government of ' the thirty tyrants.' The severity and injustice of their administration soon, however, brought about their own overthrow; for Thrasybulus, a worthy patriot, joined by a small band of resolute associates, in 403 A.C., expelled the tyrants, and restored the liberty of his country. But the Athenians were not prepared to profit by the advantages thus obtained ; for though Conon soon after regained for his country the ascendancy at sea, and rebuilt the long walls of Athens, the spirit of Miltiades and Themistocles, of Aristides and Cimon, and even of Pericles, had passed away ; and Athenian degeneracy was soon after confirmed in the mock trial and judicial murder of Socrates, the most worthy of their citizens, and the prince of their philosophers. In 383 A.C., just twenty years after the expulsion of the tyrants from Athens, a Spartan army, under the command of Phoebidas, one of their generals, seized the citadel of Thebes, during a profound peace, and placed within its walls a Spartan garrison, under whose protection an oligarchy of traitors reduced the city to the same misery that Athens had endured under ' the thirty tyrants.' The chief of Theban patriots fled from the city; and Pelopidas, one of the number, stimulated by the recent example of Thrasybulus, concerted, in 378 A.C., with Epaminondas, who remained in Thebes, a bold plan for the liberation of their country. The most licentious of the tyrants were invited by a secret partizan of the patriots to a feast ; and while they were heated with wine, the con- spirators entered the house where they were assembled in disguise, and slew them in the midst of their debauchery. The rest of the traitors, alarmed at the fate of their associates, either fled from the city, or per- ished in a similar manner. A war between Thebes and Sparta immedi- ately followed, and the Thebans entrusted the conduct of their armies to the two noble patriots who had delivered them from Spartan oppression. Pelopidas first took the command, and in the campaign which followed, he won two splendid victories of Agesilaus, the Spartan king the one at Tinagra, and the other at Tegyra though in the latter conflict he had to encounter a vast disparity of force. The immediate effect of these two victories was to check the pride and to curb the arrogance of the Spartans ; and hence, during the four or five years that followed, negociations and conventions employed the prin- cipal portion of their time. But in the spring of 371 A.C. both armies 368 A.C.] INTRODUCTION. 41 again took the field the Spartans under the command of Cleombrotus, and the Thebans led by Epaminondas, who, according to Cicero, was the most accomplished general that Greece ever produced. They met on the memorable field of Leuctra, and the victory of the Thebans was decisive, Cleombrotus himself being left among the slain. The consequences of this battle were more important than the victory itself; for the States pre- viously under the yoke of Sparta began at once openly to aspire at inde- pendence. The ascendancy of Thebes was now universally acknowledged throughout Greece ; but no other memorable action occurred until 362 A.C., when the two hostile armies once more met near the wealthy city of Mantinaea. Agesilaus in person led the Spartans, while the Thebans were again commanded by Epaminondas. The overthrow of the Spartan army was complete ; but the death of Epaminondas, who fell in the early part of the action, deprived the Thebans from reaping any particular ad- vantages from their victory, and a general peace was effected, during the following year. t After the battle of Tegyra, Pelopidas, in 368 A.C., was sent by the Thebans to mediate between Ptolemy of Alorus, and Alexander the Second, King of Macedonia ; and in order to insure the observance of the treaty entered into between those monarchs, he took Philip, the youngest son of Alexander, to Thebes as an hostage. Here the young Macedonian prince, then in the fifteenth year of his age, became intimate with Epaminondas, and from that great commander thoroughly learned the art of war. The general peace that followed the battle of Mantinaea left Philip free to return to his native country ; and soon after his arrival in Macedonia he succeeded, in 359 A.C., his brother Perdiccas, to the prejudice of his nephew Amyntas, upon the throne. The first few years of Philip's reign were occupied in wars with the Illyrians and other na- tions that surrounded his kingdom ; but having closed these wars, he was invited, in 352 A.C., by the Thebans, to aid them against the Phocians. As Philip had long sought a pretext for interfering in the affairs of Greece, he obeyed the summons of the Thebans with alacrity, utterly routed the Phocians, and obtained their place in the Amphictyonic coun- cil. A few years after he seized the pass of Thermopylae, and thus secured to his armies the free ingress and egress of the countries which it sepa- rated. The Athenians, urged by the burning eloquence of Demosthenes, now took the alarm, and joined by the Thebans, determined at once to dislodge him. The fated battle of Chaeronia, in which the Macedonians were completely triumphant, soon followed, and from that period the in- dependence of the Grecian States forever ceased. A general convention of the Amphictyonic council was held at Corinth in 337 A.C., at which Philip was chosen captain-general of confederate Greece, and appointed to lead their united forces against the Persian empire. He was, how- ever, in the following year, murdered by Pausanius, a young Macedonian 42 INTRODUCTION. [LECT. L nobleman, in revenge of a private insult, while celebrating the marriage of his daughter, and was succeeded by his son Alexander. Alexander, deservedly surnamed the Great, succeeded to the throne at the early age of twenty ; but so thoroughly had he been educated by the philosopher Aristotle, that his mind was in full maturity. After subdu- ing the Illyrians, the Thracians, and other barbarous tribes of the north, he appeared so suddenly in Greece, that a general consternation prevailed throughout the whole country. All at once submitted, and the different States were hurried into convention on the Isthmus of Corinth, and the appointment of captain-general previously conferred upon his father, was at once bestowed upon him. Impetuous in action as well as in temper, he delayed not a moment to carry into effect the great design of his father, of invading and subduing the Persian empire. With this view, leaving the government of Greece and Macedonia to Antipater, one of his generals, he crossed the Hellespont in the spring of 334 A.C., and at the head of an army of thirty thousand infantry and five thousand cavalry, he commenced a career of conquest which, for brilliancy in its results, has had no parallel in the history of the world. He met Darius successively on the banks of the Granicus, in the pass of Issus, and on the plains of Arbela, and at the close of the last action which was fought 331 A.C. the whole Persian empire lay prostrate at the conqueror's feet. In the meantime Alexander had destroyed Tyre and subdued Egypt ; and now he prepared to march into India. Equally successful in his eastern cam- paign, he, at it^ close, in 325 A.C., returned to Babylon, intending to make that city the seat of his vast empire. But all his schemes were frustrated by his premature death, which occurred on the 28th of May, 324 A.C., less than thirteen years after he commenced his wonderful career. For twenty-three years after Alexander's death, nothing but conten- tions and conspiracies prevailed throughout the empire each of his gen- erals striving for the ascendancy over the rest. At length, in 301 A.C., the decisive battle of Ipsus was fought, and as the result of that action, the dominions of Alexander were divided between Ptolemy of Egypt, Seleucus of Upper Asia, Lysimachus of Thrace, and Cassander of Greece and Macedonia. Greece still maintained a precarious exist- ence for about one hundred and fifty years ; but by the battle of Pydna, which was fought 148 A.C., and the destruction of Corinth two years after- wards, the whole country was reduced to the form of a Roman province, under the name of Achaia. We have thus rapidly sketched the physical and mwal character of the Greeks their intellectual character will form the subject of the fol- lowing lectures. Knlnnfyt HOMER. HAYING, in the last lecture, closed our remarks upon the history of Greece, we now proceed to the consideration of Grecian poetry. Th'e origin of poetic numbers is found in a desire to reduce specific ideas to a definite form; hence Minos and other ancient sages composed their laws in verse. The effusions of all the early bards of Greece were doubtless of the same nature. In the heroic ages, the deeds of real per- sonages formed the burthen of the poet's song ; and for this reason their names became sacred, and their memories were immortalized. Of these bards, such as Linus, Orpheus, and Musseus, little else is known than their names ; and to determine the time at which they flourished, was a matter of as much difficulty two thousand years ago as it is at present. We therefore pass over these earlier poets, and proceed at once to notice Homer, emphatically the father of Grecian poetry. Of this remarkable character we have so little definite knowledge, that all would seem a matter of mere conjecture, were it not that Herodotus has left us, in his great historical work, something that approaches to a regu- lar history of the poet's life. . The authenticity of this narrative has, however, been so frequently called in question, that it would be an act of weak credulity to depend upon it, had not Strabo, the eminent ancient Geographer, not only regarded it as an authentic biography, but even quoted it as authority in his own works. From this account of Homer we collect the following particulars : Menalippus, of Magnesia, in Asia Minor, married the daughter of Homyres, of Cumae, a neighboring town. From this marriage sprung Critheus, an only daughter, who had the misfortune to be early left by her parents an orphan. The little property that her father had possessed was committed to the care of a magistrate of her native place, who was also a personal friend, and who assumed towards her the character of a guardian. Neglecting, as is often the case with guardians, his im- portant charge, Critheus imprudently contracted an early marriage with a youth who proved entirely unworthy of her affections. His death, how- 44 HOMER. [LECT. IL ever, which occurred a few months after their marriage, released her from the unhappy connection ; and having been for some time previous ne- glected by her family and friends, she resolved to leave her native place and settle in Smyrna, an Ionian city, then recently founded. Dependent entirely upon her own exertions for the means of subsistence, Critheus turned her attention to the spinning of wool, a respectable and an honorable employment for females in her situation. She had not resided long in Smyrna before she gave birth to a son, whom she named Homer, in honor of Homyres, his maternal grandfather. This event occurred 920 A.C. Having now an additional motive to exertion, and a new incentive to propriety of conduct, she demeaned herself so discreetly as to elicit very general admiration ; and Phernias, a teacher of literature, whose residence was near her own, observing her daily deportment, and being pleased with its consistency, invited her to take up her abode in his house, and employ herself in spinning the wool which he was accustomed to receive from his scholars as compensation for their instruction. Critheus had resided but a short time in the house of Phernias before the same discreet conduct which she had hitherto observed, induced him to place the entire management of his household affairs into her hands ; and the constant intercourse between them, which necessarily followed, soon ripened into a settled affection, and their marriage was the immediate con- sequence. Having married the mother, Phemias, of course, adopted the son ; and Homer, as soon as his age would permit, was introduced to the school of his step-father, and there enjoyed all the advantages of a liberal education. In this situation he remained until the sixteenth year of his age, soon after which he had the misfortune to lose both his parents, and was thus left, before he had attained his eighteenth year, to depend upon his own resources for his future subsistence. His education being ample, and his talents of the most commanding order, he had already drawn forth the approbation, and even excited the admiration of all Smyrna ; and a general desire was therefore expressed that he would assume the charge of the school, and continue to conduct it upon its former prin- ciples. Previous to the death of his parents, Homer had given an earnest, by the composition of some minor poems, of that remarkable poetic genius which afterwards immortalized his name. He had written, among others, a hymn to Apollo, which has descended down to the present period. This hymn is so extraordinary a production that we deem it necessary to intro- duce an extract from it in this early part of our narrative of the author's life: HYMN TO APOLLO. Far-darting Phoebus of the flowing hair Down from the broad-track'd mountain passed, and all Those goddesses look'd on in ravish'd awe ; 920A.C.] HOMER. 45 And all the Delian isle was heap'd with gold, So gladden'd by his presence, the fair son Of Jove and of Latona. For he chose That island as his home o'er every isle Or continent, and loved it in his soul. It flourish'd like a mountain, when its top Is hid with flowering blossoms of a wood. God of the silver bow, far-darting King! Thou, too, hast trod the craggy Cyuthus' heights, And sometimes wander'd to the distant isles And various haunts of men; and many fanes Are thine, and groves thick set with gloomy trees : Thine all the caverns, and the topmost cliffs Of lofty mountains, and sea-rolling streams. But still, oh Phoebus ! in the Delian isle Thy heart delighteth most. Th' lonians there In trailing robes before thy temple throng, With their young children and their modest wives; And mindful of thy honor charm thee there With cestus combats, and with bounding dance, And song, in stated contest. At the sight Of that Ionian crowd a man would say That all were blooming with immortal youth So looking on the gallant mien of all, And ravishing his mind while he beheld The fair-formed men, the women with broad Gracefully girt, their rapid-sailing ships, ^^ And pomp of all their opulence ; and more ^P Than all, that mightier miracle, whose praise Shall still imperishable bloom, the maids Of Delos, priestesses of him who darts His rays around the world. Apollo first They glorify with hyinnings, and exalt Latona's and the quiver'd Dian's name. Then in their songs record the men of old, The listening tribes of mortals; for their voice Can imitate the modulated sounds Of various human tongues, and each would say Himself were speaking. Such their aptitude Of flexile accents, and melodious speech. Hail, oh Latona ! Dian ! Phoebus ! hail ! And hail, ye charming damsels, and farewell ! Bear me hereafter in your memories; And should some stranger, worn with hardships touch Upon your island and inquire, " What man, Oh maidens ! lives among you as the bard Of sweetest song, and most enchants your ear ?" Then answer for us all, "Our sweetest bard Is the blind man of Chios' rocky isle !" The reputation which ^Homer's poetry gave him, together with the dis- tinguished abili1$r with which he conducted his school, attracted the atten- 46 HOMER. [LECT. IL tion, and elicited tne admiration, not only of the citizens of Smyrna, but of all strangers whose business or pleasure might lead them to visit that city. Indeed, so great was his fame, that the purposes of a visit to Smyrna were scarcely considered attained, unless an interview with the distinguished young bard had been enjoyed. Amongst others, whose pursuits brought them at this time to Smyrna, was Mentes, a shipmaster of Leucadia. Being himself a man of genius and attainments, and also of an enthusiastic temperament, he sought the acquaintance of Homer ; and the similarity of their tastes soon induced in them a very strong personal attachment for each other. Homer had already conceived the idea of writing the Iliad, the subject of which had long been familiar t& his countrymen many of the incidents having, doubtless, already been celebrated in poetic numbers. With an invitation, therefore, from Mentes, when he was preparing to leave Smyrna, to accompany him in his future voyages, Homer at once complied, as it would afford him an opportunity to visit those places, the description of which the Iliad would necessarily embrace. Preparations being accordingly made, and the time fixed for their departure having arrived, they embarked from Smyrna for Egypt touching, as they passed, at the various Grecian islands and ports which lay in their way thither. In Egypt they re- mained a sufficient length of time to afford Homer an opportunity to familiarize himself with the gods of that country 5 and it was thence that he derived the names of those divinities whose attributes were afterwards exhibited in his great poems. From Egypt Mentes sailed along the northern coast of Africjp;ouch- ing at the various ports of that country as he passed, and finally reached Spain, where he remained for some months, transacting such business as had brought him thither. From Spain they resolved to return imme- diately to their native country ; but while on their way some circumstance transpired, which is not particularly mentioned, and which led them to the island of Ithica the ancient home of Ulysses. While in Ithica, . Homer was seized with an affection of the eyes, which soon became so serious that, on the departure of Mentes from the island, he was com- pelled to leave Homer behind him. He was careful, however, to intro- duce Homer, before he left, to the kindness and care of Mentor, one of the chief men of the island, and by whom he was treated with every pos- sible degree of attention. Thus unexpectedly detained in Ithica, Homer embraced the opportunity which the circumstance afforded him, of col- lecting those particulars concerning the life and adventures of Ulysses, which he afterwards so beautifully elaborated in the Odyssey. After a few months' absence in Leucadia, Mentes returned to Ithica, and Homer in the meantime having partially recovered from the affection of his eyes, embarked with him for Smyrna. On his way thither he completed the Iliad, and, soon after his arrival, presented it to the public. The admiration with which the work was received, was un 920A.C.J HOMER. 47 bounded ; but the unsettled condition in which Homer had left his per- sonal affairs at his departure from his home, together with the heavy ex- penses attending his distant journeyings, involved him in such embarrass- ments that a longer residence in Smyrna would be irksome and even oppressive. He therefore left his birth-place, and retired to Cumas, the home of his maternal ancestors, hoping there to meet with a reception in accordance with the distinguished fame he had now acquired. The Cumasaus received him with unbounded ^pleasure, and expressed their gratification at his return to his ancestral home, in terms of unlimited satisfaction ; but when they learned what his circumstances were, and the purpose for which he had come thither, and especially when he intimated to them that his design was to immortalize their city in poetic numbers, with the expectation of receiving from them a pension sufficient to sup- port him during the remainder of his life, they at once replied that, should they accede to all such requests, there would be no end to the number of blind bards that they should have to support. Incensed at being thus repulsed by the citizens of Cumse, -Homer went to Phocoea, a neighboring town, resolving there publicly to recite his poems, and observe the effect they would produce. He had been but a short time in Phoeoaa before he met with Thestorides, a distinguished school-master of that place, and who, ascertaining the pressing necessities of the needy bard, proposed to give him a home in his own house and with his own family, on condition that he would allow him to take a copy of his verses. At this time Homer seems to have lost his sight, and his pressing necessities therefore compelled him to comply with Thes- torides, proposal. Thestorides, however, proved treacherous to the poet ; for he had no sooner obtained a copy of his verses than he left Phocrea, and retired to Chios, a neighboring island, where he soon acquired con- siderable wealth by reciting Homer's poems. After some considerable time had passed, Homer accidentally learned that Thestorides was at Chios, and he resolved therefore to follow him thither, and obtain from him if possible the restoration of his poems. Thestorides, however, be- came advised of the design of Homer, and escaped to some other part of Ionian Greece before the poet's arrival ; and Homer, finding himself at Chios in a state of comparative destitution, and having no other source of dependence, resolved to return to his early profession, and open in that island a school of polite learning, on a plan similar to the one he had so long prosecuted in Smyrna. His skill as a teacher was soon recognized and appreciated at Chios, and his patronage was such as to surpass his most sanguine expectations. This circumstance, together with the numerous friendships that he there soon formed, induced him to determine to make Chios the place of his permanent residence. He eventually married the daughter of one of the chief citizens of the island, and designed there to pass the remainder of his life. The people of 48 HOMER. [Leer. II. Chios, even to this day, point out the spot where Homer imparted his instructions, and the groves and seats which his scholars occupied. While he resided at Chios, Homer composed his Odyssey, and artfully interwove into the work the names of Mentes, Mentor, and other friends whom grateful recollections for kindness kept ever fresh in his memory, and from whom he had, from time to time, received distinguished marks of favor. Having resolved to visit Athens, he introduced into his poem, with much art, the name of that celebrated city, which had already assumed an imposing position amongst the cities of Greece. This special recognition of their relative position, induced the Athenians to extend an invitation to Homer to visit their city as a public guest. This invita- tion, flattering to his vanity, and grateful to his feelings, he resolved to accept ; and he accordingly left Chios for the purpose of executing his design. On his way to Athens, however, the vessel in which he had taken passage was cast upon the island of Samos, and there Homer and his companions were obliged to pass the winter. In the following spring cir- cumstances again required his attention at Chios; but soon after his return to that island, his exhausted strength gave way, and, sinking under the effects of a disease with which he had long been afflicted, his death soon followed ; and, at his own request, he was buried on the borders of the sea, that the flowing waves, as they rolled against the shore, might obliterate every trace of the spot where his remains reposed, and he thus rest in his quiet and undisturbed grave. Of the various productions attributed to Homer, the Iliad and the Odyssey are the only ones .that are unquestionably his. Besides these, however, there is internal evidence that a number of the hymns assigned to him were of his composing ; such as the hymn to Apollo, already men- tioned. It is true that time may have prevailed in obliterating many other of the important productions of his pen ; such as the Margites and Cecropes; but while the Iliad and the Odyssey remain, he seems like a leader, who, though he may have failed in a skirmish or two, has yet gained a victory for which he will pass in triumph through all future ages. The genius of Homer was vast, versatile, and in a peculiar degree, orig- inal. His versatility and his creative power are certainly without a par- allel amongst the ancients, and in modern times he has scarcely had an equal. The worthies of antiquity were uniformly formed after the models found in his poems. From him law-givers, and the founders of monarch- ies and commonwealths took the models of their politics. Hence, too, phi- losophers drew the first principles of the morality which they taught their disciples. Here, also, physicians learned the nature of diseases, and their causes ; the astronomers of ancient times acquired their knowledge of the heavens, and geometricians of the earth ; kings and princes the art of government, and captains to form a battle, to encamp an army, to besiege towns, to fight, and to gain victories. It is no exaggerated praise of 920A.C.] HOMER. 49 Homer to say, that no man ever understood men and things better than he did, or had a deeper insight into the humors and passions of human nature. He represents great things with such sublimity, and little things with such propriety, that he always makes the one admirable, and the other agreeable. Strabo, the ancient geographer already mentioned, as- sures us that . Homer has described the places and the countries of which he gives us an account, with that accuracy that no man can imagine who has not seen them, and which no man but must admire, and be astonished at ! His poems may justly be compared with that shield of divine work- manship, so inimitably represented in the eighteenth book of the Iliad, where we have exact images of all the actions of war, and all the employ- ments of peace, and are, at the same time, entertained with a delightful view of the universe. These opinions are sustained by the highest authority. Sir William Temple, in his estimate of the comparative merits of Homer and Virgil indulges in the following remarks : - u Homer was, without doubt, the most universal genius that has been known in the world, and Virgil the most accomplished. To the first must be allowed the most fertile inven- tion, the richest vein, the most general knowledge, and the most lively expressions; to the last, the noblest ideas, the justest institutions, the wisest conduct, and the choicest elocution. To speak in the painters' terms, we find in the works of Homer the most spirit, force, and life ; in those of Virgil the best designs, the truest proportions, and the greatest grace. The coloring of both seems equal, and indeed in both is admir- able. Homer had more fire and rapture ; Virgil more light and sweetness; or at least the poetical fire was more raging in the one, but clearer in the other ; which makes the first more amazing, and the latter more agree- able. The ore was richer in the one, but in the other more refined and better alloyed to make up excellent work. Upon the whole it must be confessed that Homer was of the two, and perhaps of all others, the vast- est, the sublimest, and the most wonderful genius ; and that he has been generally so esteemed, there can be no greater testimony given than has been by some observed, that not only the greatest masters have found the best and truest principles of all their sciences and arts in him, but that the noblest nations have derived from him the original of their several races, though it be hardly yet agreed whether his story be true or a fic- tion. In short, these two immortal poets must be allowed to have so much excelled in their kind, as to have exceeded all comparison, to have extinguished emulation, and in a manner confined true poetry, not only to their own languages, but to their very poems." We are not to be un- derstood as designing to convey our own peculiar views of the genius of Homer in the language of this extract ; but the source whence it comes is so exalted, and the position of the author so authoritative, that we felt it due to him to introduce it without abbreviation. The chief characteristic of Homer's genius has usually been regarded 50 HOMER. [LEOT. II. to be its sublimity. We do not conceive, however, that this term con- veys a sufficiently comprehensive view of his poetic excellence. That he was remarkable for his sublimity, must be conceded by every critic ; but that he possessed other poetic properties of equal excellence cannot, for a moment, be denied. To our view his grand characteristic is nature. In it is the serene majesty of Deity in repose, and in that moral sublime which is conversant with human passions, the powers of his genius appear the most astonishing. When we have once imagined a giant, it requires no great effort to make him stride in three steps from one prom- ontory to another ; but it is not every poet who can represent Achilles receiving, in his tent, the embassy from Agamemnon with the calm severity of dignified resentment soothing his angry soul with the tones of his immortal harp, or smiting his thigh with a start of generous emo- tion at the sight of the Grecian ships in flames. It is here that Homer excels, and it is in such scenes and under such circumstances that his extraordinary power exhibits itself. We feel for Achilles, in the midst of all his raging, and the severity of his resentment, as for an injured fellow being ; and when his anger towards Agamemnon is overcome by the fate of his beloved Patrocles, the gushings of admiration flow forth in all their generous warmth, and we accompany him with a feeling of personal interest in every event that thenceforth transpires, until Hector, the slayer of his friend, is prostrate at his feet. But we must forbear. The Iliad and the Odyssey of Homer, as we learn from Athenseus, were originally produced, each as an entire whole, and not divided into books, as we now have them. But as few only could afford to purchase them entire, they were circulated in detached parts, and assumed names according to their respective contents; as, ' The Battle of the Ships,' < The Death of Dolon,' ' -The Valor of Agamemnon,' < The Grot of Ca- lipso,' and ' The Slaughter of the Wooers;' and were not then entitled Books, but Rhapsodies. The first complete copy of Homer's poems was introduced into Greece about a century after they were composed, by Lycurgus, the celebrated Spartan lawgiver ; who, passing, in his travels, through Ionia, there found them, and with his own hand transcribed and brought them into his own country. This may, therefore, be considered the first edition of these immortal works. About two centuries after- wards, Pisistratus. the tyrant of Athens, caused them to be carefully revised, and reduced to their present form. In our extracts from the writings of this great poet, we shall confine ourselves to the Iliad and Odyssey, as the authority of these poems has never been questioned. The first passage we introduce is a scene from the second book of the Iliad, containing the description of a contest Between Ulysses and Thersites, with a portraiture of Thersites' person. 920A.C.] HOMER. 51 ULYSSES AND THERSITES. With words like these the troops Ulysses rul'd, The loudest silenc'd, and the fiercest cool'd. Back to th' assembly roll the thronging train, Desert the ships, and pour upon the plain. Murmuring they move, as when old Ocean roars, And heaves huge surges to the trembling shores: The groaning banks are burst with bellowing sound. The rocks reinurmnr aud the deeps rebound. At length the tumult sinks, the noises cease, And the still silence lulls the camp to peace. Thersites only clamor'd in the throng, Loquacious, loud, and turbulent of tongue : Aw'd by no shame, by no respect control'd, In scandal busy, in reproaches bold: With witty malice studious to defame ; Scorn all his joy, and laughter all his aim. But chief he gloried with licentious style, To lash the great, and monarchs to revile. His figure such as might his soul proclaim; One eye was blinking, and one leg was lame : His mountain-shoulders half his breast o'erspread, Thin hairs bestrew'd his long mis-shapen head. Spleen to mankind his envious heart possess'd, And much he hated all, but most the best. Ulysses or Achilles still his theme; But royal scandal his delight supreme. Long had he liv'd the scorn of every Greek, Vext when he spoke, yet still they heard him speak f Sharp was his voice ; which, in the shrillest tone, Thus with injurious taunts attack'd the throne : Amidst the glories of so bright a reign, What moves the great Atrides to complain? 'Tis thine whate'er the warrior's breast inflames, The golden spoil, and thine the lovely dames. With all the wealth our wars and blood bestow, Thy tents are crowded, and thy chests o'erflow. Thus at full ease in heaps of riches roll'd, What grieves the monarch ? is it thirst of gold ? Say, shall we march with our unconquer'd powers (The Greeks and I), to Ilium's hostile towers, And bring the race of royal bastards here, For Troy to ransom at a price too dear ? But safer plunder thy own host supplies; Say, wouldst thou seize some valiant leader's prize ? Or, if thy heart to generous love be led, Some captive fair, to bless thy kingly bed ? Whate'er our master craves, submit we must, Plagued with his pride, or punish'd for his lust. HOMER. [LECT.H Oh -women of Achaia 1 men no more ! Hence let us fly, and let him waste his store In loves and pleasures on the Phrygian shore. We may be wanted on some busy day, When Hector comes : so great Achilles may : From him be forc'd the prize we jointly gave, From him, the fierce, the fearless, and the brave : And durst he, as he ought, resent that wrong, This mighty tyrant were no tyrant long. Fierce from his seat at this Ulysses springs, In generous vengeance of the king of kings. With indignation sparkling in his eyes, He views the wretch, and sternly thus replies : Peace, factious monster, born to vex the State, With wrangling talents form'd for foul debate, Curb that impetuous tongue, nor rashly vain And singly mad, asperse the sovereign reign. Have we not known thee, slave ! of all our host, The man who acts the least, upbraids the most? Think not the Greeks to shameful flight to bring, Nor let those lips profane the name of king. For our return we trust the heavenly powers ; Be that their care ; to fight like men be ours. But grant the -host with wealth the general load, Except detraction, what hast thou bestow'd ? Suppose some hero should his spoils resign, Art thou that hero ? could those spoils be thine ? Gods ! let me perish on this hateful shore, And let these eyes behold my son no more, If on thy next offence, this hand forbear %To strip those arms thou ill deserv'st to wear, Expel the council where our princes meet, And send thee scourg'd and howling through the fleet. He said, and cowering as the dastard bends, The mighty sceptre on his back descends. On the round bunch the bloody tumors rise; The tears spring starting from his haggard eyes : Trembling he sat, and shrank in abject fears, From his vile visage wip'd the scalding tears. While to his neighbor each express'd his thought Ye gods ! what wonders has Ulysses wrought ! What fruits his conduct and his courage yield! Great in the council, glorious in the field! Generous he rises in the crown's defence, To curb the factious tongue of insolence. Such just examples on offenders shown, Sedition silence, and assert the throne. 92C A.C. HOMER. 53 PARTING INTERVIEW OF HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE. Straight to his roomy palace Hector came ; But found not in the mansion her he sought, White arm'd Andromache. She, with her son, And her robed handmaid stood upon the tower Wailing with loud lament. But when in vain He sought within her house his blameless wife, Hector, advanced upon the threshold, stood And to the damsels spake : Now tell me true, Ye damsels ! whither from her house went forth The fair Andromache ? say, doth she seek Her husband's sisters, or her brethren's wives, Or at Minerva's temple join the train Of Trojan women, who propitiate now With offerings the tremendous Deity ! The careful women of the house-hold then Address'd reply: To tell thee, Hector, truth, As thou requirest, neither doth she seek Her husband's sisters, nor her brethren's wives, Nor at Minerva's temple join the train Of Trojan women who propitiate now With offerings the tremendous Deity. But she has mounted on a massive tower Of Troy ; for that she heard the Trojan host Were worsted, while the strength of Greeks prevailed. So hastening rush'd she to the city wall, Like to one frantic, with the nurse and child. The women of the household said : and forth Sprang Hector from the mansion, and trod back His footsteps through the stately rows of streets. Crossing the spacious city, he now reach'd The Scaean gates ; through them his passage lay Forth to the field. But then his high-dower'd wife Came running on his steps. Andromache, Eetion's daughter ; who in woody tracts Of Hypoplacian Thebes once stretch'd his sway O'er the Cilicians. So his daughter lived, The bride of Hector with the brazen helm ; Who now came running on his steps; while close The handmaid follow'd her, and at her breast The babe, as yet a tender innocent, Darling of Hector, fair as any star, Whom Hector named Scarnandrius ; they of Troy, Astyanax; since Hector was alone Their city's safeguard. He, on their approach, Casting a look upon his infant boy, Silently smiled. Andromache, all bathed In tears, stood by ; and, clinging to his hand, Address'd him : ' Noble husband ! thy great heart Will sure destroy thee. Thou no pity hast 54 HOMER. [LECT. IL For this thy infant son and wretched me, Whom thou wilt leave a widow. For the Greeks Will slay thee soon with overpowering charge Of numbers. It were better far that I, Once reft of thee, should sink within the grave. I have no other comfort when thy life Has yielded to its destiny; but grief Must be my portion. Father have I none, Nor mother. The high-born Achilles slew My father when he laid the city waste Of the Cilicians, Thebes with lofty gates. He slew Eetion, but despoiled him not ; For he was bound by secret vows; and burn'd His body with his variegated mail, And heap'd a mount upon him; and the nymphs That haunt the hills, Jove's daughters, planted it With circle of tall elms. Seven brothers, too, Were mine within the mansion where we dwelt; These, in one d.ay were hurried' to the grave. The fleet of foot, Achilles highly born, Destroyed them all, surpris'd among their herds And flocks. My mother, who the woody tracts Of Hypoplacia sway'd, he hither led With all her treasures ; yet a ransom took And sent her free. But in her father's house She was death-stricken by Diana's darts. Thou, Hector, art my father ! thou to me Art mother, brother, all my joy of life, My husband! come, be merciful, remain Here in this turret ; make not of this child An orphan, nor a widow of thy wife. Command the Trojan army to. a halt At the wild fig-tree, where the city lies Most easy of ascent, and most exposed The rampart to assault. Already thrice The bravest of their warriors have essay'd To force the wall ; the fam'd Idomeneus. And either Ajax, and brave Diomed, And Atreus' sons : whether some skilful seer. Have prophesied before them, or their minds Have prompted them spontaneous to the act.' At these her words the lofty Hector shook His party -colored horse-hair plume, and spoke: ' Believe it, oh my wife ! these same sad thoughts Have touch'd me nearly ; but I also fear The Trojans and the women fair of Troy, If like a dastard I should skulk apart From battle. Nor to this my own free mind Prompts me; for I was trained from earliest years To a brave spirit ; and have learn'd to fight Still in the Trojan van, and still maintain My country's mighty honor and my own. 920 A.C.] HOMER. 55 I know too well, and in my heart and soul I feel the deep conviction, that a time Will come when sacred Troy shall be no more, But Priam and his people be destroy'd From off the face of earth. The after-woe Of these my countrymen afflicts me not; No, nor the grief of Hecuba's despair, Nor kingly Priam's, nor the woeful lot Of brethren, brave and many, who shall fall Beneath their foes, as thine, Andromache ! When some stern Grecian, with his mail of brass, Shall lead thee in thy tears away, and snatch The light of freedom from thee: when, detain'd At Argos, thou shalt weave the color'd web, Task'd by another, or shall waters bear From fountains of Hyperia, sore averse And faint, yet yielding to the hard control That lays the burthen on thee. Haply then Some passer, looking on thy tears, may cry: " This was the wife of Hector, who was once Chief warrior of the Trojans when they fought With their fam'd horses round the walls of Troy: So will he say : and thou wilt grieve afresh At loss of him who might have warded off The day of slavery. But may earth have heap'd The hill upon my corse ere of thy cries My ear be conscious, or my soul perceive The leading of thy sad captivity.' So spake the noble Hector ; and with hands Outstretch'd bent forward to embrace his child. The babe against the damsel's broad-zoned breast Lean'd backward, clinging with a cry, disturb'd At his lov'd father's aspect, and in fear Of the keen brass that glazed upon his gaze, And horse-hair sweeping crest that nodded fierce Upon the helmet's cone. The father dear, And honor 'd mother to each other la ugh' d : Instant the noble Hector from his head Lifted the casque, and plac'd it on the ground, Far-beaming where it stood ; then kissed his boy, And dandled in his arms; imploring thus Jove, and the other Deities of heaven : ' Hear, Jupiter ! and every God on high ! Grant this may come to pass ! that he, my son, May shine among the Trojans in renown And strength as I myself, and reign o'er Troy In valor ; that of him it may be said By one who sees him coming from the field " Truly the son transcends the father's deeds !" Grant him to slay his enemy, and bear The bloody trophy back and glad the heart Of this his mother 1" So he said, and placed 56 HOMER. [LECT. IL The babe within his own beloved's arms: She softly laid him on her balmy breast, Smiling through tears. The husband at that sight Melted in pity, with his hand he smooth'd Her cheek, and spoke again these gentle words: ' Noblest of women I do not grieve me thus ; Against concurring fate no mortal man Can send me to the grave ; and this I say, That none who once has breath'd the breath of life, Coward or brave, can hope to shun his fate; But hie thee to thy mansion, that thy works, The loom and distaff, may engage thy thoughts. Go task thy maidens. War must be the care, And mine the chief, and every man of Troy.' The noble Hector said, and raised from earth His horse-hair crested helm. With homeward step His dear wife parted from him, and turn'd back Her eyes, the fast tears trickling down her cheek. THE EMBASSY OF ULYSSES, AJAX, AND PHCENIX, TO ACHILLES And now arriv'd, where, on the sandy bay, The Myrmidonian tents and vessels lay; Amus'd, at ease, the godlike man they found, Pleas'd with the solemn harp's harmonious sound. (The well wrought harp from conquer'd Thebae came, Of polish'd silver was its costly frame :) With this he soothes his angry soul, and sings Th' immortal deeds of heroes and of kings. Patroclus only of the royal train, Plac'd in his tent, attends the lofty strain: Full opposite he sat, and listen'd long, In silence waiting till he ceas'd the song, Unseen the Grecian embassy proceeds To his high tent; the great Ulysses leads. Achilles starting, as the chiefs he spied, Leap'd from his seat, and laid the harp aside. With like surprise arose Mencetius' son: Pelides grasp'd their hands, and thus begun: Princes, all hail! whatever brought you here, Or strong necessity, or urgent fear ; Welcome, though Greeks ! for not as foes ye came ; To me more dear than all that bear the name. With that the chiefs beneath his roof he led, And plac'd in seats with purple carpets spread. Then thus Patroclus, crown a larger bowl, Mix purer wine, and open every soul, Of all the warriors yonder host can send, Thy friend must honor these, and these thy friend. ****** That done, to Phoenix Ajax .gave the sign ; Not unperceiv'd; Ulysses crown'd with wine 920 A.C.] HOMER. 57 The foaming bowl, and instant thus began, His speech addressing to the godlike man : Health to Achilles ! happy are thy guests ! Not thus more honor 'd whom Atrides feasts : Though generous plenty crown your loaded boards, That A gamemnon's regal tent affords : But greater cares sit heavy on our souls, Not eas'd by banquets, or by flowing bowls. What scenes of slaughter in yon fields appear ! The dead we mourn, and for the living fear; Greece on the brink of fate all dreadful stands, And owns no help but from thy saving hands : Troy and her aids for ready vengeance call ; Their threatening tents already shade our wall : Hear how with shouts their conquests they proclaim, And point at every ship their vengeful flame! For them the father of the gods declares, Theirs are the omens, and his thunder theirs. See, full of Jove, avenging Hector rise ! See ! Heaven and earth the raging chief defies ; "What fury in his breast, what lightning in his eyes 1 He waits but for the morn ; to sink in flame The ships, the Greeks, and all the Grecian name. Heavens ! how my country's woes distract my mind, Lest fate accomplish all his rage design'd ! And must we, gods ! our heads inglorious lay In Trojan dust, and this the fatal day ? Return, Achilles ! oh, return, though late, To save thy Greeks, and stop the course of fate : If in that heart or grief or courage lies, Rise to redeem ; ah yet, to conquer, rise ! The day may come, when all our warriors slain, That heart shall melt, that courage rise in vain. Regard in time, prince divinely brave ! These wholesome counsels which thy father gave. When Peleus in his aged arms embrac'd His parting son these accents were his last : My child ! with strength, and glory, and success, Thy arins may Juno and Minerva bless ! Trust that to Heaven ; but thou thy cares engage To calm thy passions and subdue thy rage : From gentler manners let thy glory grow, And shun contention, the sure source of woe ; That young and old may in thy praise combine, The virtues of humanity be thine This now despis'd advice thy father gave ; Ah ! check thy anger, and be truly brave. If thou wilt yield to great Atrides' prayers, Gifts worthy thee his royal hand prepares; If not but hear me, while I number o'er The proffer'd presents, an exhaustless store. 58 HOMER. [LEcr.IL Then thus the goddess-born; Ulysses hear A faithful speech, that knows nor art nor fear ; What in my secret soul is understood, My tongue shall utter, and my deeds make good. Let Greece then know, my purpose I retain ; Nor with new treaties vex my peace in vain. Who dares think one thing, and another tell, My heart destests him as the gates of hell. Then thus in short my fix'd resolves attend, Which nor Atrides nor his Greeks can bend ; Long toils, long perils, in their cause I bore, But now th' unfruitful glories charm no more. Fight, or not fight, a like reward we claim, The wretch and hero find their prize the same ; Alike regretted in the dust he lies, Who yields ignobly, or who bravely dies. Of all my dangers, all my glorious pains, A life of labors, lo ! what fruit remains ? As the bold bird her helpless young attends, From danger guards them, and from want defends : In search of prey she wings the spacious air, And with th' untasted food supplies her care : For thankless Greece such hardships have I brav'd, Her wives, her infants, by my labors sav'd ; Long sleepless nights in heavy arms I stood, And sweat laborious days in dust and blood. ******* My fates long since by Thetis were disclos'd, And each alternate, life or fame, propos'd ; Here if I stay, before the Trojan town, Short is my date, but deathless my renown : If I return, I quit immortal praise For years on years, and long-extended days. Convinc'd, though late, I find my fond mistake, And warn the Greeks the wiser choice to make : To quit these shores, their native seats enjoy, Nor hope the fall of heaven-defended Troy. Jove's arm display'd asserts her from the skies; Her hearts are strengthen'd and her glories ri#e. Go then to Greece, report our fix'd design; Bid all your councils, all your armies join, Let all your forces, all your hearts conspire To save the ships, the troops, the chiefs from fire. One stratagem has fail'd, and others will: Ye find Achilles is unconquered still. Go then digest my message as you may But here this night let reverend Phoenix stay: His tedious toils and hoary hairs demand A peaceful death in Pthia's friendly land. But whether he remain, or sail with me, His age be sacred, and his will be free. The son of Peleus ceased: the chiefs around In silence wrapp'd, in consternation drown'd, 920 A.C.] HOMER 59 Attend the stern reply. Then Phoenix rose; (Down his white beard a stream of sorrow flows). And while the fate of suffering Greece he mourn'd, With accents weak these tender words return'd: Divine Achilles ! wilt thou then retire, And leave our hosts in blood, our fleets on fire ? If wrath so dreadful fill thy ruthless mind; How shall thy friend, thy Phcenix stay behind ? The royal Peleus, when from Pthia's coast He sent thee early to th' Achaian host; Thy youth as then in sage debates unskill'd, And new to perils of the direful field ; He bade me teach thee all the ways of war ; To shine in councils, and in camps to dare. Never, ah never, let me leave thy side ! No time shall part us, and no fate divide. Not though the God, that breath'd my life, restore The bloom I boasted, and the part I bore, When Greece of old beheld my youthful flames, Delightful Greece, the land of lovely dames. * ****** Now be thy rage, thy fatal rage, resign'd ; A cruel heart ill suits a manly mind: The gods, (the only great, and only wise) Are mov'd by offerings, vows, and sacrifice; Offending man their high compassion wins, And daily prayers atone for daily sins. Prayers are Jove's daughters, of celestial race, Lame are their feet, and wrinkled is their face ; With humble mein and with dejected eyes, Constant they follow where Injustice flies : Injustice, swift, erect, and unconfin'd, Sweeps the wide earth, and tramples o'er mankind, While prayers, to heal her wrongs, move slow behind. Who hears these daughters of almighty Jove, For him they mediate to the throne above: ^ When man rejects the humble suit they make, The sire revenges for the daughter's sake ; From Jove commissiou'd, fierce Injustice then Descends, to punish unrelenting men. Oh let not headstrong passion bear the sway ; These reconciling goddesses obey ; Due honors to the seed of Jove belong : Due honors calm the fierce, and bend the strong. Were these not paid thee by the terms we bring, Were rage still harbor'd in the haughty king; Nor Greece, nor all her fortunes, should engage Thy friend to plead against so just a rage. But since what honor asks, the general sends, And sends by those whom most thy heart commends, The best and noblest of the Grecian train; Permit not these to sue, and sue in vain 1 ******* 60 HOMER. [LKCT.U, Thus he: the stern. Achilles thus replied: My second father, and my reverend guide 1 Thy friend, believe me, no such gifts demands, And asks no honors from a mortal's hands; Jove honors me, and favors my designs-; His pleasure guides me, and his will confines ; And here I stay (if such his high behest), While life's warm spirit beats within my breast Yet hear one word, and lodge it in thy heart : No more molest me on Atrides' part: Is it for him these tears are taught to flow, For him these sorrows ? for my mortal foe ? A generous friendship no cold medium knows, Burns with one love, with one resentment glows ; One should our interests and our passions be ; My friend must hate the man that injures me. Do this, my Phoenix, 'tis a generous part ; And share my realms, my honors, and my heart. Let these return: our voyage or our stay, Rest undetermin'd 'till the dawning day. THE BATTLE OF THE GODS. "While yet the gods stood distant, and forbore To mix with mortal men, so long the Greeks Gloried that their Achilles once again Appeared amongst them, who had long forgone Distressful war ; the Trojans panic-struck Shook every limb, when thus before their eyes They saw the son of Peleus, fleet of foot, Shining in arms, like Mars the scourge of men. But when th' Olympian habitants came down Into the throng of men, strife fierce uprose, Stirring the people's hearts. Minerva stood Beside the deepeu'd trench, without the wall, And shouted : and anon upon the sands, "Where dash'd the roaring waves her shout was heard. Far distant, like a gloomy whirlwind, Mars Stood on Troy's highest turret, and exclaimed, Cheering the Trojans on with cries of war ; Or running with swift feet cours'd Simois' banks, And steep Callicolone. So the blest Of heaven mix'd indiscriminate the hosts, Spurring their rage, and havoc rang'd it wide. The Father of the Deities and men Thunder'd from heaven on high. The ocean God Heav'd from beneath the immensity of earth, And shook the mountain-tops. The roots of Ide And all its fountain-gushing summits reeled ; Troy city and the navy of the Greeks Rock'd as in earthquake. Deep beneath the ground 920A.C.] HOMER. 61 The Monarch of the dead in darkest hell Felt fear, and leap'd affrighted from his throne, And shriek'd aloud, lest he that shakes the shores Should cleave earth's vault asunder, and the scene Of those drear mansions glare upon the sight Of gods and men : a dismal wilderness, Hoary with desolation, which the blest Behold, and shuddering turn their eyes away. Such clang arose while gods encountering strove. ACHILLES GOING FORTH TO BATTLE. They from their rapid ships were pour'd along, As the cold snow-flakes from the height of air Fly hovering thick, driven by the frosty gust Of the north wind, so thickening from the ships Throng'd beamy -dazzling helms, and bossy shields, And concave breast plates strong, and ashen spears. The splendor flashed against the sky ; wide laughed The circling plain with light'ning gleams of brass ; And hollow the reverberated sound Rose from the tramp of men. Amidst them all, Buckling his armor, brave Achilles stood : A gnashing sound came from his grinding teeth ; His eyes were like the glare of fire; his heart With anguish past endurance rose and fell. So with the Trojans wroth, he sheathed his limbs In that same armor which a goddess gave And Vulcan's craft had wrought. Aro*und his legs He fastened first the greaves that elegant Were clasp'd with clasps of silver ; on his breast He drew the cuirass; o'er his shoulders high He slung the brazen silver-studded sword ; Then grasp'd the vast and solid shield, whose gleam Shone distant like the moon. As when at sea, The glitter of a blazing fire far off Appears to mariners ; it burning glows High on the mountains in some lonely cote ; But them the driving tempests hurry back Far from their friends, amidst the fishy seas ; So from Achilles' chased and burnish'd shield, The splendor glanced in air. He lifted then The weighty casque, and placed it on his head. The crested helm shone glist'ning like a star ; The gilded hair which Vulcan on the cone Thick-waving hung, with rustling motion shook, And nodded as he stepp'd. Achilles proved His armor ; poising every limb to feel If the bright gift were fitted to his frame. Wings seem'd to lift him and upbear from earth The leader of his host. Then forth he drew 62 HOMER. [LECT. II. From his own armory his father's spear, Ponderous, and huge, and strong: no other Greek Could wield it; but Achilles's arm alone Brandish'd the Pelian ash : from Pelion's brow The Centaur Chiron for his father fell'd The lofty tree, that it might prove the death Of heroes. Alcimus, Automedon, Tending the coursers, harness'd them, affix'd Their gorgeous headstalls, fitted in their jaws The bits, and to the strong-cemented car, Drawn backward, stretched the reins. Automedou Then grasped the pliant scourge of burnish'd thong, And sprang above the steeds. Behind in arms Achilles mounted, shining all in mail Like the high-rolling sun. Then with a shout Thus sternly chid the coursers of his sire : 1 Xanthus and Balius ! colts of noble strain ! Sprung from Podarges ! take ye now more heed, And bring your charioteer in safety back Into the host of Greece, when we of war Have had our fill ; nor leave me on the field Dead, as ye left Patroclus.' Then replied The fleet-hoof 'd Xanthus from the chariot-yoke, Low bowing down his head, while all his mane From the neck-collar loosed without the yoke Trail'd till it swept the ground; for Juno then, The snowy-arm'd, endued him with a voice : ' Yes, we will now at least preserve thee safe, Valiant Achilles ! but thy deathful day Is near at hand ; nor are thy steeds the cause ; But a great god, and the strong hand of Fate. Not through our tardy sluggishness of pace The Trojans from Patroclus' shoulders rent His armor ; but that mightiest god, the son Of beauteous-hair'd Latona, midst the van Slew him, that Hector might be glorified. Though with the west wind we should scour the plain, * Fleetest of gales, yet thou too art decreed To perish by a hero and a god.' When he had spoken thus the Furies stopp'd His vocal utterance. Much disturb'd, replied The fleet of foot Achilles : ' Wherefore thus, Xanthus, foretellest thou my death ? for thee It ill beseems. I know my destiny : Fate hath decreed that I shall perish here Far from my sire, and her who gave me birth; But not for this will I refrain my hand, 'Till, to the full of slaughter, I have chased These Trojans from the field!' He said, and urged His steeds, and with a shout rush'd to the van. 920A.C/1 HOMER. 63 THE SUIT OF PRIAM. As when a wretch (who, conscious of his crime, Pursu'd for murder, flies his native clime) Just gains some frontier, breathless, pale, amaz'dl All gaze, all wonder: thus Achilles gaz'cl; Thus stood th' attendants stupid with surprise ; All mute, yet seem to question with . their eyes ; Each look'd on other, none the , silence broke, Till thus at last the kingly suppliant spoke: Ah think, thou favor'd of the powers divine! Think of thy father's age, and pity mine! In me, that father's reverend image trace, Those silver hairs, that venerable face; His trembling limbs, his helpless person, see ! In all my equal, but in misery ! Yet now, perhaps, some turn of human fate Expels him helpless from his peaceful state; Think, from some powerful foe thou seest him fly, And beg protection with a feeble cry. Yet still one comfort in his soul may rise ; He hears his son still lives to glad his eyes ; And hearing, still may hope a better day May send him thee, to chase that foe away. No comfort to my griefs, no hopes remain, The best, the bravest of my sons are slain ! Yet what a race, ere Greece to Ilion came, The pledge of many a lov'd and loving dame 1 Nineteen one mother bore Dead, all are dead 1 How oft, alas ! has wretched Priam bled ! Still one was left, their loss to recompense : His father's hope, his country's last defence. Him too thy rage has slain ! beneath thy steel Unhappy in his country's cause he fell ! For him, through hostile camps I bend my way, For him thus prostrate at thy feet I lay ; Large gifts proportion'd to thy wrath I bear ; Oh hear the wretched, and the gods revere 1 Think of thy father, and this face behold 1 See him in me, as helpless and as old, Though not so wretched : there he yields to me, The first of men in sovereign misery ! Thus forced to kneel, thus grovelling to embrace The scourge and ruin of my realm and race ; Suppliant my children's murderer to implore, And kiss those hands yet reeking with their gore I These words soft pity in the chief inspire, Touch'd with the dear remembrance of his sire. Then with his hand (as prostrate still he fey) The old man's cheek he gently turn'd away. Now each by turns indulged the gush of woe ; And now the mingled tides together flow : 64 HOMER. [LECT.IL This low on earth, that gently bending o'er, A father one, and one a son deplore : But great Achilles different passions rend, And now his sire he mourns, and now his friend. Th' infectious softness through the heroes ran ; One universal solemn shower began ; They bore as heroes, but they felt as men. Satiate at length with unavailing woes, From the high throne divine Achilles rose; The reverend monarch by the hand he rais'd ; On his white beard ^and form majestic gaz'd, . Not unrelenting ; then serene began With words to suit the miserable man. Alas ! what weight of anguish hast thou known ! Unhappy prince ! thus guardless and alone To pass through foes, and thus undaunted face The man whose fury has destroy'd thy race ! Heaven sure has arm'd thee with a heart of steel, A strength proportion'd to the woes you feel. Rise then : let reason mitigate your care ; To mourn avails not ; man is born to bear. Such is, alas ! the god's severe decree ; They, only they, are blest, and only free. Two urns by Jove's high throne have ever stood, The source of evil one, and one of good; From thence the cup of mortal man he fills, Blessings to these, to those distributes ills ; To most he mingles both. The wretch decreed To taste the bad, unmix't, is curst indeed; Pursued by wrongs, by meagre famine driven, He wanders, out-cast both of earth and heaven. The happiest taste not happiness sincere, But find the cordial draught is dash'd with care. * * * * * * * And since the god his hand has pleas'd to turn, And fill thy measures from his bitter urn, What sees the son, but hapless heroes' falls 1 War and the blood of men surround thy walls ! What must be, must be. Bear thy lot, nor shed These unavailing sorrows o'er the dead ; Thou canst not call him from the Stygian shore, But thou, alas ! may'st live, to suffer more 1 To whom the king : oh favor'd of the skies ! Here let me grow to earth ! since Hector lies On the bare beach depriv'd of obsequies. Oh give me Hector ! to my eyes restore His corse, and take the gifts : I ask no more. Then, as thou may'st, these boundless stores enjoy ; Safe may'st thou sail, and turn thy wrath from Troy ! So shall thy pity and forbearance give A weak old man to see the light and live ! Move me no more (Achilles thus replies, While kindling anger sparkle in his eyes) ; 920A.C.] HOMER. 65 Nor seek by tears my steady soul to bend; To yield thy Hector I myself intend: For know, from Jove my goddess-mother came (Old Ocean's daughter, silver-footed dame) ; Nor com'st thou but by Heaven ; nor com'st alone, Some god impels with courage not thy own : No human hand the weighty gates unbarr'd, Nor could- the boldest of our youth have dar'd To pass our outworks, or elude the guard. Cease ; lest, neglectful of high Jove's command I show thee, king 1 thou tread'st pn hostile land ; Release my knees, thy suppliant arts give o'er, And shake the purpose of my soul no more. The sire obey'd him, trembling and o'eraw'd, Achilles, like a lion, rush'd abroad ; . Automedon and Alcimus attend (Whom most he honor'd since he lost his friend); These to unyoke the mules and horses went, And led the hoary herald to the tent: Two splendid mantles and a carpet spread, They leave to cover and enwrap the dead. Then call 'the handmaids, with assistant toil To wash the body, and anoint witli oil, Apart from Priam; lest th' unhappy sire, Provok'd to passion, once more rouse to ire The stern Pelides; and nor sacred age* Nor Jove's command should check the rising rage. This done, the garments o'er the corse they spread: Achilles lifts it to the funeral bed ; Then while the body on the car they laid, He groans and calls on lov'd Patroclus' shade. If in that gloom which never light must know, The deeds of mortals touch the ghosts below; O friend ! forgive me, that I thus fulfil (Restoring Hector) Heaven's unquestion'd will. THE GROT OF CALYPSO. FROM THE ODYSSEY. He spoke. The god who mounts the winged winds Fast to his feet the golden pinions binds, That high through fields of air his flight sustain O'er the wide earth, and o'er the boundless main. He grasps the wand that causes sleep to fly, Or in soft slumber seals the wakeful eye : Then shoots from heaven to high Pieria's steep, And stoops incumbent on the rolling deep. Thus o'er the world of waters Hermes flew, Till now the distant island rose in view: Then swift ascending from the azure wave, He. took the path that winded to the cave. 5 66 HOMER. [LECT.IL Large was the grot, in which the nymph he found (The fair-hair'd nymph with every beauty crown'd). She sate and sang; the rocks resound her lays: The cave was brightend with a rising blaze : Cedar and frankincense, an odorous pile, Flam'd on the hearth, and wide perfum'd the isle ; While she with work and song the time divides; And through the loom the golden shuttle guides. Without the grot a vicious sylvan scene Appear'd around, and groves of living green; Poplars and alders ever quivering play'd, And nodding cypress formed a fragrant shade; On whose high branches, waving with the storm, The birds of broadest wing their mansions form, The chough, the. sea-mew, the loquacious crow, And scream aloft, and skim the deeps below. Depending vines the shelving cavern screen, With purple clusters blushing through the green. Four limpid fountains from the cliffs distil; And every fountain pours a several rill, In mazy windings wandering down the hill, Where blooming meads with vivid greens were crown'd And glowing violets threw odors round. A scene, where if a god should cast his sight, A god might gaze, and wander with delight ! Joy touch'd the messenger of heaven: he stay'd Entranc'd, and all the blissful h:\unts survey'd. Him, entering in the cave, Calypso knew; For powers celestial to each other's view Stand still confest, though distant far they lie To habitants of earth, or sea, or sky. But sad Ulysses, by himself apart, Pour'd the big sorrows of his swelling heart; All on the lonely shore he sate to weep, And roll'd his eyes around the restless deep ; Tow'rd his lov'd coast he roll'd his eyes in vain, Till dimm'd with rising grief, they stream'd again, Now graceful seated on her shining throne, To Hermes thus the nymph divine begun : God of the golden wand ! on what behest Arriv'st thou here an unexpected guest ? Lov'd as thou art, thy free injunctions lay ; Tis mine, with joy and duty to obey. Till now a stranger, in a happy hour Approach, and taste the dainties of my bower. Thus having spoke, the nymph the table spread (Ambrosial cates, with nectar rosy-red) ; Hermes the hospitable rite partook, Divine refection! then, recruited, spoke: What mov'd this journey from my native sky, A goddess asks, nor can a god deny; 920 A.C.] HOMER. Hear then the truth. By mighty Jove's command Unwilling have I trod this pleasing land ; For who, self-mov'd, with weary wing would sweep Such length of ocean and unmeasur'd deep : A world of waters ! far from all the ways Where men frequent, or sacred altars blaze? But to Jove's will submission we must pay ; What power so great to dare to disobey ? A man, he says, a man resides with thee, Of all his kind most worn with misery ; The Greeks, (whose arms for nine long years employ'd Their force on Ilion, in the tenth destroy'd) At length embarking in a luckless hour, With conquest proud, iucens'd Minerva's power : Hence on the guilty race her vengeance huii'd With storms pursued them through the liquid world. There all his vessels sunk beneath the wave ! There all his dear companions found their grave ! Sav'd from the jaws of death by heaven's decree, The tempest drove him to these shores and thee. Him, Jove now orders to his native lands Straight to dismiss ; so destiny commands : Impatient fate his near return attends, And calls him to his country, and his friends. Ev'n to her inmost soul the goddess shook ; Then thus her anguish and her passion broke: Ungracious gods ! with spite and envy curst Still to your own ether ial race the worst ! Ye envy mortal and immortal joy, And love, the only sweet of life, destroy. Did ever goddess by her charms engage A favor'd mortal, and not feel your rage ? So when Aurora sought Orion's love, Her joys disturb'd your blissful hours above, Till, in Ortygia, Dian's winged dart Had piere'd the hapless hunter to the heart. So when the covert of the thrice-ear'd field Saw stately Ceres to her passion yield, Scarce could lasion taste her heavenly charms, But Jove's swift lightning scorch'd him in her arms. And is it now my turn, ye mighty powers 1 Am I the envy of your blissful bowers ? A man, an outcast to the storm and wave, It was my crime to pity, and to save ; When he whose thunders rent his bark in twain, And sunk his brave companions in the main Alone, abandon'd, in mid ocean tost, The sport of -winds, and driven from every coast, Hither this man of misery I led, Received the friendless, and the hungry fed; Nay promis'd (vainly promis'd !) to bestow Immortal life, except from age and woe. 68 HOMER. [LECT. II. Tis past and Jove decrees lie shall remove ; Gods as we are, we are but slaves to Jove. Go then he may (he must, if he ordain, Try all those dangers, all those deeps, again) : But never, never shall Calypso send To toils like these her husband and her friend. . What ships have I, what sailors to convey, What oars to cut the long laborious way ? Yet I'll direct the safest means to go; That last advice is all I can bestow. To her the power who bears the charming rod: Dismiss the man, nor irritate the god ; Prevent the rage of him who reigns above, For what so dreadful as the wrath of Jove ? Thus having said, he cut the cleaving sky, And in a moment vanish'd from her eye. The nymph, obedient to divine command, To seek Ulysses pac'd along the sand. Him pensive on the lonely beach she found, With streaming eyes in briny torrents drown'd, And inly pining for his native shore; For now the soft enchantress pleas'd no more: For now, reluctant, and constrain' d by charms, Absent he lay in her desiring arms, In slumber wore the heavy night away, On rocks and shores consum'd the tedious day; There sate all desolate, and sigh'd alone, With echoing sorrows made the mountains groan, And roll'd his eyes o'er all the restless main, Till, dimm'd with rising grief, they stream'd agaia Knlun tju CJjirft. HESIOD. TYRT^EUS. ARCHILOCHUS. TERPANDER. ALCMAN. STESICHORUS. ALC^EUS. ^ESOP. SOLON. HESIOD, a contemporary of Homer, was born, according to the best authority, 907 A.C. His father was a native of Cuinae, an .ZEolian island, but want of success in his calling, whatever that may have been, induced him to remove to Ascra, in Bocotia, a small village at the base of Mount Helicon. Here Hesiod was born, and, from the poverty of his family, was brought up to the occupation of a shepherd, and tended, in his boyhood, the flocks of a neighboring herdman near Mount Helicon. With this condition he, however, soon became dissatisfied ; and musing, as he himself tells us, upon the severity of his fate, while seated near the mountain's base, the Muses descended, held free converse with him, and invited him to enter into their service. This incident he relates in the following verses : Erewhile as they the shepherd swain behold, Feeding beneath the sacred mount his fold, With love of charming song his breast they fired; There me the Heavenly Muses first inspired ; There when the Maids of Jove the silence broke To Hesiod thus the Shepherd swain they spoke. To this incident Ovid, the Roman poet, evidently alludes in the fol- lowing lines : Nor Clio, nor her sisters, have I seen, As Hesiod saw them on the Ascraean green. At the death of his father, which probably occurred soon after, Hesiod became a priest in the temple of the Muses, a small paternal estate was left to be equally divided between Hesiod and his brother Perses. Perses was, however, cold and selfish in disposition, forming a remarkable con- trast to the warmth and fervor of his brother's nature ; and in order to appropriate the entire property to his own purposes, he corrupted the 70 HESIOD. [LECT. III. judges who were appointed to divide it, and by this means effected his purpose. Hesiod soon became informed of this circumstance ; but, in- stead of reproaching his brother, as would have been natural, for the baseness of his conduct, he addressed one of his finest poetic strains to him, in which he set forth, with great clearness and force, the vanity of riches when obtained at the sacrifice of honor and virtue. The next incident of importance in the life of Hesiod, is the con- test between him and Homer for a poetic prize. The occasion which elicited this contest was as follows : Archidamus, king of the island of Eubosa, had early instituted games and festivals to be annually observed in Chalcis, the capital of his kingdom. These ceremonies were for many years regularly sustained by his sons and successors. On one of these occasions Homer and Hesiod met at the court of Chalcis, and -the poetic prize contended for was a Tripod. The judges who presided on the occa- sion decided in favor of Hesiod, and in joyful exultation the Ascreean bard immediately dedicated the Tripod to the Muses, placing upon it the fol- ing inscription : This Hesiod vows to th' Heliconian Nine, In Chalcis won from Horner the divine. This incident is found in every account the ancients have left us of the life of Hesiod ; but it is proper to remark that its correctness has often been questioned ; and doubts have even existed whether Homer and He- siod ever met each other. Cicero explicity declares that they were not even contemporaries. But Plutarch, on the contrary, relates, in his life of Philip of Macedon, a dispute which occurred between that prince and his son Alexander, on this subject; and says that while Philip contended that the decision of the judges in favor of Hesiod was sufficient evidence of his superiority on this occasion, Alexander replied that the judges were swains and not kings, and therefore not capable of appreciating Homer's poetry. In the service of the Muses Hesiod passed his life to a very advanced age, and finally retired to Locris, a town situated relatively to Mount Parnassus as Ascra had been to Mount Helicon. Here, after passing a few years in retirement and repose, at the residence of a friend, he was accidentally murdered, on a mistaken report that he had been identified with an act of baseness of which his friend had unfortunately been guilty ; and Solon, the distinguished Athenian lawgiver, relates, that his body, immediately after his death, was contemptuously thrown into the adjacent sea, there to perish without the observance of funeral rites. Plutarch, however, relates that the body of Hesiod was conveyed to the shore by a dolphin, and was afterwards discovered through the sagacity of the vener- able poet's dog, and decently buried by the inhabitants of Orchomenos, a town in Bosotia, with the following epitaph over his tomb : 90YA.C.] HESIOD. 71 The fallow vales of Ascra gave him birth: His bones are cover'd by thetMinyan earth: Supreme in Hellas Hesiod's glories rise, Whom men discern by wisdom's touchstone wise. Among the Greek Inscriptions is an epitaph on Hesiod, with the name of Alcaeus, which has the air of being a genuine ancient production, from its breathing the beautiful classic simplicity of the old Grecian school : Nymphs in their founts midst Locris' woodland gloom, Laved Hesiod's corse, and piled his grassy tomb: The shepherds there the yellow honey shed. And milk of goats was sprinkled o'er his head : With voice so sweetly breathed that sage would sing, Who sipp fc d pure drops from every Muse's spring. The undisputed works of Hesiod are the Works and Days, the Theog- ony, and the Shield of Hercules. The subject of the ' Works and Days' is entirely agricultural, and in the opening of the poem, the different ages of the world are described with peculiar force and beauty. The story of Pandora's Box is here told with greater elegance than by any other poet of antiquity. This story is followed by a description of the five dif- ferent ages into which the ancient poets were fond of fancying the history of the world to be divided. The first age was the age of gold. It em- braced the reign of Saturn, and its brilliancy and glory were appropriately typified by the precious metal selected to represent it. The second age was the age of silver, embracing the period that commenced with the assumption of supreme power by Jupiter, and continued as long as that august Deity held the throne of heaven. The third age was the age of brass. This age occupied the space intervening between the supreme rule of Jupiter, and the age of demigods and heroes. The glory of the former periods of the world had now passed away, but still the remembrance of that glory was carefully preserved. The fourth age was the age of demi- gods and heroes, and was known amongst the Greek poets as the heroic age. The fifth and last age was the iron age, in which the poet, in 'the following lines, pathetically and beautifully laments that it was his own hard fortune to live. . Oh would that nature had denied me birth Midst this fifth race, this iron age of earth; That long before within the grave I lay, Or long hereafter could behold the day. The didactic lessons which the < Works and Days' contains, were re- garded by the ancients as of so great importance, that the poem was, for ages, used throughout Greece, for purposes of recitation in the ordinary course of moral instruction in their seats of learning. Hence, in estimat- 72 HESIOD. [LECT.IIL ing the character of Hesiod, we must separate those superstitions which belong to traditionary mythology, from the system of opinions which re- spected the guidance of human life ; the accountableness of nations and individuals to a heavenly judge ; and the principles of public equity and popular justice which he derived from the national institutions. If we examine the ' Works and Days' in this view of its tendency and spirit, we shall find abundant cause for admiration and respect of a man, who, born and nurtured in the lap of heathen superstition, could shadow out the maxims of truth in such beautiful allegories, and recommend the practice of virtue in such powerful and affecting appeals to the conscience and the reason. It was from this work of Hesiod that Virgil, the Roman poet, borrowed the entire outline of his Georgics. 'The Theogony' is a history and genealogy of the Grecian gods, em- bracing the vast number of thirty thousand. The early part of this poem is tedious and uninteresting ; but in the latter part, where the gods are arrayed in battle against each other, the sublimity approximates to some of the most spirited passages of Homer, and doubtless afforded to Milton important hints for his battles of the angels in Paradise Lost. But the genius of Hesiod, though of a high order, was far inferior to that of Homer. His observations throughout the ' Works and Days,' are of a practical kind, and are generally very sensible, and many of them even beautiful ; but he wanted the thrilling and creative power, and also the deep pathos of the great Ionian bard. In the ' Theogony,' after the minute catalogue of the Grecian gods is ended, we find some few passages, as already observed, that indicated very considerable power ; but in jus- tice to Hesiod it should, perhaps, be observed, that there is in the subject of his poem little beyond his celestial contests to. call forth that vast and vivid power, which the subject of the Iliad of Homer naturally and con- stantly elicited. We shall close our remarks upon this ancient poet with the description of the Creation of Pandora, Dispensations of Providence to the Just and Unjust, and the Battle of the Giants. CREATION OF PANDORA. FROM THE WORKS AND DAYS. The food of man in deep concealment lies, The angry gods have veil'd it from our eyes. Else had one day bestow'd sufficient cheer, And though inactive fed thee through the year. Then might thy hand have laid the rudder by, In black'ning smoke forever hung on high ; Then had the laboring ox foregone the soil, And patient mules had found reprieve from toil 907 A.C.] HESIOD. 73 But Jove conceal'd our food, incensed at heart, Since mock'd by wise Prometheus' wily art. Sore ills to man devised the Heavenly Sire, And hid the shining element of fire. Prometheus, then, benevolent of soul, In hollow reed the spark recovering stole, Cheering to man, and mock'd the god whose gaze Serene rejoices in the lightning's rays. ' Oh son of Japhet ! with indignant heart Spake the cloud-gatherer ; oh unmatch'd in art 1 Exultest thou in this the flame retriev'd, And dost thou triumph in the God deceiv'd? But thou, with the posterity of man, Shalt rue the fraud whence mightier ills began: I will send evil for thy stealthy fire, An ill which all shall love, and all desire? The Sire who rules the earth and sways the pole Had said, and laughter fill'd his secret souL He bade the crippled god his best obey, And mould with tempering water plastic clay; Imbreathe the human voice within her breast, With firm-strung nerves th' elastic limbs invest : Her aspect fair as goddesses above, A virgin's likeness'with the brows of love. He bade Minerva teach the skill that dyes The web with colors as the shuttle flies : He call'd ; the magic of Love's charming queen To breathe around a witchery of mien: Then plant the rankling stings of keen desire, And cares that trick the limbs with prank'd attire : Bade Hermes last impart the craft refined Of thievish manners and a shameless mind. He gives command, th' inferior powers obey, The crippled artist moulds the temper'd clay: A maid's coy image rose at Jove's behest; Minerva clasp'd the zone, diffused ihe vest; Adored Persuasion and the Graces young Her taper 'd limbs with golden jewels hung; Round her smooth brow the beauteous-tressed Hours A garland twined of Spring's purpureal flowers; The whole attire Minerva's graceful art Disposed, adjusted, form'd to every part ; And last the winged herald of thu skies, Slayer of Argus, gave the gift of lies ; Gave trickish manners, honey'd words instill'd. As he that rolls the deep'ning thunder will'd: Then by the feather'd messenger of Heaven, The name Pandora to the maid was given : For all the gods conferr'd a gifted grace To crown this mischief of the mortal race. The Sire commands the winged herald bear The finish'd nymph, th' inextricable snare : 74 H E S 1 D . [LECT. III. To Epimetheus was the present brought ; Prometheus' warning vanish'd from his thought : That he disclaim each offering from the skies, And straight restore, lest ill to men arise. But he receiv'd, and conscious knew too late Th' insidious gift, and felt the curse of fate. On earth of yore the sons of men abode From evil free and labor's galling load ; Free from diseases that with racking rage Precipitate the pale decline of age. Now swift the days of manhood haste away, And misery's pressure turns the temples gray. The woman's hands an ample casket bear : She lifts the lid she scatters ills in air. Hope sole remain'd within, nor took her flight, Beneath the vessel's verge conceal'd from light : Or ere she fled, the maid, advised by Jove, Seal'd fast th' unbroken cell, and dropp'd the lid above. Issued the rest in quick dispersion hurl'd, And woes innumerous roam'd the breathing world: With ills the land is full, with ills the sea; Diseases haunt our frail humanity : Self-wandering through the noon, Jhe night, they glide, Voiceless a voice the power all-wife denied : Know then this awful truth it is not given T' elude the wisdom of omniscient Heaven. DISPENSATIONS OF PROVIDENCE TO THE JUST AND THE UNJUST. With crooked judgments, lo ! the oath's dread God Avenging runs and tracks them where they trod. Rough are the ways of justice as the sea, Dragg'd to and fro by men's corrupt decree : Bribe-pamper'd men ! whose hands perverting draw The right aside and warp the wrested law. Though, while corruption on their sentence waits, They thrust pale Justice from their haughty gates ; Invisible their steps the Virgin treads, And musters evils o'er their sinful heads. She with the dark of air her form arrays, And walks in awful grief the city ways ; Her wail is heard, her tear upbraiding falls O'er their stain'd manners, their devoted walls. But they who never from the right have stray'd, Who as the citizen the stranger aid ; They and their cities flourish ; genial Peace Dwells in their borders, and their youth increase ; Nor Jove, whose radiant eyes behold afar * Hangs forth in heaven the signs of grievous war, Nor dearth nor scath the upright just pursues ; Feasts all their care ; while earth abundance strews. 907 A.C.] HESIOD. 75 Rich are their mountain oaks ; the topmost tree The acorns fill ; its trunk the hiving bee : Their sheep with fleeces pant : their women's race Reflect both parents in the infant face : Still flourish they, nor tempt with ships the main The fruits of earth are pour'd from every plain. But o'er the wicked race, to whom belong The thought of evil and the deed of wrong, Saturnian Jove, of wide-beholding eyes, Bids the dark signs .of retribution rise : And oft the crimes of one destructive fall, The crimes of one are visited on all. The God sends down his angry plagues from high, Famine and pestilence ; in heaps they die : He smites with barrenness the marriage bed, And generations moulder with the dead : Again in vengeance of his wrath he falls On their great hosts, and breaks their tottering walls : Scatters their ships of war ; and where the sea Heaves high its mountain billows, there is he. Ponder, oh judges ! in your inmost thought The retribution by his vengeance wrought. Invisible the gods are ever nigh, Pass through the midst and bend th' all-seeing eye: The men who grind the poor, who wrest the right, Awless of Heaven's revenge, are naked to their sight. For thrice ten thousand holy demons rove This breathing world, the delegates of Jove. Guardians of man, their glance alike surveys The upright judgments, and th' unrighteous ways. A virgin pure is Justice, and her birth August from him, who rules the heavens and earth: A creature glorious to the gods on high, Whose mansion is yon everlasting sky. Driven by despiteful wrong she takes her seat, In lowly grief, at Jove's eternal feet. There of the soul unjust her plaints ascend ; So rue the nations when their kings offend : When, uttering wiles and brooding thoughts of ill, They bend their laws and wrest them to their wilL Oh ! gorged with gold, ye kiugly judges, hear ! Make straight your path ; your crooked judgments fear ; That the foul record may no more be seen, Erased, forgotten, as it ne'er had been ! BATTLE OF THE GIANTS. FROM THE THEOGONY. All on that day stirr'd up th' enormous strife, Female and male ; Titanic gods, and sons And daughters of old Saturn ; and that band Of giant brethren, whom from forth th' abyss 76 HESIOD. [LECT. Ill j Of darkness under earth deliverer Jove Sent up to light : grim forms and strong with force Gigantic ; arms of hundred-handed gripe Burst from their shoulders ; fifty heads upsprang Cresting their muscular limbs. They thus opposed In dismal conflict 'gainst the Titan stood, In all their sinewy hands wielding aloft Precipitous rocks. On th' other side alert The Titan phalanx closed ; then hands of strength Join'd prowess, and show'd forth the works of war. Th' immeasurable sea tremendous dash'd With roaring, earth-resounded, the broad Heaven Groan'd shattering; huge Olympus reel'd throughout Down to its rooted baee beneath the rush Of those immortals. The dark chasm of hell Was shaken with the trembling, with the tramp Of hollow footsteps and strong battle-strokes, And measureless uproar of wild pursuit. So they against each other through the air Hurl'd intermix'd their weapons, scattering groans Where'er they fell. The voice of armies rose With rallying shout through their starr'd firmament, And with a mighty war-cry both the hosts Encountering closed. Nor longer then did Jove Curb down his force, but sudden in his soul There grew dilated strength, and it was fill'd With his omnipotence; his whole of might Broke from him, and the godhead rush'd abroad. The vaulted sky, the mount Olympus, flash'd With his continual presence, for he pass'd Incessant forth and lighten'd where he trod. Thrown from his nervous grasp the lightnings flew Reiterated swift, the whirling flash Cast sacred splendor, and the thunderbolt Fell. Then on every side the foodful earth Roar'd in the burning flame, and far and near The trackless depth of forests crashed with fire. Yea the broad earth burn'd red, the floods of Nile Glow'd, and the desert waters of the sea. Round and around the Titan's earthly forms Roll'd the hot vapor, and on fiery surge Stream'd upward swathing in one boundless blaze The purer air of heaven. Keen rush'd the light In quivering splendor from the writhen flash ; Strong though they were, intolerable smote Their orbs of sight, and with bedirnming glare , Scorch'd up their blasted vis^m. Through the gulf Of yawning Chaos the supernal flame Spread miugling fire with darkness. But to see With human eye % and hear with ear of man, Had been as on a time the heaven and earth Met hurtling in mid-air, as nether earth 684 A.C.] TYRTSEUS. 7*7 Crash'd from the centre, and the wreck of heaven Fell ruining from high. Not less when gods Grappled with gods, the shout and clang of arms Commingled, and the tumult roar'd from heaven. The whirlwinds were abroad, and hollow arous'd A shaking and a gathering dark of dust, Crushing the thunders from the clouds of air, Hot thunderbolts and flames, the fiery darts Of Jove; and in the midst of either host They bore upon their blast the cry confused Of battle, and the shouting. For the din Tumultuous of that sight-appalling strife Rose without bound. Stern strength of hardy proof Wreak'd there its deeds till weary sank the war. After the death of Homer and Hesiod, more than two centuries elapsed before Greece produced another poet whose genius was sufficiently ele- vated to preserve his name from oblivion ; and the poet whom we are next to notice would not, perhaps, now be known to literature, were it not for the important incident in Grecian history with which he is identified. Tyrtseus, the poet to whom we here allude, was a native of Miletus, in Ionia, and was born in that city 684 A.C. Of his family, and of the incidents of his early life, we have little knowledge, farther than that he early devoted himself to music and poetry as a profession, and was an instructor of youth in their preparatory studies for the chorus used in religious worship, and in other sacred ceremonies. His ambition,- how- ever, soon led him to aspire to a more elevated position and a more ex- tended celebrity than could be attained in his native place ; and he there- fore removed to Athens, and there established himself in his profession. Tyrtseus had resided in Athens but a comparatively short time before the freedom of the city was conferred upon him, together with all the privileges and immunities of citizenship. To this the honorableness of his profession, and the respect in which it was held, greatly contrib- uted; for instructors were always regarded by the Athenians as public benefactors. As an Athenian citizen, Tyrtseus frequently bore arms in defence of his country ; and it is probable that he had attained some con- siderable distinction as a "soldier, before the following incident, and to which we have already alluded, occurred : The Spartans, in a war with the Messenians, a neighboring State, though at fir st. successful, were at length reduced to so great extremity as to be constrained to apply to the Delphic oracle, in order to ascertain the cause of their frequent defeats, or to inquire in what manner they might become successful. The oracle replied that the Messenians would continue to triumph till the Spartans obtained an Athenian general to lead their armies. The Dorian pride of Sparta was deeply wounded by a response from the oracle so humiliating to their ancient glory, and at the same time so complimentary to the Hellenic race of Athens. There 78 TYRTAEUS. [LECT. Ill was, however, no alternative, and to Athens they accordingly sent, in accordance with the response of the oracle, for a commander. The Athenians, in compliance with their request, sent them, it is said in deri- sion, but we know not why, the poet Tyrtaeus, as the leader of their forces. Tyrtaeus found the Spartan troops entirely dispirited ; but by the animated strains of his martial poetry, he soon succeeded in rousing their ancient heroic enthusiasm, and inspiring them with the highest de- gree of military ardor : the poem which follows is represented to have mainly contributed to the production of this effect. But whatever may have been the cause, Tyrtaeus had been at the head of the Spartan forces only a short time before they -became everywhere victorious, and in the event of the contest, the Messenians were reduced to absolute submis- sion, and to unconditional servitude. Of the poem to which we here allude, and which is one of the finest War Songs ever written, the fol- lowing is a very faithful translation : WAR ELEGY. Not on the lips, nor yet in memory's trace Should that man live, though rapid in the race, And firm in wrestling : though Cyclopean might Be his, and fleetness like a whirlwind's flight : Though than Tithonus lovelier to behold; Like Cynaras, or Midas, graced with gold: Than Pelop's realm more kingly his domain; More sweet his language than Adrastus' strain; Not though he boast all else of mortal praise, Yet waut the. glory of the warrior's bays. He is not brave, who not endures the sight Of blood ; nor, man to man, in closest fight, Still pants to press the foe: here bravery lies; And here of human fame the chiefest prize. This noblest badge the youth of honor bears, And this the brightest ornament he wears. This, as a common good, the state possess, And a whole people here, their safety bless. Firm and unyielding, when the armed man Still presses on, and combats in the van ; And casts the thought of shameful flight away ; And patient-daring, to the perilous fray Presents his life and soul; and, with his eye, And voice, exhorts his fellow-men to die, Here is the warrior found ; this, this is bravery. He breaks the bristling phalanx from afar : His foresight rules the floating wave of war ; Fallen in the foremost ranks, he leaves a name, His father's glory, and his country's fame. All on the front he bears full many a wound That rived his breast-plate and his buckler's round; 660 A.C.] ARCHILOCHUS. 79 Old men and youths let fall the sorrowing tear, And a whole people mourns around his bier. Fame decks his tomb, and shall his children grace, And children's children, to their latest race. For ne'er his name, his generous glory, dies : Though tomb'd in earth, he shall immortal rise ; Who dared, persisting, in the field remain, And act his deeds, till number'd with the slain ? While charging thousands rush'd, resisting stood, And for his sons and country, pour'd his blood. But if, escaping the long sleep of death, He wins the splendid battle's glorious wreath ; Him, with fond gaze, gray sires and youths behold, And life is pleasant, till his days are old. Conspicuous midst the citizens he wears The silver glory of his snowy hairs. None 'gainst his peace conspire with shameless hate, None seek to wrong the saviour of the State : The younger, and his equals, reverent rise ^ His elders quit their seats, with honoring eyes; Then to this height of generous deeds aspire ; And let the soul of war thy patriot bosom fire. Archilochus, the G-recian poet who follows Tyrtseus, was born in the island of Paros, 660 A.C. He belonged to one of the most ancient and honorable families of that island, and to this circumstance much of his early reputation and influence are to be attributed. The Parians being a people of great enterprise and activity, resolved to form a distant settlement in the island of Thasos, on the coast of Thrace. To secure the protection of the gods of their country in this enterprise, they com- missioned Telesicles, the father of Archilochus, to the temple of Apollo, in order to insure the protection and patronage of that divinity. The favor of the god was, without difficulty, obtained, and the expedition being accordingly undertaken, it proved entirely successful. The set- tlement having been formed, it became necessary there to institute the Eleusinian mysteries ; and for this purpose, Tellis, the grandfather of Archilochus was deputed to accompany the priestess of Ceres thither. Archilochus was, in the meantime, prosecuting his studies in his native island, and had scarcely begun to distinguish himself as a poet before aid from the parent country was required by their distant colony the colony having attempted to form a settlement on the adjacent coast of Thrace. To this project the Thracians objected, and they, therefore, determined to expel the invaders by force. Aid being consequently sent from Paros to their assistance, Archilochus himself accompanied the expedition ; but in the first onset of the enemy he evinced that want of personal courage which, by the ancient Greeks, was always regarded not only as dishonor- able, but in the highest degree, disgraceful. He, in fact, fled from the field of battle ; and that his shield might not impede his flight, he cast it 80 ARCHILOCHUS. [LEO r. Ill from him, and left it a trophy to the pursuing enemy. The witty poet did not, however, intend that his enemies should be permitted to use this incident to his disadvantage, and therefore, in order to anticipate the ridicule they might heap upon him, he made a matter of amusement of the event himself, and anticipated an expression of public opinion by the composition and publication of the following verses : Rejoice, some Saian, who my shield may find, Which in some hedge, unhurt, I left behind. Farewell my shield; now I myself am free, I'll buy another, full as good as thee. Before Archilochus set out on the expedition to Thasos, he had formed a prospective matrimonial alliance with Neobule, the daughter of Ly- cambes, one of the principal citizens of Paros. His disgraceful conduct, however, on the field of battle in Thrace had already become known at Paros ; in consequence of which, Lycambes not only refused to permit him to renew his suit to his daughter, but Neobule herself declined to hold any farther intercourse with him. The dignity of the family of Archilochus, and the personal feelings of the poet himself, were so out- raged by this event, that he immediately turned the bitter invective of his poetic satire against Lycambes and every member of his family. These satires were written in Iambic verse a measure invented by the author at this time, and one peculiarly adapted to satirical purposes. At first the satiric strains of Archilochus were treated lightly both by Lycambes and his friends ; but the poet reiterated his attacks so con- stantly, and with such increased severity on every successive occasion, that Lycambes was finally driven to absolute despair and in order to cover his mortification, and to remove himself from the taunts of the friends of Archilochus, he violently terminated his existence by suicide ; and his daughter soon after followed his example. For some time after this melancholy event occurred, Archilochus con- tinued at Paros, triumphing in his victory, and caressed by his friends, who had now become the settled opponents of the party of Lycambes ; but eventually the partisans of Lycambes gained the ascendancy, and by a public decree Archilochus was banished from his ancestral home Immediately after his banishment he repaired to Thasos; but finding no more favor there than he had found at Paros, he resolved to seek shelter, protection, and even patronage, among the continental States of Greece. Intelligence of his infamous cowardice had, however, by this time, spread throughout the whole country; and accordingly, wherever he made his appearance, he was not only shunned, but even treated with contumely and insult. Wandering thus for many years from State to State, an actual outcast in the midst of his countrymen, he finally reached the city of Elis just at the time the Olympic games were to be celebrated in that city ; and his 660 A.C.] ACHILOCHUS. 81 pitiable condition immediately excited the compassion of the multitude assembled, though his disgrace, with all its oflfensiveness, still attached closely to him. He had the good fortune, however, so far to ingratiate himself with the judges who presided at the games, as to obtain their permission to recite an ode which he had composed in honor of Hercules, There were many other poets assembled at Elis for the purpose of com- peting for the poetic prize, and the judges therefore considered that it would, be no more than an act of justice to Archilochus to allow him, banished and disgraced though he was, to enter the list of competitors, He was preceded by many poets of eminence, and their productions, being of a high order of merit, received the just applause and the warm encomiums of the judges before whom they were produced ; but when Archilochus appeared, bearing with him his harp, and commenced to .strike its strings and to chant forth his heavenly numbers, in honor of the great hero in whose praise they were written, the whole assembly was at once enchanted, and, without a moment's hesitation, decreed to him the highest poetic honor, and the first prize. The occasion upon which this great triumph was obtained was so public, and the circumstances were so imposing, that the fame of the event spread even more rapidly than had the previous intelligence of Archilochus' disgrace ; and the people of Paros hearing of the signal victory which their banished poet had gained, hastened to repair the injury which they had inflicted upon him, by publicly recalling him from banishment. But his heart's anguish, trial, penury, and even want itself, had preyed so long upon the sensitive feelings of the great poet, that his strength Was exhausted, his vital energies were prostrated ; and he, therefore, when the intelligence of his recall from banishment reached him at Elis, had only sufficient power left to enable him to find his way to his home just in time to mingle his ashes with those of his ancestors. Thus, by a fatality frequently attending men of genius, Archilochus passed a life of misery, and acquired honor only after his death. Re- proach, ignominy, contempt, poverty, and persecution, were the ordinary companions of his person ; while admiration, glory, respect, splendor, and even magnificence, were the melancholy attendants of his shade. The genius of Archilochus was of a very high order of excellence. He was the inventor, as we have already observed, of satirical poetry, and the measure which he originated at the time of this invention, has ever since been regarded the most effective, as well as the most elegant vehicle for poetic communication that the Greek language possessed. To the invention of this order of versification the Roman poet Horace alludes in the following lines : Archilochus, with fierce resentment warmed, Was with his own severe Iambics armed. 6 82 ACHILOCHUS. [LECT. Ill We are not, however, to infer that because the principal poems of Ar- chilochus were satirical, that he confined himself exclusively to that order of poetry ; for we have a number of fragments evidently taken from those philosophical poems which he from time to time produced, and to which his contemporaries so frequently allude, that are of the highest order of merit. Of these fragments the following are fair samples : AN EXHORTATION TO FORTITUDE UNDER CALAMITY. Groans rise on griefs, oh Pericles ! nor they Who feed the woe, in wine or feast are grey. The billow of the many roaring deep Has borne these pleasures in its whelming sweep. Our grief-swoll'n hearts, now draw their breath in pain; Yet blessings, oh my friend ! shall smile again. The gods reserve for seeming-cureless woe A balm, and antidotes on grief bestow. In turn the cure and suffering take their round, And we now groaning feel the bleeding wound : Now other breasts the shifting tortures know; Endure; nor droop thus womanish in woe. ON AN ECLIPSE OF THE SUN. Naught, now, can pass belief; in Nature's ways No strange anomaly our wonder raise. Th' Olympian Father hangs a noon-day night O'er the sun's disk, and veils its glittering light. Fear falls on man. Hence miracles before Incredible, are counted strange no more. Stand not amazed if beasts exchange the wood With dolphins; and exist amidst the flood; These the firm land forsake for sounding waves, And those find pleasure in the mountain caves. EQUANIMITY. Spirit, thou Spirit, like a troubled sea, Ruffled with deep and hard calamity, Sustain the shock : a daring heart oppose : Stand firm, amidst the charging spears of foes: If conquering, vaunt not in vain-glorious show ; If conquer'd, stoop not, prostrated in woe: Moderate, in joy, rejoice ; in sorrow, mourn : Muse on man's lot: be thine discreetly borne. The same thing was often observed by the ancients of the poems of Archilochus, that was said of the orations of Demosthenes and Cicero that the longest of them were the best. His ' Hymn to Hercules,' of 660A.C. ARCHILOCHUS. 83 which we have already spoken, was repeated on three distinct and sepa- rate occasions at the Olympic Games an honor which no other Grecian poet ever enjoyed, with, perhaps, the single exception of Pindar. The following brief framents will close our notice of this eminent but unfortunate poet. TWO MILITARY PORTRAITS. Boast me not your valiant captain, Strutting fierce with measur'd stride, Glorying in his well-trimm'd beard, and Wavy ringlets' clustered pride. Mine be he that's short of stature, Firm of foot, with curved knee ; Heart of oak in limb and feature, And of courage bold and free. THE STORM. Behold my Glaucus, how the deep Heaves, while the sweeping billows howl, And round the promontory -steep The big black clouds portentous scowl, With thunder fraught, and lightning's glare, While Terror rules, and wild Despair. THE MIND OF MAN. The mind of man is such as Jove Ordains by his immortal will; , Who moulds it, in the courts above, His heavenly purpose to fulfil. LIFE AND DEATH. Jove sits in- highest heaven, and opes the springs, To man, of monstrous and forbidden things. Death seals the fountains of reward and fame : Man dies, and leaves no guardian of his name. Applause awaits us only while we live, While we can honor take, and honor give : t Yet were it base for man of woman born, To mock the naked .ghost with jests or scorn. The contemporaries of Archilochus were Terpander, Alcman, and Stesichorus ; and these were followed in the next generation by Alcaeus, a poet of far greater celebrity than either of his immediate predecessors. Terpander was the originator of the gay and festive kinds of lyric 84 ALCM AN. STESICHORUS. [LECT. Ill composition. He was a native of the isle of Lesbos, and was born about 665 A.C. He obtained the musical prize in the Carneah festival at Sparta, and soon after gained five successive prizes at Delphi, as appeared by a correct register of the conquerors in the Pythian games, preserved in the time of Plutarch. These triumphs procured for him the respect of his contemporaries; but he has been honored by posterity chiefly for his improvement of the lyre, and for the new varieties of measure which he introduced into Grecian poetry. Unfortunately his poetry has all perished. . Alcman was a native of Sardis, in Asia Minor, and was born about 650 A.C. Of his life nothing but a few isolated facts has been preserved. His Parthenia, composed in honor and praise of woman, and sung by choruses of virgins, were so popular among the Spartans as to procure for their author the name of Sweet. He was a man of very amorous nature, was the earliest writer of love verses, and is thought to have been the first to introduce the practice of singing them in public. So brief fragments only of his poetry have been preserved, that it is very difficult to form any correct judgment of his merits as a writer. The lines addressed to Megalostrata, one of his mistresses, and the fragment which follows, comprise the chief of his remains. TO MEGALOSTRATA Again sweet Love, by Venus led, Hath all my soul possessed ; Again delicious rapture shed In torrents o'er my breast. Now Megalostrata, the fair, Of all the virgin train Most blessed with her yellow hair Hath brought me to the Muse's fane. A FRAGMENT. The mountain summits sleep, glens, cliffs, and caves, Are silent ; all the black earth's reptile brood, The bees, the wild beasts of the mountain wood ; Its depths beneath the darkred ocean's waves In monsters rest ; whilst wrapt, in bower and spray, Each bird is hush'd, that stretch'd its pinions to the day. Stesichorus was a native of the island of Sicily, and was born at Himera about 645 A.C. His name was originally Tysias, but was afterwards changed into Stesichorus, because he was the first who taught the Chorus to dance to the lyre. Hence, from their origin, the Strophe, Antistrophe, and. Epode of the Chorus became associated throughout Greece with his 645A.C.] STESICHORUS. 85 name. Being a man of high rank, and eminent for his wisdom, he ex- erted a great influence over his fellow-citizens, and chiefly contributed to prevent them from entering into an alliance with the tyrant Phalaris. He died at an advanced age, at Catana, in his native island ; and the inhabitants of that city were so sensible of the honor conferred upon them by the possession of his remains, that they would not permit the Himerians, under any circumstances, to remove them to the poet's native place. Stesichorus has been the subject of the most extravagant encomiums by ancient critics. Majesty and grandeur were, in their estimation, the prevailing characteristics of his style. Horace speaks of the Graves Camcence / Alexander, in Dion Chrysostom, places him among the poets, whom a prince ought to read ; and Synesias puts him and Homer to- gether, as the noble celebraters of the heroic race. Quintilian, too, one of the ablest critics of antiquity, has also left the following judgment of this poet's works : " The force of Stesichorus's wit appears from the subjects he has treated of; while he sings the greatest wars and the greatest commanders, and sustains with his lyre all the might and grandeur of an epic poem. For he makes his heroes speak and act agreeably to their character ; and had he but observed moderation, he would have appeared the fairest rival of Homer. But he is too exuber- ant, and does not know how to contain himself, which, though really a fault, yet is one of those faults which arise from an abundance and ex- cess of genius. ? ' The principal poems of Stersichorus, were the Destruction of Troy, the Orestea, the Rhadia, the Scylla, and the Geryoneis. Of all these works, however, nothing but a few scattered fragments, such as the fol- lowing, havft been preserved from oblivion : THE SACRIFICE OF TYNDARUS. For -whereas Tyndarus, Midst all his rites to all the gods above, Alone forgot That giver of sweet gifts, the queen of Love, Wroth with the daughters for the father's sake, The goddess caused them straight, Thrice, thrice their nuptial bonds to break, And each desert her mate. VOYAGE OF THE SUN". But now the sun, great Hyperion's child, Embarked again upon his golden chalice, And westward steer'd, where, far o'er ocean wild, Sleeps the dim night, in solitary valleys ; ALGOUS. [LEOT.III. Where dwell his mother and his consort mild, And infant sons, in his sequestered palace, Whilst onward, through the laurel-shaded grove, Moved, with firm step, the hero son of Jove. THE PROCESSION. Before the regal chariot, as it passed, Were bright Cydonian apples scattered round, And myrtle leaves, in showers of fragrance cast, And many a wreath was there with roses bound, And many a coronal, wherein were set, Like gems, rich rows of purple violet. A FRAGMENT. Yain it is for those to weep Who repose in death's last sleep. With man's life ends all the story ' Of his wisdom, wit, and glory. Alcseus was a native of Mitylene, in the island of Lesbos, and was born 620 A.C. His family was influential and powerful, and he himself early joined Pittacus and others, to relieve his native city of a tyranny under which it had long groaned. Pittacus afterwards apostatised from the heroic party, and in the event of th,e struggle that followed, placed him- self at the head of the government. For this act of treachery and usurpa- tion he was bitterly satirized by Alcgeus, who was, in consequence of his opposition to the new tyrant, driven into exile. Endeavoring to return by force of arms, but being unsuccessful, he fell into the hands of his former friend, but now exasperated conqueror, who, however, instead of punishing him. granted him his liberty, observing that forgiveness was sweeter than revenge. Pittacus designed, by this act of clemency, to win Alcseus over to his interest ; but the inveterate poet still continued to rail against the tyrant, and finally ail favor was withdrawn from him. To this circumstance Ovid alludes in the following lines : Or may thy satire too severe be found, And thrice, like poor Alcseus muse, be crown'd With vengeance from the hand it dares to wound. In an engagement with the Athenians, in which that valiant ^>tate tri- umphed over the Lesbians, Alcseus was present ; and as soon as he per- ceived that the contest would prove adverse to his own party, he threw away his arms, and saved himself by flight. It was, however, some con- solation to him in his disgrace, that the conqueror ordered his arms to be hung up in the temple of Minerva, at Sigseuin. 620 A.C.] ALCSEUS. 87 Alcseus was the inventor of the metre which bears his name, and his muse embraced every variety of subject the praises of Bacchus and Venus, invectives against tyrants, and lamentations on the evils of exile and war. His poetical abilities must have been of a very high order, for all antiquity is full of his praises ; but unfortunately a few fragments only of his poetry remain. His writings were chiefly in the lyric strain; but his muse was capable of treating the sublimest subjects with suitable dig- nity. Hence Horace, his most successful imitator, says : Alcseus strikes the golden strings, And seas, and war, and exile siugs ; Thus, while they strike the various lyre, The ghosts the sacred sounds admire : But when Alcseus lifts the strain To deeds of war and tyrants slain, In thicker crowds the shadowy throng Drink deeper down the martial song. The following songs and fragments, embrace everything of value that time has spared, of this ancient and venerated bard : A CONVIVIAL SONG. "Why wait we for the torches' lights? Now let us drink, while day invites. In mighty flagons hither bring The deep-red blood of many a vine, That we may largely quaff, and sing The praises of the God of wine. The son of Jove and Semele, Who gave the jocund grape to be A sweet oblivion to our woes. Fill, fill the goblet one and two: Let every brimmer, as it flows, In sportive chase, the last pursue. A CONVIVIAL SONG. Jove descends in sleet and snow, Howls the vexed and angry deep ; Every stream forgets to flow, Bound in winter's icy sleep Ocean wave and forest hoar, To the blast responsive roar. Drive the tempest from your door, Blaze on blaze, your hearthstone piling, And unmeasured goblets pour, Brimful high with nectar smiling. Then beneath your poet's head Be a downy pillow spread. 88 ALGOUS. THE STORM. "Now here, now there, the wild waves sweep, Whils^ we, betwixt them, o'er the deep, In shatter'd tempest-beaten bark, With laboring ropes are onward driven, The billows dashing o'er our dark, Upheaved deck in tatters riven Our sails whose yawning rents between The raging sea and sky are seen. ****** Loose from their hold our anchors burst, And then the third, the fatal wave Comes rolling onward like the first, And doubles all our toil to save. THE POOR FISHERMAN. The fisher Diotimus had, at sea And shore, the same abode of poverty His trusty boat; and when his days were spent, Therein self-rowed to ruthless Dis he went; For that, which did through life his woes beguile, Supplied the old man with a funeral pile. POVERTY. The worst of ills, and hardest to endure, Past hope, past cure, Is Penury, who, with her sister-mate Disorder, soon brings down the loftiest state. And makes it desolate. This truth the sage of Sparta told, Aristodemus old, 'Wealth makes the man.' On him that's poor, Proud worth looks down, and honor shuts the door. THE SPOILS OF WAR. Glitters with brass my mansion wide ; The roof is deck'd on every side, In martial pride, With helmets rang'd in order bright, And plumes of horse-hair nodding white, A gallant sight Fit ornament for warrior's brow And round the walls in goodly row, Refulgent glow 620 A.C.] J3 SO P. SOLON. 89 Stout greaves of brass, like burnish'd gold, And corslets there in many a fold Of linen roll'd : And shields that in the battle fray, The routed losers of the day Have cast away. Euboaan falchions too are seen, With rich-embroidered belts between Of dazzling sheen : And gaudy surcoats piled around, The spoils of chiefs in war renowned, May there be found. These, and all else that here you see, Are fruits of glorious victory, Achieved by me. THE CONSTITUTION OF A STATE. What constitutes a State? Not high-raised battlement, or labored mound, Thick wall or moated gate : Not cities fair, with spires and turrets crown'd: No: Men, high-minded men With powers as far above dull brutes endued In forest, brake, or den, As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude Men, who their duties know, But know their rights, and, knowing, dare maintain; Prevent the long-aimed blow, And crush the tyrant, while they rend the chain. With the following brief passages, the first from .ZEsop, the celebrated Fabulist, and the others from Solon, the distinguished Athenian Law- giver, we shall close our present remarks ; but as these eminent writers belong to another department of literature, we shall not here dwell upon the incidents of their lives. Of Solon's poetical genius Plato, the great philosopher, was of opinion that, had he seriously applied himself to poetry, neither Hesiod, nor Homer, nor any other poet, would have been more celebrated. DEATH THE SOVEREIGN REMEDY. AN ELEGIAC. Who, but for death, could find repose From life, and life's unnumbered woes ? From ills that mock our art to cure, As hard to fly as to endure? Whate'er is sweet without alloy, And sheds a more exalted joy, 90 ^ESOP. SO LOIS Yon glorious orb that gilds the day, Or placid moon, thy silver ray, Earth, sea, whate'er we gaze upon, Is thine, Nature, thine alone; But gifts, which to ourselves we owe, What are they all, but fear and woe ? Chance-pleasure, hardly worth possessing, Ten curses for a single blessing. JUSTICE. Short are the triumphs to injustice given, Jove sees the end of all ; like vapors driven By early Spring's impetuous blast, that sweeps Along the billowy surface of the deeps, Or passing o'er the fields of tender green, Lays in sad ruin all the lovely scene, Till it reveals the clear celestial blue, And gives the palace of the gods to view; Then bursts the sun's full radiance from the skies, "Where not a cloud can form or vapor rise. Such is Jove's vengeance: not like human ire, Blown in an instant to- a scorching fire, But slow and certain; though it long may lie, Wrapt in the vast concealment of the sky; Yet never does the dread Avenger sleep, And though the sire escape the son shall weep. A FRAGMENT. The man who boasts of golden stores, Of grain, that loads his groaning floors, Of fields with freshening herbage green, Where bounding steeds and herds are seen, I call not happier than the swain, Whose limbs are sound, whose food is plain, Whose joys a blooming wife endears, Whose hours a smiling offspring cheers. REMEMBRANCE AFTER DEATH. Let not a death, unwept, uuhonor'd, be The melancholy fate allotted me ! But those who loved me living, when I die, Still fondly keep some cherish' d memory. Knlntt tju SAPPHO. ERIN^A MIMNERMUS. IBYOUS. THEOGNIS, ANACREOtf. IN the closing part of the last lecture our attention was drawn to the immediate predecessors of Sappho, the celebrated poetess of Mitylene ; and of her extraordinary genius Coleridge observes that, ' the very shreds remaining of her works, seem enough to prove her the greatest of lyric poets after Pindar.' As compared with Alcaeus, Stesichorus, and the rest, her pre-eminence in every lyric quality, is incontestable ; her music, her passion, her imagery, her truth, are all transcendent ; and, after read- ing what exists of her, we can never think of the other poets who pre- ceded, or were coeval with her, without applying to them her own beauti- ful stanza : The stars that round the beauteous moon Attendant wait, cast into shade Their ineffectual lustres, soou As she in full-orbed majesty array'd, Her silver radiance showers Upon this world of ours. These Grecian lyrists were all, with the exception of Alcman of Sardis, and Stesichorus of Hemira, born on the Asiatic coast, or in the islands of the JEgean sea. 'These enchanting climates,' says Dr. Gillies, the elegant Grecian historian, ' were the best adapted to inspire the raptures peculiar to the ode, as well as to excite that voluptuous gayety charac- teristic of the Grecian song.' Amidst the romantic scenes of Ionia, was felt with uncommon sensibility, the force of that pleasing, painful Pas- sion, which, uniting grief, joy, and enthusiasm, contains the fruitful seeds of whatever is most perfect in music and poetry. Here Sappho breathed the amorous flames by which she herself was eventually consumed. Sappho, incomparably the most eminent poetess of antiquity, and per- haps the most gifted female genius of any age or country, was born at 92 SAPPHO. [LECT. IV. Mitylene, in the island of Lesbos, 610 A. C. Of her parentage little is farther known, than that her father's name was Scamandronomus, and her mother's, Cleis ;" but of the strength of her intellect, the keenness of her wit, and the splendor of her genius, she very early gave the most unmistakable evidence. So gifted and so attractive, she soon drew about her many suitors, among whom was the poet Alcaeus, already noticed. Alcceus seems to have been doubtful of the success of his suit, and though he declared that his passion for the fair* poetess had almost consumed him, yet he hesitated to place himself, by any open declaration, at the mercy of her sarcastic wit. A favorable opportunity, however, according to Aristotle, at length presented itself, and he ventured to intimate his desire in the following couplet : Fain would I speak, but must, through shame, conceal The thought my eager tongue would soon reveal. To this address Sappho immediately replied Were your request, O bard ! on honor built, Your cheeks would not have worn those marks of guilt : But in prompt words the ready thoughts had flown, And your heart's honest meaning quickly shown. This reply so disconcerted Alcseus, that he immediately abandoned his suit ; but Sappho was soon after married to Cercolas, a wealthy in- habitant of the neighboring island of Andros. Thither she accordingly removed ; but she had soon after the misfortune to lose her husband by death and thus left in early widowhood, she at once returned to her na- tive Lesbos with the intention of resuming her residence amid the scenes and associations of her early life. She found, however, on her return to Lesbos, that the recent changes through which she had passed had cloth- ed every source of early association with attributes so gloomy, that a residence at Mitylene had no longer any attractions for her ; and as Athens had just fallen under the rule of Pisistratus, the splendid usurper of its government, who, in order to reconcile the people to his adminis- tration, held out every encouragement to genius and learning, she re- solved to remove thither, and there devote her time to literary pursuits, to the refined, and even the voluptuous enjoyments of that court. Maturity had now perfected her early beauty, and strengthened the ardor of her affections ; she had not, therefore, long resided at Athens, before she be- .caiqg devotedly attached to Phaon, one of the youthful attendants upon the Athenian court. He, however, either trifled with her affections, or did not reciprocate her passion ; and, in order to be relieved from her impor- tunity, left Athens, and retired to the island of Sicily. Thither Sappho immediately followed him, and on landing upon that island, she breathed forth that magnificent ode, in the form of a prayer to Venus, which Longinus carefully preserved, and pronounced one of the finest emana- 610A.C.] SAPPHO. 93 tions of the Grecian lyric muse. Of this splendid ode we venture to offer the following translation, which, though containing little of the spirit and fire of the original, is, to the letter, faithful. ODE TO VENUS. Venus ! immortal ! child of Jove ! Who sitt'st on^ painted throne above ; "Weaver of wiles ! oh, let not Love Inflict this torturing flame! But haste; if, once, my passion's cry Drew thee to listen, hasten nigh ; From golden palaces on high Thy harness'd chariot came. O'er shadowy earth, before my sight, Thy dainty sparrows wheel'd their flight; Their balanced wings, in ether's light, Were quivering too and fro. The birds flew back : thou blessed queen ! Didst smile with heavenly brow serene ; And ask, what grief the cause had been, That summon'd thee below ? What most I wished, with doating mind: Whom most seductive, I would bind In amorous nets ; and, ' Who, unkind, My Sappho, wrongs thee now ?' ' The fugitive shall turn pursuer ; The vainly woo'd shall prove the wooer : The cold shall kneel to his undoer, Though she disdain his vow.' Come then, now ! come once again ! Ease my bosom of its pain ! Let me all my wish obtain ! Fight my battles thou ! Venus, however, proved unpropitious to Sappho's importunate prayer, and Phaon, cold, cruel, and relentless ; and, in a fit of desperation, the phrenzied poetess hastened to Mount Leucas, a promontory on the coast of Sicily, and thence, according to the tradition, precipitated herself into the sea. Perhaps no other author of either ancient or modern times, ever en- joyed, during life, so great a reputation as was enjoyed by Sappho, or was so highly honored after death. The Mityleneans, her countrymen, paid sovereign honors to her name, bestowed upon her the appellation of the Tenth Muse, and stamped their money with her image ; and even the 94 SAPPHO. [LKCT.IV. distant Romans, centuries afterwards, out of respect to her memory, erected and inscribed to her name, a magnificent porphyry statue. In the sweetness of her numbers, the fervor of her language, the splendor of her imagery, and the condensed power of her expression, she was, per- haps, by none of her countrymen ever excelled ; and, perhaps, Pindar may be regarded as her only equal. Her verses, it is true, were chiefly devoted to the praises of the tender passion ; but she did not regard it as a voluptuous, but as an abstract, ethereal, elevated, and god-like prin- ciple. In reality, most of the detractions from Sappho's merit are trace- able to the envy of those Roman poets who afterwards in vain attempted, in the lyric strain, to equal her fire and sublimity ; and for this, Ovid is, perhaps, more deeply censurable than any other. Those critics, therefore, who regard Sappho's fragments as mere love songs, greatly degrade her genius. . Her strain was of a more elevated and commanding kind simple, vehement, rich in images, and sparkling in words her poetry was the poetry of impulse. In all succeeding poets who have written on love, we can trace the wit of sentiment, and the finished delicacy of art. In Sappho we have a total unconsciousness of effort ; but such is the enthusiasm of her sensations, that she has infused even sublimity into the softness of the tender passion. Hence Longinus, perhaps the most discerning critic of antiquity, has instanced her bold selection and association of circumstances, in the emotion of violent love, as forming the true sentimental sublime. Besides the above Ode to Venus, we shall present another of the com- plete poems of this inimitable writer, together with a few poetic frag- ments; though Phillips, one of the contemporaries of Addison, has clothed it in a sweet poetic dress, yet we venture to. present the following translation by Elton, as better suited to our purpose. The poem itself will at once be recognized, as it has long been before the public in the translation which we have already mentioned : TO A GIRL BELOVED. That man is* like a god to me Who, sitting face to f#ce with thee, Shall hear thee sweetly speak, and see Thy laughter's gentle blandishing. 'Tis this astounds my trembling heart : I see thee, lovely as thou art : My fluttering words, in murmurs start, My broken tongue is faltering. My flushing skin the fire betrays That through my blood electric strays : My eyes seem darkening as I gaze, My ringing ears re-echoing. 610 A.C.] SAPPHO. Cold from my forehead glides the dew : A shuddering tremor thrills me through My cheek a green and yellow hue : All gasping, dying, languishing, 95 AN ILLITERATE WOMAN. Unknown, unheeded, shalt thou die, And no memorial shall proclaim, That once, beneath the upper sky, Thou hadst a being aud a name. For never to the Muses' bowers Didst thou, with glowing heart repair, Nor ever intertwine the flowers, That Fancy strews unnumbered there. Doomed o'er that dreary realm, alone And shunned by gentler shades, to go, Nor friend shall soothe nor parent own The child of sloth, the Muses' foe,. FRAGMENTS. The moon hath sunk beneath the sky : The Pleiad stars withdraw their light: It is the darkling noon of night : The hour, the hour hath glided by, And yet alone, alone I lie. Mother ! sweet mother ! 'tis in vain ; I cannot now the shuttle throw : That youth is in my heart and brain: And Venus' lingering fires within me glow. III. Venus, come ! forsake the sky For this our banquet's gaiety : Come while the golden beakers gleam, The nectar mix in purple stream : Fill to these gentle friends the wine : Mine awe these, and these are mine. IV. I have a child a lovely child In beauty like the golden sun, Or like sweet flowers, of earliest bloom, And Cleis is her name : for whom I Lydia's treasures, were they mine, Would glad resign. 96 SAPPHO. [LECT. IV v. Gome gentle youth, and in thy flowing locks With delicate fingers weave a fragrant crown Of aromatic anise; for the gods Delight in flowery wreaths, nor lend an ear Propitious to their suit, who supplicate "With brows unbound with sweetly-smelling flowers. VI. Cling to the brave and good the base disown Whose best of fortunes is to live unknown. VII. Wealth without Virtue is a dangerous guest ; Who holds them mingled is supremely blest VIII. , Beauty, fair flower, upon the surface lies ; But Worth with Beauty soon in aspect vies. * IX. When dead, thou shalt in ashes lie, Nor live in human memory: Nor any page in time to come Shall draw thee from thy shroudless tomb. For thou didst never pluck the rose That on Pieria's mountain grows : Dim and unseen thy feet shall tread The shadowy mansion of the dead : Thee, maiden 1 shall no eye survey Start from the obscurer ghosts, and wing thy soaring way, x. Did Jove a queen of flowers decree, The rose the queen of flowers should be. Of flowers the eye ; of plants the gem ; The meadow's blush ; earth's diadem : Glory of colors on the gaze Lightening in its beauty's blaze : It breathes of love : it blooms the guest Of Venus' ever fragrant breast : In gaudy pomp its petals spread : Light foliage trembles round its head : With vermeil blossoms fresh and fau- lt laughs to the voluptuous air INSCRIPTIONS. This dust was Timos : ere her bridal hour She lies in Proserpina's gloomy bower: Her virgin playmates from their lovely head Clipt with sharp steel the locks ; the strewments of the dead. 600 A.C.] ERINNA. 97 This oar, and net, and fisher's wicker'd snare Themiscus placed above his buried son : Memorials of the lot of life he bare ; * The hard and needy life of Pelagon. In connection with the distinguished poetess whom we have just no- ticed, we shall here glance at one of her contemporaries, between whom and herself the utmost warmth of affection and the closest intimacy ex- isted. Erinna, the poetess to whom we here allude, was a native of Mitylene, the birthplace of Sappho, and was born in that city, 600 A.C. Of her life and character so little is known that, perhaps, every incident con- nected with her history would long since have passed into oblivion, had it not been for her close and intimate connection with Sappho ; and the few fragments of her poetry which still remain. Her admiration for her distinguished associate naturally led her to adopt her measure ; but far from confining herself to that strain, she used all the varied measures then known in Greece, and in hexameter verse she is said to have rivalled even Homer himself. Indeed, Erinna must be regarded as one of those extraordinary geniuses which merely alight upon this earth, and then pass away to leave us to mourn that such unusual brightness should so soon fade from our view : all the excellence at which she arrived, and all the fame that she acquired, was attained before the nineteenth year of her age, when her premature death occurred. In the fragments of this sweet child of song that remain, particularly in her epigrams, there is a degree of simplicity and sweetness that has rarely been surpassed. To justify this remark, the following epitaphs are quite sufficient. EPITAPH ON A VIRGIN OF MITYLENE, WHO DIED ON HER WEDDING-DAY. The virgin Myrtis' sepulchre am I ; Creep softly to the pillow'd mound of woe; And whisper to the grave, in earth below, ' Grave ! thou art envious in thy cruelty !' To thee, now gazing here, her barb'rous fate, These bride's adornments tell; that, with the fire Of Hymen's torch, which led her to the gate, Her husband burn'd the maid upon her pyre : Yes Hymen ! thou didst change the marriage song To the shrill wailing of the mourner's throng. 7 98 ERINNA. [LECT. IV. ON THE SAME. Pillars of death! carved Syrens! tearful urns! In whose sad keeping my poor .dust is laid; To him that near my tomb his footsteps turns, Stranger or Greek, bid hail 1 and say, a maid Rests in her bloom below : her sire the name Of Myrtis gave : her birth and lineage high : And say, her bosom friend, Erinua came, And on this marble grav'd her elegy. Beside these epitaphs, the following * Ode to Rome' has usually been attributed to this sweet poetess ; but Rome could hardly, at that early period, have attracted sufficient attention to secure so flattering a notice from a distant Grecian author. The Ode itself is, however, of so rare merit, that we shall here introduce a translation of it remarking that some scholars, of high pretensions to learning, translate the original title of the poem an ' Ode to .Fortitude,' which entirely obviates the difficulty of attributing its authorship to Erinna. ODE TO ROME. Hail ! oh Rome ! thou child of Mars 1 Golden-mitred ! wise in wars 1 High o'er earth thou dvvellest still, On firm Olympus' hill. Rule unbroken fell to thee From most ancient destiny; That, in thy kingly strength secure, Thou ever may'st endure. Thy chariot yoke, and guiding rein Curb the wide soil, and foamy main; The cities of the nations stand, Safe underneath thy hand. Time, who has earth's destroyer been, Who, varying, shifts the human scene, Shall never change the prosperous gale That swells thy empire's sail. For thou alone, dost heroes bear, So tall of limb, so strong with spear; Thine are the spiky ranks of war And men thy harvests are. Mimnermus, Ibycus, and Theognis, the three poets to be next noticed, 594A.C.] MIMNERMUS. . 99 are comparatively so little known that scarcely any definite intelligence of them can now be obtained. They were sufficiently eminent, however, in their own day, to produce a deep sensation upon the public mind, and many fragments of their poetry were, accordingly, preserved by Athenseus and others, with the greatest care. In our remarks, therefore, on Gre- cian literature, though they will occupy but a limited space, we cannot pass them over in silence. Mimnermus was born at Colophon, in Ionia, 594 A.C. He was early eminent both as a musician and poet, and, according to Horace and Pro- pertius, he was the master of amatory elegy. Their judgment, however, must have been based upon specimens of this ancient poet's writings with which we are not now familiar, for, in the few remaining fragments of his poetry, nothing of this character appears. Indeed, instead of the spirit of joy and amorous delight, a morbid melancholy sentiment prevails, complaining of the transitory nature of human enjoyments, of the brief- ness of youth, and the vanity and wretchedness of life a youth passed in dissolute pleasures, and an old age of senseless and sensual repinings. The principal fragments of his poems that have descended to us are the following : YOUTH AND AGE. What were life, and where its treasure, Golden Yenus, wert thou flown ? Ne'er may I outlive the pleasure Given to man by thee alone, Honied gifts and secret love, Joys all other joys above. Quickly, stripling ! quickly, maiden ! Snatch life's blossoms ere they fall; Age with hate and sorrow laden, Soon draws nigh to level all, Makes the man of comeliest mien, < Like the most ill-favored seen. Youth and grace his path declining, Gloomy thoughts his bosom tear; Seems the sun, in glory shining, Now to him no longer fair, Joys no more his soul engage, Such the power of dreary age. SHORTNESS OF LIFE. We, like the leaves of many-blossom'd spring, When the sun's rays their sudden radiance fling, In growing strength, on earth, a little while Delighted, see youth's blooming flow'rets smile. 100 IBTCUS. [LECT.IV Not with that wisdom of the gods endued, To judge aright of evil and of good. Two Fates, dark-scowling, at our side attend , Of youth, of life, each points the destin'd end, Old age, and death: the fruit of .youth remains Brief, as the sunshine scattered o'er the plains : And, when these fleeting hours have fled away, To die were better than to breathe the day. A load of grief the burthen'd spirit wears; Domestic troubles rise ; penurious cares ; One with an earnest love of children sighs ; The grave is open'd, and he childless dies: Another drags in pain his lingering days, "While slow disease upon his vitals preys. . Nor lives there one, whom Jupiter on high. Exempts from years of mix'd calamity. Ibycus was a native of Rhegium, in Italy, .and was born about 565 A.C. After having acquired a high poetic reputation in his native place, he removed to the court of Polycrates, in Samos, and there past most of the remainder of his life. Suidas, a Greek lexicographer, who lived in the beginning of the tenth century, calls him the most love-mad of poets ; and the brief fragments of his writings that still remain seem fully to justify the character thus given him. He was the author of seven books of odes, of which, however, only a few fragments are extant. The story of his death, as related by ^Elian, is as* follows, and is very re- markable. Passing through a solitary place, he was slain by robbers, and seeing, in his dying moments, a flock of cranes flying over his head, he exclaimed, ' These birds will be my avengers !' And so in reality they were ; for one of the murderers happening soon afterwards to see a flock of the same birds flying over the market-place of Corinth, inad- vertently exclaimed to his comrades, ' Behold the avengers of Ibycus !' His words were overheard, suspicions arose, inquiry followed, truth came to light, and the poet's dying prophecy was fulfilled in the execution of his murderers. From the fragments of this writer we present the fol- lowing ode : THE INFLUENCE OF SPRING. In Spring, bedewed with river-streams, From where, for everlasting gleams The garden of th' Hesperides^.^ Blossom Cydonian apple-trees ; In Spring the saplings freshly shine, Beneath the parent vine, In shadow and in breeze; But me, Love's mighty power, That eleepeth never an hour, From Venus rushing, burneth with desire, As with the lightning fire ; 549 A.C.J THEOGNIS. 101 Black, as the Thracian wind, He seizes on my mind, With dry delirious heat Inflames my reason's seat, And iu the centre of my soul, Keeps empire for a child, and holds Uncheck'd control. Theognis was born at Megara, in Achaia, 549 A.C., and is remarkable for being the" first poet of eminence that the continent of Greece pro- duced. As was before observed, we know nothing of his parentage or of his early life ; but that his learning was eminent is evident from the fact that our first intelligence of him finds him occupying the important posi- tion of a public instructor in his native place. His popularity in his profession soon became such as to excite the enmity of many of his con- temporaries, perhaps engaged in the same professional pursuit ; and he was, therefore, accused by them of disseminating amongst his scholars immoral voluptuousness under the guise of moral precepts. This must, however, have been mere scandal ; for the poems of Theognis which still remain, so far from containing any such principles as those with which they were charged, are distinguished for their elevated and sound moral- ity. Indeed, Athenaeus assures us that the verses of Theognis, like those of Hesiod, were, in consequence of their correct moral tendency, used for centuries throughout Greece, for purposes of public recitation. The style of this early poet has little to recommend it. His verses consist of successive maxims, which, though pithily expressed, are, with only occasional exceptions, dry and unattractive. His three principal poems still extant, are ' Lines on Friendship,' ' Arguments for Social Enjoyment, drawn from the Shortness of Life,' and ( Return to my Native Land.' The first of these poems contains a correct and even elevated and refined view of the*subject of which it treats ; and the argu- ment of the second, based upon the brevity of earthly existence, is in favor of peace. The third is a sweet, pathetic strain. Besides these poems, we possess a number of rather important fragments : ON FRIENDSHIP. Caress me not with words, while far away Thy heart is absent, and thy feelings stray. But, if thou love me with a faithful breast, Be that pure love with zeal sincere exprest: And if thou hate, thy bold aversion show With open strife, avowed and known my foe. Who with one tongue, has, yet, a double mind, Jn him, be sure, a slippery friend we find, And better as a foe : who, in thy sight, Can bid his speech in wanton praise delight ; 102 THEOGNIS. [LECT. IV. But, parted from thee, rails with sland'rous tongue ; If, while his lips with honied words are hung, Another spirit in his thoughts contend, That friend, be sure, is but a hollow friend Let none thy mind, by false inducement, move To view the wicked with an eye of love. How sho*uld a bad man's friendship profit thee? Who nor from deep distress will set thee free, Nor of his prosperous fortunes yield a share ; Thankless- are benefits ; an empty care Would this, thy kindness to the wicked, be ; Go, rather sow the hoary-foaming sea ; Scant were thy harvest from the barren main, Nor kindness from the bad returns again. Unsatisfied they crave; if, once thou fail, Their friendship fades like a forgotten tale. But, with the good, the fruits of kindness thrive ; And, still repaid, in memory survive. Let not the wicked thy companion be ; From him, as from a dangerous harbor, flee. Many the friends of cup and board; but few They, whom thy earnest need in succour drew. Arduous the task, and on the warning lend Thy serious thought, to know the painted friend. Of gold's base mixture we may bear the loss, And eyes sagacious can detect the dross. , But, if a friend's most base and worthless heart Lurk in his breast, beneath the mask of art, Jove varnishes to sight the specious skin, Nor keenest glance may pierce the rottenness within. In man, nor woman, trust the friend sincere, Till thou hast proved them, as we prove the steer. Conjecture aids not, as when seasons smile, But empty shows of things allure thee to beguile. ARGUMENTS FOR SOCIAL ENJOYMENT FROM THE SHORTNESS OF LIFE. May Peace, may Plenty bless our happy state, And social feast ; for evil war I hate. Sky-dwelling Jove 1 above our city stand, And o'er her safety spread thy guardian hand. Smile every God ; and Phoebus, thou, dispense The mind of wit, the tongue of eloquence : Let harp and pipe in sacred song combine, And, with libations of the sprinkled wine Appeasing heaven, let converse blithe be ours, And goblets, dreadless of the Median powers. * So is it best to trifle life away. Our minds with care unburthen'd, light and gay 549A.C.] THEOGNIS. 103 So from dark ills of fate our thoughts depend, % From age pernicious, and our mortal end. In youth I blithsome sport ; for soon shall fly My spirit ; and my body deep shall lie Beneath th' eternal ground ; while years roll on Laid motionless, and speechless as a stone. Yes I shall leave the pleasant sun : nor more, Though virtuous, look on all that pleas'd before Now, then, my soul ! take pleasure : other eyes Shall view the sun, and other men arise : While I am lying cold, and stark, and dead, With dusty blackness of the earth o'erspread. Still leaps my heart, when breathing on my ear, The lovely voice of murniring flutes I hear : The goblet cheers: the minstrels joyance bring": And my own hands touch, glad, the thrilling string: There breathes not mortal, on whose head the ground Has closed, whom hell's dark chambers compass round, That bears the minstrel, listens to the lyre, Or feels the rosy gifts of wine inspire. My soul ! the thought shall pleasure's counsel speak ; Ere the head tremble, ere the knees are weak. RETURN TO MY NATIVE LAND. Wide have I wandered, far Jbeyond the sea, Even to the distant shores of Sicily ; To broad Euboea's plentiful domain, With the rich vineyards in its planted plain ; And to the sunny wave and winding edge Of fair Eurotas with its reedy sedge Where Sparta stands in simple majesty : Among her manly rulers there was I, Greeted and welcomed there and everywhere With courteous entertainment, kind and fair ; Yet still my weary spirit would repine, Longing again to view this land of mine; Henceforward, no design, no interest Shall ever move me, but the first and best ; With Learning's happy gift to celebrate, Adorn, and dignify my native State. The song, and dance, music and verse agreeing, Will occupy my life and fill my being ; Pursuits of elegance and learned skill (With good repute, and kindness, and good will Among the wisest sort,) will pass my time Without an enemy, without a crime ; Harmless and just with every rank of men, Both the free native, and the denizen. 104 THEOGNI? [LECT TV. YOUTH AND AGE. Ah me ! alike o'er youth and age I sigh, Impending age, and youth that hastens by ; Swift as a thought the flowing moments roll, Swift as a racer speeds to reach the goal. How rich, how happy the contented guest, .Who leaves the banquet soon, and sinks to rest. Damps chill my brow, my pulses flutt'ring beat, Whene'er the vigorous pride of youth I meet Pleasant and lovely ; hopeful to the view As golden visions, and as transient too : But ah ! no terrors stop, nor vows, nor tears Life's mournful evening, and the gloom of years. POVERTY. For noble minds, the worst of miseries, Worse than old age, or wearisome disease, Is Poverty. From Poverty to flee, From some tall precipice into the sea, It were a fair escape to leap below ! In Poverty, dear Kyrnus, we forego Freedom in word and deed, body and mind ; Action and thought are fetter'd and confin'd. Let me then fly, dear Kyrnus, once again ! Wide as the limits of the land and main, From these entanglements ; with these in view, Death is" the lighter evil of the two. FRIENDS AND FOES. May Jove assist me to discharge a debt Of kindness to my friends and grant me yet A further boon revenge upon my foes ! With these accomplished, I could gladly close My term of life a fair .requital made My friends rewarded, and my wrongs repaid! Gratitude and revenge, before I die, Might make me deemed almost a deity. Yet hear, mighty Jove ! and grant my prayer, Relieve me from affliction and despair ! take my life or grant me some redress, Some foretaste of returning happiness. Such is my state I cannot yet descry A chance of vengeance on mine enemy, The rude despoiler of my property. Yet my full wish, to drink their very blood, Some power divine, that watches for my good, May yet accomplish. Soon- may he fulfil My righteous hope, my just and hearty will. 558 A.C.] AN A ORE ON. 105 Our remarks upon G-recian poetry have thus brought us down to the age of Anacreon, Simonides, and Pindar perhaps the three most re- markable lyric poets that any age or country ever produced at the same time. The prevailing characteristic of each, however, is peculiar to himself. Anacreon is soft and delicate in the extreme. His drinking songs have all the gayety of their subject, without any of its grossness. His assumed philosophy, however irrational in itself, gives a dignity to his manner, and there is a pathos in the thought of fleeting life, which, perhaps, constitutes the secret charm of many of his voluptuous effusions. Simonides, on the other hand, is always serious and impressive ; and though capable of the sublime, he does not often indulge in it, but excels in those elegiac subjects which call forth peculiar strains of pathos; while Pindar's soaring genius led him to indulge in those daring flights of sublimity to which no other ancient lyric poet ever even approached. Anacreon was a native of Ionia, and was born at Teos, in that coun- try, 558 A.C- His ancestors were originally from Attica, and Athenaeus makes him a ktnsman of Solon, the celebrated Athenian law-giver, and consequently a descendant of Codrus, the last of the Athenian kings. Thus connected, he naturally enjoyed every advantage of education which that early period afforded ; and hence his time seems to have been unin- terruptedly devoted to close and uuremitted study, until the eighteenth year of his age. At that time an incident occurred which entirely changed tne aspect of his native country, and desolated his early home. Har- pagus, one of the generals of Cyrus the Great, was sent, after Cyrus had eonquered Lydla, into the Grecian States of Asia Minor, to compel them to submit to him as the conqueror of Croasus they having previously t>een subjected to the authority of that Lydian prince. Whilst Miletus and many other of the Ionian States submitted without resistance, the Teans determined to maintain their independence. They were, however, eventually overpowered by the superior force of Harpagus ; but, sooner than become the subjects of Cyrus, they resolved to embark with their families and effects on board of their fleet, and seek a new abode in some distant region of country. After a long and tedious voyage, they arrived at Abdera, on the coast of Thrace, and there formed a settlement, which they designed as their future home. At first the Thracians seemed pleased with their new neighbors, but for some reason they afterwards became disaffected towards them, and resolved to expel them by force from the country. A war was the consequence, and in the successive conflicts that followed, Anacreon had the misfortune to lose many of his friends and connections, the mournful celebration of whose deaths formed the earliest theme of his lyric muse. Though the contest finally resulted in favor of the Teans, yet the in- roads which it made in Anacreon's family circle were such as to leave him no inducement longer to remain in that distant country ; and as the 106 AN AC RE N. [LECT. IV. odes and epigrams, to which we have already alluded, had spread his fame throughout Greece and the adjacent islands, he was invited by Poly- crates, tyrant of Samos, to remove to that monarch's court, and there take up his permanent . abode. Anacreon unhesitatingly complied with the tyrant's request, and had dwelt at Samos but a short time before he gave evidence of the possession of a genius for politics and state-affairs quite equal to that which had already distinguished him as a poet 5 in consequence of which Polycrates first made him one of his councillors of State, and afterwards his prime minister. In this situation Anacreon continued during the remainder of the life of Polycrates about eighteen years basking in the sunshine of royal favor, and indulging, unfortu- nately, in all the voluptuousness of that eastern court. When intelligence of the death of Polycrates reached Athens, Hip- parchus, the wise and sagacious tyrant of that country, desirous of en joying the advantages of the presence and councils of the late prime minister of Samos, earnestly solicited Anacreon to remove to his court and make it his permanent residence ; and in order to facilitate his pas- sage over the ^Egean sea, he sent the State galley, containing thirty benches of oars, to convey him thither. At Athens, Anacreon's popu- larity as a poet soon became greatly enhanced by the production of some of the finest odes that ever emanated from his mind, and were recorded by his pen. His habits of inebriety, however, at Athens, increased upon him so rapidly, that he soon became fitted for little else than voluptuous enjoyment. When, by the conspiracy of Harmodius and Aristogiton, Hipparchus was dethroned and slain, Anacreon left Athens and returned to Teos, where he designed to remain till the close of his life. The attempt of Histaeus, tyrant of Miletus, however, to throw off the Persian yoke, compelled Anacreon again to leave his native country, and seek a new abode. He first repaired to Abdera ; but finding himself, in consequence of the many years that had elapsed since he left there, a comparative stranger, he returned to Athens, and there, after many years, closed his eventful life. His death occurred in the eighty-fifth year of his age, and was immediately produced, according to Suidas, by the excessive drink- ing of new wine, an unobserved grape-stone in which choked him to suf- focation. The Athenian^, notwithstanding Anacreon's irregular habits, so greatly admired his genius, that they erected to his memory, soon after his death, a most, imposing statue, representing, however, an old man in a state of inebriety. Few poets have ever been, to a greater extent, the delight of both ancients and moderns than Anacreon ; and hence the praises which his critics have uniformly bestowed upon him, have been of the most extrav- agant kind. His works were, Odes, Epigrams, Elegies, Hymns, and Iambics; and of their merit Horace, the greatest of Roman lyrists, remarks : 558 A.C.] ANACREON. 107 Whatever old Anacreon sung, However tender was the lay, In spite of time is ever young. Scaliger, a distinguished German critic, calls his verses ' sweater than Indian sugar.' 'His beauty,' says Madame Dacier, 'and chiefest ex- cellence lay in imitating nature, and in following reason, so that he pre- sented to the mind no images but what were noble and natural.' ' The odes of Anacreon,' says the celebrated French critic Rapin, ' are flowers, beauties, and perpetual graces. It is familiar to him to write what is natural unto life, he having an air so delicate, so easy, and so graceful, that among all the ancients there is nothing comparable to the method he took, nor to the kind of writing he followed. He flowed soft and easy ; everywhere diffusing the joy and indolence of his mind through his verse, and tuning his harp to the smooth and pleasant temper of his soul.' But no one has given a juster character of Anacreon's writings than the little God of Love as taught by Cowley : All thy verse is sweeter far, Than the downy feathers are Of my wings and of my arrows, Of my mother's doves and sparrows ; Graceful, cleanly, smooth or round, All with Venus' girdle bound. From the remaining poems of Anacreon, which are more numerous than are those of any of his contemporary poets, we shall select such as will afford us an opportunity of presenting the various themes which oc- cupied his muse, without reference to their respective merit. Of ' The Dove,' the first poem here introduced,. Dr. Johnson remarke'd, ' As I was never struck with anything in the Greek language, till I read Ana- creon's Dove, so have I never read anything in the same language since, that pleased me more.' A similar remark might be made, perhaps with equal propriety, of each poem that here follows it, and especially of the 'Address to a Painter;' for where all are so exquisite, it seems invidious to give exclusive preference to any one : THE DOVE. 'Lovely courier of the sky, Whence and whither dost thou fly ? Scattering, as thy pinions play, Liquid fragrance all the way. Is it business? Is it love? Tell me, tell jne, gentle Dove.' Soft Anacreon's vows I bear, Vows- to Myrtale the fair ; 108 ANACREON. [LECT. IV. Graced with all that charm the heait, Blushing nature, smiling art, Venus, courted by an ode, On the Bard her Dove bestow'd. Vested with a master's right Now Anacreon rules my flight : As the letters that you see, Weighty charge consigned to me : Think not yet my service hard, Joyless task without reward : Smiling at my master's gates, Freedom my return awaits : But the liberal grant in vain Tempts me to be wild again. Can a prudent Dove decline Blissful bondage such as mine ? Over hills and fields to roam, Fortune's guest without a home Under leaves to hide one's head, Slightly shelter'd, coarsely fed ; Now my Better lot bestows Sweet repast, and soft repose ; Now the generous bowl I sip As it leaves Anacreon's lip; . Void of care, and free from dread From his fingers snatch his bread, Then with luscious plenty gay Round his chambers dance and play; Or, from wine as courage springs, , . O'er his face expand my wings ; And when feast and frolic tire, Drop asleep upon his lyre. This is all ; be quick and go, More than all thou can'st not know; Let me now my pinions ply, I have chatter'd like a pye ! TO A PAINTER. Best of painters now dispense All thy tinted eloquence : Master of the roseate art, Paint the mistress of my heart. Paint her, absent though she be, Paint her as described by me. Paint her hair in tresses flowing Black as jet its ringlets glowing: If the pallet soar as high, Paint their humid frag^ancy. Let the color smoothly show The gentle prominence of brow ; 658 A.C.] ANACREON. 109 Smooth as ivory let it shine, Under locks of glossy twine. Now her eyebrows length'ning bend ; Neither sever them, nor blend: Imperceptible the space Of their meeting arches trace : Be the picture like the maid; Her dark eye-lids fringed with shade. Now the real glance inspire ; Let it dart a liquid fire : Let her eyes reflect the day, Like Minerva's, hazel-gray, Like those of Venus, swimming bright, Brimful of moisture and of light. Now her faultless nose design In its flowing acquiline : Let her cheeks transparent gleam, like to roses, strew'd in cream: Let her lips seduce to bliss, Pouting to provoke the kiss. Now her chin minute express, Rounded into prettiness : There let all the Graces play ; In that dimpled circle stray; Round her bended neck delay : Marble pillar, on the sight Shedding smooth its slippery white. For the rest, let drapery swim In purplish folds o'er every limb; But, with flimsy texture, show The shape, the skin, that partial glow : Enough herself appears ; 'tis done The picture breathes ; the paint will speak anon CUPID BENIGHTED. Twas noon of night, and round the pole, The sullen Bear was seen to roll ; And mortals, wearied with the day, Were slumbering all their cares away ; An infant, at that dreary hour, Came weeping to my silent bower, And waked me with a piteous prayer, To shield him from the midnight air, 'And who art thou,' I waking cry, ' That bid'st my blissful visions fly !' 'Ah, gentle sire,' the infant said, ' In pity take me to thy shed ; Nor fear deceit ; a lonely child, I wander o'er the gloomy wild. Chill drops the rain, and not a ray Ulumea my drear and misty way.' 110 ANACREOtf. [LECT. IY I heard the baby's tale of woe ; I heard the bitter night-winds blow; And, sighing for his piteous fate, I trirnm'd my lamp, and op'd the gate. Twas Love 1 the little wandering sprite, His pinion sparkled through the night. I knew him by his bow and dart ; I knew him by my fluttering heart. Fondly I take him in, and raise The dying embers' cheering blaze; Press from his dark and clinging hair The crystals of the freezing air, And in my hand and bosom hold His little fingers, thrilling cold. And now the ember's genial ray Had warm'd his anxious fears away: ' I pray thee,' said the wanton child, (My bosom trembled as he smil'd,) 'I pray thee, let me try my bow, For through the rain I've wandered so, That much I fear, the midnight shower Has injur'd its elastic power.' His fatal bow the urchin drew ; Swift from the string the arrow flew; As swiftly flew a glancing flame, And to mine inmost spirit came! And 'Fare thee well,' I heard him say, As, laughing wild, he wing'd his way ; ' Fare thee well, for now, I know, The rain has not relaxed my bow; It still can send a thrilling dart, As thou shalt own with all thy heart !' A DREAM. At midnight, when my slumb'ring head Sank on the purple-quilted bed, As wine its swimming raptures shed : Methought I ran a tip-toe race With gadding maids of frolic grace: While youths, like, Bacchus, fair and young, Pursued me with reviling tongue, And keen their taunting envy flung. When, as I sought to snatch a kiss, The vision fled the sleep of bliss : And left alone, I felt in vain The tort'ring wish to sleep again. 658A.O.] AN AC RE ON. HI RETURN ^ OF SPRING. See the spring appears in view; The Graces showers of roses strew. See how ocean's wave serene Smooths the limpid, glassy green : "With oaring feet the sea-duck swims; The stork in airy journey skims : The sun shines out in open day ; The shadowy clouds are roll'd away; The cultur'd fields are smiling bright In verdant gaiety of light: Earth's garden spreads its tender fruits ; The juicy olive swelling shoots ; The grape, the fount of Bacchus, twines In clusters, red with embryo wines : Through leaves, through boughs it bursts its way. And buds, and ripens on the day. BEAUTY. To all that breathe the air of heaven Some boon of strength has Nature given. In forming the majestic bull, She fenced with wreathed horns his skull ; A hoof of strength she lent the steed, And winged the timorous hare with speed; She gave the lion fangs of terror, And o'er the ocean's crystal mirror, Taught the unnumbered scaly throng To trace the liquid path along; While for the umbrage of the grove She plumed the warbling world of love. To man she gave, in that proud hour, The boon of intellectual power ; Then what, woman, what for thee Was left in Nature's treasury ? . % She gave thee beauty mightier far Than all the pomp and power of war. Nor steel, nor fire itself hath power Like woman in her conquering hour, Be thou but fair, mankind adore theel Smile, and a world is weak before theel THE ROSE. Buds of roses, virgin flowers, Culled from Cupid's balmy bowers, In the bowl of Bacchus steep, Till with crimson drops they weep. 112 ANACREON [LECT. IV. Twine the rose, the garland twine, Every leaf distilling wine : Drink and smile, and learn to think, That we were born to smile and drink. Rose ! thou art the sweetest flower, That ever drank the amber shower ; Rose, thou art the fondest child Of dimpled spring, the wood-nymph wild. Even the gods, who walk the sky, Are amorous of thy scented sigh. Cupid, too, in Paphian shades, His hair with rosy fillets braids, When with the blushing sister Graces, The wanton, winding dance he traces. Then bring me, showers of roses bring, And shed them o'er me while I sing; Or, while, great Bacchus, round thy shrine. Wreathing my brow with rose and vine, I lead some bright nymph through the dance, Commingling soul with every glance. FOLLY OF AVARICE. If hoarded gold possessed the power To lengthen life's too fleeting hour, And purchase from the hand of death A little space, a moment's breath, How I would love the precious ore, And every hour should swell my store ; That when Death came, with shadowy pinion, To waft me to his black dominion, I might, by bribes, my doom delay, And bid him call another day. But since not all earth's golden store Can buy for us one bright hour more, Why should we vainly mourn our fate, Or sigh at life's uncertain date? ^"or wealth nor grandeur can illume The silent midnight of the tomb. No give to others hoarded treasures Mine be the brilliant round of pleasures ; The goblet rich, the board of friends, Whose social souls the goblet blends ; And mine, while yet I've life to Hve, Those joys which love alone can give. CUPID AND THE BEE. Cupid once upon a bed Of roses laid his weary head; Luckless urchin, not to see Within the leaves a slumbering beel 658 A.C.] AN" A ORE ON. 113 The bee awaked with anger wild The bee awaked, and stung the child. Loud and piteous are his cries. To Venus quick, he runs, he flies; ' Oh mother ! I am wounded through I die with pain what shall I do ? Stung by some little angry thing, Some serpent on a tiny wing A bee it was, for once I know I heard a peasant call it so.' Thus he spoke, and she the while Heard him with a soothing smile; Then said: my infant if so much Thou feel the little wild-bee's touch, How must the heart, ah, Cupid, be, The hapless heart, that's stung by thee? DRINKING. Observe, when mother Earth* is dry, She drinks the droppings of the sky ; And then the dewy cordial gives To every thirsty plant that lives. The vapors, which at evening sweep, Are beverage to the swelling deep : And while the rosy sun appears He drinks the ocean's misty tears. The Moon, too, quaffs her paly stream Of lustre from the solar beam. Then hence with all your sober thinking Since Nature's holiest law is drinking : I'll make the laws of Nature mine, And pledge the universe in wine. HAPPY LIFE. Fill the bowl with rosy wine! Around our temples roses twine 1 And let us cheerfully awhile Like the Wine and Roses smile. Crown'd with roses, we contemn Gyges' golden diadem. To-day is ours ; what do we fear ? To-day is ours; we have it here: Let's treat it kindly, that it may Wish, at least, with us to stay, Let's banish business, banish sorrow, To the gods belongs to-morrow. 114 AN AC RE ON. [LECT. IV. CONVIVIAL. i Ne'er shall that man my comrade be, Or drink a generous glass with me, Who, o'er his bumper brags of scars, Of noisy broils, and mournful wars. But welcome thou, congenial soul, And share my purse, and drain my bowl, Who canst, in social knot, combine The Muse. Good-humor, Love, and Wine. Knhn tjrt SIMONIDES. PINDAR. "TTJE observed, in the last lecture, that Anacreon, Simonides, and Pin- V V dar were, perhaps, the three most remarkable lyric poets that any age or country ever, simultaneously, produced ; and then proceeded to set forth the claims of Anacreon to the honor of this exalted distinction. His two eminent contemporaries will now occupy our attention. Simonides, the second poet in this distinguished trio, was born in the island of Ceos, 556 $.C., and was, therefore, only two years younger than Anacreon. Of his family, and the manner in which he passed the early part of his life no intelligence has been preserved ; but it is evident that he was well educated, for he had scarcely reached the age of man- hood when we find him engaged in conducting a school, the design of which was to prepare the youth of distinguished families to take part in the public chorusses employed in solemn and religious exercises. His native island did not, however, long afford sufficient scope for the exercise of his abilities, or sufficient opportunities to gratify his aspiring ambition ; and he, therefore, removed to Athens, at that time the great centre of everything excellent in literature and taste, and was there received by the accomplished Hipparchus, with the most flattering marks of honor and distinction. At Athens Simonides found for his associates, Anac- reon, Pindar, and many other eminent wits of the age ; and enjoying the patronage of the splendid Athenian court, he soon reached the height at which his ambitious aspirings aimed. Though Athens was the general residence of Simonides, yet he did not confine himself to that city ; but as occasion offered frequently visited different States of Greece, and in his journeyings embraced every oppor- tunity that presented itself to celebrate, in verse, the deeds of departed excellence, or to rescue from oblivion, fame that might otherwise have been lost. After -the death of Hipparchus he removed to the court of Scopas, tyrant of Thessaly, and by his verses in honor of that prince, pre- served from oblivion a name to which no other honor can be attached. The elegies which Simonides there produced in commemoration of 116 SIMONIDES. [lEcr.V. tlie departed dead, naturally brought him, in the way of remuneration, large sums of money, in consequence of which he was charged by the con- temporary poets with degrading the heavenly gift of poetry by prostituting it to the base purposes of gain. Indeed, avarice seems to have been his prevailing characteristic, and, perhaps, his only fault, When this vice was openly charged upon him, instead of denying it, he calmly replied that ' he would rather leave a fortune to his enemies at his death, than to be com- pelled, through poverty, to seek assistance from his friends while living.' Having resided at Athens and in Thessaly for many years, Simonides finally, on invitation of Hiero, tyrant of Syracuse, removed to the court of that monarch, and there passed the remainder of his life. His death occurred, according to Athenseus, in the ninety -first year of his age, and his remains were honored with a splendid funeral, an appropriate epitaph, composed probably by himself, being inscribed upon his tomb. His sep- ulchre is said by Suidas to have been ruthlessly destroyed by Phrenix, a general of the Agrigentines, who used its materials for the construction of a tower, when he was besieging Syracuse. / As Simonides was a philosopher as well as a poet, ahd, perhaps, equally excellent in science as in literature, Hiero and his queen, with both of whom he lived on terms of close personal intimacy, soon became not only deeply interested in his conversations, but so devotedly attached to his person, that they made him their friend and confident, and were in the habit of indulging in frequent and even familiar discussions with him. On one of these occasions the king abruptly asked Simonides, " What Grod was ?" The philosophic poet, after hesitating for a moment, desired the monarch to allow him to postpone the answer to so important a ques- tion until the following day ; but when the hour at which his answer was to be given arrived, he desired a second postponement of two days longer, and at the expiration of that time, finding himself as far from being able to answer the king's question as at its first suggestion, he frankly ac- knowledged that the subject was beyond his comprehension, and that the longer he reflected upon it the more inexplicable it became. One of the most remarkable features of Simonides' character was his piety. To this all antiquity bears testimony, and many instances, such as those which follow, are cited to show that he was under the special protection of the gods. Cicero, on the authority of Callimachus, states that at a banquet given by Scopas of Thessaly, when Simonides had sung a poem which he had composed in honor of his patron, and in which, according to the custom of the poets in their epinicion odes, he had adorned his composition by devoting a great part of it to the praises of Castor and Pollux, the tyrant had the meanness to say that he would give the poet only half of the stipulated payment for his ode, and that he might apply for the remainder, if he chose, to the Tyndaridse, to 556A.C.] SIM ON IDES. 117 whom he had given an equal share of the praise. It was not long before a message was brought to Simonides, that two young men were standing at the door, and earnestly demanded to see him. He rose from his seat, went out, and found no one ; but, during his absence, the building he had just left fell down upon the banqueters, and crushed to death Scopas and all his friends, whom we may suppose to have laughed heartily at his barbarous jest. And so the Dioscuri paid the poet their half of the reward for his ode. Callimachus, in a fragment which we still possess, puts into the poet's mouth some beautiful elegiac verses in celebration of this event. Another instance of the direct interposition of the gods for his protec- tion, in reward of his piety, is given by Tully, and is as follows : Hap- pening to discover, as he was leisurely walking on the sea-beach, awaiting the sailing of the vessel in which he had taken passage for Syracuse, the dead body of a man who had recently been drowned, and as the corpse was that of a stranger, he immediately gave to it at his own expense a decent burial. In the course of the following night he had a vision of the dead man, for whose remains he had performed the pious office, and was by him admonished not to sail the next day as he had designed. He heeded the admonition, and remained on shore ; but his companions, putting to sea, were all shipwrecked and drowned. The marvellous character of these incidents must be apparent to every intelligent reader of the present day ; and our object in introducing them here is not to ex- press our confidence in their verity, but merely to exhibit the effect which the faith of the ancients in the piety of Simonides, exercised over their most exalted minds. Of all the poets of antiquity few were more honored by their contem- poraries than Simonides ; and to the esteem, admiration, and even rev- erence in whfch he was held, the purity and moral elevation of his life doubtless essentially contributed. Xenophon, the great historian, does him the honor to make him a speaker with Hiero, in his dialogue of tyranny ; and Plato, in his Protagoras, introduces Socrates expounding his verses, and elsewhere bestows upon him the imposing epithet of Divine. The works of Simonides consisted chiefly of Elegies, Odes, Epigrams, and Laments. His genius had few of the attributes of sublimity, and hence the chief characteristics of his poetry were sweetness and elaborate finish, combined with the truest poetic conception and perfect power of expression ; though in originality and fervor he was far inferior, not only to the early lyric poets, such as Sappho and Alcseus, but also to his con- temporary Pindar. His elegies exhibit a tone of melancholy pathos, and a depth of feeling, that strikingly reminds one of the strains of the Prophet Jeremiah ; and his ' Lamentation of Danae,' is remarkably similar to the Lamentations of that prophet over the destruction of 118 SIMONIDES. [LECT. V. Jerusalem, and the fall of the Jewish nation. His odes, especially those on the four great battles of Marathon, Thermopylae, Salamis, and Platasa, exhibit much more fire and energy than his other poems; but even these were pervaded with all the tenderness of which the subjects were susceptible, and rather dwelt upon the sacrifices of life which the conflict cost, than upon the triumphs which in them were achieved. The fragmentary remains of this great poet are very limited, and are chiefly comprised in the pieces which follow. The Lamentation of Danae, the most important of these fragments, is based upon the well- known tradition that Danae and her infant son were confined, by order of Acrisius, king of Argos, in a wooden chest, and then exposed to the merciless waves that they were afterwards rescued and saved from per- ishing by Dictys, brother of Polydectes, king of the island of Seriphus : LAMENTATION OF DANJE. When round the well fram'd ark the blowing blast' Roar'd, and the heaving whirlpools of the deep With rough'ning surge seem'd threat'ning to o'erturn The wide-tost vessel, not with tearless cheeks The mother round her infant gently twined Her tender arm, and cried, ' Ah, me ! my child ! What sufferings I endure! thou sleeps't the while, Inhaling in thy milky-breathing breast The balm of slumber ; though iinprison'd here In undelightful dwelling ; brassy -wedged ; Alone illumed by the stars of night, And black and dark within. Thou heed'st not The wave that leaps above thee, while its spray Wets not the locks deep-clust'riug round thy head ; Nor hear'st the shrill winds' hollow whisp'ring sounds While on thy purple downy mantle stretch'd, With count'nance flush'd in sleeping loveliness. Then if this dreadful peril would to thee Be dreadful, turn a light unconscious ear To my lamentings : sleep ! I bid thee sleep, My infant 1 oh, may the tremendous surge Sleep also ! may th' immeasurable scene Of watery perils sleep, and be at rest ! And void, and frustrate, prove this dark device, I do conjure thee, Jove ! and though my words May rise to boldness, at thy hands I ask A righteous vengeance, by this infant's aid!' THE MISERIES OF LIFE. Jove rules the world, and with, resistless sway, Demands to-morrow what he gave to-day; In vain our thoughts to future scenes we cast, Or only read them darkly in the past; 556A.C.] SIMONIDES. 119 For Hope enchanting points to new delights, And charms with dulcet sounds and heavenly sights ; Expecting yet some fancied bliss to share, We grasp at bubbles that dissolve in air, And some a day, and some whole years await The whims and chances of capricious fate ; Nor yet the lovely visions are possest Another year remains to make them blest, While age steals on to sweep their dreams away, And grim diseases hover round their prey ; Or war, with iron hold, unlocks the grave, Devouring myriads of the young and brave. Some on the billows rocked, that roll on high, Cling to the plank in vain, and wasted die; Some by the halter lay their miseries down And rush, unsummoned, to the world unknown. Our very sweets possess a secret harm, Teem with distress, and poison while they charm. The fatal Sisters hover round our birth, And dash with bitter dregs our cup on earth: Yet cease to murmur at thy fate in vain, And in oblivion steep the shaft of pain. VIRTUE. Virtue in legend old is said to dwell On high rocks, inaccessible ; But swift descends from high, And haunts of virtuous men the chaste society. No man shall ever rise Conspicuous in his fellow-mortal's eyes To manly virtue's pinnacle ; Unless within his soul, he bear The drops of painful sweat, that slowly well From spirit-wasting thought, and toil, and care. INSCRIPTIONS. ON ANACREON. Bland mother of the grape ! all-gladdening vine ! Teeming inebriate joy ! whose tendrils blown Crisp-woven in winding trail, now green entwine This pillar's top, this mount, Anacreon's tomb. As lover of the feast, th' untemper'd bowl, While the full draught was reeling in his soul, He smote upon the harp, whose melodies Were tuned to girlish loves, till midnight fled ; Now, fall'n to earth, embower him as he lies, Thy purpling clusters blushing o'er his head Still be fresh dew upon the branches hung, Like that which breathed from his enchanting tongue 120 SIMON IDES. [LEOT. V ON THOSE WHO FELL AT THERMOPYLAE. In dark Thermopylae they lie; Oh death of glory thus to die ! Their tomb an altar is, their name A mighty heritage of fame: Their dirge is triumph ; cankering rust, And time that turneth all to dust, That tomb shall never waste nor hide, The tomb of warriors true and tried. The full-voiced praise of Greece around Lies buried in that sacred mound; Where Sparta's king, Leonidas, In death eternal glory has. ON THE SAME. Greatly to die, if this be glory's height, For the fair meed we own our fortune kind ; For Greece and Liberty we plunged to-night, And left a never-dying name behind. But of all the commemorations of the ' battle of Thermopylae,' that have come down to us, by far the most celebrated is the Epitaph, comprised in two lines, written by Simonides, and placed upon the monu- ment erected to the memory of those who there so gloriously fell in de- fence of their country. Of this Epitaph or Inscription, Christopher North, in an article on the Greek Anthology, in Blackwood's Magazine, makes the following remark : " The oldest and best inscription is that on the altar-tomb of the Three Hundred. Do you remember it ? Here it is the Greek with three Latin, and eighteen English versions Start not : it is but two lines ; and all Greece, for centuries, had them by heart. She forgot them, and 'Greece was living Greece no more V Of the various English translations of this celebrated Epitaph, the fol- lowing are, perhaps, the best : O stranger, tell it to the Lacedaemonians, That we lie here in obedience to her precepts. Go tell the Spartans, thou who passest by, That here, obedient to her laws, we lie. ON CIMON'S LAND AND SEA VICTORY. Ne'er since the olden time, when Asia stood First torn from Europe by the ocean flood, Since horrid Mars thus poured on either shore The storm of battle and the wild uproar, 556A.C.] SIMON IDES. 121 Hath man by land and sea such glory won, Ne'er seen such deeds, as thou, this day, hast done. By land, the Medes in thousands press the ground ; By sea, an hundred Tyrian ships are drown'd "With all their martial host ; while Asia stands. Deep groaning by, and wrings her helpless hands. ON THOSE WHO FELL AT EURYMEDON. These by the streams of famed Eurymedon Their short but brilliant race of life have run; In winged ships and on the embattled field Alike, they forced the Median bows to yield, Breaking their foremost ranks. Now here they lie. Their names inscribed on rolls of victory. ON THE DEATH OF HIPPARCHUS. Fair was the light, that brighten'd as it grew, Of Freedom, on Athena's favor'd land, When him, the Tyrant, bold Harmodius slew, link'd with Aristogiton hand in hand. ON ARCHEDICE, THE DAUGHTER OF HIPPIAS. Daughter of him, who ruled the Athenian plains, This honored urn Archedice contains ; Of tyrants mother, daughter, sister, wife, Her soul was humble, and unstained her life. ON A STATUE OF CUPID, BY PRAXITELES. "Well has the sculptor felt what he exprest; He drew the living model from his breast. WiM not his Phryne the rare gift approve, Me for myself exchanging, love for love ? Lost are my fabled bow and magic dart; But, only gazed upon, I win the heart. INSCRIBED ON A CENOTAPH. cloud-capt Gerania, rock unblest! Would thou had'st rear'd far hence thy haughty crest, By Tanais wild, or wastes where Ister flows; Nor look'd on Sciron from thy silent snows! A cold, cold corpse he lies beneath the wave, This tomb speaks tenantless, his ocean-grave. It was in such . brief effusions as the preceding Inscriptions and Epi- 122 PINDAR. [LECT. V. taphs that Simonides so remarkably excelled, as to carry off the prize in almost every contest ; hence his fifty-six poetic triumphs, the last of which was obtained at Tarentum, in the south part of Italy, when he had passed the eightieth year of his age. The following fragments will close our notice of this attractive old poet : FRAGMENTS. i. Human strength is unavailing; Boastful tyranny unfailing; All in life is care and labor ; And our unrelenting neighbor, Death, forever hovering round ; Whose inevitable wound, When he comes prepar'd to strike, Good and bad will feel alike. . II. Mortal, dost thou dare to say, What may chance another day ? Or thy fellow mortal seeing, Circumscribe .his terra of being ? Swifter than the insect's wings Is the change of mortal things. III. What e'er of virtue or of power, Or good or great we vainly call, Each moment eager to devour, One vast Charybdis swallows all. IV. The first of human joys is health ; Next, beauty; and then, honest wealth; The fourth, youth's fond delights to prov.e With those (but most with her) we love. Pindar, the last of the great trio of lyric poets, whom we have at pres- et under consideration, and according to the universal testimony of the ancients, by far the greatest lyric poet of Greece, was a native of* Boeotia, and was born either at Thebes or at Cynocephalae, a village in the territory of that city, 522 A.C. He belonged to a dignified and poetic race, and his parents, Daiphantus and Clidice, both of noble origin, perceiving in him early indications of extraordinary genius, sent him, in his youth, to Athens, to be instructed in the poetic art. This determination on their part was hastened, according to tradition, by the miraculous foreshadowing of his future glory as a poet, by a swarm of bees which, in his infancy rested upon his lips while he was asleep. 522A.O.J PINDAR. 123 Lyric poetry among the Greeks, it must be remembered, was so inti- mately connected with music, dancing, and the whole training of the chorus, that the lyric poet required no small amount of education to fit him for the exercise of his profession ; and at Athens his education could, at that time, be much more readily obtained than in Thebes, where poetry received comparatively little attention. Besides, Bosotia, his native country, was, through the heaviness of its atmosphere, so uncongenial to the fostering of genius, or the cultivation of intellect, as to be regarded throughout Greece as proverbially suppressive of all mental or intellec- tual effort. Pindar himself, in after-life, acknowledged the truth and force of the proverb, as applicable to the mass of his countrymen, but made himself an exception to the general rule. Having completed his studies at Athens, Pindar, before he had passed the twentieth year of his age, returned to Thebes, and immedi- ately became intimate with Myrtis and Corinna of Tanagra, two poet- esses who then enjoyed great celebrity in Boeotia. Corinna appears to have exercised very considerable influence upon the youthful poet, and he is supposed to have been not a little indebted to her example and precepts. It is related by Plutarch that she recommended to Pindar to introduce mythical narratives into his poems, and that when, in accord- ance with her advice, he composed a hymn in which he interwove almost all the Theban mythology, she smiled and said, ' We ought to sow with the hand, and not with the whole sack.' With both these poetesses Pindar contended for the prize in the musical contests at Thebes ; and although Corinna found fault with Myrtis, for entering into the contest with him, saying, ' I blame the clear- toned Myrtis, that she, a woman born, should enter the lists with Pindar;' still, she herself is said to have contended with him five times, and on each occasion to have gained the prize. Pausanias does not, indeed, speak of more than one victory, and men- tions a picture which he saw at Tanagra, in which Corinna was repre- sented binding her hair with a fillet, in token of her victory ; which he attributes as much to her beauty, and to the circumstance that she wrote in the JEolic dialect, as to her poetical talents. Pindar spent, however, only a very short time in these comparatively trifling contests ; but, abandoning the lighter song, boldly struck his lyre to the nobler strains of the heroic and sublime : He felt the fire that in him glowed, and his first Pythian ode, composed at the early age of twenty, extended his fame throughout every section of Greece ; and gave him so great a reputation, that he was soon employed by different states and princes in all parts of the Hellenic world, to compose for them heroic and choral songs for all special occasions. For such works he received large sums of money, and many presents ; but he never degenerated, like Simonidas, 124 PINDAR. [LECT. V. into a common mercenary poet, and he continued to preserve, to his latest days, the respect of all parts of Greece. The next ode of Pindar, in point of time, which has come down to us, was written in his twenty-seventh year, and was composed in honor of Xenocrates of Agrigentum, who had gained the prize at the chariot-race at the Pythian games, by means of his son Thrasybulus. It is unneces- sary, however, to relate at length the different occasions upon which he wrote his other odes. The principal personages for whom he composed them were Hiero, tyrant of Syracuse ; Alexander, son of Amyntas, king of Macedonia ; Theron, tyrant of Agrigentum ; Arcesilaus, king of Gy- rene ; besides many others, written for the free States of Greece, and also for private individuals. He was courted especially by Alexander, king of Macedonia, and Hiero, tyrant of Syracuse ; and the praises which he bestowed upon the former are supposed to have been the chief reason whieh led his descendant, Alexander the Great, to spare the house of the poet, when he destroyed the city of Thebes. Pindar's stated residence was at Thebes, though he frequently left home in order to witness the great public games, and to visit the states and distinguished men and monarchs who courted his friendship and employed his services. When about fifty years of age he thus visited the court of Hiero, in consequence of the pressing invitations of that monarch ; but he remained only about four years at Syracuse as he loved an independent life, and did not care to cultivate the courtly arts which rendered his countryman, Simonides, a more welcome guest at the table of their patron. But tne estimation in which Pindar was held by his contemporaries, is still more strikingly seen in the honors conferred upon him by the free States of 'Greece. Although a Theban, he was always a great favorite with the Athenians, whom he frequently praised in his poems, and in whose city he passed, as a public guest, many years of his life. In one of his dithyrambs he calls it ' the support of Greece, glo- rious Athens, the divine city.' The Athenians testified their gratitude by voting him the freedom of their city, and giving him ten thousand drachmas; and soon after his death, they erected a magnificent statue to his honor. The inhabitants of Ceos employed him to compose for them a processional song, although they had two celebrated poets of their own Simonides and Bacchylide; and the Rhodians had his seventh Olympian ode written in letters of gold in the temple of the Lindian Athenae. Thus honored and revered he passed his useful and brilliant career, and finally died in his native city, in the eightieth year of his age, and 442 A.C. The only poems of Pindar that have come down to us entire, are his Epinitia, or triumphal odes ; but these were only a small portion of his works. He wrote, also, Hymns to the Gods, Paeans, Dithyrambs, Odes for Processions, Songs of Maidens, Drinking Songs, Dirges, and Encomia,, or Panegyrics on Princes. Of these we have numerous fragments, but 522 A.C.] PINDAR. 12 5 no entire piece. One peculiarity about all his poems is the evidence they give that he was deeply penetrated with a strong religious feeling. He had not imbibed any of the scepticism which began to take root in Athens after the Persian war. The old myths were for the most part realities to him, and he accepted them with implicit credence, except when they exhibited the gods in a point of view which was repugnant to his moral feelings. For, in consequence of the strong ethical sense which he possessed, he was unwilling tp believe the myths which repre- sented the gods and heroes as guilty of immoral acts ; and he accordingly frequently rejects some tales, and changes others, because they are inconsis- tent with his own conceptions of the attributes and character of the gods. The Epinicia, or triumphal odes of Pindar, are divided into four books, celebrating respectively the victories gained in the Olympian, Pythian, Nemean, and Isthmian games. In order properly to under- stand them, we must bear in mind the nature of the occasion for which they were composed, and the object which the poet had in view. A vic- tory gained in one of the four great national festivals, conferred honor not only upon the conqueror and his family, but also upon the city to which he belonged. It was accordingly celebrated with great pomp and ceremony. Such a celebration began with a procession to a temple, where a sacrifice was offered, and it ended with a splendid banquet. For this celebration a poem was expressly composed, and was sung by a cho- rus, trained for the purpose, either by the poet himself, or by some other person whom he employed for that purpose. The poems were' sung either during the procession to the temple, or at the comus, at the close of the banquet. In the odes of Pindar prepared for such occasions, he rarely describes the victory itself, as the scene was supposed to be famil- iar to all the spectators ; but he dwells upon the glory of the victor, and celebrates chiefly either his wealth or his skill his wealth, if he had gained the victory in the chariot race, since it was only the wealthy that could contend for the prize in this contest ; his skill, if he had been ex- posed to peril in the contest. He frequently celebrates also the piety and goodness of the victor ; for with the deep religious feeling, which pre-eminently characterizes Pindar, he believed that the moral and re- ligious character of the conqueror conciliated the favor of the gods, and gained for him their support and assistance in the contest. For the same reason he dwells at great length upon the mythical origin of the person whose victory he extols, and connects his exploits with the similar ex- ploits of the heroic ancestors of the race or nation to which he belongs. These mythical narratives occupy a very prominent feature in almost all of his odes, and are not introduced for the sake of ornament, but have a close and intimate connection with the whole object and purpose of each poem. Such are the odes of Pindar. We have had occasion frequently, in the course of thj^e remarks, to 126 PINDAR. [LECT. V. allude to the honors which Pindar's contemporaries heaped upon him. A fixed sentiment seems to have pervaded all antiquity that the attri- butes of his mind were entirely unearthly that his poetical aspirations soared so far beyond those of his contemporaries or predecessors, as to elevate him entirely above the reach of parallel. In accordance with this idea, there was placed in the Temple of Apollo at Delphi, and ap- propriated exclusively to his use, an iron chair, in which he was seated when he repaired thither to sing the praises of the Immortal there wor- shiped ; and as though this were not sufficient honor, the Priestess of the Temple directed all who came there to present their first fruit offerings, to dedicate a part of them to the divine poet. His residence in the city of Thebes was, on two different occasions, spared when all the rest of the city was laid desolate first, by the Lacedaemonians, and afterwards by Alexander the Great. A victory even at the great (jrrecian games was incomplete, and wanted its crowning ornament, until celebrated in his immortal strains ; and however far these strains transcended those of all other lyric poets in grandeur, the depth of 'erudition which pervaded, them was still more surprising. It was this that led Plato, in one of his dialogues, to introduce him in conference with the tyrant Hiero, and to call him the ' Wisest', and the ' Divine,' and jEschylus, the father of dram- atic poetry, to call him the ' Great,' and Athenseus the ' Most Sublime.' It has been usual among English critics, but we confess that the fancy is, to us, a singular one, to compare Pindar to Gray, the author of the ' Elegy in a Country Church- Yard;' for between these two poets we can- not ourselves perceive one single trace of resemblance. Pindar was all fire and strength, while Gray's whole poetic life was spent in elaborating a few slender odes, in all of which we trace the commonplaces of the scholar's reading, and smell the odor of the lamp. Collins, to our mind, bears a much closer resemblance to the simple spontaneousness, the fine abstraction, and the ideal sublime of Pindar. Perhaps a nearer parallel to Pindar's odes is to be found in the chorusses of Milton, than in the poems of any other modern writer. We perceive in the lyrics of Mil- ton and in the odes of Pindar, a similar copiousness of thought, and expression, and images, rolling forth as if involuntarily, from the abun- dant sources of fancy and reflection. A similar severe and chaste style, relieved by the freshness of color, and picturesqueness of manner in descriptive painting, and the intermixture of gorgeously romantic im- agery : a similar lofty and calm abstractedness of imagination, and the same purity and^unworldliness of feeling ; the same religious tone, and almost oracular emphasis, in the uttering of moral truths. We present, as our first selection from the poems of Pindar, one of his celebrated odes to Hiero of Syracuse, by whom he was treated during his residence at his court, rather as a prince than as a poet ; in 522 A.C.] PINDAR. 127 return for which the great lyrist poured forth those strains to the honor of the king and in praise of his victories, which have contributed more to the immortalizing of the memory of that accomplished monarch than all his own splendid deeds combined. THE FIRST PYTHIAN ODE. TO HIERO OF ;ETNA, TYRANT OF SYRACUSE, ON HIS VICTORY IN THE CHARIOT-RACE. L 1. Oh lyre of gold : Which Phoebus, and that sister choir, With crisped locks of darkest violet hue, Their seemly heritage forever hold : The cadenc'd step hangs listening on thy chime; Spontaneous joys ensue; The vocal troops obey thy signal-notes: While sudden from the shrilling wire To lead the solemn dance thy murmur floats In its preluding flight of sound: And in thy streams of music drown'd The forked light'uing in Heaven's azure clime Quenches its ever-flowing fire. I 2. The monarch-eagle then hangs down On either side his flagging wing, And on Jove's sceptre rocks with slumbering head : Hovering vapors darkling spread O'er his arch'd beak, and veil his filmy eye: Thou pour'st a sweet mist from thy string 1 "; And, as thy music's thrilling arrows fly, He feels soft sleep effuse From every pore its balmy-stealing dews, And heaves his ruffled plumes in slumber's ecstacy. Stern Mars hath dropp'd his sharp'd and barbed spear ; And starts, and smiles to hear Thy warbled chaunts, while joy flouvs in upon his mind : Thy music's weapons pierce, disarm The demons of celestial kind, , By Apollo's music-charms, And accent of the zoned, full-bosom'd, maids Tluit haunt Pieria's shades. I 3. But they, whom Jove abhors, with shuddering ear The voices -of the Muses hear ; Whether they range the earth or tossing: sea: Such is that hundred-headed giant, he Of blessed Gods an enemy, 128 PINDAR. [LECT. V. Typhon ; who lies in chasm of Tartarus drear : To whom Cilicia's legend- fabled cave His nourish'd being gave : Now on nis shaggy breast Sicilia's isle and Cuma's sea-girt shore Are ponderously prest ; And that round pillar of the sky With congelation hoar, jEtna, crushes him from high ; While the year rolls slow Nurse of keen-encrusted snow. II. 1. From forth whose secret caves Fountains pure of liquid flame With rush and roaring came ; And rivers rolling steep in fiery waves In a stream of whitening smoke On glowing ether broke : And in the dark and dead of night With pitchy-gathering cloud and glare of light, The volleying fire was heard to sweep Masses of shiver'd rock with crashing sound, Dash'd midst the sullen ocean's waters deep. There that Vulcanian dragon casts His fiery whirlpool blasts; Blazing in horrid light On the scared ken of mortal sight; Far bursting, marvellous to hear, On the passing traveller's ear. II. 2. A Miracle of sight and sound To him that muses, how fast-bound That giant wallows on his flinty bed; Under ^Etna's beetling head With blackening foliage crown'd, And deep beneath the mountain's roots profound: While as his limbs at their huge length are spread, His back is scarr'd with many a rocky wound. Oh, grant me, Jove ! with strains like these Thy gracious ear to please : This forehead of green earth, this mount in air Swelling-sublime, thine eye o'ersees : The founder of illustrious fame Bade the neighboring city bear The mountain's kindred name : Its honors to the gazing crowd Did the herald's voice proclaim, In him, who, graced with conquest proud, In chariots winning fresh renown, Wears now the Pythian crown. 522 A.C.1 PINDAR. 129 II. 3. The ocean-faring men, . When first they spread the sail, Hope the favoring wind may blow, Conceiving auspice then That the same happy gale Shall speed their voyage back athwart the main, Safe-passing to and fro: So my prophetic strain, From these auspicious deeds, Augurs ^Etna's future fame In crowns and conquering steeds, And harp'd in banquets a melodious name. Delian and Pataraean king 1 Phoebus ! that lovest Castalia's fount, Flowing round Parnassus' mount, Hear what now I sing: Lay it within thy soul to distant time: And let Sicilia's clime, As now, with men heroic spring. III. 1. For from the gods descend All high designs, that here on earth Point the virtues to their end: The wise of thought, the strong of hand, The eloquent of tongue, Not from ourselves are sprung, But from a secret and divine command Are usher'd into birth. Now, while the hope within me stirs, to praise That man of victory, While in my poising grasp I raise The brass-tipp'd javelin high : Let it not wide-starting stray ; But speeding on its way' Far overleap each rival's cast : Time ! let the future, as the past, Felicity bestowj And bid the source of bounty flow, And sickness in oblivion lay. III. 2. In memory's blazon'd roll Shall rise the struggle of the battle-hour ; When fought the gods on Hiero's side: And firm in fortitude of soul, He cropp'd, with Gelo, glory's flower ; Gathering o'er every Greek renown, And winning wealthy empire's gorgeous crown: 'Twas then a mighty man appeal'd To his high will, and sooth'd with friendly name Though with delaying step he came Like Philoctetes, to the field- 9 130 PINDAR. [LECT. V. Tie sung in ancient lore, "While Philoctetes nursed tea rankling wound, Heroes divine that archer found, And drew from Lemnos' shore. III. 3. By him Troy-towers should fall from high And heap the dusty soil ; And thus should end the Grecians' toil; Though faintly bow'd with his disabling wound Faltering he trod the ground ; For it was written thus in Destiny. May the healing god appear To Hiero, onwards as the moments creep, Lull his grief and pain to sleep ; Bid speed the wishes of his soul ; And his frame from sickness rear. Muse again my voice obey : This strain for Hiero's chariot-victory won, Sing to Dinomeues the son: Not with averted ear Shall he a father's triumph hear : Come then; for him that shall o'er JEtna sway, Meditate the pleasing lay. IV. 1. That city founded strong In liberty divine, Measured -by the Spartan line, Has Hiero 'stablish'd for his heritage : To whose firm-planted colony belong Their mother-country's laws, From many a distant age: The Dorian race, that draws From Pamphylus and th' Heraclidse old The blood that circles in its veins, Dwelling beneath Taygetus' high hills, In wise ^Egimius' statutes firm remains, Fix'd to their great forefathers' will: They,, by high Fortune led, Vast Pindus' ridgy head O'erpats'd, and in Amyclae held their seat: And the twin-brothers near, In neighboring Argos rode On snowy coursers fleet; "Whose glory flourishing in blossom, showM While firm they couch'd the spear. IV. 2. Jovel grant that such renown Be theirs, the people and the kings Dwelling by clear Amena's springs : 522A.C.] PINDAR. 131 The laws and liberties, whose fame has hung On every human tongue, These let them judge themselves, and know them for their own. Guide to virtue \ train'd by thee Let this thy son his people turn again To concord's peaceful ways ; Bound till his silver-hair'd decline of days In mutual order's chain. Father ! I pray thee give the nod of Fate : Let the Phoenician rest at peace Within his turret ; let the Tuscan shout Of yelling battle cease ; Who saw at Cuma late Their navy's wreck and rout. IV. 3. That leader of the Syracusan host With gallies swiftly-rushing them pursued ; And they his onset rued : When on the Cuman coast We dash'd their youth in gulpby waves below And rescued Greece from heavy servitude. My strain might grasp the Salaminian day When Athens fray'd the Persian foe ; And glory should her act repay: Let Sparta tell How, at Cithseron's foot the Medians fell, And cast their crooked bows away: But first my harp should sound the lay Of the banks of Himera's stream, Whose waters limpid flow : Dinomenes' brave sons absorb my theme, Whose valor quell'd the Punic foe. V. 1. The seasonable speech Grasping in narrow space the sum of things, Draws less the biting obloquy Of man's invidious tongue; But swoll'n satiety Fastidious loathing brings, The hearer's thoughts quick soar beyond its reach And fame sheds secret gall In citizens with envy stung At others' noble deeds: Yet better envy, than the tear let fall By pity o'er the ills corruption breeds : t Then pass not virtue by ; In steady justice bold The nation's ruddy hold ; ^ Govern'd and guided still; And shape thy tongue and will On the forge of verity. 132 PINDAR. [LECT. V Y. 2. The lighest word that falls from thee, oh king! Becomes a mighty and momentous thing: O'er many placed, as arbiter on high, Many thy goings watchful see ; Thy ways on every side A host of faithful witnesses descry: Then let thy liberal temper be thy guide: If ever to thine ear Fame's softest whisper yet was dear, Stint not thy bounty's flowing tide; Stand at the helm of state: full to the gale Spread thy wide-gathering sail. Friend! let not plausive avarice spread Its lures to tempt thee from the path of fame : For know, the glory of a name Follows the mighty dead. V. 3. Praise lights the beaten road Which the departed trod, And gilds the speaker's tongue, the poet's lays; Not Croesus 1 virtue mild decays ; But hateful Fame shall ever cling To Phalaris, him merciless of mind, "Who in the brazen bull's rebellowing void Bum'd with the flame his kind: Never ^for him the social roof shall ring With sounds of harps in descant sweet: Ne'er has his name em ploy 'd The tongue o;' boys, that prattling tales repeat . The virtuous deed In honor's highest meed: That deed's recorded fame Next touches with delight the human ear: The man that thus shall act and hear, May the crown of glory claim. To this splendid ode we add the following extracts from other odes, and shall then close our notice of this great poet with a fragment on see- ing the sun under an eclipse : FROM THE SECOND OLYMPIC. FUTURE PUNISHMENT AND REWARD. The deeds that stubborn ^mortals do In this disordered nook of Jove's domain, All find their meed, and there's a judge below Whose hateful doom inflicts th' inevitable pain. 622A.C.] PINDAR. 133 O'er the Good, soft suns awhile, Through the mild day, the night serene, Alike with cloudless lustre smile, Tempering all the tranquil scene. Their's is leisure ; vex not they Stubborn soil or watery way, To wring from toil want's worthless bread: No ills they know, nor tears they shed, But with the glorious gods below Ages of peace contented share : Meanwhile the Bad, in bitterest woe, Eye-startling tasks, and endless tortures bear. All, whose steadfast virtue thrice Each side the grave unchanged hath stood, Still unseduced, unstained with vice, Th e y by Jove's mysterious road, Pass to Saturn's realm of rest, Happy isle, that holds the Blest; Where sea-born breezes gently blow O'er blooms of gold that round them glow, Which nature boon from stream or strand Or goodly tree profusely showers ; Whence pluck they many a fragrant band, And braid their locks with never-fading flowers. FROM THE FOURTEENTH OLYMPIC. TO THE ORCHOMENIAN GRACES, IN BEHALF OF THE BOY ASOPHICHUS. ye, ordained by lot to dwell Where Cephisian waters well; And hold your fair retreat Mid herds of coursers beautiful and fleet ; Renowned queens, that take your rest In Orchomenus the blest, Guarding with ever wakeful eye The Minyans' high-born progeny; To you my votive strains belong; List, Graces, to your suppliant's song. For all delightful things below, All sweet, to you their being owe; And at your hand their blessings share The wise, the splendid, and the fair. Nor without the holy Graces, The gods, in those supernal places, Their dances or their Jbanquets rule; Dispensers they of all above Throughout the glorious court of Jove : Where each has plac'd her sacred stool 134 PINDAR. [LECT. V. By the golden-bow'd Apollo, Whom in his harpings clear they follow; And the high majestic state Of their Eternal Father venerate. Daughters of heav'n ; Aglaia, thou Darting splendors from thy brow; With musical Euphrosyne, Be present. Nor less call I thee, Tuneful Thalia, to look down On this joyous rout, and own Me their bard, who lead along, For Asophichus, the throng Tripping light to Lydian song; And Minya for thy sake proclaim Conqueress in the Olympic game. Waft, Echo, now, thy wing divine To the black dome of Proserpine; And marking Cleodamus there, . Tell the glad tidings ; how his son, For him, hath crown'd his youthful hair With plumes in Pisa's valley won. FROM THE THIRD NEMEAN. INNATE WORTH. Great is the power of inbred noblenest : But he, that all he hath to schooling owes, A shallow wight obscure, Plants not his step secure ; Feeding vain thoughts on phantoms numberless, Of genuine excellence mere outward shows. In Phillyra's house, a flaxen boy, Achilles oft in rapturous joy His feats of strength essay'd. Aloof, like wind, his little javelin flew ; The lion and the brindled boar he slew, Then homeward to old Chiron drew Their panting carcasses. This, when six years had fled. And all the after time Of his rejoicing prime, It was to Dian and the blue-eyed maid, A wonder how he brought to ground The stag without or toils or hound : So fleet of foot was he. 522A.C.J PINDAR. 135 FROM THE EIGHTH NEMEAN. A PRAYER FOR A GUILELESS AND BENEVOLENT DISPOSHION. Hateful of old the glozing plea, With bland imposture at his side, Still meditating guile ; Fill'd with reproaches vile; Who pulls the splendid down, And bids th' obscure in fest'ring glory shine. Such temper far remove, Father Jove, from me. The simple paths of life be mine ; That when this being I resign, I to my children may bequeath A name they shall not blush to hear. Others for gold the vow may breathe, Or lands that see no limit near : But fain would I live out my days, Beloved by those with whom they're past, In mine own city, till at last In earth my limbs are clad; Still praising what is worthy praise, But scatt'ring censure on the bad. For virtue by the wise and just Exalted, grows up like a tree, That springeth from the dust, And by the green dews fed, Doth raise aloft her head, And in the blithe air waves her branches free. A FRAGMENT. TO THE SUN UNDER AN ECLIPSE. Beam of the sun, heaven-watcher, thou whose glance Lights far and wide, unveil to me, unveil Thy brow, that once again mine eye may hail The lustre of thy cloudless countenance. Surpassing star ! why thus at noon of day Withdrawing, would'st thou mar Man's stalwart strength, and bar With dark obstruction Wisdom's winding way ? Lo! on thy chariot-track Hangs midnight pitchy-black ; While thou, from out thine ancient path afar, Hurriest thy belated car. 136 PINDAR. But thee, by mightiest Jove, do I implo O'er Thebes thy fleet steeds' flight To rein, with presage bright Of plenteousness and peace forevermore. Fountain of Light ! venerated Power 1 To all of earthly line A wonder and a sign, "What terror threatenest thou at this dread hour ? Doom of battle dost thou bring; Or cankerous blight, fruit-withering; Or crushing snow showers' giant weight; Or factions, shatter ers of the State : Or breaching seas poured o'er the plain; Or frost that fettereth land and spring ; Or summer daak, whose drenching wing Droops heavily with rain? Such fate, portendeth such, thy gloomy brow ? Or, deluging beneath the imprison'd deep, This earth once more, man's infant race wilt thou, Afresh from off the face of nature sweep ? Kntun tju $i ONXDMACRITUS. B ACCHYLIDES. EMPEDOCLES. EUENUS. ARI- PHRON.-iSIMMIAS. CALLISTRATUS. PLATO. ARISTOTLE. MNASALCUS. HYBRIAS. HERMESIANAX. PERSES. ONOMACRITUS, the next poet to be noticed, occupies an interesting position in the history of the early Greek religious poetry. He was a native of Athens, and was born in that city 540 A.C. His profession was that of a priest and soothsayer ; and by virtue of his sacred office he had access to the secret archives of the city, and there pretended to dis- cover some oracular verses, which he attributed to Orpheus and Musseus These verses he was in the habit of reciting in the public assemblies of the people for pecuniary emoluments, and by this means he acquired great wealth. This practice he continued for a number of years ; and as the tyrant Hipparchus was his personal friend, his intimacy with royalty, and his identity with the priestly office, long shielded him from public exposure. At length, however, Lasus of Hermione, the dithyrambic poet, a philosopher, and a man of great boldness and spirit, publicly charged him with having forged these verses, and with issuing them to the people, to effect his own sordid and selfish purposes. As this charge was made by a citizen of exalted position and commanding character, the king was compelled to take notice of it ; and Onomacritus was accordingly brought to trial, condemned, and sentenced to perpetual banishment. On being banished from Athens, Onomacritus retired into Thessaly, and there, through his artful .and insinuating conduct and manners, he soon raised himself to a position of so much importance that, when the Thessa- lians invited Xerxes, king of Persia, to invade and subjugate Greece, he formed one of the commissioners sent to the Persian court for that purpose. He is said to have stimulated the king to that undertaking, by reciting to him all the ancient oracles which seemed to favor the attempt, and sup- pressing those of an opposite tendency. The embassy succeeded, and Onomacritus having thus, as he supposed, wreaked his vengeance upon his native country, returned to Thessaly ; but there, soon after, sunk into 0* TH 138 ONOMACRITUS. [Lscr. VI. that contempt and final obscurity, which the baseness of his conduct had so richly merited. The period of his death, according to Herodotus, was 485 A.C. ; but no particulars of his life, after the Persian embassy, have been preserved. Many disquisitions have been written for the purpose of determining whether Onomacritus was, or was not, the author of the poems which he ascribed to Orpheus and Musaeus. Without entering more particularly into this vexed question, we may here remark that, according to Herodo- tus, he was an utterer of ancient oracles, however preserved, and that he had made a collection and arrangement of the oracles ascribed to Musseus. And this is entirely in keeping with the literary character of the age in which he lived, and with other traditions respecting Onomacritus him- self ; as, for instance, that he made interpolations in Homer as well as in Musseus, and that he was the real author of some of fiie poems which went under the name of Orpheus. It is evident, however, that his literary character must be regarded as quite subordinate to his religious position ; and that he was not a poet who cultivated the art for its own sake, but a priest, who availed himself of the ancient religious poems for the support of the worship to which he was attached. Of what character that worship was, may be seen from the statement of Pausanias-, that i Onomacritus, taking from Homer the name of the Titans, established orgies to Dionysus, and represented in his poems the Titans as the authors of the sufferings of Dionysus.' Here we have the great Orphic myth of Dionysus Zagreus, whose worship, it thus seems, was either established or re-arranged by Onomacritus, who must, therefore, be regarded as one of the chief leaders of the Or- phic theology, and the Orphic societies. The poem which Onomacritus pretended had been written by Orpheus, was a description of the Argonautic Expedition. That he fabricated the work himself there can be no doubt ; and the probability is that he was in possession of certain genuine Orphic fragments, which he used as the ground- work of his fabrication. The Argonautics, in their antique air, resemble the first simple outline of an epic poem the first rough attempt to record in verse an heroic action. The poem, so far as the conduct of the fable is concerned, is almost entirely destitute of poetic art : it is a mere diary of adventures, without complicated interest, and without the intricate display of powerful passion. The narration is conducted in the person of Orpheus himself, naturally -and unambitiously ; and is pleasing from. its artlessness. The poet does little more than describe but he describes forcibly \ and has happily imitated the strong and grand sim- plicity of a rude bard. The cave of Chiron is a fine, romantic picture ; and the sudden appearance of the king of Colchis, in his chariot, with his two daughters, is conceived with uncommon spirit and splendor of fancy. What part Onomacritus may have taken in the construction of the 520 A.C.] ONOMACRITTJS. 139 hymns interspersed throughout the poem, is very uncertain ; but, as hymns are among the first essays of barbarous poetry, and are more easily perpetuated than any other,, from the sacredness and frequency of religious rites, it is very probable that part of these hymns belong to the genuine Orphic era. Certainly, their style is still more ancient than that of the Argonautics. The shorter ones are mere invocations, made up of titular attributes, and adapted to certain sacrificial ceremonies. Some passages among the Orphic fragments embrace a sublime and mystical theology, which seem connected with a period, when the unity of the object of worship was still kept in view, through all its divisions and ramifications, among the parts of nature. Others are supposed to have been interpolated by the pious fraud of Jewish or Christian theologians. The poems on stones are curious monuments of an old Greek superstition, common, also, with the Arabians, which ascribes to gems certain healing virtues and magical properties. Their cast is not so ancient as that of the other poems. FROM THE ARGONAUTICS' VISIT TO THE ARGONAUTS CAVE OF CH Then with a whistling breeze did Juno fill the sail, And Argo, self-impell'd, shot swift before the gale. The kings with nerve and heart the oar unwearied Plough'd by the keel, foam'd white th' immeasurable But when from Ocean's' streams the sacred dawn appear'd, And morning's pleasant light both Gods and mortals cheer'd, Then, from the shore, the rocks and windy summits high Of wood-topt Pelion -rear'd their beacon midst the sky. The helm, with both his hands, the pilot Tiphys held; The vessel cut the wave, with quiet course impell'd ; Then swift they near'd the shore ; the wooden ladder cast, And forth the heroes leap'd, relieved fro^n labors past. Then to the circling throng the horseman Peleus cried ; 'Mark, friends! yon shadowing crag, midway the mountain side: There Chiron dwells, most just of all the Centaur race, That haunt high Pelion's top ; a cave his dwelling-place. He there awards the right, or heals the body's pains; And chaunts to neighboring tribes, oracular, his strains. To Phoebus' chorded harp the laws, in wisdom, sings, Or Hermes' hollow lute, of shell sonorous, strings ; And therefore Thetis came, with silver feet, to trace High Pelion's waving woods, my babe in her embrace; And here to Chiron's hands the new-born infant brought, To cherish with a father's eye, and rear with prudent thought. Indulge my longing, fi-ieuds ! with me the cavern tread ; To mark how fares mv boy ; how gifted, and how bred.' He trod the beaten path ; we follow'd where he led. We enter'd straight a grot, of gloomy twilight shade ; There, on a lonely couch, the centaur huge was laid. 140 ONOMACRITUS. [LECT. VI At length unmeasured stretch'd, his rapid legs were thrown, And, shod with horny hoofs, reclin'd upon the stone. The boy Achilles stood, erect, beside the sire; And smote with pliant hand the spirit-soothing lyre. But when the Centaur saw the noble kings appear, He rose with courteous art, and kiss'd, and brought them dainty cheer. The wine in beakers served, the branchy couches spread With scatter'd leaves, and placed each guest upon his bed. In dishes rude the flesh of boars and stags bestow'd ; While draughts of luscious wine in equal measure flow'd. But now, when food and drink had satisfied the heart, With loud, applauding ' hands they urged my minstrel's art : That I, in contest match'd against the Centaur sire, Should, to some wide-famed strain, attune the wringing lyre. But I, averse, forbore in contest to engage, And blush'd, that youth should vie with more experienced age. Till Chiron joined the wish, himself prepared to sing ; And forced me to contend, reluctant, 'on the. string. Achilles stretch'd his hand, and gave the beauteous shell, Which Chiron took, and sang the Centaur combat fell: How them the Lapithae for daring outrage slew ; How, mad with strength of wine, 'gainst Hercules they flew; And him, on Pholoe's mount, to stubborn conflict drew. I next the lute received, of echo sweet and shrill, And bade my breathing lips their honor'd song distil. In dark and mystic hymn I sang of Chaos old, How the disparted elements in round alternate roll'd; Heaven flow'd through boundless space ; and earth her teeming train Fed from her ample breast, and deep in whirlpools heaved the mam, I sang of elder Love, who, self-sufficing, wrought Creation's differing forms with many-counsell'd thought. Of baneful Saturn next ; and how the heaves above Fell with its regal sway to thunder-launching Jove. I sang the younger gods, whence rose their various birth, How spread their sep'rate powers through sea., and air, and earth. Of Brimus and of Bacchus last, and giants' mystic fame, And whence man's weaker race arose, of many-nation'd name. Through winding cavities, that scoop'd the rocky cell, With tone sonorous thrill'd my sweetly vocal shell. High Pelion's mountain heads, and woody valleys round, And; all his lofty oaks remurmur'd to the sound. His oaks uprooted rush, and all tumultuous wave Around the darken'd mouth of Chiron's hollow cave. The rocks re-echo shrill ; the beasts of forest wild Stand at the cavern's mouth, in listening trance beguiled: The birds surround the den ; and, as in weary rest, They drop their fluttering wings, forgetful of the nest, Amazed the Centaur saw ; his clapping hands he beat ; And stamp'd in ecstacy the rock with hoof'd and horny feet. When Tiphys threads the cave, and bids the Minyan train To hurry swift on board ; and thus I ceased my strain. The Argonauts leap'd up in haste, and snatch'd their arms again. 620A.C.] ONOMACRITUS. 141 Then Peleus to his breast the boy, embracing, rears ; Kissing his head, and beauteous eyes, and smiling through his tears : Achilles so was soothed; and, as I left the cave, A leopard's spotted skin, in pledge, the Centaur gave. Forth from the den we sprang, down from the mountain high ; The aged Centaur spread his raised hands toVrds the sky: And call'd on all the gods a safe return to give, That famed in ages, yet unborn, the youthful kid|s might live. Descending to the shore, we climb'd the bark again; Each press'd his former bench, and lash'd with oar the main; Huge .Pelion's mountain swift receded from our view, >'*r vast ocean's green expanse the foam white-chafing flew. FROM THE ORPHIC REMAINS. I. One self- existent lives : created things krise from him ; and he is all in all. N"o mortal sight may see him; yet himself Sees all that live. He out of good can bring Evil to men : dread battle ; tearful woes ; He, and no other. Open to thy sight Were all the chain of things, could'st thou behold The Godhead, ere as yet he stepp'd on earth. My son ! I will display before thine eyes. His footsteps, and his mighty hand of power. Himself I cannot see. The rest is veil'd In clouds; and tenfold darkness intercepts His presence. None discerns the* Lord of men, But he, the sole-begotten, of the tribe Of old Chaldaeans: he, to whom was known The path of stars, and how the moving sphere Rolls round this earth, in equal circle framed, Self-balanced on 'her centre. Tis the God, Who rules the breathing winds, that sweep around The vault of air, and round the flowing swell Of the deep, watery element ; and shows Forth, from on high, the glittering strength of flame. Himself, above the firmament's broad arch, Sits, on a throne of gold : the round earth lies Under his feet. He stretches his right hand To th' uttermost bounds of ocean, and the root Of mountains trembles at his touch ; nor stands Before his mighty power. For he, alone, All-heavenly is, and all terrestrial things Are wrought by him. First, midst, and last, he holds With his omniscient grasp. So speaks the lore Of ancient wisdom : so the man who sprang Forth from the cradling waters, speaks : who took The double tables of the law from God ; Other to speak, were impious. Every limb I tremble, and my spirit quakes within. 142 ONOMACRITUS. [LEOT. VI n. Jove is the first and last ; who th' infant thunder hurPd ; Jove is the head and midst ; the framer of the world, Jove is a male ; a nymph of bloom immortal Jove : Jove is the base of earth, and starry heaven above. Jove is the breath of all ; the force of quenchless flame ; The root of jj?cean Jove; the sun and moon the same. Jove is the king, the sire, whence generation sprang ; One strength, one Demon, great, on whom all beings hang; His regal body grasps the vast material round; There fire, earth, air, and wave, and day, and night are found; Wisdom, first maker, there, and joy-prolific Love ; All these concentering fill the mighty frame of Jove. III. Hear me, thou 1 forever whirling round the rolling Heavens on high 1 Thy far-travelling orb of splendor, midst the whirlpools of the sky 1 Hear, effulgent Jove, and Bacchus 1 father both of earth and sea ! Sun all-various ! golden-beaming ! all things teeming out of thee 1 TO THE MOON. FROM THE HYMNS. Heavenly Selene ! goddess queen ! that shedd'st abroad thy light ! Bull-horned moon ! air-habiting ! thou wanderer through the night 1 Moon, bearer of the nightly torch ! thou star-eiicircled maid 1 Female, at once, and male the same ; still fresh, and still decay'd ! Thou! that in thy steeds delightest, as they whirl thee through the skyl Clothed in brigthness ! mighty mother of- the rapid years that fly 1 Fruit-dispenser ! amber- visaged ! melancholy, yet serene ! All-beholding 1 sleep-enamor'd ! still with trooping planets seen 1 Quiet-loving 1 who in pleasaunce, and in plenty takes delight ! Joy-diffusing ! fruit-maturing ! sparkling ornament of night ! Swiftly-pacing! ample-vested! star-bright! all-divining maid ! Come benignant ! come spontaneous ! with thy starry sheen array'd I Sweetly-shining ! save us, virgin ! give thy holy suppliants aid 1 FROM THE LITHICS. Th' immortal Gods will view thee with delight, If thou should'st hold the agate, branching bright With veins, like many a tree, that rears its head In some fair garden, with thick boughs bespread : As the tree-agate, thus to mortals known, In part a branchy wood ; in part a stone. If on thy oxen's horns this gem be bound, When with the cleaving share they turn the ground; 500 A.C.J BACCHYLIDES. 143 Or on th' unwearied ploughman's shoulder borne, Then shall thy furrows spring with thickening corn : Full-bosom'd Ceres, with the wheaten crown, Shall lean from Heaven, and scatter harvests down. Bacchylides, another of the distinguished lyric poets of this period, was a native of the island of Ceos, and was a nephew as well as fellow- townsman of the celebrated Simonides, of whom we have already spoken. Eusebius places his birth in 450 A. C. ; but this must evidently be a mis- take, as Hiero of Syracuse, at whose court the poet past many years of his life, died in 467 A.C. The probability is, therefore, Bacchylides was born about 500 A.C. Bacchylides belonged to a family in which, as was so often the case, poetry was followed as an hereditary profession. His father is variously called Medon, Meidon, and Meidylus ; and his paternal grandfather was the athlete Bacchylides. Of his life we have no farther knowledge than that he early left his native island, and repaired to the court of Syracuse, whither his uncle Simonides had already preceded him. He soon be- came a very great favorite of Hiero, who is said to have preferred his Pythian odes to those of Pindar. On what principle this preference could have been founded it is, however, very difficult to perceive ; for in sublimity, the chief characteristic of the Pythian ode, he was incompara- bly Pindar's inferior. The probability is, that he was more deferential in his conduct, and more obsequious in his disposition. The few relics extant of the numerous and various poems of Bacchy- lides, exhibit polish, correctness, delicacy, and ornament, but nothing of the fire and fervor of Pindar : his excellence was the result of education rather than of natural poetic inspiration. The period of his death, and the circumstances attending that event, have not been preserved ; but it is probable that he passed at Syracuse all the closing years of his life. The Roman emperor Julian, so highly estimated the lyrics of Bacchy- lides, that he not only kept a copy of them constantly about his person, but drew from them rules for the conduct of life. The following speci- mens present all the variety which the remains of this poet contain : ANACREONTIC. The goblet's sweet compulsion moves The soften'd mind to melting loves. The hope of Venus warms the soul, Mingling in Bacchus' gifted bowl; And buoyant lifts in lightest air The soaring thoughts of human care. Who sips the grape, with single blow Lays the city's rampire low ; Flush'd with the vision of his mind He acts the monarch o'er mankind 144 BACCHYLIDES. [LECT. Yl His bright'ning roofs now gleam on high, All burnish'd gold and ivory : Corn-freighted ships from Egypt's shore "Waft to his feet the golden ore : Thus, while the frenzying draught he sips His heart is bounding to his lips. PEACE. Innumerous are the boons bestowed, On man by gracious Peace! The flowers of poets honey -tongued, " And wealth's immense increase. Then from the joyous altars Unto the gods arise The fumes of sheep's and oxen's flesh In ruddy sacrifice : In crowds to the gymnasium The strenuous youth resort, Or to the pipe blithe revellers Pursue their maddening sport; The spider black doth weave his net In the iron-handled shield, And sharp-set spear and two-edged sword To mouldy canker yield; No longer anywhere is heard The trumpet's blazen blare, From men's eyes soul-delighting sleep At midnight sent to scare ; Banquets, heap'd high with food and wine, Are spread in every street, And songs from youthful companies Are sounding strong and sweet. ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD. Alas, poor Child! for thee our bosoms swell With grief, tears cannot cure, words may not telL THE HUSBANDMAN'S OFFERING. To Zephyr, kindest wind that swells the grain, Eudemus consecrates this humble fane; For that he listen'd to his vow ancl bore On his soft wings the rich autumnal store. FRAGMENTS. I. Virtue, placed on high, doth shine "With a glory all-divine; Riches oft alike are shower'd On the hero and the coward. 600A.C.] BACCHYLIDES. 145 n. Wise-men now, like those of old, Can but tell what others told. Full hard it is the hidden door Of words unspoken to explore. ITI. Here let no fatted oxen be, Gold nor purple tapestry: But a well-disposed mind ; But a gentle muse and kind; But glad wine, to glad our souls, Mantling in Boaotian bowls. IV. Peaceful wealth, or painful toil, Chance of war, or civil broil, 'Tis not for man's feeble race These to shun or those embrace. But that all-disposing Fate, Which presides o'er mortal state, Where it listeth, casts a shroud Of impenetrable cloud. With the death of Bacchylides the class of lyric poets to which he belonged ended ; and more than half a century elapsed before Greece produced another lyric, or even fugitive poet, whose eminence was suf- ficiently great to preserve his name from oblivion. This is attributable to various circumstances, the principal of which were the rise and extraor- dinary influence of the comic drama, and the all-absorbing power of the tragic muse. The character of the Athenians was now undergoing a rapid change, and that admiration for elevated and heroic conduct, which had so strik- ingly distinguished them from the commencement of the contest with the Persians, until the close of the Peloponnesian war, and which was the constant theme of the lyric poets, was no longer displayed ; and hence the entertainments of the theatre, being better suited to their tastes, and to their prevailing habits, than were severe and thoughtful compositions, the poetic genius of the nation was naturally turned to the comic stage. To this subject our attention will be more particularly directed in our remarks upon the dramatic poetry of the Greeks. Occasionally, however, in the midst of this general absence of lyric poetry, out of the tragic drama, a poet arose who had sufficient fire and enthusiasm of genius to resist the prevailing sentiment, and to devote himself to the more pure and elevated purposes of the muse. To the poets of this class belong Empedocles of Agrigentum, Euerius of Paros, Ariphron of Sicyon, Simmias of Thebes, and Callistratus of Athens. But, unfortunately, very few particulars of their lives are now known, and only an occasional fragment of their poetry has been preserved. 10 146 EMPEDOCLES. [laser. VI. Empedocles was the son of Meton, and was born at Agrigentum in Sicily about 455 A.C. The easy circumstances and high rank of his family, left him at liberty to devote himself to philosophical studies, for which he had, from his youth, evinced a strong predilection. He was of a noble and enthusiastic nature, and abandoning the principles of the tyrannical government of the rulers of his native city, he manifested his zeal in the establishment of political equality, by his magnanimous sup- port of the poor, by his inexorable severity in persecuting the overbear- ing conduct of the aristocracy, and in his declining the sovereignty when it was offered him. His brilli an Moratory, his penetrating knowledge of nature and of cir- cumstances, and the reputation of his marvellous powers, which he had acquired by curing diseases, by his successful exertion in removing marshy districts, averting epidemics and obnoxious winds, spread a lus- tre around his name, which induced Timaeus and other historians to men- tion him frequently as the ' averter and controller of storms.' The cir- cumstances attending his death are variously given. Heraclides Pon- ticus represents him as having been removed from the earth, like a divine being; and another account makes him perish in the flames of Mount ^Etna. Aristotle, however, whose authority cannot be contested, asserts that he spent a number of the closing years of his life in Peloponnesus, and there eventually died in the sixtieth year of his age. Empedocles was an enthusiast, both in philosophy and in poetry ; and his great poem upon Nature bears the marks of this enthusiasm, both in its epic language and the nature of its contents. At the beginning of it he said, that faith and divine will had decreed that, if one of the gods should be betrayed into defiling his hands with blood, he should be con- demned to wander about for thirty thousand years, far removed from the immortals. He then described himself to have been exiled from heaven, for having engaged in deadly conflict, and committing murder. As, therefore, since the heroic times of Greece, a fugitive wanderer required an expiation and purification ; so a god ejected from heaven, and con- demned to appear in the likeness of a man, required some purification that might enable him to assume his original high estate. This purifica- tion was supposed to be in part accomplished by the lofty contemplations of the poem, which was hence either wholly or in part called a song of expiation. According to the idea of the transmigration of souls, Empedocles sup- posed that, since his exile from heaven, he had been a shrub, a fish, a bird, a boy, and a girl. For the present, * the powers which conduct souls' had borne him to the dark cavern of the earth 5 and from hence the return to divine honors was open to him, as to seers and poets, and other benefactors of mankind. The great doctrine, that Love is the power which formed the world, was probably announced to him by the 460A.CJ EUENTJS. 147 Muse whom he invoked, as the secret by the contemplation of which he was to emancipate himself from all the baleful effects of Discord. Besides his great poem on Nature, Empedocles was the author of many minor poetic performances, of which two epigrams still remain, both of which are distinguished by f the use of the rhetorical figure called Paronomasia or Pun. One of these follows, and we introduce it not more on account of the celebrity of the author, than as an ancient speci- men of this sort of writing. The pun consists in the derivation of the name Pausanias a portion only, however, of the double meaning of which has been preserved in the translation : I EPITAPH ON A PHYSICIAN. Pawsanias not so named without a cause, As one who oft has given to pain a pause, Blest son of Esculapius, good and wise, Here, in his native Gela, buried lies ; Who many a wretch once rescued by his charms. From dark Persephone's constraining arms. Euenus, or Evenus, was a native of the island of Paros, and was born about 460 A.C, Plato frequently alludes to him, and sometimes ironic- ally, as at once a sophist or philosopher, and a poet. He was the instructor of Socrates in poetry, a statement which receives some coun- tenance from a passage in Plato, from which it may also be inferred that he was alive at the time of Socrates' death, but at such an advanced age that he was likely soon to follow him. Euenus' poetry was gnomic, that is, it formed the vehicle for ex- pressing philosophical maxims and opinions. There were other writers of the name of Euenus ; but as the first six of the epigrams in the Anthology are of the gnomic character, they may be with tolerable cer- tainty ascribed to this author. From these epigams we present the fol- lowing as specimens : THE VINE AND THE GOAT. Though thou should'st gnaw me to the root, Destructive goat ! Enough of fruit I bear, betwixt thy horns to shed, "When to the altar thou art led. THE SWALLOW AND THE GRASSHOPPER. Attic Maiden, breathing still Of the fragrant flowers that blow On Hymettus' purpled hill, Whence the streams of honey flow, 148 ARIPHRON. [LEOT.YL Wherefore thus a captive bear To your nest a grasshopper ? Noisy prattler, cease to do To your fellow-prattler wrong; Kind should not its kind pursue, Least of all the heirs of song. Prattler seek some other food For your noisy, prattling brood. Both are ever on the wing, Wanderers both in foreign bowers, Both succeed the parting Spring, Both depart with Summer hours, Those who love the minstrel's lay, Should not on each other prey. CONTRADICTION. In contradiction, wrong or right, Do many place their sole delight. If right, 'tis well if wrong, why so? But contradict whate'er you do. Such reasoners deserve, I hold, No argument save that of old, ' You say 'tis black / say 'tis white And so, good sir, you're answered quite.' Far different is the aspect seen Of modest Wisdom's quiet mien Patient and soon to be persuaded, When argument by truth is aided. Ariphron was a native of. Sicyon, and is supposed to have been born about 450 A.C. Of the history of his life antiquity affords us no inci- dents ; and of his poetry nothing now remains to us but the following beautiful poem to health, which was preserved by Athenaeus with the greatest care. The poem was an object of universal admiration among the ancients, and was often quoted by them, particularly by Lucian and Maximus Tyrius. Its intrinsic merit warrants all the attention which it has received. Dr. Johnson, in allusion to this poem, remarks, ' There is among the fragments of the Greek poets a short hymn to Health, in which her power of exalting the happiness of life, of heightening the gifts of fortune, and adding enjoyment to possession, is inculcated with so much tru^h and beauty, that no one who has ever languished under the discomforts and infirmities of a lingering disease, can read it without feel- ing the images dance in his heart, and adding, from his own experience, new vigor to the wish, and new colors to the picture. The particular occasion of this little composition is not known, but it is probable that the author had been sick, and, in the first rapture of returning vigor, thus addressed the goddess :' 440A.C.] SIMM I AS. 149 TO HEALTH. Health, brightest of the blest, do thou To my poor hearth descend 1 For what of life kind heaven allow, Be thou my guest and friend! For every joy that fortune brings, All that from wealth or children springs, From courtly show or sovereign sway, Lifting to gods us things of clay, From love, or love's enchanting wiles, From labor's pause, or pleasure's smiles, "With thee they blossom, Health divine; Their spring, their beauty, all is thine ; And none save thou thy smile bestow May taste of happiness below. Simmias, another philosophic poet of this period, was a native* of Thebes, and was born about 440 A.C. He early devoted himself to phi- losophical studies, following, at first, the doctrines of Pythagoras ; but he afterwards became the disciple and intimate friend of Socrates, and was present at his death, having come from Thebes, with his brother Cebes, bringing with him a large sum of money, to assist in liberating Socrates from the sentence which had been pronounced against him. At this time both Simmias and his brother were comparatively young men, and yet the great respect in which they were held induced Plato to in- troduce them as the principal speakers, besides Socrates himself, in the Phsedon ; and the skill with which they argue, and the respect and affec- tion with which Socrates treats them, prove the general esteem in which they were held, and the high place they occupied among the disciples of their great teacher. The poetry of Simmias consisted of a few brief effusions in the form of epitaphs and epigrams ; the merit of which is such as to have pre- served them from oblivion, while his dialogues, twenty-three in number, and other philosophical writings have all perished. The following epitaph on Sophocles is as delicate in thought and beautiful in expression as so brief a composition can well be : ON SOPHOCLES. Wind, gentle evergreen, to form a shade Around the tomb where Sophocles is laid. Sweet ivy, lend thine aid, and intertwine With blushing roses and the clustering vine : Thus shall your lasting leaves, with beauties hung, Prove grateful emblems of the lays he sung. 150 CALLISTRATUS. [LECT. VI. Callistratus, the poet to whom our remarks have now brought us down, was a native of Athens, and was born in that city 420 A.C. Of his family we have no farther knowledge than that he was honorably con- nected ; and of the history of his poetic career all we know is that he was the author of a national ode of such extraordinary merit and popu- larity as to have been often ascribed to Alcseus, one of the contemporaries of Sappho. The incident, however, which the ode celebrates, transpired long after Alcaeus' death, and consequently he could have had no connec- tion with its production. The ode itself is a convivial song ; and from the iterations by which it is distinguished, and of which it is the earliest sample in the Greek lan- guage, we are inclined to believe that in the rehearsal or singing of it, whether in the theatres or at other places of public entertainment, the whole company present joined. The subject of the ode was the triumph of Harmodius and Aristogiton over the Pisistratidae, and with this event the name of Callistratus remains hallowed in our memories. The Athenians held those heroes in such veneration, and regarded their great and heroic deed with such admiration, that they not only erected two splendid statues to their memory, but would not, thenceforth, permit any Athenian child to bear either of their names. The statues erected to the memory of Harmodius and Aristogiton were carried away by Xerxes into Persia, when that prince took and de- stroyed Athens ; but they were afterwards returned by Alexander the Great, and replaced upon their original pedestals. Of the various trans- lations of this ode with which we are familiar, we prefer the following :- ODE TO HARMODIUS. lu myrtle my sword will I wreathe, Like our patriots the noble and brave, Who devoted the tyrant to death, And to Athens equality gave. Loved Harmodius, thou never shalt die 1 The poets exultingly tell, That thine is the fulness of joy, Where Achilles and Diomed dwell. In myrtle my sword will I wreathe, Like our patriots the noble and brave, Who devoted Hipparchus to death, And buried his pride in the grave. At the altar the tyrant they seized, While Minerva he vainly implor'd. And the Goddess of Wisdom was pleased With the victim of Liberty's sword. 420A.C.] PLATO. 151 May your bliss be immortal on high, Among men as your glory shall be; Ye doomed the usurper to die, Arid bade our dear country be free. On this important ode, and the great event which it celebrates, the one hundred and twelfth number of the Edinburgh Review remarks, c Amidst the doubts and contradictions of historians and philosophers Herodotus, Thucydides, Plato it is diffiicult not to believe that the action thus commemorated, though prompted, perhaps, like the revolt of Tell, by private injury, was an example of that rude justice, whose ambiguous morality is forgiven for its signal public benefits. Something of greatness and true splendor there must have been about a deed of which the mem- ory was cherished as an heir-loom by the whole Athenian community of freemen, and made familiar as household words, by constant convivial cel- ebration. Not until the decline of Attic liberty, and the approach of universal degradation, did a comic writer presume to sneer at the lay of Harmodius as wearing out of fashion. It was an ill sign of the poet to indulge in such a sneer, and it was a worse sign of the people to en- dure it.' Plato and Aristotle, after Socrates, the two most eminent philosophers that Greece ever produced, deserve a passing notice among the Grecian poets of this period. Plato, it is true, abandoned poetry immediately after he began to turn his attention to the severer studies of philosophy ; but the whole of the early part of his literary life was devoted to the Muses. Indeed, from the poetic tinge which colors all his philosophical writings, particularly the Memorabilia of Socrates, there can be no doubt that his genius was such as would have led to the highest degree of excellence in any depart- ment of poetry to which he might have devoted his exalted intellect. The intrinsic merit of the following fragments will commend them to every reader capable of appreciating a pure and exalted poetic vein. The lines on the tomb of Themistocles have been by some critics, but we think without sufficient authority, attributed to a contemporary poet of the same name : THE ANSWER OF THE MUSES TO VENUS. I When Venus bade the Aonian Maids obey, Or Cupid else should vindicate her sway, The virgins answered: 'Threat your subjects thusl That puny warrior has no arms for us!' 152 PLA.TO. * [LECT. VL A MORE ENLARGED VERSION OF THE SAME. Thus to the Muses spoke the Cyprian dame: 'Adore my altars, and revere my name; My son shall else assume his potent darts: Twang goes the bow ; my girls, have at your hearts 1' The Muses answered : ' Venus, we deride The infant's malice, and his mother's pride; Send him to nymphs who sleep in Ida's shade, To the loose dance, and wanton masquerade; Our thoughts are settled, and intent our look On the instructive verse and moral book. On female idleness his power relies,- But, when he finds us studying hard, he flies. ON A RURAL IMAGE OF PAN. Sleep, ye rude winds: be every murmur dead On yonder oak-crowned promontory's head! Be still, ye bleating flocks, your shepherd calls. Hang silent on your rocks, ye waterfalls ! Pan on his oaten pipe awakes the strain, And fills with dulcet sounds the pastoral plain. Lur'd by his notes, the Nymphs their bowers forsake, From every fountain, running stream, and lake, From every hill, and ancient grove around, And to symphonious measures strike the ground. ON A SLEEPING CUPID. I pierced the grove, and, in its deepest gloom Beheld sweet Love, of heavenly form and bloom ; Nor bow nor quiver at his back were strung, But harmless on the neighboring branches hung. On rose buds pillowed, lay the little child, In glowing slumbers pleased, and sleeping smil'd, While all around the bees delighted sip The breathing fragrance of his balmy lip. ON THE IMAGE OF A SATYR, AND A CUPID SLEEPING BY A FOUNTAIN SIDE. From mortal hands, my being I derive, Mute marble once, from man I learn'd to live. A Satyr now, with nymphe I hold resort, And guard the watery grottos where they sport. 420A.O.] >LATO. 153 In purple wine refused to revel more, Sweet draughts of water from my urn I pour , But, Stranger, softly tread, lest any sound Awake yon boy, in rosy slumbers bound. ON DION OF SYRACUSE. For Priam's queen and daughters, at their birth, The Fates weaved tears into their web of life : But for thee, Dion, in thy hour of mirth, When triumph crowned thine honourable strife Thy gathering hopes were poured upon the sand. Thee still thy countrymen revere and lay In the broad precincts of thy native land, But who the passion of my grief shall stay ? A LOVER'S WISH. Why dost thou gaze upon the sky ? Oh, that I were yon spangled sphere 1 And every star should be an eye To wander o'er thy beauties here. THE KISS. Oh 1 on that kiss my soul, As if in doubt to stay, Lingered awhile, on fluttering wing, prepar'd To soar away. ON HIS BELOVED. In life thou wert my morning star, But now that Death has stol'n thy light, Alas, thou shinest dim and far, Like the pale beam that weeps at night. ON ARISTOPHANES. The Muses, seeking for a shrine. Whose glories ne'er shall cease, Found, as they strayed, the soul divine Of Aristophanes. ON THE TOMB OF THEMISTOOLES. By the sea's margin, on the watery strand, Thy monument, Themistocles, shall stand: By this directed, to thy native shore The merchant shall convey his freighted store ; 154 ARISTOTLiE [LEOT. VL And when our fleets are summoned to the fight, Athens shall conquer with thy tomb in sight. Aristotle would, perhaps, have become equally renowned as a poet as he was as a philosopher, had he seriously devoted his great intellectual powers to that divine art. The following beautiful hymn, or paean, was written in honor of his patron, Hermias, tyrant of Atarnea, but who had been originally a slave. The origin of the fine epitaph on the tomb of Ajax, is unknown : HYMN TO VIRTUE. sought with toil and mortal strife By those of human birth, Virtue, thou noblest end of life, Thou goodliest gain on earth ! Thee, Maid, to win, our youth would bear Unwearied, fiery pains ; and dare Death for thy beauty's worth; So bright thy proffered honors shine, Like clusters of a fruit divine. Sweeter than slumber's boasted joys, And more desired than gold, Dearer than nature's dearest ties : For thee those heroes old; Herculean son of highest Jove, And the twin-birth of Leda, strove By perils manifold: Great Peleus' son, with like desire, And Ajax sought the Stygian fire. The bard shall crown with lasting lay, And &ge immortal make Atarnea's sovereign, 'reft of day For thy dear beauty's sake : Him, therefore, the recording Nine In songs extol to heights divine, And every chord awake ; Promoting still, with reverence due, The meed of friendship tried and true. ON THE TOMB OF AJAX. By Ajax' tomb, in solemn state, I, Virtue, as a mourner wait, With hair dishevell'd, sable vest, Fast streaming eyes and heaving breast , Since in the Grecian tents I see Fraud, hateful Fraud, preferr'd to me. 420A.C.] MNASALCUS. HYBRIAS. 155 Mnasalcas, a contemporary of Aristotle, and a native of a village in the territory of Sicyon, called Platseae, was an epigrammatic writer of great merit. Nothing farther of his life is known. Brunck gives eighteen of his epigrams, the first of which is the following parody on Aristotle's epitaph on the tomb of Ajax : PARODY ON AN INSCRIPTION OF ARISTOTLE. In woful guise, at Pleasure's gate, I, Virtue, as a mourner wait, With hair in loose disorder flowing, And breast with fierce resentment glowing, Since, all the country round, I see Base sensual joys preferred to me. To this parody we add the following brief inscriptions : ON A TEMPLE OF VENUS NEAR THE SEA-SHORE. Here let us from the wave-washed beach behold Sea-born Cythera's venerable fane, And fountains fringed with shady poplars old Where dip their wings the golden halcyon train. ON A PIPE IN THE TEMPLE OF VENUS. Say, rustic pipe ! in Cythera's dome Why sounds this echo of a shepherd's home ? Nor rocks, nor valleys, here invite the strain; But all is Love go, seek thy hills again. ON THE SHIELD OF ALEXANDER. A holy offering at Diana's shrine, See Alexander's glorious shield recline ; Whose golden orb, through many a bloody day, Triumphant, ne'er in dust dishonor'd lay. With a brief notice of Hyenas of Crete, Hermesianax of Colophon, and Perses of Thebes or Macedonia, we shall close our present remarks. Hybrias was, in his day, a lyric poet of great celebrity, and is the au- thor of the following brief scholion a poem so greatly esteemed as to be preserved by Athenaeus, Eustatheus, and in the Greek Anthology. Of this writer we have unfortunately no farther knowledge : 156 HERMESIANAX. . [LECT. VI. THE WARRIOR'S RICHES. My wealth's a burly spear and brand, And a right good shield of hides untann'd, Which on mine arm I buckle : With these I plough, I reap, I sow, With these I make the vintage flow, And all around me truckle. But your wights that take no pride to wield A massy spear and a well-made shield, Nor joy to draw the sword : Oh ! I bring those heartless, hapless drones Down, in a trice, on their marrow-bones, To call me kiug and lord. Hermesianax, a distinguished elegiac poet, was born at Colophon about 360 A.C. His principal production was an elegiac poem, in three books, addressed to his mistress Leontium, whose name formed the title of the poem. A very considerable part of the third book is quoted by Athenaeus, and also Pausanias. Pausanias introduces another quotation also, from this author, as -part of an elegy on the Centaur Eurytion ; which, however, is of doubtful authority. We give the former extract entire : THE LOVES OF THE GREEK POETS. Such was the nymph whom Orpheus led From the dark mansions of the dead, Where Charon with his lazy boat Ferries o'er Lethe's sedgy moat ; The undaunted miustrel smites the strings, His strain through hell's vast conclave rings ; Cocytus hears the plaintive theme, And refluent turns his pitying stream ; Three-headed Cerberus, by fate Posted at Pluto's iron gate, Low-crouching rolls his haggard eyes Extatic, and foregoes the prize ; With ears erect at hell's* wide doors, Lies listening as the songster soars : Thus music charm'd the realm beneath, And beauty triumph'd over death. The bard, whom night's pale regent bore In secret on the Athenian shore, Musseus felt the sacred flame, And burnt for the fair Theban dame, Autiope, whom mighty Love Made pregnant by imperial Jove ; S60A.C.] HERMES IANAX. 15' The poet plied his amorous strain, Press'd the fond fair, nor press'd in vain ; For Ceres, who the veil undrew, That screen'd her mysteries from view, Propitious this kind truth reveal'd, That woman close-besieged will yield. Homer, of all past bards the prime, And wonder of all future time, Whom Jove with wit sublimely blest, And touched with purest fire his breast, From gods and heroes turned away To warble the domestic lay, And, wandering to the desert isle, On whose parch'd rocks no seasons smile, In distant Ithaca was seen Chaunting the suit-repelling queen. Old Hesiod, too, his native shade Made vocal to the Ascraean maid The bard his heaven-directed lore Forsook, and hymn'd the gods no more ; Soft, love-sick ditties now he sung, Love touch'd his harp, love tuned his tongue, Silenced his Heliconian lyre, And quite put out religion's fire. Mimnermus tuned his amorous lay, When time had turned his temples gray ; Love revelled in his aged veins, Soft was his lyre, and sweet his strains; Frequenter of the wanton feast, Nanno his theme, and youth his guest. Antimachus with tender art Pour'd forth the sorrows of his heart ; In her Dardanian grave he laid Chryseis, his belov'd maid; And thence returning, sad beside Pfcctolus' melancholy tide, To Colophon the minstrel came, Still sighing forth the mournful name, Till lenient time his grief appeas'd And tears by long indulgence ceas'd. Alcseus strung his sounding lyre, And smote it with a hand of fire, To Sappho, fondest of the fair, Chanting the loud and lofty air. ***** E'en Sophocles, whose honey'd lore, Rivals the bee's delicious store, 158 PERSES. [LECT. VL Chorus'd the praise of wine and love, Choicest of all the gifts of Jove. * -x- * * # Philoxenus, by wood-nymphs bred, On famed Cithaeron's sacred head, And trained to music, wine, and song, Midst orgies of the frantic throng, "When beauteous Galatea died, His flute and thyrsus cast aside ; And, wandering to thy pensive coast, Sad Melos, where his love was lost ; Each night, through the responsive air, Thy echoes witness'd his despair ; Still, still his plaintive harp was heard, . Soft as the nightly-singing bird. Philotas, too. in Battis' praise, Sung his long-winded roundelays ; His statue in the Coan groves Now breathes in brass perpetual love. The mortified, abstemious Sage, Deep-read in learning's crabbed page, Pythagoras, whose boundless soul Scaled the wide globe from pole to pole, Earth, planets, seas, and heavens above, Yet found no spot secure from love ; "With love declines unequal war, And, trembling, drags his conqueror's car, Theano clasp'd him in her arms, And Wisdom stooped to Beauty's charms. E'en Socrates, whose moral mind With truth enlighten'd all mankind, When at Aspasia's side he sate, Still found no end to love's debate, For strong indeed must be the heart, Where love finds no unguarded part Sage Aristippus, by right rule Of logic, purged the Sophist's school, Check'd folly in its headlong course, And swept it down by reason's force ; Till Venus aimed the heartfelt blow, And laid the mighty victor low. Perses was also an epigrammatic poet, and was included in the Garland of Meleager ; but whether he was a Theban or a Macedonian is uncer- tain, as in the title of one of his epigrams he is made to belong to the former of those countries, and in that of another to the latter. The 360 AC.] PERSES. 159 Greek Anthology contains nine of his epigrams, of which the following is a sample : ON THE MONUMENT OF A DAUGHTER. Unblest Manilla ! On this speaking tomb "What means the type of emblematic gloom? Thy lost Callirhoe we here survey, Just as she mourned her ebbing soul away, Just as the death-mists o'er her eye-lids fell, In those maternal arms she loved so welL There, too, the speechless father sculptured stands, That cherished head supporting with his hands. Alas ! alas ! thus grief is made to flow A ceaseless stream eternity of woe. Kninn tjr* LYCOPHRON. THEOCRITUS. ARATUS DIOTIMUS. ASCLEPI A DES. PH^EDiafAS. NICIAS. NOSSIS. ANYTE. SOON after the age of Callistratus and his contemporaries, lyric and other miscellaneous poetry, in Greece proper, comparatively ceased, and hence in pursuing our subject we must now turn our attention to a new region. Athens, it is true, still preserved her comic drama, but its power and influence were gone. The sceptre of Philip of Macedon had, as the consequence of his victory at Chaeronea, 337 A.C., become ex- tended over all Greece ; and the despotic sway of his son and successor Alexander the Great, pressed the hand of oppression upon the whole country with such severity, that even the impetuous tongue of Demos- thenes was stopped, and the acrimonious muse of Aristophanes abandoned. Whilst the country had, therefore, lost its liberty, and was trembling lest its national existence should be~ destroyed, little time or thought could be extended to the patronage of those arts in which they had formerly so greatly exulted, and for which they had long been so eminently distin- guished. At the close of Alexander's career, 224 A.C., which was as brief as it was brilliant, his vast empire, after a struggle between his principal generals, of twenty-three years' continuance, and ending in the battle of Issus, fell under the control of Seleucus, Lysimachus, Antiochus, and Ptolemy Lagus, the last of whom was not only a distinguished soldier and a man of great energy of character, but also a Macedonian of refined taste and exalted attainments. To his share in the division of the vast Macedonian empire, Egypt fell ; and he had no sooner reduced his new dominions to order and regularity, and settled its government, than he resolved to make Alexandria, his capital, what Athens had formerly been the seat of literature, the arts, and the sciences. With this view he invited men of eminence from every part of Greece and its former depen- dencies, to resort to his court ; and he there extended to them a patron- age marked with royal munificence. Alexandria, therefore, soon became, 11 162 LYCOPHRON. [LECT. YH. not only the seat of the Muses, but the home of the sciences, and the abode of both genius and learning. Of the poets who resorted thither, Lycophron is the first to be noticed. Lycophron was a native of Chalcis, in the island of Euboea, and was born about 304 A.O. He was the son of Socles, and the adopted son of the historian Lycus of Rhegium ; and from such exalted connections it is natural to infer that he received every advantage of culture and educa- tion, though of his early life we have no knowledge. But that he must have attained to some degree of eminence before he left his native island is evident from the fact, that, soon after his arrival at the court of Alex- andria, he occupied the most prominent place among the poets of that court, and enjoyed the personal confidence and the privilege of familiar intercourse with the sovereign, Ptolemy Philaddlphus. That monarch, observing the refined taste and high degree of cultiva- tion of Lycophron's mind, entrusted to him the arrangement of the works of the comic poets contained in the Alexandrian library. In the execu- .tion of this commission he drew up a very extensive work on comedy, which appears to have embraced the whole subject of the history and nature of the comic drama of Greece, together with accounts of the comic poets, and, besides this, many matters bearing indirectly on the in- terpretation of the comedians. Lycophron doubtless found, on his arrival at the court of Alexandria, many other poets of eminence ; and as Grecian poetry from this period assumes an aspect of more uncontrolled fancy than it possessed, in its earlier and severer reign, one of the first acts of the Alexandrian poets was to form themselves into a constellation which they transferred to the heavens under the name of the Pleiades. Of this poetic constellation Lycophron was the first conspicuous star ; Theocritus, the second ; Aratus, the third ; Nicander, the fourth ; Apollonius, the fifth ; Philochus, the sixth ; and Homyres the younger, the seventh. These poets, in the refined and delicate court of Ptolemy, basked in the sunshine of perpetual prosperity, and were placed by their liberal monarc,h in a position of ease and entire independence ; and hence, as is always the case under similar circumstances, few important incidents marked their lives. It is only amidst the whirlwind and the storm that the fires of genius burst forth, and variety of scene and circumstance in the poet's life are exhibited. We are not to expect, therefore, in the poets of the Alexandrian school, the vivid, fervid, and absorbing powers of genius that were displayed by Pindar and his associates ; but their poetry flows in a pure, limpid, and quiet stream abounding in the beau- tiful, but the beautiful of a subdued and easy tone. The time of Lycophron's death is unpertain ; but he is generally sup- posed to have lived to an advanced age, and to have retained, till his death, the confidence, and even affection, of Ptolemy Philadelphus, and 304A.C.] LYCOPHRON. 163 of his son and successor, Ptolemy Evergetes. According to Ovid he was killed by the random shot of an arrow. As a poet, Lycophron obtained a place ii* the Tragic Pleiad ; but if he ever wrote tragedies, there is not a fragment of any of them extant. The only one of his poems that has come down to us is the Cassandra, or Alexandra. This is neither a tragedy nor an epic poem, but a long Iambic monologue, in which Cassandra is made to prophesy the fall of Troy ; the adventures of the Grecian and Trojan heroes, with numerous other mythological and historical events, going back as early as the Argo nauts, the Amazons, and the fables of lo and Europa, and ending with Alexander the Great. The poem was, doubtless, designed as a compli- ment to Ptolemy himself, and to indicate to his mind the events of that destiny which had finally raised him from an ordinary station to that of one of the most powerful and brilliant monarchs of the age in which he lived. This poem is frequently called the ' Dark Poem,' in consequence of the great obscurity which pervades many parts of it ; but in a mytho- logical point of view, it has ever been regarded as of the highest import- ance. The extract which we have selected in illustration of these remarks, is the prophesy of the death of Hector by the hand of Achilles ; for, in addition to its intrinsic merit, it contains allusions of great historical importance : PROPHESY OF THE DEATH OF HECTOR. Now Myrina's turrets o'er And along the ocean shore Sounds are heard of wailing cries, Neighings shrill of war-steeds rise. , When the tawny wolf,* his feet, With Thessalian swiftness fleet, Springing with impetuous leap, Presses on the sandy steep ; Hidden fountains gushing round, As he stamps th.e yielding ground. Mars, in war-dance famed, hatn stood, Blowing shrill the trump of blood. All the earth, before mine eyes, Drear and desolated lies : Lances bristle, and in air Iron harvest's waving glare. From the topmost tower I bend: Shrieks the height of air ascend: Groans are utter'd ; garments torn ; Women o'er the slaughters mourn. Woe my heart ! to me, to me That the heaviest blow will be ; That will gnaw my soul to see. * Achilles. 164 THEOCRITUS. [LEOT. VIL Lo! the warlike eagle* come Green of eye, and black of plume : Screaming fierce he swooping springs, Marks the dust with trailing wings ;} Plougher f the furrow'd sand, Sweeping circles track the land. With a mix'd and horrid cry, See he snatches him on high ! Brother ! to my soul endear'd ! Nursling, by Apollo rear'd ! Beak and talon keen deface All his body's blooming grace: Slaughter-dyed, his native wood Reddens with the stain of blood. Theocritus, the second star in the Alexandrian constellation, and one of the most remarkable poetic geniuses of any age or country, was the son of Praxagoras and Philinna, and was born at Syracuse, in the island of Sicily, about 300 A.C. His parentage, though respectable, was com- paratively obscure ; and of the early part of his life, or of his family, we have no farther information than that which we derive from an epigram usually set in front of his works, and which, according to Suidas, was probably written by Theocritus of Chios. The date of his birth* and the period in which he flourished, are derived from two of his Idyls, the one addressed to Hiero the Second, king of Syracuse, and the other to Ptole- my Philadelphus, King of Egypt. Theocritus remained in his native place until he had so far distinguished himself by his poetic genius as to attract very extensive notice among the poets of his age ; and perhaps he would have confined his residence to his native city had his monarch been a man of taste, or a patron of the arts. This, however, not being the character of Hiero, Theocritus sought patron-, age at the distant court of Ptolemy Philadelphus, where, as we have al- ready remarked, science and art, in any department, received all the patron- age, and all the fostering care which that monarch could bestow upon them. It was with reluctance, however, that Theocritus left the place of his nativity, notwithstanding the brilliant inducements that Alexandria held out to him ; and before he took his departure, therefore, he addressed to Hiero an Idyl, in which he intimated his design, and at the same time delicately complained that neglect by his own sovereign was the cause of his seeking patronage abroad, remarking, at the same time, that if Hiero were as munificent a patron of poetry and the arts as he was a splendid subject for them, he would be unsurpassed by any living monarch. On arriving at the court of Alexandria, whither his fame had preceded him, Theocritus was received by Philadelphus with every conceivable mark of honor and distinction; and he there met Aratus, the distin- guished author of ' The Phenomena,' a poet of congenial spirit with his * Achilles. f His chariot-wheels. 300A.C.] THEOCRITUS. 165 own, and with whom he immediately formed so close an intimacy, that it thenceforth became a common practice with them to borrow from each other's poems extensive and important passages. Thus the commence- ment of the first Idyl, addressed by Theocritus to Ptolemy, is an extract, without alteration, from a poem of Aratus. The germ of the bucolic poetry of Theocritus may be discovered, at a very early period, among the Dorians, both of Laconia and of Sicily, especially at Tyndaris and Syracuse, where the festivals of Artemis were enlivened by songs, in which two shepherds or herdsmen, or two parties cf them, contended with one another, and which gradually grew into an art, practised by a class of performers called Lydiastce and Bucolistce, who flourished extensively in Sicily and the neighboring districts of Italy. The subjects of their songs were popular mythical stories and the scenes of country 'life ; the beauty, love, and unhappy end of^Daphnis, the ideal of the shepherd, who was introduced by Stesichorus into his poetry, and of Diomus, who was named by Epicharmus , the melancholy complaints of the coy huntsman Menalcas ; and other kindred subjects. These songs were still popular in the time of Diodorus ; but scarcely a fragment of them has come down to us. The poems of Theocritus were written in the Doric dialect, a dialect peculiarly adapted to such subjects, and w.ere styled by their author * Idyls,' to indicate their general brevity, and the variety of their sub- jects. We should now call them miscellanies. Of these miscellanies thirty are still preserved, the first nine and the eleventh of which are pastorals ; and in pastoral poetry Theocritus holds the same rank that Homer holds in epic, comparatively the originator, and certainly the perfector. Hence critics have uniformly drawn their rules for com- position in this department of poetry from the practice of this eminent writer ; and hence also Virgil's Eclogues are mere translations, or at best nothing more than imitations of this great original pastoral writer. The poetry of Theocritus is marked throughout by the strength and vivacity of original genius. Everything in it is distinct and peculiar. Everything is individualized and brought strongly and closely to the eye and understanding of the reader, so as to stamp upon the mind the im- pression of reality. His scenes of nature, and his men and women are equally striking, distinct in features and in manners, and may be easily described by the peculiar picturesqueness of character which they present. His humor is chiefly shown in the portraitures of the middle rank, and in city life, where he abounds in strokes of character not confined to ancient times, and in natural peculiarities to suit all ages and all climes ; hence his permanent and enduring popularity. He is not limited to rough, rustic, or comic dialogue or incident, but passes with equal facility to refined and elevated subjects ; and hence those who have heard of the 166 THEOCRITUS. [LECT. VII. rusticity only of Theocritus will be unexpectedly struck by the delicacy of his thoughts, and the richness and eloquence of his fancy. Conse- quently, while some have made coarseness an objection to Theocritus, others have affected to talk of his assigning to his rustics words and sen- timents above their station ; as if Theocritus was not himself the best judge of the manners of his own countrymen. The scene of the Idyls is uniformly laid in the poet's native island ; and, perhaps, Sicily at that time abounded, to a greater extent than any other country familiar to the Greeks, in those peculiar characteristics which the variety of rustic or pastoral life required ; and hence the naturalness of his delineations is such as to present, not only each group- ing, but each individual character with the force of verisimilitude. The period of this extraordinary and original writer's death is uncer- tain ; but he is generally supposed to have returned, in advanced life, to Syracuse, where, according to an intimation by Ovid, he was 'strangled by order of the king, but for what cause is not mentioned. The variety and importance of the remains of this truly great poet, make it necessary that our illustrations of his genius should be much more extensive than in ordinary cases ; and in the extracts which follow, we have, therefore, endeavored to present all the varied aspects under which his poetry appears : CHARACTER OF PTOLEMY PHILADELPHUS. FROM THE FOURTEENTH IDYL. What is his character? A royal spirit To point out geuius and encourage merit; The poet's friend, humane, and good, and kind; Of manners gentle, and of generous mind. He marks his friend, but more he marks his foe; His hand is ever ready to bestow: Request with reason, and he'll grant the thing, And what he gives, he gives it like a king. PRAISES OF PTOLEMY PHILADELPHUS. FROM THE SEVENTEENTH IDYL. "With Jove begin, ye Nine, and end with Jove, "Whene'er ye praise the greatest god above: But if of noblest men, the song ye cast, Let Ptolemy be first, and midst, and last. Heroes of old, from demigods that sprung, Chose lofty poets, who their actions sung. "Well skill'd, I lune to Ptolemy, my reed ; Hymns are of gods, above the honor'd meed. 300A.C.] THEOCRITUS. . 167 To Ida, when the -woodman winds his way, Where verdant pines their towering tops display, Doubtful he stands, with undetermined look, Where first to deal the meditated stroke : And where shall I commence ? New themes arise, Deeds that exalt his glory to the skies. If from his fathers we commence the plan, Lagus how great, how excellent a man! Who to no earthly potentate would yield For wisdom at the board, or valor in the field: Him with the gods Jove equals, and has given A golden palace in the realms of heaven: Near him sits Alexander, wise and great, The fell destroyer of the Persian state. Against them, thron'd in adamant, in view Alcides, who the Cretan monster slew, Reclines, and, as with gods the feast he shares, Glories to meet his own descendant heirs ; From age, and pain's impediments, repriev'd, And in the rank of deities receiv'd. For in his line are both these heroes class'd, And both deriv'd from Hercules the last. Thence, when the nectar'd bowl his love inspires, And to the blooming Hebe he retires, To this his bow and quiver he allots, To that his iron club, distinct with knots ; Thus Jove's great son is by his offspring led To silver-footed Hebe's rosy bed. How Berenice shone ! her parent's pride, Virtue her aim, and wisdom was her guide: Sure Venus with light touch her bosom press'd, Infusing in her soft ambrosial breast Pure, constant love: hence faithful records tell No monarch ever lov'd his queen so well; No queen with such undying passion burn'd, For more than equal fondness she return 'd. Whene'er to love the chief his mind unbends, To his son's care the kingdom he commends. Unfaithful wives, dissatisfied at home, Let their wild thoughts on joys forbidden roam : Their births are known, yet of a numerous race, None shows the features of the father's face. Venus, than all the goddesses more fair, The lovely Berenice was thy care ; To thee 'twas owing, gentle, kind, and good, She past not Acheron's woe-working flood. Thou caught'st her e'er she went where spectres dwell, Or Charon, the grim ferryman of hell ; And in thy temple plac'd the royal fair, Thine own high honor's privilege to share. Thence gentle love in mortals she inspires And soft solicitudes, and sweet desires. 168 THEOCRITUS. [Lacr. VIL The fair Deipyle to Tydeus bare Stern Diomed, the thunderbolt of war; And Thetis, goddess of the azure wave, To Peleus brought Achilles, bold and brave; But Berenice nobler praise hath won, Who bore great Ptolemy, as great a son: And sea-girt Cos receiv'd thee soon as born, When first thine eyes beheld the radiant morn. For there thy mother to Lucina pray'd, Who sends to those who suffer child-bed, aid. She came, and friendly to the genial bed, A placid, sweet tranquillity she shed O'er all her limbs ; and thus, serene and mild, Like his lov'd sire, was born the lovely child. Cos saw, and fondling in her arms the boy, Thus spoke, transported, with the voice of joy : ' Quick rise to light, auspicious babe be born ! And me with equal dignity adorn As Phoebus Delos: on fam'd Triops' brow, And on the neighboring Dorian race bestow Just honors and as favorably smile, As the god views with Joy Rhensea's fertile isle.' The island spoke; and thrice the bird of Jove His pinions clang'd, resounding from above ; Jove's omen thunder'd from his eagle's wings; Jove loves and honors venerable kings. But whom in infancy his care befriends, Him power, and wealth, and happiness attends : He rules, belov'd, unbounded tracts of land, And various oceans roll at his command. Unnumber'd nations view their happy plains, Fresh fertiliz'd by Jove's prolific rains : But more, like Egypt, can such plenty boast, When genial Nile overflows the humid coast : Here, too, O Ptolemy! beneath thy sway What cities glitter to the beams of day 1 Lo ! with thy statelier pomp no kingdom vies, While round thee thrice ten thousand cities rise. Struck by the terror of thy flashing sword, Syria bow'd down, Arabia call'd thee lord; Phoenicia trembled, and the Lybian plain, With the black JBthiop, own'd thy wide domain: E'en Lesser Asia and her isles grew pale, As o'er the billows pass'd thy crowd of sail. Earth feels thy nod, and all the subject sea ; And each resounding river rolls for thee. And while around thy thick battalions flash, Thy proud steeds neighing for the warlike clash, Through all thy marts the tide of commerce flows, And wealth beyond a monarch's grandeur glows. Such gold-hair'd Ptolemy ! whose easy port Speaks the soft polish of the manner'd court ; 300A.C/I THEOCRITUS. 169 And whose severer aspect, as he wields The spear, dire-blazing, frowns in tented fields. And though he guards, while other kingdoms own His conquering arras, the hereditary throne, Yet in vast heaps no useless treasure stor'd lies, like the riches of an emmet's hoard ; To mighty kings his bounties he extends, To state confederate, and illustrious friends. No bard at Bacchus' festival appears, Whose lyre has power to charm the ravish'd ears, But he bright honors and rewards imparts, Due to his merits, equal to his arts : And poets hence, for deathless song renown'd, The generous fame of Ptolemy resound. At what more glorious can the wealthy aim, Than thus to purchase fair and lasting fame ? The great Atridae this alone enjoy, While all the wealth and spoil of plunder'd Troy, That 'scap'd the raging flame, or whelming wave Lies buried in oblivion's greedy grave. Close trode great Ptolemy, at virtue's call, His father's footsteps, but surpast them all; THE SYRACUSAN" GOSSIPS. FROM THE FIFTEENTH IDYL SUBJECT. Two Syracusan women, who had travelled to Alexandria, go to see the solemnity of Adonis' festival, which had been prepared by Arsinoe, the queen of Ptolemy Philadelphus. CHARACTERS. Gorgo, Eunoe, Praxinoe, Old Woman, and Stranger. Gor. Ho ! is Praxinoe within ? Eu. Dear Gorgo ! How late you are ! she is within. Prax. I wonder That you are come at last. Quick, Eunoe, bring * A seat, and place a cushion. Eu. 'Tis all right. Gor. Breath of my body ! I have scarce escaped Alive to you, Praxinoe ; through such crowds Of people, and of chariots ! everywhere Clattering of shoes, and whisk of soldiers' cloaks, And such a weary way ; and you are lodged At such a distance 1 Prax. Why that wise-acre Has found me out a den, and not a house, At the world's end, for fear we should be neighbors : My constant plague ; and all for spite and envy He thwarts me thus ! 170 THEOCRITUS. [LEOT. VII. Gor. Mother of Venus ! softly ! The little one is by; speak not so freely Of your good husband : Madam, do but look How the brat eyes you! Prax. That's a good, brave boy I Pretty Zopyrion! I'm not speaking, love, Of your good dad. Gor. By Proserpine, the child Has scent of it No ; dad is good. Prax. That person Some time ago, (we'll speak of all as happening Some time ago,) he was to bring me rouge, And nitre, from a shop ; when home he came With salt, forsooth ! an overgrown, long looby ! Gor. And, troth my own good man has these same pranks ; A very sieve for money : yesterday, He buys me, at seven drachmas, five old fleeces From backs of rotten sheep ; as coarse as dogs' hair ; Such riff-raff! refuse all, and good for nothing. But come come ; take your clasp'd robe, and your scarf, And let's away to Ptolemy's rich palace And see Adonis : there's a stately show, I hear, preparing by the queen. Prax. Yes, yes; With grand ones, all is grand. Now as you've seen And heard, do tell me all you've heard and seen, For I see nothing. Gor. Nay, nay, 'tis full time That we should, e'en, be going : they, who've leisure, Should make the most of holy days. Prax. 'Some water: Quick, fetch it, Eunoe : you've grown dainty, jade : Here, place it, wench: 'cats love to sleep on cushions:* Come, stir yourself : the water : I must wash Before I go : see how the daudle brings it ! Well pour away ; soft, soft ! you pour away, Girl ! with a vengeance ! see, you giddy slut 1 How you have wetted all my robe ! there hold I Thank Heaven, I'm wash'd however. Where's the key Of the great chest ? go, Eunoe, bring it hither. Gor. Praxinoe, I own, that robe with clasps Becomes you mightily. What might it cost When in the piece ? Prax. Oh Gorgo ! do not ask me ! More than two pounds of silver, and the making Was near the death of me ! Gor. 'Tis made, however ; And to your mind, at last. Prax. Why, yes, indeed: You have well said : it does, I think, become me. Now quick my scarf and parasol : stay, girl, Set the folds tidy. Child! I cannot take you; 300A.O.] THEOCRITUS. 171 Hobgoblin is abroad ; the horses bite : Cry, as you may, I will not have you crippled. Let's go. Pray Phrygia! mind the little one, And try divert him. Stop call in the dog: Mind, shut the street-door after us. Good Godsl ' There is a crowd ! when we shall pass, or how, I'm quite at my wits' end ! they're thick as ants. "Well Ptolemy 1 thou tread'st thy father's steps. His good deeds made a God of him ; and now Folks may pass safely in a crowd, without Those rogues' tricks, and sly gipsey practices, Which cheats and sharpers used to practice on us: All rogues alike, playing at fast and loose, And bustling for one's money. Dearest Gorgo 1 "What will become of us ? See the king's troopers ! Look, look, that chestnut horse rears bolt upright ! What a wild, furious beast ! run, Eunoe ! run, Out of his way ! he'll break his rider's neck ; I was in luck to leave the child at home 1 Gor. Take heart, Praxinoe : we have past them now ; They've gallop'd towards the country. Prax. Thank my stars ! I can take breath again 1 a horse and snake I never could abide, quite from a girl Come ; make a push : what a throng presses out Upon us. Gor. From the hall, good mother ? Old Woman. Aye, good daughter. Gor. Can we get in easily ? Old Woman. The Greeks, sweet wench, got Troy, by trying for't ; All's got by trying. Gor. There the old witch goes, With her wise saws and soothsayings. These women Seem to know everything. They'll tell us, how Jove kiss'd his wife. See, see, Praxinoe ! What crowds about the gate ! Prax. My stars 1 immense 1 Here, Gorgo, give your hand in mine; and you Eunoe, hold Eutychus by hers: mind, girl, And stick close to her, or you'll sure be lost: Let's all push in, at once ; mind, Eunoe, stick Close to us : lack-a-day 1 there goes my veil 1 Look Gorgo ! torn in two 1 my dear good man, Heavens bless you, do not tear my scarf as well! First Man. 'Tis not my fault, dear Madam ; yet Til take What care I can. Prax. How the crowd strive and press! Just like a drove of pigs ! First Man. Take heart, dear Madam 1 We're in, and safe at last. Prax. And so, good Sir, May you be safe and sound, the longest day 172 THEOCRITUS. [LECT. VIL You have to live. A good, kind gentleman! To take such care of us. Ah ! Eunoe's squeez'd ! Force your way, wench ! now, push ! that's bravely done. Now we're all in ; as said the bridegroom tuck'd In bed with his young wife. Gor. Praxinoe, here ! . Look at this tapestry, first ; how finely woven ! How elegant 1 you'd think the Gods had woven it^ Prax. Holy Minerva ! how these weavers work ! See how like painters they have wrought the hangings With pictures large as life ! how natural They stand out; and how natural they move Upon the wall ! they look alive, not woven. "Well 1 man, it must be own'd, is a wise creature. Ah ! there he is ! Adonis ! wonderful ! All on a couch of silver ! see, the down Seems peeping on his chin ! oh sweet Adonis ! They say he's loved in hell. Second Man. Be quiet, hussies! Stop that eternal clack. You prate, and prate, Like two caged turtles, with that broad splay brogue. Gor. My goodness ! who's this fellow ? prate or not, What is it, Sir, to you ? You quite mistake Your persons, I believe. None of your airs To us. Belike you think you may talk big To Syracusans ; but we'd have you know, We are from Corinth, Sir : of the same blood As was Bellerophon : our dialect Peloponnesian j let the Dorians speak The^ Doric brogue ; 'tis none of ours, believe me. Prax. Sweet Proserpine 1 I'd send the fellow packing That dared crow over me: unless, indeed, My husband : you may threaten, Sir ; but I Will not be cuft'd, depend on't. Gor. Hush ! Praxinoe ; The Grecian woman's daughter's going to sing About Adonis : she that sings so finely : In plaintive airs, they say, she rivals Sperchis; Her song will be most charming ; that I know ; Now, watch her die-away soft look; she'll sing. GREEK GIRL SZHgS. Oh Venus ! swimming all in gold ! oh queen That lovest the Golgiau groves, Idalia's green ! And steep, o'erhanging Eryx' mountain scene ! In the twelfth morn the hours, soft-footed, glide, And bring, from Acheron's perennial tide, Thy own Adonis: slow the hours may roam, Yet came with blessings, when at last they came. Oh daughter of Dione 1 thou hast given To Berenice charms that bloom of Heaven ; SOOA.C.] THEOCRITUS. 173 Pour'd dews ambrosial in her mortal breast, And bid her live, among immortals blest. Arsinoe now, her grateful daughter, fair As Helen's self, repays thee for thy care. Oh graced with many names ! with many shrines 1 Deck'd by her hands thy own Adonis shines. For him each tree the season's fruitage sheds ; From silver baskets breathe the garden-beds ; Vases of gold drop Syrian unguents round ; And cakes of snowy meal with flowers are crown'd; Smooth-kneaded in the board, with female toil, Of luscious honey, and of liquid oil Here birds and reptiles haunt; while anise weaves Its green festoons, and bowers them in its leaves. Small cupids, perch'd like nightingales on high, Vault midst the boughs, and, poised, their pinions try. Oh, ebony ! oh, gold ! and ivory white ! Oh eagles, bearing, in your upward flight, The youthful cup-bearer of Jove I behold, Softer than sleep, the purple carpets roll'd ; The weaver of Miletus this might say, This tribute might the Samian shepherd pay. For the soft pair behold the couches spread ; Here Venus, there Adonis, gilds the bed ; Adonis, with his rose-tipp'd arms, now seen In bridegroom bloominess of fair eighteen; His ruddy lips just ripening into bliss, Impressing smooth the soft and beardless kiss. Then now let Venus with her bridegroom woo; But throngs of maidens, with the morning dew, Shall to the frothy waves his image bear, With trailing vestures and dishevell'd hair; And thus begin the song, with bosoms bare ; ' Thou passest, dear Adonis ! to and fro . To th' upper stream, from Acheron below : No other deini-god has thus return'd; Atrides ; Ajax, that with madness burn'd ; Hector, of Priam's sons the proudest joy ; Patroclus ; Pyrrhus, who subverted Troy ; Deucalion's race ; or Lapithae of old ; Or Pelops' flower; or those, of stern Pelasgian mould: Still smile, Adonis ! bless each future year 1 Thou kind appearest now ; thus ever kind appear T Gor. You'll own, Praxinoe, that a woman, too, Is a wise creature. What a blessed lady 1 What knowledge is within that little head ! And so sweet-voiced too ! But 'tis time for home. My good man has not dined : you know his temper : So cross and choleric ! I'd not have you meet him, Ere he has stay'd his stomach. Dear Adonis ! Now fare thee welll joy go with thy procession. * OF THM 174 THEOCRITUS. [LECT. VII THE INFANT HERCULES. FROM THE TWENTY-FOURTH IDYL. Young Hercules had now beheld the light Only ten months, when once upon a night, Alcmena having washed, and given the breast To both her heavy boys, laid them to rest. Their cradle was a noble shield of brass, Won by her lord from slaughter'd Pterilas. Gently she laid them down, and gently laid Her hand on both their heads, and yearned, and said: ' Sleep, sleep, my boys ! a light and pleasant sleep, My little souls, my twins, my guard, and keep 1 Sleep happy, and wake happy 1' And she kept Rocking the mighty buckler, and they slept. At midnight when the Bear went down, and broad Orion's shoulder lit the starry road, There came, careering through the opening halls, On livid spires, two dreadful animals Serpents, whom Juno, threatening as she drove. Had sent there to devour the boy of Jove. Orbing their blood-fed bellies in and out, They tower'd along ; and, as they look'd about, An evil fire out of their eyes came lamping; A heavy poison dropp'd about their champing. And now they have arrived, and think to fall To their dread meal, when lo I (for Jove sees all) The house is lit as with the morning's break, And the dear children of Alcmena wake. The younger one as soon as he beheld The evil creatures coming on the shield, And saw their loathsome teeth, began to cry And shriek, and kick away the clothes, and try All his poor little instincts of escape ; The other, grappling, seized them by the nape Of either poisonous neck, for all their twists, And held like iron in his little fists. Alcmena heard the noise, and ' Wake !' she cried ; Amphitryon, wake ! for terror holds me tied ; ' Up ! stay not for the sandals. Hark ! the child The youngest how he shrieks ! The babe is wild ! And see the walls and windows ! 'Tis as light As if 'twere day, and yet 'tis surely night. There's something dreadful in the house ; there is, Indeed, dear husband 1' He arose at this, And seized his noble sword, which overhead Was always hanging at the cedar bed. All in an instant, like a stroke of doom; Returning midnight smote upon the room. 300A.C.] THEOCRITUS. 175 Amphitryon called, and woke from heavy sleep His household, who lay breathing hard and deep : ' Bring lights here from the hearth 1 lights ! lights 1 and guard The door-ways I rise ye ready laborers hard T He said ; and lights came pouring in, and all The busy house was up in bower and hall ; But when they saw the little suckler, how He grasped the monsters, and with earnest brow Kept beating them together, plaything-wise, They shriek'd aloud; but he, with laughing eyes, Soon as he saw Amphitryon, leaped and sprung, Child-like, and at his feet the dead disturbers flung LIBERALITY TO POETS ENJOINED. FROM THE SIXTEENTH IDYL. * * * # * Not so the truly wise their wealth employ: 'Tis there's to welcome every coming guest, And blessing each departed friend, be blest ; But chiefly their's to mark with high regard The Muse's laurell'd priest the holy bard ; Lest in the grave their unsung glory fade; And their cold moan pierce Acheron's dreary shade As the poor laborer, who, with portion scant, Laments his long hereditary want. What though Aleua's and the Syrian's domes Saw crowding myriads fill their festal rooms ; "What though o'er Scopas' fields rich plenty flow'd And herds innumerous through his valleys low'd ; What though the beautiful Creondse drove Full many a beauteous flock through many a grove ; Yet when expiring life could charm no more, And their sad spirits sought the Stygian shore, Their grandeur vanish'd with their vital breath, And riches could not follow them in death 1 Lo! these for many a rolling age had lain In blank oblivion, with the vulgar train, Had not their bard, the mighty Ceian, strung His many-chorded harp, and sweetly sung, In various tones, each high-resounding name, And giv'n to long posterity their fame. Verse can alone the steed with glory grace, Whose wreaths announce the triumph of the race I Could Lycia's chiefs, or Cycnus' changing hues, Or Ilion live with no recording muse ? Not e'en Ulysses, who through dangers ran For ten long years in all the haunts of man; Who e'en descended to the depths of hell, And fled unmangled from the Cyclop's cell; Not he had lived, but sunk, oblivion's prey, Had no kind poet pour'd the unfading ray. 176 THEOCRITUS. [Liscr. VII Thus, too, Philsetius had in silence past, And nameless, old Laertes breath'd his lasts And good Eumseus fed his herds in vain, But for Ionia's life -inspiring strain. Lo ! while the spirit of the spendthrift heir Wings the rich stores araass'd by brooding care, "While the dead miser's scattering treasures fly, The Muse forbids the generous man to die. Of the various poems of Theocritus that have come down to the present period, the poem which follows is certainly one of the most re- markable. It is called ' The Epithalamium of Helen,' and is evidently an imitation of the Song of Solomon. During the time that Theocritus dwelt at Alexandria, that translation of the Bible which is known as ( The Septuagint' was rendered out of the original Hebrew tongue into the Greek. The circumstances attending the translation were the fol- lowing : King Ptolemy, being anxious to enrich the Alexandrian library the foundation of which he had recently laid with every valuable literary production that he could command, and having learned that the Jews possessed, in their Temple, the sacred Book of their laws, requested the High Priest of Jerusalem *to send a number of the most learned men of that city down to Alexandria, for the purpose of translating the work into the Greek language. The Jews, being at that time the subjects of the King of Egypt, Eleazar the High Priest readily complied with Ptolemy's request; and accordingly six men to represent each of the Israelitish Tribes were sent to Alexandria, and there remained until the important work was completed. This translation of the Scriptures is the one that our Saviour and his Apostles uniformly used in their minis- trations, and it received its name from the number of men engaged in preparing it. The work was doubtless familiar to Theocritus and the other Greek poets of the Alexandrian court ; and the Song of Solomon attracting their particular attention, and being peculiarly in accordance with Grecian fancy, soon became a model for their own compositions : EPITHALAMIUM OF HELEN. FROM THE EIGHTEENTH IDYL. In Sparta once the nuptial chorus flow'd, Where Menelaus, yellow-hair'd, abode: Twelve virgins, noblest of the city, there Braided with blooming hyacinth their hair: The, pride of all the Spartan maids were they, Who to the painted chamber raised the lay. Where Atreus' younger son the damsel bore, The bride, dear Helen, and had closed the door ; 300A.C.] THEOCRITUS. They in one strain brake sweetly forth ; and beat Lightly the' ground with intertwining feet. The mansion echoed from its roof around The wedding song, with hymeneal sound: 'Dost thou, dear bridegroom ! to thy chamber flee In twilight eve, and weary bows thy knee? Slumber thy eye-lids? art thou bathed in wine, That early thus, thy limbs in rest recline ? Thou might'st have rested at more timely hour, And left the virgin in her mother's bower, To sport, a maiden with her fellow maids, Till day-break glimmer'd through the twilight shades. For thine at eve, at morn, her bridal charms, And gliding years shall find her in thine arms. Oh happy .bridegroom! when thy feet had stood* On Spartan soil, where rival princes wooed; Some sneeze, well-omen'd, met thee on thy way The blest assurance of this blissful day. Rival to thee no demi-god may prove, Whose bride's great father is Saturnian Jove: Jove's beauteous daughter now reclines with thee, And rests between the self-same canopy. Like her no Grecian damsel treads on earth, And great, if like herself, shall prove 'her infant birth. Full three -score girls, in sportive flight we stray'd, Like youths anointing, where along the glade The bath of cool Eurotas limpid play'd. But none, of all, with Helen might compare, Nor one seem'd faultless of the fairest fair. As morn, with vermeil visage, looks from high, When solemn night has vauish'd suddenly; When winter melts, and frees the frozen hours, And spring's green bough is gemm'd with silvery flowers So bloom'd the virgin Helen in our eyes, With full voluptuous limbs, and towering size : In shape, in height, in stately presence, fair, Straight as a furrow gliding from the share ; A cypress of the gardens, spiring high, A courser in the cars of Thessaly. So rose-complexion'd Helen . charm'd the sight ; Our Sparta's grace, our glory, and delight. None with such art the basket at her side, The needle's picturing threads, inventive, plied: So cross'd the woof ; the sliding shuttle threw ; And wove the web in variegated hue. Or when across the lyre her hand she flings, And Pallas, broad of breast, or Dian sings : None in the minstrel's craft with Helen vies, And all the Loves are laughing in her eyes. Oh fair 1 oh graceful damsel ! but thy name Is now a matron's, and no more the same. We, by the dawnlight's blush, in bounding speed Will print the verdure of the leafy mead 12 178 . THEOCRITUS. [LECT. VII. And, in remembrance of our Helen, wreathe Chaplets of dewy flowers, that fragrant breathe; And long for thee, as longs the yearling lamb To drain the milky nectar of its dam. We, first, a crown of creeping lotus twine, And on a shadowy plane suspend, as thine; We, first, beneath a shadowy plain distill From silver vase the balsam'8 liquid rill ; Graved on the bark the passenger shall see, Adore me, Traveller 1 I am Helen's Tree 1' To the preceding extensive and important extracts from Theocritus' larger poems, we add the following epitaphs : ON ANACREON. Strangers, who near this statue chance to roam, Let it awhile your studious eyes engage ; And you may say, returning to your home, 'I've seen the image of the Teian sage Best of the bards, who grace the Muses' page.' Then, if you add, ' Youth loved him passing well,' You tell them all he was, and aptly tell. ON EUSTHENES, THE PHYSIOGNOMIST. To Eusthenes, the first in wisdom's list, Philosopher and Physiognomist, This tomb is rais'd : he from the eye could scan The cover'd thought, and read the very man. By strangers was his decent bier adorn'd, By strangers honor'd, and by poets mourn'd : Whate'er the Sophist merited he gain'd, And dead, a grave in foreign realms obtain'd. ON THE STATUE OF AESCULAPIUS. The son of Paeon to Miletus came To meet his Nicias of illustrious name ; He in deep reverence of his guest divine, Deck'd with the daily sacrifice his shrine; And of the god this cedar statue bought A finished work, by skilled Ee'tion wrought. The sculptor, with a lavish sum repaid, Here all the wonders of his art display'd. ON A FRIEND DROWNED AT SEA. Risk not your life upon the wintery sea; With all his care man's life must fragile be 295 A.O.] AttATUS. 179 My Cleonicus sped from Syria's shore To -wealthy Thasos, and rich cargo bore; Ah ! passing rich : but as the Pleiad's light In ocean set, he with them sank in night ON' EURYMEDON. Thine early death, ah! brave Eurymedon, Hath made an orphan of thine infant son ; For thee, this tomb thy grateful country rears; For him she bids thee calm a parent's fears ; Secure, thy rest do thou with heroes take He shall be honor'd for his father's sake. ON HIPPONAX, THE SATIRIST. Here lies Hipponax, to the Muses dear. Traveller ! if conscience sting, approach not near I But if sincere of heart, and free from guile, Here boldly sit, and even sleep awhile. Aratus, the friend and associate of Theocritus, was born at Soli, or at Tarsus, in Asia Minor, about 295 A.C. He was brought up to the medical profession, and attained to a sufficient degree of eminence in it to become physician to Antigonus Gonatas, king of Macedonia. His genius, however, strongly inclined him to poetry ; and he, therefore, soon abandoned his profession, with all its prospective advantages, and thence- forth devoted himself entirely to the Muses. Macedonia was not, however, at that time in a condition properly to appreciate eminent poetic genius ; and Aratus, therefore, with many other contemporary bards, sought the more congenial atmosphere of the Egyptian court, and there his eminence as a poet was at once recognized, and he became intimately associated with the wits, whom Ptolemy's munificence had drawn around him. Like Lycophron, Theocritus, and his other associates, his life presents, from the time of his settlement in Alexandria, few incidents of importance ; and doubtless it glided along amid the same luxurious habits which marked the course of all the geniuses under the patronage of the Alexandrian monarch. The period of his death is unknown ; but he is supposed by Suidas to have returned, in advanced life, to Macedonia, and there to have ended his days. Of the various works of Aratus an astronomical poem, entitled l The Phenomena,' was by far the most distinguished ; and indeed this poem breathes a spirit of elevated purity, to be accounted for only on the sup- position that the pure poetic spirit of the Old Testament poetry had now begun to exert a marked influence upon the minds of the Alexandrian 180 ARATUS. [LECT. VII poets, l The Phsenomena' was so highly esteemed by the Romans, that it was first translated into the Latin language by the celebrated orator Cicero, some of whose version is still extant, and afterwards by Germanicus, the grandson of the emperor Augustus. The poem itself is simple and un- artificial, and contains little more than the names of the constellations, and their order, as painted on the celestial globe, and the several appear- ances of the moon and stars, as indicative of atmospheric changes; though when the author digresses to general nature, and particularly to the instincts of animals, he displays not merely accurate observation, but the faculty of coloring objects, possessed only by the true poet. To have been translated by so eminent a genius as Cicero, is certainly as high an honor as any Grecian poet could have anticipated ; but a higher one awaited Aratus ; for it was from him that St. Paul, in his oration before the Athenians on Mar's Hill, quoted, when he exclaimed, c For in Him we live, and move, and have our being, as certain of your own poets have said; for we are also his offspring.' Besides his astron- omical poem, Aratus wrote various hymns and inscriptions, none of which, however, seem ever to have attained a sufficient degree of celebrity to make them an object of preservation by his successors. We shall, there- fore, give only the two following extracts : PROEM TO THE PHENOMENA. From Jove begin my song ; nor ever be The name unutter'd : all are full of thee ; The ways, and haunts of men ; the heavens and the sea. On thee our being hangs ; in thee we move ; All are thy offspring, and the seed of Jove. Benevolent, he warns mankind to good, Urges to toil, and prompts the hope of food. He shows when best the yielding glebe will bear The goaded oxen, and the cleaving share. He shows what seasons smile, to delve the plain. To set the plant, or sow the scatter'd grain. 'Twas he that placed those glittering signs on high, Those stars, dispers'd throughout the circling sky ; From these the seasons and the times appear, The labors, and .the harvests of the year. Hence men to him their thankful homage raise, Him, first and last, their theme of joy and praise; Hail, Father ! wondrous ! whence all blessings spring 1 Thyself the source of every living thing ! Oh of mellifluous voice ! ye Muses, hear ! And if my prayer may win your gracious ear, Tour inspiration, all ye Muses, bring, And aid my numbers, while the stars I sing. 295 A.C.] A RAT US. 181 PROGNOSTICS OF WEATHER, Be this the sign of wind : with rolling sweep High swells the sea ; long roarings echo deep From billow-breaking rocks; shores murmur shrill, Though calm from storm, and howls the topmost hill The heron with unsteady motion flies, And shoreward hastes, with loud and piercing cries ; Borne o'er the deep, his flapping pinions sail, While air is ruffled by the rising gale. The coots, that wing through air serene their way, 'Gainst coming winds condense their close array. The diving cormorants and wild-ducks stand, And shake their dripping pinions on the sand: And off-, a sudden cloud is seen to spread, With length'ning shadow, o'er the mountain's head. By downy-blossom'd plants, dishevell'd strown, And hoary thistles' tops, is wind foreshown : When those behind impelling those before, On the still sea they slowly float to shore. Watch summer thunder break, or lightnings fly Wind threatens from that quarter of the sky ; And, where the shooting stars, in gloomy night, Draw through the heavens a track of snowy light, Expect the coming wind ; but, if in air The meteors cross, shot headlong here and there, From various points, observe the winds arise, And thwarting blasts blow diverse from the skies. When lightnings in the north and south appear, And east and west, the mariner should fear Torrents of air, and foamings of the main; These numerous lightnings flash o'er floods of ram. And oft when showers are threat'ning from on high, The clouds, like fleeces, hang beneath the sky: Girding heaven's arch, a double rainbow bends, Or, round some star, a black'ning haze extends. The birds of marsh, or sea, insatiate lave, And deeply plunge, with longings for the wave. Swift o'er the pool the fluttering swallows rove, And beat their breasts the baffled lake above. Hoarse croak the fathers of the reptile brood, Of gliding water-snakes the fearful food : At break of day, the desert-haunting owl Lengthens from far her solitary howl: The clamoring crow is perch'd, where high the shore With jutting cliff o'erhangs the ocean roar ; Or with dipp'd head the river wave divides, Dives whole-immers'd, or cawing skims the tides. Nor less the herds for coming rain prepare, And skyward look, and snuff the showery air. On walls the slimy-creeping snails abound, And earth-worms trail their length, the entrails of the ground ; 182 DIG TIM US. AS OLE PI AD ES. [LECT. VIL The cock's young brood ply oft the pluming bill, And chirp, as drops from eaves on tinkling drops distil. A passing notice of the contemporaries of Theocritus and Aratus, Diotimus, Asclepiades, Phsedimus, Nicias, and the two poetesses, Nossis and Anyte will close our present remarks. Diotimus was a grammarian of Adramyttium, in Mysia, and followed the profession of a teacher at Gargara in the Troad a hard lot, which his friend Aratus bemoans in an epigram still extant. Little more is known of his history than that he left behind him a very important Com- mon Place Book, and was an extensive writer of such epigrams as the following : ON A FLUTE-PLAYER. Man's hopes are spirits with fast-fleeting wings. See where in death our hopeful Lesbus lies ! Lesbus is dead, the favorite of kings 1 Hail light-wing'd Hopes, ye swiftest deities ! On his cold tomb we carve a voiceless flute, For Pluto hears not, and the grave is mute. Asclepiades was a native of the island of Samos, and was an epigram- matic writer of much celebrity. He was the friend, and by some critics is supposed to have been the teacher of Theocritus ; but the evidence given to sustain this idea is not at all conclusive. The following specimens fairly present the general spirit of his epigrams : ON THE PICTURE OF BERENICE. This form is Cytherea's nay Tis Berenice's I protest; So like to both, you safely may Give it to either you like best. ON HESIOD. Sweet bard of Ascra! on thy youthful head The Muses erst their laurel-branches spread, When on the rugged summits of the rocks They saw thee laid amidst thy sultry flocks. E'en then to thee, o'er fair Castalia's wave, Their sacred powers unbounded empire gave. By this inspired, thy genius soared on high, And ranged the vaulted azure of the sky; With joy transported, viewed the blest abodes, And sang the extatic raptures of the gods. 295A.C.] PH^EDIMUS. NIC I AS. 183 Phaedimus, according to Stephanus, was a native of Bisanthe, in Mace- donia ; and though professedly an epigrammatic poet, he was, according to Athenseus, the author of an important epic poem entitled Heraclei. Four of his epigrams are preserved in the Greek Anthology ; and his verses have a place in the Garland of Meleager also. The following elegy is, perhaps, the most complete of his remains : HEROIC LOVE. This bow that erst the earth-born dragon slew, O mighty God of Day, restrain ! Not now those deadly shafts are due That stretch the woodland tyrants on the plain. Rather, Phoebus, bring thy nobler darts, With which thou piercest gentle hearts Bid them Themistio's breast inspire With Love's bright flame and Valor's holy fire: Pure Valor, firm, heroic Love Twin deities, supreme o'er gods above, United in the sacred cause Of his dear native laud and freedom's laws. So let him win the glorious crown His fathers wore bright meed of fair renown. Nicias, an epigrammatic writer, of whom nothing more is now, however, known than that he flourished at this period, and that he was the friend to whom Theocritus addressed his eleventh and thirteenth idyls. He is supposed to have been a native of Miletus, in Asia Minor; and from his intimacy with Theocritus, it is conjectured that he passed some part of his life at the court of Alexandria. The first of the two following epi- grams is a beautiful conceit. The nymph of the fountain, by the side of which Simus had erected a monument to his child, is supposed to utter the following plaintive language to the passer-by : ON THE TOMB OF AN INFANT. Stay, weary traveller, stay ! Beneath these boughs repose ! A step out of the way, My little fountain flows. And never quite forget The monumental urn, Which Simus here hath set His buried child to mourn. 184 NOSSIS .A N YT E-. [LECT. VII. THE BEE. Many-colored, sunshine-loving, spring-betokening bee I Yellow bee, so mad for love of early-blooming flowers- Till thy waxen cell be full, fair fall thy work and thee, Buzzing round the sweetly-smelling garden plots and bowers. Nossis, a Greek poetess, was of a little earlier date than the poets last noticed. She was a native of Locri, in southern Italy, and nourished about 10 A.C. Of her poems twelve epigrams of considerable beauty still remain ; but from these all we can learn of her history is, that her mother's name was Theuphila, and that she had a daughter called, in the following inscription, Melinna : ON AN IMAGE OF HER DAUGHTER. In this loved stone Melinna's self I trace, 'Tis her's that form, 'tis her's that speaking face How like her mother's ! Oh what joy to see Ourselves reflected in our progeny 1 LOVE. What in life is half so sweet As the hour when lovers meet ? Not the joys that fortune pours Nor Hymettus' fragrant stores. Thus says Nossis Whosoe'er Venus takes not to her care, Never shall the roses know In her blooming bowers that grow. ON THE .PICTURE OF THYMARETE. On yonder tablet graved I see The form of my Thymarete", Her gracious smile, her lofty air, Warm as in life, all blended there. Her little fondled dog, that keeps Still watch around her while she sleeps, Would in that shape his mistress trace, And 'fawning, lick her honored face. Anyte, of Tegea, in Arcadia, is numbered among the lyric poets by Meleager, in whose list she stands first, and by Antipater of Thessalonica, who names her with Praxilla, Myro, and Sappho, and calls her the female 300 A.C.] ANYTE. 185 Homer an epithet used either in reference to the martial spirit of some of her epigrams, or to their antique character. Her epigrams are, for the most 'part, in the style of the ancient Doric choral songs, like the poems of Alcman ; and for this reason we should be inclined to place her at a much earlier period than the date assigned her by Tatian, which is 300 A.C. At whatever period, however, Anyte may have lived, her epi- grams, as will be perceived from the following, are both spirited and beau- tiful in the extreme : ON THE ENTRANCE TO A CAVERN. Stranger, beneath this rock thy limbs bestow Sweet, 'mid the green leaves, breezes whisper here. Drink the cool wave, while noontide fervors glow ; For such the rest to wearied pilgrims dear. ON A GROVE OF LAUREL. "Whoe'er thou art, recline beneath the shade, By never-fading leaves of laurel made; And here awhile thy thirst securely slake, With the pure beverage of the crystal lake : So shall your languid limbs, by toil oppress'd, And summer's burning heat, -find needful rest, And renovation from the balmy power That stirs and breathes within this verdant bower. ON A DOLPHIN CAST ASHORE. No more exulting o'er the buoyant sea, High shall I raise my head, in gambols free : Nor by some gallant ship breathe out the air, Pleased with my own bright image figured there. The storm's black mist has forced me to the land, And laid me lifeless on this couch of sand. ON A STATUE OF VENUS. NEAR THE SEA COAST. Cythera from this craggy steep Looks downward on the glassy deep, And hither calls, the breathing gale, Propitious to the venturous sail ; "While ocean flows beneath, serene, Awed by the smile of beauty's queen. 186 ANYTE. [LKOT. V! ON THE YOUNG VIRGIN PHILLIDA. la this sad tomb where Phillida is laid, Her mother oft invokes the gentle shade, And calls, in hopeless grief, on her who died, In the full bloom of youth and beauty's pride; Who left, a virgin, the bright realms of day, On gloomy Acheron's pale coasts to stray. ON THE MAID ANTIBIA. The maid Antibia I lament, for whom Full many a suitor sought her father's hall; For beauty, prudence, famed was she; but doom Destructive overwhelmed the hopes of all. Kttlnn tjjt CALLIMACHUS. APOLLONItfS RHODITJS. LEONIDES. CLEANTHES. RHIANUS. ANTAGORAS. NICJ3NETUS. DIOSCO- RIDES. CUPHORION. DAMAGETES. f^ ALLIMACHUS the writer who next demands our attention, was, ac- \J cording to Suidas, the son of Battus and Mesatme, emigrants from At- tica to Cyrene, a Grecian Colony on the northern coast of Africa, and was there born a bout 295 A.C. The family of the Battiadae soon rose to such eminence at Cyrene as to hold the first rank amongst its citizens ; and hence Ovid and other poets frequently call our author simply Battiades. Callimachus was educated by the celebrated grammarian Hermocrates, and after he had completed his studies he opened a school in his native place, but soon removed to Eleasis, a suburb of Alexandria, where he taught successfully for many years, and had for his pupils, Eratosthenes, Pilostephanus, Aristophanes of Byzantium, Ister, Hermippus, and Apol- lonius Rhodius. Having successfully followed his profession for many years, and by it acquired both eminence and distinction, Callimachus now began to feel an ardent desire to present himself before the literati of Alexandria in the capacity of poet an art which he had for many years sedulously cul- tivated. The overwhelming influence and popularity, however, of the many eminent court poets, precluded the possibility of placing himself before the public under circumstances that would, in any degree, warrant the hope of success, until the following incident occurred the invitation of the king to celebrate the dedication of Berenice's hair to Venus an invitation which embraced not only the wits of the court, but also all other wits of the city and its vicinity. Euergetes had now succeeded Philadelphus on the throne of Egypt ; and as the provinces of Phoenicia and Palestine embraced this opportu- nity to attempt to throw off the Egyptian yoke, he wished to lose no time in invading and subduing them. At the same time Berenice, his queen, through the ardor of her attachment to the king, and her anxiety for his success, vowed that should the expedition prove successful, she would, on the king's return to Egypt, dedicate her hair to Venus. The expedition proving successful, the dedication was accordingly made ; and in order 188 CALLIMACHUS. [LECT. that the occurrence might assume an aspect of the utmost importance, the astronomers of the court were directed to place the hair in the heavens as a constellation ; and hence the origin of the constellation Berenice. Lest, however, the transfer of the hair to the heavens should not create a source of sufficiently vivid recollection for the self-sacrificing act of the queen, the king ordered that the poets of the court should celebrate the same event in the strains of immortal verse ; and the invitation, as al- ready observed, including other poets as well as those identified with the court, Callimachus at once entered the list, and so complete was his triumph over all his competitors, that Ptolemy immediately invited him to abandon his school, repair to court, and become Royal Librarian. Thus having attain- ed the height of his ambition, the schoolmaster thenceforth became merged in the royal poet and courtier, and in this situation Callimachus remained from. 266 A. C., until his death, which occurred about twenty years afterwards. Callimachus was one of the most distinguished grammarians, critics, and poets of the Alexandrian period, and his celebrity surpassed that of nearly all the other Alexandrian scholars and poets. He was, also, one of the most fertile writers of all antiquity, and if the number mentioned by Suidas be correct, he was the author of nearly eight hundred works, though doubtless most of them were not of great extent, if he followed one of his own maxims, that a great book was equal to a great evil. The number of his works of which the titles or fragments are now known, amounts to upwards of forty. But what we possess is very little, and con- sists principally of poetical productions, apparently the least valuable of all his works ; since, according to the general opinion of the ancients, Callimachus, notwithstanding his exalted poetic reputation, was not a man of real poetical talent ; but acquired his great skill in poetry, through his extensive learning and intense labor. His prose works on the contrary, which would have furnished us with much highly important information concerning ancient mythology, history, and literature, are entirely lost. The poetical productions of Callimachus, still extant, are Hymns, Epi- grams, and Elegies. Of his hymns, six in number, five are written in hexameter verse, and in the Ionic dialect, and one, on the bath of Pallas, in distichs, and in the Doric dialect. These hymns bear greater resem- blance to epic than to lyric poetry, and are the productions of great labor and learning, like most of the poems of that period. They are very valuable, however, as almost every line furnishes some curious mythological information, 'and are loaded, to a greater extent, with learning, than any other poetical productions of that age. The epigrams of Callimachus, seventy-three in number, furnish the best specimens of that kind of poetry extant. The high estimation they enjoyed in antiquity is attested by the fact, that Archibius, the grammarian, who lived not more than one generation after the age of their author, wrote a commentary upon them; and Marianus, in the reign of the emperor 295A.C.] ^CALLIMACHUS. 189 Anastasius, wrote a paraphrase of them in Iambics. They were early incorporated in the Greek Anthology, and have been thus preserved. The three elegies of our author are all lost, with the exception of some fragments ; but there are frequent imitations of them found among the Roman poets. Indeed, if we may believe the Roman critics, Callimachus was the greatest elegiac poet that Greece produced ; and Ovid, Propertius, and Catullus took him for their model in this species of poetry. Callimachus was the author of various other poetical works besides those already alluded to, among which were two epic poems ; but all of them have perished excepting a few fragments. The first of these epics was divided into four books, and treated of the causes of the various mythical stories, religious ceremonies, and other prevailing customs. The work is often referred to, and was paraphrased by Marianus ; but the paraphrase is entirely lost, and of the original we have only a few fragments. The author took for its subject the name of an old woman who had re- ceived Theseus hospitably when he went out to fight against the Maratho- nian bull. This work was likewise paraphrased by Marianus, and we still possess some fragments of the original. Two other of his poems, the names of which have descended to us, were also probably epics ; but of their character we have no definite information. From all accounts it appears that there was scarcely any kind of poetry in which Callimachus did not try his strength ; for he is said by Suidas to have written come- dies, tragedies, Iambic and Choliambic poems. Of the numerous and various prose works of Callimachus, not one is extant, though there were among them some of the highest importance. The one of which the loss is most to be lamented, was a comprehensive history of Greek literature. It contained, systematically arranged, lists of the different authors and their works. The various departments of literature appear to have been classified, so that Callimachus spoke of the comic and tragic poets, of the orators, law-givers, philosophers, his- torians, and various others, in separate books, in which the authors were enumerated in their chronological succession. It is supposed that this great work was a part of the fruit of the author's studies in the libraries of Alexandria, and that it mainly recorded those authors whose works were contained in those vast collections. To his many other prose works we have not space to particularly allude. "We shall close our remarks on this distinguished author, with his 1 Hymn on the Bath of Minerva,' and a few fine epigrams :# HYMN ON THE BATH OF MINERVA. Come, all ye virgins of the bath ! come forth, Ye handmaids of Minerva! for I hear The neighing of the sacred steeds : e'en now The goddess is at hand. Haste, hasten forth, 190 CALLIMACHUS. [LECT. VIIL Maids of the yellow locks, Pelasgian maids ! Ne'er does Minerva lave her ample limbs, Till from the loins of those her smoking steeds She cleanse the dust away ; nor yet returns Her weapons all with dust and gore defiled, From slaughter of that impious, earth-born brood, But first, at distance, loosens from the car Her courser's necks, and bathes in ocean's waves Their dropping sweat, and from their bitted mouths Clears the coagulated foam away. Go forth, Achaean maids 1 nor let your hands (I hear the rattling sound of ringing wheels) Let not your hands bear ointments, nor the vase Of alabaster : Pallas takes not joy In mingled ointments. Nor the mirror bring, For still Minerva's brow is beautiful. Nor yet, when Paris, on the mount of Ide, Sate arbiter of beauty, did she look Upon the polish'd brass ; nor on the stream Of Simois, in transparent dimples roll'd; Nor Juno sought the mirror, nor the stream; "While Venus took the polish'd brass, and gaz'd, Arranging, o'er and o'er, the self-same locks: But Pallas, nimbly running in her speed, Compass'd a circuit, like the racing youths, Twin stars of Sparta, on Eurotab, banks, Pollux and Castor. Then, with practis'd art, Her limbs anointed with the fragrant oil Of her own olive-yards. Oh virgin ! then The color of the morning flush'd once more Thy cheeks; the hue, that blushes on the rose, Or tints the peach. Now, now that manlier oil Bring hither, maidens 1 such as Castor used, And Hercules; and bring a golden comb, That she may draw her length'ning tresses down, And smooth her glossy hair. Come goddess forth 1 A pleasing band awaits thee: virgins sprung From great Ancestor's tribe. To thee the shield Of Diomed is borne in custom'd rite, "Which thy loved priest, Eumedes, taught of yore. He, when the plotting multitude devised The stratagems of death, fled, clasping close Thy hallow'd image: to the Crean mount He fled, and placed it on the steepy rocks, Named thence Palladian. Come, Minerva, forth! City-destroyer ! golden-helm'd ! who lovest The din of neighing steeds, and clashing shields ! This day, ye water-bearing damsels, draw, From fountains only, and forbear the streams: This day, ye hand-maids, dip your urns in springs Of Physidea, or the limpid well Of Anymone: for from mountains green 296A.C.] CALLIMACHUS. 191 With pasture shall th' Inachian river roll A goodly bath for Pallas ; mingling gold, And flowrets, with its waters. But beware Pelasgian ! lest thy undesigning glance Surprise the queen Minerva. He that views The naked form of Pallas, with last look Hath seen the towns of Argos. Come then forth, August Minerva ! I meantime address These thy fair maids, in legendary lore; Not from myself; for others sang the tale. Maidens ! in times of old, Minerva loved A fair companion with exceeding love, The mother of Tiresias ; nor apart lived they a moment. Whether she her steeds Drove to the Thespians old, or musky groves Of Coronsea, and Curalius' banks, That smoke with fragrant altars, or approach'd To Haliartus, and Bceotia's fields; Still in the chariot by her side she placed The nymph Chat iclo ; nor the prattliugs sweet, Nor dances of the nymphs, to her were sweet, Unless Chariclo spoke, or led the dance. Yet for the nymph Chariclo was reserved A store of tears ; for her, the favor'd nymph, The pleasing partner of Minerva's hours. For once, on Helicon, they loosed the clasps, That held their flowing robes, and bathed their limbs . In Hippocrene, that, beauteous, glided by ; While noonday stillness wrapp'd the mountain round. Both laved together ; 'twas the time of noon ; And deep the stilly silence of the mount. When with his .dogs of chase, Tiresias trod The sacred haunt. The darkening down just bloom'd Upon his cheek. With thirst unutterable Panting, he sought that fountain's gushing stream, Unhappy; and, involuntary, saw What mortal eyes, not blameless, may behold. Minerva, though incensed, thus pit) ing spoke : ' Who to this luckless spot conducted thee, Oh son of Everus ! who sightless hence Must needs depart 1' she said, and darkness fell On the youth's eyes, astonished where he stood : A shooting anguish all his nerves benumb'd, And consternation chain'd his murmuring tongue. Then shriek'd the nymph ; ' What, goddess, has thou done To this my child ? are these (he tender acts Of goddesses ? thou hast bereaved of eyes My son. Oh miserable child I thy ga/,e Has glanced upon the bosom and the shape Of Pallas ; but the sun thou must behold No more. Oh miserable me! oh shades Of Helicon 1 oh mountain, that my steps 192 CALLIMACHUS. [LECT. VIIL Shall ne'er again ascend! for small offence Monstrous atonement 1 thou art well repaid For some few straggling goats and hunted deer With my son's eyes !' the nymph then folded close, With both her arms, her son so dearly loved; And utter'd .lamentation, with shrill voice, And plaintive, like the mother nightingale. The goddess felt compassion for the nymph, The partner of her soul, and softly said : 4 Retract, divinest woman ! what thy rage, Erring, has utter'd 'Tis not I, that smite Thy son with blindness. Pallas hath no joy To rob from youths the lustre of their eyes. The laws of Saturn this decree. Whoe'er Looks on the being of immortal race, Unless the willing god consent, must look, Thus at his peril, and atoning pay The dreadful penalty. This act of fate, Divinest woman 1 may not be recalFd. So spun the Destinies his mortal thread, When thou didst bear him. Son of Everus ! Take then thy portion. But what hecatombs Shall Aristae us and Autonoe, Hereafter on the smoking altars lay, So that the youth Actseon, their sad son, Might be but blind like thee? for know that youth Shall join the great Diana in the chase ; Yet, not the chase, nor darts in common thrown. Shall save him; when his undesigning glance Discerns the goddess in her loveliness Amidst the bath. His own unconscious dogs Shall tear their master, and his mother cull His scatter'd bones, wild-wandering through the woods. That mother, nymph 1 shall call thee blest, who now Receivest from the mount thy sightless son. Oh, weep no more, companion! for thy sake I yet have ample recompense in store For this thy son. Behold! I bid him rise A prophet: far o'er every seer renown'd To future ages. He shall read the flights Of birds, and know whatever on the wing Hovers auspicious, or ill-omen'd flies, Or void of auspice. Many oracles To the Boeotians shall his tongue reveal; To Cadmus, and the great Labdacian tribe. I will endow him with a mighty staff, To guide his steps aright ; and I will give A lengthen'd boundary to his mortal life; And, when he dies, he only, midst the dead, Shall dwell inspir'd, and honor'd by that king Who rules the shadowy people of the grave.' She spoke, and gave the nod ; what Pallas wills 295 A.O.] CALLIMACHUS. 193 Is sure; in her of all his daughters, Jove Bade all the glories of her father shine. Maids of the bath ! no mother brought her forth ; Sprung from the head of Jove. Whate'er the head Of Jove, inclining, ratines, the same Stands firm; and thus his daughter's nod is fate. She comes ! in very truth, Minerva comes 1 Receive the goddess, damsels 1 ye, whose hearts, "With tender ties, your native Argos binds, Receive the goddess ! with exulting hails, With vows, and shouts. Hail, goddess 1 oh, protect Inachian Argos 1 hail ! and, when thou turn'st Thy coursers hence, or hitherward again Guidest thy chariot- wheels, oh ! still preserve The fortunes of the race from Danaus sprung! ON HERACLITUS. They told me, Heraclitus, thou wert dead ; And then I thought, and tears thereon did shed, How oft we two talked down the sun ; but thou, Halicarnassian guest 1 art ashes now. Yet live thy nightingales of song ; on those All-plundering Death shall ne'er his hand impose. THE DEATH OF CLEOMBROTUS. Cleombrotus, upon the rampart's height Bade the bright sun farewell; then plunged to night. The cares of life were yet to him unknown; Glad were his hours, his sky unclouded shone ; But Plato's reason caught his youthful eye, And fixed his soul on immortality. ON A BROTHER AND SISTER. We buried him at dawn of day : Ere set of sun his sister lay Self-slaughter'd by his side. Poor Basilc I she could not bear Longer to breathe the vital air, When Melanippus died. Thus in one fatal hour was left, Of both a parent's hopes bereft, Their desolated sire; While all Gyrene mourned to see The blossoms of her stateliest tree By one fell blight expire. 13 194 APOLLOtflUS. [LECT. VIII. THE CHASE. Mark, Epicydes, how the hunter bears His honors in the chase when timid hares And^ noblest stags he tracks through frost and snow, O'er mountains echoing to the vales below. Then if some clown halloos ' Here, master, here Lies panting at your feet the stricken deer !' He takes no heed, but starts for newer game : Such is my love, and such his arrow's aim, That follows still with speed the flying fair, But deems the yielding slave below his care. Apollonius Rhodius, one of the pupils of Callimachus at Alexandria, was the son of Silleus and Rhode, and was a native of Naucratis in Egypt ; but the exact period of his birth is uncertain. He flourished, however, during the reigns of Ptolemy Euergetes, who ascended the throne 247 A.C., and his two successors Philopator and Epiphanes, the last of whom died 181 A.C., when Apollonius was far advanced in age. The ambition of Apollonius' parents early evinced itself in the anxiety they manifested for his education they having sent him, when a mere child, to Alexandria, to enjoy the advantages of Callimachus' instruction. The youth soon so eminently distinguished himself as to become an ob- ject of deep interest, not only to his parents and instructor, but to the entire circle of his friends ; and the flattering notice taken of the early efforts of his muse, so inflated his young and ambitious mind, that, before he had reached the age of maturity, he resolved to present himself as a poetic competitor of his distinguished master, Callimachus. This circum- stance induces the inference that the family of Apollonius must have been of great eminence, or he could not have been led to place himself in so important, and, apparently, arrogant position. For this trial of skill Apollonius produced The Argonautica, an epic poem in four books, on the Argonautic expedition. The poem, however, was evidently written in haste, and though many passages were ex- tremely beautiful, yet, as a whole, it was deficient in that unity of plan, and fulness of characteristic development, afterwards imparted to it ; it consequently failed of success. This failure so mortified the youthful ambition of the author, that he immediately left Egypt, and retired to the island of Rhodes, where he soon after opened a school of Rhetoric and Polite Literature. Youthful as he was, his scholastic eminence had preceded him to that island, and the Rhodians therefore were prepared to give him a welcome, and even a very warm reception. Aided by the fame of the school of Callimachus, his professional success was so marked and so flattering that he soon found himself in such circumstances as enabled him to give the time and the attention to the revision of ' The Argonautica' which it required, and for which additional years, increased knowledge, and a matured judgment, had eminently prepared him. Hav- 285 A.C.] APOLLONIUS. 195 ing completed the task of revision and reconstruction, he recited the poem in a public assembly of the Rhodians, and with the work they were so much delighted that they immediately conferred upon the author the freedom of the city, and gave him the appellation of Rhodius -an appel- lation which he ever afterwards bore. The fame which Apollonius Rhodius thus acquired abroad soon ex- tended to his native country, and he was at once invited by the king to return thither, and become one of the court poets. Delicacy, however, for some time, retrained him from accepting the invitation ; for Callimachus was not only yet living, but still held the important position of librarian to the king; and he feared the spirit of rivalry which he himself had kindled up in the mind of his former teacher might militate against his advancement ; he therefore declined the invitation. Callimachus, how- ever, soon after died, and was succeeded as librarian by Eratosthenes ; and as the poetic and literary, reputation of Apollonius had meantime greatly increased, he now felt at liberty to return to Egypt in accordance with the king's request, and make Alexandria his. permanent abode. Soon after his removal into Egypt, Eratosthenes died, and the place of Royal Librarian being thus again vacated, Apollonius was at once appointed to fill the vacancy; and in that exalted station he continued during the remainder of his life, and at his death was buried in the same tomb with Callimachus. ( The Argonautica' gives a direct and simple description of the expedi- tion of the Argonauts, and in a strain that is equal throughout. The episodes, which are not numerous, and contain particular my thuses, or de- scriptions of countries, are often .very beautiful, and give life and color to the whole poem. The character of Jason, the hero, is not sufficiently developed to engage the interest of the reader. The character of Medea, the heroine, on the other hand, is beautifully drawn, and the gradual growth of her love for Jason, is described with a truly artistic moderation. Hence much the finest parts of the poem are those passages which delin- eate the attachment between Medea and Jason ; and we may here remark that Virgil was so sensible of the beauty and sweetness of the character of Medea, that his own Dido is not only copied from it, but is, in reality, a very faint imitation of the original. As a work of art the Argonautica is strictly an epic poem, and though the style is not sufficiently elevated for the subject, yet it possesses the second great characteristic of the epic, which is tenderness grandeur or sublimity being the first. The language is an imitation, of that of Homer, but is 'more brief and concise, and has all the symptoms of something which is studied and not natural to the poet. The Argonautica, in real- ity, is a work of art and labor, and thus forms, notwithstanding its many resemblances, a striking contrast with the natural and easy flow of the Homeric poems. On its first publication the Argonautica. was extremely 196 APOLLONITTS. * [LECT. VIII. popular amongst the Greeks, and was afterwards much read by the Ro- mans. Though the entire poem is still extant, we have only space for the following brief extracts : SAILING OF THE ARGO. Now, when the morning, with her shining eyes, Look'd forth on Pelion's lofty crags, and far The verge serene of Ocean, rippling, dash'd With sound of breaking waves, as the fresh wind Ruffled the sea ; then Tiphys waked and roused His friends, to climb the deck, and set their oars: Then with the wild din the Pagasaean bay Re-echoed; and instructive sounds arose From Pelian Argo, hastening to depart : For Pallas, from Dodona's vocal oaks, Had in the keel infix'd a sacred beam. They climb'd the benches in their order'd ranks : Each rower's seat disposed by lot, and sate In fair array, their weapons ranged beside; Ancaeus in the midst; and in his strength, Huge Hercules ; his club beside him lean'd : Beneath his feet sank down the -hollow keel. Then were the oars outstretch'd, and the sweet wine Was pour'd upon the surface of the sea; And Jason turn'd his eyes, that swam with tears, From his dear country's shores. As youths, that form The dances of Apollo, midst the groves Of Delphos, or in Delos' isle, or near Ismenus' wave, and to the chiming harp With rapid feet, elastic, strike the ground Circling his altar ; so to Orpheus' lyre They smote the turbid billows of the sea With cadenced oars. The ruffling surges dash'd ; The dark brine leap'd in foam from side to side ; Deep murmuring to the strong impetuous strokes From men of might. As on the galley row'd, Their armor glitter'd in the sun like fire: The waves' long track froth'd whitening, and a path Of foam appear'd through the green watery plain: And on that day lean'd all the gods from heaven To look upon the ship, and see the strength Of demi-gods, who there with valor high Travell'd the deep ; and from high Peliou's tops The nymphs gazed wondering down ; and saw the world Of Pallas, and th' heroic chiefs themselves Firm brandishing their oars with grasping hands. Chiron himself from the high mountain's head Came down beside the sea, and dipp'd his feet In the shore's billowy foam: with many a sign 1285 A.C.] APOLLONIUS. 197 Waving his ponderous hand, and bidding them, With acclamation, happily return. His spouse beside him stood ; and in her arms Dandled the babe of Peleus : showing him To his dear father. They, now, left behind The shore-encircled bay, by Tiphys' skill And prudence ; who with art still held his hand On the smooth rudder, guiding it secure. Then in the socket the rear'd mast they fix'd; And stretch'd the cordage, bound from side to Then spread the sails, and to the topmast strai The wiud fell whistling in their folds. Then Upon the decks they braced the tighten'd rop To cramps of wood ; and, calmly gliding, pass'd Beyond Tisaeum's promontory crag, Long stretching into ocean. Then with voice And harp, ^Eager's son tuned smooth the lay To high-born Dian, guardian of the ship, Who rules the mountain beacons of the sea, Protector of lolchos. From the deep The fishes upward sprang ; the small and vast Of all the scaly tribe leap'd from beneath In bounds, and folio w'd through the liquid track. As when th' innumerable sheep, now full Of pasture, follow in their leader's steps Back to the sheep-fold : he before them walks, Tuning on shrilling pipe a rustic lay ; So follow'd they, while fresher blew the gale. PASSION OF MEDEA. . Amidst them all, the sun of JEson, chief, Shone forth divinely in his comeliness, And graces of his form. On him the maid Held still her eyes askance, and gazed him o'er Through her transparent-glistening veil; while grief Consum'd her heart, her mind, as in a dream, Slid stealthily away, and hovering hung On his departing footsteps. Sorrowing they Went from the palace forth. Chalciope, Dreading JEetes' anger, hastening pass'd Within her secret chamber, with her sons : And thus Medea went, her soul absorb'd In many musings, such as love incites Thoughts of deep care. Now all remember'd things In apparition rose before her eyes : What was his aspect ; what the robe he wore ; What words he utter'd ; in what posture placed He on the couch reclined ; and with what air He from the porch pass'd forth. Then red the blush Burn'd on her cheek ; while in her soul she thought No other man existed like to him : 198 APOLLONIUS. [LKCT. VIII. . His voice was murmuring in her ears, and all The charming words he utter'd. Now, disturb'd, She trembled for his life; -lest the fierce bulls, Or lest ^Eetes should, himself, destroy The man she loved : and she bewailed him now As if already dead ; and down her cheeks, In deep commiseration, the soft tear Flow'd anxiously. With piercing tone of grief Her voice found utterance : ' Why, unhappy one ! Am I thus wretched ? what concerns it me, Whether this paragon of heroes die The death, or flee discomfited ? And yet He should unharm'd depart. Dread Hecate! Be it thy pleasure ! let him homeward pass, And 'scape his threaten'd fate : or, if his fate Beneath the bulls have destined him to fall, First let him know, that in his wretched end Medea does not glory !' So, disturb'd, Mused the sad virgin in her anguish'd thoughts. DELIBERATION OF MEDEA ON HER PROMISE TO JASON. Night then brought darkness o'er the earth: at sea The mariners their eyes from shipboard raised. Fix'd on the star Orion, and the Bear. The traveller and 'the keeper of the gate Rock'd with desire of sleep ; and slumber now Fell heavy on some mother, who had wept Her children in the grave. No bay of dogs, No noise of tumult, stirr'd the city streets ; All hush'd in stillest darkness. But sweet sleep Sooth'd not Medea. Many a busy thought, For love of Jason, strain'd her wakeful eyes. She fear'd the bulls, by whose o'er-mastering strength He, on the battle-field, must haply meet Dishonorable death. With feverous throbs The heart within her bosom restless heaved. As when the glitter of the sun, that springs From water, in some cauldron freshly pour'd, Or milk-pail, brandish'd quivers on the walls, Darts in quick rings, and vibrates round and round ; So was the Virgin's heart, within her breast, Turn'd to and fro. The tear, compassionate, Stole trickling from her eyes, and inward grief Prey'd with slow wasting on her pining frame : Such weight of suffering did her sleepless love Lay on her bosom. Now her will resolves To gift the chief with drugs of charming power : Now she abjures the thought; and she will die 185A.C.1 APOLLONIUS. 199 Together with the man she loves. Anon Her resolutions change; nor will she die With him she loves, nor yield the charming drugs ; But calm, with unresisting apathy, Bear with his fate. Then sitting, while her thoughts, Waver'd in musing doubts, aloud she spake: ' Still am I wretched with the choice of ills ! My mind is impotent of thought : no cure For this, the torment irresistible That evermore consumes me. Would to Heaven That I had fallen by Dian's nimble darts, Ere I had seen him! Ere my sister's sons Had gone for Greece, whence some unfriendly god, Or Fury brings these lamentable woes. Then let him fight, and perish, if his fate Decree that he shall die upon the field. How should I shun my parents' eyes, and mix The needful drugs ? What speech can serve my turn ? What fraud shall aid me, or what secret wile? Shall I apart from his companions, see The chief alone, and interchange kind words ? Wretch that I am! for if, indeed, he die, How could I hope a respite from my woes? Then were my sum of misery full, if he Were reft of life. Away with modesty! Away with decent forms ! and let him go, Saved by my counsels, whereso'er he list. And then, on that .same day when he achieves The combat, let me die : to yon high beam, Let me, suspended by the throat, expire ; Or drain the juices, that destroy the souL Yet men will cast reproaches, after life, Upon my breathless body; and, from far, Shall the whole city cry aloud, and rail, Upon my death ; and here and there will throng The Colchian women, and pursue with taunts My memory.' This maiden's heart was wrapt So deeply in a stranger, that for him She died ; and stain'd her parents, and her house, To lovesick frenzy yielding up herself, What shame will not be mine ? oh, misery 1 ^ Were it not better now, this very night, Here in my chamber, to forsake my life? So, by a sudden death, to 'scape at once All this reproach ; before my deeds have wrought This full disgrace, unworthy of a name ?' She said, and to her casket went, full-stored With drugs: some healthful, some of deadly bane. She placed it on her knees, and wept; the tears Unceasing bathed her bosom; flowing forth, Spite of herself, abundantly, for grief Of her hard fate. And now the impulse rose, 200 APOLLONIUS. [LEOT. VIII. To cull and taste the drugs that poison life. She loosed the casket's fastenings ; with ill hap Gathering the mortal herbs, when, suddenly, Came o'er her mind a horror of the grave. Long time she mused in doubt: life's pleasing cares, In smiling vision, flitted on her sight : She thought upon the pleasures that are found Among the living; she remember'd her Of the gay playmates of her virgin hours : The sun more pleasant in her fancy shone Than ere his light had been; and, more and more, Her fondness grew for 'each remember'd thing. She then replaced the casket from her knees. For Juno turn'd her heart ; and, straight, she long'd For morniug to appear, that she might give The promised drugs of saving power, and greet The face of Jason. Oft she drew the bolts That closed her chamber door, and with long look Watch'd for the light. Then morning on her gaze Darted its lovely splendor, and the throng Appear'd in motion through the city streets. But, when the virgin saw the morning light Gay glittering round, she with her hands bound up The tresses of her yellow hair, that flow'd Loose in disorder down : she ting'd her cheeks, Which tears had sullied, with cosmetic red; O'er her smooth body shed a shining oil, That breathed nectarian odor, and enrobed Her form in elegant cymar, whose folds Were gather'd at the waist with pliant clasps; And a tiara, silver-tissued, placed Upon her fragrant head: so walking forth She passed the palace, with elastic step Treading the floor : of present ills alike Forgetful, and of greater yet behind. MEDEA AND JASON IN THE TEMPLE OF HECATE. No other theme employ'd Medea's mind, Though singing; nor could all her sportive maids, Whatever carol they alternate sang, Long please her : she, still absent, in the song Broke off abrupt. Nor on the damsels round Look'd she with stedfast eyes ; but turn'd them still To the far paths, and ever lean'd her cheek, Inclining forward; and a shock was felt Quick at her heart, if e'er she list'ning caught A footfall's echo, or the passing wind. But soon he came; and, to the longing maid Appear'd, high bounding; as the Syrian star, 285 A.C.] APOLLONIUS. 201 Emerged from ocean, rises, beautiful And glorious to behold ; yet to the flocks Sends forth wide-wasting plagues. Thus Jason came: Thus beautiful in aspect; but his sight Raised agonized emotion, and her heart Sank ; her eyes darken'd ; and the reddening blood Rush'd to her cheek; nor could her faltering knees Advance, nor yet recede ; and, under her, Her feet seem'd rooted to the earth. Anon The damsels left them, and retired apart. Thus,, opposite each other, mute they stood: As oaks, or fir-trees tall, nigh-growing, lift, Upon the mountains, their firm-rooted stems In quietness, when not a breath of air Is stirring in the Jeaves; anon, with gusts Of rushing wind are shaken to and fro With deep tumultuous murmur; so the breath Of love would stir within them, and their tongues Flow with no stinted utterance. Jason felt The virgin tremble with her heaven-sent grief, And, soft -in blandishment, address'd her thus: 'Why dost thou fear me, maiden, thus alone? For I am not like men, who boast themselves Vain-gloriously, npr was I ever such, When dwelling in the land that gave me birth. Then fear me not too greatly, gentle maid 1 But now interrogate, or speak thyself Whate'er thou list;, and, since we meet with minds Of friendly greeting, in this hallow'd place, Where guile were sacrilege, now openly Speak thou, or question me. Not with smooth words Beguile me; since thy promise, from the first, Is through thy sister pledged, that thou wilt give The welcome drugs. By Hecate herself! By thy own parents ! by all-seeing Jove ! Who o'er the stranger and the suppliant still Spreads his protecting hand, I thee conjure! For I a stranger and a suppliant come Into thy presence : in severest strait I bend and clasp thy knees ; for, without thee, I cannot hope to quell with mastering strength * This bitter conflict. For thy aid my thanks Hereafter shall be thine : such thanks as men, Who dwell remote can give. I will exalt Thy name and graceful honor ; and the rest Of heroes with me shall extol thy praise, When they to Greece return : the mothers too, And wives of heroes, who now musing sit Upon the ocean shore, and wail our loss. Disperse their heavy sorrows, for thou canst Thus the Minoian virgin, she who call'd Pasiphae mother, daughter of the sun ; . 202 APOLLONIUS. [LKCT. VIII. Wise Ariadne, from his mortal toil Deliver'd Theseus. She indeed, the wrath Of Minos sooth'd, in Theseus' galley sate, And left her country; and the gods themselves Loved her ; and still her sign is seen in Heaven ; And, 'midst the glittering symbols of the sky, The starry crown of Ariadne glides. Such gracious power from the deities Will sure be thine, if thou wilt save th^ lives Of this, our band of heroes ; and in sooth Thy form bespeaks thee graced with manners mild.' So said the youth, with admiration high Gilding his speech; but she, her eyes cast down, Smiled with enchanting sweetness: all her soul Melted within her, of his words of jjraise Enamor'd. Then she fix'd full opposite Her eyes upon him, at a loss what word She first should speak, yet wishing in* a breath To utter all her fond impetuous thoughts. And with spontaneous act, she took the drug From forth her fragrant girdle's folds, and he Received it at her hands, elate with joy : And she had drawn the spirit from her breast, Had he but asked it; sighing out her soul Into his bosom. So from Jason's head, Waving with yellow locks, Jove lighten'd forth A lambent flame, and snatch'd the darted rays That trembled from his eyes. Her inmost soul Floating in bliss, she all dissolved away; As dew on roses in the morning's beams Evaporating melts. So stood they both; And bent, in bashfulness, their eyes on earth, Then glanced them on each other ; while their brows Smiled joyous, in serenity of love. At length the virgin, half-inaudible, Addressed him thus : ' Learn now my purpos'd means To aid thee. When thou comest, and my sire Gives thee to sow the serpent's mortal teeth, Watch when the midnight parts the sky; and bathe In the perennial river's flowing stream. Then wrapt in sable garments, dig a trench In hollow circle: slay a lamb therein, And fresh and undivided, lay the lamb < Upon the altar, when thy hand has heap'd Within the circling trench the fueH'd fire, Then soothe with prayers the one dread Hecate : And from a goblet in libation shed The honey of the hive. The Goddess thus Duly appeas'd, recede, and quit the pile ; Nor let the tramp of footsteps make thee turn, Nor yell of dogs, lest all should be undone; Nor thou from this comprize, as meet it is, 285A.C.] LEON ID AS. 203 Greet thy companions. Liquefy this drug, By glimmer of the dawn, and, naked, spread The slippery ointment o'er thy shining limbs. A mighty force shall instantly pervade Thy body, and immensity of strength; And thou wouldst say, thou wert a match in fight, Not for men only, but immortal Gods : And let thy spear, thy buckler, and thy sword Be thus anointed. Not the lances, then, Of earth-born hosts can wound thee ; nor the flame, Resistless darted, of the deadly bulls. Not thus invulnerable in thy strength Wilt thou remain, but only on that day. Go boldly to the combat : draw not back, For I have other aid. When thou has yoked The sturdy bulls, and plough'd with hands of strength The furrow'd fallow, and the giants rise, Sprung from the serpent's teeth, which thou hast thrown Midst the dark glebe; when thou shalt mark them rise Thick o'er the field, then cast, with wily throw, A heavy stone. They for the prize, like dogs That ravening fight for food, shall turn and slay Each other. Thou thyself impetuous rush, And charge amidst the battle. So shalt thou Bear from JE eta's isle the fleece away To distant Greece ; and thou shalt hence depart When'er it please thee ; should it please thee hence So to depart. She said ; and silently Low tow'rds her feet bent sad her sorrowing eyes, And bathed her cheek with scalding tears, and mourn'd, That she should wander on the seas, far off, Away from him. Then, careless of reserve, Again, with plaintive speech, addressing him, She caught him with her hand: for now her eyes Had lost their bashful shame : ' Remember yet, If to thy home thou ever shouldst return, Medea's name. When thou art far away, I shall remember thee.' * Leonidas, of Tarentum, Cleanthes, of Vassus, and Rhianus, of .Bena, contemporaries of Apollonius Rhodius, were all as remarkable for pecu- liar circumstances in their lives, as they were for their genius. Leonidas was a native of Tarentum, a Greek settlement in the south- ern part of Italy, and was an epigrammatic writer of very considerable celebrity. We know little of the history of his life, however, farther than that he lived during the reign of Pyrrhus, king of Epirus, who was killed in battle 272 A.C. From one of the epigrams of Leonidas, written for his own epitaph, we learn the name of his birth-place, and also that after many wanderings, during which the Muses were his chief solace, he died, and was buried at a distance from his native land. 204 LEON ID AS. [LECT. VIII. The epigrams of Leonidas were very numerous, and were chiefly inscriptions for dedicatory offerings and works of art ; and though not of a very high order of poetry, they are usually pleasing, ingenious, ele vated in moral tone, and in good taste. ' Bernhardy not unhappily char- acterizes them as being ( in a sharp, lapidary style.' Of these epigrams the following are the most pleasing : HOME. Cling to thy home ! if there the meanest shed Yield thee a hearth, and shelter for thy head, And some poor plot, with vegetables stor'd, Be all that heaven allots thee for thy board Unsavory bread, and herbs that scattered grow Wild on the river-brink or mountain brow, Yet e'en this cheerless mansion shall provide More heart's repose than all the world beside. THE RETURN OF SPRING TO SAILORS. Haste to the port I the twittering swallow calls, Again returned ; the wintry breezes sleep ; The meadows laugh ; and warm the zephyr falls On ocean's breast and calms the fearful deep. Now spring your cables, loiterers; spread your sails; O'er the smooth surface of the waters roam ! So shall your vessel glide with friendly gales, And fraught with foreign treasure, waft you home. A MOTHER ON HER SON. Unhappy child ! unhappy I, who shed A mother's sorrows o'er thy funeral bed 1 Thou 'rt gone in youth, Amyntas ; I, in age, Must wander through a lonely pilgrimage, And sigh for regions of .unchanging night, And sicken at the day's repeated light. Oh, guide me hence, sweet spirit, tb that bourne, Where, in thy presence, I shall cease to mourn. INSCRIPTION ON A BOAT. They say that I am small and frail, And cannot live in stormy seas: It may be so ; yet every sail Makes shipwreck in the swelling breeze : 285A.C.] LEONID AS. 205 Nor strength nor size can then hold fast, But fortune's favor, heaven's decree : Let others trust in oar and mast, But may the gods take care of me ! ON A STATUE OF ANACREON. Come see your old Anacreon, How, seated on his couch of stone With silvery temples garlanded, He quaffs the rich wine, rosy -red ; How, with flush'd cheek and swimming eye, In drunken fashion, from his thigh He lets his robe unheeded steal, And drop and dangle o'er his heel. One sandal's off; one scarce can hide The lean and shrivell'd foot inside. Old Anacreon hark ! he sings Still of love to th' old harp-strings 1 Still, Bathylla still, Megiste, How he coax'd ye, how he kiss'd ye ! Gentle Bacchus, watch and wait, You must watch and hold him straight ; Hold him up; for, if he fall, You lose your boldest bacchanal. ON HOMER. Dim grows the planets, when the god of Day Rolls his swift chariot through the heavenly way; The moon's immortal round, no longer bright. Shrinks in pale terror from the glorious light : Thus, all eclipsed by Homer's wondrous blaze, The crowd of poets hide their lessened rays. ON HIMSELF. Far from Tarentum's native soil I lie, Far from the dear land of my infancy. Tis dreadful to resign this mortal breath, But in a stranger clime 'tis worse than death. Call it not life to pass a fevered age In ceaseless wanderings o'er the world's wide stag* But me the Muse has ever loved, and given Sweet joys to counterpoise the curse of heaven ; Nor lets my memory decay, but long To distant time preserves my deathless song. 206 CLEANTHES. [LECT. VIII. Cleanthes was the son of Phanias, and was born at Assos in Troas, about 290 A. C., though the exact date is unknown. He was of low and comparatively obscure origin, and commenced life by being a wrestler and boxer in a public circus ; but conceiving an ardent desire for philo- sophical knowledge, he resolved to leave his native place and repair to Athens, where the information he sought after might be more readily obtained than at Assos. His circumstances when he arrived in Athens, were so low that he was obliged to resort to manual labor to obtain his daily subsistence, and meet the expenses of his instruction. The employ- ment to which he resorted was that of drawing water during the night from the public wells of the city ; but as this gave him no visible means of sup- port, he was summoned before the Areopagus to account for his way of living. The secret of his employment was thus divulged; and the judges of the court were so delighted by the evidence of industry which he produced, that they voted him ten minae. Cleanthes at first placed himself under the instruction of Crates, but soon after removed to the school of Zeno, whose faithful disciple he con- tinued for many years. Being naturally dull of apprehension, he was considered by his fellow-pupils stupid, and received from them the title of the Ass, in which appellation he is said to have rejoiced, as it implied that his back was strong enough to bear whatever Zeno put upon it. Several other anecdotes preserved of him show that he was one of those enthusiastic votaries of philosophy who naturally appeared from* time to time in an age when there was no deep and earnest religion to satisfy the thinking part of mankind. He declared that for the sake of philosophy he would dig and undergo all possible labor ; he took notes of Zeno's lectures on bones and pieces of earthen-ware when he was too poor to buy parchment ; and with quaint penitence he reviled himself for his small progress in philosophy, by calling himself an old man ' possessed of gray hairs, but not of a mind.' For his vigor and zeal in the pursuit of philosophy, Cleanthes was styled a second Hercules; and when Zeno died, 263 A.C., he succeeded him in his school, and continued to fill that important position till his death, which occurred in the eightieth year of his age, and the particulars attending which are characteristic. His physician recommended to him a two days' abstinence from food to cure an ulcer in his mouth ; and at the end of the second day, he said that, as he had now advanced so far in the road to death, it would be a pity to have the trouble over again ; and he therefore still refused all nourishment, and died of starvation. The philosophical doctrines of Cleanthes were those of the .stoical sect; and the names of his numerous treatises, as preserved byLaertius, present the usual catalogue of moral and philosophical subjects. Of his poems, the only one that has escaped the ravages of time is his Hymn to Jupiter. Of this poem, which contains some striking sentiments, 290 A.C.] CLEANTHES. 207 "West, the distinguished English critic, remarks : ( It is extraordinary to find sentiments so correct in a heathen, and poetry so pure and elevated in a philosopher.' Of this poem the following version is as faithful to ike original as it can, perhaps, be rendered in our language : HYMN TO JUPITER Most glorious of th' immortal powers above 1 Oh thou of many names ! mysterious Jove 1 For evermore Almighty ! Nature's source ! That govern'st all things in their order'd course! All hail to thee ! since, innocent of blame, E'en mortal creatures may address thy name ; For all that breathe, and creep the lowly earth, Echo thy being with reflected birth; Thee will I sing, thy strength for aye resound: The universe, that rolls this globe around, Moves wheresoe'er thy plastic influence guides, And, ductile, owns the god whose arm presides. The lightnings are thy ministers of ire, The double-forked, and ever-living fire; In thy unconquerable hand they glow, And at the flash all nature quakes below. Thus, thunder-arm'd, thou dost creation draw To one immense, inevitable law: And with the various mass of breathing souls Thy power is mingled, and thy spirit rolls. Dread genius of creation! all things bow To thee ; the universal monarch thou ! Nor aught is done without thy wise control, On earth, or sea, or round th' ethereal pole, Save when the wicked, in their frenzy blind, Act o'er the follies of a senseless mind. Thou curb'st th' excess; confusion to thy sight Moves regular ; th' unlovely scene is bright. Thy hand, educing good from evil, brings To one apt harmony, the strife of things. One ever-during law still binds the whole, Though shunn'd, resisted, by the sinner's soul. Wretches ! while still they course the glittering prizt The law of god eludes their ears and eyes. Life then were virtue, did they this obey ; But wide from life's chief good they headlong stray. Now glory's arduous toils, the breast inflame; Now avarice thirsts, insensible of shame; Now sloth unnerves them in voluptuous ease: And the sweet pleasures of the body please. With eager haste they rush the gulf within, "And their whole souls are center'd in their sin. But oh, great Jove! by whom all good is given, Dweller with lightnings, and the clouds of heaven! Save from their dreadful error lost mankind 1 Father ! disperse these shadows of the mind 1 209 RHIANUS. [LECT. VIIL Give them thy pure and righteous law to know, Wherewith thy justice governs all below. Thus honor'd by the knowledge of thy way, Shall men that honor to thyself repay; And bid thy mighty works in praises ring, As well befits a mortal's lips to sing: More blest, nor men, nor heavenly powers can be, Than when their songs are of thy law and thee. Rhianus, a distinguished Alexandrian poet and grammarian, was born at Bene, an obscure city in the island of Crete, about 250 A.C. Like Cleanthes, he was of low origin, and commenced his career as the master of a gymnastic circus ; but conceiving an earnest and ardent desire for literary attainments, he left his athletic pursuits, and devoted all the energies of his mind to the acquisition of knowledge the result of which was, scholarship of a commanding order, and poetic power of lasting ad- miration. Of his history, time has unfortunately preserved comparatively little information, farther than that during a long life, most of which was passed at Alexandria, he devoted his chief attention to the composition of historical poems, such as the history of Messena, and other cities of antiquity. He wrote, also, according to Suidas, an epic poem, of which, however, only a single line has been preserved, and a number of epigrams, eleven of which are still extant. Rhianus was so great a favorite of the Romans, as to occupy, in their judgment, the first rank among the Grecian poets ; and Tiberius, the ac- complished, but cruel and unprincipled emperor, placed his bust in the public libraries of Rome, along with those of the most distinguished poets of antiquity. The moral fragments of the poetry of Rhianus contain much dignity and elevation of sentiment ; and his epigrams, all of which treat of amatory subjects with much freedom, excel in elegance of lan- guage, cleverness of invention, and simplicity of expression. The two fol- lowing poems will illustrate these remarks : ON HUMAN FOLLY. Still err our mortal souls, nor wisely bear The heaven-dealt lots, that still depress the scale From side to side. The man of indigence Loads with his bitter blame the gods; and, stung With discontent, neglects his mental powers, And energies; nor dares, courageous, aught Of speech or action; trembling when the rich Appear before him sadness and despair Eating his very heart. While he, who swells With proud prosperity, whom heaven endows With riches, and with power above the crowd ; Forgets his being's nature; that his feet 285A.C.] ANTAGORAS. 209 Tread the low earth, and that himself -was born Of mortal parents ; but, with puff'd-up mind, Sinful in haughtiness, like Jove, he wields The thunder; and, though small in stature, lifts The neck, with high-rein'd head, as though he wooed Fair-arm'd Minerva; and had cleft a way To high Olympus' top; that with the gods There number'd, he might feast in blessedness. But lo! Destruction, running with soft feet, Unlook'd for, and unseen, bows suddenly The loftiest heads. Deceitfully she steals In unexpected forms upon their sins; To youthful follies wears the face of age ; To aged crimes the features of a maid ; And her dread deed is pleasant in the sight Of Justice, and of him who rules the gods. AMATORY EPIGRAM. Dexionica, with a limed thread, Her snare, beneath a verdant plane-tree, spread; And caught a blackbird by the quivering wing; The struggling bird's shrill outcries piping ring. Oh, god of love 1 Oh, Graces, blooming fair ! I would that I a thrush, or blackbird, were: So, in her grasp, to breathe my murmur'd cries, And shed a sweet tear from my silent eyes 1 A brief notice of Antagoras, NicaBnetus, Dioscorides, Euphorion, and Damagetes, all of whom were poets of this age, will close our present remarks. Antagoras was a native of the island of Rhodes, and was ranked among the epic poets of the period in which he lived. He is said to have been very fond of good living, respecting which, Plutarch and Athenseus relate some very facetious anecdotes. He wrote an epic poem under the title of Thebais, which he read to the Bosotians, to whom it appeared so tedious, that they could not refrain from yawning. He also composed many epigrams, of which the following are specimens : CUPID'S GENEALOGY. "Whither shall we go to prove The genealogy of Love? Shall we call him first-created Of the gods from chaos dated, When Erebus and Night were mated ; And their glorious progeny Sprung from out the secret sea? 14 210 NIC^ENETUS. DIOSCORIDES. [LECT. VIII Or will Venus claim Love's birth? Or the roving Winds, or Earth? For his temper varieth so, And the gifts he doth bestow (Like his form which changeth still, Taking either sex at will,) Are now so good, and now so bad, We know not whence his heart he had. ON TWO CYNIC PHILOSOPHERS. Here Palemo and pious Crates lie (So speaks this column to the passers by,) In life unanimous and joined in death, Who taught pure wisdom with inspired breath : Whose acts, accordant with the truths severe Their lips pronounced, bespoke the soul sincere. NicseneiKis, an epigrammatic writer, was a native of Abdera, in Thrace, but early ir: life settled in Samos. Athaeneus speaks of him in connection with his celebrating a Samian usage, as being a poet of strong native tendencies. He wrote, among other things, a list of illustrious women ; and of his numerous epigrams, six are still preserved. Of these we give the following :' THE PRECEPT OF CRATINUS. If with water you fill up your glasses, You'll never write anything wise; For wine is the horse of Parnassus, Which hurries a bard to the skies. THE FETE CHAMPETRE. Not in the city be my banquet spread, But in sweet meadows, where around my head, The zephyr may float freely : be my seat The mossy platform of some green retreat, Where shrubs and creepers, starting at my side, May furnish cushion smooth and carpet wide. Let wine be served us, and the warbling lyre Trill forth soft numbers of the Muses' choir ; That we, still drinking, and our hearts contenting, And still to dulcet tones new hymns inventing, May sing Jove's bride, from whence these pleasures come, The guardian goddess of our island home. Dioscorides seems, from the internal evidence of his epigrams, of which there are thirty-nine in the Greek Anthology, to have lived in Egypt, 274A.CVJ EUPHORION. 211 and to have flourished during the reigrf of Ptolemy Euergetes, His epigrams are chiefly upon the great men of antiquity, especially the poets, and were highly esteemed by his contemporaries. The two following are exceptions to their general character : THE PERSIAN SLAVE TO HIS MASTER. master ! shroud my body, when I die, In decent cerements from the vulgar eye. .But burn me not upon yon funeral pyre, Nor dare the gods and desecrate their fire; 1 am a Persian ; 'twere a Persian's shame To dip his body in the sacred flame. Nor o'er my worthless limbs your waters pour ; For streams and fountains Persia's sons adore: But leave me to the clods that gave us birth, For dust should turn to dust, and earth to earth, SPARTAN VIRTUE. When Thrasybulus from the embattled field "Was breathless borne to Sparta on his shield, His honored corse, disfigured still with gore, From seven wide wounds, (but all received before,) Upon the pyre his hoary lather laid, And to the admiring crowd triumphant said: Let slaves lament, while I, without a tear, Lay mine and Sparta's son upon his bier. Euphorion, a native of Chalcis, in Euboea, was eminent both as a gram- marian and poet. He was the son of Polymnetus, and was born, accord- ing to Suidas, 274 A.C., the same year in which Pyrrhus was defeated by the Romans. He became, but at what period of his life is not known, a citizen of Athens, and was there instructed in philosophy by Lacydes and Prytanis, and in poetry by Archebulus of Thera. Having amassed great wealth, he went into Syria, to Antiochus the Great, who made him his librarian. After residing for many years in Syria he there died, and was buried at Antioch, the capitol of the Syrian empire. Euphorion was a writer of much more than ordinary genius, and his works were very numerous, both in poetry and prose. His poems were chiefly of the epic class, and related principally to mythological history. He was, however, an epigrammatist as well as an epic poet, and had a place in the Garland of Meleager. He was also a great favorite of the emperor Tiberius, who wrote Greek poems in imitation of him. The following epigrams are very sweet : ON A CORPSE WASHED ASHORE. Not rugged Trachis hides these whitening bones, Nor that black isle, whose name its colors shows, 212 DAMAGETES. [LECT. VIII But the wild beach, p'er which with ceaseless moans The vexed Icarian wave eternal flows, Of Drepanus ill-fated promontory And there, instead of hospitable rites, The long grass sweeping tells his fate's sad story To rude tribes gathered from the neighboring heights. . ON TEARS. Be temperate in grief! I would not hide The starting tear-drop with a Stoic's pride, I would not bid the o'erburthen'd heart be still, And outrage Nature with contempt of ill. Weep ; but not loudly ! He, whose stony eyes Ne'er melt in tears, is hated by the skies. Damagetes, the poet with whom we close our present remarks, was the author of thirteen epigrams in the Greek Anthology, from the contents of some of which we ascertain that he flourished about 225 A.C., and probably in Egypt. His name is given by the Scoliast to Apollonius Khodius, from which we infer that his position among the wits of the age Was prominent. The following epigrams are well worth preserving : ON A WIFE These the last words, Theano, swift descending To the deep shades of night, was heard to say, ' Alas I and is it thus my life is ending, And thou, my husband, far o'er seas away ? Ah 1 could I but that dear hand press with mine, Once once again I all else I'd pleas'd resign.' ON TWO THEBAN BROTHERS SLAIN IN THRACE. By Jove, the god of strangers, we implore Thee, gentle pilgrim, to the JSolian shore, (Our Theban home,) the tidings to convey That here we lie, to Thracian wolves a prey. This to our father, old Charinus, tell; And, with it, this, 4 We mourn not that we fell In early youth, of all our hopes bereft ; But thajt his darkening age is lonely left.' Kntnn t|rt BION. MOSCHTJS. NICANDER. TYMNES. POLYSTRATUS. ANTIPA- TER OF SIDON. ARCHIAS. MELEAGER. PHILODEMUS. CRINA- GORAS. ZONAS. ANTIPHALUS. LEONIDAS. PHILIP. ANTIPATER OF THESSALONICA, AND THE GREEK POETS AFTER THE CHRIS- TIAN ERA. poets who occupied our time and attention during the last lee. JL ture, lived at a time when the literature of the Alexandrian school had become thoroughly established when originality of thought and vigor of expression were all but extinct ; and though the ancient writers were most highly valued, their spirit was lost, and the chief use made of them was to heap together their materials in elaborate compilations, and expound them by trivial and fanciful additions, while the noble forms of verse, in which they had embodied their thoughts, were made the vehicles of a mass of cumbrous learning. Hence the complaints which the best of succeeding writers made of the obscurity, verbosity, and tediousness of Lycophron, Callimachus, Euphorion, and the other chief writers of the long period, during which the Alexandrian grammarians ruled the liter- ary world. Bion and Moschus, whom we are^next to notice, though belonging to the same school, differed from their associates and immediate predeces- sors in many essential particulars. They were, perhaps, more purely imaginative than any other poets of antiquity. The spirit of poetry seems not only to have seized upon their feelings, but to have absorbed all the powers of their intellect ; and hence in the breathing forth of their numbers there is so little c of the earth earthy.' Bion was born at Phlossa, a small town on the river Meles, in the vicinity of Smyrna, about 200 A.C. Having acquired a poetic reputa- tion in Smyrna, he was soon drawn from that city by the attractions of the court of Alexandria, and under the reign of Ptolemy Philometer he basked, for a few years, in the sunshine of uninterrupted prosperity ; but having, in some way not known, given offence to his munificent patron, he left Egypt, and for many years after resided in the island of Sicily, 214 BION [LEOT. IX. cultivating bucolic poetry, the natural growth of that island. He after- wards, according to Moschus, visited Macedonia and Thrace, and was finally put to .death by poison, administered, as is supposed, by royal order. The lines of Moschus, found in his * Elegy on Bion,' which induce this opinion, are the following : What man so hard could mix the draught for thee,' Or bid be mixed, nor* feel thy melody? Bion's poems are usually called idyls, and he is commonly reckoned among the bucolic poets ; but it must be remembered that this name is not confined to the subjects that it really indicates ; for, in the time of Bion, bucolic poetry embraced that class of poems, also, in which the legends about gods and heroes were treated from an erotic point of view. He wrote in hexameter verse exclusively; and his language is usually the Doric dialect, mixed with Attic and Ionic forms. His style is highly refined, his sentiments soft and sentimental, and his versification very fluent and elegant. The elegy of Bion on Adonis is in the strain of that pure and elevated poetry which is so rarely seen ; and it is worthy of notice that ' Venus and Adonis ' formed the subject of the first important effort of the immor- tal Shakspeare. In both these poems the poets create not only the feelings which they express, but the objects upon which those feelings are expanded. Thus, as has been exquisitely said by the latter of these two great poets The poet's eye in a fine phrenzy rolling, Glances from Heaven to earth, from earth to Heaven; And as imagination bodies forth The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen Turns them to shape, and gives to airy nothing, A local habitation and a name. It is this peculiar property which gives character to that remarkable elegy. Indeed, every thing in Bion partakes essentially of the poet. His apologues are beautiful models of allegory, and delight us by their unaffected archness, and the sweetness of their simplicity. These re- marks will be fully illustrated by the elegy itself, which follows : ELEGY ON ADONIS. I mourn Adonis, fair Adonis dead: The Loves their tears for fair Adonis shed: No more, oh Venus ! sleep in purple vest ; Rise robed in blue : ah, sad one 1 smite thy breast, And cry, 'the fair Adonis is no more.' I mourn Adonis ; him the Loves deplore : See fair Adonis on the mountains lie ; The boar's white tusk has rent his whiter thigh: 200A.C.J BION. 215 While in faint gasps big life-breath ebbs away, Griefs harrowing agonies on Venus prey : Black through the snowy flesh the blood-drops creep ; The eyes beneath his brows in torpor sleep : The rose has fled his lips, and with him dies The kiss, that Venus, though in death, shall prize : Dear is the kiss, though life the lips have fled , But not Adonis feels it warm the dead. I mourn Adonis : mourn the Loves around : Ah ! cruel, cruel is that bleeding wound : Yet Venus feels more agonizing smart ; A deeper wound has pierced within her heart. Around the youth his hounds in howlings yell; And shriek the nymphs from every mountain dell. Ven\is. herself, among the forest dales, Unsandel'd, strews her tresses to the gales: The wounding brambles, bent beneath her tread, With sacred blood-drops of her feet are red : She through the lengthening vallies shrieks and cries, 'Say where my young Assyrian bridegroom lies?' But round his navel black the life-blood flowed, His snowy breast and side with purple glow'd. Ah, Venus ! ah, the Loves for thee bewail ; With that lost youth thy fading graces fail; Her beauty bloom'd, while life was in his eyes Ah, woe ! with him it bloom'd, with him it dies. The oaks and mountains 'ah, Adonis!' sigh: The rivers moan to Venus' agony : The mountain springs all trickle into tears : The blush of grief on every flower appears: And Venus o'er each solitary hill, And through wide cities chaunts her dirges shrill. Woe, Venus ! woe ! Adonis is no more : Echoes repeat the lonely mountains o'er, ' Adonis is no more :' woe, woe is me ! Who at her grievous love dry-eyed can be? Mute at th' intolerable wound she stood : And saw, and knew the thigh dash'd red with blood : Groaning she stretch'd her arms : and ' stay I' she said, 'Stay, poor Adonis! lift thy languid head: Ah! let me find thy last expiring breath, Mix lips with lips, and suck thy soul to death. Wake but a little, for a last, last kiss : Be it the last, but warm with life, as this. That through my lips I may thy spirit drain, Suck thy sweet breath, drink love through every yein : This kiss shall serve me ever in thy stead ; Since thou thyself, unhappy one ! art ffed : Thou art fled far to Acheron's drear scene, A king abhorr'd, and an inhuman queen : I feel the woe, yet live : and fain would be No goddess, thus in death to follow thee. 216 El ON. [LECT.IX Take Proserpine, my spouse : all loveliest things Time to thy realm, oh mightier goddess ! brings : Disconsolate I mourn Adonis dead, With tears unsated, and thy name I dread. Oh thrice-belov'd ! thou now art dead and gone 1 And all my sweet love, like a dream, is flown. Venus sinks lonely on a widow'd bed : The Loves with listless feet my chamber tread : My cestus perish'd with thyself: ah why. Fair as thou wert, the coverts venturous try, And tempt thy woodland monster's cruelty?' So Venus mourns : her loss the Loves deplore : Woe, Venus, woe ! Adonis is no more. As many drops as from Adonis bled, So many tears the sorrowing Venus shed : j For every drop on earth a flower there grows: Anemones for tears ; for blood the rose. I mourn Adonis : fair Adonis dead : Not o'er the youth in words thy sorrows shed : For thy Adonis' limbs a couch is strewn, That couch he presses, Venus ! 'tis thy own. There dead he lies, yet fair in blooming grace : Still fair, as if with slumber on his face. Haste, lay him on the golden stand, and spread The garments that inrobed him in thy bed, When on thy heavenly breast the livelong night He slept, and court him, though he scare thy sight: Lay him with garlands and with flowers ; but all With him are dead, and wither'd at his falL With balms anoint him from the myrtle tree : Or perish ointments ; for thy balm was he. Now on his purple vest Adonis lies : The groans of weeping Loves around him rise : Shorn of their locks beneath their feet they throw The quiver plumed, the darts, and broken bow : One slips the sandal, one the water brings In golden ewer, one fans him with his wings. The Loves o'er Venus' self bewail with tears, And Hymen in the vestibule appears Shrouding his torch; and spreads in silent grief The vacant wreath that twined its nuptial leaf. ' Hymen !' no more : but ' woe, alas !' they sing : * Ah, for Adonis !' ' Ah ! for Hymen !' ring : The Graces for the son of Myrrha pine ; And, Venus ! shriek with shriller voice than thine. Muses, Adonis, fair Adonis, call, And sing him back ; but he is deaf to all. Bootless the sorrow, that would touch his sprite, Nor Proserpine shall loose him to the light: Cease Venus! now thy wail: reserve thy tear: Again to fall with each Adonian year. 200A.C.] BION. 217 HYMN TO THE EVENING STAR. Mild star of eve, whose tranquil beams Are grateful to the queen of love, Fair planet, whose effulgence gleams More bright than all the host above, And only to the moon's clear light Yields the first honors of the night I All hail, thou soft, thou holy stai, Thou glory of the midnight sky 1 And when my steps are wandering fai, Leading the shepherd-minstrelsy, Then, if the moon deny her ray Oh guide me, Hesper, on my way 1 No savage robber of the dark, No foul assassin claims thy aid To guide his dagger to its mark, Or light him on his plund'ring trade; My gentle errand is to prove The transports of requited love. THE TEACHER TAUGHT. As late I slumbering lay, before my sight Bright Venus rose in visions of the night: She led young Cupid; as in thought profound His modest eyes were fix'd upon the ground ; And thus she spoke: 'To thee, dear swain, I bring My little son; instruct the boy to sing.' No more she said; but vanish'd into air, And left the wily pupil to my care : I, sure I was an idiot for my pains, Began to teach him old bucolic strains ; How Pan the pipe, how Pallas form'd the flute, Phoabus the lyre, and Mercury the lute : Love, to my lessons quite regardless grown, Sang lighter lays, and sonnets of his own ; Th' amours of men below, and gods above, And all the triumphs of the Queen of Love. I, sure the simplest of all shepherd-swains Full soon forgot my old bucolic strains ; The lighter lays of love my fancy caught, And I remember'd all that Cupid taught. THE SEASONS. CLEODAMAS. Say, in their courses circling as they tend, What season is most grateful to my friend! 218 BION. [LECT. IX. Summer, whose suns mature the teeming ground, Or golden Autumn, with full harvests crown'd ? Or Winter hoar, when soft reclin'd at ease, The fire bright blazing, and sweet leisure please ? Or genial Spring in blooming beauty gay? Speak Myrson, while around the lambkins play. MYRSON. It ill becomes frail mortals to define What's best and fittest of the works divine; The works of nature all are grateful found, And all the Seasons, in their various round; But, since my friend demands my private voice, Then learn the season that is Myrson's choice. Me the hot Summer's sultry heats displease; Fell Autumn teems with pestilent disease ; Tempestuous Winter's chilling frosts I fear, But wish for purple Spring throughout the year. Then neither cold nor heat molests the morn, But rosy Plenty fills her copious horn ; Then bursting buds their odorous blooms display, And Spring makes equal night, and equal day. SHORTNESS OF LIFE. If any virtue my rude songs can claim, Enough the Muse has given to build my fame; But if .condemned ingloriously to die, Why longer raise my mortal minstrelsy ? Had Jove a Fate to life two seasons lent, In toil and ease alternate to be spent. Then well one portion labor might employ In expectation of the following joy; But if one only age of life is due To man, and that so short and transient too, How long (ah, miserable race !) in care And fruitless labor waste the vital air ? How long with idle toil to wealth aspire, And feed a never-satisfied desire ? How long forget that, mortal from our birth, Short is our troubled sojourn on the earth. FRIENDSHIP. Thrice ha"ppy they I whose friendly hearts can burn With purest flame, and meet a kind return. With dear Perithous, as poets tell, Theseus was happy in the shades of hell : Orestes' soul no peace, no woes, deprest; Midst Scythians he with Pylades was blest. 184 A.C.] MOSCHUS. 219 Blest was Achilles, while his friend survived, Blest was Patroclus every hour he lived ; Blest, when in battle he resign'd his breath, For his unconquer'd friend aveng'd his death. Moschus, tTie friend and pupil of Bion, was born at Syracuse, in the island of Sicily, about 184 A.C. He early repaired to the court of Alex- andria, and soon after his arrival at that common resort of the learned of that period, an intimacy commenced between him and Bion not unlike that which had previously existed between Theocritus and Aratus. Of his personal history nothing is farther known, than that he passed many years at the court of Egypt, and professedly made Bion's poems the models for his own compositions. Of the works of Moschus" still extant, the Elegy on Bioh, and Europa, are the most important. Besides these larger pieces, there are a few fragments of other poems remaining, and one epigram. He was, like Theocritus, a bucolic poet ; and so great is the similarity between the style and manner of* many of their compositions, that their pieces have frequently been mistaken for each others. Indeed, some critics have re- garded him as one of the contemporaries of Theocritus, whilst others have even conceived the two names to belong to the same person ; but as Moschus alludes expressly to Theocritus, as one of his great predeces- sors, there can, of course, be no foundation for this opinion. His apo- logues are so similar to those of Bion, as to be with difficulty distin- guished from them. , Moschus' elegy on Bion, like the Lycidas of Milton, breathes forth, in the tenderest strains, his melancholy recollections of his friend, and his ardent attachment to him. The poem may, at first view, appear forced and affected, from its exuberance of conceit ; and thus Dr. Johnson re- garded both it and Lycidas ; for, says the learned critic, < Whefe there is real sorrow, there is nothing of mere poetry.' This criticism is, however, hypercritical, and contrary to popular feeling ; and hence we find that Shakspeare, who had from nature the deepest intuition into the compli- cated science of mental philosophy, saw that the human mind perpetually foils the calculations of previous reasoning. (^We are often struck with the language and deportment of his characters, as contrary to what might have been expected under such circumstances ; and yet we shall invari- ably find that the great dramatist, in disappointing the vulgar notions of probability or consistency, has uniformly followed the impulses of practi- cal human life. We are, therefore, constrained to regard both the elegy of Moschus and the Lycidas of Milton as no impeachment of the poet's accurate taste or genuine simplicity of feeling. It is, in either instance, the 220 MOSCHUS. [LECT. IX. luxury of sorrow which pleases itself with grotesque and romantic crea- tions of an excited fancy. It is the revery of the poet, accompanied with that natural irregularity of the mind, that unseating of the judg- ment by an over-balance of the imagination, which marks the delirious axcess of melancholy in the man the melancholy of the natural man, conscious of a decaying principle within him, which breaks out patheti- cally in that beautiful complaint of the utter extinction of human life, as compared with the reviviscence of plants and flowers. I In that magnifi- cent poem of the Old Testament, the Book of Job, there is a passage very similar to this elegy of Moschus, though far exceeding it in sub- limity. It is found in the 'fourteenth chapter, and is thus forcibly ren- dered in our standard version : 7. For there is hope of a tree, if it be cut down, that it will sprout again, and that the tender branch thereof will not cease : 8. Though the root thereof wax old in the earth, and the stock thereof lie in the ground : 9. Yet through the scent of water it will bud,' and bring forth boughs like a plant: 10. But man dieth, and wasteth away; yea, man giveth up the ghost, and where is he? 11. As the waters fail from the sea, and the flood decay eth and drieth up : 12. So man lieth down, and riseth not, till the heavens be no more, they shall not awake ; nor be raised out of their sleep. LAMENT FOR BION. Oh forest dells and streams ! oh Dorian tide ! Groan with my grief, since lovely Bion died: Ye plants and copses now his loss bewail: Flowers from your tufts, a sad perfume exhale : Anemones and roses, mournful show Your crimson leaves, and wear a blush of woe : And hyacinth, now more than ever spread The woeful ah ! that marks thy petal'd head With letter'd grief: the beauteous minstrel's dead. Sicilian Muses, poyr the dirge of woe : Ye nightingales, whose plaintive warblings flow From the thick leaves of some embowering wood, Tell the sad loss to Arethusa's flood : The shepherd Bion dies: with him is dead The life of song: the Doric Muse is fled. Sicilian Muses, pour the dirge of woe : Where Strymon's gliding waters .smoothly flow, Ye swans, chant soft with saddest murmuring Such notes as Bion's self was wont to sing: Let Thracia's maids, the nymphs of Hsemus, learn, The Doric Orpheus slumbers in his urn. Sicilian Muses, pour the dirge of woe : The herds no more that chant melodious know : '84 A.C.] MOSCHUS. 221 No more beneath the lonely oaks he sings, But breathes his strains to Lethe's sullen springs: The mountains now are mute ; the heifers pass Slow-wandering by, nor browse the tender grass. Sicilian Muses, pour the dirge of woe : For thee, oh Bion ! in the grave laid low, Apollo weeps : dark palls the Sylvan's shroud ; Fauns ask thy wonted song, and wail aloud : Each fountain-nymph disconsolate appears, And all her waters turn to trickling tears; Mute Echo pines the silent rocks around, And mourns those lips, that waked $heir sweetest sound : Trees dropp'd their fruitage at thy fainting breath,- And flowers were wither'd at the blast of death : The flocks no more their luscious milk bestow'd, Nor from the hive the golden honey flow'd: Grief in its cells the flowery nectar dried, And honey lost its sweets when Bion died. The dirge of woe, Sicilian Muses ! pour : Ne'er mourn'd the dolphin on the ocean shore, Ne'er on the rocks so sang the nightingale, Nor the sad swallow in the mountain dale ; Ne'er did the halcyon's notes so plaintive flow; Sicilian Muses, pour the dirge of woe: Nor ere the sea-mew shrill'd its mournful strain Midst the blue waters of the glassy main , Nor the Memnonian bird was wont to sing In Eastern vales, light-hovering on the wing, Where slept Aurora's sun within the tomb, As when they wail'd the lifeless Bion's doom. Sicilian Muses, pour the dirge of woe: The swallows, nightingales, that wont to know His pipe with joy ; whose throats he taught to sing, Perch'd^on the branches made their dirges ring: All other birds replied from all the grove ; And ye too mourn, oh every woodland dove ! Sicilian Muses, potfr the dirge of woe ; Who, dear-beloved 1 thy silent flute shall blow ? What hardy lip shall thus adventurous be ? Thy lip has touch'd the pipe ; it breathes of thee. Mute Echo," too, has caught the warbled sound In whispering reeds, that vocal tremble round: I bear the pipe to Pan: yet, haply he May fear the trial leat eclips'd by thee Sicilian Muses, pour the dirge of woe : The tears of pensive Galataea flow Missing thy songs, which on our ear would glide, When on the sea-shore sitting by thy side: Unlike the Cyclop's music was thy lay, For she, from him, disdainful fled away : She from the ocean look'd on thee serene. And now, forgetful of the watery scene, 222 M S C H U S . [LECT. IX. Still on the desert sands, beside the brine, She feeds the wandering herds, that late were thine. Sicilian Muses, pour the dirge of woe: Whatever gift the Muses could bestow Are dead with thee; whate'er the damsels gave Of sweet-lipp'd kisses, buried in thy grave. Around thy sepulchre the Loves deplore Their loss ; and Venus, shepherd ! loves thee more Than the soft kiss, which late she bent to sip From dying fragrance of Adonis' lip. Oh, Meles ! most melodious stream ; behold Another grief, like Homer's loss of old : Calliope's sweet mouth : thy streams did run In wailing tides to mourn that mighty son : Thou with thy voice didst fill the greater sea: Behold another son is lost to thee: Shrunk are thy streams ; both bathed in holiest dews : Both dear alike to fountains of the Muse : This drank where Pegasus had delved the hill' That dipp'd the cup in Arethusa's rill : This sang Tyndarian Helen's matchless charms, Thetis' great son, and Menelaus' arms : But that no wars, no tears, in numbers roll'd; Pan, swains, he sang, and singing fed his fold ; The sweet-breath'd heifer milk'd; the pipes combined And taught how damsels kiss most melting kind: The infant Love he fondled on his breast, And Venus' self her soothest swaim caress'd. Sicilian Muses, pour the dirge of woe: Tears for thy loss through famous cities flow: Ascra less pensive bends o'er Hesiod's urn, And less Boeotia's woods, for Pindar mourn: Not so tower'd Lesbos weeps, Alcseus' strains, Or Cos for lost Simonides complains : Paros regrets Archilochus no more, And Mitylene scorns for thine her Sappho's lore. What though the Syracusan vales among Theocritus may tune a defter song ; I sing Italian ditties sad; nor they Too far are strange from that Bucolic lay Which from thy lips thy list'ning scholars caught Heirs of the Doric Muse, which Bion taught. Thy wealth to others left unmoved I see, For thou hast left thy minstrelsy to me. Sicilian Muses, pour the dirge ef woe : Ah, me 1 ah, me ! the fading mallows strow The garden beds: the parsley's verdant wreath, And crisped anise shed their bloomy breath : Yet the new year shall fresh existence give, Warm their green veins, and bid them blow and live. But we, the great, the valiant, and the wise, When once in death we close our pallid eyes. 184A.C.] MOSCHUS. 223 In earth's dark caverns, senseless, slumber o'er The long and endless sleep, the sleep that wakes no more. Thou, too, in silence of the ground art laid: The nymphs are pleased that croaking frogs invade Their list'ning ears; and let them sing for me: The song that's discord cannot envied be. Sicilian Muses, pour the dirge of woe : Poison has touch'd thy lips; its venom slow Has curdled in thy veins ; and could'st thou sip, Nor poison turn to honey on thy lip? What man so hard could mix the draught for thee, * Or bid be mix'd, nor feel thy melody ? Sicilian Muses, pour the dirge of woe ; But retribution sure will deal the blow : I, in this trance of grief, still drop the tear, And mourn forever o'er thy livid bier ; Oh that as Orpheus, in the days of yore, Ulysses, or Alcides, pass'd before, I could descend to Pluto's house of night, And mark if thou would'st Pluto's ear delight, And listen to' the song : oh then rehearse Some sweet Sicilian strain, Bucolic verse ; To soothe the maid of Enna's vale, who sang These Doric songs, while ^Etna's upland rang. Not unrewarded shall thy ditties prove : As the sweet harper Orpheus, erst could move Her breast to yield his dear departed wife, Treading the backward road from death to life ; So shall he melt to Bion's Dorian strain, And send him joyous to his hills again. Oh could my touch command the stops like thee, I too would seek the dead, and sing thee free. To this exquisite elegy on Bion, we add the following brief pieces : ALPHEUS AND ARETHUSA. From where his silver waters glide Majestic, to the ocean-tide Through fair Olympia's plain, Still his dark course Alpheus keeps Beneath the mantle of the deeps, Nor mixes with the main. To grace his distant bride, he pours The sand of Pisa's sacred shores, And flowers that deck'd her grove : And, rising from the unconscious brine. On Arethusa's breast divine Receives the meed of love. 'Tis thus with soft bewitching skill The childish god deludes our wilL And triumphs o'er our pride; 224 NICANDER. [LECT. IX. The mighty river owns his force, Bends to the sway his winding course, And dives beneath the tide. THE CONTRAST. O'er the smooth main, -when scarce a zephyr blows To break the dark-blue ocean's deep repose, I seek the calmness of the breathing shore, Delighted with the fields and woods no more. But when, white-foaming, heave the deeps on high, Swells the black storm, and mingles sea with sky. Trembling, I fly the wild tempestuous strand, And seek the close recesses of the land. Sweet are the sounds that murmur through the wood, While roaring storms upheave the dang'rous flood; Then, if the winds more fiercely howl, they rouse But sweeter music in the pine's tall boughs. Hard is the life the weary fisher finds "Who trusts his floating mansion to the winds, Whose daily food the fickle sea maintains, Unchanging labor, and uncertain gains. Be mine soft sleep, beneath the spreading shade, Of some broad leafy plane, inglorious laid, Lull'd by a fountain's fall, that, murmuring near, Soothes, not alarms, the toil-worn laborer's ear. A MOTHER LAMENTING HER CHILDREN. But as a bird bewails her callous brood, - While in the brake a serpent drains their blood, And, all too weak the wished relief to bring, Twittering her shrill complaints on feeble wing At distance hovers, nor will venture near The fell destroyer, chill'd with conscious fear; So I, all frantic, the wide mansion o'er, Unhappy mother, my lost sons deplore. Nicander, a contemporary of the two poets last noticed, but whose ge- nius strikingly contrasted with theirs, was born at the small town of Glares, near Colophon, in Ionia, about 195 A.C. He was the son of Damnaeus, one of the hereditary priests of Apollo Clarius, to which dig- nity Nicander himself succeeded. He was a physician and grammarian, as well as poet, and flourished under Attains, king of Pergamus, by whom he was highly esteemed, and particularly patronized ; but of the history of his life nothing is farther known. Nicander was a very voluminous writer, but confined the efforts of his muse chiefly to medical subjects. He, however, composed historical poems on Colophon, ^Etna, Sicily, and various other places. But of his numerous literary performances nothing now remains excepting two medical poems 195 A.O.] fflCANDER. 225 The longest of these poems is entitled Theriaca, and contains nearly a thousand hexameter lines. It treats of venomous animals, and the wounds inflicted by them, and contains some curious and interesting zoological passages, together with numerous absurd fables. His other remaining poem, on poisons and their cures, is also written in hexameter verse, and contains more than six hundred lines. These works are now read only by the curious ; but both they and their author must have been very pop- ular with the ancients, as there is a Greek epigram still extant, compli- menting Colophon on being the birth-place of Homer and Nicander. Didactic poetry, the strain in which Nicander uniformly wrote, what- ever may be its subject, naturally pleases, inasmuch as it forms so many poetical species or varieties, and amuses by the novel lights in which it exhibits the plastic genius of poetry. Thus, poems on hunting and fishing were always favorite exercises of fancy with the ancients ; and even herbs and simples appear early to have attracted the attention of poets! A work of this kind is numbered among the lost poems of Hesiod ; but it must be remembered that in his day, there was no other vehicle than verse for every subject of memory and instruction. But the poems of Nicander are too limited in their scope, and of too physically unpleasant a nature, to afford a ' Wreath to bind the Muses' brow.' There is, however, in his descriptions of the various reptiles, a vivacity that attracted Virgil's notice, and probably suggested to Lucan his ser- pents of the desert, that infested the way of Cato ; but his account of vul- nerary herbs resembles a botanical nomenclature ; and his catalogue of symptoms and of remedies a ( Domestic Medicine' in verse. As curiosi- ties we subjoin the following passages : OF THE SERPENT CERASTES. FROM THE ANTIDOTES. Now may'st thou learn the subtle horned snake, That steals upon thee, viperous in his make. But while the viper's forehead maim'd appears, Horns, two or four, the bold Cerastes rears. Lean, dun of hue, the snake in sands is laid, Or haunts within the trench that wheels have made. Against thee strait on onward spires he rides, And with long path, on trailing belly glides: But sidelong, tottering, rolls his middle track. And winds his crooked "way, and twines his scaly back As with long stern, some galley cleaves the tide, "Wavering with gusts, and dips its diving side; While, as the vessel cuts its channel'd way, Dash'd on the wind recoils the scatter'd spray. 15 226 TYMNES. [LECT. IX. When bites the serpent, strait the puncture round A callous tumor, like a nail, is found: And livid pustules, large as drops of rain, Spread round the bite; of dull, and faintish stain, Feeble the smart; but, when nine suns have shone, The agonizing symptoms hasten on. In whom the horny snake, with deed malign, Has flesh'd his tooth, that foams with rage canine, The loins and knees a restless pain invades, And the whole skin is streaked with purplish shades. Scarce lingers in his frame the laboring breath, And scarce he struggles from the toils of death. FROM THE COUNTER-POISONS. Be quick with aid, when yew-tree juice with pains Of anguish-thrilling potion whelms the veins ; The tongue is under-swoll'n ; the lips protrude In heavy tumors, with dry froth bedew'd : The gums are cleft; the heart quick tremor shakes: Smit with the bane, the laboring reason quakes. He utters bleating sounds; and furies vain With thousand turns, delirious, cross his brain. He shrieks like one who sees, with anguish'd dread, Life-threatening swords near-brandish'd at his head. As Rhea's chalice-bearing pi'iestess flies Beneath the new moon, and with long, loud cries, Whirls o'er the smoking plain, on Ida's hill The shepherds tremble at her howlings-shrill : So yells his frenzied rage ; his eyeballs roam, Bull-like, askance; his teeth are gnash'd in foam. Him fast with many-twisted bonds confine ; And drench him deep with draughts of luscious wine, And gently stimulate his throat, to throw The poison off, with forced, ejected flow. An unfledged gosling may the symptoms tame, In water sodden o'er the brightening flame. The rinds of apples will relief bestow; Clean pears, that wild upon the mountains grow; Or those that, planted in an orchard's shades, Bloom hi spring hours, and charm the roving maids. During the half century that elapsed between the period of Nicander and that of Meleager, a number of epigrammatic poets flourished, the principal of whom were Tymnes, Polystratus, Antipater of Sidon, and Archias of Antioch ; but for these we have only a passing remark. Tymnes, or as his name is sometimes erroneously written, Tymnseus, is supposed, by Reiske, to have been a native of Crete ; but the exact period of his birth is uncertain. There are seven of his epigrams in the 150A.C.] POLYSTRATUS. ANTIPATER. 227 Greek Anthology, all of which are remarkable for their beautiful sim- plicity. We give the following as samples : ON ONE WHO DIED IN A FOREIGN COUNTRY. Grieve not, Philaenis, though condemned to die Far from thy parent soil, and native sky ; Though strangers' hands must raise thy funeral pile, And lay thine ashes in a foreign isle : To all on death's last dreary journey bound, The road is equal, and alike the ground. SPARTAN VIRTUE. Demetrius, when he basely fled the field, A Spartan born, his Spartan mother kill'd ; Then, stretching forth his bloody sword, she cried, (Her teeth fierce gnashing with disdainful pride,) ' Fly, cursed offspring, to the shades below, Where proud Eurotas shall no longer flow For timid hinds like thee! Fly, trembling slave, Abandoned wretch, to Pluto's darkest cave ! Myself so vile a monster never bore, Disown'd by Sparta, thou'rt my son no more.' Polystratus, according to Stephanus Byzantinus, was a native of Leto- polis, in Egypt; but of his history nothing farther is known. The Greek Anthology contains two of his epigrams, one of which, the follow- ing, is on the destruction of Corinth, which took place 146 A.C. He therefore probably lived about 150 A. C. ON THE DESTRUCTION OF CORINTH. Achaean Acrocorinth, the bright star Of Hellas, with its narrow Isthmian bound, Lucius o'ercame ; in one enormous mound Piling the dead, conspicuous from afar. Thus to the Greeks denying funeral fires, Have great ^Eneas' latest progeny Perform'd high Jove's retributive decree, And well avenged the city of their sires. Antipater was descended from a noble and wealthy family of Sidon, and, according to a passage in Cicero's de Oratoribus, third book, he was con- temporary with Quintus Catullus, who flourished 1 03 A.C. Cicero notices the extraordinary facility with which Antipater would pour forth extem- pore verses ; and from the many minute references made to him by Meleager, who also wrote his epitaph, we infer that he must have been a 228 ANTIPATER. [LECT. IX. very considerable personage. He lived to a very great age, and was the author of numerous epigrams, contained in the Greek Anthology, of which we give the following : ON ORPHEUS. No more, sweet Orpheus I shalt thou lead along Oaks, rocks, and savage monsters with thy song, Fetter the winds, the struggling hail-storm chain, The snowy desert soothe, and sounding main j For thou art dead ; the Muses o'er thy bier, Sad as thy parent, pour the tuneful tear. Weep we a child ? Not e'en the gods can save Their glorious offspring from the hated grave. ON HOMER'S BIRTH-PLACE. From Colophon some deem thee sprung, From Smyrna some, and some from Chios; These, noble Salamis have sung, While those proclaim thee born in loa ; And others cry up Thessaly The mother of the Lapithse. Thus each to Homer has assign'd The birth-place just which suits his mind. But, if I read the volume right, By Phoebus to his followers given, I 'd say they 're all mistaken quite, And that his real country's heaven; While for his mother, she can be No other than Calliope. ON SAPPHO. Does Sappho then beneath thy bosom rest, JSolian earth! that mortal Muse confest Inferior only to the choir above, That foster-child of Venus and of Love, Warm from whose lips divine Persuasion came To ravish Greece and raise the Lesbian name? ye! who ever twine the three-fold thread, Te Fates, why number with the silent dead That mighty songstress, whose unrivall'd powers Weave for the Muse a crown of deathless flowers. 140 A.C.] ANTIPATER. 229 ON ERINNA. Few -were thy notes, Erinna, short thy lay, But thy short lay the Muse herself hath given; Thus never shall thy memory decay, Nor night obscure the fame, which lives in heaven; While we, the unnumbered bards of after-times, Sink in the melancholy grave unseen, Unhonored reach Avernus' fabled climes, And leave no record that we once have been. ON ANACREON. Grow, clustering ivy, where Auacreon lies ; There may soft buds from purple meadows rise ; Gush, milky springs, the poet's turf to lave, And fragrant wine flow joyous from his grave ! Thus charm'd, his bones shall press the narrow bed If aught of pleasure ever reach the dead. In these delights he soothed his age above, His life devoting to the lyre and love. ON PINDAR. As the loud trumpet to the goatherd's pipe, So sounds thy lyre, all other sounds surpassing; Since round thy lips, in infant fullness ripe, Swarm honied bees, their golden stores amassing. Thine Pindar ! be the palm, by him decreed Who holds on Msenalus his royal sitting; Who, for thy love, forsook his simple reed, And hymns thy lays in strains a god befitting. THE WIDOW'S OFFERING. To Pallas, Lysistrata offered her thimble And distaff, of matronly prudence the symbol : * Take this, too,' she said ; ' then farewell, mighty queen 1 I'm a widow, and just forty winters have seen ; So thy yoke I renounce, and henceforward decree To live with Love's goddess, and prove that I'm free. THE HONEST SHEPHERD. When hungry wolves had trespass'd on the fold. And the robb'd shepherd his sad story told, ' Call in Alcides,' said a crafty priest, 'Give him one half, and he'll secure the rest.' 230 ARC HI AS. [LECT. IX. ' No' said the shepherd, ' if the Fates decree, By ravaging my flock, to ruin me, To their commands I willingly resign ; Power is their character, and patience mine : Though, 'troth, to me there seems but little odds Who prove the greatest robbers. wolves or gods.' Archias was born at Antioch in Syria, about 120 A.C., but early re- moved to Rome, and became a citizen of that republic. At Rome he lived for many years on intimate terms with some of the first families of the city, particularly with the Lucinii, whose name he adopted. His reception during a journey through Asia Minor and Greece, and after- wards in Grecian Italy, where Tarentum, Rhegium, Naples and Locri enrolled him upon their registers, shows that his reputation was, at least at that time, very considerable. Archias' principal poems appear to have been heroic odes in honor of Marius, Sylla, Metellus, Lucullus, and other distinguished Roman gene- rals of that period ; in which he especially celebrated their many great and important victories. Of these poems the ode on the Cimbric war, in celebration of the important victory which Marius gained over the vast hords of the rude Cimbri, is said to have been the best. He also wrote many such epigrams as those which follow. Both Cicero and Quintilian inform us that Archias had the gift of making good extempore verses in great numbers, and was remarkable for the richness of his language and his varied range of thought : LIFE AND DEATH. Thracians ! who howl around an infant's birth, And give the funeral hour to songs of mirth. Well in your grief and gladness are exprest, That Life is labor, and that Death is rest. ON .A SHIPWRECKED MARINER. I, Theris, wreck'd and cast a corse on shore, Still shudder at old Ocean's ceaseless roar. For here, beneath the cliff's o'ershadowing gloom, Close by its waves have strangers dug my tomb. Hence still its roaring, reft of life, I hear ; Its hateful surge still thunders in my ear, For me alone, by Fate unrespited, Remains no rest to soothe me even though dead. ON AN OLD RACE HORSE. Me, at Alphaeus wreath'd, and twice the theme Of heralds, by Castalia's sacred stream, 96 A.C.] MELEAGER. 231 Me, Isthmus* and Nemsea's trumpet-tongue Hailed fleet as winged storms 1 I then was young. Alas! wreaths loathe me now; and Eld hath found An outcast trundling mill stones round and round. Meleager, the son of Eucrates, was a native of Gadara, in Palestine, and was born about 96 A.C. He nourished under Seleucus, the last king of Syria, and his general place of residence was the city of Tyre, where he passed, almost exclusively, the early part of his life. But he was at length driven from that city by the wars which the Romans were then carrying on in the East, and retired to the island of Cos, where he passed, in comparative seclusion and devotion to study, the remainder of his life. Meleager was an extensive and celebrated writer, and the Greek An- thology contains one hundred and thirty-one of his epigrams' written in a good Greek style, though somewhat affected. He professed to have formed his style upon that of the satirical prosaic poet Menalippus ; but in the soft and tender effusions of his muse which have been handed down to us, there is no resemblance to the severe satirist : on the contrary, all is singularly delicate and fanciful. Meleager, though a writer of much elegance, is still more remarkable for being the father of the Greek Anthologies, than for his original po- etry. These Anthologies are collections of small poems, chiefly epi- grams, of various authors. Many of the pieces are remarkable for their beauty and simplicity in thought, and their peculiar turns of expression. The earliest of these collections was made just at the time when Greek literature began sensibly to decline. Several of them were made before the fall of Carthage, but seem to have been formed with more reference to the historical value of the inscriptions, than to their poetical merit. Of this class was the collection of Polemo Periegetes, which is now entirely lost. The earliest collection of such poems, brought together and preserved, for their intrinsic merit, was that of Meleager to which we have just alluded. It was made about 60 A.C., was entitled the Crown, or Gar- land, and contained the better pieces of forty-six poets, arranged in alphabetical order. The second of these collections, with the same arrangement, was made by Philippus of Thessalonica, in the time of Trajan. Soon after, under Adrian, about 120 A.D., a collection of choice pieces was formed by Diogenianus of Heraclea ; and about one hundred years afterwards, Diogenes Laertius gathered, in various metres, a body of epigrams composed in honor of illustrious men. A third Anthology was published in the sixth century by Agathias of Myrina, and consisted of seven books, into which the pieces were distrib- uted according to their subjects. In the tenth century a fourth collec- tion was made by Constantine Cepkalas, of whom nothing more is 232 MELEAGER. [LKCT. IX. known ; and in the fourteenth century Maximus PZanudes, a monk of Constantinople, the same who collected the fables of J3sop, formed a fifth Anthology. Planudes arranged the pieces included in his collection in seven distinct books. The two last-mentioned collections are the only Anthologies now ex- tant ; but they, doubtless, embrace the principal contents of all the rest. To Meleager, however, as the originator of this method of preserving the fugitive poetry of Greece from oblivion, we are chiefly indebted for most of it that remains ; and the following pieces show that he was him- self a very sweet poet : THE RETURN OP SPRING. Hush'd is the howl of wintry breezes wild ; The purple hour of youthful spriug has smiled: A livelier verdure clothes the teeming earth; Buds press to life, rejoicing in their birth; The laughing meadows drink the dews of night, And, fresh with opening roses, glad the sight : In song the joyous swains responsive vie ; Wild music floats, and mountain melody. Adventurous seamen spread the embosomed sail O'er waves light heaving to the western gale ; While village youths their brows with ivy twine, And hail with song the promise of the vine. In curious cells the bees digest their spoil, When vernal sunshine animates their toil, And little birds, in warblings sweet and clear, Salute thee, Maia, loveliest of the year : Thee, on their deeps the tuneful halcyons hail, In streams the swan, in wbods the nightingale. If earth rejoices, with new verdure gay, And shepherds pipe, and flocks exulting play, And sailors roam, and Bacchus leads his throng, And bees to toil, and birfls awake to song, Shall the glad bard be mute hi tuneful spring, And, warm with love and joy, forget to sing. SONG. Still, like dew in silence falling, Drops for thee the nightly tear; Still that voice, the past recalling, Dwells, like echo, on mine ear, Still, still! Day and night the spell hangs o'er me; Here, forever fixed thou art ; 96 A.C.] MELEAGER. 233 As thy form first shone before me, So 'tis graven on this heart, Deep, deepl Love, oh love, whose bitter sweetness Dooms me to this lasting pain ; Thou, who cam'st with so much fleetness, Why so slow to go again? Why? why? THE DIN OF LOVE. 'Tis love, that murmurs in my breast, And makes me shed the secret tear; Nor day nor night my heart has rest, For night and day his ? voice I hear. A wound within my heart I find, And oh 1 'tis plain where Love has been, For still he leaves a wound behind, Such as within my heart is seen. O bird of love 1 with song so drear, Make not my soul the nest of pain! Oh, let the wing that brought thee here, In pity waft thee hence again. TO HIS MISTRESS SLEEPING. Thou sleep'st, soft silken flower 1 Would I were sleep, Forever on those lids my watch to keep 1 So would I have thee all mine own, or he, Who seals Jove's wakeful eyes, my rival be. THE VOW. In holy night we made the vow ; And the same lamp, which long before Had seen our early passion grow; Was witness to the faith we swore. Did I not swear to love her ever; And have I ever dared to rove? Did she not own a rival never Should shake her faith, or steal her love ? Yet now she says those words were air, Those vows were written all in water; And by the lamp that heard her swear, Had yielded to the first that sought her. 234 MELEAGER. ILECT. IX. THE COMPARISON. The snowdrop peeps from every glade, The gay narcissus proudly glows, The lily decks the mountain shade, Where blooms my fair a blushing rose. Ye meads ! why vainly thus display The buds that grace your vernal hour ? For see ye not my Zoe stray, Amidst your sweets, a sweeter flower. THE GIFTS OF THE GRACES. The Graces, smiling, saw her opening charms, And clasped Arista in their lovely arms. Hence her resistless beauty ; matchless sense ; The music of her voice ; the eloquence, That, e'en in silence, flashes from her face, All strikes the ravished heart for all is grace: List to my vows, sweet maid ! or from my view Far, far away, remove 1 In vain I sue ; For, as no space can check the bolts of Jove, No distance shields me from the shafts of Love. MUSIC AND BEAUTY. By the God of Arcadia, so sweet are the notes Which tremulous fall from my Rhodope's lyre; Such melody swells in her voice, as it floats On the soft midnight air, that my soul is on fire. Oh where can I fly I The young Cupids around me Gaily spread their light wings, all my footsteps pursuing; Her eyes dart a thousand fierce lustres to wound me, And music and beauty conspire my undoing. THE SAILOR'S RETURN. Help, help, my friends ! Just landed from the main New to its toils, and glad to feel again The firm rebounding soil beneath my feet Love marks his prey, and with enforcement sweet Waving his torch before my dazzled eyes, Drags me to where my queen of beauty lies. Now on her steps I tread and if in air My fancy roves, I view her picture there, 96 A. 0.] MELEAGER. 035 Stretch my fond arms to fold her, and delight With unsubstantial joys my ravish'd sprite. Ah ! vainly 'scaped the fearful ocean's roar, To prove a fiercer hurricane on shore. NIOBE. Daughters of Tantalus, lorn Niobe, Sad are the tidings which I bear to thee, Words fraught with woe: aye, now unbind thy hair, The streaming signal of thy wild despair : For Phosbus' darts, grief-pointed, reek with gore, Alas 1 alas 1 thy sons are now no more. But what is this? What means this oozing flood? Her daughters, too, are weltering in their blood. One clasps a mother's knees; one clings around Her neck ; and one lies prostrate on the ground ; One seeks her breast ; one eyes the coming woe And shudders ; one in tremor, crouches low ; The seventh is breathing out her latest sigh, And life-in-death seems flickering from that eye. She the woe-stricken mother, reft, alone ; Erst full of words is now mute, stiffened stone. THE MORNING STAR. Farewell bright Phosphor, herald of the morn ! Yet soon in Hesper's name again be born By stealth restoring, with thy later ray, The charms thine early radiance drove away. EPITAPH ON A YOUNG BRIDE. Not Hymen, it was Ades* self alone That loosened Clearista's virgin zone: And now the evening flutes are breathing round Her gate ; the closing nuptial doors resound. The morning spousal song was raised but oh 1 At once 'twas silenced into threnes of woe ; And the same torches, which the bridal bed Had lit, now showed the pathway to the dead. EPITAPH ON HELIODORA. Tears, Heliodora 1 on thy tomb I shed, Love's last libation to the shades below ; Tears, bitter tears, by fond remembrance fed ; Are all that Fate now leaves me to bestow. 236 PHILODEMITS. [LKCT. IX. Vain sorrows 1 vain regrets ! yet. loveliest thee, Thee still they follow in the silent urn, Retracing hours of social converse free, And soft endearments never to return. How thou art torn, sweet flower, that smiled so fair 1 Torn, and thy honor'd bloom with dust defil'd; Yet, holy Earth, accept my suppliant prayer, And in a mother's arms enfold thy child. EPITAPH ON AESIGENES. Hail, universal mother ! lightly rest On that dead form, "Which when with life invested, ne'er opprest Its fellow worm. EPITAPH ON MELEAGER OF GADARA. . Tyre was my island-nurse an Attic race I boast, though Gadara my native place, Herself an Athens. Eucrates I claim For sire, and Meleager is my name. From childhood, in the Muse was all my pride: I sang ; and with Menippus, side by side, Urged my poetic chariot to the goal. And why not Syrian? to the free-born soul * Our country is the world; and all on earth One universal chaos brought to birth. Now old, and heedful of th' approaching doom ; These lines in memory of my parted bloom, I on my picture trace, as on my tomb. With Meleager all that is interesting in the poetry of ancient Greece ends ; though for nearly six centuries after his death, Greek poets at intervals appeared, whose names some fragment, epitaph, or epigram, has preserved from oblivion. To such poets, therefore, we shall only very briefly allude. Philodemus, Crinagoras, Zonas of Sardis, Antipha- lus, Leonidas of Alexandria, and Philip, the second collector of epigrams, and Antipater, both of Thessalonica, all had their birth before the com- mencement of the Christian era. Philodemus was a native of Gadara, but removed in early life to Athens, and afterwards to Rome, where he soon became intimate with Piso, and as an expression of his admiration for that nobleman, he wrote the following 60A.D.] ANTIPHILUS. 23Y INVITATION TO THE ANNIVERSARY OF EPICURUS. To-morrow, Piso, at the evening hour, Thy friend will lead thee to his simple bower, To keep with feast our annual twentieth night: If there you miss the flask of Chian wine, Yet hearty friends you'll meet, and, while you dine, Hear strains like those in which the gods delight. And, if you kindly look on us the while, We'll reap a richer banquet from thy smile. Crinagoras was a native of Mitylene, and flourished at the courts of Augustus and Tiberius ; but no fragment of his poetry is important to our purpose. Zonas also flourished at the court of Tiberius ; but of his history we have no farther particulars. He has left us, among other fragments of his poetry, the following beautiful lines : ON A SHIPWRECKED MARINER. Accept a grave in these deserted sands, That on thy head I strew with pious hands; For to these wintry crags no mother bears The decent rites, or mourns thee with her tears. Yet on the frowning promontory laid, Some pious dues, Alexis, please thy shade ; A little sand beside the sounding wave, Moisten'd with flowing tears, shall be thy grave. Antiphilus was a native of Byzantium, and flourished during the reign of Nero, as appears from one of his epigrams, in which he mentions tne favor conferred by that emperor upon the island of Rhodes. His epi- grams, more than forty of which are still extant, are of a high order of merit, both in conception and style. The following is extremely beautiful : ON AN ANCIENT OAK. Hail, venerable boughs, that in mid sky, Spread broad and deep your leafy canopy 1 Hail, cool, refreshing shade, abode most dear To the sun-wearied traveller, wand'ring near ! Hail, close inwoven bow'rs, fit dwelling place For insect tribes, and man's imperial racel Me too, reclining in your green retreat, Shield from the blazing day's meridian heat. 238 ANTIPATER. [LECT. IX. Leonidas was born, as he himself informs us, on the banks of the Nile, whence he went to Rome, and there taught grammar for many years, without attracting any notice ; but at length he became very popular, and obtained the patronage of the imperial family. His epigrams, which are generally very inferior in point of merit, show that he nourished under the reign of Nero, and probably down to that of Vespasian. Several of them possess this remarkable peculiarity each distich contains the same number of letters. Philip and Antipater were both epigrammatic poets of very considerable pretensions. The former, though the author of numerous epigrams, is, however, more celebrated as a collector of epigrams than as a writer. The 'Anthology of Philip is in imitation of that of Meleager, and may be considered as a sort of supplement to it. The collection contains chiefly the epigrams of those poets who lived in, or shortly before, the time of Philip himself commencing with Philodemus, who, as we have already observed, was contemporary with Cicero, and ending with Automedon, who is supposed to have flourished under Nero. Antipater flourished during the latter part of the reign of Augustus, through that of Tiberius, and for some time after the accession of Cali- gula. His epigrams are usually more important than beautiful, as many of them, such as the following, have preserved names and circumstances of great interest : GREEK POETESSES. These the maids of heavenly tongue, Rear'd Pierian cliffs among: Anyte, as Homer strong, Sappho, star of Lesbian song; Erinna, famous Telesilla, Myro fair, and fair Praxilla; Corinna, she that sung of yore, The dreadful shield Minerva bore. Myrtis sweet, and Nossis, known For tender thought and melting tone ; Framers all of deathless pages, Joys that live for endless age's: Nine the Muses famed in heaven, And nine to mortals earth has given. After the commencement of the Christian era, the annals of literature present about twenty-five Grecian poets, some of whom attained to very considerable eminence ; but as the design of the present lectures confines our investigations to the history of Grecian literature previous to that era, we must necessarily omit any farther notice of such poets than the simple record of their names. 100 A.D.] GREEK POETS. 239 The first Christian century produced Parmenion, Onestus, Tulliu8 Geminus, ^Emilianus Nicaeus, Marcus Argentarius, and Xenocrates of Rhodes. Parmenion was a native of Macedonia, and of his epigrams fourteen remain. These are characterized by brevity, which he himself declares that he aimed at ; but unfortunately they want the body, of which brev- ity is said to be the soul wit. Onestus, a Corinthian, was also an epigrammatic poet, ten of whose epigrams have been preserved. Wine, love, and music, are the subjects of which they treat ; but none of them are distinguished for any particular beauty. Tullius Geminus whose native place is unknown, has ten epigrams in the Anthology, most of which are descriptions of works of art, and all are written in a very affected manner. ^Emilianus Nicaeus was a native of the town of Nicaea, but nothing farther is known of him. , Three of his epigrams haVe been, preserved. Marcus Argentarius was the author of about thirty of the epigrams in the Greek Anthology, most of which are erotic, and some are plays on words. Nothing farther is known of him than the age in which he lived. Xenocrates of Rhodes was the author of the following exquisite epi- jram in the Greek Anthology ; but nothing farther is known of him. ON A DAUGHTER DROWNED AT SEA. Cold on the wild wave floats thy virgin form, Drench'd are thine auburn tresses by the storm, Poor lost Eliza 1 in the raging sea, Gone was my every joy and hope with thee ! These sad recording stones thy fate deplore, Thy bones are wafted to some distant shore ; What bitter sorrows did thy father prove, Who brought thee, destined for a bridegroom's love ! Sorrowing he came nor to 'the youth forlorn Consign'd a maid to love, or corpse to mourn. In the second century we have Lucian, Dionysius, Strato, Philostratus, Carphyllides,and Rufinus. Lucian, a witty and voluminous Greek writer, but of Syrian parentage, having been born, as he himself informs us, at Samosata, the capital of 240 GREEK POETS. [LECT. IX. Commagene. His works embraced, almost every variety of composition, including Rhetoric, Criticisms, .Biography, Romances, Dialogues, Mis- cellanies, and Poems, including all varieties, from a tragedy to an epigram. He was of poor parents, and commenced life as a sculptor ; but leaving his original employment he turned his attention to study, and attained to a degree of eminence not inferior to many of the early Greek writers. Dionysius was the author of a number of minor poems, some of which are of very considerable merit, particularly a hymn to Apollo. Philostratus flourished at the court of the emperor Severus, and is chiefly memorable for being the author of the original poem from which Ben Jonson borrowed his celebrated ballad * To Celia' Drink to me only with thine eyes, the loss of Paradise, are epic subjects; and the chaining of Prometheus, and the jealousy of Othello, are dramatic ones. The epic poet takes the loftier flight ; the dramatic treads with the firmer step. The one dazzles, the other touches us. The epic is wondered at ; the dramatic is felt. We lift the successful author of the former like a conqueror above our heads, but clasp the latter, as a brother to our hearts. From these general remarks upon the relation that epic and dramatic poetry bear to each other, we pass to notice the origin of the drama. The Greek drama evidently originated in the satyric worship of the gods, and particularly in that of Bacchus. Indeed, in that worship are found many dramatic elements. The gods were supposed to dwell in their temples, and participate in their festivals ; and it was not consid- 246 DRAMATIC POETRY. [LECT. X. ered presumptuous or unbecoming to represent them as acting like human beings. The Eleusinian mysteries were, as Clemens of Alexandria ex- presses it, nothing else than a l mystical drama,' in which the history of Demeter and Core was acted, like a play, by priests and priestesses, though probably only in mimic action, illustrated by a few significant sen- tences of a symbolic nature, and by the singing of hymns. These repre- sentations did not, however, assume a distinct dramatic feature until 535 A.C., when Thespis, a native of Icaria, a small village near Athens, by banishing the rude satyrs of Boeotia, and introducing a single speaker in connection with the lyric chorus, laid the foundation of that tragic drama whose triumphs run parallel with the glory and splendor of Athens - commencing just before the beginning of the contest between the Greeks and the Persians, and ending with the downfall of Athens at the close of the Peloponnesian war. Before the commencement of the Persian war, however, the Athenians had been rendered familiar with the poems of Homer by Pisistratus ; and this event, combined with other causes, such as the foundation of a public library, the erection of public buildings, and the institution of public gar- dens, combined to create, with apparent suddenness, among a susceptible and lively population, a general cultivation of taste. The citizens were brought together in their hours of relaxation by their urbane and social manners of life, under porticos and in gardens, which it was the policy of a graceful and benignant tyrant to inculcate ; and the native genius, hith- erto dormant, of the quick Ionian race, once awakened to literary and in- tellectual objects, created an audience even before it found expression in a poet. . The elegant effeminacy of Hipparchus contributed to foster the taste of the people ; for the example of the great is nowhere more potent over the multitude than in the cultivation of the arts. Anacreon and Simonides introduced among the Athenians by Hipparchus, and enjoying his friendship, doubtless added largely to the influence which poetry now began to assume. The peculiar sweetness of these poets imbued with harmonious contagion the genius of the first of the Athenian dramatists, whose works, unfortunately, are now lost, though abundant evidence of their character is preserved. About the same time the Athenians must necessarily have been made more intimately acquainted with the various wealth of the lyric poets of Ionia and the Grecian islands. Hence, their models in poetry were of two kinds the epic and the lyric ; and in the natural connections of art, it was but the next step to accomplish a species of poetry which should attempt to unite the two. Happily at this period, Athens possessed a man of true, genius in the person of Phrynichus the poet, whose attention early circum- stances had directed to the rude and primitive order of histrionic recita- tions. Phrynichus was a disciple of Thespis, and to him belongs the honor of conceiving, out of the elements of the broadest farce, the first grand 525 A.C.] DRAMATIC POETRY. 247 combinations of the tragic drama. We are not from this, however, to conclude that poetry and music were now, for the first time, dedicated to religious services ; for, from time immemorial, as far back, perhaps, as the grove possessed an altar, and the waters supplied a reed for the pas- toral pipe, they had been devoted to the worship of the gods of Greece. At the appointed season of festival to each several deity, his praises were sung, and his traditionary achievements were recited. One of the divinities last introduced into Greece, the mystic and enig- matical Bacchus, received the popular and enthusiastic adoration natu- rally due to the god of the vineyard, and the ' unbinder of galling cares.' His festival, celebrated at the vintage, the most joyous of agricultural seasons, was always connected with the most exhilarating associations, Dithyrambs, or wild and exulting songs, at first extemporaneous, cele- brated the triumphs of the god. By degrees the rude hymn swelled into prepared and artful measures, performed by a chorus and dance circling round the altar ; and the wild song assumed a lofty and solemn strain, adapted to the sanctity of sacrifice and the emblematic majesty of the god. At the same time another band, connected with a Phallic proces- sion, which, however outwardly obscene, betokened only, at its origin, the symbol of fertility, and betrayed the philosophy of some alien or eastern creed, implored, in more lively and homely strains, the blessing of the prodigal and jovial deity. These ceremonial songs received a wanton and wild addition ; as in order, perhaps, more closely to represent and per- sonify the motley march of the Liber Pater, the chorus-singers borrowed from the vine-browsing goat which they sacrificed, the hides and horns, that furnished forth the merry mimicry of the satyr and the forum. Under licence of this disguise the songs became more obscure and grotesque, and the mummers vied with each other in obtaining the ap- plause of the rural audience, by wild buffoonery and unrestrained jest. Whether as the prize of the winner, or as the object of sacrifice, the goat or tragos was a sufficiently important personage to bestow upon the exhibition the homely name of tragedy or goat-song, destined afterwards to be exalted by association with the proudest efforts of human genius. And while the dithyramb, yet amid the Dorian tribes, retained the fire and dignity of its hereditary character while in Sicyon it rose in stately and mournful measures to the memory of Adrastus, the Argive hero while in Corinth, under the polished rule of Periander, Arion imparted' to the antique hymn a new character and more scientific music gradu- ally, in Attica, it gave way before the familiar and fantastic humors of the satyrs, sometimes abridged to afford greater scope to their exhibi- tions, and sometimes attracting the contagion of their burlesques. Still, however, we must observe that the tragedy, or goat-song, consisted of two parts the exhibition of the mummers, and the dithyrambic chorus, mov- ing in a circle round the altar of Bacchus. 248 DRAMATIC POETRY. [LECT. X. It appears on the whole most probable, that not only this festive cere- monial, but also its ancient name of tragedy, had long been familiar in Attica, when Thespis surpassed all competitors in the exhibition of these rude entertainments. He relieved the monotonous pleasantries of the satyric chorus by introducing, usually in his own person, a histrionic tale- teller, who, from an elevated platform, and with lively gesticulations, enter- tained the audience with some mythological legend. It was so clear that during this recital the chorus remained unnecessarily idle and superfluous that the next improvement was as natural in itself as it was important in its consequences. This was to make the chorus assist the narrator, by occasional questions or remarks. Thespis improved the choruses themselves in their professional art. He invented dances, which for centuries retained their popularity on the stage, and is supposed to have given histrionic disguise to his reciter at first, by the application of pigments to the face and afterwards, by the construction of a rude linen mask. These improvements, chiefly mechanical, form the limit to the achievements of Thespis. He did much to create a stage, but little to create tragedy, in the proper sense of the term. His performances were still of a rude, ludicrous, and homely char- acter, and much more akin to the comic than to the tragic. Of that which makes the essence of the solemn drama of Athens its stately plot, its gigantic images, its prodigal and sumptuous poetry of these Thespis was not in any way the inventor. But Phrynichus, the disciple of Thespis, was a poet. He saw, though perhaps dimly and imperfectly, the new career opened to the art ; and he may be said to have breathed the immortal spirit into the more mechanical forms, when he introduced poetry into the breasts of the chorus and the monologue of the actors. Whatever else Phrynichus effected is uncertain. The developed plot the introduction of regular dialogue through the medium of a second actor the pomp and circum- stance the symmetry and climax of the drama, do not appear to have appertained to his earlier efforts ; and the great artistical improvements, which raised the simple incident to an elaborate structure, of depicted narrative and awful catastrophe, are ascribed not to Phrynichus, but to JEschylus. If the later works of Phrynichus exhibited these excellences, it is because .ZEschylus had then become his rival, and he caught the heavenly light from the new star which was now destined to eclipse him. But everything essential was done for the Athenian stage when Phyrn- ichus took it from the satyrs and placed it under the protection of the Muse when, forsaking the humors of the rustic farce, he selected a sol- emn subject from the serious legends of the most vivid of all mythologies when he breathed into the familiar measures of the chorus the gran- deur and sweetness of the lyric ode when, in a word, taking nothing from Thespis but the stage and the performers, he borrowed his tale from Ho- 525 A.C.] DRAMATIC POETRY. 249 mer, and his melody from Anacreon. We must not, then, suppose that the contest for the goat, and the buffooneries of Thespis, were the real origin of tragedy. Born of the epic and lyric song, Homer gave it char- acter, and the lyrists language. Thespis and his predecessors only sug- gested the form to which the new-born poetry should be applied. Thus, under Phrynichus, the drama rose into poetry worthy to exer- cise its influence upon poetic emulation, when a young man of noble fam- ily and sublime genius, rendered, perhaps, more thoughtful and ^profound by the cultivation of a mystical philosophy which had recently emerged from the primitive schools of Ionian wisdom, brought to the rising art the united dignity of rank, philosophy, and genius. The youth to whom we here allude was .ZEschylus ; but before we proceed to a farther notice of his history and character, we shall here briefly describe his audiences, and the form and construction of the magnificent theatre in which his august dramas were exhibited. The Athenian stage, at first an itinerant platform, was succeeded by a regular theatre of wood, and this wooden structure, by a splendid stone edifice, which is said to have been sufficiently capacious to accommodate an audience of thirty thousand persons. The theatrical representations i therein conducted, became a matter of national and universal interest, I and occiirreu thrice a year, at three several festivals of Bacchus. But it * was at the great Dionysia, held at the end of March and the beginning of April, that the principal tragic contests took place. At that period, as the Athenian drama increased in celebrity, and Athens herself in re- nown, the city was filled with visitors, not only from all parts of Greece, but also from every land in which the Greek civilization was known. The State took the theatre under its own protection as a solemn and sacred institution, and so anxious were the people to consecrate wholly to the Athenian name the glory of the spectacle, that at the great Dion- ysia no foreigner was permitted to dance in the Chorus. The chief Ar- chon presided over the performances, and to him was awarded the selec- tion of the candidates for the prize. Those chosen were allowed three actors by lot, and a chorus, the expense of which was undertaken by the State, and imposed upon one of the principal persons of each tribe, called? choragus. The immense theatre; crowded by thousands, tier above tier, bench upon bench, was open to the heavens, and commanded, from the , sloping hill on which it was built, the land and the sea. The actor apos- trophised no mimic pasteboard, but the wide expanse of Nature herself the living sun, the mountain air, and the wide and visible .ZEgean. All was proportioned to the gigantic scale- of the theatre, and the mighty range of the audience. The form was artificially enlarged and height- ened, masks of exquisite art and beauty brought before the audience the idea of their sculptured gods and heroes, while mechanical inventions carried the tones of the voice throughout the various tiers of the theatre. ' 50 DRAMATIC POETRY. [LECT. X. The exhibition of dramas among the Greeks took place in the open day, and the limited length of the plays permitted the performance of no less than ten or twelve before the setting of the sun. The sanctity of their origin, and the mythological nature of their stories, added some thing of religious solemnity to these spectacles, which were opened by cer- emonial sacrifices. Dramatic exhibitions, at least for a considerable period, were not, as at present, made hackneyed by constant repetition. They were as rare in their occurrence as they were imposing in their effects; nor, unless as a special favor, was a drama, whether tragic or comic, that had gained a prize, permitted a second time to be exhibited. With regard to the disposition of the audience in this vast theatre, it may be remarked, that, on the lower benches of the semicircle sat the archons and magistrates, the senators and priests ; while apart, but on seats equally honorable, the gaze of the audience was, from time to time, attracted to the illustrious strangers whom the fame of their poets and their city had brought to the Dionysia of the Athenians. The youths and women had their separate divisions ; the rest of the audience were ranged according to their tribes, while the upper galleries were filled by the miscellaneous and impatient populace. In the orchestra, a space left by the semicircular benches, with wings stretching to the right and left before the scene, a small square platform served as the altar, to which moved the choral dancers, still retaining the attributes of their ancient sanctity. The leader of the chorus took part in the dialogue as the representative of the rest, and, occasionally, even several of the number were excited into exclamation by the passion of the piece. But the principal duty of the chorus was to diversify the dia- logue by hymns and dirges to the music of flutes, while in dances far more artful than those now in use, they represented by their movements the emotions that they sang thus bringing, as it were, into the harmony of action the poeffl*y of language. Architectural embellishments of stone, representing a palace with three entrances, the central one appropriated to royalty, and the others to subordinate rank, usually served for the scene., But at times, when the .plot demanded a different locality, scenes painted with the utmost art and without regard to cost, were easily substituted ; nor were wanting the modern contrivances of artificial lightning and thunder the clouds for the gods, and the variety of inventions for the sudden apparition of demon agents, whether from above or below, and all the adventitious aid which mechanism lends to genius. From this digression on the theatre and the audience of Athens, we return to JEschylus, perhaps the most brilliant ornament of the Grecian drama. It is probable that his high birth, no less than his genius, ena- bled him, with the greater facility, to make the imposing and costly ad- ditions to the exhibition, which the nature of the poetry demanded ; since, 225 A.C.] AESCHYLUS. 251 while these improvements were rapidly proceeding, the poetical fame of jEschylus was still uncrowned. Nor was it till the fifteenth year after his first exhibition that the sublimest of the Greek poets obtained the ivy chaplet, which had meantime succeeded to the goat and the ox, as the prize of the tragic contests. To the monologue of Phrynichus he added a second actor ; he curtailed the chorusses, connected them with the main story, and, more important than all else, reduced to simple but systematic rules, the progress and development of a poem which no longer had for its object to please the ear or divert the fancy only, but swept in its mighty and irresistible march to besiege passion after passion, and spread its empire over the whole soul. When he presented to the public his first tragedy, .ZEschylus was twenty-five years of age ; and he had for his competitors Pratinas and Cho3rilus. They did not, however, long continue the contest ; but on one occasion, while the theatre was still a wooden fabric, the press of the audience was so great as to break down the platform upon which they were seated, in reference to which the following lines all that now re- mains of his poetry were composed by Pratinas : What means this tumult? Why this rage? What thunder shakes the Athenian stage? Tis frantic Bromiua bids me sing; He tunes the pipe, he smites the string; The Dryads with their chief accord, Submit and hail the Drama's Lord. Be still! and let distraction cease, Nor thus profane the Muse's peace. By sacred fiat I preside The minstrel's master and his guide: He, while the choral strains proceed, Shall follow, with responsive reed; To measur'd notes, whilst they advance, He, in wild maze, shall lead the dance. So generals in the front appear, Whilst music echoes from the rear. Now silence each discordant sound ! For, see, with ivy-chaplet crowu'd, Bacchus appears ! he speaks in me Hear, and obey the god's decree. ^Eschylus, emphatically the father of Greek tragedy, was the son of Euphorion, and was born at Eleusis, near Athens, 525 A.C. He was contemporary with Simonides and Pindar, and his family was one of the most ancient and distinguished of Attica. His father was probably con- nected with the worship of Demeter, from which circumstance ^Eschylus may very naturally be supposed to have thence received his first religious impressions. He was educated in accordance with his high birth and 252 AESCHYLUS. [LECT. X. claims to distinction ; and from childhood he was distinguished for the ardor of his genius, and the boldness of his spirit. Homer was his first model in poetry ; and so great was his admiration for that master of the poetic art, that he early committed his entire poems to memory ; and his bold and aspiring spirit prompted him, with a temerity rarely equalled, to attempt, even before he had reached the age of maturity, to rival, in his own peculiar strain, the great father of epic poetry himself. Intent upon this thought, and while occupied in watching the vineyard, and pro- tecting the grapes, Bacchus, the god of the vine, in the midst of the youthful poet's slumbers, appeared to him, and invited him to consecrate himself to the tragic muse. To this invitation JEschylus willingly lis- tened ; and soon produced a tragedy so far transcending in merit any other drama that Greece had then witnessed, that its production became the comparative era of the dramatic art. ^Eschylus was at that time, as we have already observed, in the twenty-fifth year of his age. Soon after this great event in the literary history of Greece trans- pired, that country was invaded by the Persians, and the whole thoughts of the nation, until the terrors of the invasion had passed, was turned towards the defence of their homes, and to their personal safety. ^Es- chylus, therefore, and his two brothers, Ameinias and Cynsegirus, entered the army, and threw all of their personal energy and power into the con- test. In the capacity of a soldier, he so remarkably distinguished him- self, that, in the picture which the Athenians caused to be painted repre- senting the battle of Marathon, his figure held so prominent a place as to be at once recognized, even by a casual observer. In the battle of Salamis, which occurred ten years after the battle of Marathon, Ameinias, the brother of JEschylus, lost one of his arms, but was saved from threatened death by the personal courage of .^Eschylus, who attacked the galley of the satrap with whom Ameinias was strug- gling, and immediately sank it. In consequence of the valor thus dis- played, the assembled army of Greece, immediately after the battle, voted to .ZEschylus the first honor for bravery. Having equally distin- guished himself in the battle of Platsea, with which, and the battle of Mycale that immediately followed, the war closed ; and j^Eschylus then resumed his original design of devoting all his energies to the ennobling of the drama. In his literary career ^Eschylus continued until, according to Suidas and Athenaeus, he composed seventy-six tragedies, of which, fortunately, seven have escaped the ravages of time. With one of these, Tlie Furies, the Athenians were deeply offended, because they supposed it contained sentiments of impiety. They cited him, therefore, before the chief tribunal of his country, the Areopagus, by which, after a deliberate trial, he was pronounced guilty, and sentenced to perpetual banishment. But as the sentence was about to be executed, his brother Ameinias pre- 625 A.C.] JS^CHYLUS. 253 sented himself before the judges, and exhibited, in their presence, what remained of the arm that had been lost at the battle of Salamis. This action revived, with so much vividness, the recollection of the valor of the family, that .ZEschylus was immediately pardoned and restored, not only to his former position, but he became, if possible, a greater favorite with the public than he had previously been. The remembrance, how- ever, of the indignity heaped upon him by a public trial for impiety, in- duced him, soon after, to leave Athens, and to retire to the court of Hiero the First, king of Syracuse, who being himself a man of genius as well as a distinguished patron of literature, received him with the greatest delight, and honored him with the most distinguished marks of royal mu- nificence. During his residence at the court of Syracuse, ^Eschylus is supposed to have written three at least of the most finished and admirable of his tragedies; but after the death of Hiero, an event which occurred 467 A.C., .ZEschylus returned again to Athens, and resumed his position as the leader of the drama, and the chief of its writers. Vast political changes had, however, in the meantime, taken place at Athens, the de- mocracy having obtained the ascendancy ; the consequence of which was, that the high-toned religious and aristocratic strains of jEschylus were there no longer popular. To these circumstances may be added the rising popularity of So- phocles, and the peculiar adaptation of his genius to the prevailing sen- timents of the times ; in consequence of which, a tragedy of his having been preferred by the judges to one produced by ^Eschylus, ^Eschylus again returned to Syracuse ; and as his patron ffiero was gone, he re- tired to the city of G-ela, where, in the midst of. that accomplished and refined community he passed the remainder of his life. His death oc- curred 456 A.C., when in the sixty-ninth year of his age ; and the inhab- itants of Gela showed the estimation in which they held his character by public solemnities in his honor, and by erecting a noble monument to his memory inscribing upon it an epitaph written by himself. With regard to this epitaph it is curious to observe that in it the great poet makes no allusion whatever to himself as an author, but mentions, as the highest honor to which he had ever attained, and that which he desired to be permanently connected with his memory, his exploits as a warrior in the battles of Marathon, Artemisium, Salamis, and Platsea. The story of the death of j3Eschylus, as related by all antiquity, is as singular as it is interesting and characteristic. He had long been im- pressed with the idea that his death would be produced by a stroke from heaven ; and, as was his frequent custom, while sitting in deep con- templation in one of -the public parks of Gela, an eagle, with a tortoise in his talons, mistaking the old poet's bald head for the surface of a stone, precipitated the tortoise upon it 254 ^ESCHYLtlS. [LECT. X. And crushed that brain where tragedy had birth. The style of .ZEschylus is bold, energetic, and 1 sublime, full of gorgeous imagery and magnificent expressions, such as became the elevated charac- ters of his drama, and the ideas he wished to express. In the turn of his expressions, he is more careful to be poetical than grammatical.. He was peculiarly fond of metaphorical phrases, strange compounds, and obsolete language ; so that his diction was much more epic than that of either of his great successors in the tragic art ; and he excelled in displaying strong feeling and impulses, and describing the awful and the terrible, rather than in exhibiting the working of the human mind under the influence of complicated and various motives. But notwithstanding the general ele- vation of his style, the subordinate characters in his plays, as the watch- man in the Agamemnon, and the nurse of Orestes'in the Choephori, are made to use language fitting their station, and less removed from that of common life. The characters of ^Eschylus, like his diction, are sublime and majestic in the extreme, they were gods and heroes of colossal magnitude, whose imposing aspect could be endured by the heroes of Marathon and Salamis, but was too awful for the contemplation of the next generation, who complained that jEschylus' language was not human. Hence, the general impression produced by the poetry of jEschylus was rather of a religious than of a moral nature^ his personages being both in action and suffering, superhuman, and therefore not always fitted to teach practical lessons. He produces, indeed, a sort of religious awe, and dread of the irresistible power of the gods, to which man is represented as being en- tirely subject ; but on the other hand humanity often appears as the sport of anorj-esistible destiny, or the victim of a struggle between superior beings. till ^Eschylus sometimes discloses a providential order of com- pensation and retribution, while he always teaches the duty of resigna- tion and submission to the will of the gods, and the futility and fatal con- sequences of all opposition to it. Of the seven dramas of j33schylus still extant, Prometheus is perhaps, the most remarkable. In pure and sustained sublimity it is unsurpassed in the literature of the world. Two vast demons, according to the fable, Strength and Force, accompanied by Yulcan, appear in a remote plain of the earth an unpeopled desert. There, on a sterile and lofty rock, near the sea, Prometheus is chained by Vulcan ' a reward for his disposition to be tender to mankind.' The date of this doom is cast far back in the earliest dawn of time, and Jupiter has but just commenced his reign. While Vulcan binds him, Prometheus utters no sound it is Vulcan, the agent of his punishment, that alone complains. Nor is it till the dread 525A.C.] AESCHYLUS. 255 task is done, and the ministers of Jupiter have retired, that l the god, un- awed by the wrath of gods/ bursts forth with his grand apostrophe : Oh Air divine ! Oh ye swift-winged Winds, Ye sources of the Rivers, and ye Waves, That dimple o'er old Ocean like his smiles, Mother of all oh Earth ! and thou the orb, All-seeing, of the Sun, behold and witness What I, a god, from the stern gods endure. ***** When shall my doom be o'er ? Be o'er ! to me The Future hides no riddle nor can woe Come unprepared! It fits me then to brave That which must be: for what can turn aside The dark course of the grim Necessity ? While thus soliloquizing, the air becomes fragrant with odors, and faintly stirs with the rustling of approaching wings. The Daughters of Ocean, aroused from their grots below, are come to console the Titan. They utter many complaints against the dynasty of Jove. Prometheus comforts himself by the prediction that the Olympian shall hereafter re- quire his services, and that, until himself released from his bondage, he will never reveal to his tyrant the danger that menaces his realm ; for the vanquished is here described as of a mightier race than the victor, and to him are bared the mysteries of the future, which to Jupiter are denied. The triumph of Jupiter is the conquest of brute force over knowledge. Prometheus then narrates how, by means of his councils, Jupiter had gained his sceptre, and the ancient Saturn and his partisans had been whelmed beneath the abyss of Tartarus how he alone had interfered with Jupiter to prevent the extermination of the human race (whom alone the celestial king disregarded and condemned] how he had* imparted to them fire, the seed of all the arts, and exchanged in their breasts the terrible knowledge of the future for the beguiling flatteries of hope ; and hence his punishment. At this time Ocean himself appears : he endeavors unavailingly to persuade the Titan to submission to Jupiter. The great spirit of Pro- metheus, and his consideration for others, are beautifully individualized in his answers to his consoler, whom he warns not to incur the wrath of the tyrant by sympathy with the afflicted. Alone again with the Oceanides, the latter burst forth in fresh strains of pity : The wide earth echoes wailingly, Stately and antique were thy fallen race, The wide earth waileth thee ! Lo ! from the holy Asian dwelling-place, Fall for a godhead's wrongs, the morfal's murmuring tears, They mourn within the Colchian land, The virgin and the warrior daughters, And far remote, the Scythian band, 256 AESCHYLUS. [lawr. X. Around the broad MoBotian waters, And they who hold in Caucasus their tower, Arabia's martial flower Hoarse-clamoring 'midst sharp rows o barbed spears. One have I seen with equal tortures riven An equal god ; in adamantine chains Ever and evermore, The Titan Atlas, crush'd, sustains The mighty mass of mighty heaven, And the whirling cataracts roar, With a chime to the Titan's groans, And the depth that receives them moans: And from vaults that the earth are under, Black Hades is heard in thunder ; While from the founts of white-waved rivers flow Melodious sorrows, uniting with his wo. Prometheus, in his answer, still farther details the benefits he had con- ferred on man, he arrogates to himself their elevation to intellect and reason. He proceeds darkly to dwell on the power of Necessity, guided by * the triform fates and unforgotten Furies,' whom he asserts to be sovereign over Jupiter himself. He declares that Jupiter cannot escape his doom : ' His doom,' ask the daughters of Ocean ; ' is he not evermore to reign ?' ' That thou mayst not learn,' replies the prophet ; ' and in the preservation of this secret depends my future freedom !' The rejoinder of the chorus is singularly beautiful, and it is with a pathos not common to jEschylus, that they contrast their present mourn- ful strains with that which they poured What time the silence erst was broken, Around the baths, and o'er the bed To which, won well by many a soft love-token, And hymn'd with all the music of delight, Our Ocean-sister, bright Hesione, was led ! At the end of this choral song appears lo, performing her mystic pil- grimage. The utter woe and despair of lo are finely contrasted with the stern spirit of Prometheus. Her introduction gives rise to those ances- tral and traditionary allusions, to which the Greeks were so much at- tached. In prophesying her fate, Prometheus enters into much beautiful descriptive poetry, and commenlorates the lineage of the Argive kings. After lo's departure, Prometheus renews his defiance to Jupiter, and his stern prophecies, that the son of Saturn shall be ' hurled from his realm, a forgotten king.' In the midst of these weird denunciations, Mercury arrives, charged by Jupiter to learn the nature of that danger which Prometheus predicts to him. The Titan bitterly and haughtily defies 625A.C.} AESCHYLUS. 257 the threats and warnings of the herald, and exults that, whatever be his tortures, he is at least immortal, to be afflicted, but not to die. Mer- cury at length departs the menace of Jupiter is fulfilled the punishment is consummated and, amid storm and earthquake, both rock and prisoner are struck by the lightnings of the god into the deep abyss : The earth is made to reel, and rumbling by, : Bellowing it rolls, the thunder's gathering wrath 1 And the fierce fires glare livid ; and along The rocks, the eddies of the sands whirl high, Borne by the hurricane, and all the blasts Of all the winds leap forth, each hurtling each Met in the wildness of a ghastly war, The dark floods blended with the swooping heaven. It comes it comes! oa me it speeds the storm, The rushing onslaught of the thunder-god; Oh, majesty of earth, my solemn mother ! And thou that through the universal void, Circlest sweet light, all blessing ; Earth and Ether, Ye I invoke, to know the wrongs I suffer. Such is the conclusion of this unequalled drama perhaps the greatest moral poem ever written sternly and loftily intellectual and, amid the darker and less palpable allegories, presenting to us the superiority of an immortal being to all mortal sufferings. Regarded merely as poetry, the conception of the Titan of jEschylus has no parallel, except in the Fiend of Milton. . Besides the Prometheus, we have of the tragedies of .ZEschylus, the Seven against Thebes, the Agamemnon, the Ckoepkori, the Eumen- ides, the Supplicants, and the Persians. Our space will not, however, allow us to analyze each of these ; and we shall, therefore, only briefly notice the ' Agamemnon,' and then close with an extract from the * Persians,' The opening of the ' Agamemnon,' with the solitary watchman on the tower, who, for ten long years, has watched nightly for the beacon-fires that were to announce the fall of Ilion, and who now beholds the blaze at last, is grand and impressive in the extreme. The description which Clytemnestra gives of the progress of these beacon-fires from Troy to Argos is, for its picturesque animation, one of the most celebrated in ^Bschylus. Clytemnestra having announced to the chorus the capture of Troy, the chorus, half-incredulous, demand what messenger conveyed the intelligence. Clytemnestra replies : A gleam a gleam from Ida's height, By the fire-god sent, it came; 17 258 AESCHYLUS. [LKOT. X. From watch to watch it leap'd that light, As a rider rode the flame! It shot through the startled sky, And the torch of that blazing glory Old Lemnos caught on high, On its holy promontory, And sent it on, the jocund sign, To Athos, mount of Jove divine. "Wildly the while it rose from the isle, So that the might of the journeying light Skimmed over the back of the gleaming brine ! Farther and. faster speeds it on, Till the watch that keep Macistus steep See it burst like a blazing sun 1 Doth Macistus sleep On his tower-clad steep? No 1 rapid and red doth the wild-fire sweep It flashes afar, on the wayward stream Of the wild Euripus, the rushing beam! It rouses the light on Messapion's height, And they feed its breath with the withered heath But it may not stay 1 And away away It bounds in its freshning might. Silent and soon, Like a broadening moon, It passes in sheen, Asopus green, And bursts on Cithaeron gray. The warder wakes to the signal rays, And it swoops from the hill with a broader blaze, On on the fiery glory rode Tny lonely lake, Gorgopis, glowed To Megara's Mount it came ; They feed it again, And it streams amain A giant beard of flame ! The headland cliffs that darkly down O'er the Saronic waters frown, Are pass'd with the swift one's lurid stride, And the huge rock glares on the glaring tide, With mightier march and fiercer power It gain'd Arachne's neighboring tower Thence on our Argive roof its rest it won, Of Ida's fire the long-descended son I Bright harbinger of glory and of joy 1 So first and last with equal honor crown'd, In solemn feasts the race-torch circles round. And these my heralds 1 this my Sign of Peace ! Lo 1 while we breathe, the victor lords of Greece Stalk, in stern tumult, through the halls of Troy 1 In one of the earlier choruses, in which is introduced an episodical 525 A.D.] AESCHYLUS. 259 allusion to the abduction of Helen, occurs one of those soft passages so rare in JEschylus, nor less exquisite than rare. The chorus suppose the minstrels of Menelaus thus to lament the loss of Helen : And woe the halls, and woe the chiefs, And woe the bridal bed 1 And woe her steps for once she loved The lord whose love she fled ! Lol where, dishonor yet unknown, He sits nor deems his Helen flown, Tearless and voiceless on the spot: All desert, but he feels it not ! Ahl soon alive, to miss and mourn The form beyond the ocean borne, Shall start the lonely kingl And thought shall fill the lost one's room, And darkly through the palace gloom Shall stalk a ghostly thing. Her statues meet, as round they rise, The leaden stare of lifeless eyes. Where is their ancient beauty gone? "Why loathe his looks the breathing stone? Alas ! the foulness of disgrace Hath swept the Venus from her face 1 And visions in the mournful night Shall dupe the heart to false delight, A false and melancholy; For naught with sadder joy is fraught, Than things at night by dreaming brought, The wish'd for and the holy. Swift from the solitary side, The vision and the blessing glide, Scarce welcomed ere they sweep, Pale, bloodless, dreams, aloft On wings unseen and soft, Lost wanderers gliding through the paths of sleep. The most terrible and impressive scene in this tragedy is, however, in the introduction of -Cassandra, who accompanies Agamemnon, and who, in the very hour of his return, amid the pomp and joy that welcome ( the king of men,' is seized with the prophetic inspiration, and shrieks out those ominous warnings, fated ever to be heard in vain. It is she who .recalls to the chorus, and to the shuddering audience, that it is the house of the long-fated Atridse, to which their descendant has returned ( that human shamble house that bloody floor that dwelling, abhorred by heaven, privy to so many horrors against the most sacred ties ;' the doom yet hangs over the inexpiable threshold ; the curse passes from generation to generation ; Agamemnon is the victim of his sires. Recalling the inhuman banquet served by Atreus to Thyestes of his 260 AESCHYLUS. [LKCT. X own murdered children, she starts from the mangled spectres on the threshold: See ye those infants crouching by the floor, Like phantom dreams, pale nurslings, that have perish'd By kindred hands. Gradually her ravings become clearer and clearer, until at last she scents the ' blood dripping slaughter within;' a vapor rises to her nostrils, as from a charnel-house her own fate, which she foresees at hand, begins to overpower her her mood softens, and she enters the palace, about to become her tomb, with thoughts in which frantic terror has yielded to solemn resignation : Alas for mortals 1 what their power and pride? A little shadow sweeps it from the earth! And if they suffer why, the fatal hour Comes o'er the record like a moisten'd sponge, And blots it out; methinks this latter lot Affects me deepest. Well! 'tis pitiful! Scarcely has the prophetess withdrawn, than we hear behind the scenes the groans of the murdered king, the palace behind is opened, and Cly temnestra is standing, stern and lofty, by the dead body of her lord. The ' Persians' is rather picturesque than dramatic, and may be con- sidered as a proud triumphal song in favor of Liberty. It portrays the defeat of Xerxes, and contains one of the most valuable of historical descriptions, in the lines which follow, devoted to the battle of Salamis. The speech of Atossa, mother of Xerxes, in which she enumerates the offerings to the shade of Darius, is exquisitely beautiful. Nor is there less poetry in the invocation of the chorus to the shade of Darius, which slowly rises as they conclude. This play was exhibited eight years after the battle of Salamis, and whilst the memory of each circumstance de- tailed was still present to the minds of the audience ; so that the narrative may be considered in some degree as a history of that great event. The scene is laid at Susa, and in the vicinity of the tomb of Darius : ATOSSA. CHORUS. Atoss. Indulge me, friends, who wish to be informed "Where, in what clime the towers of Athens rise ? Chor. Far in the west, where sits the imperial sun. Atoss. Yet my son willed the conquest of this town. Chor. May, Greece, through all her States, bend to his power. Atoss. Do they send numerous armies to the field? Chor. Armies, that to the Medes have wrought much woe. Atoss. Have they sufficient treasures in their houses ? 525 A.C.] AESCHYLUS. 261 Chor. Their rich earth is a copious fount of silver. Atoss. From the strong bow, wing they the barbed shaft? Chor. No ; but they have stout spears, and massy bucklers. Atoss. What monarch reigns, and who commands their army? Chor. Slaves to no lord, they own no kingly power. , Atoss. How can they then resist the invading foes? Chor. So as to destroy the armies of Darius. Atoss. Serious your words to parents, who have sons there. Chor. But if I judge aright, thou soon shalt hear Each circumstance; for here's a Persian messenger. Tidings, no doubt, 'he brings of good or ill Enter MESSENGER. Mess. Woe to the towns of Asia's peopled realms ! Woe to the land of Persia, once the port Of boundless wealth 1 All, at a blow, has perished ! Ah me ! How sad his task, who brings ill tidings. But to my tale of woe I needs must tell it. Persians, the whole barbaric host has fallen. Chor. O horror, horror, what a train of ills. Mess. I speak not from report ; but these mine eyes Beheld the ruin which my tongue would utter. Chor. Alas ! Is Ellas then unscathed ? And has Our arrowy tempest spent its force in vain? Mess. In heaps the unhappy dead lie on the strand, Of Salamis, and all the neighboring shores. Chor. Raise the funereal cry, with dismal notes Wailing the wretched Persians. O how ill They plann'd their measures ! All their army perished ! Mess. O Salamis, how hateful is thy name ! Oh, how my heart groans but to think of Athens ! Chor. How dreadful to her foes? Call to remembrance How many Persian dames, wedded in vain, Hath Athens of their noble husbands widow'd ? Atoss. Astonish'd with these ills, my voice thus long Hath wanted utterance : griefs like these exceed The power of speech or question: yet e'en such, Inflicted by the gods, must mortal man Constrain'd by hard necessity, endure. But tell me all, without distraction tell me All this calamity, though many a groan Burst from thy laboring heart. Who is not fallen! What leader must we wail? What sceptred chief Dying, hath left his troops without a lord? Mess. Xerxes himself lives, and beholds the light. Atoss. That word beams comfort on my house, a ray That brightens through the melancholy gloom. Mess. Artembares, the potent chief that led Ten thousand horse, lies slaughtered on the rocks Of rough Sileniae. The great Dadaces, Beneath whose standard march'd a thousand horse, Pierced by a spear, fell headlong from the ship. Tenagon, bravest of the Bactrians, lies 262 AESCHYLUS. [LECT. X. Roll'd on the wave- worn beach of Ajax's isle. Lilseus. Arsames, Argestes, dash With violence in death against the rocks Where nest the -silver doves. Arcteus, that dwelt Near to the fountains of the Egyptian Nile, Adeues, and Pheresba, and Pharnuchus Fell from one ship. Matallus, Chrysa's chief, That led his dark'ning squadrons, thrice ten thousand, On jet-black steeds, with purple gore distain'd The yellow of his thick and shaggy beard. The Magian Arabus, and Artatnes From Bactra, mould'ring on the dreary shore Lie low. Amistris and Amphistreus there Grasps his war-wearied spear ; there prostrate lies The illustrious Ariomardus ; long his loss Shall Sardis weep; thy Mysian Sisames, And Tharybis, that o'er the burden'd deep Led five times fifty vessels ; Lerna gave The hero birth, and manly grace adorn'd His pleasing form, but low in death he lies, Unhappy in his fate. Syennesis, Cilicia's warlike chief, who dared to front The foremost dangers, singly to the foes A terror, there, too, found a glorious death. These chieftains to my sad remembrance rise, Relating but a few of many ills. A toss. This is the height of ill, ah me! and shame To Persia, grief, and lamentation loud. But tell me this, afresh renew thy tale : What was the number of the Grecian fleet, That in fierce conflict their bold barks should dare Rush to encounter with the Persian hosts. Mess. Know then, in numbers the barbaric fleet ' Was far superior : in ten squadrons, each Of thirty ships, Greece plough'd the deep ; of these One held a distant station. Xerxes led A thousand ships ; their number well I know ; Two hundred more, and seven, that swept the seas With speediest sail : this was their full amount. And in the engagement seem'd we not secure Of victory ? But unequal fortune sunk Our scale in fight, discomfitting our host. Atoss. The gods preserve the city of Minerva. Mess. The walls of Athens are impregnable, Their firmest bulwarks her heroic sons. Atoss. Which navy first advanced to the attack? Who led to the onset, tell me; the bold Greeks, Or, glorying in his numerous fleet, my son? Mess. Our evil genius, lady, or some god Hostile to Persia, led to ev'ry ill. Forth from the troops of Athens came a Greek, And thus addressed thy son, the imperial Xerxes : 'Soon as the shades of night descend, the Grecians 525 A.C.] AESCHYLUS. 033 Shall quit their station ; rushing to their oars They mean to separate, and in secret flight Seek safety !' At these words the royal chief, Little conceiving of the wiles of Greece And gods averse, to all the naval leaders Gave his high charge : ' Soon as yon sun shall cease To dart his radiant beams, and dark'niug night Ascends the temple of the sky, arrange In three divisions your -well-ordered ships, And guard each pass, each outlet of the seas : Others curing around this rocky isle Of Salamis. Should Greece escape her fate, And work her way by secret flight, your heads Shall answer the neglect.' This harsh command He gave, exulting in his mind, nor knew What Fate design'd. With martial discipline And prompt obedience, snatching a repast, Each mariner fixed well his ready oar. Soon as the golden sun was set, and night Advanced, each train'd to ply the dashing oar, Assumed his seat; in arms each warrior stood, Troop cheering troop through all the ships of war. Each to the appointed station steers his course ; And through the night his naval force each chief Fix'd to secure the passes. Night advanced, But not by secret flight did Greece attempt To escape. The morn, all beauteous to behold, Drawn by white steeds bounds o'er the enlightened earth; At once from every Greek with glad acclaim Burst forth the song of war, whose lofty notes The echo of the island rocks return'd, Spreading dismay through Persia's hosts, thus fallen From their high hopes ; no flight this solemn strain Portended, but deliberate valor bent On daring battle ; while the trumpet's sound Kindled the flames of war. But when their oars, The paean ended, with impetuous force Dash'd.the resounding surges, instant all Rush'd on in view : in orderly array The squadron on the right first led, behind Rode their whole fleet ; and now distinct we heard From every part this voice of exhortation : ' Advance ye sons of Greece, from thraldom save, Your country, save your wives, your children save, The temples of your gods, the sacred tomb Where rest your honor 'd ancestors ; this day The common cause of all demands your valor ! Meantime from Persia's hosts the deep'ning shout Answered their shout ; no time for cold delay ; But ship 'gainst ship its brazen beak impell'd. First to the charge a Grecian galley rush'd; 111 the Phrenician bore the rough attack. 264 AESCHYLUS. [Lsor. X, Its sculptured prow all shatter'd. Each advanced Daring an opposite. The deep array Of Persia at the first sustained the encounter ; But their throng'd numbers, in the narrow seas Confined, want room for action ; and, deprived Of mutual aid, beaks clash with beaks, and each Breaks all the other's oars : with skill disposed The Grecian navy circled them around In fierce assault ; and rushing from its height The inverted vessel sinks : the sea no more Wears its accustom'd aspect, with foul wrecks And blood disfigured ; floating carcasses Roll on the rocky shores : the poor remains Of the barbaric armament to flight Ply every oar inglorious : onward rush The Greeks amidst the ruins of the fleet, As through a shoal of fish caught in the net, Spreading destruction : the wide ocean o'er Wailings are heard, and loud laments, till 'night With darkness on her brow brought grateful truce. Should I recount each circumstance of woe, Ten times on my unfinished tale the sun Would set ; for be assured that not one day Could close the ruin of so vast a host. Atoss. Ah, what a boundless sea of woe hath burst On Persia, and -the whole barbaric race ! Mess. These are not half, not half our ills ; on these Came an assemblage of calamities, That sunk us with a double weight of woe. Atoss. What fortune can be more unfriendly to us Than this ? Say on, what dread calamity Sank Persia's host with greater weight of woe. Mess. Whoe'er of Persia's warriors glow'd in prime Of vig'rous youth, or felt their generous souls Expand with courage, or for noble birth Shone with distinguish'd lustre, or excell'd In firm and duteous loyalty, all these Are fall'n, ignobly, miserably fall'n. Atoss. Alas, their ruthless fate, unhappy friends! But in what manner tell me did they perish ? Mess. Full against Salamis an isle arises, Of small circumference, to the anchor'd bark Unfaithful ; on the promontory's brow, That overlooks the sea, Pan loves to lead The dance : to this the monarch sends these chiefs That when the Grecians from their shatter'd ships Should here seek shelter, these might hew them down An easy conquest, and secure the strand To their sea- wearied friends ; ill-judging what The event : but when the favoring god to Greece Gave the proud glory of this naval fight, Instant in all their glitt'ring arms they leap'd 525 A.C.] J3SCHYLUS. 265 From their light ships, and all the island round Encompass'd that our bravest stood dismay'd ; While broken rocks, whirl'd with tempestuous force, And storms of arrows crush'd them ; .then the Greeks Rush to the attack at once, and furious spread The carnage till each mangled Persian fell. Deep were the groans of Xerxes when he saw This havoc ; for his seat, a lofty mound Commanding the wide sea, o'erlooked his host. With rueful cries he rent his royal robes, And through his troops embattled on the shore Gave signal of retreat ; then started wild, And fled disorder'd. To the former ills These are fresh miseries to awake thy sighs. A toss. Invidious Fortune, how thy baleful power Hath sunk the hopes of Persia! Bitter fruit My son hath tasted from his purposed vengeance On Athens, famed for arms ; the fatal field Of Marathon, red with barbaric blood, Sufficed not ; that defeat he thought to avenge, And pull'd this hideous ruin on his head. But tell me, if thou canst, where didst thou leave The ships that happily escaped the wreck ? . Mess. The poor remains of Persia's scatter'd fleet Spread ev'ry sail -for flight, as the wind drives, In wild disorder; and on land no less* The ruin'd army ; in Boaotia some, With thirst oppress'd, at Crene's cheerful rills Were lost; forespent with breathless speed some pass The fields of Phocis, some the Doric plain, And near the gulf of Melia, the rich vale Through which Sperchius rolls his friendly stream. Achaia thence and the Thessalian state Received our famished train ; the greater part Through thirst and hunger perished there, oppreas'd At once by both: but we our painful steps Held onwards to Magnesia, and the land Of Macedonia, o'er the ford of Axius, And Bolbe's sedgy marshes, and the heights Of steep Pangaeos, to the realms of Thrace. That night, ere yet the season, breathing frore, Rush'd winter, and with ice encrusted o'er The flood of sacred Strymon ; such as own'd No god till now, awe-struck, with many a prayer Adored the earth and sky. When now the troops Had ceased their invocations to the gods, O'er the stream's solid crystal they began Their march; and we, who took our early way, Ere the sun darted his warm beams, pass'd safe : 7 * , But when his burning orb with fiery rays Unbound the middle current, down they sunk Each over other ; happiest he who found 266 AESCHYLUS. [LKOT. X. The speediest death : the poor remains, that 'scaped, With pain through Thrace dragg'd on their toilsome march, A feeble few, and reach'd their native soil ; So Persia sighs through all her States, and mourns Her dearest youth. This is no feigned tale : But many of the ills, that burst upon us In dreadful vengeance, I refrain to utter. Ckor. O Fortune, heavy with affliction's load, How hath thy foot crush'd all the Persian race ! Atoss. Ah me, what sorrows for our ruin'd host Oppress my soul ! Ye visions of the night, Haunting my dreams, how plainly did you show These ills ! You set them in too fair a light. Yet since your bidding hath in this prevail'd, First to the gods wish I to pour my prayers Then to the mighty dead present my off'rings, Bringing libations from my house : too late, I know, to change the past ; yet for the future, If haply better fortune may await it, Behooves you, on this sad event, to guide Your friends with faithful counsel. Should my son Keturn ere I have finish'd, let your voice Speak comfort to him; friendly to his house Attend him, nor let sorrow rise on sorrows. CHORUS. STROPHE. Awful sovereign of the skies, When now o'er Persia's numerous host Thou badest the storm with ruin rise, All her proud vaunts of glory lost, Ecbatana's imperial head By thee was wrapt in sorrow's dark'ning shade; Through Susa's palaces with loud lament, By their soft hands their veils all rent, The copious tear the virgins pour, That trickles their bare bosoms o'er. From her sweet couch up starts the widow'd bride, Her lord's loved image rushing on her soul, Throws the rich ornaments of youth aside, And gives her griefs to flow without control : Her griefs not causeless ; for the mighty slain Our melting tears demand, and sorrow-soften'd strain. ANTISTROPHE. $ow her wailings wide despair Pours these exhausted regions o'er: Xerxes, ill fated, led the war ; Xerxes, ill-fated, leads, no more ; 525 A.C.] AESCHYLUS. 267 Xerxes sent forth the unwise command, The crowded ships unpeopled all the land ; That land, o'er which Darius held his reign, Courting the arts of peace, in vain, O'er all his grateful realm adored, The stately Susa's gentle lord. Black o'er the waves his burden'd vessels sweep, For Greece elate the warlike squadrons fly; Now crush'd and whelm'd beneath the indignant deep The shatter'd wrecks and lifeless heroes lie: While, from the arms of Greece escaped, with toil The unshelter'd monarch roams o'er Thracia's dreary soil. EPODE. The first in battle slain By Cychrea's craggy shore Through sad constraint, ah me I forsaken lie, All pale and smear'd with gore : Raise high the mournful strain, And let the voice of anguish pierce the sky: Or roll beneath the roaring tide, By monsters rent of touch abhorr'd; "While through the widowM mansion echoing wide Sounds the deep groan, and wails its slaughter'd lord* . Pale with his fears the helpless orphan there Gives the full stream of plaintive grief to flow; While age its hoary head in deep despair Bends, list'ning to the shrieks of woe. With sacred awe The Persian law No more shall Asia's realms revere; To their lord's hand At his command No more the exacted tribute bear. Who now falls prostrate at the monarch's throne? His regal greatness is no more. Now no restraint the wanton tongue shall own, Free from the golden curb of power ; For on the rocks, wash'd by the beating flood, His awe-commanding nobles lie in blood. ATOSSA. CHORUS. Atossa. Whoe'r, my friends, in the rough stream of life Hath struggled with affliction, thence is taught That, when the flood begins to swell, the heart Fondly fears all things; when the fav'ring gale Of fortune smooths the current, it expands With unsuspecting confidence, and deems That gale shall always breathe. So to my eyes 268 uESCHYLUS. [LECT. X. All things now wear a formidable shape, And threaten from the gods : my ears are piere'd With sounds far other than of song. Such ills Dismay my sick'ning soul: hence from my house Nor glitt'ring car attends me, nor the train Of wonted state, while I return, and bear Libations soothing, charms that soothe the dead: "White milk, and lucid honey, pure-distill'd By the wild bee that craftsman of the flowers : The limpid droppings of the virgin fount, And this bright liquid from its mountain-mother Borne fresh the joy of the time-honored vine: The pale-green olive's odorous fruit, whose leaves Live everlastingly and those wreathed flowers, The smiling infants of the prodigal earth. Kniun fyt fimtttlj. SOPHOCLES. IT was in the very nature of the Athenian drama; as matured and per- fected by .ZEschylus, to concentrate and absorb almost every variety of poetical genius. The old lyrical poetry ceased, in a great measure, when tragedy arose ; or rather, tragedy was the complete development, the new and perfected consummation of the Dithyrambic ode. Lyrical poetry now passed into the choral song, as the epic merged into the dia- logue and .plot of the drama. Hence, at Athens, where audiences were numerous and readers few, every man who felt within himself the inspi- ration of the poet, would necessarily desire to see his poetry put into action assisted with all the pomp of spectacle and music, hallowed by the solemnity of a religious festival, and breathed by artists elaborately trained to heighten the eloquence of words into the reverent ear of as- sembled Greece. .. The career of Sophocles, the most majestic of the Greek poets, was eminently felicitous. His birth was noble, his fortune affluent ; his nat- ural gifts genius and beauty were the rarest that nature bestows on man. All the care which the age permitted was lavished on his educa- tion. For his feet even, the ordinary obstacles in the path of distinction were smoothed away. He entered life under auspices the most propitious and poetical. At the age of fifteen ne headed the youths who performed the triumphal paean round the trophy of Salamis. At twenty-five, when the bones of Theseus were borne back to Athens in the galley of the vic- torious Cimon, he exhibited his first play, and won the prize from JEschy- lus. That haughty genius, indignant at the success of a younger rival, soon after retired, as we have already observed, from Athens to Syra- cuse ; and though he thence sent some of his dramas to the Athenian stage, the absent veteran could but excite less enthusiasm than the young aspirant, whose artful and polished genius was more in harmony with the reigning taste than the vast but rugged grandeur of j3schylus. Indeed, 270 SOPHOCLES. [LKOT. XL it was impossible for ^Eschylus, tangibly and visibly, to body forth the shadowy Titans, and the obscure sublimity of his designs ; and hence he never obtained a popularity on the stage equal to his celebrity as a poet. For sixty-three years Sophocles continued to exhibit dramas ; twenty times he obtained the first prize, and was never degraded to the third. The ordinary persecutions of envy itself seem to have spared this fortu- nate poet. To him were known neither the mortifications of ^Eschylus, nor the relentless mockery heaped upon Euripides. On his fair name the terrible Aristophanes himself affixed no brand. The sweetness of his genius extended indeed to his temper, and personal popularity assisted his public triumphs. Nor did he appear to have keenly shared the party animosities of the day. His serenity, however, has in it something^ of enviable rather than honorable indifference. He owed his first distinction to Cimon, and he served afterwards under Pericles : on his entrance into life, he led the youths that circled the trophy of Grecian freedom ; and on the verge of death, he calmly assented to the surrender of Athenian liberties. Hence Aristophanes, perhaps, mingled more truth than usual with his wit, when even in the shades below he says of Sophocles, l He was contented here he is contented there.' A disposition thus facile, united with an admirable genius, will, not unfrequently, effect a miracle, and reconcile prosperity with fame. . Critics have greatly erred in representing ^Eschylus and Sophocles as belonging to the same era, and referring both to the age of Pericles. These two great poets were formed under the influence of very dif- ferent generations ; and if .ZEschylus lived through the early part of the career of 'Sophocles, the accident of longevity by no means warrants us in considering them the children of the same age the creatures of the same influences. JEschylus belonged to the race and the period from which emerged Miltiades, Themistocles and Aristides Sophocles to those which produced Phidias, Pericles, and Socrates ; while .ZEschylus, from the grandeur and sublimity of his genius might be called the Miltiades, So- phocles, from the calmness of his disposition, and the "symmetry and stateliness of his genius, might be entitled the Pericles of poetry. Sophocles was a native of the Attic village of Colonus, which was situated within a mile of the city of Athens, and the scenery and relig- ious associations of which have been described by the poet, in his last, and perhaps his greatest work, in a manner which shows how powerful an in- fluence his birth-place exercised on the whole current of his genius. The date of his birth, according to the most reliable authorities, was 495 A.C. His father's name was Sophilus, but with regard to his condition in life, we have many very contradictory accounts. According to Aristoxenus, he was a carpenter or smith ; and, according to Ister, he was a sword-maker. 495 A.D.] SOPHOCLES. 2Yl The probability is, however, that Sophilus followed neither of these trades himself, but that, as was very common at that time in Athens, he possessed a number of slaves, some of whom may have been employed in either of those branches of handicraft. This idea is countenanced by the sequel of Sophocles' own life ; for it is not probable that the son of a common artificer should have been associated in military command with the first men of the State, such as Pericles and Thucydides, and also be* cause, if he had been low-born, the comic poets would not have failed to expose the fact, and attack him on that ground. To our own mind these arguments are entirely conclusive; for the proud Athenians were too tenacious to preserve the distinctions of birth, to permit them to be l under any circumstances, disregarded. But whatever may have been the condition of Sophocles' parents, it is evident that he received an education not inferior to that of the sons of the most distinguished citizens of Athens. To both of the two leading branches of Greek education, music and gymnastics, he was carefully trained, in company with the boys of his own age, and in each he gained the prize of a garland. Of the skill which he had attained in music and dancing in his sixteenth year, and of the perfection of his bodily form, we have conclusive evidence in the fact that, when the Athenians were assembled in solemn festival around the trophy which they had set up in Salamis to -celebrate their victory over the fleet of Xerxes, Sophocles was chosen to lead, naked and with lyre in hand, the chorus which danced about the trophy and sung the song of triumph. In music Sophocles was instructed by the celebrated Lamprus, and he is said, by one of his biographers, to have learned the art of tragedy from no less an instructor than ^Eschylus ; but this latter statement means nothing more than that Sophocles, having received the art in the form to which it had been ad- vanced by jEschylus, made in it other improvements of his own. Having attained the twenty-seventh year of his age, and completed his preparatory studies, Sophocles now prepared to make his first appear- ance as a dramatist. The circumstances were peculiarly interesting ; not only from the fact that Sophocles, a comparative youth, came forward as the rival of the veteran oEschylus, whose supremacy had been maintained during an entire generation, but also from the character of the judges. It was, in reality, a contest between the new and the old styles of tragic poetry, in which the competitors were the greatest dramatists, with the single exception of Shakspeare, that ever wrote, and the umpires were the first men, in position and education, of a State in which almost every citizen had a nice perception of the beauties of poetry and art. The solemnities of the Great Dionysia were rendered more imposing by the return of Cimon from his expedition to Scyros, bringing with him the Bones of Theseus, the founder of tl^ Attican confederacy. Public ex- pectation was so excited respecting the approaching dramatic contest, 272 SOPHOCLES. [LECT. XL and party-feeling ran so high, that Apsephion, the Archon Eponymus, whose duty it was to appoint the judges, had not yet ventured to proceed to the final act of drawing the lots for their election, when Cimou, with his nine colleagues in the command, having entered the theatre, and made the customary libations to Dionysus, the Archon detained them at the altar, and administered to them the oath appointed for the judges in the dramatic contests. After much deliberation, the decision was in favor of Sophocles, and the first prize was accordingly bestowed upon him. JEschylus, though the second prize was awarded to him, was so much mortified at his defeat, that, as has already been observed, he soon after left Athens and retired to Sicily. The drama which Sophocles ex- hibited on this occasion is supposed to have been the Triptolemus, and to have had for its principal subject the institution of the Eleusiniau mysteries, and the establishment of the worship of Demeter at Athens. The date of this contest between Sophocles and jEschylus was 468 A.C. ; and from that period the former, for nearly thirty years, held, un- interruptedly, the supremacy of the Athenian stage. The year 440 A.C. may be regarded as the most important in the poet's life. In the spring of that year he brought out the earliest and one of the best of his extant dramas the Antigone a play which afforded the Athenians such satis- faction, especially on account of the political wisdom it displayed, that they appointed him one of the ten Strategi, of whom Pericles was the chief, in the war against the aristocratical faction of Samos. The event occurred when Sophocles was fifty-five years of age, and seven years be- fore the commencement of the Peloponnesian war. Sophocles' genius was not, however, adapted to military pursuits, and he, therefore, neither obtained nor sought for any military reputation : " he would often good-humoredly repeat the judgment of Pericles concern- ing him, that he understood the making of poetry, but not the commanding of an army. From an anecdote preserved by Athenseus from the Travels of the poet Ion, it appears that ophocles was engaged in bringing up the reinforcements from Chios, and that, amidst the occupations of his military command, he preserved his woated tranquillity of mind, and found leisure to gratify his voluptuous tastes, and to delight his com- rades with his calm and pleasant conversation at their banquets. Indeed Sophocles, according to Plutarch, wag not ashamed to confess that he had no claim to military distinction ; for, when he was serving with Nicias, probably in the Sicilian expedition, upon being asked by that general his opinion first, in a council of war, as being the oldest of the Strategi, he replied, ' I indeed am the oldest in years, but you in counsel.' One of the most interesting incidents connected with this period of the life of Sophocles, is the opportunit^it afforded him of forming an inti- macy with Herodotus, the father of history. Herodotus was still resid- 495A.C.] SOPHOCLES. 273 ing at Samos when Sophocles sailed thither with the Athenian troops ; and, according to Plutarch, so familiar an intercourse subsisted between the great poet andthe historian during the stay of the former in the is- land, that, before he left, he composed a complimentary poem for Herod- otus, and in it inserted his own age. To sustain this intimacy, Herodo- tus afterwards made his visits to Athens very frequent ; and the influ- ence of the familiar intercourse between the poet and the historian may be still traced in those striking parallelisms in their works which naturally arose out of their mutual a4miration of each other's genius. The latter part of the life of Sophocles, extending from the fifty-sixth year of his age till his death, and embracing a period of thirty-four years, was that of his greatest poetical activity, and to it belong all his extant dramas. Respecting his personal history, however, during this period, we have scarcely any details. The excitement of the Pelopon- nesian war seems to have had no other influence upon him than to stimu- late his literary efforts by the new impulse which it gave to the in- tellectual activity of the age ; until that disastrous period after the Sici- lian expedition, when the reaction of unsuccessful war abroad led to anarchy at home. Then we find him, like others of the chief .literary men of Athens, joining in the desperate attempt to stay the ruin of their country by means of an aristocratic revolution ; although Sophocles took no other part in this movement, than to assent to it as a measure of pub- lic safety. When the Athenians, on receiving the news of the utter de- struction of their Sicilian army, appointed ten of the elders of the city, as a sort of committee of public salvation, Sophocles was one of the number. As he was then in his eighty-third year, it is not probable, however, that he took any active part in their proceedings, or that he was chosen for any other reason than for the authority of his name. But whatever may have been Sophocles' connection with the establish- ment of the oligarchical Council of Four Hundred, in 411 A.C., one thing at least, as to his political principles, is evident, and that is, that he was an ardent lover of his country. The patriotic sentiments which we still admire in his poems, were fully illustrated by his own conduct ; for, unlike Simonides and Pindar, -^Eschylus, Euripides, and Plato, and others of the greatest poets and philosophers of Greece, Sophocles would never condescend to accept the patronage of monarchs, or to leave his country in compliance with their repeated invitations. His aifections were fixed upon the land that had produced the heroes of Marathon and Salamis, whose triumphs were associated with his earliest recollections ; and his eminently religious spirit loved to dwell upon the sacred city of Athens, and the hallowed groves of his sacred Colonus. In his latter days he filled the office of priest to Halon, a native hero, and the gods are said to have rewarded his devotion by granting him supernatural re- velations. 18 274 SOPHOCLES. [LKCT. XI. Towards the close of his life Sophocles was subjected to one of the severest and most unnatural trials that his sensitive nature could have been summoned to bear. His family consisted of two^ sons, lophon, the offspring of Nicostrate, a free woman of Athens, and Ariston, by Theoris, a native of Sicyon : he had also a grandson named Sophocles, the son of Ariston, for whom he showed the greatest affection. lophon who was, by the laws of Athens, his father's rightful heir, jealous of So- phocles' love for the son of Ariston, and apprehensive that he intended to bestow upon him a large proportion of his property, had him cited before a certain court that had jurisdiction in family affairs, to answer to the charge of insanity. As his only reply, Sophocles exclaimed, ' If I am Sophocles, I am not beside myself; and if I am beside myself, I am not Sophocles ;' and then proceeded to read from his (Edipus at Co- Zonus, which he had recently written, but had not yet brought out, one of its most magnificent passages, upon which the judges not only at once dis- missed the case, but also severely rebuked lophon for his undutiful and unnatural conduct. To this incident, and to the forgiveness of his son, Sophocles is supposed to allude, in the lines in the ' (Edipus at Colonus,' where Antigone pleads with her father, Polynices, as other fathers had been induced to forgive their bad children. The various accounts of the circumstances attending the death and burial of Sophocles are very conflicting, and bear a fictitious and poetical aspect. According to Ister and Neanthes, he was choked by a grape ; while Satyrus relates that in a public recitation of the Antigone he sus- tained his voice so long without a pause that, through the weakness of extreme old age, he lost his breath and his life together; and others ascribe his death to the excessive joy which the obtaining of his last po- etic prize produced. But whatever may have been the immediate cause of his death, it is certain that he lived to pass the ninetieth year of his age, and that so great was the respect in which the Athenians held his memory, that for many years after they honored it with an annual sacri- fice. By the universal consent of the best critics, of both ancient and mod- ern times, the tragedies of Sophocles are not only the perfection of the Greek drama; but they approach, as nearly as is conceivable, to the per- fect ideal. model of that species of poetry. Such a point of perfection, in any art, is always the result of a combination of causes, of which the internal impulse of the author's own creative genius is but one. The ex- ternal influences which determine the direction of that genius, and give the opportunity for its manifestations, must be most carefully considered. Among these influences, none is more powerful than the political and intellectual character of the age. 495 A.C.] SOPHOCLES. 275 That point, iji the language of Philip Smith in the history of states, in which the minds of men, newly set free from traditional dogmatic systems, have not yet been given up to the vagaries of unbridled specula- tions in which religious objects and ideas are still looked upon with rev- erence, but no longer worshipped at a distance, as too solemn and myste- rious for a free and rational contemplation in which a newly-recovered freedom is valued in proportion to the order which forms its rule and sanction, and license has not yet overpowered law in which man firmly, but modestly, puts forward his claim to be his own ruler and his own priest, to think and work for himself and for his country, controlled only by those laws which are needful to hold society together, and to subject individual energy to the public welfare in which successful war has roused the spirit, quickened the energies, and increased the resources of a people, but prosperity and faction have not yet corrupted the heart and dissolved the bonds of society when the taste, the leisure, and the wealth, which demand and encourage the means of refined pleasure, have not yet been indulged to that degree of exhaustion which requires more exciting and unwholesome stimulants such is the period which brings forth the most perfect productions in literature and art ; such was the period which gavje birth to Sophocles and Phidias. To these external influences, which affected the spirit of the drama as it appears in Sophocles, must be added the changes in its form and mech- anism, which enlarged its sphere and modified its character. Of tnese changes, the most important was the addition of the third actor, by which three persons were allowed to appear on the stage at once, instead of only two. This change vastly enlarged the scope of the dramatic action, and, indeed, as Miiller justly observes, l it appeared to accomplish all that was necessary to the variety and mobility of action in tragedy, without sacri- ficing that simplicity and clearness which, in the good ages of antiquity, were always held to be the most essential qualities.' By the addition of this third actor, the chief person of the drama was brought under two conflicting influences, by the force of which both sides of his character are at once displayed ; as in the scene where Antigone has to contend at the same time with the weakness of Ismene and the tyranny of Creon. Even those scenes in which only two actors appear are more significant by their relation to the parts of the drama in which the action combines all three. Sophocles also introduced some very important modifications into the choral parts of the drama raising, according to Suidas, the number of" the chorus from twelve, to fifteen : he also curtailed the choral odes, which, in the tragedies of ^Eschylus, occupied a large space, and formed a sort of lyric exhibition of the subject, interwoven with the dramatic representation. His choruses also are less closely connected with the genera) subject and progress of the drama than those of .ZEschylus. In 276 SOPHOCLES. [LECT. XI. JEschylus the chorus is a deeply interested party, often taking a decided and even vehement share in the action, and generally involved in the ca- tastrophe ; but the chorus of Sophocles has more of the character of a spectator, moderator, and judge, comparatively impartial, but sympa- thising generally with the chief character of the play, while it explains and harmonizes, as far as possible, the feelings of all the actors. By such changes as these Sophocles made the tragedy a drama, in the proper sense of the word. The interest and progress of the piece centered almost entirely in the actions and speeches of the persons on the stage. A necessary consequence of this alteration, combined with the addition of the third actor, was a much more careful elaboration of the dialogue \ and the care bestowed upon this part of the composition, is one of the most striking features of the art of Sophocles, whether we regard the energy and point of the conversations which take place upon the stage, or the vivid pictures of actions occurring elsewhere, which are drawn in the speeches of the messengers. It must not, however, be imagined that, in bestowing so much care upon the dialogue, and confining their choral parts within their proper limits, Sophocles was careless as to the mode in which he executed the latter. On the contrary, he appears as if deter- mined to use his utmost efforts to compensate, in the beauty of his odes, for what he had taken away from them in their length. His early at- tainments in music the period, in which his lot was cast, when the great cycle of lyric poetry had been completed, and he could take Simonides and Pindar as the starting point of his efforts the maje-stic choral poetry of his great predecessor jEschylus, which he regarded rather as a standard to be surpassed, than as a pattern to be imitated combined with* his own genius and exquisite taste, to give birth to those brief but perfect effusions of lyric poetry, the undisturbed enjoyment of which was reckoned by Aris- tophanes as among the choicest fruits of peace. The last improvement that we shall notice, made by Sophocles upon the representation. of the drama, though merely mechanical in its nature, was of the utmost importance the introduction of painted scenes adapted to the localities of the play exhibited. The invention of scene-painting is expressly attributed to Sophocles, by Aristotle ; and the advantages which its introduction gave him over his great predecessor, must be too obvious to need any illustration. All these external and formal arrangements had necessarily the most important influence on the whole spirit and character of the tragedies of Sophocles ; as in the works of the first-rate artist, the form is an essential part of the substance. But not to dwell any longer on the various char- acteristics of the great dramatist, we shall proceed to illustrate our re- marks by analysing some of his extant plays, and selecting extracts from others. 495 A.C.] . SOPHOCLES. 277 Sophocles, according to Suidas, was the author of one hundred and thirteen dramas, comprising both tragedies and satirical plays. Of these dramas seven tragedies have been preserved ; and from the estimation in which these were held by the ancients, we may naturally infer that they were amongst the most valuable of his productions. Miiller- places them in the following chronological order : Antigone, Ekctra, Trachinian Women, King (Edipus, Ajax, Philoctetes, and (Edipus at Colonus. The ' Antigone' turns entirely on the contest between the interests and requirements of the State, and the rights and duties of the family. Thebes has successfully repulsed the attack of the Argive army ; but Po- lynices, one of her citizens, and a member of the Theban royal family, lies dead before the walls among the enemies who had threatened Thebes with fire and sword. Creon, the king of Thebes, only follows a custom of the Greeks, the object of which was to preserve a State from the attacks of its own citizens, when he leaves the enemy of his native land unburied, as a prey to dogs and vultures ; yet the manner in which he keeps up this polit- ical principle, the excessive severity of the punishment denounced against those who wished to bury the corpse, the terrible threats addressed to those who watched it, and, still more, the boastful and violent strains in which he sets forth and extols his own principles all this gives us a proof of that infatuation of a narrow mind, unenlightened by gentleness of a higher nature, which appeared to the Greeks to contain in itself a foreboding of approaching misfortune. But what was to be done by the relations of the dead man, the females in his family, on whom the care of the corpse was imposed as a religious duty, by the universal law of the Greeks ? That they shall feel their duty to the family in all its force, and not compre- hend what they owed to the State; is in accordance with the natural char- acter of women ; but while the one sister, Ismene, only sees the impossi- bility of performing the former duty, the great soul of Antigone fires with the occasion, and forms resolves of the greatest boldness. Defiance begets defiance : Creon's harsh decree calls forth in her breast the most obstinate, inflexible self-will, which disregards all consequences, and despises all gentler means. In this consists her guilt, which Sophocles does not con- ceal ; on the contrary, he brings it prominently Before us, and especially in the choruses ; but the very reason why Antigone is so highly tragical a character is this, that notwithstanding the crime she has committed, she appears to us so great and so amiable. The sentinel's description of her, how she came to the corpse in the burning heat o/ the sun, while a scorching whirlwind was throwing all nature into confusion, and tow she raised a shrill cry of woe when she saw that the earth she had scattered over it had been taken away, is a picture of a being, who, possessed by an ethereal idea as by an irresistible law of nature, blindly follows her own noble impulses. It must, however, be remembered that it is not the tragical end of this 278 SOPHOCLES. [LECT. XL great and noble creature, but the disclosure of Creon's infatuation, which forms the general object of the tragedy ; and that, although Sophocles considered Antigone as going beyond what women should dare, he lays much more stress on the truth there is something holy without and above the State, to which the State should pay respect and reverence a doctrine which Antigone herself declares with irresistible truth and sub- limity. Every movement in the course of this piece, which' could shake Creon in the midst of his madness, and open his eyes to his own situation, turns upon this, and is especially directed to him : the noble security with which Antigone, relies on the. holiness of her deed ; the sisterly affec- tion of Ismene, who would willingly share the consequences of the act \ the loving zeal of Hsemon, who is at first prudent and then desperate ; the warnings of Tiresias : all are in vain, till the latter breaks out into those prophetic threatenings of misfortune which at last, when it is too late, penetrate Creon's hardened heart. Hsemon slays himself on the body of Antigone, the death of the mother follows that of her son, and Creon is compelled to acknowledge that there are blessings in one's family, for which no political wisdom is an adequate substitute. A few detached passages is all that our space will allow us to present of this important and interesting production. Antigone having been dis- covered in her second attempt to bury the remains of her brother, is brought before the tyrant, and the following scene is presented : CREON. ANTIGONE. CHORUS. Or. Answer then, Bending thy head to earth, dost thou confess, Or canst deny the charge ? Ant. I do confess it Freely ; I scorn to disavow the act. Or. Reply with answer brief to one plain question, Without evasion. Didst thou know the law, That none should do this deed? Ant. I knew it well: How could I fail to know ; it was most plain. Cr. Didst thou then dare transgress our royal mandate? Ant. Ne'er did eternal Jove such laws ordain, Or Justice, throned amid th' infernal powers, Who on mankind these holier rites imposed, Nor can I deem thine edict armed with power, To contravene the firm unwritten laws Of the just gods, thyself a weak frail mortal 1 These are no laws of yesterday, they live For evermore, and none can trace their birth. I would not dare, by mortal threat appalled, To violate their sanction, and incur The vengeance of the gods. I knew before 495 A. C.] SOPHOCLES 279 That I must die, though thou hadst ne'er proclaim'd it, And if I perish ere th' allotted term, I deem that death a blessing. Who that lives, Like me, encompassed by unnumbered ills, But would account it blessedness to die? If then I meet the doom thy laws assign, It nothing grieves me. Had I left my brother, From my own mother sprung, on the bare earth To lie unburied, that indeed might grieve me ; But for this deed I mourn not. If to thee Mine actions seem unwise, 'tis thine own soul That errs from wisdom, when it deems me senseless. Ch. This maiden shows her father's stubborn soul, fffrjb And scorns to bend beneath misfortune's power. Cr. Yet thou might'st know, that loftiest spirits oft Y*-\ Are bowed to deepest shame ; and thou might'st mark The hardest metal soft and ductile made By the resistless energy of flame ; Oft, too, the fiery courser have I seen By a small bit constrained. High arrogant thoughts Beseem not one, whose duty is submission. In this presumption she was lessoned first When our imperial laws she dared to spurn, And to that insolent wrong fresh insult adds, In that she glories, vaunting of the deed. Henceforth no more deem mine a manly soul ; Concede that name to hers, if from this crime She shall escape unpunished. Though she spring From our own sister, she shall not evade A shameful deatibt. Ant. And welcome ! Whence could I Obtain a holier praise than by committing My brother to the tomb ? These, too, I know Would all approve the action, but that fear Curbs their free thoughts to base and servile silence ; But 'tis the noble privilege of tyrants To say and do whate'er their lordly will, Their only law, may prompt. Cr. Of all the Thebans Dost thou alone see this ? Ant. They, too, behold it, But fear constrains them to an abject silence. Cr. Doth it not shame thee to dissent from these ? Ant. I cannot think it shame to love my brother. Cr. Was not he 'too, who died for Thebes, thy brother ? Ant. He was; and of the self-same parents born. Cr. Why then dishonor him to grace the guilty ? Ant. The dead entombed will not attest thy words. Cr. Yes ; if thou honor with an equal doom That impious wretch. Ant. He did not fall a slave, He was my brother. 280 SOPHOCLES. [LEOT. XL Or. Yet he wronged his country; The other fought undaunted in her cause. Ant. Still death at least demands an equal law. Cr. Ne'er should the base be honored like the noble. Ant. Who knows, if this be holy in the shades ? Cr. Death cannot change a foe into a friend. Ant. My nature tends to mutual love, not hatred. Cr. . Then to the grave, and love them, if thou must. But while I live no woman shall bear sway. CHORUS. STROPHE I. What blessedness is theirs, whose earthly date Glides unembittered by the taste of woel But when a house is struck by angry Fate, Through all its line what ceaseless miseries flowl As .when from Thrace rude whirlwinds sweep, And in thick darkness wrap the yawning deep, Conflicting surges on the strand Dash the black mass of boiling sand Rolled from the deep abyss, the rocky shore, Struck by the swollen tide, reverberates the roar. ANTISTROPHE I. I see the ancient miseries of thy race, O Labdacus! arising from the dead With fresh despair ; nor sires from sons efface The curse some angry power hath rivetted Forever on thy destined linel Once more a cheering radiance seemed to shine O'er the last relic of thy name ; This, too, the Powers of Darkness claim, Cut off by Hell's keen scythe combined With haughty words unwise, and frenzy of the mind. STROPHE II. Can mortal arrogance restrain* Thy matchless might, imperial Jove I Which all-subduing sleep assaults in vain, And months celestial, as they move, In never-wearied train : Spurning the power of age, enthroned in might, Thou dwell'st 'mid heaven's broad light. This was, in ages past, thy firm decree, Is now, and must forever be ; That none of mortal race on earth shall know, A life of joy serene, a course unmarked by woe. ANTISTROPHE. II. Hope beams with ever-varying ray; Now fraught with blessings to mankind, 495 A.C.] . SOPHOCLES. 281 Now with vain dreams that lure but to betray ; And man pursues, with ardor blind, Her still deluding way, Till on the latent flame he treads dismayed. Wisely the sage hath said, And time hath proved his truth, that when by heaven To woe man's darkened soul is driven, Evil seems good to his distorted mind, Till soon he meets and mourns the doom by fate assigned. But lo ! the youngest of thy sons, Haemon advances comes he wrung with grief For the impending doom Of his fair plighted bride, Antigone, And mourning much his blasted nuptial joys 1 Enter HJEMON. Cr. We soon shall need no prophet to inform us. Hearing our doom irrevocably past On thy once destined bride, coms't thou my son. Incensed against thy father? or, thus acting, Still do we share thy reverence? H O, then, indulge not thou this mood alone, ^?\ f !"( \> To deem no reasoning cogent save thine own; For he who vaunts himself supremely skilled, In speech and judgment o'er his fellow men, When weighed in wisdom's balance, is found wanting. It cannot shame a mortal, though most wise, To learn much from experience, and in much Submit. Thou seest the pliant trees,, that bow 495 A.C.] SOPHOCLES. 283 Beneath the rushing torrent, rise unstripped; But all, that stem erect its onward course, Uprooted fall and perish. Quell thy -wrath- Unbend to softer feelings. If one .ray Of wisdom's light my younger breast illume, I deem the man, whose vast expansive mind Grasps the whole sphere of knowledge noblest far ; But since such boon is rare, the second praise Is this, to learn from those whose words are wise. Ch. If he hath spoken wisely, my good lord, 'Tis fit to weigh his reasoning. Thou, too, youth, [To Hcemon] Regard thy father's. Both have argued welL Or. And must we stoop, in this our cooler age, Thus to be lessoned by a beardless boy I Ha. Not stoop to learn injustice. I am young, But thou shouldst weigh my actions, not my years.. Cr. Thou deem'st it justice, then, to favor rebels? Ha. Ne'er would I ask thy favor for the guilty. Cr. Is not this maiden stained with manifest guilt! Ha. The general voice of Thebes repels the charge. Cr. Shall, then the city dictate laws to me ? Ha. Do not thy W9rds betray a very youth ? Cr. Should I, or should another, sway the State ? Hce. That, is no State, which crouches to one despot I Cr. Is not a monarch master of his State ? Ha. How nobly would'st thou lord it o'er a desert 1 Cr. Behold, I pray you, how this doughty warrior Strives in a woman's cause. Hce. Art thou A woman ? I strive for none, save thee. Cr. Oh thou most vile 1 Wouldst thou withstand thy father? Ha. When I see My father swerve from justice. Cr. Do I err^ Revering mine own laws ? Ha. ' Dost thou revere them, When thou wouldst trample on the laws of heaven ? Cr. thou degenerate wretch 1 thou woman's slave 1 Ha. Ne'er shall thou find me the vile slave of baseness 1 Cr. Thou ne'er shalt wed her living. Ha. If she die, Her death shall crush another. Cr. Dai 1 ing villian, Dost thou proceed to threats ?* Ha. And does he threat Who but refutes vain counsels? Cr. At thy cost, Shalt thou reprove me, void thyself of sense. Ha. Now, but thou art my father, I would Bay . That thou art most unwise. Cr. Hence, woman's slave ! And prate no more to me. 284 SOPHOCLES. [LECT. XL Ha. Wouldst thou then speak Whate'er thou list, and not endure reply? Cr. Aye, is it true ? Then by Olympian Jove, , I swear thou shalt not beard me thus unpunished 1 Ho I bring that hated thing, that she may die, E'en in the presence of her doting bridegroom. Ha. Believe it not. Before mine eyes at least, She shall not die, nor thou such dream indulge; I quit thy sight forever. They who list May stand the tame spectators of thy madness. [Exit Hcemon. Ch. The youth has passed, my lord, in desperate wrath A soul like his may rush from rankling grief To deeds of frenzy. Cr. Let him do, and dare Beyond the power of man, he shall not save her. Ch. What death dost thou design her ? Cr. To a spot By mortal foot untrodden, will I lead her ; And deep immure her in a rocky cave, Leaving enough of sustenance to provide A due atonement, that the State may shun Pollution from her death. There let her calj On gloomy Hades, the sole power she owns, To shield her from her doom; or learn, though late, At least this lesson; 'tis a bootless task To render homage to the powers of helL ***** \_Antlgone is brought in guarded.] STROPHE I. Ant. Behold me, princes of my native laud 1 Treading the last sad path, And gazing on the latest beam Of yon resplendent sun To gaze no more forever! The stern hand Of all-entombing Death Impels me living still To Acheron's bleak shore ungraeed By nuptial rites ; no hymeneal strain Hath hymned my hour of bliss, And joyless Death will be my bridegroom now. Ch. Therefore, with endless praise renowned, To those drear regions wilt thou pass; Unwasted aught by slow disease, Unwounded by avenging sword, Spontaneous, living, sole of mortal birth, Shalt thou to death descend. ANTISTROPHE I. Ant. Yes 1 I have heard by how severe a doom The Phrygian stranger died On Sipylus' bleak brow sublime, Whom, in its cold embrace; 495 A. C.] SOPHOCLES. 285 The creeping jock, like wreathing ivy, strained. Her, in chill dews dissolved, As antique legends tell, Ne'er do th' exhaustless snows desert, Nor from her eyes do trickling torrents cease * To gush. A doom like hers, Alas, how like ! hath fate reserved for me. Oh. A goddess she, and sprung from gods ; We, mortal as our fathers were. What matchless fame is thine 1 to fall like those Of ancestry divine ! STROPHE n. Ant. Ah me ! I am derided. Why, oh why, By my ancestral gods, Why do ye mock, ere yet the tomb Hath veiled me from your sight? my loved Thebes ! and ye, Her lordly habitants 1 ye Dircsean streams 1 ^ Thou sacred grove of car-compelling Thebes I 1 here invoke you to attest my wrongs, How, by my friends unwept, and by what laws, I sink into the cavern gloom Of this untimely sepulchre I Me miserable ! Outcast from earth, and from the tomb, I am not of the living or the dead. Ch. Hurried to daring's wild excess, Deeply, my daughter, hast thou sinned, Against the exalted throne of Right. The woes that crushed thy father, fall on thee. ANTISTROPHE n. Ant. Ah 1 thou hast probed mine anguish to the quick, The source of all my pangs, My father's widely-blazoned fate; And the long train of ills, Which crushed, in one wide wreck The famed Labdacidae ! Woe for the withering curse Of those maternal nuptials, which impelled My sire, unconscious, to a parent's couch 1 From whom I sprung, by birth a very wretch: Ch. Religion bids us grace the dead ; But might, when regal might bears sway, Must never, never, be contemned. Thine own unbending pride hath sealed thy doom. Ant. Unmourned, unfriended, 'reft of bridal joys, Despairingly I tread The path to Music had, at this time, begun to exercise an influence over poetry it was a step to introduce it into the domain of philosophy. Its application to account for the order and regularity which reigned among the heavenly bodies, naturally suggested itself to an astronomer, whose studies had been directed to it in the abstract, and who, even in his medical studies, was led to make observations on its influence upon the human frame. From these considerations, it is clear that the Pythagorean theory of numbers was reasonable, so far as it resolved all the relations, whether of space or time, into those of number or proportion, and asserted that the order of the universe was maintained by the laws of harmony ; but it became arbitrary mere words without meaning when it assumed that mathematical quantities and ideas were not symbols of things, but the things themselves the elements out of which material essences origin- ated, and that even virtue, justice, and all other moral qualities, were defined by certain fixed and determined numbers. The same mysticism and obscurity, which pervaded the doctrines just noticed, enter also into all the investigations of the Pythagoreans respect- ing the spiritual nature of man. The human soul they believed to be an 426 SOCRATES. [LECT. XVI. emanation from the Deity eternal, personal, dwelling in other bodies .successively, and punished or rewarded in its future state of being able to energize only by means of its union with the body, the senses of which are its instruments and organs. They divided it into two parts, the ra- tional and the irrational the governing part being the peculiar property of man the other, the seat of the passions and instinct, common to man with the lower animals. But the most important feature of the Pythagorean philosophy was, that it had for its principal objects the enunciation of one great truth the superiority of intellectual activity to corporeal organization. Arbi- trary as its theory of numbers may have been, nevertheless, in teaching that all knowledge was resolvable into that of mathematical relations, it referred its origin, not to the operations of the bodily senses, but of pure intellect. Even in musical harmony the effects and phenomena alone are apprehended and appreciated by the ear ; the theory and the principles of .harmony must be investigated by the logical powers. Thus, the in- tellect was most made the judge of truth of every kind, without any necessary dependence upon the deceptive tendencies of the external senses. It was, doubtless, a yearning after this result, so seductive to contemplative minds, which led Pythagoras and his followers into the unsound application and illogical developments of a theory which, in its simplicity, appeared to rest upon no unreasonable foundation. Of the numerous followers of Pythagoras, the principal were Ernped- ocles of Agrigeutum, who flourished about 444 A.C. ; Oeellus of Luca- nia, Archytas of Tarentum, and Philolaus of Crotona ; but our limited space will not permit us to particularize them. From the two primitive schools of philosophy which we have thus n ticed, sprang all the variety of sects into which Greece was afterwards divided ; a brief notice of the principal of which will close our present remarks. The first school that drew its descent from the Ionic, was the Socratic; so called from its founder Socrates, who was a pupil of the last public teacher of the Ionic school. Socrates is entitled to the praise of being the best man of pagan antiquity ; the charges brought by some of his con- temporaries against his purity being unsustained by evidence. Socrates was the son of Sophroniscus, a statuary, and was born in Athens, 468 A.C. He was first trained to the manual employment of his father, but was afterwards patronized by Crito, a wealthy Athenian, and enjoyed the instruction of the most eminent teachers of the day. In the course of his life he served several times in war, as a soldier ; and in one engagement he is represented to have saved the life of Alcibiades ; in another, that of Xenophon. After .he began to teach, most of his time 46S A.C.] SOCRATES. 427 was spent in public, and he was at all times ready and free to discourse with all who might wish to hear him. In the latter part of his life he filled many civil offices with honor and dignity. His domestic relations were not happy. He was subjected by his wife to the most trying vexa- tions ; though doubtless, the account of them is very greatly exaggerated. His trial, condemnation, and death, are themes of intense interest to both the scholar and the philanthropist; and have fixed an indelible stain upon the character of the Athenians. At his trial, conscious of his innocence, he had no advocate, but made his own defence. Lysias, the most cele- brated orator of the age, prepared an oration for his use, but Socrates declined to accept it; and Plato desired to speak in his behalf, but the court would not permit him to do so. The Socratic mode of instruction was peculiar, being entirely dialogis- tic, and consisting of an actual dialogue between the teacher and pupil. Socrates would begin with the simplest and most obvious truths, or ad- mitted principles, and then advance step by step, with his disciple, hearing and answering his questions, removing his doubts, and thus conducting him imperceptibly to a conviction of what he designed to teach. One of the grand peculiarities of this great philosopher was that he confined the attention of his pupils chiefly to moral science,. He considered the other subjects included in the studies of the old Ionic school as comparatively use- less. He seems to have believed, but with some doubtings, in the immor- tality of the soul. Though he himself left nothing in writing, yet, in his Memoirs, by Xenophon, we have an authentic source of knowledge respect- ing his views. The writings of Plato cannot be so much depended upon for this object; for, being poetic by nature, everything assumed to him a poetic aspect ; besides, he was himself the founder of a new sect. Those disciples of Socrates, such as JEschines, Cebes, and Xenophon, who adhered to their master simply, without advancing any notions of their own, are sometimes denominated pure Socratic; but the Socratic school soon became divided into various branches. No less ih&njive sects, headed by philosophers who had listened to Socrates, in a short time ap- peared ; and two of these eventually gave birth each 'to a new sect, thus raising the number to seven. These may be divided into two classes, and with propriety designated as Minor Socratic, and Major Socratic sects the original and proper school of Socrates being still called pure Socratic. Of the Minor Socratic sect, the three principal schools were the Cyre- naic, the Megaric, and the Eliac. The Cyrenaic derived its name from Cyreiie, in Lybia, the native place of its founder, Aristippus. One of the peculiarities of this sect was to favor indulgence in pleasure; its author being himself fond of luxury and ornament. This sect was of compara- tively short duration, and r^ever produced any men of particular eminence. 428 ZENO. [LKCT. XVI. The Megaric sect was founded by Euclid, and took its name from Me- gara, the native place of its founder. It was called JEristic, from its disputative character, and Dialectic, from the form of discourse practiced by its disciples. This sect was famous for its subtleties in the art of rea- soning. Some of these futile sophisms are recorded ;. such as, the Horned what you have never lost, you have ; Jwrns you have never lost, tlwrefore you have horns. These philosophers also agitated the controversy about universah and particulars substantially the same as that which was so "acrimonious in the middle ages, between the nominalists and the realists. The Eliac sect was so called from Elis, the place where Phaedo, its founder, was born, and wheie he delivered his lectures. This sect is sometimes called Eretrianfoom the circumstance, that Menedemus, a dis- ciple of Phaedo, transferred the school to Eretria, the place of his own nativity. It opposed the fooleries of the Megaric philosophy, and the licentiousness of the Cyrenaic, but never acquired much importance. The Major Socratic sects consisted of the Cfymc,the Stoic, the Aca- demic, and the Peripatetic. The Cynic originated with Antisthenes, a pupil of Socrates. He maintained that all the philosphers were departing from the principles of that master. He assumed in the character of a reformer, manners so se- vere, and such careful negligence of dress, as to provoke the ridicule of even Socrates himself. The Cynics were, however, rather a class of re- formers in manners, than a sect of philosophers. The name is said to have been occasioned by their severity and sourness, which were carried to such excess as to bring upon them the appellation of Dogs. Their two distinguishing peculiarites were, that they discarded all speculation and science whatever, and insisted on the most rigid self-denial. One of the most famous teachers of this sect was Diogenes. He car- ried the notions of Antisthenes to the greatest extravagance. Constitu- tionally eccentric, he was always a censor, and his oppositi(m to refine- ment often degenerated into rudeness. He satirized the instructions of other philosophers in the following manner : Having heard Plato define a man to be a two-legged animal without feathers, he stripped a cock of its feathers, and taking it into the academy, exclaimed, ' See Plato's man? The only writings of this sect extant, are a few fragments of Antisthenes. The Stoic sect sprung from the Cynic. Zeno, its founder, was a native of the island of Cyprus ; but being brought to Athens by the mercantile pursuits of his father, he was accidentally introduced to the school of the Cynics, and from them borrowed many of the notions of the sect that he established. Zeno, however, visited the other schools which at that time existed, and borrowed extensively from them all. The name of Stoic was derived from the Portico where he delivered his lectures. The Stoics, unlike the Cynics, devoted themselves much to speculative 428 A.C.] PLATO. 429 studies ; but they resembled them in some degree in their general aus- terity of manners and character, ^difference to pleasure or pain, adver- sity or prosperity, they inculcated as the state of inind essential to happi- ness. The doctrine of fate was one of their grand peculiarities. They considered all things as controlled by an eternal necessity, to which even the Deity himself submitted ; and this necessity was supposed to be the origin of evil. Their system of morals was in general strict, and outwardly correct, but it fostered a cold, self-relying pride. It approved of suicide, which was practised by both Zeno and Cleanthes ; yet it stimulated to heroic deeds. In logic, the Stoics imitated the quibbles and sophisms of the Megaric sect. They divided all objects of thought or knowledge into four kinds substances, qualities, modes and relations ; and so pure were many of the views of some of the latter of them, that they are sup- posed to have borrowed much of their doctrine from Christianity. They speak of the world as destined to be destroyed by a vast conflagration, and succeeded by another new and pure. One of them, addressing a mother on the loss of her son, says, ' The sacred assembly of the Scipios and Catos shall welcome the youth to the regions of happy souls. Your father himself (for there all are known to all) shall embrace his grandson, and shall direct his eyes, now furnished with new light, along the course of the stars, with delight explaining to him the mysteries of nature, not from conjecture, but from certain knowledge.' Among the most eminent of the early disciples of the Stoical school, were Cleantlies, the celebrated poet and immediate successor of Zeno, and Chrysippus, who also became the public teacher in the school at Athens. The latter was celebrated as a disputant, and was wont to say, ' Give me doctrines, and I will find arguments to support them.' He is said to have been the author of many hundred treatises ; but of these nothing nofcre- mains excepting a few scattered fragments. Neither have we any written productions from Zeno, nor any other of the early stoics. The principal authors of this school whose works remain, are Epictetus and Antoninus, both of whom lived after the beginning of the Christian era. The Academic sect originated with Plato, one of the most emineit men of all antiquity. He was descended, on his father's side, from Codrus, the last king of Athens, and on his mother's, from the celebrated law-giver Solon. His birth occurred at Athens 428 A.C. In youth 'he devoted much time and attention to poetry and painting, and in the former so far excelled as to produce many poems of rare merit ; but having compared the best of them with the poems of Homer, he was induced to commit them to the flames. Captivated by the lectures of Socrates, he abandoned the Muses, and thenceforward devoted himself to philosophy. After travelling extensively through the East and also in Magna Grsecia, he returned to Athens, and opened his school in a public grove, from which the sect derived the name of the Academy. Over his door 430 PLATO. [LECT. XVI. lie placed the inscription, Let none enter here who is ignorant of Geom- etry so highly did he value mathematical science, as a foundation for more elevated studies. Plato's death occurred at Athens in the eighty- first year of his age, and 347 A.C. The Platonic philosophy abounded with peculiarities, and of these one of the most remarkable respected the relations of matter to mind. The system recognized a supreme intelligence, but maintained the eternity of matter ; and while matter receives all its shapes from the will of the in- telligence, still it contains a blind refractory force which is the cause of all evil. The human soul consists of parts derived from both these the in- telligence and the matter ; and all its impurity results from the inherent nature of the latter constituent. A very striking peculiarity of the Platonic philosophy was the doctrine respecting idea$. It maintained that there exist eternal patterns or types, or exemplars of all things that these exemplars are the only proper objects of science and that to understand them is to know truth. On the other hand, all sensible forms the appearances made to the several senses are only shadows : the forms and shadows addressed to the senses the exemplars or types, to the intellect. These exemplars were called ideas. This doctrine respecting matter and ideas essentially controlled the system of study in this sect, and their practical morality. To gain true science, one must turn away from the things around him and apply hrs mind in the most perfect abstraction, to contemplate andfind out the eternal original patterns of things. And to gain moral purity, he must mortify and deny the parts of the soul derived from matter, and avoid all familiarity with shadows. Hence, probably, the readiness to embrace the Platonic system manifested among the Christians of the middle ages, wh As Herodotus thus saw the working of a divine agency in all human events, and considered the exhibition of it as the main object of his history, his aim was entirely different from that of an historian who re- gards the events of life merely with reference to man. Herodotus was, in reality, a theologian and a poet, as well as an historian. The individ- ual parts of his work are treated entirely in this spirit. His aim was not to give the results of common experience in human life ; for his mind turned mainly to the extraordinary and the marvellous. In this respect his work bears an uniform color. The great events which he relates the gigantic enterprises of princes, the unexpected turns of fortune and other marvellous occurrences harmonize with the accounts of the aston- ishing buildings and other works of the East, of the multifarious and often singular manners of the different nations, the surprising phenomena of nature, and the rare productions and animals of the remote regions of the world. In thus presenting a picture of strange and astonishing things to his mobile and curious countrymen, Herodotus was guided by 472 HERODOTUS. [LECT. XVIII. the strictest truth and integrity whenever the things related fell within the range of his own observation ; but as, in many cases, he was under the necessity of depending upon information received from others, we may adopt his own remark with regard to such statements : c I must say what has been told to me ; but I need not, therefore, believe all ; and this re- & mark applies to my whole work.' Herodotus must have completely familiarized himself with the manners and modes of .thought of the Oriental nations. The character of his mind, and his style of composition, also resemble the Oriental type more than those of any other (3-reek author ; and, accordingly, his thoughts and expressions often remind us of the writings of the Old Testament. It cannot, indeed, be denied that he has sometimes attributed to the eastern princes ideas which werfr essentially Greek ; such as making the seven grandees of the Persians deliberate upon the respective advantages of monarchy, aristocracy, and democracy. But, on the whole, Herodotus, seizes the character of an Oriental monarch, like Xerxes, with striking truth ; and transports us into the very midst of the satellites of a Per- sian despot. After all, however, no dissertation upon historical researches or the style of Herodotus, can convey any idea of the impression made by read- ing his work. To those who have read it, all description would be su- perfluous. It is like hearing a person speak who has seen and lived through an infinite variety of the most remarkable events 5 and whose greatest delight consists in recalling the images of the past, and perpetu- ating the remembrance of them. He had eager and unwearied listeners, who were not impatient to arrive at the end of his narration ; and he could therefore complete every separate portion of the history, as if it were an independent narrative. He always knew that he had in store other more attractive and striking events; yet, as he dwelt with equal pleasure on everything that he had either seen or heard, he never hurried his course. In this manner, the stream of his Ionic language flows on with a charming facility. The character of his style, as is natural in mere narration, is diffuse and easy, with many phrases for the purpose of introducing, recapitulat- ing, or repeating a subject. These phrases are characteristical of oral discourse, which requires such contrivances, in order to prevent the speaker, or the hearer, from losing the thread of the story. In this, as in other respects, the language of Herodotus closely approximates to oral narration of all varieties of prose, it is the farthest removed from a written style. Long sentences, formed of several clauses, are, for the most part, confined to speeches, where reasons and objections are com- pared, conditions stated, and their consequences developed. But it must be confessed that where the logical connection of different propositions is to be expressed, Herodotus generally shows a want of skill, and pro duces no distinct conception of the mutual relations of the several mem- 471 A.C.] THUCYDIDES. 473 bers of the argument. But with all these defects, his style must be con- sidered as the perfection of the unperiodic style the only style employed by his predecessors, the logographers. The tone of the Ionic dialect which Herodotus, although by birth a Dorian, adopted from the histo- rians who preceded him conspires, with the various other elements that we have noticed, to render his work as harmonious and as nearly perfect in its kind, as any human production can be. Herodotus brings the his- tory of Greece down to the battle of Mycale. Thucydides, the son of Olorus was a native of Athens, and was born 471 A.C. His family were of Thracian origin, and connected with the Miltiades who first established a principality in the Thracian Chersonese. Noble in descent and splendid in genius ; and surrounded by all the ad- vantages of education that the age afforded with Aristagoras for his instructer in philosophy, and Antiphon, in oratory a most brilliant career invited Thucydides onward, in whatever path, he chose to move. Whether he ever entered into political life or not, is uncertain ; but that he was well qualified to shine as an orator, is abundantly evident from the various orations interspersed throughout his history. In 4'23 A.C., the eighth year of the Peloponnesiau war, Thucydides obtained the command of a small fleet, and was ordered to the coast of Thrace. While he lay off the island of Thasos, Brasidas, the Spartan general, marched against the city of Amphipolis, on the river Strymon. He feared even the small fleet commanded by Thucydides, because he knew that the admiral possessed gold mines in the adjacent district of Thrace, had great influence with the principal inhabitants of the coun- try, and would therefore find no difficulty in getting together a body of native troops to reinforce the garrison of Amphipolis. Accordingly, Brasidas granted the Amphipolitans a better capitulation than they ex- pected, in order to gain possession of the place without delay 5 and Thucy- dides having come too late to raise the siege, was obliged to content him- self with the defense of Eion, a fortified city near the coast. The Athenians, who were always in the habit of judging their generals and statesmen according to the success of their plans, condemned Thucy- dides for neglect of duty ; and he was consequently compelled to go into exile, in which state he continued for twenty years, living the greater part of the time in the vicinity of his gold-mines in Thrace. He was not per- mitted to return to his native country eyen after the peace between Sparta and Athens, but was finally recalled by a special decree, when Thrasy- bulus had expelled the Thirty Tyrants and restored the Athenian de- mocracy. After his restoration, Thucydides, as his history clearly evinces, must have lived some years at Athens ; and, according to the most cur- Tent account of antiquity, eventually perished by the hand of an assassin. From this account of the career of Thucydides it appears that he spent only the early part of his life, up to his forty- eighth year, in intercourse 474 THUCYDIDES. [LECT. XVIIL with his countrymen of Athens. After this period he was, indeed, in com munication with all parts of Greece ; and he himself informs us that his exile enabled him to mingle with the Peloponnesians, and to gain accu- rate information from them on all subjects pertaining to the war. But he was out of the way of the intellectual revolution which took place at Athens between the middle and the end of the Peloponnesian war ; and when he returned home he found himself in the midst of a new genera- tion, with novel ideas, arid an essentially altered taste, with which he could hardly have amalgamated so thoroughly in his old age as to change his own notions in accordance with them. Thucydides, therefore, is alto- gether an old Athenian of the school of Pericles : his education, both real and formal, was derived from, that grand and mighty period of Athenian history.: his political principles were those which Pericles in- culcated ; and his .style is, on the one hand, a representative of the native fulness and vigor of Periclean oratory, and on the other hand an offshoot of the antique, artificial rhetoric taught in the school of Antiphon. As an historian, Thucydides is so far from belonging to the same class with Herodotus and the Ionian logographers, that he may rather be con- sidered as having himself commenced an entirely new class of historical writing. He was acquainted with the works of several of these Ionian wri- ters, but whether or not with the works of Herodotus, is uncertain ; but he regarded them all as uncritical, fabulous, and designed rather for amuse- ment than instruction. Thucydides directed his attention to the public speeches delivered in the public assemblies and the law courts of Greece ; and thence derived the foundation of his history, with respect both to its form and its materials. While the earlier historians aimed at giving a vivid picture of all that fell under the cognizance of the senses, by de- scribing the situation and productions of different countries, the peculiar customs of different nations, the works of art found in different places, and the military expeditions which were undertaken at different periods ; and, while they endeavored to represent a superior power ruling with unlimited authority over the destinies of people and princes, the attention of Thucy- dides was directed to human action, as it is developed from the character and situation of the individual, as it operates on the condition of the world in general. This design gives a unity of action to his work, and renders it an historical drama a great law-suit, the parties to which are the bel- ligerent republics, and the object of which is the Athenian dominion over Greece. It is very remarkable, that Thueydides, who created this kind of his- tory, should have conceived and carried out the idea more clearly and vigorously than any of those writers who followed in his steps. His work was designed to be the history of the Peloponnesian war alone, and not the history of Greece during that war ; and consequently, he excluded everything pertaining either to the foreign relations or the internal policy of the different States, which did not bear upon the great contest for the 471 A.C.] THUCYDIDES. 475 ^ chief power in Greece. On the other hand, he admitted everything, to whatever part of " Hellas" it referred, which was connected with this strife of nations. From the very first, Thucydides had considered this war as a great event in the history of the world as one which could not be ended with- out deciding the question, whether Athens was to become a great empire, or whether she was to be reduced to the condition of an ordinary Greek republic, surrounded by many others equally free and equally powerful. He could not but see that the peace of Nicias, which was concluded after the first ten years of the war, had not really put an end to it that it was but interrupted by an equivocal and ill-observed armistice, and that it broke out afresh during the Sicilian expedition. With the zeal of an in- terested party, and with all the power of truth, he shows that all this was one great contest, and that the peace was not a real one. Thucydides has distributed and arranged his materials according to this conception of his subject. The whole history is divided into eight books ; and in his introduction, which occupies the first book, the author begins with asserting that the Peloponnesian war was the greatest event that had happened within the memory of man, and establishes this position by a retrospective survey of the more ancient history of Greece, including the Persian war. He goes through the oldest period, the traditions of the Trojan war, the centuries immediately following that event, and, finally, the Persian invasion, and shows that all previous undertakings wanted the external resources which were brought into requisition during the Pelo- ponnesian war, because they were deficient in two things money and a navy which did not arise among the Greeks until a late period, and de- veloped themselves by slow degrees. In this way Thucydides applies, historically, the maxims which Pericles had practically impressed upon the Athenians that money and ships, not territory and population, ought to be made the basis of their power; and the Peloponnesian war itself appeared to him a strong proof of this position, because the Peloponnesians, notwithstanding their superiority in extent of country, and in the number of their free citizens, so long fought with Athens at a disadvantage, till their alliance with Persia had fur- nished them with abundant pecuniary revenues, and thus enabled them to collect and maintain a considerable fleet. Having, by this comparison, shown the importance of his subject, and having given a short account of the manner in which he intended to treat it, the historian proceeds to discuss the causes which led to the war. These he divides into two classes : the immediate causes, or those which lay on the surface, and those which lay deeper and were not alleged by the par- ties. The first consisted of the negotiations between Athens and Corinth on the subject of Oorcyra and Potidsea, and the consequent complaint of the Corinthians in Sparta, by which the Lacedaemonians were induced to declare that Athens had broken the treaty. The second lay in the fear 476 THTJOYDIDES. [LECT. XVIII. which the growing power of Athens had inspired, and by which the Lace- daemonians were compelled to make war as the only pledge of security to the Peloponnese. This leads the historian to point out the origin of that power, and to give a general view of the military and political occurrences by which Athens, from the chosen leader of the insular and Asiatic Greeks against the Persians, became the absolute sovereign of all the Archipel- ago and its coasts. The war itself is divided, according to the mode in which it was carried on, and which was regulated among the Greeks by the seasons of the year. The campaigns were limited to the summer, while the winter was spent in preparing the armaments, and in negotiations. As the Greeks had no general era, and as the calendar of each country was arranged according to some peculiar cycle, Thucydides takes his chronological dates from the sequence of the seasons, and from the state of the corn-lands, which had a considerable influence on the military proceedings ; such expressions as, / when the corn was in ear,' or, ' when the corn was ripe,' were sufficient to mark the coherence of events with all needful accuracy. In his history of the different campaigns, Thucydides endeavors to avoid interruptions to the thread of his narrative ; and hence, in describ- ing any expedition, whether by land or sea, he tries to keep the whole to- gether, and prefers to violate the order of time, either by going back, or by anticipating future events, in order to escape the confusion resulting from continually breaking off and beginning again. That long and pro- tracted affairs, such as the sieges of Potidaaa and Plataea, must recur in different parts of the history is unavoidable : indeed it could not be other- wise, even if the distribution into summers and winters could have been relinquished. For such transactions as the siege of Plataea cannot be brought to an end in a luminous and satisfactory manner, without a com- plete view of the position of the belligerent powers, which prevented the besieged from receiving succor/ The individual event, the most momen- tous in the whole war, and which the author has invested with the liveliest interest the Athenian expedition to Sicily, with its happy commence- ment and its ruinous termination is told with but few, and very short, digressions. The style of Thucydides is remarkable for its conciseness, fervor, and power. In descriptive talent, so peculiarly requisite in an historian, he was, perhaps, never excelled. The descriptions of the siege of Plataea, and of the expedition to Sicily, still live and breathe upon his pages. Indeed, Thucydides did not gather the materials for his history from books, but obtained them by personal researches and observations made by himself where the events recorded by him transpired. Hence the whole work bears the aspect of the narrative of an eye-witness. He lived, however, to complete the history of the first nineteen years only of the war the history of the remaining eight years being reserved for the pen of Xeuophon, his accomplished .historical successor. 447 A.C.] XENOPHON. 477 Xenophon was a native of Athens, and was born 447 A.C., but of what condition of parentage is uncertain. He was the son of Gryllus, but of the manner in which the first part of his life was passed we have no knowledge. In the twenty-third year of his age, 424 A.C., we hear of him in the battle of Delium, in the retreat that followed which, So- crates is represented to have saved his life. From that period Xenophon devoted himself for many years to the instructions of the great philoso- pher, and eventually became one of the most devoted and accomplished of his disciples. The first literary labor of Xenophon, of which we have any knowledge, was the editing of the history of Thucydides, which was published in 402 A. C., probably immediately after Thucydides' death. In 401 A.C. Xenophon joined the army of Cyrus the younger, in the expedition of that prince against his brother Artaxerxes, but in what capacity is unknown. To aid him in the daring enterprise of dethron- ing his brother, Cyrus had engaged an army of thirteen thousand Greek auxiliaries, under the command of the Spartan general Clearchus, be- tween whom and Xenophon a. close intimacy had long subsisted. Clear- chus, when he arrived at Sardis, requested Xenophon to join him in that city, which was the head-quarters of the army, in order that he might introduce him to the personal acquaintance of Cyrus before tie expedi- tion commenced. The real object of this expedition was concealed from the Greeks in the army of Cyrus ; but Clearchus, their leader, knew, and the rest doubtless suspected what it was. Cyrus himself announced that he was going to attack the Pisidians, but the direction of his march must have very soon shown that he was going elsewhere. He led his forces through Asia Minor, and over the mountains of Taurus to Tarsus, in Cilicia. From thence he passed into Syria, crossed the Euphrates, and met the vast army of Persians in the plain of Cunaxa, about forty miles from Baby- lon. In the battle that followed Cyrus lost his life, his barbarian troops were dispersed, and the Greeks were left alone on the wide plains be- tween the Tigris and the Euphrates, at a distance of more than fifteen hundred miles from their native country. It was not, however, till after the treacherous massacre of Clearchus and the other Greek commanders, by the Persian satrap Tissaphernes, that Xenophon became at all con- spicuous. Xenophon had hitherto held no command in the army, nor does it appear that he had served even as a soldier. In the commencement of the third book of the Anabasis he informs us how he came to take a part in conducting the hazardous retreat of the ten thousand Greeks that still survived, back to their own country. Instead of attempting to return by the road by which they had entered Persia, where they cooild expect to find no supplies, at least till they should reach the Mediter- ranean, the new Greek leaders conducted their army along the Tigris, and over the high table lands of Armenia to Trapezus, now Trebizoud, a 478 XENOPHON. [LEOT. XVIII. Greek colony on the south-east coast of the Black Sea. From Trapezus the troops were conducted to Chrysopolis, opposite Byzantium ; and as they were now comparatively destitute, the division under the command of Xenophon entered the service of Seuthes, king of Thrace, who needed their aid, and who promised to reward them for it. The Greeks per- formed their part of the engagement, but Seuthes was unwilling to pay them ; and it was with the greatest difficulty that Xenophon obtained from the king even a part of what he had promised. The description which Xenophon gives of the manners of the Thracians is very curious and amusing. The Lacedaemonians were at this time at war with the Persian satraps Tissaphernes and Pharnabazus; and Thimbron, the Spartan general, invited Xenophon and his troops to join them. This event occurred 399 A.C., the same year in which Socrates was put to death; and it gave such offence to the Athenians that they immediately passed upon Xeno- phon .the sentence of banishment. Thus exiled from his native country, Xenophon remained in Asia Minor with the Lacedaemonian army until 396 A. C., when Agesilaus, the Spartan king, took the command; and when, in 394 A.C., that prince was recalled to defend his own country, Xenophon accompanied him to Sparta. The battle of Coronea, between the Spartans and the Athenians, immediately followed ; and as in that conflict Xenophon took part with the Spartans, his exile became thence- forth permanently fixed. Xenophon now took up his residence at Scillus, in Elis, not far from Olympia ; and here he was soon after joined by his wife and chil- dren. In this quiet retreat he remained for twenty years, during which he is supposed to have written most of his works ; but in 371 A.C., when the Eleans took Scillus, Xenophon retired to Corinth, where he probably remained until his death, which occurred in 359 A.C. As a writer, Xenophon had, perhaps, no superior in all antiquity. So exquisite is his style, that Plato, the great philosopher, said, ' The Graces dictated his language, and the Goddess of Persuasion dwelt upon his lips.' His works were very numerous, and, happily, the most important of them have been preserved. Of these, the principal are the Anabasis ; the Hellenica ; the Cyropcedia ; the Memorabilia ; the Agesilaus ; the Hipparckicus ; the Cynegeticus ; the Symposium ; the Hiero ; and the CEconomicus. The Anabasis, or the History of the Expedition of the Younger Cyrus, and of the Retreat of the Greeks, who formed a part of his army, has alone immortalized the author's name. It is a clear and pleasing narra- tive, simple and unaffected in style ; and it imparts much curious and valuable information of the country which was traversed by the retreat- ing Greeks, and of the manners of the natives, through whose territory they passed. It was the first work which acquainted the Greeks with 447A.C.] XENOPHON. 479 certain portions of the Persian empire, and it thoroughly exhibited the extreme weakness of that extensive monarchy. The skirmishes of the retreating Greeks with their enemies, and the battles with some of the barbarian tribes, are not such events as elevate the work to the character of a military history, nor can it, as such, be compared with Caesar's Com- mentaries. Indeed, those passages in the Anabasis which relate directly to the military movements of the retreating army are not always clear, nor have we any evidence that Xenophon possessed any military talent for great operations, whatever may have*been his skill as the commander of a division. The HeUenica comprehends the space of forty-eight years, commencing with the period at which the history of Thucydides closes, and ending with the battle of Mantinea, 362 A.C. It is simply a narrative of events, with little ornament, and contains nothing in the treatment of them which gives special interest to the work. Some events of importance are briefly treated, and a few striking incidents, with particularity and much beauty. Indeed, it comprehended the days of the commencement of Grecian degeneracy, and, therefore, presented little to elicit the feelings, or to stir up the enthusiasm of the historian. The C'yropcedia, may be regarded as a kind of political romance, the basis of which is the history of Cyrus, the founder of the Persian empire. It exhibits the manner in which citizens may be made virtuous and brave ; and Cyrus is the model of a wise and virtuous ruler. As a his- tory it has, perhaps, little value. Xenophon adopted the current stories concerning Cyrus, and the principal events of his reign, without any intention of subjecting them to a critical examination ; nor have we any reason to suppose that his picture of Persian morals and Persian discip line is anything more than a fiction. But still the whole performance is so exquisitely executed, that our admiration is elicited from every page. The dying speech of Cyrus is worthy of the pupil of Socrates, and Cicero has used the substance of it to enforce his argument for the immortality of the soul. This passage alone is sufficient evidence of Xenophon's belief in the immortality of the soul, independent of the organized being in which it acts. < I never could be persuaded.' says Cyrus, ' that the soul lives so long as it is in a perishable body, and that it dies when it is released from it.' This argument of Xenophon bears a striking resem- blance to the argument of Bishop Butler, where, in his Analogy, he treats of a future state. The Memorabilia of Socrates was designed by Xenophon as a defence of the memory of his master, against the charge of irreligion, and of cor- rupting the Athenian youth. In this work Socrates is represented as holding a series of conversations, in which he developes and inculcates moral doctrines in a manner peculiar to himself. It is entirely a prac- tical work, jind professes to exhibit Socrates as he actually taught. The whole treatise was evidently intended as an answer to the charge upon 480 C T E S I A S . [LECT. XVIII. which Socrates was executed, and it is, therefore, in its nature, not designed as a complete exhibition of Socrates himself. That it is a genuine picture of the man, is indisputable ; and it is by far the most valuable memorial we have of Socrates' practical philosophy. The Agesilaus is a panegyric on Agesilaus, king of Sparta, the friend and protector of Xenophon after his banishment from Athens. The Hipparchicus is a treatise on the duties of a commander of cavalry, and contains many valuable precepts. The Cynegeticus is a treatise on hunt- ing an amusement of which* Xenophon appears to have been pas- sionately fond on the training of the dog, on the various kinds of game, and the mode of taking them. The Symposium, or Banquet of Philos- ophers, delineates the character of Socrates in the midst of his pliilosophic associates. The Hiero is a dialogue between Hiero, king of Syracuse, and the poet Simonides. In this dialogue the king dwells upon the dan- gers and difficulties of an exajted station, and the superior happiness of a private man ; while the poet, on the other hand, enumerates the advan- tages which the possession of power gives, and the means which it affords of obliging others, and of doing them services. The CEconomicus is a dialogue between Socrates and Critobulus in relation to the administra- tion of a man's household affairs, and to the care of his property. These minor productions of Xenophon require, however, no farther notice. We have lingered so long with the three great Grecian historians, Herodotus, Thucydides, and Xenophon, that upon their successors we can bestow only a passing glance. This circumstance we cannot, however, upon reflection, regret, as it is to the former, exclusively, that we are in- debted for our knowledge of Grecian affairs from the remotest period in their history, down to the death of Epaminondas, 362 A.C. ; and, doubt- less, much of the interest which these affairs have always excited among refined nations, is attributable more to the brilliancy with which they are delineated, than to their intrinsic importance. Ctesias was a native of Cnidus, in Caria, and was a contemporary of Xenophon ; but neither the period of his birth, nor the time of his death, has been preserved. He belonged to a family of physicians, and was himself bred to that profession ; and being taken prisoner by the Per- sians during the reign of Artaxerxes, he was conveyed to that monarch's court, where his medical skill soon raised him to the position of royal physician. After having remained some years in Persia, Ctesias was sent by Artaxerxes into Greece, to concert measures with Conon, the Athe- nian commander, for humbling the pride of Sparta ; and from that period nothing more is known of him. During his residence at the Persian court, Ctesias collected all the in- formation that was there attainable for writing the history o Persia, the design of which was to give his countrymen a more accurate knowledge 204A.C.] POLYBIUS. 481 of that empire than they then possessed, and to refute the errors current in Greece, concerning it. The materials for this history, so far as he did not describe events that fell under his own observation, he derived from the official history of the Persian empire, kept in accordance with a law of the country. His history commences with the foundation of the Assyrian empire, and comes down to 398 A.C. The form and style of this work were highly commended by the ancients, and its loss may there- fore be regarded, so far as the history of the East is concerned, one of the most serious that we could have sustained. Of the original work of Ctesias nothing has been preserved but a meagre abridgment by Photius. Ctesias wrote a brief work also on the natural history of India, of which Photius has left us an analysis. As this work is derived princi- pally from Persian records and traditions, and not from original re- searches, and thus contains a mixture of truth and fable, it could never have been of any great value. Ctesias wrote in the Ionic dialect, and his style is said to have been easy, full, and flowing. With Ctesias the early school of Grecian historians closed, and thenceforward Greece produced no other historian for two hundred years. Polybius, the next historical writer to be noticed, was the son of Ly- cortas, and was born at Megalopolis, in Arcadia, 204 A.C. Lycortas, being one of the most eminent men of Arcadia, Polybius enjoyed every advantage of education, and in early manhood became one of the most distinguished men of the Achaean league. When that league was dis- solved by the Romans in 168 A.C., one thousand of the most conspicu- ous of the Achseans, among whom was Polybius, were ordered to Rome to answer the charge of not assisting the Romans in their recent war with Perseus, the last king of Macedon. These Achaean exiles, instead of being carried to Rome, were distributed among the Etruscan towns in the vicinity of the city ; but Polybius having previously formed the acquaint- ance of jEmilius Paulus, was taken by that distinguished commander into his own family, and there became the teacher of his two sons, Fabius and Scipio. The relation thus formed between these two young noble- men and the future historian soon ripened into the most intimate friend- ship ; and when Polybius, therefore, made known his design of writing the history of the Punic wars, Scipio afforded him every possible facility for collecting the necessary materials. Polybius continued to reside at Rome, with occasional journeyings into his native country, until his death, which was occasioned by a fall from his horse, in the eighty-third year of his age, and 122 A.C. The history of Polybius was comprised in forty books, and embraced the entire period from the commencement of the Second Punic war 220 A.C., to the fall of Carthage and Corinth 146 A.C. It consisted of two distinct parts, which were probably published at different times, and after- 31 482 D 1 D O R TJ S. [LECT. XVIIL wards united into one work. The first part comprised a period of fifty-three years, beginning with the second Punic war, the Social war in Greece, and the war between Ptolemy Philopator in Asia, and ending with the conquest of Perseus and the downfall of the Macedonian kingdom, 108 A.C. This was in reality the main portion of the work, and its great object was to show how the Romans had, in this brief period of fifty-three years, con- quered the greater part of the world. The second part, which formed a kind of supplement to the first, comprised the period of twenty-two years, from the conquest of Perseus to the fall of Corinth. To prepare him- self for the composition of this great work, Polybius traversed every coun- try over which the scenes of his history would carry him from Carthage through Africa, Spain, Gaul, and Italy and thus, like Thucydides, made himself an eye-witness of every scene which he designed to describe. Of this great work the first five books only, and a few fragments, have been preserved. The characteristic feature of the history of Polybius, and the one which distinguishes it from all other histories that have come down to us from antiquity, is its didactic nature. He did not, like most other historians, write to afford amusement to his readers, or to gratify an idle curiosity respecting the migration of nations, the foundation of cities, or the set- tlement of colonies ; but his object was to teach by the past a knowledge of the future, and to deduce from previous events, lessons of practical wisdom. In style, it is true, the great historical writers of the earlier Grecian period were far superior to Polybius ; but in every other quality of an historian, no other writer, either ancient or modern, has sur- passed him. Diodorus Siculus was a native of the town of Agyrium in Sicily, and a contemporary of Julius Caesar ; but the period of his birth is unknown. Little farther is recorded of the history of his life than that he early con- ceived the design of writing a universal history ; and in order to acquire the requisite knowledge for the proper execution of this important task, he spent thirty years in travelling through the different countries of Eu- rope and Asia, and in examining public documents and particular lo- calities. The work of Diodorus consisted of forty books, and embraced the period from the earliest mythical ages down to the beginning of Caesar's Gallic wars. It was also divided into three great sections ; the first of which occupied the first six books, and embraced the history of the mythical times previous to the Trojan war. The second section consisted of eleven books, and contained the history of the period from the Trojan war down to the death of Alexander the Great; and the third section, which con- tained the remaining twenty-three books, treated of the history of the world from the death of Alexander down to the author's own age. Of this elaborate work the first five books, and from the eleventh to the 50 A.D.] PLUTARCH. 433 twentieth inclusive, are perfect ; and of the remaining books, very con- siderable fragments have been preserved. The style of Diodorus is clear and lucid, but not always equal a pe- culiarity attributable to the different character of the works which he, in his own compilation, used or abridged. His diction holds a medium be- tween the refined Attic and the vulgar Greek which was spoken in his time. Dionysius of Halicarnassus, was born at Halicarnassus, in Caria, about 68 A.C., but early removed to Rome, where he remained until his death, which occurred 7 A. C., in the sixty-second year of his age. His life was that of a man devoted purely and exclusively to literature ; and hence it affords few incidents. The works of Dionysius were very numerous, and may properly be di- vided into two classes the first of which embraces his rhetorical and critical treatises, and were probably written soon after his settlement in Rome and the second, his historical works. Of the latter, the principal performance is the history of Rome from its foundation down to the com- mencement of the second Punic war. This work was divided into twenty books, the first nine of which are still complete, while of the tenth and the eleventh we have the greater part ; but of the remaining nine books nothing excepting a few fragments remains. The style of Dionysius is good, and his language is pure ; but both appear to greater advantage in his rhetorical and critical works than in his history. Plutarch was a native of Chseronea, in Boeotia, and was born about 50 A.D. Though his grandfather, Lamprias, and his two brothers, Timon and Lamprias, are mentioned by him, yet neither his father nor his mother is anywhere alluded to. From this circumstance critics are generally inclined to believe that he was of low origin ; but the manner in which he was educated does not sustain this idea. He studied phi- losophy at Athens, and afterwards removed to Rome, where he, for many years, filled high and important offices of State ; and in advanced life he returned to his native place, and there passed the remainder of his days. The time of his death is uncertain, though it is generally believed that he lived to an advanced age. The work which has immortalized Plutarch's name is his Parallel Lives of forty-six Greeks and Romans. The forty- six Lives are ar- ranged in pairs, each pair containing the life of a Greek and a Roman, and is followed by a comparison of the two men ; though in some pairs the comparison is omitted. The author seems to have considered each pair of Lives and the Parallel as composing a book; for when he Bpeaks of the Lives of Demosthenes and Cicero, he mentions them as the fifth book of his work. By this remark he must have meant, however, the fifth in the order in which he wrote them ; for, if each pair composed a book, it could not be the fifth in any other sense. 484 APPIAN. [LECT. XVIII. Plutarch's style . narsh and dry ; and of this quality in his writing he himself was perfectly conscious, for when reminded of it he replied, " I am aware of what you say; but it is not my business to please the ear, but to instruct and charm the mind." This is the secret of the success of his great work. It is, and will remain, in spite of all the fault that may be found with it by plodding collectors of facts, and small critics, the book of those who can nobly think, and dare, and do so. It is the book of all ages, for the same reason that good portraiture is the painting of all time ; for the human face and the human character are ever the same. It is a mirror in which all men may look at themselves. Arrian was a native of Nicomedia, in Bithynia, and was born towards the end of the first Christian century. He was a pupil and friend of Epictetus, and bore the same relation to that philosopher that Xeno- phon had borne to Socrates. In 124 A.D. he gained the friendship of the emperor Adrian, and received from the emperor's own hands " the broad purple" a distinction which conferred upon him not only the privileges of Roman citizenship, but the right to hold any of the great offices of State in the Roman empire. In 136 A.D. Arrian was appointed prefect of Cappadocia, and in the following year that province was in- vaded by the Alani, whom the prefect defeated in a decisive battle, and thus added to his reputation of a philosopher that of a brave and skilful general. Under Antoninus Pius, Arrian was promoted in 146 A.D. to the consulship ; and a few years after he retired to his native town, and there passed the remainder of his life in study, and in the composition of his historical works. He died at an advanced age in the reign of Marcus Aurelius, and Dion Cassius soon after wrote his life ; but un- fortunately no fragment of the work has reached us. Of the historical productions of Arrian, the principal is Alexander's Asiatic Expedition. This great work is still almost entirely complete, and it strikingly reminds the reader of Xenophon's Anabasis. It is true, the work is not equal to the Anabasis as a composition ; and what work is ! It does not possess either the thorough equality and noble simplicity, or the vividness of Xenophon ; but Arrian was, nevertheless, one of the most excellent writers of his time. As an expression of the highest mark of their admiration, the Athenians called Arrian the Younger Xenophon. Arrian wrote another historical work also, on India, not dissimilar to the work of Ctesias on the same subject. A word about Appian, Dion Cassius, and jElian, will close our present remarks. Appian was, as we learn from various passages of his writings, a native of Alexandria, in Egypt, but early removed to Rome, and resided in the imperial city during the reigns of Trajan, Adrian, and Antoninus Pius. He wrote, amongst other things, a Roman history in twenty-four books, 156A.D.] DION CASSIUS. ^ELIAN. 485 on a plan differing from that of most historians. Instead of treating the Roman empire as a whole in chronological order, he gave a separate account of the affairs of each country from the time that it became con- nected with the Romans, till it was finally incorporated in the Roman empire. The work is not, however, either in matter or manner, of any great importance. Dion Cassius was born at Nicaea, in Bithynia, about 155 A.D. He early removed to Rome, and was eventually raised to the position of senator, in which, and various other positions, he passed a long life ; but the time of his death is not known. Though Dion wrote a his- tory of Rome, from the earliest periods down to his own times, yet his principal compositions were biographical. In the formation of his style, Dion endeavors to imitate the classical writers of ancient Greece ; but his language is, nevertheless, full of peculiarities, barbarisms, and Latinisms probably the consequence of his long residence in Italy. , though of Greek parentage, was a native of Italy, and was contemporary with the two last writers mentioned. His principal his- torical work is entitled Varia Historia, and contains short narratives and anecdotes, historical, biographical, and antiquarian, selected from various authors, generally without their names being given, and on a variety of subjects. Its chief value, however, arises from its containing many passages from older authors whose works are now lost. THE END. V THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE STAMPED BELOW AN INITIAL FINE OF 25 CENTS WILL BE ASSESSED FOR FAILURE TO RETURN THIS BOOK ON THE DATE DUE. THE PENALTY WILL INCREASE TO SO CENTS ON THE FOURTH DAY AND TO $1.OO ON THE SEVENTH DAY OVERDUE. U.C.BERKELEY LIBRARIES Hi "