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Full many an oak of lofty leaf he fells

And strews with thick-branch'd pines the mountain dells:

He stoops to earth; the crash is heard around;
The depth of forests rolls the roar of sound.
The beasts their cowering tails with trembling
fold,

And shrink and shudder at the gusty cold;
Thick is the hairy coat, the shaggy skin,
But that all-chilling breath shall pierce within.
Not his rough hide can then the ox avail;
The long-hair'd goat, defenceless, feels the gale:
Yet vain the north-wind's rushing strength to

wound

The flock with sheltering fleeces fenced around.
He bows the old man crook'd beneath the storm;
But spares the soft-skinn'd virgin's tender form.
Screened by her mother's roof on wintry nights,
And strange to golden Venus' mystic rites,
The suppling waters of the bath she swims,
With shiny ointment sleeks her dainty limbs:
Within her chamber laid on downy bed,
While winter howls in tempest o'er her head.
Now gnaws the boneless polypus his feet,
Starved midst bleak rocks, his desolate retreat;
For now no more the sun with gleaming ray
Through seas transparent lights him to his

prey.

And now the horned and unhorned kind,
Whose lair is in the wood, sore-famished, grind
Their sounding jaws, and, chilled and quaking,
fly

Where oaks the mountain dells imbranch on high:

They seek to couch in thickets of the glen,
Or lurk, deep sheltered, in some rocky den.
Like aged men, who, propp'd on crutches, tread
Tottering with broken strength and stooping head;
So move the beasts of earth, and, creeping low,
Shun the white flakes and dread the drifting

snow.

SUMMER ENJOYMENTS.

WHEN blooms the thistle, and from leafy spray
The shrill cicada pours her sounding lay,
Her wings all quivering in the summer bright;-
When goats are fat, when wine yields most de-
light,

And heat hath parch'd the skin;-O! then be mine

The rock's deep shadow, and the Byblian wine-
With milky cakes, and milk itself most sweet
Of goats not giving suck, and dainty meat
Of kids and heifers upon green leaves fed,
The while we drink the wine so darkly red!
Then, sitting in the shade, I'll eat my fill,
Breathed on by zephyr, freshened by some rill,
Whose ever-flowing waves shall brightly shine,
While in three parts of water glows my winę!

HONEST POVERTY.

FOOLS! not to know how better, for the soul, An honest half than an ill-gotten whole;

How richer he, who dines on herbs, with health

Of mind,-than knaves with all their wines and wealth.

VICE AND VIRTUE; WISDOM AND FOLLY. To Vice with ease may all mankind resort, Hard by her dwelling, and the way is short: But Virtue have the Gods immortal fenced Whereby to seek her; but, the summit won, With labour, and a long, steep road dispensed, Right easy seems what wearily begun. Himself, and what in after time shall be He all surpasses, who doth all things see Foreseeing, can provide for; not unblest But who, nor knows himself, nor will take rule Who wisely can observe a wise behest; From those who do, is either knave or fool.*

FROM THE THEOGONY.

THE BATTLE OF THE GIANTS.

AND now-the Titans in close ranks arrayedWhat hands and force could do, each host displayed.

The illimitable ocean roared around;
Earth wailed; the shaken Heaven sent forth a
sound

Of groans; while huge Olympus, from his base,
Rocked with the onset of the immortal race;
E'en shadowy hell perceived the horrid blows,
And trembled 'neath the tumult as it rose ;-
Such rushing of quick feet, such clanging jar
Of javelins hurl'd impetuous from afar,
As soar'd the din of conflict to the skies,
And hosts join'd battle with astounding cries.
Now Jove, incens'd, no longer brook'd control;
He put forth all his might,-full filled his soul
With valiance, and, at once, from Heaven's bright
road

And dark Olympus' top he thundering strode:
Lightnings and bolts terrific from his hand
Flew swift and frequent, wrapping sea and land
In sacred flames;-all-bounteous earth amazed,
Howled burning, while her mighty forests blazed.
Forthwith began the land and sea to steam;
The fiery breath of ocean's boiling stream
Involved the Titans; flames rose through the

skies

To blast with splendour dire the Titans' eyes:
And when at last the light through chaos gleam'd,
Such the concussion, such the uproar seem'd,
As if the earth and Heavens together blending-
The one torn up, the other down descending-
Had met; whereat upsprang the winds of air,
And whirl'd the dust-clouds mid the lightning's
glare:

A similar sentiment may be found amongst the maxims of the Chinese. "The highest order of men (say they) are virtuous and wise, independently of instruction; the middle class are so after instruction; the lowest order are vicious in spite of instruction.”—Quarterly Review, Vol. XLI. p. 90.

Winds, thunder, lightnings, from the hand of Jove | Their track of ruin through mid battle drove. Loud and stupendous thus the raging fight, Whilst warr'd the Titans with an equal might: At length the battle turns;-Cottus the fierce, Gyges, and Briareus, through mid ranks pierce; From their strong arms three hundred rocks they throw,

And with these monstrous darts o'ercloud the foe; Then forc'd the Titans deep beneath the ground, And with afflictive chains the rebels bound; Despite their pride, beneath the earth they lie, Far as that earth is distant from the sky.

THE CONFLICT OF JUPITER WITH TYPHŒUS.

BUT when from Heaven Jove had his foes exil'd,
Great Earth Typhous bore, her latest child,
In Hell's embrace; strong were the hands for
fight,

And feet unwearied, of this fiend of night.
An hundred serpent heads his shoulders crown'd,
A hundred swarthy tongues lick'd all around;
Fire from his eyes a light terrific shed,

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Preceded, and the dancers followed blithe:
These, with shrill pipe indenting the soft lip,
Breath'd melody, while broken echoes thrill'd
Around them; to the lyre with flying touch
Those led the love-enkindling dance.
A group

Of youths was elsewhere imag'd, to the flute
Disporting; some in dances and in song,
In laughter others. To the minstrel's flute
So pass'd they on: and the whole city seem'd
As fill'd with pomps, with dances, and with
feasts.

Others again, without the city walls,

And sounds unnumbered issued from each head; Vaulted on steeds, and madden'd for the goal.

Sometimes of Gods the articulate language full, Sometimes the bellowing of an untamed bull, Sometimes a ruthless lion's roar it seem'd,

Sometimes as though a lion's whelps had scream'd;

Sometimes a dragon's hissing rose around,
Till the high hills re-echoed to the sound.-
And now an awful deed had marked that day,
Whilst he o'er men and Gods had won the
sway,

Had not the Almighty Father seen the birth,
And forthwith thundered terribly; the Earth
Roared with the shock-the wide Heaven roared
as well-

Roared Sea and Ocean, and the abysmal Hell.
Olympus shook around the rising God,
And the Earth groan'd beneath him, as he trod.
Blazed Earth, and Heaven, and Sea with dread-

ful roar,

And burning billows raged along the shore.
Such conflagration, such dire tumult, rose
Around the struggle of the immortal foes-
Grim Pluto trembled,* monarch of the dead,
The Titans, chained around their vanquish'd
head,

In nether Hades trembled with affright,
Under the din of their tremendous fight.-
Then Jove, at length, up-towering in his ire,
Grasped all his thunder-bolts and lightning-
fire-

And, from Olympus plunging on his foe,
Blasted the monster's heads with one consuming
blow.

* Deep in the dismal regions of the dead,
The infernal monarch rear'd his horrid head,
Leap'd from his throne, lest Neptune's arm should lay
His dark dominions open to the day,
And pour in light upon his drear abodes,
Abhorr'd by men, and dreadful e'en to gods.

Homer's Battle of the Gods, II. xx.

Others as husbandmen appear'd, and broke With coulter the rich glebe, and gathered up Their tunics neatly girded.

Next arose

A field thick set with depth of corn; where some
With sickle reap'd the stalks, their spiry heads
Bent, as with pods weigh'd down of swelling
grain,
The fruits of Ceres.

Others into bands
Gather'd, and threw upon the thrashing floor
The sheaves.

And some again hard-by were seen Holding the vine-sickle, who clusters cut From the ripe vines, which from the vintagers Others in pails receiv'd, or bore away In baskets thus up-piled the cluster'd grapes, Or black, or pearly white, cut from deep ranks Of spreading vines, whose tendrils curling twin'd In silver, heavy-foliag'd: near them rose The ranks of vines, by Vulcan's curious craft Figur'd in gold. The vines leaf-shaking curl'd Round silver props. They therefore on their way Pass'd jocund, to one minstrel's flageolet, Burthen'd with grapes that blacken'd in the sun. Some also trod the wine-press, and some quaff'd The foaming must.

But in another part Were men who wrestled, or in gymnic fight Wielded the cæstus.

Elsewhere men of chase Were taking the fleet hares; two keen-tooth'd dogs

Bounded beside: these ardent in pursuit,
Those with like ardour doubling on their flight.
Next them were knights, who painful effort

made

To win the prize of contest and hard toil. High o'er the well-compacted chariots hung

The charioteers; the rapid horses loos'd

At their full stretch, and shook the floating reins.
Rebounding from the ground, with many a shock,
Flew clattering the firm cars, and creak'd aloud
The naves of the round wheels. They, there-
fore, toiled

Endless; nor conquest yet at any time
Achiev'd they; but a doubtful strife maintain'd.
In the mid course the prize, a tripod huge,
Was plac'd in open sight, insculpt with gold -
These glorious works had Vulcan artful wrought.

CERBERUS.

A grisly dog
Implacable, holds watch before the gates;
Of guile malicious. Them who enter there,
With tail and bended ears he fawning soothes:
But suffers not that they with backward step
Repass: whoe'er would issue from the gates
Of Pluto strong, and stern Persiphone,

For them, with marking eye, he lurks; on them
Springs from his couch, and pitiless devours.

A BATTLE-PIECE.

Warrior men

Waged battle, grasping weapons in their hands.
Some from their city and their sires repelled
Destruction-others hastened to destroy;
And many press'd the plain; but more still held
The combat. On the strong-constructed towers
Stood women shrieking shrill, and tore their
cheeks

In very life, by Vulcan's glorious craft.
The old men, hoar with age, assembled stood
Without the gates, and to the blessed gods
Their hands uplifted, for their fighting sons
Fear-stricken.

Behind them stood the Fates, of aspect black,
Grim, slaughter-breathing, stern, insatiable,
Their white fangs gnashing, and strange conflict
held

For those who fell;-each fiercely thirsting sought
To drink the sable blood. Whom first they
snatched,

Prostrate, or staggering with the fresh-made wound,

On him their talons huge they stuck-the soul
Went down the cold abyss.-To th' heart they
glutted

With dead men's gore; behind them cast the corse,
And back, with hurrying rage, they turned to seek
The throng of battle. And hard by there stood

Clotho, and Lachesis, and Atropos.—

They all around one man in savage fight
Were mixed, and on each other turned in wrath
Their glaring eyes and homicidal hands.
Unspeakable that strife! And close beside
Stood the War-Misery, wan and worn with
woe,

Ghastly and withered, and with hunger-pains
Convulsed; her cheeks dropped blood to earth;
-with teeth

All wide disclosed, in grinning agony
She stood;-a cloud of dust her shoulders spread,
And her eyes ran with tears!

CALLINUS.

[About 782 B. C.]

Or this poet we know nothing more than that he was the supposed inventor of the Elegiac Couplet.

A FRAGMENT.

How long will ye slumber? when will ye take

heart,

Death comes not the sooner!-no soldier shall fall Ere his thread is spun out by the sisters above!

And fear the reproach of your neighbours at Once to die is man's doom! rush, rush to the hand?

Fy! comrades, to think ye have peace for your part, Whilst the sword and the arrow are wasting our land!

Shame! grasp the shield close! cover well the

bold breast!

Aloft raise the spear as ye march on the foe! With no thought of retreat-with no terror confess'd,

Hurl your last dart in dying, or strike your last blow!

Oh! 'tis noble and glorious to fight for our allFor our country-our children-the wife of our love!

fight!

He cannot escape though his blood were Jove's

own;

For awhile let him cheat the shrill arrow by flight:

Fate will catch him at last in his chamber
alone!

Unlamented he dies-unregretted ?—not so,
When, the tower of his country, in death falls

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ARCHILOCHUS.

[About 688 B. C.]

grave and philosophic cast.

Or a noble family in the isle of Paros, and | struction. His lampoons are lost, and nothing equally famed for his genius and his malignity. remains of him but some few fragments of a Touch me who dare-Apxiaoxov яaris-was his motto, and various stories are told concerning his obscenities and defamations, by the infliction of which, on one occasion, he is said to have driven Lycambes and his daughter to self-de- | Pindar, and Sophocles.

He is celebrated by Horace, as the inventor of the Iambic foot, and by Cicero, as being one of the greatest poets that ever lived, and only equalled by Homer,

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THAT shield some Saian decks, which 'gainst Man dies, and leaves no guardian of his name.

my grain

I left-fair, flawless shield !-beside the wood.
Well, let it go! I and my purse remain:
To-morrow's bull-skin may be just as good.

Applause awaits us only while we live,
While we can honour take, and honour give:
Yet, were it base for man of woman born,
To mock the naked ghost with jests or scorn.

TYRTEUS.

[About 684 B. C.]

TYRTEUS was the son of Archimbrotus, and Pausanias, however, does not call him General, presided over a school of some kind-probably of music and poetry-at Athens. The further tradition concerning him is (as all know,) that the Spartans, being worsted in their war with the Messenians, were directed by the oracle to apply to the Athenians for a general, who, in ridicule, presented them with their lame poet, Tyrtæus.

but Counsellor, (Evμßovños,) adding, that his exertions were confined to composing the dissensions and rousing the fallen spirits of his new allies. He left three kinds of poems;-first, his Military Elegies;-second, his Eunomia, or political ones; and third, his Embateria or marching songs. Only a few of the first have descended to our times.

COURAGE AND PATRIOTISM.

Unaltering friends still love his hairs of snow,
And rising elders in his presence bow.
Would ye, like him, the wond'ring world engage,
Draw the keen blade, and let the battle rage!

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Yes, it is sweet in death's first ranks to fall
Where our loved country's threatening dangers
call!

But he who flies dishonour'd from his home,
And foully driven in beggary to roam,
His wife and children shrieking in his ears,
His sire with shame abash'd, his mother drown'd
in tears,

-What indignation at his cowardice

NE'ER Would I praise that man, nor deign to sing,
First in the race, or strongest at the ring,
Not though he boast a ponderous Cyclop's force,
Or rival Boreas in his rapid course;
Not tho' Aurora might his name adore,
Tho' eastern riches swell his countless store,
Tho' power and splendour to his name belong,
And soft persuasion dwell upon his tongue,
Tho' all but god-like valour, were his own:
My muse is sacred to the brave alone;
Who can look carnage in the face, and go
Against the foremost warriors of the foe.
By heaven high courage to mankind was lent, Shall flash upon him from all honest eyes!
Best attribute of youth, best ornament.
The man whom blood and danger fail to daunt,
Fearless who fights, and ever in the front,
Who bids his comrades barter useless breath
For a proud triumph, or a prouder death,
He is my theme-He only, who can brave
With single force the battle's rolling wave,
Can turn his enemies to flight, and fall
Beloved, lamented, deified by all.
His household gods, his own parental land
High in renown, by him exalted stand;
Alike the heirs and founders of his name
Share his deserts and borrow from his fame
He, pierced in front with many a gaping wound,
Lies, great and glorious, on the bloody ground,
From every eye he draws one general tear,
And a whole nation follows to his bier;
Illustrious youths sigh o'er his early doom,
And late posterity reveres his tomb.
Ne'er shall his memorable virtue die,
Tho' cold in earth, immortal as the sky;
He for his country fought, for her expired:
Oh would all imitate whom all admired!
But if he sleep not with the mighty dead,
And living laurels wreathe his honour'd head,
By old, by young, adored, he gently goes
Down a smooth pathway to his long repose,

How shall he stain, for ever stain his blood,
Rich tho' it flow, descended from the good!
How shall he brand with infamy his brow!
(Fair tho' it was, 'ts fair no longer now:)
-An outcast wanderer through a scoffing world
Till to an ignominous grave he's hurl'd;
Known to all future ages by his shame,
A blot eternal on the rolls of fame!

But let us firmly stand, and scorn to fly,
Save all we love, or with our country die,
Knit in indissoluble files, a band

Of brothers fighting for our native land;
Ne'er let us see the veteran soldier's arm
Than ours more forward, or his heart more
warm;

Let us not leave him in the midst of foes,
Feeble with age, to deal unequal blows;
Or in the van lie slain, with blood besmear'd
His wrinkled forehead and his snowy beard,
Stript of his spoils through many a battle worn.
And gay assumed, that inauspicious morn,
Breathing his soul out bravely at our feet-
Ne'er may our eyes a sight so shameful meet!
But, oh, be ours, while yet our pulse beats high
For gory death, or glorious victory,
Be ours, if not an honourable grave,
Smiles of the fair, and friendships of the brave.
37

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