Parerga

Front matter

POEMS

BY

EDWARD S. CREASY, M.A.

Introductory Observations on the First Seven Pieces

PART I.

TRANSLATIONS AND IMITATIONS.

INTRODUCTORY OBSERVATIONS

ON THE

ELOPEMENT OF HELEN, THE DESCRIPTION OF HELEN WHEN FIRST SHE CAME TO TROY, THE FALL OF TROY, THE BURNING OF TROY, THE SPEECH OF CASSANDRA, ELECTRA TENDING THE SICK COUCH OF ORESTES, THE SCENE FROM THE EUMENIDES.

These Seven Pieces, consisting, with a single exception, of Translations from Greek Plays, have been arranged so as to illustrate successive portions of those Legends respecting the Calamities of the House of Atreus, and "the Tale of Troy divine," from which the Tragic Poets of Athens drew the subjects of so many of their Dramas. Among the leading ideas which the Greek Tragedians, and especially Æschylus, most constantly and earnestly inculcated, is the doctrine, that sooner or later the unerring vengeance of Heaven falls upon offenders, involving States in the guilt of their Chiefs, and visiting on after-generations the crimes of their remote ancestry. Moreover, in these writers the Supreme Power is represented as jealous of excessive prosperity in mortals. Arrogance in success is always the forerunner of miserable reverse: and the visitations of the Gods are particularly directed against those "that have shed much blood."

On these principles, the Greek Dramatists studiously exhibit the crime committed by Paris in the seduction of Helen as the cause that drew down ruin on himself and his country. But the Greeks, who wrought the vengeance of Heaven on Troy, themselves incurred its judgements by the pride of their hearts in the hour of triumph, and by the slaughter and misery which they inflicted. Above all, Agamemnon, the King of men, the Chief of the victorious armament, became an instance of sudden downfal from the very summit of prosperity and renown to the abyss of ruin. "The Ruler, the Hero, the Commander of the collected hosts of Greece, at the very instant of his success in that most glorious achievement, the destruction of Troy, for which his name was to be re-echoed in time present and time to come—in the very act of crossing the threshold of the house for which he had so long been sighing, and amidst the careless preparations for a banquet—is murdered, as Homer expresses it, 'like an ox beside his crib'—murdered by his faithless wife; his throne is seized on by her worthless paramour; and his children are consigned to banishment or hopeless servitude."

The horrors that had previously defiled the family of the Pelopidæ are also dwelt on; as leading, in the inevitable career of destiny and retribution, to the fate of Agamemnon himself. And from his fate a fresh series of awful deeds and sufferings arises. His son, Orestes, avenges his murder on the murderess Clytemnestra; but becomes, by the very act, a Matricide. The Eumenides, the gloomy Powers of the Nether World, the Avengers of Blood, pursue Orestes. He suffers and wanders long in phrensied agony. At length he seeks refuge at the shrine of Pallas. The Infernal Powers denounce him: the Celestial descend to his defence. After a fearful judicial struggle he is absolved of blood-guiltiness, and the long succession of recurring crime and vengeance is concluded.

I trust that I shall not be blamed for having associated with the translated extracts from the Greek Tragedians on different parts of this subject, an imitation of some very beautiful lines in the Second Part of Göthe's Faust.

The Elopement of Helen

THE ELOPEMENT OF HELEN.

FROM THE AGAMEMNON. (402-421.)

Λιποῦσα δ᾽ ἀστοῖσιν ἀσπίστορας Κλόνους λογχίμους τε καὶ ναυβάτας ὁπλισμοὺς, Ἄγουσά τ᾿ ἀντίφερνον Ἰλίῳ φθορὰν, Βέβακε ῥίμφα διὰ πυλᾶν, Ἄτλητα τλᾶσα· κ.τ.λ.

Daring a deed that none should dare, O'er the threshold of her home Lightly stept the lady fair— She is o'er the ocean-foam, Fleeing from the Spartan strand, Bequeathing to her native land Musterings, throngings to the bay, The clanging of the spear and shield, The vengeful galley's swift array, The rush to many a bloody field. And with her to the Trojan shore Destruction she for dowry bore.

O'er her flight her nation's seer Wailed in strains of woe and fear. Woe to the house!—yea, double woe On those who were its heads is poured! Woe for the dishonour'd bed! Woe for the track of her who fled, But once had loved her lord!

Lo! he is here, silent and still; He knows the tale of shame and ill; But no curse or raging word From his pallid lips is heard. All his bosom-hopes have died;— Never may he see again Her, the fair but faithless bride. His heart is with her o'er the main; And in unreposing grief He wanders round his desolate halls, Looking like a phantom-chief Ruling in the royal walls.

In vain before the husband's eyes The Lost-one's lovely statues rise: That imaged form may ill supply The longing soul's vacuity; The pictured charm is dim. It still is fair to gaze upon, But all the grace of Love is gone, And hateful 'tis to him.

Description of Helen

DESCRIPTION OF HELEN

WHEN SHE FIRST CAME TO TROY.

FROM THE AGAMEMNON. (1737.)

Παῤ αὐτὰ δ᾽ ἐλθεῖν ἐς Ἰλίου πόλιν Λέγοιμ' ἃν φρόνημα μὲν νηνέμου γαλᾱνας, Ἀκασκαῖον δ᾽ ἄγαλμα πλούτου, Μαλθακὸν ὀμμάτων βέλος, Δηξίθυμον Ἔρωτος ἄνθος.

When first she came to Ilion's shore, You might have sung of one who bore A spirit gentle as the sea In its summer-noon tranquillity— Of one to whom by wealth was lent Each blameless grace and ornament. Then of the glance your lay might speak The soft sweet glances of her eye, The bloom of love upon her cheek, That woke the incautious gazer's sigh.

The Fall of Troy

THE FALL OF TROY.

FROM THE HECUBA. (905-951.)

Σὺ μὲν, ὦ πατρὶς Ιλιάς, Τῶν ἀπορθήτων πόλις οὐκέτι λέξει Τοῖον Ἑλλάνων νέφος ἀμφί σε κρύπτει Δορὶ δὴ δορὶ πέρσαν. κ.τ.λ.

<>CHORUS OF CAPTIVE TROJAN WOMEN.

Oh never more, my native Troy, The lay of high heroic story Shall tell thy might with patriot's joy, Thy sons' unconquered glory. The deadly cloud of Grecian war Hath closed around thy sinking star; Beneath the storming spearmen's blow, All desolate, thou liest low; Shorn of thy towers' imperial crown, In dust and ashes stricken down. Oh! never shall I tread thee more, My own, my hapless native shore!

It was the hour of midnight slumbers, When the Destroyer came; Hush'd were the lute, the minstrel's numbers, The choral loud acclaim;

Each weary reveller's torch was dim. My husband slept, reposing him From that thanksgiving festival. His spear was hanging on the wall, No longer ready for the fray: For now their fleet had left the bay, And deem'd we that the leaguering band Had fled our rescued Trojan land.

And I my gather'd locks was banding Neath the circling fillet prest, Before the golden mirror standing, Ere I sought my peaceful rest; When, lo, a sound of far alarms Came echoing through our halls:— It is the clang, the clash of arms! The foe is in the walls! And nearer! hark! the cheer, the cry Of the on-trampling soldiery Rings through the captured town!— "On, Sons of Greeks! "the leaders call; "Now is the hour that Troy must fall! "Think of your homes—on, on! to earn "Victory, spoil, and glad return. "Now break her bulwarks down!"

Hurriedly folding round my breast, In Dorian guise, the first-seized vest,

I fled my home, and sought the shrine Of the Virgin Power Divine, But there I knelt in vain— They tore me thence. I saw my lord, He lay by foreign falchions gored On his own threshold slain. And I was hurried o'er the sea The slayer's spoil. Still upon thee, My fallen country, looking back, As clove their ship her homeward track. I gazed, till blinding tears prevail'd, And fainting nature's firmness fail'd.

Yet cursed I, in my soul's despair, The sister of the sons of Jove, And Ida's swain. Ye guilty pair, Ye fiends to Troy, your sinful love Hath torn me from my country's walls, Hath slain her sons, hath sack'd her halls. Helen, the victims of thy crime Heap on thy head their malison! Ye billows, to her native clime Refuse to bear th' accursed one. Let her not see again the home She left in sin and shame to roam.

The Burning of Troy

DESCRIPTION OF THE BURNING OF TROY.

FROM THE SECOND PART OF GÖTHE'S FAUST.

<>CHORUS OF TROJAN CAPTIVES. My locks are waving youthfully, But much have I lived through; Too much of war and misery Has it been mine to view. I have outlived the deadly night That closed on Ilion's falling might.

Through the dust-o'erclouded throng, Where striving warriors press'd along, I heard th' unearthly call; Voices of vengeful Deities Discordant clang'd o'er plain and seas, On to the city-wall.

Yet stood they, Ilion's holy walls. But swift from fanes and towers and halls The broad flush of the swallowing flame Up to the midnight heavens came. The wild fire-billows crackling, curling, With their own storms whirl'd and whirling.

Through the vapour, through the flare Of the lambent forky flashes Awful forms beheld I there Striding o'er the steaming ashes. Each hostile God 'twas mine to know With threatening arm and angry brow Reveal'd amid destruction's glow.

Speech of Cassandra

SPEECH OF CASSANDRA.

FROM THE AGAMEMNON. (1178.)

Cassandra, after the storming of Troy, was included in the General-in-chief's allotted portion of the spoil. She accompanied him, as his slave, on his return to Argos; and was murdered, together with him, by Clytemnestra. Æschylus represents her, after Agamemnon has crossed the fatal threshold of his palace, as remaining for a short time on the stage with the Chorus of aged Argives. She breaks out into prophetic wailings of her coming doom; and on the Chorus terming her words vague and aimless, though of fearful omen, she challenges their confession of her inspired knowledge of the ancient crimes of the House of Agamemnon.

Καὶ μὴν ὁ χρησμὸς οὐκέτ᾽ ἐκ καλυμμάτων Ἔσται δεδορκὼς νεογάμου νύμφης δίκην Λαμπρὸς δ᾽ ἔοικεν ἡλίου πρὸς ἀντολὰς Πνέων ἐσήξειν, ὥστε κύματος δίκην Κλύζειν πρὸς αὐγὰς τοῦδε πήματος πολὺ Μεῑζον· κ.τ.λ.

<>CASSANDRA. No longer then shall the Oracular Power Look dimly forth from dark mysterious words, Like a bride muffled in her nuptial veil. Full into light it rushes, like the blast, The mighty Western blast, impetuously Bursting upon the regions of the East.

Beneath it like successive billows borne Crimes and calamities sweep into light, Each direr than the first!——Ha, speak I now Ænigmas? Bear ye witness to the truth With which I follow, hound-like, on the track Of the evil deeds committed long ago.—— There is a choir that never leaves this roof, Symphonious, not euphonious; for its notes Are not of good. A troop of wassailers, Drunk and made bold with draughts of human blood, A troop of Sister Furies, haunts this house, Hard, hard to be dislodged. To the doom'd walls Close-clinging, loud they sing the primal wrong; Then loathingly repeat the name of him Who trampled on a brother's marriage-bed. Miss I the mark; or do my words strike home? Wilt call me now "Impostor, vagabond, "Wretched deceiver"?—On thine oath attest My knowledge of this house's ancient crimes!

<>CHORUS. An oath, if plighted in a proper spirit, Is a most solemn tie twixt man and man. Oaths are uncall'd for here. I marvel at thee, That thou, a damsel from far-distant climes, Like an eye-witness speakest of the deeds With which this land was stain'd in days gone by.

Electra Tending the Sick Couch of Orestes

ELECTRA TENDING THE SICK COUCH OF ORESTES.

FROM THE ORESTES. (140.)

"Orestes, after the murder of his Mother, lies on a bed, sick with "anguish of soul and madness. Electra sits at his feet: she, and the "Chorus of Argive Damsels, tremblingly expect his awaking." >>Schlegel. Σῖγα σῖγα, λέπτον ἴχνος ἀρβύλης Τίθετε, μὴ ψοφεῖτε, μὴ 'στω κτύπος. κ.τ.λ.

<>ELECTRA. Gently!—not an echo waking, Nor the lulling quiet breaking, With light-falling sandal tread. Farther, farther from the bed!

<>CHORUS. At thy bidding see we go.

<>ELECTRA. Dear companions, soft and low As the thin reed's whisperings Let your voices to me flow.

<>CHORUS. Lo, each flute-like accent springs From my lips most faintly.

<>ELECTRA. ——So, So approach; move lightly round him:—— Tell me why ye've hither crept?—— Now, indeed, repose hath bound him, But 'tis long since last he slept.

<>CHORUS. What, Beloved one, is his state?

<>ELECTRA. What, alas! shall I relate?—— This to tell is alone in My power;——yet he doth live, By that low and broken moaning.

<>CHORUS. What baleful tidings dost thou give!

<>ELECTRA. Break not, unless ye wish him dead, The calm upon his eyelids spread, Now enjoying sweet and deep The gracious blessedness of sleep.

<>CHORUS. He wakes—Behold the robes are stirred.

<>ELECTRA. Curses on thee for the word!— Ye with voices loud and fast Slumber from his eyes have cast.

<>CHORUS. He seemed to sleep.

<>ELECTRA. Begone, I say, Troubler of his rest! Away!——

<>CHORUS. He now sleeps well.

<>ELECTRA. Thou sayest right.

<>CHORUS. Holy and awful Night,

Hither from the depths of Erebus Come, on thy shadowy wings, to us, To the Agamemnonian Hall! For beneath our wretchedness, And our manifold distress, We perish, we utterly perish.

<>ELECTRA. Again ye 've roused him.

<>CHORUS. Nay.

<>ELECTRA. Oh cherish His repose. Each sound repress, And in silence watching by, Let him slumber peacefully.

Scene from the Eumenides

SCENE FROM THE EUMENIDES.

(235—275.)

ORESTES. CHORUS OF THE THREE FURIES.

ORESTES APPEARS BEFORE THE SHRINE OF PALLAS AT ATHENS.

ΟΡ. Ἄνασσ' Ἀθάνα, Λοξίου κελεύσμασιν Ἥκω, κ.τ.λ.

<>ORESTES. I seek thy shrine, Athenè, not unbidden By Power Divine. Apollo led my steps. But do thou, Mighty Goddess, look on me With mercy; nor reject a suppliant, Accused indeed of murder, but to whom Now no pollution clings. My hands are clean, And offence is dulled and worn away By the long course of wanderings and woes Which I, by Phœbus ordered, have endured. To whose behests obedient, I approach Thine image, Goddess; and must here remain Until my cause be finally adjudged.

Enter Chorus.] <<< <>CHORUS. Hold! here are traces of the man we seek.— Keep the directions of our silent guide. For, as keen hounds pursue a wounded fawn, We track our victim by the dripping blood. Long have our labours been: each spot of earth We have explored; and hither o'er the sea Urged on the close chase in our wingless flight. And he we seek, lurks somewhere hereabouts; For the rank smell of human blood laughs up, And tells me of the hidden murderer. Search, search, on every side Sisters, search with me; Let not the Matricide Hence unpunished flee!

Lo, where he stands!—See, sanctuary he gains, And, clinging to the sacred shrine, Demands acquittal of his crime.— That may not be. Still on the earth the stains Of the Mother's blood he shed, Not to be recalled, are spread, Still oozing into the polluted plains.

Now suffering thou in recompence must give. From thy warm limbs, e'en while thou yet dost live

I'll suck the ruddy current of each vein, Thy heart's blood's fountain will I drain. Thus having wasted thee living away, I'll drag thee downward to the realms below, That for thy Mother's murder thou may'st pay Unsleeping pangs. There shalt thou join, and know Others that Guilt's dread sentence undergo,— The Treacherous Host and Guest, the Thankless Child, The Bold Blaspheming Wretch that hath the Gods reviled.

For great is He, the Ruler of the Dead, Before whose eye each mortal's acts are spread; Who, in the tablets of his mind With an all-recording pen Writing the crimes of human-kind, Exacts a stern account from erring men.

<>ORESTES. Taught by long-suffering I am skill'd in arts To purify the sinful; and I know Both when to speak and when is silence best. And now a wise Instructor orders me That these my dread accusers meet reply.

Behold, the blood that clotted on my hand Has slept and faded from it! I have washed Hence the pollution of my Mother's death.

'Twas Phœbus purified me. It were long To tell the men with whom I since have dwelt Without communicating stain or sin. All things grow fainter and decay with Time, All things beneath his footsteps are effaced.— I raise my spotless hands; and I invoke, With pure and guiltless lips, Pallas the Queen Of this fair region, to her votary's aid: I call on her to rise and rescue me.

<>CHORUS. Neither Apollo's nor Athenè's aid Shall save thee now, so that thou perish not Despised, rejected, ignorant of joy, A bloodless being, to a shadow worn By Powers Infernal.—What! shalt thou contend In answer? thou, that hast been fatted up As my devoted victim?—Thou alive Shalt banquet me, although thou fall not yet Slain at the altar's foot.——Now hear the strain, The Hymn of horror that I bind thee with!

Sisters, form our mystic round, Raise the notes of curse and hate, Tell the deeds to which we're bound, Tell our ministry of Fate!

Stern is our wrath, but justly stern; And they whose hands from guilt are pure The Furies' terrors never learn; The Innocent may sleep secure.

But the Murderer, who tries His hands to conceal Which the blood-stain dyes, We, just to the dead, Who for vengeance appeal, Accuse of pollution, And dire retribution Exact for the crime from the guilty head.

Night! my invocation hear; Night! who barest me to be To the dead a scourge of fear, And those the light of life that see: Hear me, Mother, for the Son Of Latona injures me, And strives to rescue from me one On whom the curse of Matricide must be!

O'er our victim raise the strain, To smite and warp the jarring brain, To sway the will, the thoughts to bind, To light up madness in the mind:

The Furies' Hymn, whose numbers roll Like harsh stern fetters o'er the soul, And waste the mortal wretch away, Spirit and frame, in slow decay!

This is the curse by Fate ordain'd Its chains around the man to wind, Whose hands with kindred blood are stain'd No succour may the doom'd-one find Thus must he suffer, till he die And sink among the shades below; Nor may he then from judgment fly, His death is no release from woe.

O'er our victim raise the strain, To smite and warp the jarring brain, To sway the will, the thoughts to bind, To light up madness in the mind The Furies' Hymn, whose numbers roll Like harsh stern fetters o'er the soul, And waste the mortal wretch away, Spirit and frame, in slow decay!

Chorus from the Œdipus Coloneus

CHORUS FROM THE ŒDIPUS COLONEUS.

(668-718.)

Εὐίππου, ξένε, τᾶσδε χώρας Ἵκου τὰ κράτιστα γᾶς ἔπαυλα, κ.τ.λ.

Thou hast found the fairest seat Of this bright and broad domain, Where the noblest coursers' feet Tread the Colonean plain. Here the melodious nightingale Loves to tell her plaintive tale, Where the thickest copses bloom, Hid beneath the ivy's gloom, Or 'neath that sacred foliage veil'd, Where thousand blossoms spring, In vain by fiercest noon assail'd, Unswept by the tempest's wing. For Bacchus loves these chosen groves, Where oft his feet have trod; While mid the bands of Nymphs he roves, That nursed the Infant God.

Here, wet with dews that freshly fall, Narcissus clusters wild, For thee the ancient coronal, Great Ceres, and thy child.

Here the golden crocus beams; Nor ever fail the sleepless streams That o'er the plains in tribute glide, Cephisus, to thy silvery tide. Hence springs the tree, hence blooms the flower, With early radiance drest, While weep the heavens their purest shower On the earth's fruitful breast. Nor do the Muses' circling feet Abhor this verdant plain; Nor is it the least-favour'd seat Of Aphroditè's reign.

Not in the sunny lands that smile In Asia's realm of gold, Not in the mighty Dorian Isle Where Pelops reign'd of old, Flourishes that holy plant Which loves th' Athenian soil, Whose fruit is Earth's own bounteous grant, Unvex'd by human toil. The Olive, strong mid hostile spears, Which not the force of youthful years Nor all the skill of hoary age Could e'er destroy in vengeful rage.

For the all-seeing care of Jove Forbids that sacred stem to die, And fair Athenè from above Bends o'er its growth her azure eye.

Glorious city, shrine of power, Shrine of freedom in the land, Deities upon thee shower Choicest gifts with lavish hand. Gallant steeds of purest strain Are thy fertile valleys' boast; Friendly is the deep-blue main, Laving round thy favour'd coast. Son of Saturn, Neptune, King, 'Tis from thee these blessings spring; Thou first upon this grassy mead Gav'st dominion o'er the steed: Thou gav'st the skill to stem the tide All whiten'd by the dashing oar, While, swiftly as the Nereids glide, The galley bounds mid ocean's roar.

Character of Capaneus

CHARACTER OF CAPANEUS.

FROM THE SUPPLICES OF EURIPIDES. (860-868.)

Ὁρᾷς τὸν ἁβρὸν οὗ βέλος διέπτατο; Καπανεὺς ὅδ' ἐστίν· κ.τ.λ.

Seest thou this stately one, through whom the bolt Of Jove hath wing'd its way?—'Tis Capaneus— His means were ample; but his noble mind Never grew haughty, or puff'd up by wealth. He was a man true both to absent friends And present ones,—a merit rarely met with. Guileless in manners, and in his address Most affable and kind. His plighted word He never broke to slave or citizen.

Invocation of the Clouds, and Chorus

INVOCATION OF THE CLOUDS, AND CHORUS.

FROM THE ΝΕΦΕΛΛΙ OF ARISTOPHANES.

Εὐφημεῖν χρὴ τὸν πρεσβύτην, καὶ τῆς εὐχῆς ὑπακούειν. Ὦ δέσποτ᾽ ἄναξ, ἀμέτρητ᾽ Ἀὴρ, ὃς ἔχεις τὴν γῆν μετέωρον, Λαμπρός τ' Αἰθῆρ, σεμναί τε θεαὶ Νεφέλαι βροντησικέραυνοι, Ἄρθητε, φάνητ᾽, ὦ δέσποιναι, τῷ φροντιστῇ μετέωροι. κ.τ.λ. <>(263-287.)

SOCRATES-STREPSIADES-CHORUS OF CLOUDS.

<>SOCRATES. For the old man it is fit to check his noisy wit, Till the high invocation is ended.—— Hear, Power Supreme, my prayer, Immeasurable Air, In whom the clasped earth is suspended! Thou Firmament of Light! and ye Clouds, in whose dim height The thunder and lightning lie burning; Clouds, whom I serve, aris! appear before our eyes, Revealed to the lover of learning.

<>STREPSIADES. No, not so fast, I pray! Vouchsafe ye Clouds, to stay Till my head 'neath this cloak is wrapped over, Or the rain will wet me through!——What a foolish thing to do, Thus come out, with my head without cover!

<>SOCRATES. Clouds, Goddesses of sky, whose glories are most high, Now rise ye before this new-comer, Whether on the sacred crest of Olympus' height ye rest, Where the white snow is thawed by no summer;

Or with the Nereids move through Ocean's holy grove, Whence ye spring forth in moist exhalations; Or imbibe the golden rills with which Nile his current fills, Ere he roll his deep tide through the nations; Whether o'er Mæotis' lake your station now ye take, Or with Mimas's high mists are blended; Now, Deities of Air, receive your vot'ry's prayer, And to his entreaties be bended!

<>CHORUS OF CLOUDS. Clouds of the heaven, Immortal mid storms, To the winds we have given Our light dewy forms.

Let us leave the deep roar Of our parent the Ocean, And to mountain-tops soar, Where the leaves are in motion.

Let us gaze o'er the whole Of the gardens of Earth, O'er the rivers that roll In their turbulent mirth.

While the sea echoes high Mid the rocks where it dashes, And unwearied the Eye Of the bright Ether flashes.

The Future States of the Just and the Unjust

THE FUTURE STATES OF THE JUST AND THE UNJUST.

FROM THE FRAGMENTS OF THE ΘΠΗΝΟΙ OF PINDAR.

Τοῖσι λάμπει μὲν μένος ἀελίου, κ.τ.λ.

Ὀλβίᾳ δ᾽ ἅπαντες αἴσα, κ.τ.λ.

Ψυχαὶ δ᾽ ἀσεβέων, κ.τ.λ.

Ἔνθεν τὸν ἄπειρον ἐρεύγονται σκότον, κ.τ.λ.

O'er the mansions of the Blest Day's eternal sunbeams rest. Meadows, blushing with the rose, Spread before their vestibule; There each fragrant blossom grows, With golden fruits the air is cool. Some the lyre and dance delight, Some the race and games invite; Every form of bliss is there. Some the flaming altars wreathe, And bid the ceaseless incense breathe Fresh odours through the air.

All these have closed a stainless life, And placidly resign'd their breath, Ending every toil in death.

For in Nature's final strife The mortal body perishes; But the animating Spirit, In which concentrated is All we from the Gods inherit, Must imperishably live. This too, when in life we rest No longer by the weight opprest Of the dull and slumbering clay, Often to the mind can give Presages of coming fate, Preludes of a nobler state, Gleams of a brighter day.

But the sinful Spirits' doom Is to dwell in rayless gloom. Floods of night and horror burst Heavily o'er the soul accurst. Theirs is the scourge's ceaseless stroke, Th' unheeded howl, the struggle vain; 'Tis theirs to bear the blood-stain'd yoke Of endless misery and pain.

From Juvenal

FROM JUVENAL.

Sat. II. 149.

ON THE IRRELIGION AND CORRUPTION OF HIS AGE.

"Esse aliquid Manes" &c.

That something in us must outlive the tomb; The ghostly realms of subterranean gloom, Old Charon's punt-pole, and th' amphibious race That in the Styx their croaking concert place; And that so many thousand spirits can Be rowed across by that grim Ferryman; All this old-fashion'd creed our age of wit Derides—the veriest stripling scoffs at it. Do thou the faith that Heroes held, recall; Be wisely credulous-believe it all. How must those mighty Warrior-spirits gaze, Manius, Fabricius,—what be your amaze, Shades of the Scipios,—what, Camillus, thine, How must they feel, boast of the Fabian line, The holy band of Cremera; and they Who fell at Cannæ in their proud array, The Hero-souls so many wars purveyed, How gaze abhorrent, when a modern shade Of our degenerate times is wafted o'er, Defiling with its touch the Stygian shore.

The Wise Man's Prayer

THE WISE MAN'S PRAYER.

(FROM THE CONCLUSION OF JUVENAL'S SATIRE ON THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES.)

"Nil ergo optabunt homines?" &c.

Shall men ask nothing, then?—If thou art wise, Thou'lt let God give what seems good in his eyes; For, love ourselves intensely as we can, Still greater is the love of God for man— He'll give what's best, and not what's most desired. We, by blind impulses and passions fired, Ask wives and children; but 'tis known above How bad our children and our wives might prove. And yet, that thou mayst sometimes breathe a prayer, And sometimes to the temple offerings bear, Ask for a soul to every fate resign'd; May the sound limbs contain as sound a mind; May the free spirit mock the fear of death, Nay, bless the hour that marks life's parting breath; No anger feel; inflame with no desire; And rate the fame of Hercules far higher Though bought with famine, pain, fatigue, and blows, Than soft Sardanapalus's repose. I shew what thou can'st give thyself. At least, Through Virtue lies the only path to rest. Fortune, thou'rt nought, if man is wise;—'tis we Place thee in heaven, and make a God of thee.

On the Folly of Vindictiveness

ON THE FOLLY OF VINDICTIVENESS.

FROM

THE 13th SATIRE OF JUVENAL. (174.)

Nulla ne perjuri capitis fraudisque nefandæ Pœna erit?" &c.

"What! shall the perjured wretch no suffering pay "For his foul crime?"——Suppose him dragged away In heaviest chains: suppose the power to kill (Could anger ask aught more?) lay in your will: Yet still the loss you mourn for, would remain; Nor would you your embezzled gold regain.—— "But let him suffer for it!—then my mind "Some consolation for its loss may find: "His guilty blood is what I wish to see: "Revenge is sweet—sweeter than life to me!"—— Why thus th' unlearned talk, whose anger springs Ofttimes for nought, ofttimes for trifling things; Whom every cross, however frivolous, Supplies with phrensy's fuel. 'Tis not thus Chrysippus teaches thee. Wise Thales felt Not thus;—nor he the good old man, who dwelt Near sweet Hymettus; whom it would have pain'd To see the hemlock, which he drank while chain'd, Shared by his own accuser. By degrees

Man from his errors Heavenly Wisdom frees, And teaches him the truth. Only a mind Petty, infirm, and narrow, e'er can find Pleasure in vengeance. This you straight must see, Since no man so revengeful e'er can be As women are. And yet, why should you think Your criminal escaped, who still must shrink From his own memory conscious of the deed; Whose bosom 'neath the silent lash must bleed; While his own spirit, forced itself to urge With torture, brandishes the secret scourge?

Description of the Morning Breeze at Sea

DESCRIPTION OF THE MORNING BREEZE AT SEA.

FROM CATULLUS.

Qualis flatu placidum mare matutino Horrificans Zephyrus proclives excitat undas, Aurorâ exoriente, vagi sub lumine solis; Quæ tardè primum elementi flamine pulsæ Procedunt, leni resonant clamore cachinni: Post vento crescente, magis magis increbrescunt, Purpureâque procul nantes a luce refulgent."

As when beneath the morning Zephyr's breath The calm and level ocean shuddereth; While the dawn opens, and with trembling rays The sun-light o'er th' awakened ripples plays. Slowly at first beneath the gentle breeze The waves flow murmuring o'er the laughing seas. Soon the wind freshens. Loftier swells the deep; Faster and faster on the billows sweep; And, struck by the bright day-spring's rosy beams, Each foaming crest with far-seen lustre gleams.

To Lesbia

TO LESBIA.

FROM CATULLUS.

"Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus."

My Lesbia, let us live and love: And should th' ill-natured old reprove, Oh let not that our spirits move!

The sun that sets, again will rise; But we, when life's short daylight dies, In endless night must close our eyes.

Kiss me a hundred thousand times, Another hundred thousand times, And a third hundred thousand times.

Then, after many million kisses, The reckoning we'll confuse with more; Lest any envy us our blisses, On counting up the joyous score.

Acme and Septimius

ACME AND SEPTIMIUS.

FROM CATULLUS.

Acmen Septimius suos amores Tenens in gremio, Mea, inquit, Acme," <>&c. &c.

Septimus, folding to his breast Acme, his love, his spirit's joy—— "My own dear Acme," said the boy, "Unless I fondly, madly love thee, "Aye, and will love thee through the rest "Of life, oh may I view above me "The lion's blue eye-balls, and expire "On desert Afric's sands of fire!"