For she unclad had leapt to scare He stood. Delight and wonder mix'd A neighbouring seer he summoned straight, To read the dark decrees of fate; Who, to him and all the host, What monsters he shall slay by land, And he with peace, his lot to close, FROM NEMEAN III. INNATE WORTH. GREAT is the power of inbred nobleness: But he, that all he hath to schooling owes, A shallow wight obscure, Plants not his step secure; Feeding vain thoughts on phantoms numberless, Of genuine excellence mere outward shows. Their panting carcasses. This, when six years had fled. And all the after time Of his rejoicing prime, It was to Dian and the blue-eyed Maid, FROM NEMEAN VIII. THE POETS PRAYER FOR A GUILELESS AND BENEVOLENT DISPOSITION. HATEFUL of old the glozing plea, With bland imposture at his side, Still meditating guile; Fill'd with reproaches vile; Who pulls the splendid down, And bids th' obscure in fest'ring glory shine. Such temper far remove, O Father Jove, from me. The simple paths of life be mine; In earth my limbs are clad; Still praising what is worthy praise, And in the blithe air waves her branches free. FROM NEMEAN X. CASTOR AND POLLUX. THEIR days with mutual interchange are spent, One with Father Jove on high, And one within earth's caverns pent, In the glens of Therapnæ. Such their equal doom dispensed; And this the life that Pollux chose Rather than a god to be And dwell in heav'n perpetually, Of Idas' javelin, for his herd incensed. Snatching thence a carved stone, They, at the breast of Pollux levell❜d it: Nor forced a step retreat. Then rushing on with violent spear, The steely point: while Jove, On Idas, thunder dire Flash'd, in whose smould'ring fire, Deserted and alone, both perish'd there. So ill are like to fare Who levy war against their better's head. Back to his brother, Pollux strode in haste, Whom not yet dead he found, But stretch'd upon the ground, With short breath, shudd'ring, all aghast; And dewing his warm tears with many a groan, Aloud he made his moan. "Oh, Father Jove! what end With him, O king! Honour no more is left And few of mortals faithful are to lend He ended; and before him stood The Almighty Sire, and thus "Thou art my son: but him of mortal brood, Engender'd after thee, Thy mother to her husband bare. But come: of these things yet I give thee choice. If thou the doom of death And hated age wouldst flee, And in Olympus still abide with us And Pallas and stern Mars of ebon spear; But for thy brother if thou yet dost fight, T'allow him equal share, Thou half thy days must breathe, And half in heav'n amidst our golden hall." But straight unclosed the sight And then the voice of Castor brazen-helm'd. FROM ISTHMIAN III. JOVE! our greatest virtues we, Bliss thrives with such as fear thy sway, FROM ISTHMIAN IV. THEY, who their puissance never try, Are lost in dumb obscurity; And such, as strive, may haply meet, Before the end, some strange defeat. For Fortune, at her will, bestows On mortal works the appointed close. And sometimes have the better men, Through guile of worse, supplanted been⚫ FROM ISTHMIAN VIII. MARRIAGE OF PELEUS AND THETIS. AND Jove for Thetis with bright Neptune vied, Each wishing her his bride, By spell of love possest. But they, the pow'rs divine averr'd, "Cease then your suit. And let her brook Upon a son in fight laid low; With hands like Mars' to chase the foe, For the man that honours most The Goddess ended. And her speech And for th' Atridæ bridged their homeward way; ... Compute the chances, And deem there's ne'er a one, in dangerous times, A thousand men more gloriously endowed Have had their fortunes foundered by a chance, Whilst lighter barks pushed past them; to whom add A smaller tally of the singular few Who, gifted with predominating powers, Bear yet a temperate will and keep the peace.- Taylor's Philip Van Artevelde BEAM of the Sun, Heaven-watcher, Thou, whose Or summer dank whose drenching wing glance Lights far and wide, unveil to me, unveil Thy brow, that once again mine eye may hail The lustre of thy cloudless countenance. Surpassing star! Why thus at noon of day Withdrawing, would'st thou mar Droops heavily with rain? Such fate, portendeth such, thy gloomy brow? Or, deluging beneath the imprison'd deep, This earth once more, man's infant race wilt thou Afresh from off the face of nature sweep? PRATINAS. [About 525 B. C.] A PELOPONESIAN of the city of Phlius, and au- | weight of the crowd, and much mischief having thor of several tragic and satiric dramas, now lost. On one occasion, during his acting at Athens, the wooden stage broke down under the ensued, the Athenians set about building a theatre of more solid materials, and better adapted to the improving character of the Greek drama. "Pratinas" (says Mr. Cumberland,) "struck out a considerable improvement in the orchestral part of his drama, by revoking the custom of allowing the minstrels to join the chaunt or strain with the chorus, and suffering them only to accompany with their pipes. The people, however, not yet weaned from their old prejudice for the noisy Bacchanalian songs of their village masques, opposed themselves violently against the innovation, when, in the midst of the tumult, Pratinas appeared on the stage in person, and, in a kind of Salian song, accompanied with dancing, addressed his audience to the following effect: What means this tumult? Why this rage? The Dryads with their chief accord, The Minstrel's master and his guide: Pratinas had been the first to introduce satyrs and dryads with these lively songs and movements, and was, therefore, regarded as the inventor of the satiric drama. EPICHARMUS. [About 500 B. C.] A NATIVE of Cos, and an inhabitant of Sicily; I timent, and, at others, degenerating into wildest called by Theocritus the Inventor, and by Plato buffoonery. The "Menæchmi" of Plautus is said the "Homer," of Comedy. His dramas were partly mythological, and partly political; and the style and language as varied as the subjects of them; sometimes full of moral and gnomic sen to have been founded on one of his plays. Though he composed at least thirty-five, only an occasional fragment or sentence of any of them has descended to us. Away to those who have more need of them! When every common fellow, that they meet, You call the Scythians barbarous, and despise Yet Anacharsis was a Scythian born; Though he were moulded from an Ethiop's loins, Is nobler than your pedigrees can make him. Then, from the shore, the rocks and windy summits high Of wood-topt Pelion rear'd their beacon midst the sky. The helm, with both his hands, with quiet course impell'd; Then swift they near'd the shore; the wooden ladder cast, And forth the heroes leap'd, relieved from labours past. Then to the circling throng the horseman Peleus cried; "Mark, friends! yon shadowing crag, midway the mountain side: There Chiron dwells, most just of all the Centaur race, That haunt high Pelion's top; a cave his dwelling place. He there awards the right, or heals the body's pains; And chaunts to neighbouring tribes, cracular, his strains. To Phœbus' chorded harp, the laws, in wisdom, sings; Or Hermes' hollow lute, of shell sonorous, strings; And therefore Thetis came, with silver feet, to trace High Pelion's waving woods, my babe in her embrace; And here to Chiron's hands, the new-born infant brought, To cherish with a father's eye, and rear with prudent thought. Indulge my longing, friends! with me the cavern tread, To mark how fares my boy; how gifted, and how bred." He trod the beaten path; we follow'd where he led; We enter'd straight a grot, of gloomy twilight shade: There on a lowly couch, the Centaur huge was laid. At length unmeasured stretch'd, his rapid legs were thrown; And, shod with horny hoofs, reclin'd upon the stone. The boy Achilles stood, erect, beside the sire; And smote with pliant hand the spirit-soothing lyre. But, when the Centaur saw the noble kings appear, He rose with courteous act, and kiss'd, and brought them dainty cheer. The wine in beakers served, the branchy couches spread With scatter'd leaves, and placed each guest upon his bed. In dishes rude the flesh of boars and stags bestowed; While draughts of luscious wine in equal measure flow'd. But now, when food and drink had satisfied the heart, With loud, applauding hands, they urged my minstrel's art: That I, in contest match'd against the Centaur sire, Should, to some wide-famed strain, attune the ringing lyre. But I, averse, forbore in contest to engage, And blush'd, that youth should vie with more experienced age, Till Chiron join'd the wish, himself prepared to sing; And forced me to contend, reluctant, on the string. Achilles stretch'd his hand, and gave the beauteous shell, Which Chiron took, and sang the Centaur combat fell: How them the Lapithæ for daring outrage slew; How, mad with strength of wine, 'gainst Hercules they flew ; And him, on Pholoe's mount, to stubborn conflict drew. I next the lute received, of echo sweet and shrill, And bade my breathing lips their honour'd song distil: in round alternate roll'd; Heaven flow'd through boundless space, and earth her teeming train Fed from her ample breast, and deep in whirlpools heaved the main. I sang of elder Love, who, self-sufficing, wrought Creation's differing forms, with many-counsell'd thought. Of baneful Saturn next, and how the heaven above Fell with its regal sway to thunder-launching Jove. I sang the younger gods, whence rose their various birth, How spread their separate powers through sea, and air, and earth. Of Brimus, and of Bacchus last, and giants' mystic fame, And whence man's weaker race arose, of many-nation'd name. Through winding cavities, that scoop'd the rocky cell, With tone sonorous thrill'd my sweetly vocal shell. High Pelion's mountain-heads, and woody valleys round, And all his lofty oaks remurmur'd to the sound. His oaks uprooted rush, and all tumultuous wave, Around the darken'd mouth of Chiron's hollow cave. |