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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 POEMS
 
 Sn^-QMV son "AnvMon -jjivo -10 "AlNn 
 
 POEMS 
 
 ORIGINAL AND TRANSLATED 
 
 INCLUDING 
 
 THE FIRST ILIAD OF HOMER 
 
 BY 
 
 W. G. T. BARTER ESQ. 
 
 LONDON 
 
 WILLIAM PICKERING 
 
 1850
 
 PR 
 
 ^^15- An 
 I? So 
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 ■sfXt 
 
 -•■^ HIS rough garland of ill-assorted flowers, 
 
 Whose growth, through many years 
 Hath vvhiled some vacant, and some anx 
 ious hours, 
 And some bedewed with tears ; 
 To thee, dear Ann, I dedicate. 
 Who didst, with partial eye of late. 
 View them as scattered and unsunn'd thev lav. 
 Nor heeding what reluctance might gainsay 
 Wouldst drag them to the light of day. 
 
 1 
 
 775478
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 TO the Cricket 1 
 
 Life "' 
 
 Romance and Reality * 
 
 Time ^ 
 
 Measure of Life 7 
 
 Aberrations of Genius 8 
 
 Opportunity 9 
 
 The Wherefore of Drinking 9 
 
 Death by Asphyxia ^(* 
 
 Trees ^^ 
 
 To Nancy 1^ 
 
 Lines descriptive of a Friend's Statue of Love triumphant 14 
 Lines sent many years since with a copy of Wordsworth's 
 
 Poems ^-^ 
 
 Thoughts ItJ 
 
 Advice '^ 
 
 The Clouds 1'' 
 
 To Nancy "* 
 
 A Mountain 19 
 
 To my Boy i^O 
 
 To my dear Ann after a serious Illness '-^5 
 
 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 Homer's Iliad, Book 1 29 
 
 Dedicatio Phaseli •^T' 
 
 Horace, Book I. Ode 1 .^9 
 
 Ode 2 t)l
 
 viii Contents. 
 
 Pa£;e 
 
 Horace, Book I. Ode 3 64 
 
 Ode 4 66 
 
 Ode 5 67 
 
 Ode 12 68 
 
 Ode i.^2 70 
 
 Ode 31 72 
 
 Book II. Ode 10 73 
 
 Ode 14 75 
 
 Ode 16 77 
 
 Book III. Ode 3 79 
 
 Ode 13 82 
 
 Book IV. Ode 3 83 
 
 Ode 4 85 
 
 Book I. Sat. 1 89 
 
 Anacreon, Ode 1 94 
 
 Ode 43 95 
 
 Danae 96 
 
 Anthology. To Anacreoti 97 
 
 Anonym 97 
 
 Anonym 97 
 
 Anonym 97 
 
 Reality and Illusion 98 
 
 KingofThule 100 
 
 The Oak and the Bulrush 101 
 
 Notes 103
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 ^^ OETR Y is a drug, and a preface a bore, and 
 '^^^jM \et here we have the twofold abomination. 
 ~^^ The drug-character of poetry is a truism 
 of some standing and yet not true : truism as touch- 
 ing all middling versifying in all its various degrees 
 downwards, including the present volume ; but false, 
 as spoken of true poetry which can never relax its 
 hold upon man's heart, while hope, fear, love, the 
 feelings and the passions, house therein. Witness the 
 world-wide sensation kindled whenever some master- 
 spirit takes the lyre in hand 
 
 Such deep heart-haunting wonder as Iiatli woa 
 By his weird songs the gifted Tennyson. 
 
 With this passing protest on the qualified sense in 
 which the poetry-drug dogma should be taken, may I 
 be allowed to show cause for obtruding the double 
 infliction, and explain first, wherefore the present vo- 
 lume at all ? and secondly, wherefore with a preface ? 
 To which will the candid reader accept the following 
 for an answer ? If the volume please him, he will
 
 X Preface. 
 
 hardly be severe on its author ; and if on the contrary 
 he deem it trash, he will be perfectly safe in conclud- 
 ing that the luckless writer had very urgent motives 
 for thus exposing himself. And indeed urgent mo- 
 tives they were, though of no interest to the public, 
 that overcame my reluctance to appearing in print. 
 But once in print, some account of what the reader 
 had to expect seemed necessary. And so the preface 
 is accounted for. In this respect, feeling myself like 
 the parent who would rather have kept his young 
 hopeful at home, but, finding that he needs must abroad 
 upon a perilous voyage, sets in right earnest about 
 the sorry task of his outfit. Indeed the sea is no ill 
 type of literature. Fair weather and a smooth surface 
 is constantly tempting a thousand vessels to put from 
 the shore, and gaily they go under canvass for a time. 
 Each man sailor-like in love with his own. But anon 
 the whitening waves announce a change, and criticism 
 with its rough blasts comes, sweetening the else stag- 
 nant atmosphere, to tempest the ocean, and scattering 
 them to the four winds, tries which be sea-worthy. 
 The well timbered vessels ride it out, the crazy ones 
 alone founder. Nor will my opinion on this head be 
 altered by a rude North-wester sinking my little 
 craft. Meanwhile let me give some account of the 
 freight. This consists of original poems and transla- 
 tions. The former are, it will be seen, chiefly occa- 
 sional, and certainly were not written with the remotest 
 idea of publication. If liked they need no comment,
 
 Preface. xi 
 
 and if otherwise, nothing- I might say could remove 
 the impression — " Non ragioniam di lor.'' Of the 
 translations, a word or two may not be out of place to 
 show what the translator had in view, that he may not 
 incur the critical reader's censure for not effecting 
 what he has not attempted, as well as falling short of 
 what he has. The first and chief is a close version of 
 the First Iliad of Homer in the Spenserian Stanza. 
 A close version as far as stress of rhyme permitted, 
 which the reader needs not be informed, is sometimes 
 rather severe in that form of verse. Then why that 
 stanza it may be asked? And much might be said of 
 the advantages it offers in its recurring rhymes of de- 
 ferring at will the completion of the sense until you 
 have let in the qualificatives. And other plausible 
 reasons might be given for the choice. But unhappily, 
 like most plausibilities, they would be untrue. For 
 there was no choice in the matter, but pure accident. 
 Some years ago, desiring to try my hand at the Spen- 
 serian Stanza, and having no poetic theme just at 
 hand, and Homer lying before me, I assayed upon 
 the opening portion of the Iliad, and the result was 
 the first eight stanzas of the present version. From 
 time to time as the fit took me I added more, until at 
 length, when several books were completed, it became 
 too late to enquire into the fitness of the Spenserian 
 Stanza as a medium of translation. While on this 
 topic, I cannot forbear expressing the pleasure which 
 I have derived from Mr. Brandreth's excellent trans-
 
 xii Preface. 
 
 lation of the Iliad, to which Mr. Pickering' drew my 
 attention, when consulted on my manuscript. In 
 which version the translator breaks a lance with Voss 
 and bears him nobly in the joust, translating line for 
 line with the original. A severe obligation, involving 
 the dropping an epithet occasionally, and of course 
 narrowing the scope of rhythm and cadence, his choice 
 of blank verse had else opened for him but an obliga- 
 tion which yet sits on him so lightly, that I wish I may 
 be found to move as easily in the translations now sub- 
 mitted to the reader. Of these, the next in quantity 
 are the versions from Horace, which I offer with even 
 more diffidence, if possible, than the Homer. One 
 feature in the Roman Lyric is coUectedness. He 
 keeps his Pegasus ever well in hand. What the 
 French call ' abandon,' you will scai'cely find in him. 
 The nearest approach to it being his mention of the 
 pleasures of rural life. There the feelings of the 
 man break out with more freedom. Of which his 
 strong personal attachment to Maecenas also partakes. 
 The above quality casts this peril in the way of a 
 translator, of appearing exaggerated in comparison 
 with the original if he aim at a spirited version, or of 
 becoming flat if he anxiously eschew that extreme. 
 This may perhaps have occasioned some to think Ho- 
 race cold and deficient in poetic fervor. But it is not 
 so. Under the calm surface there is a steady inex- 
 tinguishable fire, which, the longer you linger on a 
 passage the more you will feel ; and which is not the
 
 Preface. xiii 
 
 less fervent for not scorching the feet of him who 
 trips over the ground hastily. To such, one might say 
 with our author on a difi'erent occasion, and in a dif- 
 ferent sense 
 
 Incedis per ignes 
 Suppositos ciiieri dolosos. 
 
 In my versions I have aimed at closeness, despair- 
 ing of the graces of the original on any principle o 
 what is called compensation. The torso may have 
 suffered materially in the carriage, but at least I have 
 refrained from deliberately defacing it with additions 
 of my own. 
 
 The same principle of closeness to the original I 
 have aimed at through all the translations ; endea- 
 vouring to present the ideas in the order of the origi- 
 nal, and even where a transposition seemed more 
 favourable to my version, I have nevertheless resisted 
 the temptation. I say endeavouring, for that 1 have 
 not often been compelled to swerve, it would be vain 
 to pretend. For what is endeavour, and what is pur- 
 pose ? Life is made up of approximation and compro- 
 mise. 
 
 Among the other pieces, the classic reader will find 
 his favourites, the Dedicatio Phaseli of Catullus, and 
 the Danae of Simonides. 1 know not how the Ger 
 man scholar may relish the garb in which he will 
 here find the exquisite song of " The King of Thule," 
 from Goethe's Faust. The passage from Gellert 
 struck me as the smartest thing I have met with in
 
 xiv Preface. 
 
 that author. I only wish La Fontaine's beautiful 
 fable may not have lost too much of its freshness in 
 this its English dress. 
 
 The whole is submitted to the judgment of the 
 reader with much diffidence, but at the same time 
 with the consciousness that the best informed in these 
 matters, as they best know the difficulties, are the 
 most indulgent judges.
 
 ff)RRIGF.\DA. 
 
 At page 41, second line from bolioni./or ' pay' read ' plwy. 
 51, line 'i,J'or ' broad-bow'd' read ' broad-brow'd.'
 
 «i.y> 
 
 POEM S. 
 
 TO THE CRICKET. 
 
 ITTLE dun-coat minstrel, 
 That from thy dusty nook 
 Dost out-peering loolv, 
 On lean shanks squatting ; tell 
 
 Of that voice of unrest, 
 If from thy skinny chest 
 It comes, or thy dry throat 
 That never Nvearied note; 
 Or whether it springs 
 From thy gauzy wings, 
 For ever they thrill 
 While thy chirping shrill 
 Is piercing the air, 
 And motionless are 
 When that is still. 
 
 The beetle, dark cuirassier, 
 All sheath'd in armour black, 
 
 Nightly doth thy piping hoar 
 As on his custom'd track, 
 Forward and back, 
 
 B
 
 2 To THE Cricket. 
 
 He goes and comes 
 
 In quest of crumbs, 
 
 With rustling squadrons o'er 
 
 Tlie fragment scatter'd floor. 
 
 Who thy foe 
 I not know. 
 
 The pilf 'ring mouse 
 
 Doth oft carouse 
 To thy shrill melody. 
 
 The subtle keen-eyed rat, 
 
 His dread of whisker'd cat 
 Avengeth not on thee. 
 
 Then who thy foe 
 
 I do not know. 
 That am not I, although it be 
 Thy piping is too shrill for me, 
 
 By night and by day 
 
 Thou sayest thy say, 
 And scarce a corner but thy din 
 Doth pierce it through with arrow keen, 
 All loth I were to mar thy mirth 
 Yet prithee chuse another hearth. 
 
 A dish with water, as they tell, 
 Would be a full deep enough well 
 For thee to drown ; 
 The shining gleam 
 As it should seem 
 Would lure thee down. 
 But 'twere in sooth a sorrv doom 
 Thy harmless life would ill become. 
 Thy dying groan
 
 To THE Cricket. 3 
 
 Would sure draw down 
 
 Fell mischief on 
 Th' inhospitable treach'rous house ; 
 The sturdy rat and weaker mouse 
 
 With teeth, as with a saw, 
 
 Would through its timbers gnaw ; 
 And sightless worm its part would do, 
 Pierce joist and rafter through and through : 
 While damps would spread and sap the wall 
 Till tojjpling roof avenged thy I'all. 
 Then at thy pleasure go or stay. 
 Though I could wish thou wcrt away. 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 y gf^ 'jj^'^^ flE sunnv side and easy slope 
 ^P Where evil seems not rite, 
 ?S1^ There, beckon'd by delusive hope, 
 'i^^ Youth scales the hill of life. 
 
 The gilded cloud that decks its brow 
 On which they gazed with pride, 
 
 Will burst in thunder as they go 
 There on the darker side.
 
 ROMANCE AND REALITY. 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 ^ AY ! in the buoyant days of youth, 
 With magic glitter gilding truth, 
 Hath wayward fancy been thy guest, 
 Flinging her sunshine in thy breast? 
 
 How soon, alas, her wizard spell 
 
 Can all the shades of life dispel ! 
 
 The fairy touch, the rainbow hue, 
 
 With varied tints the landscape strew ; 
 
 Unreal scenes at pleasure rise 
 
 And airy temples cheat the eyes. 
 
 In the fond dream of future years 
 
 Honour with laurel wreath appears ; 
 
 Successful love ambition crown'd. 
 
 And all the joys that e'er surround 
 
 The rich, the happy, and the gay, 
 
 All will come with the wish'd-for day. 
 
 But time steals on, and one by one. 
 
 Each hope assumes a humbler tone, 
 
 Till youth beholding with a sigh 
 
 The dear, though empty, vision fly ; 
 
 Tamed to endure the real scene, 
 
 Strives to forget what might have been. 
 
 Ah ! then succeeds the aching void 
 
 To thoughts the heart so long employ'd. 
 
 With dark despondency o'ercast. 
 
 That gleam of glory was its last;
 
 Romance and Reality. 
 
 Henceforth a wanderer unblcst, 
 
 That of his paradise of rest 
 
 Hath snatch'd a last and transient view, 
 
 Now wretched 'mid the jovial crew, 
 
 Roams uncommuning' and alone, 
 
 A demon in the noon-day sun. 
 
 OLD MAN. 
 
 Yea, self-made like that primal one, t 
 
 Happy spirit on starry throne, [> 
 
 Till his vain fancies cast him down. J 
 
 What then, young man, wouldst thou of life ? 
 
 Dreaming hath there small space, but strife 
 
 And stern contention in thy way, 
 
 Chance, by turns, folly, passions sway. 
 
 Hard-hand toil, and rough endeavour, 
 
 Man's lot is here, then persever. 
 
 For lofty Genius' proudest lot 
 
 From toil severe exempteth not. 
 
 Yea, plough and sow, each must his field, 
 
 Would he in harvest reap its yield. 
 
 Nature's boon to her favour'd son 
 
 Is, by his toil that more is won ; 
 
 Nor may so sunny lot betide 
 
 That hath not too its darker side ; 
 
 While life to most is at the best. 
 
 Like the wild region of the West; 
 
 With obstacles all thickly set, 
 
 As with huge forest trees is that ; 
 
 Untiring must thou hew and hew, "] 
 
 For wailing will not bring thee through, 
 
 With axe in hand, then, up and do.
 
 ROxMANCE AND ReALITY. 
 
 But through Ufe's conflict do the right, 
 
 Keep ever still thine honour bright ; 
 
 And though success withhold her crown, t 
 
 Who doth his best hath nobly done, }► 
 
 And no moan palm of life hath won. J 
 
 Nor is't in sorrow's deepest night, "i 
 
 Within the bosom darkness quite, [« 
 
 "Where conscience trims her cheering light. J 
 
 Haste not with too hot endeavour 
 
 To be rich, since rarely ever 
 
 (juiltless so. Whose soul once is limed 
 
 With hopes inordinate, ill-timed ; 
 
 And wishes turbulent o'ergrown, ^ 
 
 Unseating conscience from her throne ; }> 
 
 From him life's prize, content, is gone. J 
 
 The old man garrulous thus did say. 
 
 With that youngling talking on ; 
 Reader, if lesson thee it may. 
 
 Take it; if not, no harm is done ; 
 Go, and God speed thee on thy way.
 
 j:^5^ y 
 
 TIME. 
 
 'HE earth laugh'd gaily ere its sod 
 ^J/ By thy father's young feet was trod, 
 And fresh flowers will spangle its floor 
 When thou and thy race are no more. 
 
 Time, with slow eff'acing fingers, 
 
 Hath swept the page where yet lingers 
 
 The dim mysterious story 
 
 Of the olden days' dark glory. 
 
 The scath'd pyramid, pride's fond trust, 
 
 And the builder's forgotten dust, 
 
 Speak him in the " Valley of Kings " 
 
 Where now the Arab maiden sings, 
 
 And bandits' feet insult the tomb 
 
 Where monarchs sleep within its womb. 
 
 Lonelv now the giant hall, ■^ 
 
 And lonely the vast shadows fall > 
 
 By twilight on the sculptured wall, J 
 
 Nor mystic Meranon more replies 
 
 With plaintive note to morning rise. 
 
 1 
 
 MEASURE OF LIFE. 
 
 FIO by the lazy flight of years 
 Would measure life? 'Tis hopes, 'tis . 
 fears, f 
 
 'Tis joy and sadness, smiles and tears, J 
 Which measure out the span 
 That's fated here to man.
 
 8 
 
 ABERRATIOXS OF GENIUS. 
 
 ITH lightning eye and lip of fire 
 See Genius' wayward child, 
 His fingers from the trembling lyre 
 Wake thrilling notes and wild. 
 
 He madly tempts the ocean's rage, 
 Where with the frantic wind 
 
 Wild war the giant billows wage 
 To tempest's wrath resign 'd. 
 
 Behold him in the shallop frail 
 
 Ride reckless on the wave, 
 With daring canvass woo the gale, 
 
 Behold him frenzy's slave ! 
 
 Yea, dark the tempest's gathered gloom, 
 Still see him headlong speed, 
 
 Nor of the fell and bursting storm 
 Aught save its beauty heed. 
 
 In sooth 'twas rashly, madly done, 
 
 But from his lonely bier 
 Lives there the cold and lifeless one, 
 
 That can withhold a tear ?
 
 OPPORTUNITY. 
 
 i^EIZE opportunity when shows she first, 
 For either she not visits thee again, 
 Or else abates in price, as poets feign 
 Of the world's ages. First appears in prime 
 All golden, then to silver gently wanes, 
 To brass falls next, and slighted, comes no more 
 But as grim Necessity iron-clad. 
 
 THE WHEREFORE OF DRINKING. 
 
 % 
 
 ^^HE black earth drinketh, yea 
 
 Z^ 
 
 And drink it do the trees, 
 The sea too drinks the breeze. 
 
 The sun withal the sea. 
 The moon the sun drinks so ; 
 
 Then why, my friends, blame me 
 If I'd be drinkiuff too? 
 
 Anacreon, Ode 19.
 
 10 
 
 DEATH BY ASPHYXIA. 
 
 _ HEERFUL Health with her rose of red 
 From life's dull sluarorard stream hath fled; 
 
 Its purest fountain poison'd now 
 Death mingles with its sullen flow, 
 
 In mist-like chilness rising slow, 
 
 And darkness gathers on that brow ; 
 
 The heavy breath, the drowsy eye, 
 
 Proclaim the last sad struggle nigh ; 
 
 He pants and droops, nor more he may 
 
 Raise thence his wilder'd head, 1 
 
 Though friends in anguish round his bed [> 
 
 Are sobbing there, and tears are shed; J 
 
 He heeds them not, nor knows he pain, 
 
 But acts life's follies o'er again. 
 
 The huntsman winds the lively horn. 
 
 And snuffs again the dewy morn ; 
 
 The soldier's in the battle-field, 
 
 The foe is there, he scorns to yield ; 
 
 Now routed legions mock his gaze 
 
 And " Victory ! " on his pale lip plays ; 
 
 While the pleased peasant dreaming sees 
 
 The nibbling flocks and waving trees. 
 
 Delusion strange I whose wizard spell 
 
 Can wake the scenes we love so well. 
 
 Like those sad flowers whose deathly bloom 
 
 In smiling mock'ry decks our tomb.
 
 11 
 
 TREES. 
 
 ^^-^^ WIN forest-children, Hail ! that grace 
 
 This mount's sweet summit where we 
 round 
 The landscape to the blue hills trace, 
 Or where it melteth into space. 
 
 Ye whose boughs tangling, interwound, 
 Shattering the sun's rays withal 
 That yet between your bright leaves fail 
 In glitt'ring fragments to the ground ; 
 When noon's hot fervors quell 
 
 The spirit of the air, 
 The faint breeze oft will tell 
 In gentle accents fair, 
 He loves the ling'ring 'mong your leaves 
 For pleasant cool he thence receives.
 
 12 
 
 TO NANCY. 
 
 [IE earth in wild profusion pours 
 Her countless tribes of fruits and flowers, 
 That from her sacred bosom draw, 
 Each by its own peculiar law, 
 
 The mantling juice of root and stem 
 
 That feedeth leaf and blossom gem; 
 
 In these with tempting nectar swells, 
 
 In those with poison dark repels, 
 
 Effects how opposite are there ! 
 
 Though earth the same, the sky, the air, 
 
 And the same glad'ning sunbeams shine, 
 
 The hemlock dwells beside the vine ! 
 
 How near resembling these we find 
 
 The shad'wy tenants of the mind ! 
 
 Be they stormy troublers of ease 
 
 Or soothing ministers of peace, 
 
 All from one source by secret law 
 
 Their food and various beinff draw : 
 
 Hope weaves her sweet delusive dream 
 
 Where dark despair hangs o'er the stream, 
 
 That willow waving prompts the while 
 
 To sorrow tears, to joy her smile. 
 
 Revenge her tooth with venom fills 
 
 Where pity gentle balm distils. 
 
 While mem'ry prompt at ev'ry call 
 
 Attends on each hand-maid of all. 
 
 But chief of love, who of her store 
 
 Insatiate, still asks for more,
 
 To Nancy. 13 
 
 And when she hath recounted o'er 
 
 Of her the loved and absent one, ■] 
 
 Memento's sweet — the story done, }► 
 
 Of how and where their love begun ; J 
 
 Each tree, each hill, each pleasant vale, 
 
 The fragrant bower, and verdant dale. 
 
 He wills her to renew the tale. 
 
 Thus as the sun forsakes the sky 
 
 And musing twilight draweth nigh, 
 
 And night with dusky hue is seen 
 
 Stealing o'er the landscape green. 
 
 And oak or elm its stature rears, 
 
 And like some giant-form appears 
 
 Against the sky where gleams the ray, "j 
 
 The last sweet light of ling'ring day, > 
 
 Ere yet the moon assert her sway ; J 
 
 Then steal I from the busy hum 
 
 Where scarce its broken murmurs come, 
 
 And seated, Nancy, 'neath some tree, 
 
 There as ever think on thee. 
 
 O then the heart's lock'd treasures flow. 
 
 The busy thoughts that come and go, 
 
 Most soothing sweet though dash'd with pain, 
 
 Like life itself a chequer'd train ! 
 
 The star of eve is glist'ring bright, 
 
 Art thou watching its dewy light ? 
 
 Yon filmy cloud that iloateth by 
 
 May veil its lustre from thine eye. 
 
 Now walking on the pebbly shore 
 
 List'nin"- the waves in sullen roar. 
 
 Or restless chafing of the sea. 
 
 As I of thee think'st thou of me ?
 
 14 To Nancy. 
 
 My heart's fond hopes they whisper well, 
 And I believe the tale they tell, 
 But anxious thoughts anon arise 
 Who may be gazing- on those eyes ? 
 
 LINES 
 
 DESCRIPTIVE OF A FRIEND's STATUE 
 OF LOVE TRIUMPHANT. 
 
 |OVE went on triumphant, and in his way 
 Lights on the lordly lion, vast and wood, 
 That rush'd disdainful on the easy prey, 
 The child that him with puny dart vi'ithstood ; 
 That puny dart's sole touch all changed his mood, 
 Strange pangs his erst undaunted bosom quell, 
 The victor on him leaps, and as he would, 
 Mocking, leads the savage who scarce can tell. 
 So dazed his sense, if it be ill with him or well.
 
 15 
 
 LINES 
 
 sent many years since with a copy op 
 Wordsworth's poems. 
 
 SEND thee one of fame's fond worshippers, 
 That from the mix'd and envj^-tainted voice 
 Of these our days, hath lodged his great 
 appeal 
 
 To the slow even-handed future. Whose 
 Award he looks for, proudly confident, 
 A true son of song. For hath poesy 
 This gift to raise her sons above the crowd, 
 And the crowd's thoughts earth-bound and riveted 
 To one scene and time, while the high-soul'd bard's 
 Imaginings up-soar, boundless in both. 
 And their's is a proud destiny ; for in life 
 Though oft unhonour'd and perchance pursued 
 By persecution's hot malevolence, 
 Or envy's canker"d tooth ; yet after death 
 Comes retribution, and their honour'd names 
 Live in men's hearts, and their treasured musinsfs. 
 Star-like, go shining on the light of ages.
 
 16 
 
 THOUGHTS. 
 
 E thoughts that throng by thousands 
 through, 
 Undraped in words, the thrilling brain, 
 Would each possessor always knew 
 Your flight celestial to detain ; 
 What life of light he'd from you gain, 
 In vour first fresh hues struggling caught, 
 
 Ere yet the twilight intervene, 
 That things with brightest colours fraught, 
 Dims as with veil in dusky after-thought. 
 
 ADVICE. 
 
 HINK not you've answer'd when you say 
 That I who warn have nothing seen, 
 But think the post may point the way 
 That yet itself hath never been.
 
 17 
 
 THE CLOUDS. 
 
 AIL ! ye whose filmy forms from off the sea 
 4 Or steaming lake or dewy mead, rising, greet 
 ^ The jocund sun that calls you forth; 
 V4%^ While ye obedient wreath your airy shapes, 
 Fantastic floating in the buoyant air. 
 Forms strange and lovely, hail I whether around 
 His throne ye bask in gold and purple pomp; 
 Or lift your fleecy whiteness high in air ; 
 Or shed your moisture on the thirsty plain ; 
 Or, gath'ring round the mountain's rugged crest, 
 Alps or Andes, burst in thunder, rattling 
 From peak to peak ; or silent crumbling 
 Each hoar hill, do, with your thin streamlets, seam 
 Its sides, or filter through a thousand chinks 
 To the gelid pool, where mortal eye scans not, 
 And the spirit of the flood his lone vigil keeps ; 
 Or, now bright filaments, ye thread your way ; 
 Or, babbling, murmur as the pebbly brook ; 
 Or fret your sedgy path through moist verdure ; 
 Or, joining your pure streams, ye dance along, 
 Swelling as you go with Proteus-changings. 
 An angry torrent now from rock to rock 
 Dash indignant, scatt'ring your iris spray 
 In the glad sunbeams ; now a slumb'ring lake 
 Whose still face images hill, tree, and sky ; 
 Thence escaped to seek some plain or valley, 
 Where with smiling plenty on either bank 
 Ye glide in all its pomp, a river fair, 
 Majestic flowing to the parent main. 
 
 c
 
 j8 
 
 TO NANCY. 
 
 'IS full of change, this world, I know, 
 t^^i;) And Nature's full of changes too ; 
 /^^ This earth hath changed, and from its face 
 Hath swept mankind, a feeble race. 
 
 And stars once were, whose lovely rays 
 
 Have blest the sight of ancient days. 
 
 Though, quenched now their cheerful light, 
 
 They wander in the gloom of night. 
 
 And fickle fortune changeth so. 
 
 And with her tide friends come and g-o : 
 
 And hope, man's cheating god's a thing 
 
 Most changeful with its morning-wing. 
 
 Beauty too — yes those eyes of thine 
 
 Their speaking light must cease to shine. 
 
 Bounteous is nature, all too kind. 
 
 But alas I unstable. The mind, 
 
 Her proudest gift, how oft hath died 
 
 Ere fled the life 'twas meant to guide I 
 
 Haughty reason, how oft forsook 
 
 Her temple in " this fleshly nook," 
 
 While hov'ring round in fitful gleams 
 
 Most mournfully sad she seems, 
 
 Like some lorn spirit that doth pine 
 
 To enter its unhallow'd shrine. 
 
 Not so the heart whose love is pure ; 
 
 That through all changes will endure. 
 
 Then, Ann, thou loved one, tell not me 
 
 That I can ever change from thee :
 
 To Nancy. 19 
 
 Thine image would survive the fall 
 Of hopes, friends, fortune, reason — all ; 
 All thy dear image would survive, 
 Cherish'd unforgotten while I live. 
 
 A MOUNTAIN. 
 
 ^TS top the sun's first beams assail, 
 I First greets the lark with carol sweet, 
 While darkness keepeth yet the vale 
 There sleeping at its lordly feet. 
 There clouds oft rest that dews o'erfill ; 
 No gently swelling rounded hill, 
 But peaked, high, abrupt doth spring, -^ 
 
 Tow'ring aloft, nor mortal thing k 
 
 Might reach its brow withouten wing. J
 
 20 
 
 TO MY BOY. 
 
 >T Sorrow's sad command, 
 Take I then the harp again 
 Which neglected long hath lain, 
 And with unsteady hand 
 From the rusted string 
 That doth harshly ring 
 Wake a rude and mournful strain I 
 
 How as the hour drew nigh 
 I hung suspense 'twixt hope and fear ! 
 Yet rather hoped — looking to hear 
 That music to a father's ear — 
 
 The life revealing cry. 
 That tells the coming of the one 
 His waiting wish hath anchor'd on : 
 
 How heavy in its stead 
 On my blank heart smote down 
 
 The tidings thou wert dead ! 
 
 Thou wert, my boy, as some fair star 
 Whose rising hath been waited for. 
 When, as the hour drew near 
 Men look'd to see it peer 
 Above th' horizon fair. 
 Envious winds arise, 
 And the sullen clouds are driven 
 To that corner of the heaven,
 
 1 
 
 To iMY Boy. :>! 
 
 And darkly clust'ring there 
 Veil it from all eves. 
 
 Thus by thy mother moiirn'd alway 
 Didst thou most silent shrink away, 
 And from thy father's face thus flee, -i 
 
 Whose hopes so fondly clung to thee, I- 
 
 As one who should his fast friend be. J 
 
 Yet who might lift the veil of time and see 
 1 low youthful years with hacknied age agree ? 
 For oft alas ! it is not stronsr 
 The concord of the old and young. 
 
 Who long hath trod life's lengthen'd way 
 Each flowret's hue, 
 No longer new, 
 With other eyes doth view J 
 
 Than the young in hope, fresh and gay. 
 With years alas I as they run on 
 Our feelings take an alter'd tone, 
 And the hot noon of life dries up the dew 
 That glitter'd on our path wliile yet 'twas new ; 
 And on and on we go 
 
 Earlier hopes renounce, 
 Dreaming we wiser grow ; 
 If what pleased us once 
 Have ceased to please us now. 
 Meanwhile our sun is settinsf fast 
 And doth distorting shadows cast ; 
 Till comes old age, which, in its twilight, sees 
 Nor blue in the skies, nor green in the trees. 
 What wonder then if youth be loth to cage 
 Where its blithe note is marr'd by hoarser age ? 
 Yet I had kept, my boy, for thee
 
 22 To MY Boy. 
 
 A corner of this heart, 
 Untrod by time's all-searing foot : 
 There thy soul had taken root, 
 
 There dwelt apart ; 
 Thence had well'd forth a sympathy 
 For thy young thoughts and feelings ; there 
 
 Thou shouldst have pour'd 
 
 Thy little hoard 
 Of hopes and wishes, griefs and care ; 
 
 And that without measure 
 
 As into a treasure, 
 Of which thyself had held the key. 
 
 Life we had walk'd together, 
 
 Nor thou hadst miss'd ever 
 Unto the end, 
 
 What thy father had never, 
 A constant friend. 
 
 How had I built higher and higher 
 
 Thy growing mind, 
 
 Joying to find 
 It soon had topp'd thj' sire ? 
 Like him who plants some favor'd tree 
 Which yet scarce reaching to his knee, 
 He tends with care, and all around 
 Doth water it and trench the ground. 
 And watcheth it put forth and grow. 
 Though for his wishes all too slow, 
 Till the broad branches spread 
 In blooming verdure o'er his head ; 
 Then proudly seats him 'neath the shade 
 Which his own careful hand hath made. 
 And listens to the wanton breeze 
 Sporting among the rustling leaves,
 
 To MY Boy. 23 
 
 And deems his toil repaid; 
 
 Alas for the fabric hope had made ! 
 
 Vanish'd how soon its cheating gleam -j 
 
 As fragments of a morning dream, }> 
 
 Or bursting bubble in life's sad stream ! J 
 
 For thou in thy narrow house art laid. 
 
 The valley-clod must soon begin 
 
 To challenge what it claims of kin, 
 
 While wings thy brighter part its flight 
 
 Back to its home, the realm of light. 
 
 Hence ! fond regrets, each foolish dream, 
 
 The sober thought ye ill beseem. 
 
 Can any higher state 
 
 Earth's proudest sons await, 
 
 Than, like my boy, a seat attain 
 
 Among the souls that know no stain ? 
 
 Selfish murmurs rise 
 And, half whisper'd, die away ; 
 For thine indeed the gain 
 To miss a world of pain, 
 And first ope thine eyes. 
 To close them ne'er again, 
 In the happy realms of day. 
 
 Self rebuked, I may no more 
 Bewail thy lot, 
 Who dead art not, 
 But hast wing'd thy way 
 Whither the good and wise 
 
 Of all time have troo})'d before. 
 
 Early ! yet thine the fate -^ 
 
 For which the guilty great, }■ 
 
 Might well exchange his state. J
 
 24 To MY Boy. 
 
 Could then a wish undo thy flight, 
 Dare I woo thee from the light 
 Of those happy fields above, 
 The reign of innocence and love, 
 Back to this scene of shades and strife, 
 And fev'rish longings, ill-named life? 
 No, nor that other smiling thing, 
 Like thee too snatch'd away 
 Ere yet beheld the light of day. 
 Who seems as she did wait 
 To greet thee at heaven's gate, 
 With a sister's sweet welcoming. 
 
 There, my babes, as from the fount of day 
 Ye fill your tiny urn. 
 If it may be hither turn, 
 And smilingly look down 
 On hearts that are your own. 
 On your loved mother, and that dear girl 
 Who hath linger'd long 
 On the threshold of the gate, 
 Through which ye have past so late ; 
 And if to angel-song 
 
 Or infant prayer 
 Such potency be given. 
 Meekly ask of kind Heaven 
 For that loved pair 
 Health and peace a long, long date.
 
 25 
 
 1 
 
 TO MY DEAR ANN AFTER A SERIOUS 
 ILLNESS. 
 
 [||J!HE, then, the loved one, doth complain 
 That long my harp hath silent lain, 
 Herself ungreeted by a strain, 
 Since we were one ; though oft befoi'e 
 The minstrel's flowers have strewn her door. 
 
 Wouldst thou, dear Ann, the reason know 
 
 Why love unchanged is yet more slow J>. 
 
 In measured murmurings to flow ? J 
 
 Ask, then, the bounding stream, the mountain-child, 
 
 Why. springing forth from cave or covert wild, 
 
 He lifts his voice the rocks among, 
 
 Aud as he leaps along 
 
 111 brooking all delay, 
 Ceases not his murmur'd song; 
 
 But tells in chafing tone 
 Of ev'ry mossy stone 
 
 That doth cross his way. 
 Impatient hasteth on, 
 Singing still, in murmurs low 
 Where the sedgy grass doth grow, 
 And more angerly anon 
 Leaping from the steep rock down ; 
 And torrent-like his rainbow spray
 
 26 To MY DEAR Ann 
 
 Up-flinging in the face of day : 
 Hasting on with the murmur'd tale 
 Until he reach the silent dale, 
 Where stretcheth broad his home of rest, 
 The quiet lake's most tranquil breast ; 
 The lake his waters aid to fill, 
 And then for ever more are still ; 
 For its calm depth might ill beseem 
 The chiding of a homeless stream. 
 Now other signs of life doth give, 
 From morn to noon, from noon to eve ; 
 Its silent breathings grateful rise 
 To swell the clouds that skim the skies, 
 Its bosom thrilling to the breeze 
 That sigheth soft among the trees ; 
 Or from its placid face 
 Doth mirror back each trace 
 Of the calm landscape fair and still. 
 The flower, the tree, the moon-lit hill, 
 With that the dewy meek-eyed star 
 That dwells in azure depths afar. 
 
 And thus affection's stream, long pent. 
 Doth struggle strong to find a vent, 
 
 The loved one far away ; 
 Till it voice forth in numbers sweet 
 
 Its sad and lonely lay. 
 
 For poesy, yoke-fellow meet, 
 Will ever still more kindly greet 
 
 Him, the sequesterd one ; 
 Who from the crowd doth walk apart 
 
 Companion'd by his thoughts alone.
 
 ^FTER A SERIOUS IlLNESS. 
 
 And her's, sweet sorceress, the art 
 To wake the visions near his heart. 
 
 The scenes he loves so well ; 
 To burst the bonds of time and space, 
 
 Her's the weird wand and spell. 
 
 But let kind fate the wanderer place 
 In the bright Heav'n his fancies trace, 
 
 The haven of his rest ; 
 The word- wing' d thoughts unfetter'd move 
 
 By lip at once exprest. 
 
 Absorb'd in th' atmosphere of love, 
 As like the lake-born mist above. 
 
 They momently exhale ; 
 And mock who would detain their flight, 
 
 Link'd to the rhyming tale. 
 
 All feelings in their depth and height 
 Words feature not ; the tremulous ligfht 
 
 Of the still anxious eye, 
 The look, the smile, the blanched cheek, 
 
 If aught of ill be nigh. 
 
 Nameless nothings, whose sum yet speak 
 The loved and loving. Who would seek 
 
 To clog them with a chain. 
 And brush their brightest hues away 
 
 That ev'ry touch disdain ? 
 
 And yet against this happy day 
 My Ann hath challenged a lay ; 
 
 Though words can ill express
 
 28 To MY DEAR AnNT. 
 
 The joy that thrills through ev'ry vein, 
 The thrill of happiness. 
 
 To see thee thus, ray love, again, 
 Might well repay a world of pain ; 
 
 The dear one snatch'd away. 
 An equal grief alas I we share, 
 
 'Twas Heaven's will that day ! 
 
 I'll meekly strive his loss to bear 
 Who silent shunn'd this world of care, 
 
 Of anxiousness and fears, 
 
 And, O ! be added years 
 To thy dear life, in health renew'd, my meed, 
 Who were without thee, desolate indeed.
 
 29 
 
 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 HOMER'S ILIAD. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 I. 
 
 ^: ^^g HE wrath, O Goddess, sing, of Peleus' son 
 V(f^ .^P Destructive, whence to Greeks woes 
 
 '"'-s^:^^^ Which many mighty souls of heroes 
 
 down 
 To Hades hurl'd untimely, themselves threw 
 To dogs a prey, and all the winged crew. 
 So was the will of Jove accomplished, 
 From the time that asunder first they drew 
 Those chiefs, in angry strife contending then, 
 Achilles, godlike, and Atrides, king of men. 
 
 II. 
 
 Who then of the gods them set contending 
 In angry strife ? Jove's and Latona's son : 
 For he, all sorely angered with the king, 
 Roused through the host a grievous plague anon, 
 Whose weight fell the perishing folk upon ; 
 For that to priest Chryses, as ill became, 
 Atrides, proud, had foul dishonour done 
 When he approach'd th' Acha?an ships to claim 
 1 lis daughter, bringing boundless ransom for the dame.
 
 30 Homer's Iliad. 
 
 III. 
 His hands, Apollo the far-darter's crown, 
 Together with the sceptre golden, prest ; 
 Imploring all the well-greaved Greeks around : 
 But both Atrides, far above the rest, 
 Those people-ruling chiefs his prayer addressed: — 
 " Ye sons of Atreus and each well-greaved Greek, 
 " The Gods by whom Olympian homes possess'd, 
 " Grant you safe return, when ye first shall wreak 
 " In Troy's full overthrow the vengeance that ye seek. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " But my loved child release me and receive 
 " The ransom, and to the great son of Jove, 
 " Apollo, the far-darter, rev'rence give." 
 Th' applauding Greeks t'accept the gifts approve, 
 And the priest respect. Yet not this could move 
 Proud Agamemnon in his haughty mind, 
 But with contempt dismissed him, and above 
 These words of grievous threat'ning adds, unkind, 
 " 'Ware, old man, how thee by the hollow ships I find. 
 
 V. 
 
 " Or again returning, or ling'ring now, 
 " Lest the sceptre ill stead thee or the crown 
 " Of thy God. Her I never will let go, 
 " Ere old age upon her descendeth down 
 " In our abode, in Argos ; from her own 
 " Dear country far, on labours of the loom 
 " Intent, and with my couch familiar grown. 
 "Hence! On thy way depart — thou know'st her 
 doom, 
 " Nor anger me, wouldst thou return in safety home."
 
 Homer's Iliad. 31 
 
 VI. 
 
 He spake. The old man trembled and obey'd 
 The word, and silent walk'd along the shore 
 Of the many-noised sea, and going prav'd 
 Much apart to the king he did adore, 
 Apollo, whom fair-hair'd Latona bore. — 
 " Hear me, thou of the silver bow, that round 
 " Hast Chrysa girt with thy protecting power, 
 " And Cilia the divine, and lookest down 
 " On Teuedos, where with high hand thou rulest thine 
 own. 
 
 VII. 
 
 " Smintheus, if temple I did ever roof 
 " Grateful to thee, or the fat thighs e'er burn 
 " Of horned bulls or goats in thy behoof; 
 " Then hearken to me and this one wish crown : 
 " On the Greeks for my tears thy darts hurl down." 
 So spake he, praying. Him Apollo heard, 
 And paced Olympus' tops with wrathful frown. 
 Bow and quiver on his shoulders. As he stirr'd 
 The arrows rattled, and he like black night appear'd. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Apart from the ships he sat. From the string 
 Forth leap'd the arrow, while the silver bow. 
 Recoiling, did with dreadful clangour ring. 
 First on their mules and fleet dogs he dealt the blow, 
 Then on themselves the deadly dart did throw. 
 And fires funereal frequent burn and aye. 
 Nine days throughout the host his arrows go, 
 The tenth the folk Achilles summons hig-h, 
 For Juno prompts, who grieved to see her Argives die.
 
 32 Homer's Iliad. 
 
 IX. 
 
 And when they gather'd and assembled been, 
 Mid them rising, swift-foot Achilles spake. — 
 " Atrides now wand'ring afresh I ween, 
 " Since plague and war alike their havoc make 
 " Upon the Greeks, we home our voyage take, 
 " So shun death. But some seer or priest let's now 
 " Or dream-interpreter, interrogate, 
 " (For dreams too of a truth from Jove do flow) 
 " To tell us why Apollo wrathful deals this blow. 
 
 X. 
 
 " Tell us whether of some neglected vow 
 " Or slighted hecatomb he doth complain, 
 " And whether in his anger haply now, 
 " For smell of lambs and goats unblemish'd slain 
 " To meet us reconciled he will deign, 
 " And from us drive this pestilence away." 
 Thus having spoke he sat him down again. 
 And Calchas, first of augurs, rose straightway, 
 Who knew things present, past, and of a future day ; 
 
 XI. 
 
 And the Achaean vessels Troyward led. 
 For that divining art Apollo gave. 
 He harangued them wisely, and thus he said : — 
 " Achilles, Jove-beloved thou bidst me tell 
 " Apollo's wrath, far-darting king. — 'Tis well, 
 " Speak, I will ; but covenant thou and swear 
 " Thou wilt defend me hand and word with zeal. 
 " My speech a man will anger much, I fear, 
 " Who rules th' Argives and whom the Achseans do 
 revere.
 
 Homer's Iliad. 33 
 
 xir. 
 
 " For all too strong's a king when at the poor 
 
 " His anger's aim'd. Though his wrath he smother, 
 
 *' That day he will but in his breast the more 
 
 " Nurse the grudge to wreak it at some other — 
 
 " But say, wiU screen me as a man his brother?" 
 
 Him answ'ring spake swift-foot Achilles so : 
 
 " Bold speak out thine oracle or other 
 
 " Thing thou know'st. For by Jove-loved Apollo 
 
 Whom praying, tell'st the Danai his answers thou. 
 
 xiir. 
 
 " None, I living and on this ground to see 
 " Shall by the hollow ships of all the host 
 " Of Danai lay heavy hands on thee. 
 " Not if Atreus' son thou namest, who doth boast 
 " Him in the army now the mightiest most." 
 Took courage then and spake th' illustrious seer — 
 " Of no vow complaining, to mem'i-y lost, 
 " Or hecatomb draws great Apollo near, 
 " But for his priest whom Atreus' son insulted here. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " Nor would his daughter free nor gifts receive, 
 " For this, the dread king deals heavy and more 
 •' Will add ; nor from plague his rough hand respite 
 " Till to her sire unransom'd we restore [give, 
 
 " His dark-eyed girl, and lead to Chrysa's shore 
 " A holy hecatomb ; and then we may 
 " Perchance persuade him if we much implore." 
 This said he sat. To them without delay 
 Rose hero Agamemnon of wide-ruling swav. 
 
 D
 
 34 Homer's Iliad. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Sore chafed, he grieved at heart, and kindling ire 
 Half choked his gloomy breast, and his two eyes 
 In their quick glances shew'd like flashing fire. 
 At Calchas scowling spake he on this wise : — 
 " Prophet of woe, that in thy soul dost prize, 
 " And gloat o'er thine ill fore-bodings, never 
 " Aught bright or good in all thy prophecies 
 " Didst tell, or do but only evil ever, 
 " And now the Greeks haranguing thou wouldst en- 
 deavour 
 
 xvr. 
 " Persuade them with thine oracles, for this 
 " The Far-darter plagues them, because the bright 
 " Ransom I'd not accept for Chryseis, 
 " Choosing herself at home should bless my sight. 
 " Since she than Clytemnestra doth delight 
 " Me more, who came to me a virgin bride ; 
 " For face, and form, and mind, and skill, she's quite 
 " Her equal. Yet, if better so betide, 
 " I'll yield her, for I would the people hved — not died. 
 
 xvir. 
 
 " But prompt for me prepare ye some reward, 
 " And not all portionless alone leave me 
 " Of all the Greeks, for that indeed were hard ; 
 " For elsewhere goes my prize, ye all do see." 
 Him, swift Achilles answer'd, " Whence can be 
 " Renown'd Atrides greediest of men, 
 " The high-soul'd Greeks should give a prize to thee ? 
 " The sack'd cities' spoil is shared, nor remain 
 " Can much, nor should the folk make common stock 
 again.
 
 Homer's Iliad. '35 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 " But now do thou send back the girl, and we, 
 " If Jove grant us to sack Troy's well-wall'd town, 
 " Thrice and fourfold will make it up to thee." 
 And him answ'ring spake king Agamemnon : — 
 " Not so by thee can I be put upon, 
 " Brave though thou art, Achilles the divine ; 
 " Not so canst o'erreach me, I so be won ; [thine, 
 " Prize forsooth ! What ! wouldst thou be enjoying 
 " And I the while sit tamely down deprived of mine ? 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " Wouldst have me send her back ? But then some 
 
 prize 
 " The high-soul'd Achseans must give me home 
 " That fits my taste, and with the maiden vies. 
 " Else thine, or of Ulysses, I will come, 
 " Or Ajax, and lead off the prize. His doom 
 " He'll chafe at whom I visit — But anon 
 " We'll think of this. A dark ship now let some 
 " To the dread sea drag, and collect thereon 
 " The rowers fit, and place therein a hecatomb. 
 
 XX. 
 
 " And make fair Chryseis herself ascend, 
 " And as commander let some chieftain now, 
 " Idomeneus or Ajax, thither wend, 
 " Or Ulysses the divine, or else thou, 
 " Pelides, the most dread of men we know, 
 " That with due rites thou mayst propitiate 
 " The Far-darter for us." With scowlin£r brow 
 Swift-foot Achilles answer'd, " Me ! how great 
 " The impudence thou'rt sheath'd in, slave of pelf! 
 Who'll wait
 
 36 Homer's Iliad. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " Of the Greeks to do thy hest with good will, 
 " Whether to dress the ambush on the way, 
 " Or in stiff fight where man to man they kill ? 
 '' For Trojans left I not the land I sway 
 " To come fighting here ; for ne'er harm'd me they, 
 " Nor ravaged fertile Phthia, rich in men, 
 " Nor drove my horses nor my beeves away, 
 " Nor spoil'd her fruits, for that full hard had been 
 " Since dusk mountains many and sounding seas 
 between. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 " Thee shameless follow'd we, for thy pleasure 
 " Working Menelaus' honour, and thee, 
 " Thou dog-fac'd, on Troy — and this our measure ! 
 " For these repent'st thee not, carest not, nay 
 " To take my prize thyself dost threaten me, 
 " W'hich I sore toil'd for, and th' Achaeans gave, 
 " Though prize like thine Fve not, whene'er it be ; 
 " Some Trojan city sack th' Achsans brave, 
 " But the fierce battle's brunt mine are the hands that 
 have. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 " Yet when the division comes then the share 
 " That's largest far doth ever fall to thee, 
 " While I my portion small but precious bear 
 " To the ships, which I've toil'd for wearily. 
 " To Phthia go I now. 'Twill better be 
 " Home to wend with the ships of beaked prow, 
 " Nor methinks when this place I quit, by thee 
 " Dishonour'd, thou wilt much abundance know 
 " Of the riches and pelf, for which thou hank'rest so."
 
 Homer's Iliad. 37 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 To him the king. " Flee an thou wilt. Not I 
 " Will on my own account intreat thee stay; 
 " To do me honour I have others by, 
 " But chief depp-counsell'd Jove. To mc alway 
 " Thou, of all the Jove-nourish'd kings that sway 
 " Art hateful most. Contention thou dost love, 
 " And wars and battles ever. Though thou say 
 " Thy might is great, 'tis given thee of Jove. 
 " Now hie thee home with ships and friends, and there 
 above 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " Thy Myrmidons lord it. I little reck 
 " Of thee or thy wrath, but thus threaten thee 
 '* In turn. Since Apollo doth from me take 
 " Chryseis fair, the maiden shall to sea, 
 " Sent in mine own bark where mine own friends be. 
 " But the fair-cheek'd Briseis, thy loved prize, 
 " I'll to thy tent myself and take. Thou'lt see 
 " How much thy stronger, I. So who else vies 
 " With me may quail, or ere to cope with me he tries.'' 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 He spake. And sore arose Pelides' wrath. 
 His raging bosom balanced which were best ; 
 If from his thigh his sharp sword drawing forth, 
 He on should rush, and thrust aside the rest 
 And slay Atrides, or, his ire compress'd. 
 Rein in his indiornation. While thus crew 
 The angry tumult in his troubled breast. 
 Of thoughts revolved, and his huge sword he drew 
 Forth from its scabbard, down from heaven Athenia 
 flew.
 
 38 Homer's Iliad. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Fair-arm'd Juno sent her, for in her mhid 
 The goddess felt an equal love and care 
 For hoth the chieftains. Athenia behind 
 Pelides stood and puU'd his yellow hair, 
 To him only visible, none else there 
 Perceiv'd her. And Achilles with amaze 
 Was struck, and turn'd him with astonish'd air. 
 And knew Athenia straight, so dread the gaze 
 Gleam'd from her eyes. These wing'd words speaking 
 thus he says : — 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 " Why here, O child of TEgis-bearing Jove ? 
 " To witness then this outrage done on me 
 " By Agamemnon, comest thou from above? 
 " But this I tell thee, and fulfill'd 'twill be, 
 " Of his haught pride his life he'll forfeit see." 
 Him azure-eyed Athenia spake : — " I came 
 " To check thine anger if thou wilt obey 
 " From Heaven ; Juno sent me, white arm'd dame, 
 " Who in her soul doth watch, and love ye both the 
 same. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 " Now cease from strife, nor let thy hand draw sword; 
 " Sting him with speech indeed, as thou shalt see 
 " Occasion. But this I say, and my word 
 " Shall stand. Thrice so many one day to thee 
 " Of splendid gifts, shall for this outrage be. 
 " But check thyself, and unto us obey." 
 Achilles answer'd : — " What ye bid must we, 
 " Goddess, mind ; 'tis best, be how wrath we may, 
 " For who thegods doth rev'rence, him they hear alway."
 
 Homer's Iliad. 39 
 
 XXX. 
 
 He spake, and on the silver hilt he stay'd 
 His stalwart hand, and thrust his mighty sword 
 Back into its scahbard, nor disobey'd 
 Athenia's word. She now returns toward 
 Olympus, where Jove of the .-Egis broad 
 Doth with the other gods his dwelling hold. 
 Pelides then again with bitter word 
 Spake to Atrides, nor his wrath controU'd : 
 " O wine-drench'd, that with heart of deer hast hound's 
 eyes bold, 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 " Ne'er with the folk to harness thee in war, 
 " Or wait in ambush by our princes' side, 
 " Durst thou. This smack'd too strong of peril far. 
 " Much better through th' Achaean army wide 
 " Go plund'ring prizes, if one thwart thy pride, 
 " Folk-devouring king, that rulest men of naught ; 
 " This outrage else had been the last thou'dst tried. 
 " This I say, and a grave oath swear to boot, 
 " Yea, by this sceptre, that nor leaves nor boughs will 
 shoot, 
 
 xxxii. 
 
 " Since its stem in the mountains first it left, 
 " Nor buds again put forth, the iron so 
 " Hath round it clean of leaves and bark bereft; 
 " Achaia's sons as judg-es wield it now, 
 " That under Jove defend his laws below. 
 " An oath most solemn this, I ween to thee ; 
 " Deep dole for miss of me will one day know 
 " Th' Achseans all, and thou wilt madden'd see 
 " Thyself powerless to aid them when slain they be
 
 40 Homer's Iliad. 
 
 xxxiir. 
 
 " In numbers 'neath man-slaught'ring Hector's 
 
 glaive. [dare 
 
 " Grief and rage will gnaw thee, that thou shouldst 
 " To slight the first of all th' Achaeans brave." 
 So spake Pelides, and to earth hurl'd there 
 The sceptre, with gold studs all sprinkled fair, 
 Then sat. Th' other rag'd opposite. Up rose 
 In haste sweet-spoken Nestor, speaker rare 
 Of Pylos, from whose lips the language flows 
 Than honey sweeter. Generations two he knows, 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Now gone, that with him grew and lived of yore, 
 In Pylos famed. And with the third reigns he, 
 Who wise harangued them, and thus spake; — " How 
 
 sore 
 " A woe, ye Gods ! doth light on Greece. Ah me ! 
 " For Priam and his sons, what joy will be ! 
 " How will the Trojans in their souls rejoice I 
 " To hear all this of you two wrangling, ye 
 " That of th' Achaeans rumour broad doth noise 
 " The chief in counsel and in fight. Now to my voice 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 " Hearken, for much my juniors are ye both. 
 " Than you, time was I mix'd with mightier men, 
 " Who made not light of me. Such men, in troth 
 " I never saw, or e'er shall see again, 
 '* As Perithous and Druas, that did reign 
 " O'er his own folk ; and there was Ceneas too, 
 " Exadius and Polypheme, divine, • 
 " And Theseus a^Lgides, that all eyes drew 
 " By his god-like port. Of mortals, the bravest crew.
 
 Homer's Iliad. 41 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 " Brave themselves, they encounter'd with the hrave, 
 " The Centaur-mountaineers, and fiercely slew ; 
 " With these I mix'd, when I did Pylos leave, 
 " From th' Apian land lull far. Their summons 
 
 drew 
 " Me thence, and fight I did as best I knew ; 
 *' Fight with them of mortals, that now remain 
 " Could none. Yet they my counsels hearken'd to, 
 " And my word attended. So now, ye twain, 
 " Obey me, since, t' obey '11 be better in the main. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 " Neither him do thou of the girl bereave, 
 " All paramount though thou be, but the prize 
 " As the sons of th' Achseans gave it, leave; 
 " Nor thou, Pelides, let thy spirit rise 
 " In strife against the king, for in no wise 
 " Such lot had ever scoptre-bearing king, 
 " Whom Jove honour'd. Braver thou in all eyes, 
 " And thee a goddess to the light did bring, 
 " Yet stronger he, more numbers to his sceptre cling. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 " Atrides, thou thine anger curb, while I 
 " Entreat Achilles put his wrath aside, 
 " Who 'gainst sad war, a refuge-tower stands high 
 " To all Achajans." Answering him, replied 
 King Agamemnon. " Yea, old man, thou'st said 
 " All things most fit, but this man fain would bring 
 " All men under him, and in his rank pride, 
 " Be all men's master, over all pay king, 
 " Lead all. I think not lie'll persuade us to the 
 thing."
 
 42 Homer's Iliad. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 " A warrior, though the gods that are for aye 
 " Have made him, hath his tongue their charter too 
 " For reviUng ? " Achilles, with reply 
 Broke in upon him — '• Coward were I now 
 " And worthless hilding did I to thee bow 
 " In all thou sayst. On others go lay hest, 
 " Not me — I'll not obey thee more — But know, 
 " This else I say, and in thy mind thou'dst best 
 " Revolve it. With thee or other I'll not contest 
 
 XL. 
 
 " In blows about the wench, since 'tis your gift 
 " Ye rob me of. But what of mine doth lie 
 " Else in the swift black ship thou shalt not lift 
 " One doit in my despite. Or wouldst thou try ? 
 " Then do, that all may know who here stand by ; 
 " Thy black blood quickly round my spear shall 
 
 flow." 
 Thus they arose, with words contending high, 
 And the gath'ring at th' Achaeans' ships so 
 Broke up. Pelides to his tents and ships doth go, 
 
 XLI. 
 
 With Patroclus and his mates. And now, 
 Atrides a swift bark to sea draws down, 
 And oars-men twenty picks therein to row; 
 And the gods' hecatomb he mounts thereon, 
 And Chryseis leads in, the fair-cheek'd one : 
 And wise Ulysses mounts the bark to sway. 
 Embark'd, they sail the watery ways upon. 
 Atrides now bids cleanse the folk, and they 
 Were cleansed, and to the salt sea cast the filth away.
 
 Homer's Iliad. 43 
 
 XLII. 
 
 And to Apollo did full hecatombs 
 Of goats and bulls there offer, by the shore 
 Of the unfruitful sea. The scent up comes 
 With wreathed smoke, round rolling o'er and o'er 
 To Heaven. This travail in the host they bore, 
 Nor Agamemnon slack'd from strife at all ; 
 What he Achilles threaten 'd had before. 
 But Talthyb and Eurybates did call. 
 These two his heralds were, and servants prompt withal. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 " Go," he said, " to the tent of Peleus' son, 
 " Achilles, and Briseis by the hand 
 " Taking, hither lead ye the fair-cheek'd one. 
 " And if he yield her not to your demand, 
 " 1 will with numbers come, and by strong hand 
 " Seize her myself. A thing will vex him more." 
 He says, and sends, and adds to his command 
 Harsh words. They go reluctant by the shore 
 Of the harvestless sea, and wish their errand o'er. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 To the Myrmidons' tents and ships they came. 
 And by his tent and dark ship seated there, 
 Found him. He eyed them in no pleasant frame ; 
 They, awe-struck at the king, with rev'rent air 
 Stood still. Nor say him aught nor speak did dare. 
 He in his mind their plight perceived, and so 
 Spake — " Heralds, hail! that Jove's messengers 
 
 are, 
 " And men's. Approach ; Atrides, and not you, 
 " Wrongs me, that for the girl, Briseis, sends you two.
 
 44 Homer's Iliad. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 " High-born Patroclus, fetch the girl do thou, 
 " And let them take her. My witnesses be they, 
 " Fore the blessed gods and earthly mortals too ; 
 " And fore that ruthless king, come when it may 
 " The rest find need of me to drive away 
 " The pest of war unseemly. For the man 
 " Bent on mischief rageth, nor knows to weigh 
 " The future by the past, or strike some plan — 
 " How fight by their vessels safe, the Achajans can." 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 He said, and Patroclus the word obey'd 
 Of his dear companion, and from the tent 
 The fair-cheek'd damsel, Briseis, forth led, 
 And gave her to them. Back to the ships they bent 
 Their steps, and with them all, unwilling went 
 The girl. Achilles from his friends doth keep 
 Apart, and sits him there, such dole him bent, 
 By the hoar sea, gazing on the dark deep, 
 And doth his mother pray with outspread hands and 
 weep. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 " Mother, when thou didst bear me, brief the space 
 " I was to live, but Jove, that from the skies 
 " Does thunder, should me with much honour grace. 
 " But 'tis not so, and Atrides my prize 
 " With insult tears aw^ay before mine eyes" — 
 He spake, and wept. She, from the sea-depths hears, 
 By her old sire seated, and doth swift rise 
 From the hoar sea like mist, and for his tears 
 Sits by him, and sooths with her hand, and calls, and 
 cheers.
 
 Homer's Iliad. 45 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 " My child, why weepest thou ? and what deep dole 
 " Hath lighted on thy spirit ? come now, speak 
 " Thv grief, nor from me hide what's in thy soul, 
 " That both mav know." Then sighing,as'twould break 
 His tough bosom, swift-foot Achilles spake : — 
 " Thou know'st. These things to thee then where- 
 fore say ; 
 " On Thebes Eetion's sacred town we make 
 " Inroad, sack'd it, and carried all away ; [the prey. 
 " And 'mougst them th' Acha^ans' sons fairly shared 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 " And for Atrides chose the fair-cheeked dame, 
 " Chrvseis. But Chryses, Apollo's priest, 
 " To th' brass-kirtled Achajans' swift ships came, 
 " ^Yith ransom large, to have the girl released. 
 " Th' Achaeans all, beseeching, he addressed, 
 " Apollo's crown and sceptre in his hand ; 
 " But both Atrides, chief above the rest, 
 " The two that o'er the people hold command. 
 " And all th' Achx'ans else approve it to a man 
 
 " The priest to rev'rence, and the gifts receive ; 
 " But in his mind Atrides will'd not so, 
 " But with contempt did rough dismissal give 
 " The aged sire, who back in wrath did go ; 
 " Him, as he prayed, Apollo hearken 'd to, 
 " And on th' Argives, his priest so held he dear, 
 «' Hurl'd th' ill bolt. Thick and fast the folk died 
 " And through the wide Achaean host career, [now, 
 " The god's fell shafts. And told us then, a well- 
 skilled seer
 
 46 Homer's Iliad. 
 
 LI. 
 
 " The Far-darter's oracles. Straight advise 
 " I, first the god propitiate should we. 
 " Wrath seized Atrides, who doth instant rise, 
 " And threaten, and his threats performed be. 
 " Her, th' Achaeans quick-eyed, embark at sea 
 " In fleet ship for Chrysa, and presents too 
 " They carry for the king. And forth from me, 
 " My tent just leaving, did the heralds now, 
 " With Briscs' daughter, th' Achaeans' sons gave me, 
 go. 
 
 LH. 
 
 " But thou, if able, succour now thy son, 
 " And going to Olympus, Jove entreat, 
 " If ever thou, by word or deed hast done, 
 " What availed his soul. For oft in thy seat 
 " In my father's halls, boasting of the feat, 
 " I have heard thee tell how thou didst amove. 
 " Alone of all the gods a most unmeet 
 " Calamity from black-cloud-gath'ring Jove, 
 " When bind him, would the other habitants above, 
 
 LIII. 
 
 " Juno, Neptune, and Athenia. But thou 
 " Didst come, and from his fetters him anon 
 " Set free, to long Olympus from below 
 " Up-summoning the hundred-handed one, 
 " Gods Briareus call, and men ^^igseon, 
 " For he in strength did far excel his sire ; 
 " By Saturnius' side he sits him down, 
 " Exulting in his glory — Sight so dire, 
 " The blest gods dread, nor more to bind their king aspire.
 
 Homer's Iliad. 47 
 
 LIV. 
 
 " These things thou to his mem'ry now recall, 
 " And sit thee near him, and his knees embrace ; 
 " The Trojans, if he will but aid at all, 
 " And the (ireeks at their sliip-stcrns with disgrace, 
 " And about the sea hem in, they apace 
 " Down falling slain. So may they ev'iy one 
 " Enjoy their king. And he too the broad space- 
 " Ruling Agamemnon, Atreus' proud son, 
 " His foUv know, to slight th' Achseans' bravest one." 
 
 LV. 
 
 Him answer'd Thetis, while tear on tear 
 Courses her cheeks. " Ah me ! my son to fate 
 " So wretched bearing, thee why did I rear ? 
 " O, that tearless and teenless thou wouldst wait 
 " By the ships. Short thy span, nor long its date, 
 " But now at once short-lived, and full of woe, 
 " Art thou of all men. With so ill a fate 
 " I bore thee in my chamber. Now I go 
 " Myself up to Olympus, of abundant snow, 
 
 LVI. 
 
 " To speak this word to lightning-loving Jove, 
 " If hearken, he will. By the swift ships now 
 " Sit, raging at the Greeks as wrath may move ; 
 " But from all war withhold thee quite do thou, 
 " For Jove to Ocean yesterday did go, 
 " To banquet with the blameless /l^thiops, there 
 " With the other gods. Iteturns he so, 
 " The twelfth when his brass-paved court, be my care 
 " To climb and clasp his knees, and win, I think, my 
 prayer."
 
 48 Homer's Iliad. 
 
 LVII. 
 
 Thus having spoke, departed she, and left 
 Him chafing sore, for the well-zoned one 
 Of whom, in his despite by force they reft. 
 And now to Chrysa had Ulysses come. 
 With him leading the sacred hecatomb. 
 They, as they came within the haven deep 
 Furl sails, in the black ships stow them, and home 
 Thrust the mast to the place that should it keep. 
 With halyards quickly low'ring, and with the oars' 
 broad sweep 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 To dock the bark impel, and out they cast 
 The anchors, and with cables tie the prow; 
 And forth themselves upon the sea shore past, 
 And to Apollo, the far-darter, now 
 Debark the hecatomb. And forth doth go 
 Chryseis, from the bark that ploughs the sea ; 
 Her, wise Ulysses leads the altar to. 
 And to her dear father's hands yieldeth free. 
 And thus spake: — " Agamemnon, king of men sends 
 me 
 
 LIX. 
 
 " Hither, Chryses, thy child to thee to bring, 
 " And a holy hecatomb offer here 
 " To Phoebus, for the Greeks, that we the king 
 " May reconcile ; that to our dole draws near, 
 " And 'mong the Argives bids his bolts career." 
 And speaking thus, he gives her to his hand. 
 Who rejoicing, receives his daughter dear. 
 They quick the god's hecatomb on the strand. 
 In order round the well-built altar cause to stand.
 
 Homer's Iliad. 49 
 
 LX. 
 
 Then wash their hands, and holding high they raise 
 The salted barley cakes. While Chryses loud 
 With hands uplifted interceding, prays : — [shroud 
 '* Hear me thou silver-bow'd, whose power doth 
 " Chryse and brightest Cilia, and with proud 
 " Prevalence reignest o'er Tenedos. To me 
 " Praying thou hearkenedst erst, th' Achaean crowd 
 " Afflicting. Now too crowned may this wish be, 
 " From the Greeks th' unseemly pest expel." So 
 prayed he. 
 
 Lxr. 
 
 And Apollo heard. They, when they had prayed 
 And the salt barley-cakes forth flung, back drew 
 The victims' necks, and slaughtered them and flayed. 
 Cut out the thighs concealing them from view 
 In two fold coat of fat. And round them too 
 Hung the raw gobbets. Then on splints of wood 
 The old man burnt them, and upon them so 
 Poured the dark wine; near him theyoungmen stood 
 With forks five-pronged. They, when they'd burnt 
 the thighs as should, 
 
 LXII. 
 
 And the entrails tasted, cut in morsels small 
 The rest, and all around the hooks hunsr on. 
 And skilful roasted them, and drew back all. 
 Now their meal prepared, and their labour done. 
 They banqueted, and lack of will was none 
 To the good banquet. They so satiate 
 With moat and drink, now were with wine anon 
 The flagons crowned by the young men that wait. 
 Who dealing round to all, the cups did auspicate. 
 
 E
 
 50 Homer's Iliad. 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 And they, the Achaean youths, do all day long 
 The god with tuneful songs propitiate, 
 And raise with voices clear the Paean strong; 
 Apollo the far-darter celebrate, 
 Who all delighted hears. This do they late, 
 Till sets the sun, and darkness comes ; then sleep 
 They by the ship's prow-cables, and so wait 
 Till the daughter of the dawn doth forth peep, 
 Aurora rosy-fingered, then their voyage keep 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 Back to th' Achseans wide-spread host. A gale, 
 Apollo sends them fair. And now the mast 
 They fix, and spread abroad each milk-white sail. 
 The wind the mid-sail caught. Round the ship's 
 
 keel fast 
 The dark wave seethes, loud chafing as she past. 
 She runs on the wave. Her voyage nimbly done. 
 When reached th' Achaean army broad, they cast 
 To draw the black ship on the land, anon 
 High on the sands and fix her the long props upon. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 They then dispersed their ships and tents among. 
 But he raged on, by his fast ships seated there 
 Swift-foot Achilles, Peleus' son, Jove-sprung; 
 Nor e'er to the chieftains' gath'ring repair ; 
 Nor e'er to war would he, but vex and wear 
 His loved heart, high raging and longed the while 
 For the shout and combat. When on the air 
 The twelfth morn from thence did forth peeping smile 
 The gods, all to Olympus wend. Jove leads the file
 
 Homer's Iliad. 51 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 Nor did Thetis what her son commends 
 Forget, but early from the sea wave rose 
 To Olympus, and the great sky ascends, 
 And finds where broad-bow'd Jove apart from those 
 Sat on the peak, that of Olympus grows 
 The highest of its many peaks. And she 
 Straio^ht at his feet herself down sitting throws. 
 With right hand takes his chin, with left his knee, 
 And to Saturnian Jove thus spake beseechingly. 
 
 LXVI I. 
 
 " Zeus, ray father, if 'mong th' immortals e'er . 
 " By word or deed availed thee aught have I ; 
 " Then hearken thou to me and crown my prayer. 
 " Honour my son, so early doomed to die. 
 " Him, Agamemnon now men's ruler high, 
 " Dishonoured hath, and seizing on his prize 
 " Detains, and took it, too, himself away ; 
 " But thou Olympian Jove of counsel wise, 
 " Honour him. ^Idke the Trojans' strength increasing 
 rise, 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 " Until th' Achaeans honour too my son, 
 " And in honour him enlarge." So spake she. 
 But Zeus the cloud gatherer made answer none. 
 But silent long sat. Thetis still to his knee 
 As she had grown there, clung beseechingly. 
 And questioned him once more : — " O plainly now 
 " Promise me and consent, or else deny, 
 " Since fear dwells not with thee, that I may so 
 " Myself, of all a goddess how despised know."
 
 52 Homer's Iliad. 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 Sighed heavily cloud-gath'ring Jove, and spake — 
 " 'Twill work sad mischief this, thine urging me 
 " To strife with Juno, when she shall take 
 " To anger me with goading speech. Always she 
 " Among th' immortal gods will wrangling be, 
 " Charging me that I take the Trojans' side 
 " In battle. But now depart that she see 
 " Thee not. The care of these on me abide 
 " To their fulfilment, and for proof in this confide. 
 
 LXX. 
 
 " I nod my head assenting. This from me 
 " Among immortals is the gravest sign, 
 " For revoked must not, nor deceptive be, 
 " Nor unfulfilled whatever word of mine 
 " To sanction, with approving head I deign." 
 He spake, and his black eye-brows bending, Jove 
 Did nod. The king's ambrosial locks divine 
 About his head immortal quiv'ring move, 
 And huge Olympus shook. So counselled they re- 
 move. 
 
 Lxxr. 
 
 Then she from glittering Olympus down 
 To the deep sea plunges, and to his home 
 Wendeth Jove. The gods from their seats anon 
 Rise up all to meet their sire. In that dome 
 None dared unmoved abide when he was come. 
 But stood up all before him. With such state 
 He sat his throne. Nor had Juno come. 
 Unknowing his counsel, but saw where late 
 He with the old sea-sire's silver-footed daughter sate.
 
 Homer's Iliad. 53 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 She sharply spake: — " What god, thou crafty one, 
 " With thee was counseUing ? 'Tis thy deHght 
 " Ever apart from me to sit alone, 
 " Broodlnsf o'er some dark decree. Ne'er out ri"-ht 
 " Of thine accord dar'st tell mo what might 
 " Thy purpose be." Of gods and men the Sire 
 Thus answered her. " Hope not to fathom quite 
 " All my counsels. Their scope is, trust me, higher 
 " Than thee thereto behoves, although my spouse, as- 
 pire," 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 " But what befitting is to hear, that none 
 " Shall sooner know than thou, be't god or man. 
 " But what apart from the gods I alone 
 " Would ponder, question not, nor seek to scan." 
 Again large-eyed Juno august began : — 
 " Chronos' son most austere, what words are these ? 
 " I ne'er before or pryed or asked your plan, 
 " But much at ease you shape things as you please. 
 " But I fear me Thetis, the old sire of the sea's 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 " Silver-footed daughter, hath talked thee o'er ; 
 " I saw her sit by thee and clasp thy knee 
 " At dawn. Methinks to what she did implore 
 " Thou gav'st assent. Achilles should of thee 
 " Have honour, and that the Acha?ans be 
 " About their ships in numbers slain." Then Jove 
 The cloud-gatherer answered her: — " With thee 
 " 'Tis ever thus suspecting — Where'er I move 
 " Thou track'st mo still. Though small I wccn the 
 profit prove.
 
 54 Homer's Iliad. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 " But from my soul more alien make thee still, 
 " Which for thee were worse. What if this be so 
 " As thou thinkest. Suffice that 'tis my will. 
 " Then sit thee silent, and obedient bow, 
 " Lest all th' Olympian gods be not enow 
 " Coming to thy rescue, when I arise 
 " With all resistless hands to lay thee low." 
 He said, and Juno of the ample eyes [tries. 
 
 Sat trembling, and to keep down her loved heart silent 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 Grieved were the gods throughout Jove's house that 
 
 dwell. 
 Them Vulcan, architect renowned, begun 
 Haranguing with purpose of soothing well 
 His loved mother, Juno, the white-armed one : — 
 " A grievous mischief 'twere, nor to be borne, 
 " That you for mortals' sake should wrangling be, 
 " And raise such riot 'mong the gods. Now none 
 " Can relish the good banquet, where we see 
 " 111 things uppermost. Mother, be advised by me, 
 
 Lxxvir. 
 
 " Though thy skill scarce needs. Then conform 
 
 thee do 
 " To Jove, my loved sire, that no more he scold ; 
 " Nor with ourselves the banquet trouble too, 
 " If such his will, Olympius that doth hold 
 " The dread thunderbolt from their seat down roll'd, 
 " Might hurl. So much the strongest he. But thou 
 " With soft words soothe him. Straight,his anger cold, 
 " Olympius will to us gracious grow." 
 So said, up he sprang, and the double cup into
 
 Homer's Iliad. 55 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 His lo%'ed mother's hands did place. On this wise 
 Speaking : — " Endure it, mother mine, and bear 
 " Though sad, lest thee beaten before mine eyes 
 " I see, powerless to aid thee, though dear, 
 " Grieve as I may. Olympius I fear 
 " Is hard to stand against. For once of yore 
 " When wishing to defend thee, I drew near ; 
 " ]Me by the foot he caught, and without more, 
 " Headlong hurl'd me forth from out the heavenly 
 door. 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 " Borne along all day, with the setting sun 
 " I pitched in Lemnos, well nigh spent I ween - 
 " Me fallen there, the Sintian men anon 
 " Pick'd up." He said. Then smiled the white- 
 armed Queen, 
 And smiling, the cup from her son's hand had ta'en. 
 He, handing round to all in proper rows. 
 Poured the sweet nectar from the flagon drawn, 
 While quenchless laughter 'mong the gods arose 
 Along the hall, as Vulcan awkward limping goes. 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 Thus all day long they feast, until the sun 
 Was set. Nor to the banquet wanted will ; 
 Nor lovely harp that did Apollo own ; 
 Nor muses too that sang with sweetest skill, 
 Each other answering. Thus they until 
 The lustrous light of the great sun went down ; 
 Then these all homeward wend to sleep their fill, 
 Where his separate house for every one 
 Lame Vulcan with his wonder-working hands had done.
 
 56 Homer's Iliad. 
 
 Olympian Jove the lightning-wielder hies 
 To his own couch where he was wont to bide, 
 When sUmiber sweet came steahng o'er his eyes ; 
 Ascending there he slept, and by his side 
 Slept Juno, Queen of gods, his golden throned bride.
 
 57 
 
 
 ^{ 
 
 ^ 
 
 DEDICATIO PHASELI. 
 
 CATULLUS. 
 
 ^^HIS yacht, ray friends, that here you see, 
 
 ^W^/P Saith, that of ships was fleetest she; 
 ^^ Nor floating craft with such force ply ~j 
 ^^ That she not able pass it by ; }■ 
 
 Whether 'twere need with oars to fly J 
 
 Or with sail. Nor will this, saith she, 
 The shore of threat'ning Adria's sea 
 Gainsay ; nor islands Cyclades, 
 Nor noble Rhodes, nor roughest Thrace ; 
 Nor yet Propontis, nor the bay 
 Of savage Pontus ; where had she, 
 This after ship, erst stood 
 With locks adorned a wood. 
 And hissing sounds oft utter wont. 
 With prattling locks on Cytor's mount. 
 To Pontic Amastris, and thee, 
 Box-grown Cytor, have been and be 
 These things, the bark avers, well known. 
 From her remotest birth upon 
 Thy summit, saith, that she hath stood, 
 And first dipped oars in thy smooth flood. 
 Thence through so many baffled seas 
 In safety borne her master has, 
 WHiether chanced on the left hand call. 
 Or on the right the breeze whhal ; 
 Or, if on both ears of the sail
 
 58 Dedicatio Phaseli. 
 
 Together Jove propitious fell. 
 Nor vows were to the gods of shore 
 Any made by her, when from o'er 
 Sea last to this clear lake came she. 
 But things of former times these be ; 
 Now grows old retired leisure in, 
 And dedicates herself to thee, 
 O twin Castor ! and Castor's twin.
 
 59 
 
 HORACE. 
 BOOK I. ODE 1. 
 TO M.li:CENAS. 
 
 f.ECENAS, sprung of royal line, 
 Thou shield, and sweet adornment mine ; 
 There be, who love th' Olympic dust, 
 In chariot course their limbs encrust, 
 
 And the bound the hot wheels just shun, 
 
 And the palm all ennobling won. 
 
 The haughty lords of earthly state 
 
 Up to the god's doth elevate. 
 
 This one's pleasured if him the crowd, 
 
 Fickle Quirites vying would 
 
 To triple honours raise. That one -^ 
 
 If hide in granary that's his own, ^ 
 
 What's swept from Lybian floors anon. J 
 
 Who doth delight to dig the glade, 
 
 His father's fields with rustic spade ; 
 
 At price of Attains prevail 
 
 Thou never wouldst on him to sail, 
 
 In bark of Cyprus sailor he 
 
 Fearful on the Myrtoan sea. 
 
 When th' Afric wrestles careering 
 
 With th' Icarian waves, then fearing, 
 
 The merchant ease, and of his town 
 
 The rural scenes laudcth ; but soon 
 
 His shattered barks he doth repair, 
 
 Poverty all untaught to bear.
 
 60 Horace. 
 
 There is who cups of old Massic, 
 Or from the whole day portion take, 
 Despiseth not while his limbs be 
 Now stretched beneath the arbute-tree ; 
 Now at some sacred stream's soft fount. 
 Many delight in camps are wont, 
 And trumpet's sound with clarion blent, 
 And wars by matrons held in hate. 
 Abideth in the frore air late 
 The hunter, of his young wife he 
 Not mindful, but if the stag be 
 Of his staunch hounds seen ; or if tore 
 His taper nets the Marsian boar. 
 Me, ivy meed of learned brow 
 In converse joins the gods unto. 
 Me, cool grove and light choirs ever 
 Of nymphs with the satyrs sever 
 From the crowd, since not Euterpe 
 Her pipes withholdeth, nor from me 
 Polyhymnia doth, sweet muse. 
 To touch the Lesbian lyre refuse. 
 If 'mong bards lyric graff me thou, 
 I'll strike the stars with tow'ring brow.
 
 61 
 
 HORACE. 
 
 BOOK I. ODE 2. 
 
 TO AUGUSTUS C^SAR. 
 
 OW enough on the lands sent down 
 Snow, the father hath and dire hail ; 
 And with red right hand batt'ring on 
 The sacred citadels made quail, 
 The city terrified. 
 
 ISIade quail the nations too with fear, 
 The sad age of Pyrrha wailing 
 Wonders new did again draw near. 
 When to the hij^h mountains trailinnf 
 Proteus his brood all led : 
 
 The fishy race to top of elm 
 Clave fast, the doves' erst noted seat; 
 And in the sea that rose with whelm 
 And with its waters on them beat 
 
 Then swam the deer aghast. 
 
 The yellow Tiber seen w^e have, 
 There from the shore Etruscan go, 
 With violent back-driv'n wave 
 The king's monuments to o'erthrow. 
 And temples of Vesta.
 
 62 Horace. 
 
 While to Ilia that doth complain 
 Too much, vaunts him he avenger, 
 On his left bank breaks out amain, 
 Though Jove to his counsel stranger, 
 Th' uxorious river. 
 
 Hear shall 'twas citizens that well 
 Against other wetted glaive. 
 Better by which the Persians fell; 
 Hear battles shall the youth that have 
 Their parents folly thinn'd. 
 
 Whom of the gods in their distress 
 Unto the sinking states' affairs. 
 Will the folk entreat ? Vesta press 
 How will the holy maids with prayers 
 
 Their song-s who heark'neth not ? 
 
 o' 
 
 On whom such crime to expiate 
 Will Jove the task devolve ? Our sight 
 To bless we pray thee come though late, 
 Clothed in a cloud thy shoulders white, 
 O Augur Apollo. 
 
 Or wouldst thou rather, smiling one, 
 Erycina, whom jest and love 
 Leave not to flit and fly around ; 
 Or may thy race neglected move 
 Thy regard their author, 
 
 With thy too long sport satiate, 
 Whom din delights, and helmets light,
 
 Horace. 63 
 
 And countenance fiercely set ; 
 Of the Moor that afoot does fisrht. 
 The cruel foe against. 
 
 Or changed thy shape wilt thou anon 
 A youth upon these lands appear, 
 O fost'ring INIaia's winged son, 
 And suffer us to call thee here, 
 Avenger of Cassar : 
 
 To Heav'n return thou late, and long 
 Mayst joyful here remaining be ; 
 Quirinus' people mingling 'niong 
 And averse to our vices thee. 
 May no too hasty gale. 
 
 Bear off, but rather triumphs great 
 Chuse here ; here rather called be 
 Father and prince, nor in thy state 
 Permit the Medes their coursing- free. 
 Leader thou, O Caesar.
 
 64 
 
 HORACE. 
 
 BOOK I. ODE 3. 
 TO THE SHIP CONVEYING VIRGIL TO ATHENS. 
 
 'MO Cyprus' potent goddess thee, 
 
 So Helen's brethren brightest stars, 
 And winds' sire rule, while the others 
 he, 
 lapyge except, up-bars 
 
 ship that ow'st such trusted debt, 
 Virgil's self, that him safe and whole 
 
 1 pray in Attic bounds thou set, 
 And thus preserve the half my soul. 
 Oak and brass threefold circled him 
 The breast around that trusted first 
 His fragile bark to ocean grim ; 
 Nor feared the headlong Afric gust 
 Fierce wrestling with the northern winds ; 
 Nor Hyads sad, nor south-wind's rage 
 The chiefest lord that Adria finds 
 
 To lift her waves at will or 'suage. 
 What pitch of peril might he fear 
 Who swimming monsters tearless saw, 
 And turbid sea those rocks a-near 
 Ill-famed Acroceraunia? 
 The god's care vain apart to keep 
 By the communion-hind'ring sea 
 The lands, if impious barks o'erleap 
 The fords should unapproached be.
 
 Horace. 65 
 
 Bold all-enduring- rushes on, 
 
 The human kind through wrong forbid. 
 
 Bold race of Japet fire bring down, 
 
 With ill fraud to the nations did. 
 
 After stolen from th' ethereal home 
 
 The fire, leanness and fevers now, 
 
 Cohort strange, on the lands did come ; 
 
 And of death self-moved erst the slow 
 
 Necessity paced quicker on. 
 
 Daedalus try the void air durst 
 
 On raan-donied wings. Acheron 
 
 Through did Herculean labour burst. 
 
 Nought is there mortal aim above ; 
 
 Our folly seeks the very sky ; , 
 
 Nor through our crimes we sufi'er Jove 
 
 Those wrathful bolts of his lav by.
 
 66 
 
 HORACE. 
 
 BOOK I. ODE 4. 
 
 TO SEXTIUS. 
 
 'ISSOLV'D is winter keen by change so 
 sweet 
 Of spring and the western breeze, and 
 the dry 
 Keels the machines haul down ; nor now delight 
 
 In folds doth the flock, nor the ploughman by 
 His fire-side sit, nor with hoar frosts the meads 
 
 Wax white. Now 'neath the over-hanging moon 
 Cytherean Venus her bands forth leads ; 
 
 And nymphs, with comely graces joined, the ground 
 With foot alternate shake. And doth the while 
 
 The pond'rous forges of the Cyclops vast 
 Now Vulcan kindle, all a-sweat with toil. 
 
 Now behoves it the glist'ring head invest 
 With myrtle green, and flower the freed lands bring. 
 
 Now too behoveth in the shady groves 
 To Faunus immolate an offering. 
 
 Asks he a lamb, or a kid rather loves. 
 Pallid death, with foot all impartial, smites 
 
 The huts of paupers and the towers of kings. 
 Happy Sextius, life's brief sum not permits 
 
 On long protracted hope our entering. 
 Already on thee presses night, and those 
 
 The fabled Manes, and Plutonian home 
 Of shadows thin ; where thou the same dispose 
 
 The wine's empire wilt not, once thither come.
 
 67 
 
 HORACE. 
 BOOK I. ODE 3. 
 
 TO PYRRHA. 
 
 HAT slender youth store roses wreath, 
 Bathed in liquid odours presses, 
 Pyrrha, thee the sweet grot beneath ? 
 For whom bind'st thy golden tresses, 
 
 Simple in thine adornings ? How 
 
 Faith and changed gods oft weep will he, 
 
 And seas with black winds rough'ning so, 
 Unused in blank amazement see. 
 
 Who credulous enjoys thee now. 
 
 Golden : who hopes thee always free, 
 
 And always kind, nor auErht doth know 
 Of the treach'rous gale ! Wretched they 
 
 To whom thou dost unproved shine ! 
 
 The sacred wall doth speak for me, 
 I've hung those dripping garments mine, 
 
 Vowed to the potent god of sea.
 
 68 
 
 HORACE. 
 
 BOOK I. ODE 12. 
 
 TO AUGUSTUS. 
 
 'HAT man or hero with the lyre or shrill 
 Pipe, Clio, tak'st in hand to celebrate ? 
 What god ? Of whom the name then spor- 
 tive will 
 
 Echo iterate 
 Whether in shady bounds of Helicon, 
 Or up on Pindus, or in Hsemus cold? 
 Whence the woods followed rash that tuneful one, 
 
 Orpheus of old, 
 Bv art maternal he rivers staying 
 In their swift career, and bland the winds 
 And the oaks with chords of sweet note swaying, 
 
 That listened beguiled. 
 What shall I say before the custom'd praise 
 Of the father ? who gods' and men's affairs, 
 Who the sea and the land and world too sways, 
 
 In its various hours : 
 Whence than himself is nought begot more great, 
 Nor ausrht there flourisheth that with him vies. 
 Or second is. Though honoui-'s nearest state 
 
 Pallas occupies. 
 In battles bold, Bacchus, not thee will I 
 Silent pass ; nor Virgin the wild beasts' foe. 
 No, nor Phoebus thee to be dreaded aye 
 
 For fatal arrow. 
 I'll sing Alcides and Leda's sons, one 
 With steeds and one with csestus, conquering e'er
 
 Horace. 69 
 
 Renowned : whose star so soon as it hath shone 
 
 Out to seamen fair, 
 Shrunk from the rocks the troubled waters flow, 
 Down drop the winds, and the clouds posting flee, 
 And threat'ning wave, so will they, in repose 
 
 Siuketh on the sea. 
 Romulus first after these, 1 not know. 
 Or Nuraa's calm reign, or proud fasces tell 
 Of Tarquinius, if I shall ; or else how 
 
 Cato nobly fell. 
 Regulus, the Scauri, and prodigal 
 Of his great soul, when th' Afric victor was, 
 Paulus will I in famed song grateful tell, 
 
 And Fabricius. 
 Him and Curius of the untrimm'd hair. 
 Useful in war, and Camillus too did 
 Rough poverty and farm paternal rear, 
 
 With house adapted. 
 Grows like a tree in th' unmark'd lapse of years 
 Marcellus' fame : shines out among them all 
 The Julian star, as 'mong the lesser fires, 
 
 The bright moon withal. 
 Of human race, father and guardian thou, 
 Saturn-sprung ; to thee doth by fate pertain 
 The care of mighty Caesar. Thou wilt so 
 
 Caesar second reign. 
 He, whether the Parthians that Latium threat, 
 Lead along subdued in just triumph, he ; 
 Or those upon the Eastern borders set 
 
 Th' Indians and Serae, 
 Thy lesser the wide world in justice rule ; 
 Thou shake Olympus in thy pond'rous car; 
 Thou thy hostile bolts on the groves down hurl, 
 
 Little chaste that are.
 
 70 
 
 HORACE. 
 LIB. I. ODE 22. 
 
 TO FUSCUS. 
 
 'HE man of spotless life, and pure 
 From wickedness ; O Fuscus, he 
 Wants not the javelins of the Moor, 
 Bow nor arrows, that poison'd be 
 In full laden quiver. 
 Be it that sultry Syrtes through, 
 Or Caucasus that entertains 
 No guest, journeying on he go. 
 Or where flows gentle through the plains, 
 
 Hydaspes wonder-famed. 
 For me a wolf in Sabine wood 
 While of my Lalage I sing, 
 With6ut a care in idle mood 
 Beyond my bound'ry wandering, 
 
 All weaponless did flee. 
 A monster such hath never fed 
 The martial Daunia in her land 
 Of beechen forests broad, nor bred 
 Hath ever Juba's arid strand 
 Nourisher of lions. 
 Place me those sluggard plains upon, 
 Where summer gales refreshing move 
 No tree, that side the world whereon, 
 The clouds and unpropitious Jove 
 Afflicting ever keep.
 
 Horace. 71 
 
 Or place me underneath the car 
 Of the sun riding over-nigh, 
 A land where homes forbidden are ; 
 Sweet smiling Lalage will I 
 
 Love on, her prattling sweet.
 
 72 
 
 HORACE. 
 BOOK I. ODE 31. 
 
 TO APOLLO. 
 
 iHAT of Apollo dedicate, 
 Asks then the bard? or what implores, 
 The while from ample goblet fit 
 The new libation he outpours ? 
 Not the ti-easures of grain that yields, 
 Sardinia in her fertile fields ; 
 
 Nor hot Calabria's pleasant herds ; 
 
 Not gold, nor Indian ivory he; 
 
 Nor fields where Leiris frets the swards 
 
 With its still waters noiselessly. 
 
 Let those whom fortune gave such boon 
 The vine with hook Calenian prune, 
 
 And let the wealthy merchant drain 
 
 His flagons golden of the wine, 
 
 By Syrian wares renewed again ; 
 
 Dear is he to the powers divine, 
 
 For three and four times visits he 
 Safe ev'ry year th' Atlantic sea. 
 
 Me olives feed and succory. 
 
 And mallows light. Whate'er I find 
 
 T' enjoy, Latona's son, grant me 
 
 This too, I pray, with unshorn mind ; 
 Nor in ignoble age thy bard 
 Let live, nor yet of harp debarr'd.
 
 73 
 
 HORACE. 
 BOOK 11. ODE 10. 
 
 TO LICINIUS. 
 
 ' HY course of life will better be, 
 Not always stretching for the deep ; 
 Nor yet, Licinius, cautiously 
 From fear of tempests shrinking keep 
 
 The fatal shore too nigh. 
 Who loves the golden mean, will be 
 From squalor of a sordid home 
 Safely exempt ; exempt too he 
 From the all-envied palace home 
 
 In his sobriety. 
 More oft by winds rock'd to and fro 
 The lofty pine. With heavier fall 
 Down crashing come the high towers do. 
 And batter most the mountains tall 
 
 The thunderbolts withal. 
 When things are adverse, hope, and still 
 When prosperous, fear another state, 
 The well-prepared bosom will. 
 The winters drear disconsolate 
 
 Jove bringeth on, and straight 
 'Tis he removeth them. Though ill 
 Be now, yet not hereafter so. 
 Arouse the muse erst silent will 
 \\'ith his harp, nor for aye his bow 
 
 Bending be Apollo.
 
 74 Horace. 
 
 Hard prest and in distressful state 
 Then shew thee resolute, nor quail ; 
 And, with Hke wisdom moderate, 
 When hast too prosperous a gale 
 Draw in thy swelling sail.
 
 75 
 
 HORACE. 
 BOOK II. ODE 14. 
 
 TO POSTUMUS. 
 
 ^LIDE alas I the years away, 
 Postumus, Postumus, how fleet; 
 Nor piety will bring delay 
 To wrinkles, nor old age one whit 
 
 That presseth urgent on, 
 
 Nor death, whom conquers none. 
 Not though, my friend, appease wouldst thou 
 With bulls ev'ry day three hundred, 
 Pluto, by tears moved never, who 
 Triple huge Geryon and dread 
 
 Tityus in doth hem 
 
 By that sorrowing stream, 
 That we must all, whate'er our state 
 Upon earth's bounty here who feed. 
 Kings, or poor peasants navigate. 
 In vain from Mars the blood-stain'd freed. 
 
 Or shatter'd waves shall we 
 
 Of hoarse Adria be ; 
 In vain the southern blast, that on 
 Our bodies worketh dole, shall we 
 Throughout the autumns careful shun. 
 Visited yet withal must be 
 
 Cocytus' river black 
 
 Wand'ring in sluggish track.
 
 76 Horace. 
 
 And race of Danaus ill-famed, 
 And i^iolides Sisyphus, 
 To long-enduring toil condemn'd. 
 Relinquish'd earth must be, and house, 
 
 And pleasing wife ; nor these 
 
 Thou tendest so, the trees 
 Save hated Cj^presses, will one 
 Thee their brief lord accompany. 
 Take will thy worthier heir anon, 
 Thy Caecubian casks away. 
 
 By hundred keys lock'd in ; 
 
 And will the pavement stain 
 With the proud wine had better been. 
 At suppers of the Pontiffs ta'en.
 
 77 
 
 HORACE. 
 
 BOOK II. ODE 16. 
 
 TO GROSPHUS. 
 
 ;]:^§^^i^ASE asketh he the gods a boon, 
 
 That's m the open ^Egtean caught 
 When pitchy cloud hath hid the moon, 
 Nor yet the stars are shining out 
 To mariners known. 
 
 Ease too in war Thrace furious hot, 
 
 Ease the Medians with their quiver 
 
 Graceful, yea Grosphus, ease that not 
 
 With jewels nor purple ever, 
 
 Nor with gold is bought. 
 
 Not wealth, nor consul's lictor may 
 
 The mind's miserable tumults sad 
 
 Drive off, nor yet the cares that aye 
 
 Roofs with carved ceilings, rich inlaid, 
 Around hov'ring ily. 
 
 Liveth well on a little he, 
 
 On whose frugal board glitt'reth bright 
 
 His sire's dish hereditary ; 
 
 Nor fear deprives of slumbers light, 
 Nor base cupidity. 
 
 Strong for little space, why aim we 
 
 At many things ? To lands that glow 
 
 With other sun why changing be ? 
 
 An exile from his country, who 
 Doth himself too flee ?
 
 78 Horace. 
 
 Climbs the brass-beak'd ships carking care. 
 Nor th' horseman's troops leave her behind 
 That's swifter than hinds, swifter far 
 Than the careering eastern wind, 
 
 Drivinsr storms throuo^h air. 
 Happy for the time present, may 
 The mind all care for what's beyond 
 Detest, and with soft laughter gay 
 'Suage bitter things. Nought is there found 
 
 Happy ev'ry way. 
 Snatch did death premature away 
 The illustrious Achilles ; 
 Long age did Tithonus decay ; 
 And me perchance, what thee denies, 
 
 The hour offer may. 
 Round thee a hundred flocks there are, 
 And lowing cows of Sicily ; 
 For thee the chariot suited mare 
 Doth lift her neighing voice on high ; 
 
 Thou dost garments wear 
 Wool, twice the Afric Murex dyes : 
 Me a small farm and Grecian song. 
 Some scantling breathing, not denies 
 Truthful fate, and th' envious throng 
 
 Gives me to despise.
 
 79 
 
 HORACE. 
 
 LIB. III. ODE 3. 
 
 UST, and of purpose firm, that man, 
 Not the rage of the multitude, 
 Fell mischief loudly urging' can, 
 Nor tyrant's face in thi'eat'uing mood 
 
 Shake in his steadfast mind 
 
 No, nor the rough south-wind 
 Restless Adria's blust'rous lord, 
 Nor mio-htv hand of thund'ring Jove : 
 Though fell the world's vast expanse broad 
 The ruins crush, but could not move. 
 
 Him standing unappall'd. 
 
 Unto the fiery wall'd 
 Citadels, by such art attain'd 
 Pollux and wand'ring Hercules, 
 'iNIong whom Augustus doth, reclin'd, 
 With red lips nectar quaff at ease. 
 
 Deserving by this law 
 
 Thee, father Bacchus, draw 
 Did those thy tigers harnessed 
 With untamed neck unto thy car : 
 Acheron thus Quirinus fled 
 With the steeds of the God of War ; 
 
 When Juno spake decree 
 
 Gods heard approvingly : 
 " Ilium, Ilium, did he of fate 
 " Th' incestuous judge, and stranger she 
 " Down to the dust precipitate ; 
 " When the gods of their promised fee
 
 80 Horace. 
 
 " Laoraedon did cheat, 
 " Condemned then as meet 
 " By chaste Minerva, and by me, 
 " With people too, and treach'rous king. 
 But shines no more renowned he, 
 Th' aduhrous Spartan's guest. Back fling 
 " Will Priam's perjured house ; 
 " No more through Hector's force 
 " Th' Achaeans combatant. And now, 
 " Ceased the war that our broils did stir, 
 " My heavy wrath I will forego, 
 " And th' hated grandson borne by her 
 " The Trojan priestess was, 
 " Will back restore to Mars. 
 " The glist'ring seats him enter 'mong, 
 " And drink the nectar's juice will I, 
 " And to the tranquil ranks belong 
 " Of gods inscribed, not deny 
 
 " While raging long there be, 
 " Twixt Rome and Ilium sea. 
 '' Be't where it will there let them sway, 
 " As exiles happy so the tomb 
 " Of Priam and of Paris may 
 " The herds insult, and thither come 
 " Wild beasts to litter there, 
 " And none to make them fear. 
 " The Capitol let shining stand, 
 " And Rome ferocious wield the power 
 " The Medians ever to command, 
 " Them still her triumphs leading o'er. 
 " Her dreaded name expand, 
 " Reaching the utmost land, 
 " Where middle waters separate 
 " Europa from the Afric shore,
 
 Horace. 81 
 
 " Where glebes doth swell'd Nile irrigate : 
 " Th' unfound gold better cover'd o'er 
 
 " By the earth, from men's eyes 
 
 " She stronger to despise, 
 " Than force it to the use of man 
 " With rapine's sacrilegious hand. 
 " Whatever bound the world contain 
 " Let her to that her arms extend, 
 
 " While eager she desires 
 
 " Visit where rage the fires, 
 " And where the clouds and drizzly dews — 
 " To Quirite warriors I declare 
 " This fated law :"— " They not abuse 
 " Their fortune proud, nor to repair 
 
 " Too filial they be fain, 
 
 " Ancestral Troy again. 
 " Troy's fortune again upspringing, 
 *' Will with disastrous omen be 
 " With slaughter sad renew'd, bringing 
 " Throngs victorious led by me, 
 
 " Wife and sister of Jove ; 
 
 " Though thrice again above 
 " By Phoebus' hand the brazen wall 
 " Uprise, yet thrice erased again 
 " By Argives, mine it perish shall, 
 " And thrice the wife a captive ta'en, 
 
 " Her sons and husbands weep." 
 
 But these be things that keep 
 No fit accord with sportive lyre, 
 Muse, whither wouldst ? Cease ! nor rehearse 
 The speech of gods, thou pert, aspire. 
 Nor great things mar by slender verse.
 
 82 
 
 HORACE. 
 BOOK III. ODE 13. 
 
 TO THE BANDU3IAN FOUNT. 
 
 THOU, Bandusia's fount 
 Shining- as is thy wont, 
 
 Than crystal far more bright, 
 And worthy sweetest wine. 
 Where flowers in garlands twine, 
 Thou shalt ere morrow night 
 
 A kid receive, 
 
 Whose brow doth give, 
 Garnish'd with budding horn, 
 Earnest of love and fight. 
 In vain, for in the morn 
 Shall stain thy gelid spring 
 With his right ruddy blood, 
 The wanton flocks' offspring. 
 Thee, in his fiery mood 
 Smites not the dog-star wood ; 
 Thou proff"erest pleasant cool 
 To the plough-weary bull. 
 And wand'ring flock as well. 
 Thou too shalt be anon 
 Of noble fountains one, 
 When of the oak I tell 
 That hollow rocks grows on. 
 From whence down-leaping do 
 Thy prattling waters flow.
 
 83 
 
 HORACE. 
 BOOK IV. ODE 3. 
 
 TO MELPOMENE. 
 
 ;H01M once hast thou, iNIelpomone, 
 At birth with placid eye look'd on, 
 Will in no labour Isthmian he 
 A pugilist achieve renown ; 
 Nor ever him as Conqueror, 
 
 Mounted on the Achaic Car 
 Will the mettlesome courser draw ; 
 
 Nor chieftain yet th' affairs of war 
 With Delian leaves adorned will, 
 
 For that proud threats of kings foil'd he, 
 Him at the Capitol reveal ; 
 
 But those the streams that flowing be 
 Fertile Tibur nigh, and thick grown 
 
 Tresses of the groves, him of song 
 ^olian, make the noble one. 
 
 Rome, queen of cities, deigns among 
 Her bards' loved choir count me as well, 
 
 And envy's tooth now on me eat 
 Doth less. O, of the golden shell 
 
 That temp'rest, Muse, the tumult sweet, 
 O thou, that e'en to fishes dumb 
 
 Couldst give at will swan's melody, 
 All from thy bounty this hath come 
 
 That I am of the passers by,
 
 84 Horace. 
 
 With finger pointed out as he 
 
 Of Roman lyre the minstrel one: 
 
 That I breathe and please, if so be 
 That please I do, 'tis thine the boon.
 
 85 
 
 HORACE. 
 
 BOOK IV. ODE 4. 
 
 DRUSI LAUDES. 
 
 S the lightning's wing'd minister 
 (To whom permitted empire o'er, 
 The wand'ring birds hath Jupiter, 
 The monarch of gods that before 
 
 Him faithful proved had 
 
 With auburn Ganymede) 
 Youth and paternal vigour erst 
 Thrust from the nest unskilled of toil, 
 The vernal breezes at the first, 
 The stormy rains removed the while, 
 
 Him fearing taught assay 
 
 Strange wrestlings in their play ; 
 And to the sheep-cotes then anon 
 His vivid force a dreaded foe 
 Hath sent ; and strongly urging on 
 Doth 'gainst the struggling serpents now, 
 
 Of banqueting his love 
 
 And fierce contention move. 
 And as a goat when all intent 
 Browsing the pleasant pastures sweet, 
 A lion-whelp repulsed sent 
 By tawny mother from her teat, 
 
 Doth just at point to die, 
 
 B' his unfleshed tooth espy ;
 
 86 Horace. 
 
 So the Vindelic Rhsetians war 
 'Neath the Alps Drusus wage beheld, 
 (Whose custom whence of old they draw 
 The Amazonian axe to wield, 
 
 I now forbear t' enquire, 
 
 Know all may none aspire) 
 Their bands long and far conquering find 
 Thrust back vanquished by stripling's skill, 
 What with due rites in fost'ring shrine 
 The mind, what train'd the genius will; 
 
 Paternal with what fire 
 
 Augustus' soul inspire, 
 The Nero's his sons. From the brave 
 The brave do spring, and good from good : 
 Steers from their sires their vigour have, 
 So the steeds. Nor fierce eagles could 
 
 Begetters ever prove 
 
 Of the unwarlike dove. 
 But teaching makes the force that lies 
 Within put forth, and culture due 
 The bosom ever fortifies : 
 And lack wherever morals do, 
 
 Will errors there disgrace 
 
 What's sprung of noblest race. 
 Rome ! what to Neros owest thou, 
 Witness Metaurus' river may, 
 And Asdrubal's full overthrow; 
 And, darkness chased, the fost'ring day 
 
 That first on Latium bright 
 
 Smiled in its jocund light. 
 When the dire African did through 
 Th' Italian cities like the flame 
 From torch to torch, or east wind go,
 
 Horace. 87 
 
 That rides Sicilian waves. Then came 
 
 Prosperous endeavour 
 
 Wherein waxed ever 
 The Roman youth : and had each fane, 
 Waste th' Afric tumult impious laid, 
 Its deity set up again : 
 And treach'rous Annibal thus said 
 
 At last : — " Like deer do we 
 
 " Of rav'ning wolves the prey, 
 " Seek out those of our own accord, 
 " Whom cheat and flee high triumph were. 
 " Race, that from burnt Ilium abroad 
 " Toss'd in the Tuscan seas, did bear 
 
 " Their gods with strong hand through ; 
 
 " Babes and sires aged to 
 " Th' Ausonian cities. — That doth still 
 " Like the oak with hard axes shorn, 
 " On rich Algid's black leafed hill 
 " Through loss and through slaughter from th' iron, 
 
 " Its very self contrive, 
 
 " Spirit and strength receive. 
 " Not Hydra, with carved bulk did 
 " More stiffly grow 'gainst Hercules, 
 " Grieved to be foiled. Nor Colchis bred, 
 " Nor yet the Echionian Thebes, 
 
 " Mightier monster e'er : 
 
 " Sunk in th' abyss more fair, 
 " It will emerge. Contend with her 
 " Still, with renown immense will she 
 " Dash down her full fresh conqueror, 
 " And battles wage shall talk'd of be 
 
 " Unto their wives withal. 
 
 " To Carthage send I shall
 
 88 Horace. 
 
 " Heralds proud no more. Fallen, fallen all 
 " Our hope, and fortune of our name 
 " Is now with slaughtered Asdrubal." 
 Nouofht not achieve of highest aim 
 
 Will the Claudian hands, 
 
 Which Jupiter defends 
 With power benign, and which skill'd cares 
 Bear safe through perils sharp of wars.
 
 89 
 
 HORACE. 
 
 BOOK I. SAT. 1. 
 
 OW comes it, McEcenas, that with his lot 
 j: Whether choice gave him it or fortune flung-, 
 g None lives content? extolling who pursue 
 S" A differentlife : — " O merchants fortunate I" 
 Cries the soldier, bent with age and his limbs 
 All crazed with over-toil. And the merchant 
 For his part, while the west winds toss his bark: — 
 " War's the thing ! For why ? — Together rush they, 
 " x^nd in an hour's brief space sudden comes death 
 " Or joyous victory." The farmer's lot 
 The counsel praises, oft as at cock-crow 
 A client's thumping at his door. While he, 
 From his farm dragged up to town, pledged to appear 
 In some suit, exclaims, that the town-dwellers 
 Be the only happy men. For the rest 
 Of this kidney (their number's such) they'd tire 
 Talking Fabius. Not to detain thee, hear 
 Where I bring the thing. If now any god 
 Should say — " Behold me ready to perform 
 " What you wish !" Thou late a soldier shalt be 
 Merchant, and a rustic thou man of law : 
 Hence ! you this way, and you that way depart 
 With changed lots : Why linger ye ? They will not, 
 And yet have leave to be happy. Is there 
 A plea against anger'd Jove's swelling out 
 Both cheeks at them, and declaring henceforth
 
 90 Horace. 
 
 He'll be not so easy as to lend an ear 
 
 To their complaints ? Moreover not to treat 
 
 This matter with a laugh, as men do jests. 
 
 (Though laughingly utter truth what hinders ? 
 
 As bland teachers sometimes give cakes to boys 
 
 That they may please to learn their alphabet) 
 
 However, joking apart, let's proceed 
 
 To serious matters. He with the hard plough 
 
 Who turns the stiff glebe, yon cheating vintner. 
 
 The soldier, sailors too that audacious 
 
 Scour through ev'ry sea with this view, assert 
 
 They bear the labour that when old they may 
 
 Retire to ease and safety, having heaped 
 
 Food sufficient; just as the tiny ant 
 
 Of huge toil, (for that's their instance) doth tug 
 
 With its mouth what it can along, and adds 
 
 To the heap it builds, not unknowing she, 
 
 Nor yet improvident of what's to come. 
 
 Who soon as the turn'd year Aquarius 
 
 Saddens, ne'er creeps forth, but wisely uses 
 
 What she had stored already. But thee 
 
 Not blist'ring summer turns aside from gain, 
 
 Nor winter, fire, sea, sword, nought can stay thee, 
 
 So that in wealth another top thee not. 
 
 What avails thee to stealthy dig the earth 
 
 And fearful bury there a weight immense 
 
 Of silver and of gold ? Should you 'minish 
 
 Aught, 'twould dwindle to a beggarly groat — 
 
 And yet unless it do, where's the beauty 
 
 Of the piled heap ? In thy threshing floor 
 
 Corn's beat to a hundred thousand measures, 
 
 Yet will not for this thy belly more hold 
 
 Than mine. As though the bread-bag among slaves,
 
 Horace. 91 
 
 Thv laden shoulder bare, thou wouldst nouo^ht 
 
 Receive beyond each one who carried nought. 
 
 Or, sav what differs it to him who lives 
 
 As nature limits, whether he do plough 
 
 A hundred acres or a thousand — 
 
 But 'tis so sweet to pluck from a huge heap — 
 
 While from the little one you let us draw 
 
 As much, why so extol thy granaries 
 
 Above our bins ? As if thou'dst need of some 
 
 Urn, or cup-full of water and no more, 
 
 And shouldst say I would rather take so much 
 
 From a great river, than this little fount. 
 
 Hence comes it who are for this more than meet 
 
 Abundance, headlong Aufidus sweeps them, 
 
 Torn with its bank along. Meanwhile the man 
 
 Who measures his wants by that mere little. 
 
 Of which there's need ; he mud-clouded water 
 
 Drinks not, nor his life loses in the waves. 
 
 But a good part of men by false desire 
 
 Deceived, " Nought's enough" say they, " since by 
 
 what 
 " You possess, your consequence is measur'd" — 
 How deal with such ? Leave them to be wretched, 
 It beincr of their own will. As 'tis told 
 Of one at Athens, rich and most sordid. 
 Who was wont the popular voice to set 
 Thus at nought — " The people hiss me, but I 
 " Applaud myself at home, soon as I gaze 
 " On the monies in the chest." Tantalus 
 Thirsty snaps at the stream that flees his lips, 
 Why laugh ? Change but the name, and 'tis of thee 
 The fable's told. On bags heaped on all sides 
 You sleep, longing, yet must needs like relics
 
 92 Horace. 
 
 Spare them, or enjoy as painted pictures. 
 
 Art ignorant in what lies money's worth ? 
 
 Or what its use? 'Twill buy bread, oil, a stoup 
 
 Of wine, and add those things besides of which 
 
 Debarred, our human nature would feel pinched — 
 
 To keep vigil half dead with fear for nights 
 
 And for days — To be in dread of sad thieves, 
 
 Of fires, slaves too lest they fleece thee and flee ; 
 
 Does this delight thee ? Of such goods I'd fain 
 
 Always be most poor. But should rheumatism 
 
 Rack your vexed carcase, or other ill chance 
 
 Fix thee to thy bed, thou hast one will sit 
 
 By thee, prepare the foments, and beseech 
 
 The doctor to revive and restore thee 
 
 To thy dear children and near kin. But not 
 
 Thy wife wishes thee saved, nor does thy son — 
 
 All hate thee, neighbours, acquaintance, down to 
 
 Girls and boys. Dost wonder when all to gold 
 
 Thou hast postponed, none proffers thee that love 
 
 Thou ne'er hast merited ? But nature's gift 
 
 Thy kin wouldst thou retain without efi"ort. 
 
 And preserve thy friends ? Wretched man, thy aim 
 
 Is bootless, as his who with bit and rein 
 
 Would teach his donkey course the field. Be then 
 
 At last some end of scraping, and as more 
 
 Thou gett'st fear poverty less, and begin 
 
 To end thy labour, having gain'd what was 
 
 Thy wish. Nor do as did Ummidius, 
 
 Who, (and the tale's no long one) was so rich 
 
 As tell money by measure, and so mean — 
 
 No slave e'er clothed worse, yet to his last day 
 
 Feared he should perish, wanting bread. But him 
 
 A freed-slave, some resolute Tyndarid,
 
 Horace. 93 
 
 With axe cut asunder — What then advise? 
 
 That I should live as Naevius ? Or like 
 
 Nomentan ? — 'Tis thou art bent on coupling' 
 
 Things contrary, I in dissuading thee 
 
 From avarice, do not therefore commend 
 
 The unthrift prodigal. 'Twixt Tanais 
 
 Sure, and the son-in-law of Vitellus 
 
 There's some medium. In things there is 
 
 Measure. There are fixed limits after all 
 
 Beyond, or short of which right cannot be. 
 
 Whence I did digress returning, will none 
 
 Like the raiser be self-content ? but praise 
 
 Those rather of other pursuits ? and pine 
 
 Because another's goat forsooth may bear 
 
 Udder more full ? nor to the ampler crowd 
 
 Compare himself of poorer ? But this one 
 
 He strives, and this to surpass. So hastes on, 
 
 A richer still before him. As when spring 
 
 The chariots from the starting post, on steeds 
 
 That beat his own the charioteer doth press, 
 
 Spurning those he's past, pacing with the hindmost. 
 
 Hence 'tis that rarely any we can find 
 
 Who'll say he has lived happy, or from life 
 
 When the time's up, will like a sated guest 
 
 Content, retire — Enough, I'll add no more, 
 
 Lest thou think I've robbed blear-eyed Crispin's desk.
 
 94 
 
 ANACREON. 
 
 ODE 1. 
 TO HIS HARP. 
 
 • O sing, Atrides, I desire, 
 Of Cadmus too I wish to sing, 
 But forth from out its strings my lyre 
 Love only keepeth echoing. 
 
 I changed withal the chords but late, 
 
 And with them too my harp's whole state ; 
 
 Sing toils Herculean I, too, fain. 
 
 Resounded loves my harp again. 
 
 Heroes, henceforth for me farewell I 
 
 For loves alone the lyre will tell.
 
 95 
 
 ANACREON. 
 
 ODE 43. 
 
 TO THE GRASSHOPPER. 
 
 GRASSHOPPER! happy deem we thee. 
 As on the summit of a tree, 
 When sipt hast thou 
 A Httle dew, 
 
 Just Uke a king- 
 Then dost thou sing. 
 
 For thine these things all be 
 
 Whate'er in fields dost see, 
 
 And what the seasons bring. 
 
 The peasant's friend art thou, 
 
 Of none aught injuring; 
 
 Of mortals honor'd too. 
 
 Sweet prophet of the spring I 
 
 And love the muses thee ; 
 
 Loves Phoebus' self, for he 
 
 Bestow'd that hymning clear. 
 
 Old aofe not thee doth wear. 
 
 Wise, earth-born thou, that song dost love, 
 Free from suftering, 
 Bloodless-fieshed thing, 
 
 Almost thou'ri like the gods above.
 
 96 
 
 DANAE. 
 
 FROM THE GREEK ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 'HEN on the daedal chest the breeze 
 Roared, blowing, and were stirred the 
 
 seas, 
 Down sank she then aghast with fear, 
 And cheeks that not unwetted were. 
 Round Perseus did her loved hand throw, 
 And said: — " Alas ! my child what woe 
 " Have I, yet thou the while dost sleep ; 
 " Yea in thy young heart slumb'ring keep 
 " In drear house, brass-nail'd that doth show 
 " Gleaming at night the deep gloom through. 
 " Thou the wave heed'st not, passing by 
 " Above thy clust'i'ing locks and dry, 
 " Nor wind's voices, thou lying there, 
 " In purple cloak, O face so fair ! 
 " But were this dread to thee a dread, "1 
 
 " And thou unto the words I said {>■ 
 
 " Couldst lend thy tiny ear, I'd bid J 
 
 " Thee sleep, my child, sleep ocean too, 
 " And sleep immeasurable woe ! 
 " Some way appear by which may be 
 " Their counsels foiled. Sire Jove from thee. 
 " This bold word I pray, be anon 
 " Amends to me, through this my son. 
 
 Simo7iides.
 
 97 
 
 TO ANACREON. 
 
 AY crested ivy round thee grow, 
 
 The mead's soft purple tlowrets shine ; 
 May earth with white milk gushing flow, 
 And pour thee sweet and fragrant wine; 
 That thy dust Anacreon be glad, 
 If joy indeed can touch the dead. 
 Loved one I that to thy cherished lyre 
 Cleaving fondly, with love and song 
 Didst gaily float thy whole life along. 
 
 Anthology. Antlpater Sidonius. 
 
 DRINK with me, like me be young, now 
 Love with me, and crown tliy brow ; 
 And be but mad with maddened me. 
 And I'll be wise with wiser thee. 
 
 Anthology. Anonym. 
 
 SOV'REIGX Jove, things good, that we do or do 
 not pray, 
 Grant us. And the ill, though we pray for, drive awav. 
 
 Anthology. Anonym. 
 
 I WAS young, but poor; rich am now, but old; 
 O, of all sole wretched in either case. 
 Who then, when enjoy I could, nought did hold ; 
 And now, when can I not enjoy, possess. 
 
 Anthology. Anonym. 
 u
 
 98 
 
 REALITY AND ILLUSION. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN. 
 
 , UIjL often torture us ye do, 
 Ye over sticklers for the true ; 
 Foes to our peace full oft are ye 
 The while you will our teachers be. 
 
 Us who bade ye rob of error, 
 
 Our heart holdeth yet with pleasure, 
 
 Which how so warmly we believe 
 
 Will less of harm than profit give ? 
 
 He'd be with half the world at war 
 
 Who'd out the world all fancy draw. 
 
 Most of the species of delight 
 
 Exist but through our glimm'ring sight. 
 
 In fight, the hero what thinks he? 
 
 That first of heroes he will be ; 
 
 Yet let him pleased himself esteem, 
 
 His courage thence not faileth him. 
 
 Go, ask Adelaide what thinks she? 
 
 'Tis : — " Truly loves my husband me." 
 
 She's wrong, yet grudge her not her joy. 
 
 But the poor woman leave thereby. 
 
 ^Vhat doth the spouse of Lisette deem ? 
 
 Chastity's self she seems to him. 
 
 He's wrong ; myself would wager so. 
 
 Yet mum ! though you too better know. 
 
 The sage in writing what thinks on ? 
 
 " The court reads, honours me the town,"
 
 Reality and Illusion. 99 
 
 He errs. Yet him in error leave, 
 If in the thought he pleasure have. 
 Throughout the life of man enquire 
 What (loth to mighty deeds inspire? 
 What doth our peace our comfort make ? 
 Full oft a dream, a sweet mistake. 
 Enough therein that feel do we, 
 Though thousand times it seeming be. 
 Should all illusion disappear 
 To be a man full sad it were. 
 
 Gellert. Fabeln. Der SCisse Traum.
 
 100 
 
 KING OF THULE. 
 
 j\,'>^E_S&^ 
 
 ^?tHERE was in Thule once a king, 
 ,^ Yea faithful to the grave, 
 ^ %i} Unto whom his love when dying 
 A golden beaker gave. 
 
 Nor aught there was he did so prize, 
 
 Drained it each feasting bout, 
 And aye the tears came to his eyes 
 
 Oft as he drank thereout. 
 
 And when he came at point to die 
 Counts the towns of his realm, 
 
 All to his heir gave willingly. 
 The beaker not the same. 
 
 He sat at the banquet royal. 
 
 His knights around him be; 
 There in his high ancestral hall 
 
 The castle by the sea. 
 
 And there stood the aged soaker 
 
 Drank off his last life's glow, 
 And hurled then the holy beaker 
 
 Down to the flood below. 
 
 He watched and saw it plunge and drink 
 
 And sink deep in the sea, 
 And his eyes gradual closing sink, 
 
 Nor more a drop drank he. 
 
 Goethe s Faust.
 
 101 
 
 THE OAK Ai\D THE BULRUSH. 
 
 r^ 
 
 ^j^ 
 
 ^^ H' Oak to the Bulrush said one day. 
 
 ^p it Complain of nature well you may, 
 ^•j^ " A wren is burden sore to you, 
 
 " And lightest wind that ever blew, 
 " That wrinkleth o'er the water's face, 
 " Obliges you your head abase ; 
 " The while my tow'ring brow that vies 
 " With Caucasus, doth not alone 
 " Block the rays of the noon-tide sun, 
 " But tempest's utmost wrath defies ; 
 " While all is northern blast to you 
 " Seems zephyr all to me. If now 
 " Beneath my shelt'ring boughs you'd been 
 " That cover all around, you'd then 
 " Fear less, from storm I'd screen you so, 
 " But on dank borders chiefly grow 
 " Of the wind's gusty realms you do. 
 " Unjust hath nature to my mind 
 " Been to you." " Doth from temper kind" 
 Replied the shrub, " your pity spring, 
 " But leave that care, less danger bring 
 " To me the winds than unto you, 
 " I bend and break not : hitherto 
 " With back unflinching you've upstaid 
 " Against their fiercest strokes of dread, 
 " But wait until the end we see." 
 While yet these words was speaking he,
 
 102 The Oak and the Bulrush. 
 
 With fury from th' horizon's ends 
 
 Did the most dread of children come, 
 The North had borne within her womb. 
 The tree stands stiff, the buh'ush bends, 
 Doubly doth the wind persever, 
 And with such prosp'rous endeavour 
 He roots up him whose head was neighbour to the sky, 
 And whose feet to the empire of the dead reached nigh. 
 La Fontaine. Book i. Fable 22.
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Note 1, Page 29, Stanza 1. Themselves threw 
 
 INCLINE to think this in tlie original is meant 
 emphatically ' themselves,' and the language 
 of one who considered the body the principal, 
 the soul but secondary ; a sentiment intimately 
 connected with tiie notions the Greeks entertained of a future 
 stale. Perhaps the reader will excuse my transcribing what 
 I had written for another purpose, but which may serve by 
 way of Note to this passage. Perhaps nothing in the Chris- 
 tian scheme caine so immediately home to the hearts of the 
 Pagan population of Greece and Rome as its confident an- 
 nouncement of a future state — the " hope of eternal life." 
 The contrast to their own religion on this point must have 
 been striking. Tiie Pagan's hopes, whatever his fears might 
 be, were practically limited to this life. And if the belief 
 in Tartarus gave them occasional alarm, the idea seems not 
 to have been very definite, while from their dreary Elysium 
 they shrank with almost equal repugnance. Achilles speaks 
 the common sentiment of Greek Paganism in his answer to 
 Ulysses : — 
 
 AvJpi Trap aK>.fif>-ji, cii y.h 0;oto; ttoXv; si'i), 
 *H Traviv V£Jti;Ss"3"( xara^iSi^iVJiS-iv avaVa-fiv. 
 
 Udyss. Lib, xi. 1. 480 et seq.
 
 104 Notes. 
 
 Talk not of death to me famed Ulysses, 
 
 I'd rather be a serf and serve for hire 
 
 Some poor man, whose means of life were but scant, 
 
 Than over all the dead defunct hold rule. 
 
 To them the best of life was on this side the grave, beyond 
 it but a shadow peopled with shadows. For a modern 
 would ill enter into an ancient's feelings, if he regard their 
 Hades with our sentiments of the separate existence of the 
 soul and of its capabilities apart from the body. With us 
 the body is the husk (to be clianged for one more glorious) 
 with them it was the substance. The 4'"X'^^ ^^ '^''^ Homeric 
 heroes were hurried to Hades, ' themselves' the dogs and 
 wild birds seized as prey : alrohi $•' ixuifia TiZyi xCns-e-n, 
 OiaJvoTtri Tj TrSiTi. 
 
 It were not too much to say that in substance the Mytho- 
 logy of Greece and Ptome did not teach a future life for man, 
 and that it was roundly so considered. For proof of this, 
 besides the circumstance of the immortality of the soul being 
 so connected with the names of certain philosophers as to 
 show it belonged to individuals, not to the system, and 
 therefore not the popular creed ; there is the passage in Lu- 
 can's Pharsalia, where this is all but stated in totidem verbis. 
 Apostrophizing the Druids, he says : — 
 
 Suits wosse (leos, et call numina vobis, 
 
 Aut suits iiesche datum, neniora alt a remotis 
 
 Qui colitis lucis. Vohis auctm-ihus U7ribra 
 
 Non tacitus Erebi sedes, Ditisque profundi 
 
 Pallida regna peliint : regit idem spirit us art us 
 
 Orbe alio: lon^a (canitissi cuguita) vita 
 
 Mors media est. Certe populi, quos despicit Arctos, 
 
 Felices errore suo, quos ille timorum 
 
 Maximus, hand urgct led metus. hide ruendi 
 
 Inferrurn mins pro)ia viris, animaque capaces 
 
 Mortis : et ignavum reditura parcere vita. 
 
 Lucani Pharsal. lib. i. v. 452-G2.
 
 Notes. 105 
 
 To you alone to know the gods, and powers 
 
 Of Heaven 'twas given or alone not know, ye 
 
 Wlio the tall woods worship in secret groves. 
 
 Tiie shades, as ye report, the silent seats 
 
 Of Erebus and pale realms of deep Dis 
 
 Not visit, but the self-same spirit rules 
 
 The limbs in another world. Of long life, 
 
 If with knowledge sing ye. Death's but mid-point. 
 
 In sooth the folk, on whom looks Arctos down, 
 
 Are happy in their error, whom of fears 
 
 That chief one troubles not, the fear of death. 
 
 Thence to rush on steel the men's minds be prompt, 
 
 And souls capable of death ; deeming base 
 
 Be niggard of a life that will return. 
 
 Here it is apparent that the hope of a life to come, main- 
 tained by the Druids, was a prominent feature of distinction 
 between their creed and that of the poet's countrymen. 
 Hence the difficulty with the philosophers of Athens, when 
 St. Paul preached the resurrection of the dead to them. 
 Hence the rebuke of Festus on a similar occasion. In fine 
 the pagan scheme of Greece and Rome regarded this life 
 alone. The Christian scheme brought them tidings of the 
 life to come. A mighty element of progress, humanly 
 speaking, for the latter. Might not the difficulty of con- 
 verting the Saxons have been increased by their having an 
 enthusiastic hope of another life already, impairing in their 
 eyes pro tanto the magnitude of the Christian promise? 
 May not the slow progress of our faith among the Hindoos 
 have some connection with this ? The Platonists, it is true, 
 ranked the soul's immortality among their tenets, but not 
 with the confidence of the Druid or the Hindoo. They 
 embraced the Christian faith as realizing what on that point 
 they had before but suspected, and suspected so feebly that 
 I doubt if it ever were more than a speculative opinion. 
 Not many would, like the Hindoo or the Druid, have staked
 
 106 Notes. 
 
 their lives on it. It were a nice enquiry to trace the influ- 
 ence of this ignorance of a future state on the manners and 
 conduct of the two classic nations of antiquity. It is easy 
 lo picture an individual without this hope, but to frame dis- 
 tinct notions of a nation without it, is hard for those in 
 modern Europe, brought up among a people where this im- 
 portant dogma has a real hold on the minds of the commu- 
 nity. 
 
 In the above passage from Lucan, it will be observed that 
 at the commencement of the third line Bentley's reading is 
 adopted. The vulgar reading being confessedly unsatisfac- 
 tory on the score of sense, though whichever be preferred, 
 the application of the passage here is equally the same, 
 
 Note 2, Page 39, Stanza 31. Yea, bij this sceptre 
 
 The reader, unacquainted with Greek, may not be dis- 
 pleased to know that our word ' sceptre' which we only 
 know as an emblem of authority comes from that language, 
 where its primary signification is ' staff",' from s-xij'Trriij to lean, 
 and its secondary an emblem of authority, a sceptre. Of 
 the importance attached to which, the passage before us is 
 one instance, and the elaborate account of that of Agamem- 
 non, Iliad, book 2, is another. The word does not appear, 
 at least in poetry, ever to have lost its original simple signi- 
 fication of walking-stick or staff". And Homer employs it in 
 both senses. Probably in those simple times the instrument 
 performed both functions, and the monarch's walking-stick 
 was also his sceptre, and only a sceptre because its owner 
 was not a private man. In the following passage from the 
 soliloquy of Adrastus in Ion, the two meanings are marked 
 with classic precision. 
 
 He must fall, 
 Or the great sceptre, which hath sway'd the fears 
 Of ages, will become a common staff"
 
 Notes. 107 
 
 For youth to wield, or age to rest upon, 
 Despoil'd of all its virtues. Ion, act ii. sc. 1. 
 
 Tlie Hebrew IDZIU shevet, would seem to have similarly 
 stood for a staff, and also for an emblem of authority — a 
 sceptre. As a staff' at 2 Samuel, ch. 24, v. 21, and, accord- 
 ing to BuxtorfT, at what answers to Exodus, ch. 21, v. 19, of 
 our version. And as an emblem of authority, Genesis, ch. 
 49, V. 10, of our version, with which Buxtorff concurs in 
 rendering the word ' sceptre.' Indeed the duality of ex- 
 pression, by which I mean the emphatic enunciation of 
 nearly identical propositions in different words, so conspi- 
 cuous in the poetic portion of the Hebrew Scriptures, and 
 which prevails almost throughout this prophecy of Jacob, 
 would be broken by any interpretation that did not identify 
 it with an emblem of the dispensing laws and administration 
 of justice. In substance the very account which Achilles in 
 the passage above gives of the functions of the sceptre. In 
 the sense of sceptre, the word occurs also Psalm 45, v. 6, 
 of our version, Amos, ch. l,v. 5, and Ezekiel, ch. 19, v. 14. 
 
 Note 3, Page 44, Stanza 46. 
 
 A7id doth his mother pray with outsjjread hands. 
 
 The posture of prayer among the Ancient Greeks appears 
 to have been after the oriental fashion, so far at least as re- 
 gards the position of the hands ; which were not closed to- 
 gether as with us, but extended and spread out. So among 
 the Jews. For in Exodus, ch. 9, v. 29, 33, ' spread abroad' 
 the hands is used to express the act of prayer. So in that 
 magnificent account of the dedication of the Temple, 2 
 Chronicles, ch. C, we find at verse 5 that Solomon stood 
 before the altar in the presence of the congregation of Israel 
 and " spread forth his hands." Our opposite practice of 
 joining the hands together in supplication, whence comes 
 it? Is it derived from the form of Homage of the Feudal
 
 108 Notes. 
 
 system, in which the vassal, kneeling down before his lord, 
 joined his hands together and placed them within his lord's, 
 repeating " I become your man" " Jeo deveigne vostre 
 home," &c. ? Or were the homage formulae borrowed from 
 some earlier ceremonial in the religion of the people who 
 introduced it ? The following account of the ceremony from 
 Littleton's Tenures, Lib. 2, ch. i, § 1, may not be unac- 
 ceptable to the non-professional reader. I give Coke's ver- 
 sion as the racy old Law French might find little favour with 
 some: — "Homage is the most honourable service, and most 
 " humble service of reverence that a frank tenant may do to 
 " his lord. For when the tenant shall make homage to his 
 " lord, he shall be ungirt, and his head uncovered, and his lord 
 " shall sit, and the tenant shall kneele before him on both 
 " his knees, and hold his hands joyntly together betweene 
 " the hands of his lord, and shall say thus : I become your 
 " man from this day forward, of life and limbe, and of 
 " earthly worship, and unto you shall be true and faithfull, 
 " and beare to you faith for the tenements that I claime to 
 " hold of you, saving the faith that I owe unto our soveraigne 
 " lord the king ; and then the lord so sitting shall kisse 
 " him." 
 
 Of course the saving of faith was only applicable where 
 the homage was to a mesne lord, and not where it was to 
 the lord paramount, as in the case of tenants in capite. As 
 to the concluding part of the ceremony the Editors of Co. 
 Litt. append a note from Hale's MSS. from which it appears 
 that in 18 Henry VL there was a special act of parliament to 
 excuse the kissing in the case of homage made to the king 
 by reason of pestilence. 
 
 Note 4, Page 49, Stanza 62. The cups did 
 
 auspicate. 
 
 I trust to be excused for coining a word by Anglicising 
 the Latin expression for the Greek. I knew of no one word,
 
 Notes. 109 
 
 in our language tliat answered it, and to have endeavoured 
 to give it by way of paraphrase seemed awkward, and in- 
 volved dwelling longer on this, compared with other parts 
 of the affair, than our poet has done in the original, and so 
 have marred the symmetry of the narrative. The ceremony 
 according to some (for there is great difference of opinion 
 upon the passage) appears to have been to commence by 
 pouring out a little by way of libation, in honour of the 
 gods, and then handing the cups round to the guests from 
 left to rioht. For this the Latin expression it would seem 
 was auspicari poculis, and the Greek iTrapxta-dm Sivass-n. 
 Heyne however is against the libation, observing that the 
 guests performed that for themselves. 
 
 Note 5, Page 55, Stanza 79. Some along 
 
 Observe ' borne' not '/til,' <}>£pojuw, for Vulcan might pre- 
 dicate of himself and his fellows, as Moloch in the Paradise 
 Lost : — 
 
 In our proper motion we ascend 
 
 Up to our native seat: descent and fall 
 
 To us is adverse. 
 
 The expression becomes highly significant of the force 
 with which the luckless deity was hurled through the air, a 
 force that in a whole day had not spent itself when he 
 pitched in Lemnos. 
 
 Note 6, Page 57. First dipt oars, S^-c. 
 
 ' Imbuit' seems to imply a first immersion, and 'equor,' 
 originally used to denote a smooth surface, whether of water 
 or land, has here I think much of its primitive sense ; and 
 appropriately, as the ship would of course be launched in 
 fair weather and smooth water. 
 
 ' Impotenlia' I have rendered ' baffled' in preference to
 
 110 Notes. 
 
 ' powerless,' as the latter word merely negatives power, 
 while the former seems expressive of power exerted in vain. 
 
 Note 7, Page 62. 
 Whom din delights and helmets light 
 
 Some take ' leves' for smooth, polished, then read ' whom 
 din and polished helms delight.' 
 
 If leves' be light, it may be either that the Moors wore 
 such, or what if it be light as to their seeming — the active 
 warrior moving his head with briskness as if the helmet 
 were no weight to him ? and so would be an epithet some- 
 thing in the style of Homer's KofvOaioXog, if the latter is to be 
 understood of the rapid movement of the helmet. 
 
 Note 8, Page 64. 
 
 fllio sivimming monsters tearless saw. 
 
 Some read ' tixis oculis' — unmoved. But if what is told 
 of the Neopolitan Mariners be true, of their weeping and 
 wailing wlien the storm masters them, ' siccis oculis' will 
 be pretty significant. For there is no reason to suppose 
 their predecessors to have had the advantage of them in this 
 particular. The ' sauve qui peut' principle would seem to 
 have operated very strongly on the ships' crews. Of which 
 we have a remarkable instance in the Acts, where, but for St. 
 Paul's timely warning, the ship would have been abandoned 
 by the sailors. 
 
 Note 9, Page 66. WJiere thou the same dispose. 
 
 The interpretation of Franciscus Luisinus has been adopted, 
 taking ' talis' for an adjective : an interpretation praised by 
 Baxter, and approved by Gesner. The translator, however, 
 is very far from questioning, with the latter, either the con- 
 viviality, or the poetic vein of those who impugn it.
 
 Notes. Ill 
 
 Note 10, Page 95. 
 
 Grasshopper, happy deem ice thee. 
 
 Those \vho consider the Cicala, and not the grassbopper, 
 to be the subject of this ode may substitute the following for 
 the first line : — 
 
 'Cicala, blissful deem we thee.' 
 
 Cowper, in a note on that passage in the Iliad, book 3, 
 where Priam and his aged companions are compared to 
 grasshoppers, asserts the insect to be the Cicala. The latter 
 is, I am told, a kind of moth, and in shape widely differing 
 from the grasshopper, has six legs, and cannot hop. It lo- 
 cates in trues, which the common grasshopper does not, and 
 possesses tiie gift of " hymning clear" in great perfection, 
 as appears from the following extract on tlie subject, out of 
 a friend's letter to the translator : — " I was speaking of 
 " them the other day to a friend of mine, who was with His 
 " Majesty, Cliarles Albert, during the war in Lombardy, 
 " where these insects particularly abound. He told me the 
 " King often had high mass performed before his army. 
 " On such occasions the greatest silence prevailed among 
 " the men, yet so numerous and so noisy were the cicalas, 
 " that they often nearly drowned the voice of tlie officiating 
 " priest. He also said that a friend of his had a villa there 
 " in which it was almost impossible to stay during tiie 
 " month of June for the same reason." 
 
 THE END. 
 
 c. wnmiNCiiA.M, ciiibWiCK.
 
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