The poet praises Ptolemy Philadelphus in a strain of almost religious adoration. Hauler, in his Life of Theocritus, dates the poem about 259 B.C., but it may have been many years earlier.

From Zeus let us begin, and with Zeus make end, ye Muses, whensoever we chant in songs the chiefest of immortals! But of men, again, let Ptolemy be named, among the foremost, and last, and in the midmost place, for of men he hath the pre-eminence. The heroes that in old days were begotten of the demigods, wrought noble deeds, and chanced on minstrels skilled, but I, with what skill I have in song, would fain make my hymn of Ptolemy, and hymns are the glorious meed, yea, of the very immortals.

When the feller hath come up to wooded Ida, he glances around, so many are the trees, to see whence he should begin his labour. Where first shall I begin the tale, for there are countless things ready for the telling, wherewith the Gods have graced the most excellent of kings?

Even by virtue of his sires, how mighty was he to accomplish some great work,—Ptolemy son of Lagus,—when he had stored in his mind such a design, as no other man was able even to devise! Him hath the Father stablished in the same honour as the blessed immortals, and for him a golden mansion in the house of Zeus is builded; beside him is throned Alexander, that dearly loves him, Alexander, a grievous god to the white-turbaned Persians.

And over against them is set the throne of Heracles, the slayer of the Bull, wrought of stubborn adamant. There holds he festival with the rest of the heavenly host, rejoicing exceedingly in his far-off children’s children, for that the son of Cronos hath taken old age clean away from their limbs, and they are called immortals, being his offspring. For the strong son of Heracles is ancestor of the twain, I and both are reckoned to Heracles, on the utmost of the lineage.

Therefore when he hath now had his fill of fragrant nectar, and is going from the feast to the bower of his bed-fellow dear, to one of his children he gives his bow, and the quiver that swings beneath his elbow, to the other his knotted mace of iron. Then they to the ambrosial bower of white-ankled Hera, convey the weapons and the bearded son of Zeus.

Again, how shone renowned Berenice among the wise of womankind, how great a boon was she to them that begat her! Yea, in her fragrant breast did the Lady of Cyprus, the queenly daughter of Dione, lay her slender hands, wherefore they say that never any woman brought man such delight as came from the love borne to his wife by Ptolemy. And verily he was loved again with far greater love, and in such a wedlock a man may well trust all his house to his children, whensoever he goes to the bed of one that loves him as he loves her. But the mind of a woman that loves not is set ever on a stranger, and she hath children at her desire, but they are never like the father.

O thou that amongst the Goddesses hast the prize of beauty, O Lady Aphrodite, thy care was she, and by thy favour the lovely Berenice crossed not Acheron, the river of mourning, but thou didst catch her away, ere she came to the dark water, and to the still-detested ferryman of souls outworn, and in thy temple didst thou instal her, and gavest her a share of thy worship. Kindly is she to all mortals, and she breathes into them soft desires, and she lightens the cares of him that is in longing.

O dark-browed lady of Argos, [93] in wedlock with Tydeus didst thou bear slaying Diomede, a hero of Calydon, and, again, deep-bosomed Thetis to Peleus, son of Aeacus, bare the spearman Achilles. But thee, O warrior Ptolemy, to Ptolemy the warrior bare the glorious Berenice! And Cos did foster thee, when thou wert still a child new-born, and received thee at thy mother’s hand, when thou saw’st thy first dawning. For there she called aloud on Eilithyia, loosener of the girdle; she called, the daughter of Antigone, when heavy on her came the pangs of childbirth. And Eilithyia was present to help her, and so poured over all her limbs release from pain. Then the beloved child was born, his father’s very counterpart. And Cos brake forth into a cry, when she beheld it, and touching the child with kind hands, she said:

‘Blessed, O child, mayst thou be, and me mayst thou honour even as Phoebus Apollo honours Delos of the azure crown, yea, stablish in the same renown the Triopean hill, and allot such glory to the Dorians dwelling nigh, as that wherewithal Prince Apollo favours Rhenaea.’

Lo, thus spake the Isle, but far aloft under the clouds a great eagle screamed thrice aloud, the ominous bird of Zeus. This sign, methinks, was of Zeus; Zeus, the son of Cronos, in his care hath awful kings, but he is above all, whom Zeus loved from the first, even from his birth. Great fortune goes with him, and much land he rules, and wide sea.

Countless are the lands, and tribes of men innumerable win increase of the soil that waxeth under the rain of Zeus, but no land brings forth so much as low-lying Egypt, when Nile wells up and breaks the sodden soil. Nor is there any land that hath so many towns of men skilled in handiwork; therein are three centuries of cities builded, and thousands three, and to these three myriads, and cities twice three, and beside these, three times nine, and over them all high-hearted Ptolemy is king.Yea, and he taketh him a portion of Phoenicia, and of Arabia, and of Syria, and of Libya, and the black Aethiopians. And he is lord of all the Pamphylians, and the Cilician warriors, and the Lycians, and the Carians, that joy in battle, and lord of the isles of the Cyclades,—since his are the best of ships that sail over the deep,—yea, all the sea, and land and the sounding rivers are ruled by Ptolemy. Many are his horsemen, and many his targeteers that go clanging in harness of shining bronze. And in weight of wealth he surpasses all kings; such treasure comes day by day from every side to his rich palace, while the people are busy about their labours in peace. For never hath a foeman marched up the bank of teaming Nile, and raised the cry of war in villages not his own, nor hath any cuirassed enemy leaped ashore from his swift ship, to harry the kine of Egypt. So mighty a hero hath his throne established in the broad plains, even Ptolemy of the fair hair, a spearman skilled, whose care is above all, as a good king’s should be, to keep all the heritage of his fathers, and yet more he himself doth win. Nay, nor useless in his wealthy house, is the gold, like piled stores of the still toilsome ants, but the glorious temples of the gods have their rich share, for constant first-fruits he renders, with many another due, and much is lavished on mighty kings, much on cities, much on faithful friends. And never to the sacred contests of Dionysus comes any man that is skilled to raise the shrill sweet song, but Ptolemy gives him a guerdon worthy of his art. And the interpreters of the Muses sing of Ptolemy, in return for his favours. Nay, what fairer thing might befall a wealthy man, than to win a goodly renown among mortals?

This abides even by the sons of Atreus, but all those countless treasures that they won, when they took the mighty house of Priam, are hidden away in the mist, whence there is no returning.

Ptolemy alone presses his own feet in the footmarks, yet glowing in the dust, of his fathers that were before him. To his mother dear, and his father he hath stablished fragrant temples; therein has he set their images, splendid with gold and ivory, to succour all earthly men. And many fat thighs of kine doth he burn on the empurpled altars, as the months roll by, he and his stately wife; no nobler lady did ever embrace a bridegroom in the halls, who loves, with her whole heart, her brother, her lord. On this wise was the holy bridal of the Immortals, too, accomplished, even of the pair that great Rhea bore, the rulers of Olympus; and one bed for the slumber of Zeus and of Hera doth Iris strew, with myrrh-anointed hands, the virgin Iris.

Prince Ptolemy, farewell, and of thee will I make mention, even as of the other demigods; and a word methinks I will utter not to be rejected of men yet unborn,—excellence, howbeit, thou shalt gain from Zeus.

IDYL XVIII

This epithalamium may have been written for the wedding of a friend of the poet’s. The idea is said to have been borrowed from an old poem by Stesichorus. The epithalamium was chanted at night by a chorus of girls, outside the bridal chamber. Compare the conclusion of the hymn of Adonis, in the fifteenth Idyl.

In Sparta, once, to the house of fair-haired Menelaus, came maidens with the blooming hyacinth in their hair, and before the new painted chamber arrayed their dance,—twelve maidens, the first in the city, the glory of Laconian girls,—what time the younger Atrides had wooed and won Helen, and closed the door of the bridal-bower on the beloved daughter of Tyndarus. Then sang they all in harmony, beating time with woven paces, and the house rang round with the bridal song.

The Chorus.

Thus early art thou sleeping, dear bridegroom, say are thy limbs heavy with slumber, or art thou all too fond of sleep, or hadst thou perchance drunken over well, ere thou didst fling thee to thy rest? Thou shouldst have slept betimes, and alone, if thou wert so fain of sleep; thou shouldst have left the maiden with maidens beside her mother dear, to play till deep in the dawn, for to-morrow, and next day, and for all the years, Menelaus, she is thy bride.

O happy bridegroom, some good spirit sneezed out on thee a blessing, as thou wert approaching Sparta whither went the other princes, that so thou mightst win thy desire! Alone among the demigods shalt thou have Zeus for father! Yea, and the daughter of Zeus has come beneath one coverlet with thee, so fair a lady, peerless among all Achaean women that walk the earth. Surely a wondrous child would she bear thee, if she bore one like the mother!

For lo, we maidens are all of like age with her, and one course we were wont to run, anointed in manly fashion, by the baths of Eurotas. Four times sixty girls were we, the maiden flower of the land, [98] but of us all not one was faultless, when matched with Helen.

As the rising Dawn shows forth her fairer face than thine, O Night, or as the bright Spring, when Winter relaxes his hold, even so amongst us still she shone, the golden Helen. Even as the crops spring up, the glory of the rich plough land; or, as is the cypress in the garden; or, in a chariot, a horse of Thessalian breed, even so is rose-red Helen the glory of Lacedaemon. No other in her basket of wool winds forth such goodly work, and none cuts out, from between the mighty beams, a closer warp than that her shuttle weaves in the carven loom. Yea, and of a truth none other smites the lyre, hymning Artemis and broad-breasted Athene, with such skill as Helen, within whose eyes dwell all the Loves.

O fair, O gracious damsel, even now art thou a wedded wife; but we will go forth right early to the course we ran, and to the grassy meadows, to gather sweet-breathing coronals of flowers, thinking often upon thee, Helen, even as youngling lambs that miss the teats of the mother-ewe. For thee first will we twine a wreath of lotus flowers that lowly grow, and hang it on a shadowy plane tree, for thee first will we take soft oil from the silver phial, and drop it beneath a shadowy plane tree, and letters will we grave on the bark, in Dorian wise, so that the wayfarer may read:

WORSHIP ME, I AM THE TREE OF HELEN.

Good night, thou bride, good night, thou groom that hast won a mighty sire! May Leto, Leto, the nurse of noble offspring, give you the blessing of children; and may Cypris, divine Cypris, grant you equal love, to cherish each the other; and may Zeus, even Zeus the son of Cronos, give you wealth imperishable, to be handed down from generation to generation of the princes.Sleep ye, breathing love and desire each into the other’s breast, but forget not to wake in the dawning, and at dawn we too will come, when the earliest cock shrills from his perch, and raises his feathered neck.

Hymen, O Hymenae, rejoice thou in this bridal.

IDYL XIX

This little piece is but doubtfully ascribed to Theocritus. The motif is that of a well-known Anacreontic Ode. The idyl has been translated by Ronsard.

The thievish Love,—a cruel bee once stung him, as he was rifling honey from the hives, and pricked his finger-tips all; then he was in pain, and blew upon his hand, and leaped, and stamped the ground. And then he showed his hurt to Aphrodite, and made much complaint, how that the bee is a tiny creature, and yet what wounds it deals! And his mother laughed out, and said, ‘Art thou not even such a creature as the bees, for tiny art thou, but what wounds thou dealest!’

IDYL XX

A herdsman, who had been contemptuously rejected by Eunica, a girl of the town, protests that he is beautiful, and that Eunica is prouder than Cybele, Selene, and Aphrodite, all of whom loved mortal herdsmen. For grammatical and other reasons, some critics consider this idyl apocryphal.

Eunica laughed out at me when sweetly I would have kissed her, and taunting me, thus she spoke: ‘Get thee gone from me! Wouldst thou kiss me, wretch; thou—a neatherd? I never learned to kiss in country fashion, but to press lips with city gentlefolks. Never hope to kiss my lovely mouth, nay, not even in a dream. How thou dost look, what chatter is thine, how countrified thy tricks are, how delicate thy talk, how easy thy tattle! And then thy beard—so soft! thy elegant hair! Why, thy lips are like some sick man’s, thy hands are black, and thou art of evil savour. Away with thee, lest thy presence soil me!’ These taunts she mouthed, and thrice spat in the breast of her gown, and stared at me all over from head to feet; shooting out her lips, and glancing with half-shut eyes, writhing her beautiful body, and so sneered, and laughed me to scorn. And instantly my blood boiled, and I grew red under the sting, as a rose with dew. And she went off and left me, but I bear angry pride deep in my heart, that I, the handsome shepherd, should have been mocked by a wretched light-o’-love.

Shepherds, tell me the very truth; am I not beautiful? Has some God changed me suddenly to another man? Surely a sweet grace ever blossomed round me, till this hour, like ivy round a tree, and covered my chin, and about my temples fell my locks, like curling parsley-leaves, and white shone my forehead above my dark eyebrows. Mine eyes were brighter far than the glance of the grey-eyed Athene, my mouth than even pressed milk was sweeter, and from my lips my voice flowed sweeter than honey from the honeycomb. Sweet too, is my music, whether I make melody on pipe, or discourse on the flute, or reed, or flageolet. And all the mountain-maidens call me beautiful, and they would kiss me, all of them. But the city girl did not kiss me, but ran past me, because I am a neatherd, and she never heard how fair Dionysus in the dells doth drive the calves, and knows not that Cypris was wild with love for a herdsman, and drove afield in the mountains of Phrygia; ay, and Adonis himself,—in the oakwood she kissed, in the oakwood she bewailed him. And what was Endymion? was he not a neatherd? whom nevertheless as he watched his herds Selene saw and loved, and from Olympus descending she came to the Latmian glade, and lay in one couch with the boy; and thou, Rhea, dust weep for thy herdsman.

And didst not thou, too, Son of Cronos, take the shape of a wandering bird, and all for a cowherd boy?

But Eunica alone would not kiss the herdsman; Eunica, she that is greater than Cybele, and Cypris, and Selene!

Well, Cypris, never mayst thou, in city or on hillside, kiss thy darling, [104] and lonely all the long night mayst thou sleep!

IDYL XXI

After some verses addressed to Diophantus, a friend about whom nothing is known, the poet describes the toilsome life of two old fishermen. One of them has dreamed of catching a golden fish, and has sworn, in his dream, never again to tempt the sea. The other reminds him that his oath is as empty as his vision, and that he must angle for common fish, if he would not starve among his golden dreams. The idyl is, unfortunately, corrupt beyond hope of certain correction.

’Tis Poverty alone, Diophantus, that awakens the arts; Poverty, the very teacher of labour. Nay, not even sleep is permitted, by weary cares, to men that live by toil, and if, for a little while, one close his eyes [105] in the night, cares throng about him, and suddenly disquiet his slumber.

Two fishers, on a time, two old men, together lay and slept; they had strown the dry sea-moss for a bed in their wattled cabin, and there they lay against the leafy wall. Beside them were strewn the instruments of their toilsome hands, the fishing-creels, the rods of reed, the hooks, the sails bedraggled with sea-spoil, [106a] the lines, the weds, the lobster pots woven of rushes, the seines, two oars, [106b] and an old coble upon props. Beneath their heads was a scanty matting, their clothes, their sailor’s caps. Here was all their toil, here all their wealth. The threshold had never a door, nor a watch-dog; [106c] all things, all, to them seemed superfluity, for Poverty was their sentinel. They had no neighbour by them, but ever against their narrow cabin gently floated up the sea.

The chariot of the moon had not yet reached the mid-point of her course, but their familiar toil awakened the fishermen; from their eyelids they cast out slumber, and roused their souls with speech. [106d]

Asphalion. They lie all, my friend, who say that the nights wane short in summer, when Zeus brings the long days. Already have I seen ten thousand dreams, and the dawn is not yet. Am I wrong, what ails them, the nights are surely long?

The Friend. Asphalion, thou blamest the beautiful summer! It is not that the season hath wilfully passed his natural course, but care, breaking thy sleep, makes night seem long to thee.

Asphalion. Didst ever learn to interpret dreams? for good dreams have I beheld. I would not have thee to go without thy share in my vision; even as we go shares in the fish we catch, so share all my dreams! Sure, thou art not to be surpassed in wisdom; and he is the best interpreter of dreams that hath wisdom for his teacher. Moreover, we have time to idle in, for what could a man find to do, lying on a leafy bed beside the wave and slumbering not? Nay, the ass is among the thorns, the lantern in the town hall, for, they say, it is always sleepless. [107]

The Friend. Tell me, then, the vision of the night; nay, tell all to thy friend.

Asphalion. As I was sleeping late, amid the labours of the salt sea (and truly not too full-fed, for we supped early if thou dost remember, and did not overtax our bellies), I saw myself busy on a rock, and there I sat and watched the fishes, and kept spinning the bait with the rods. And one of the fish nibbled, a fat one, for in sleep dogs dream of bread, and of fish dream I. Well, he was tightly hooked, and the blood was running, and the rod I grasped was bent with his struggle. So with both hands I strained, and had a sore tussle for the monster. How was I ever to land so big a fish with hooks all too slim? Then just to remind him he was hooked, I gently pricked him, [108a] pricked, and slackened, and, as he did not run, I took in line. My toil was ended with the sight of my prize; I drew up a golden fish, lo you, a fish all plated thick with gold! Then fear took hold of me, lest he might be some fish beloved of Posidon, or perchance some jewel of the sea-grey Amphitrite. Gently I unhooked him, lest ever the hooks should retain some of the gold of his mouth. Then I dragged him on shore with the ropes, [108b] and swore that never again would I set foot on sea, but abide on land, and lord it over the gold.

This was even what wakened me, but, for the rest, set thy mind to it, my friend, for I am in dismay about the oath I swore.

The Friend. Nay, never fear, thou art no more sworn than thou hast found the golden fish of thy vision; dreams are but lies. But if thou wilt search these waters, wide awake, and not asleep, there is some hope in thy slumbers; seek the fish of flesh, lest thou die of famine with all thy dreams of gold!

IDYL XXII
THE DIOSCURI

This is a hymn, in the Homeric manner, to Castor and Polydeuces. Compare the life and truth of the descriptions of nature, and of the boxing-match, with the frigid manner of Apollonius Rhodius.—Argonautica, II. I. seq.

We hymn the children twain of Leda, and of aegis-bearing Zeus,—Castor, and Pollux, the boxer dread, when he hath harnessed his knuckles in thongs of ox-hide. Twice hymn we, and thrice the stalwart sons of the daughter of Thestias, the two brethren of Lacedaemon. Succourers are they of men in the very thick of peril, and of horses maddened in the bloody press of battle, and of ships that, defying the stars that set and rise in heaven, have encountered the perilous breath of storms. The winds raise huge billows about their stern, yea, or from the prow, or even as each wind wills, and cast them into the hold of the ship, and shatter both bulwarks, while with the sail hangs all the gear confused and broken, and the storm-rain falls from heaven as night creeps on, and the wide sea rings, being lashed by the gusts, and by showers of iron hail.

Yet even so do ye draw forth the ships from the abyss, with their sailors that looked immediately to die; and instantly the winds are still, and there is an oily calm along the sea, and the clouds flee apart, this way and that, also the Bears appear, and in the midst, dimly seen, the Asses’ manger, declaring that all is smooth for sailing.

O ye twain that aid all mortals, O beloved pair, ye knights, ye harpers, ye wrestlers, ye minstrels, of Castor, or of Polydeuces first shall I begin to sing? Of both of you will I make my hymn, but first will I sing of Polydeuces.

Even already had Argo fled forth from the Clashing Rocks, and the dread jaws of snowy Pontus, and was come to the land of the Bebryces, with her crew, dear children of the gods. There all the heroes disembarked, down one ladder, from both sides of the ship of Iason. When they had landed on the deep seashore and a sea-bank sheltered from the wind, they strewed their beds, and their hands were busy with firewood. [111]

Then Castor of the swift steeds, and swart Polydeuces, these twain went wandering alone, apart from their fellows, and marvelling at all the various wildwood on the mountain. Beneath a smooth cliff they found an ever-flowing spring filled with the purest water, and the pebbles below shone like crystal or silver from the deep. Tall fir trees grew thereby, and white poplars, and planes, and cypresses with their lofty tufts of leaves, and there bloomed all fragrant flowers that fill the meadows when early summer is waning—dear work-steads of the hairy bees. But there a monstrous man was sitting in the sun, terrible of aspect; the bruisers’ hard fists had crushed his ears, and his mighty breast and his broad back were domed with iron flesh, like some huge statue of hammered iron. The muscles on his brawny arms, close by the shoulder, stood out like rounded rocks, that the winter torrent has rolled, and worn smooth, in the great swirling stream, but about his back and neck was draped a lion’s skin, hung by the claws. Him first accosted the champion, Polydeuces.

Polydeuces. Good luck to thee, stranger, whosoe’er thou art! What men are they that possess this land?

Amycus. What sort of luck, when I see men that I never saw before?

Polydeuces. Fear not! Be sure that those thou look’st on are neither evil, nor the children of evil men.

Amycus. No fear have I, and it is not for thee to teach me that lesson.

Polydeuces. Art thou a savage, resenting all address, or some vainglorious man?

Amycus. I am that thou see’st, and on thy land, at least, I trespass not.Polydeuces. Come, and with kindly gifts return homeward again!

Amycus. Gift me no gifts, none such have I ready for thee.

Polydeuces. Nay, wilt thou not even grant us leave to taste this spring?

Amycus. That shalt thou learn when thirst has parched thy shrivelled lips.

Polydeuces. Will silver buy the boon, or with what price, prithee, may we gain thy leave?

Amycus. Put up thy hands and stand in single combat, man to man.

Polydeuces. A boxing-match, or is kicking fair, when we meet eye to eye?

Amycus. Do thy best with thy fists and spare not thy skill!

Polydeuces. And who is the man on whom I am to lay my hands and gloves?

Amycus. Thou see’st him close enough, the boxer will not prove a maiden!

Polydeuces. And is the prize ready, for which we two must fight?

Amycus. Thy man shall I be called (shouldst thou win), or thou mine, if I be victor.

Polydeuces. On such terms fight the red-crested birds of the game.

Amycus. Well, be we like birds or lions, we shall fight for no other stake.

So Amycus spoke, and seized and blew his hollow shell, and speedily the long-haired Bebryces gathered beneath the shadowy planes, at the blowing of the shell. And in likewise did Castor, eminent in war, go forth and summon all the heroes from the Magnesian ship. And the champions, when they had strengthened their fists with the stout ox-skin gloves, and bound long leathern thongs about their arms, stepped into the ring, breathing slaughter against each other. Then had they much ado, in that assault,—which should have the sun’s light at his back. But by thy skill, Polydeuces, thou didst outwit the giant, and the sun’s rays fell full on the face of Amycus. Then came he eagerly on in great wrath and heat, making play with his fists, but the son of Tyndarus smote him on the chin as he charged, maddening him even more, and the giant confused the fighting, laying on with all his weight, and going in with his head down. The Bebryces cheered their man, and on the other side the heroes still encouraged stout Polydeuces, for they feared lest the giant’s weight, a match for Tityus, might crush their champion in the narrow lists. But the son of Zeus stood to him, shifting his ground again and again, and kept smiting him, right and left, and somewhat checked the rush of the son of Posidon, for all his monstrous strength. Then he stood reeling like a drunken man under the blows, and spat out the red blood, while all the heroes together raised a cheer, as they marked the woful bruises about his mouth and jaws, and how, as his face swelled up, his eyes were half closed. Next, the prince teased him, feinting on every side but seeing now that the giant was all abroad, he planted his fist just above the middle of the nose, beneath the eyebrows, and skinned all the brow to the bone. Thus smitten, Amycus lay stretched on his back, among the flowers and grasses. There was fierce fighting when he arose again, and they bruised each other well, laying on with the hard weighted gloves; but the champion of the Bebryces was always playing on the chest, and outside the neck, while unconquered Polydeuces kept smashing his foeman’s face with ugly blows. The giant’s flesh was melting away in his sweat, till from a huge mass he soon became small enough, but the limbs of the other waxed always stronger, and his colour better, as he warmed to his work.

How then, at last, did the son of Zeus lay low the glutton? say goddess, for thou knowest, but I, who am but the interpreter of others, will speak all that thou wilt, and in such wise as pleases thee.

Now behold the giant was keen to do some great feat, so with his left hand he grasped the left of Polydeuces, stooping slantwise from his onset, while with his other hand he made his effort, and drove a huge fist up from his right haunch. Had his blow come home, he would have harmed the King of Amyclae, but he slipped his head out of the way, and then with his strong hand struck Amycus on the left temple, putting his shoulder into the blow. Quick gushed the black blood from the gaping temple, while Polydeuces smote the giant’s mouth with his left, and the close-set teeth rattled. And still he punished his face with quick-repeated blows, till the cheeks were fairly pounded. Then Amycus lay stretched all on the ground, fainting, and held out both his hands, to show that he declined the fight, for he was near to death.

There then, despite thy victory, didst thou work him no insensate wrong, O boxer Polydeuces, but to thee he swore a mighty oath, calling his sire Posidon from the deep, that assuredly never again would he be violent to strangers.

Thee have I hymned, my prince; but thee now, Castor, will I sing, O son of Tyndarus, O lord of the swift steeds, O wielder of the spear, thou that wearest the corselet of bronze.

Now these twain, the sons of Zeus, had seized and were bearing away the two daughters of Lycippus, and eagerly in sooth these two other brethren were pursuing them, the sons of Aphareus, even they that should soon have been the bridegrooms,—Lynceus and mighty Idas. But when they were come to the tomb of the dead Aphareus, then forth from their chariots they all sprang together, and set upon each other, under the weight of their spears and hollow shields. But Lynceus again spake, and shouted loud from under his vizor:—

‘Sirs, wherefore desire ye battle, and how are ye thus violent to win the brides of others with naked swords in your hands. To us, behold, did Leucippus betroth these his daughters long before; to us this bridal is by oath confirmed. And ye did not well, in that to win the wives of others ye perverted him with gifts of oxen, and mules, and other wealth, and so won wedlock by bribes. Lo many a time, in face of both of you, I have spoken thus, I that am not a man of many words, saying,—“Not thus, dear friends, does it become heroes to woo their wives, wives that already have bridegrooms betrothed. Lo Sparta is wide, and wide is Elis, a land of chariots and horses, and Arcadia rich in sheep, and there are the citadels of the Achaeans, and Messenia, and Argos, and all the sea-coast of Sisyphus. There be maidens by their parents nurtured, maidens countless, that lack not aught in wisdom or in comeliness. Of these ye may easily win such as ye will, for many are willing to be the fathers-in-law of noble youths, and ye are the very choice of heroes all, as your fathers were, and all your father’s kin, and all your blood from of old. But, friends, let this our bridal find its due conclusion, and for you let all of us seek out another marriage.”

‘Many such words I would speak, but the wind’s breath bare them away to the wet wave of the sea, and no favour followed with my words. For ye twain are hard and ruthless,—nay, but even now do ye listen, for ye are our cousins, and kin by the father’s side. But if your heart yet lusts for war, and with blood we must break up the kindred strife, and end the feud, [118] then Idas and his cousin, mighty Polydeuces, shall hold their hands and abstain from battle, but let us twain, Castor and I, the younger born, try the ordeal of war! Let us not leave the heaviest of grief to our fathers! Enough is one slain man from a house, but the others will make festival for all their friends, and will be bridegrooms, not slain men, and will wed these maidens. Lo, it is fitting with light loss to end a great dispute.’

So he spake, and these words the gods were not to make vain. For the elder pair laid down their harness from their shoulders on the ground, but Lynceus stepped into the midst, swaying his mighty spear beneath the outer rim of his shield, and even so did Castor sway his spear-points, and the plumes were nodding above the crests of each. With the sharp spears long they laboured and tilted at each other, if perchance they might anywhere spy a part of the flesh unarmed. But ere either was wounded the spear-points were broken, fast stuck in the linden shields. Then both drew their swords from the sheaths, and again devised each the other’s slaying, and there was no truce in the fight. Many a time did Castor smite on broad shield and horse-hair crest, and many a time the keen-sighted Lynceus smote upon his shield, and his blade just shore the scarlet plume. Then, as he aimed the sharp sword at the left knee, Castor drew back with his left foot, and hacked the fingers off the hand of Lynceus. Then he being smitten cast away his sword, and turned swiftly to flee to the tomb of his father, where mighty Idas lay, and watched this strife of kinsmen. But the son of Tyndarus sped after him, and drove the broad sword through bowels and navel, and instantly the bronze cleft all in twain, and Lynceus bowed, and on his face he lay fallen on the ground, and forthwith heavy sleep rushed down upon his eyelids.

Nay, nor that other of her children did Laocoosa see, by the hearth of his fathers, after he had fulfilled a happy marriage. For lo, Messenian Idas did swiftly break away the standing stone from the tomb of his father Aphareus, and now he would have smitten the slayer of his brother, but Zeus defended him and drave the polished stone from the hands of Idas, and utterly consumed him with a flaming thunderbolt.

Thus it is no light labour to war with the sons of Tyndarus, for a mighty pair are they, and mighty is he that begat them.

Farewell, ye children of Leda, and all goodly renown send ye ever to our singing. Dear are all minstrels to the sons of Tyndarus, and to Helen, and to the other heroes that sacked Troy in aid of Menelaus.

For you, O princes, the bard of Chios wrought renown, when he sang the city of Priam, and the ships of the Achaeans, and the Ilian war, and Achilles, a tower of battle. And to you, in my turn, the charms of the clear-voiced Muses, even all that they can give, and all that my house has in store, these do I bring. The fairest meed of the gods is song.

IDYL XXIII
THE VENGEANCE OF LOVE

A lover hangs himself at the gate of his obdurate darling who, in turn, is slain by a statue of Love.

This poem is not attributed with much certainty to Theocritus, and is found in but a small proportion of manuscripts.

A love-sick youth pined for an unkind love, beautiful in form, but fair no more in mood. The beloved hated the lover, and had for him no gentleness at all, and knew not Love, how mighty a God is he, and what a bow his hands do wield, and what bitter arrows he dealeth at the young. Yea, in all things ever, in speech and in all approaches, was the beloved unyielding. Never was there any assuagement of Love’s fires, never was there a smile of the lips, nor a bright glance of the eyes, never a blushing cheek, nor a word, nor a kiss that lightens the burden of desire. Nay, as a beast of the wild wood hath the hunters in watchful dread, even so did the beloved in all things regard the man, with angered lips, and eyes that had the dreadful glance of fate, and the whole face was answerable to this wrath, the colour fled from it, sicklied o’er with wrathful pride. Yet even thus was the loved one beautiful, and the lover was the more moved by this haughtiness. At length he could no more endure so fierce a flame of the Cytherean, but drew near and wept by the hateful dwelling, and kissed the lintel of the door, and thus he lifted up his voice:

‘O cruel child, and hateful, thou nursling of some fierce lioness, O child all of stone unworthy of love; I have come with these my latest gifts to thee, even this halter of mine; for, child, I would no longer anger thee and work thee pain. Nay, I am going where thou hast condemned me to fare, where, as men say, is the path, and there the common remedy of lovers, the River of Forgetfulness. Nay, but were I to take and drain with my lips all the waters thereof, not even so shall I quench my yearning desire. And now I bid my farewell to these gates of thine.

‘Behold I know the thing that is to be.

‘Yea, the rose is beautiful, and Time he withers it; and fair is the violet in spring, and swiftly it waxes old; white is the lily, it fadeth when it falleth; and snow is white, and melteth after it hath been frozen. And the beauty of youth is fair, but lives only for a little season.

‘That time will come when thou too shalt love, when thy heart shall burn, and thou shalt weep salt tears.‘But, child, do me even this last favour; when thou comest forth, and see’st me hanging in thy gateway,—pass me not careless by, thy hapless lover, but stand, and weep a little while; and when thou hast made this libation of thy tears, then loose me from the rope, and cast over me some garment from thine own limbs, and so cover me from sight; but first kiss me for that latest time of all, and grant the dead this grace of thy lips.

‘Fear me not, I cannot live again, no, not though thou shouldst be reconciled to me, and kiss me. A tomb for me do thou hollow, to be the hiding-place of my love, and if thou departest, cry thrice above me,—

O friend, thou liest low!

And if thou wilt, add this also,—

Alas, my true friend is dead!

‘And this legend do thou write, that I will scratch on thy walls,—

This man Love slew! Wayfarer, pass not heedless by,
But stand, and say, “he had a cruel darling.”’

Therewith he seized a stone, and laid it against the wall, as high as the middle of the doorposts, a dreadful stone, and from the lintel he fastened the slender halter, and cast the noose about his neck, and kicked away the support from under his foot, and there was he hanged dead.But the beloved opened the door, and saw the dead man hanging there in the court, unmoved of heart, and tearless for the strange, woful death; but on the dead man were all the garments of youth defiled. Then forth went the beloved to the contests of the wrestlers, and there was heart-set on the delightful bathing-places, and even thereby encountered the very God dishonoured, for Love stood on a pedestal of stone above the waters. [124] And lo, the statue leaped, and slew that cruel one, and the water was red with blood, but the voice of the slain kept floating to the brim.

Rejoice, ye lovers, for he that hated is slain. Love, all ye beloved, for the God knoweth how to deal righteous judgment.

IDYL XXIV
THE INFANT HERACLES

This poem describes the earliest feat of Heracles, the slaying of the snakes sent against him by Hera, and gives an account of the hero’s training. The vivacity and tenderness of the pictures of domestic life, and the minute knowledge of expiatory ceremonies seem to stamp this idyl as the work of Theocritus. As the following poem also deals with an adventure of Heracles, it seems not impossible that Theocritus wrote, or contemplated writing, a Heraclean epic, in a series of idyls.

When Heracles was but ten months old, the lady of Midea, even Alcmena, took him, on a time, and Iphicles his brother, younger by one night, and gave them both their bath, and their fill of milk, then laid them down in the buckler of bronze, that goodly piece whereof Amphitryon had strippen the fallen Pterelaus. And then the lady stroked her children’s heads, and spoke, saying:—

‘Sleep, my little ones, a light delicious sleep; sleep, soul of mine, two brothers, babes unharmed; blessed be your sleep, and blessed may ye come to the dawn.’So speaking she rocked the huge shield, and in a moment sleep laid hold on them.

But when the Bear at midnight wheels westward over against Orion that shows his mighty shoulder, even then did crafty Hera send forth two monstrous things, two snakes bristling up their coils of azure; against the broad threshold, where are the hollow pillars of the house-door she urged them; with intent that they should devour the young child Heracles. Then these twain crawled forth, writhing their ravenous bellies along the ground, and still from their eyes a baleful fire was shining as they came, and they spat out their deadly venom. But when with their flickering tongues they were drawing near the children, then Alcmena’s dear babes wakened, by the will of Zeus that knows all things, and there was a bright light in the chamber. Then truly one child, even Iphicles, screamed out straightway, when he beheld the hideous monsters above the hollow shield, and saw their pitiless fangs, and he kicked off the woollen coverlet with his feet, in his eagerness to flee. But Heracles set his force against them, and grasped them with his hands, binding them both in a grievous bond, having got them by the throat, wherein lies the evil venom of baleful snakes, the venom detested even by the gods. Then the serpents, in their turn, wound with their coils about the young child, the child unweaned, that wept never in his nursling days; but again they relaxed their spines in stress, of pain, and strove to find some issue from the grasp of iron.

Now Alcmena heard the cry, and wakened first,—

‘Arise, Amphitryon, for numbing fear lays hold of me: arise, nor stay to put shoon beneath thy feet! Hearest thou not how loud the younger child is wailing? Mark’st thou not that though it is the depth of the night, the walls are all plain to see as in the clear dawn? [127] There is some strange thing I trow within the house, there is, my dearest lord!’

Thus she spake, and at his wife’s bidding he stepped down out of his bed, and made for his richly dight sword that he kept always hanging on its pin above his bed of cedar. Verily he was reaching out for his new-woven belt, lifting with the other hand the mighty sheath, a work of lotus wood, when lo, the wide chamber was filled again with night. Then he cried aloud on his thralls, who were drawing the deep breath of sleep,—

‘Lights! Bring lights as quick as may be from the hearth, my thralls, and thrust back the strong bolts of the doors. Arise, ye serving-men, stout of heart, ’tis the master calls.’

Then quick the serving-men came speeding with torches burning, and the house waxed full as each man hasted along. Then truly when they saw the young child Heracles clutching the snakes twain in his tender grasp, they all cried out and smote their hands together. But he kept showing the creeping things to his father, Amphitryon, and leaped on high in his childish glee, and laughing, at his father’s feet he laid them down, the dread monsters fallen on the sleep of death. Then Alcmena in her own bosom took and laid Iphicles, dry-eyed and wan with fear; [128] but Amphitryon, placing the other child beneath a lamb’s-wool coverlet, betook himself again to his bed, and gat him to his rest.

The cocks were now but singing their third welcome to the earliest dawn, when Alcmena called forth Tiresias, the seer that cannot lie, and told him of the new portent, and bade him declare what things should come to pass.

‘Nay, and even if the gods devise some mischief, conceal it not from me in ruth and pity; and how that mortals may not escape the doom that Fate speeds from her spindle, O soothsayer Euerides, I am teaching thee, that thyself knowest it right well.’

Thus spake the Queen, and thus he answered her:

‘Be of good cheer, daughter of Perseus, woman that hast borne the noblest of children [and lay up in thy heart the better of the things that are to be]. For by the sweet light that long hath left mine eyes, I swear that many Achaean women, as they card the soft wool about their knees, shall sing at eventide, of Alcmena’s name, and thou shalt be honourable among the women of Argos. Such a man, even this thy son, shall mount to the starry firmament, the hero broad of breast, the master of all wild beasts, and of all mankind. Twelve labours is he fated to accomplish, and thereafter to dwell in the house of Zeus, but all his mortal part a Trachinian pyre shall possess.

‘And the son of the Immortals, by virtue of his bride, shall he be called, even of them that urged forth these snakes from their dens to destroy the child. Verily that day shall come when the ravening wolf, beholding the fawn in his lair, will not seek to work him harm.

‘But lady, see that thou hast fire at hand, beneath the embers, and let make ready dry fuel of gorse, or thorn, or bramble, or pear boughs dried with the wind’s buffeting, and on the wild fire burn these serpents twain, at midnight, even at the hour when they would have slain thy child. But at dawn let one of thy maidens gather the dust of the fire, and bear and cast it all, every grain, over the river from the brow of the broken cliff, [129] beyond the march of your land, and return again without looking behind. Then cleanse your house with the fire of unmixed sulphur first, and then, as is ordained, with a filleted bough sprinkle holy water over all, mingled with salt. [130] And to Zeus supreme, moreover, do ye sacrifice a young boar, that ye may ever have the mastery over all your enemies.’

So spake he, and thrust back his ivory chair, and departed, even Tiresias, despite the weight of all his many years.

But Heracles was reared under his mother’s care, like some young sapling in a garden close, being called the son of Amphitryon of Argos. And the lad was taught his letters by the ancient Linus, Apollo’s son, a tutor ever watchful. And to draw the bow, and send the arrow to the mark did Eurytus teach him, Eurytus rich in wide ancestral lands. And Eumolpus, son of Philammon, made the lad a minstrel, and formed his hands to the boxwood lyre. And all the tricks wherewith the nimble Argive cross-buttockers give each other the fall, and all the wiles of boxers skilled with the gloves, and all the art that the rough and tumble fighters have sought out to aid their science, all these did Heracles learn from Harpalacus of Phanes, the son of Hermes. Him no man that beheld, even from afar, would have confidently met as a wrestler in the lists, so grim a brow overhung his dreadful face. And to drive forth his horses ’neath the chariot, and safely to guide them round the goals, with the naves of the wheels unharmed, Amphitryon taught his son in his loving-kindness, Amphitryon himself, for many a prize had he borne away from the fleet races in Argos, pasture-land of steeds, and unbroken were the chariots that he mounted, till time loosened their leathern thongs.

But to charge with spear in rest, against a foe, guarding, meanwhile, his back with the shield, to bide the biting swords, to order a company, and to measure, in his onslaught, the ambush of foemen, and to give horsemen the word of command, he was taught by knightly Castor. An outlaw came Castor out of Argos, when Tydeus was holding all the land and all the wide vineyards, having received Argos, a land of steeds, from the hand of Adrastus. No peer in war among the demigods had Castor, till age wore down his youth.

Thus did his dear mother let train Heracles, and the child’s bed was made hard by his father’s; a lion’s skin was the coverlet he loved; his dinner was roast meat, and a great Dorian loaf in a basket, a meal to satisfy a delving hind. At the close of day he would take a meagre supper that needed no fire to the cooking, and his plain kirtle fell no lower than the middle of his shin.

IDYL XXV
HERACLES THE LION-SLAYER

This is another idyl of the epic sort. The poet’s interest in the details of the rural life, and in the description of the herds of King Augeas, seem to mark it as the work of Theocritus. It has, however, been attributed by learned conjecture to various writers of an older age. The idyl, or fragment, is incomplete. Heracles visits the herds of Augeas (to clean their stalls was one of his labours), and, after an encounter with a bull, describes to the king’s son his battle with the lion of Nemea.

. . . Him answered the old man, a husbandman that had the care of the tillage, ceasing a moment from the work that lay betwixt his hands—‘Right readily will I tell thee, stranger, concerning the things whereof thou inquirest, for I revere the awful wrath of Hermes of the roadside. Yea he, they say, is of all the heavenly Gods the most in anger, if any deny the wayfarer that asks eagerly for the way.

‘The fleecy flocks of the king Augeas feed not all on one pasture, nor in one place, but some there be that graze by the river-banks round Elisus, and some by the sacred stream of divine Alpheius, and some by Buprasium rich in clusters of the vine, and some even in this place. And behold, the pens for each herd after its kind are builded apart. Nay, but for all the herds of Augeas, overflowing as they be, these pasture lands are ever fresh and flowering, around the great marsh of Peneus, for with herbage honey-sweet the dewy water-meadows are ever blossoming abundantly, and this fodder it is that feeds the strength of horned kine. And this their steading, on thy right hand stands all plain to view, beyond the running river, there, where the plane-trees grow luxuriant, and the green wild olive, a sacred grove, O stranger, of Apollo of the pastures, a God most gracious unto prayer. Next thereto are builded long rows of huts for the country folk, even for us that do zealously guard the great and marvellous wealth of the king; casting in season the seed in fallow lands, thrice, ay, and four times broken by the plough. As for the marches, truly, the ditchers know them, men of many toils, who throng to the wine-press at the coming of high summer tide. For, behold, all this plain is held by gracious Augeas, and the wheat-bearing plough-land, and the orchards with their trees, as far as the upland farm of the ridge, whence the fountains spring; over all which lands we go labouring, the whole day long, as is the wont of thralls that live their lives among the fields.

‘But, prithee, tell thou me, in thy turn (and for thine own gain it will be), whom comest thou hither to seek; in quest, perchance, of Augeas, or one of his servants? Of all these things, behold, I have knowledge, and could tell thee plainly, for methinks that thou, for thy part, comest of no churlish stock, nay, nor hath thy shape aught of the churl, so excellent in might shows thy form. Lo, now, even such are the children of the immortal Gods among mortal men.’ Then the mighty son of Zeus answered him, saying—

‘Yea, old man, I fain would see Augeas, prince of the Epeans, for truly ’twas need of him that brought me hither. If he abides at the town with his citizens, caring for his people, and settling the pleas, do thou, old man, bid one of the servants to guide me on the way, a head-man of the more honourable sort in these fields, to whom I may both tell my desire, and learn in turn what I would, for God has made all men dependent, each on each.’

Then the old man, the worthy husbandman, answered him again—

‘By the guidance of some one of the immortals hast thou come hither, stranger, for verily all that thou requirest hath quickly been fulfilled. For hither hath come Augeas, the dear son of Helios, with his own son, the strong and princely Phyleus. But yesterday he came hither from the city, to be overseeing after many days his substance, that he hath uncounted in the fields. Thus do even kings in their inmost hearts believe that the eye of the master makes the house more prosperous. Nay come, let us hasten to him, and I will lead thee to our dwelling, where methinks we shall find the king.’

So he spake, and began to lead the way, but in his mind, as he marked the lion’s hide, and the club that filled the stranger’s fist, the old man was deeply pondering as to whence he came, and ever he was eager to inquire of him. But back again he kept catching the word as it rose to his lips, in fear lest he should speak somewhat out of season (his companion being in haste) for hard it is to know another’s mood.

Now as they began to draw nigh, the dogs from afar were instantly aware of them, both by the scent, and by the sound of footsteps, and, yelling furiously, they charged from all sides against Heracles, son of Amphitryon, while with faint yelping, on the other side, they greeted the old man, and fawned around him. But he just lifted stones from the ground, [135] and scared them away, and, raising his voice, he right roughly chid them all, and made them cease from their yelping, being glad in his heart withal for that they guarded his dwelling, even when he was afar. Then thus he spake—

‘Lo, what a comrade for men have the Gods, the lords of all, made in this creature, how mindful is he! If he had but so much wit within him as to know against whom he should rage, and with whom he should forbear, no beast in the world could vie with his deserts. But now he is something over-fierce and blindly furious.’

So he spake, and they hastened, and came even to that dwelling whither they were faring.

Now Helios had turned his steeds to the west, bringing the late day, and the fatted sheep came up from the pastures to the pens and folds. Next thereafter the kine approaching, ten thousand upon ten thousand, showed for multitude even like the watery clouds that roll forward in heaven under the stress of the South Wind, or the Thracian North (and countless are they, and ceaseless in their airy passage, for the wind’s might rolls up the rear as numerous as the van, and hosts upon hosts again are moving in infinite array), even so many did herds upon herds of kine move ever forwards. And, lo, the whole plain was filled, and all the ways, as the cattle fared onwards, and the rich fields could not contain their lowing, and the stalls were lightly filled with kine of trailing feet, and the sheep were being penned in the folds.

There no man, for lack of labour, stood idle by the cattle, though countless men were there, but one was fastening guards of wood, with shapely thongs, about the feet of the kine, that he might draw near and stand by, and milk them. And another beneath their mothers kind was placing the calves right eager to drink of the sweet milk. Yet another held a milking pail, while his fellow was fixing the rich cheese, and another led in the bulls apart from the cows. Meanwhile Augeas was going round all the stalls, and marking the care his herdsmen bestowed upon all that was his. And the king’s son, and the mighty, deep-pondering Heracles, went along with the king, as he passed through his great possessions. Then though he bore a stout spirit in his heart, and a mind stablished always imperturbable, yet the son of Amphitryon still marvelled out of measure, as he beheld these countless troops of cattle. Yea none would have deemed or believed that the substance of one man could be so vast, nay, nor ten men’s wealth, were they the richest in sheep of all the kings in the world. But Helios to his son gave this gift pre-eminent, namely to abound in flocks far above all other men, and Helios himself did ever and always give increase to the cattle, for upon his herds came no disease, of them that always minish the herdman’s toil. But always more in number waxed the horned kine, and goodlier, year by year, for verily they all brought forth exceeding abundantly, and never cast their young, and chiefly bare heifers.

With the kine went continually three hundred bulls, white-shanked, and curved of horn,—and two hundred others, red cattle,—and all these already were of an age to mate with the kine. Other twelve bulls, again, besides these, went together in a herd, being sacred to Helios. They were white as swans, and shone among all the herds of trailing gait. And these disdaining the herds grazed still on the rich herbage in the pastures, and they were exceeding high of heart. And whensoever the swift wild beasts came down from the rough oakwood to the plain, to seek the wilder cattle, afield went these bulls first to the fight, at the smell of the savour of the beasts, bellowing fearfully, and glancing slaughter from their brows.

Among these bulls was one pre-eminent for strength and might, and for reckless pride, even the mighty Phaethon, that all the herdsmen still likened to a star, because he always shone so bright when he went among the other cattle, and was right easy to be discerned. Now when this bull beheld the dried skin of the fierce-faced lion, he rushed against the keen-eyed Heracles himself, to dash his head and stalwart front against the sides of the hero. Even as he charged, the prince forthwith grasped him with strong hand by the left horn, and bowed his neck down to the ground, puissant as he was, and, with the weight of his shoulder, crushed him backwards, while clear stood out the strained muscle over the sinews on the hero’s upper arm. Then marvelled the king himself, and his son, the warlike Phyleus, and the herdsmen that were set over the horned kine,—when they beheld the exceeding strength of the son of Amphitryon.

Now these twain, even Phyleus and mighty Heracles, left the fat fields there, and were making for the city. But just where they entered on the highway, after quickly speeding over the narrow path that stretched through the vineyard from the farmhouses, a dim path through the green wood, thereby the dear son of Augeas bespake the child of supreme Zeus, who was behind him, slightly turning his head over his right shoulder,

‘Stranger, long time ago I heard a tale, which, as of late I guess, surely concerneth thee. For there came hither, in his wayfaring out of Argos, a certain young Achaean, from HelicÉ, by the seashore, who verily told a tale and that among many Epeians here,—how, even in his presence, a certain Argive slew a wild beast, a lion dread, a curse of evil omen to the country folk. The monster had its hollow lair by the grove of Nemean Zeus, but as for him that slew it, I know not surely whether he was a man of sacred Argos, there, or a dweller in Tiryns city, or in Mycenae, as he that told the tale declared. By birth, howbeit, he said (if rightly, I recall it) that the hero was descended from Perseus. Methinks that none of the Aegialeis had the hardihood for this deed save thyself; nay, the hide of the beast that covers thy sides doth clearly proclaim the mighty deed of thy hands. But come now, hero, tell thou me first, that truly I may know, whether my foreboding be right or wrong,—if thou art that man of whom the Achaean from HelicÉ spake in our hearing, and if I read thee aright. Tell me how single-handed thou didst slay this ruinous pest, and how it came to the well-watered ground of Nemea, for not in Apis couldst thou find,—not though thou soughtest after it,—so great a monster. For the country feeds no such large game, but bears, and boars, and the pestilent race of wolves. Wherefore all were in amaze that listened to the story, and there were some who said that the traveller was lying, and pleasing them that stood by with the words of an idle tongue.’

Thus Phyleus spake, and stepped out of the middle of the road, that there might be space for both to walk abreast, and that so he might hear the more easily the words of Heracles who now came abreast with him, and spake thus,

‘O son of Augeas, concerning that whereof thou first didst ask me, thyself most easily hast discerned it aright. Nay then, about this monster I will tell thee all, even how all was done,—since thou art eager to hear,—save, indeed, as to whence he came, for, many as the Argives be, not one can tell that clearly. Only we guess that some one of the Immortals, in wrath for sacrifice unoffered, sent this bane against the children of Phoroneus. For over all the men of Pisa the lion swept, like a flood, and still ravaged insatiate, and chiefly spoiled the Bembinaeans, that were his neighbours, and endured things intolerable.

‘Now this labour did Eurystheus enjoin on me to fulfil the first of all, and bade me slay the dreadful monster. So I took my supple bow, and hollow quiver full of arrows, and set forth; and in my other hand I held my stout club, well balanced, and wrought, with unstripped bark, from a shady wild olive-tree, that I myself had found, under sacred Helicon, and dragged up the whole tree, with the bushy roots. But when I came to the place whereby the lion abode, even then I grasped my bow and slipped the string up to the curved tip, and straightway laid thereon the bitter arrow. Then I cast my eyes on every side, spying for the baneful monster, if perchance I might see him, or ever he saw me. It was now midday, and nowhere might I discern the tracks of the monster, nor hear his roaring. Nay, nor was there one man to be seen with the cattle, and the tillage through all the furrowed lea, of whom I might inquire, but wan fear still held them all within the homesteads. Yet I stayed not in my going, as I quested through the deep-wooded hill, till I beheld him, and instantly essayed my prowess. Now early in the evening he was making for his lair, full fed with blood and flesh, and all his bristling mane was dashed with carnage, and his fierce face, and his breast, and still with his tongue he kept licking his bearded chin. Then instantly I hid me in the dark undergrowth, on the wooded hill, awaiting his approach, and as he came nearer I smote him on the left flank, but all in vain, for naught did the sharp arrow pierce through his flesh, but leaped back, and fell on the green grass. Then quickly he raised his tawny head from the ground, in amaze, glancing all around with his eyes, and with jaws distent he showed his ravenous teeth. Then I launched against him another shaft from the string, in wrath that the former flew vainly from my hand, and I smote him right in the middle of the breast, where the lung is seated, yet not even so did the cruel arrow sink into his hide, but fell before his feet, in vain, to no avail. Then for the third time was I making ready to draw my bow again, in great shame and wrath, but the furious beast glanced his eyes around, and spied me. With his long tail he lashed his flanks, and straightway bethought him of battle. His neck was clothed with wrath, and his tawny hair bristled round his lowering brow, and his spine was curved like a bow, his whole force being gathered up from under towards his flanks and loins. And as when a wainwright, one skilled in many an art, doth bend the saplings of seasoned fig-tree, having first tempered them in the fire, to make tires for the axles of his chariot, and even then the fig-tree wood is like to leap from his hands in the bending, and springs far away at a single bound, even so the dread lion leaped on me from afar, huddled in a heap, and keen to glut him with my flesh. Then with one hand I thrust in front of me my arrows, and the double folded cloak from my shoulder, and with the other raised the seasoned club above my head, and drove at his crest, and even on the shaggy scalp of the insatiate beast brake my grievous cudgel of wild olive-tree. Then or ever he reached me, he fell from his flight, on to the ground, and stood on trembling feet, with wagging head, for darkness gathered about both his eyes, his brain being shaken in his skull with the violence of the blow. Then when I marked how he was distraught with the grievous torment, or ever he could turn and gain breath again, I fell on him, and seized him by the column of his stubborn neck. To earth I cast my bow, and woven quiver, and strangled him with all my force, gripping him with stubborn clasp from the rear, lest he should rend my flesh with his claws, and I sprang on him and kept firmly treading his hind feet into the soil with my heels, while I used his sides to guard my thighs, till I had strained his shoulders utterly, then lifted him up, all breathless,—and Hell took his monstrous life.

‘And then at last I took thought how I should strip the rough hide from the dead beast’s limbs, a right hard labour, for it might not be cut with steel, when I tried, nor stone, nor with aught else. [143] Thereon one of the Immortals put into my mind the thought to cleave the lion’s hide with his own claws. With these I speedily flayed it off, and cast it about my limbs, for my defence against the brunt of wounding war.

‘Friend, lo even thus befel the slaying of the Nemean Lion, that aforetime had brought many a bane on flocks and men.’

IDYL XXVI

This idyl narrates the murder of Pentheus, who was torn to pieces (after the Dionysiac Ritual) by his mother, Agave, and other Theban women, for having watched the celebration of the mysteries of Dionysus. It is still dangerous for an Australian native to approach the women of the tribe while they are celebrating their savage rites. The conservatism of Greek religion is well illustrated by Theocritus’s apology for the truly savage revenge commemorated in the old Theban legend.

Ino, and Autonoe, and Agave of the apple cheeks,—three bands of Maenads to the mountain-side they led, these ladies three. They stripped the wild leaves of a rugged oak, and fresh ivy, and asphodel of the upper earth, and in an open meadow they built twelve altars; for Semele three, and nine for Dionysus. The mystic cakes [144] from the mystic chest they had taken in their hands, and in silence had laid them on the altars of new-stripped boughs; so Dionysus ever taught the rite, and herewith was he wont to be well pleased.

Now Pentheus from a lofty cliff was watching all, deep hidden in an ancient lentisk hush, a plant of that land. Autonoe first beheld him, and shrieked a dreadful yell, and, rushing suddenly, with her feet dashed all confused the mystic things of Bacchus the wild. For these are things unbeholden of men profane. Frenzied was she, and then forthwith the others too were frenzied. Then Pentheus fled in fear, and they pursued after him, with raiment kirtled through the belt above the knee.

This much said Pentheus, ‘Women, what would ye?’ and thus answered Autonoe, ‘That shalt thou straightway know, ere thou hast heard it.’

The mother seized her child’s head, and cried loud, as is the cry of a lioness over her cubs, while Ino, for her part, set her heel on the body, and brake asunder the broad shoulder, shoulder-blade and all, and in the same strain wrought Autonoe. The other women tore the remnants piecemeal, and to Thebes they came, all bedabbled with blood, from the mountains bearing not Pentheus but repentance. [145]

I care for none of these things, nay, nor let another take thought to make himself the foe of Dionysus, not though one should suffer yet greater torments than these,—being but a child of nine years old or entering, perchance, on his tenth year. For me, may I be pure and holy, and find favour in the eyes of the pure!

From aegis-bearing Zeus hath this augury all honour, ‘to the children of the godly the better fortune, but evil befall the offspring of the ungodly.’

‘Hail to Dionysus, whom Zeus supreme brought forth in snowy Dracanus, when he had unburdened his mighty thigh, and hail to beautiful Semele: and to her sisters,—Cadmeian ladies honoured of all daughters of heroes,—who did this deed at the behest of Dionysus, a deed not to be blamed; let no man blame the actions of the gods.’

IDYL XXVII
THE WOOING OF DAPHNIS

The authenticity of this idyl has been denied, partly because the Daphnis of the poem is not identical in character with the Daphnis of the first idyl. But the piece is certainly worthy of a place beside the work of Theocritus. The dialogue is here arranged as in the text of Fritzsche.

The Maiden. Helen the wise did Paris, another neatherd, ravish!

Daphnis. ’Tis rather this Helen that kisses her shepherd, even me! [147]

The Maiden. Boast not, little satyr, for kisses they call an empty favour.

Daphnis. Nay, even in empty kisses there is a sweet delight.

The Maiden. I wash my lips, I blow away from me thy kisses!

Daphnis. Dost thou wash thy lips? Then give me them again to kiss!

The Maiden. ’Tis for thee to caress thy kine, not a maiden unwed.Daphnis. Boast not, for swiftly thy youth flits by thee, like a dream.

The Maiden. The grapes turn to raisins, not wholly will the dry rose perish.

Daphnis. Come hither, beneath the wild olives, that I may tell thee a tale.

The Maiden. I will not come; ay, ere now with a sweet tale didst thou beguile me.

Daphnis. Come hither, beneath the elms, to listen to my pipe!

The Maiden. Nay, please thyself, no woful tune delights me.

Daphnis. Ah maiden, see that thou too shun the anger of the Paphian.

The Maiden. Good-bye to the Paphian, let Artemis only be friendly!

Daphnis. Say not so, lest she smite thee, and thou fall into a trap whence there is no escape.

The Maiden. Let her smite an she will; Artemis again would be my defender. Lay no hand on me; nay, if thou do more, and touch me with thy lips, I will bite thee. [148]

Daphnis. From Love thou dost not flee, whom never yet maiden fled.

The Maiden. Escape him, by Pan, I do, but thou dost ever bear his yoke.

Daphnis. This is ever my fear lest he even give thee to a meaner man.

The Maiden. Many have been my wooers, but none has won my heart.Daphnis. Yea I, out of many chosen, come here thy wooer.

The Maiden. Dear love, what can I do? Marriage has much annoy.

Daphnis. Nor pain nor sorrow has marriage, but mirth and dancing.

The Maiden. Ay, but they say that women dread their lords.

Daphnis. Nay, rather they always rule them,—whom do women fear?

The Maiden. Travail I dread, and sharp is the shaft of Eilithyia.

Daphnis. But thy queen is Artemis, that lightens labour.

The Maiden. But I fear childbirth, lest, perchance, I lose my beauty.

Daphnis. Nay, if thou bearest dear children thou wilt see the light revive in thy sons.

The Maiden. And what wedding gift dost thou bring me if I consent?

Daphnis. My whole flock, all my groves, and all my pasture land shall be thine.

The Maiden. Swear that thou wilt not win me, and then depart and leave me forlorn.

Daphnis. So help me Pan I would not leave thee, didst thou even choose to banish me!

The Maiden. Dost thou build me bowers, and a house, and folds for flocks?

Daphnis. Yea, bowers I build thee, the flocks I tend are fair.

The Maiden. But to my grey old father, what tale, ah what, shall I tell?Daphnis. He will approve thy wedlock when he has heard my name.

The Maiden. Prithee, tell me that name of thine; in a name there is often delight.

Daphnis. Daphnis am I, Lycidas is my father, and Nomaea is my mother.

The Maiden. Thou comest of men well-born, but there I am thy match.

Daphnis. I know it, thou art of high degree, for thy father is Menalcas. [150a]

The Maiden. Show me thy grove, wherein is thy cattle-stall.

Daphnis. See here, how they bloom, my slender cypress-trees.

The Maiden. Graze on, my goats, I go to learn the herdsman’s labours.

Daphnis. Feed fair, my bulls, while I show my woodlands to my lady!

The Maiden. What dost thou, little satyr; why dost thou touch my breast?

Daphnis. I will show thee that these earliset apples are ripe. [150b]

The Maiden. By Pan, I swoon; away, take back thy hand.

Daphnis. Courage, dear girl, why fearest thou me, thou art over fearful!

The Maiden. Thou makest me lie down by the water-course, defiling my fair raiment!

Daphnis. Nay, see, ’neath thy raiment fair I am throwing this soft fleece.The Maiden. Ah, ah, thou hast snatched my girdle too; why hast thou loosed my girdle?

Daphnis. These first-fruits I offer, a gift to the Paphian.

The Maiden. Stay, wretch, hark; surely a stranger cometh; nay, I hear a sound.

Daphnis. The cypresses do but whisper to each other of thy wedding.

The Maiden. Thou hast torn my mantle, and unclad am I.

Daphnis. Another mantle I will give thee, and an ampler far than thine.

The Maiden. Thou dost promise all things, but soon thou wilt not give me even a grain of salt.

Daphnis. Ah, would that I could give thee my very life.

The Maiden. Artemis, be not wrathful, thy votary breaks her vow.

Daphnis. I will slay a calf for Love, and for Aphrodite herself a heifer.

The Maiden. A maiden I came hither, a woman shall I go homeward.

Daphnis. Nay, a wife and a mother of children shalt thou be, no more a maiden.

So, each to each, in the joy of their young fresh limbs they were murmuring: it was the hour of secret love. Then she arose, and stole to herd her sheep; with shamefast eyes she went, but her heart was comforted within her. And he went to his herds of kine, rejoicing in his wedlock.

IDYL XXVIII

This little piece of Aeolic verse accompanied the present of a distaff which Theocritus brought from Syracuse to Theugenis, the wife of his friend Nicias, the physician of Miletus. On the margin of a translation by Longepierre (the famous book-collector), Louis XIV wrote that this idyl is a model of honourable gallantry.

O distaff, thou friend of them that spin, gift of grey-eyed Athene to dames whose hearts are set on housewifery; come, boldly come with me to the bright city of Neleus, where the shrine of the Cyprian is green ’neath its roof of delicate rushes. Thither I pray that we may win fair voyage and favourable breeze from Zeus, that so I may gladden mine eyes with the sight of Nicias my friend, and be greeted of him in turn;—a sacred scion is he of the sweet-voiced Graces. And thee, distaff, thou child of fair carven ivory, I will give into the hands of the wife of Nicias: with her shalt thou fashion many a thing, garments for men, and much rippling raiment that women wear. For the mothers of lambs in the meadows might twice be shorn of their wool in the year, with her goodwill, the dainty-ankled Theugenis, so notable is she, and cares for all things that wise matrons love.

Nay, not to houses slatternly or idle would I have given thee, distaff, seeing that thou art a countryman of mine. For that is thy native city which Archias out of Ephyre founded, long ago, the very marrow of the isle of the three capes, a town of honourable men. [153] But now shalt thou abide in the house of a wise physician, who has learned all the spells that ward off sore maladies from men, and thou shalt dwell in glad Miletus with the Ionian people, to this end,—that of all the townsfolk Theugenis may have the goodliest distaff and that thou mayst keep her ever mindful of her friend, the lover of song.

This proverb will each man utter that looks on thee, ‘Surely great grace goes with a little gift, and all the offerings of friends are precious.’

IDYL XXIX

This poem, like the preceding one, is written in the Aeolic dialect. The first line is quoted from Alcaeus. The idyl is attributed to Theocritus on the evidence of the scholiast on the Symposium of Plato.

‘Wine and truth,’ dear child, says the proverb, and in wine are we, and the truth we must tell. Yes, I will say to thee all that lies in my soul’s inmost chamber. Thou dost not care to love me with thy whole heart! I know, for I live half my life in the sight of thy beauty, but all the rest is ruined. When thou art kind, my day is like the days of the Blessed, but when thou art unkind, ’tis deep in darkness. How can it be right thus to torment thy friend? Nay, if thou wilt listen at all, child, to me, that am thine elder, happier thereby wilt thou be, and some day thou wilt thank me. Build one nest in one tree, where no fierce snake can come; for now thou dost perch on one branch to-day, and on another to-morrow, always seeking what is new. And if a stranger see and praise thy pretty face, instantly to him thou art more than a friend of three years’ standing, while him that loved thee first thou holdest no higher than a friend of three days. Thou savourest, methinks, of the love of some great one; nay, choose rather all thy life ever to keep the love of one that is thy peer. If this thou dost thou wilt be well spoken of by thy townsmen, and Love will never be hard to thee, Love that lightly vanquishes the minds of men, and has wrought to tenderness my heart that was of steel. Nay, by thy delicate mouth I approach and beseech thee, remember that thou wert younger yesteryear, and that we wax grey and wrinkled, or ever we can avert it; and none may recapture his youth again, for the shoulders of youth are winged, and we are all too slow to catch such flying pinions.

Mindful of this thou shouldst be gentler, and love me without guile as I love thee, so that, when thou hast a manly beard, we may be such friends as were Achilles and Patroclus!

But, if thou dost cast all I say to the winds to waft afar, and cry, in anger, ‘Why, why, dost thou torment me?’ then I,—that now for thy sake would go to fetch the golden apples, or to bring thee Cerberus, the watcher of the dead,—would not go forth, didst thou stand at the court-doors and call me. I should have rest from my cruel love.

Fragment of the Berenice.

Athenaeus (vii. 284 A) quotes this fragment, which probably was part of a panegyric on Berenice, the mother of Ptolemy Philadelphus.

And if any man that hath his livelihood from the salt sea, and whose nets serve him for ploughs, prays for wealth, and luck in fishing, let him sacrifice, at midnight, to this goddess, the sacred fish that they call ‘silver white,’ for that it is brightest of sheen of all,—then let the fisher set his nets, and he shall draw them full from the sea.

IDYL XXX
THE DEAD ADONIS

This idyl is usually printed with the poems of Theocritus, but almost certainly is by another hand. I have therefore ventured to imitate the metre of the original.

When Cypris saw Adonis,
In death already lying
With all his locks dishevelled,
And cheeks turned wan and ghastly,
She bade the Loves attendant
To bring the boar before her.

And lo, the winged ones, fleetly
They scoured through all the wild wood;
The wretched boar they tracked him,
And bound and doubly bound him.
One fixed on him a halter,
And dragged him on, a captive,
Another drave him onward,
And smote him with his arrows.
But terror-struck the beast came,
For much he feared Cythere.
To him spake Aphrodite,—
‘Of wild beasts all the vilest,
This thigh, by thee was ’t wounded?
Was ’t thou that smote my lover?’
To her the beast made answer—
‘I swear to thee, Cythere,
By thee, and by thy lover,
Yea, and by these my fetters,
And them that do pursue me,—
Thy lord, thy lovely lover
I never willed to wound him;
I saw him, like a statue,
And could not bide the burning,
Nay, for his thigh was naked,
And mad was I to kiss it,
And thus my tusk it harmed him.
Take these my tusks, O Cypris,
And break them, and chastise them,
For wherefore should I wear them,
These passionate defences?
If this doth not suffice thee,
Then cut my lips out also,
Why dared they try to kiss him?’

Then Cypris had compassion;
She bade the Loves attendant
To loose the bonds that bound him.
From that day her he follows,
And flees not to the wild wood
But joins the Loves, and always
He bears Love’s flame unflinching.

EPIGRAMS

The Epigrams of Theocritus are, for the most part, either inscriptions for tombs or cenotaphs, or for the pedestals of statues, or (as the third epigram) are short occasional pieces. Several of them are but doubtfully ascribed to the poet of the Idyls. The Greek has little but brevity in common with the modern epigram.

I
For a rustic Altar.

These dew-drenched roses and that tufted thyme are offered to the ladies of Helicon. And the dark-leaved laurels are thine, O Pythian Paean, since the rock of Delphi bare this leafage to thine honour. The altar this white-horned goat shall stain with blood, this goat that browses on the tips of the terebinth boughs.

II
For a Herdsman’s Offering.

Daphnis, the white-limbed Daphnis, that pipes on his fair flute the pastoral strains offered to Pan these gifts,—his pierced reed-pipes, his crook, a javelin keen, a fawn-skin, and the scrip wherein he was wont, on a time, to carry the apples of Love.

III
For a Picture.

Thou sleepest on the leaf-strewn ground, O Daphnis, resting thy weary limbs, and the stakes of thy nets are newly fastened on the hills. But Pan is on thy track, and Priapus, with the golden ivy wreath twined round his winsome head,—both are leaping at one bound into thy cavern. Nay, flee them, flee, shake off thy slumber, shake off the heavy sleep that is falling upon thee.

IV
Priapus.

When thou hast turned yonder lane, goatherd, where the oak-trees are, thou wilt find an image of fig-tree wood, newly carven; three-legged it is, the bark still covers it, and it is earless withal, yet meet for the arts of Cypris. A right holy precinct runs round it, and a ceaseless stream that falleth from the rocks on every side is green with laurels, and myrtles, and fragrant cypress. And all around the place that child of the grape, the vine, doth flourish with its tendrils, and the merles in spring with their sweet songs utter their wood-notes wild, and the brown nightingales reply with their complaints, pouring from their bills the honey-sweet song. There, prithee, sit down and pray to gracious Priapus, that I may be delivered from my love of Daphnis, and say that instantly thereon I will sacrifice a fair kid. But if he refuse, ah then, should I win Daphnis’s love, I would fain sacrifice three victims,—and offer a calf, a shaggy he-goat, and a lamb that I keep in the stall, and oh that graciously the god may hear my prayer.

V
The rural Concert.

Ah, in the Muses’ name, wilt thou play me some sweet air on the double flute, and I will take up the harp, and touch a note, and the neatherd Daphnis will charm us the while, breathing music into his wax-bound pipe. And beside this rugged oak behind the cave will we stand, and rob the goat-foot Pan of his repose.

VI
The Dead are beyond hope.

Ah hapless Thyrsis, where is thy gain, shouldst thou lament till thy two eyes are consumed with tears? She has passed away,—the kid, the youngling beautiful,—she has passed away to Hades. Yea, the jaws of the fierce wolf have closed on her, and now the hounds are baying, but what avail they when nor bone nor cinder is left of her that is departed?

VII
For a statue of Asclepius.

Even to Miletus he hath come, the son of Paeon, to dwell with one that is a healer of all sickness, with Nicias, who even approaches him day by day with sacrifices, and hath let carve this statue out of fragrant cedar-wood; and to Eetion he promised a high guerdon for his skill of hand: on this work Eetion has put forth all his craft.

VIII
Orthon’s Grave.

Stranger, the Syracusan Orthon lays this behest on thee; go never abroad in thy cups on a night of storm. For thus did I come by my end, and far from my rich fatherland I lie, clothed on with alien soil.

IX
The Death of Cleonicus.

Man, husband thy life, nor go voyaging out of season, for brief are the days of men! Unhappy Cleonicus, thou wert eager to win rich Thasus, from Coelo-Syria sailing with thy merchandise,—with thy merchandise, O Cleonicus, at the setting of the Pleiades didst thou cross the sea,—and didst sink with the sinking Pleiades!

X
A Group of the Muses.

For your delight, all ye Goddesses Nine, did Xenocles offer this statue of marble, Xenocles that hath music in his soul, as none will deny. And inasmuch as for his skill in this art he wins renown, he forgets not to give their due to the Muses.

XI
The Grave of Eusthenes.

This is the memorial stone of Eusthenes, the sage; a physiognomist was he, and skilled to read the very spirit in the eyes. Nobly have his friends buried him—a stranger in a strange land—and most dear was he, yea, to the makers of song. All his dues in death has the sage, and, though he was no great one, ’tis plain he had friends to care for him.

XII
The Offering of Demoteles.

’Twas Demoteles the choregus, O Dionysus, who dedicated this tripod, and this statue of thee, the dearest of the blessed gods. No great fame he won when he gave a chorus of boys, but with a chorus of men he bore off the victory, for he knew what was fair and what was seemly.

XIII
For a statue of Aphrodite.

This is Cypris,—not she of the people; nay, venerate the goddess by her name—the Heavenly Aphrodite. The statue is the offering of chaste Chrysogone, even in the house of Amphicles, whose children and whose life were hers! And always year by year went well with them, who began each year with thy worship, Lady, for mortals who care for the Immortals have themselves thereby the better fortune.

XIV
The Grave of Euryrnedon.

An infant son didst thou leave behind, and in the flower of thine own age didst die, Eurymedon, and win this tomb. For thee a throne is set among men made perfect, but thy son the citizens will hold in honour, remembering the excellence of his father.

XV
The Grave of Eurymedon.

Wayfarer, I shall know whether thou dost reverence the good, or whether the coward is held by thee in the same esteem. ‘Hail to this tomb,’ thou wilt say, for light it lies above the holy head of Eurymedon.

XVI
For a statue of Anacreon.

Mark well this statue, stranger, and say, when thou hast returned to thy home, ‘In Teos I beheld the statue of Anacreon, who surely excelled all the singers of times past.’ And if thou dost add that he delighted in the young, thou wilt truly paint all the man.

XVII
For a statue of Epicharmus.

Dorian is the strain, and Dorian the man we sing; he that first devised Comedy, even Epicharmus. O Bacchus, here in bronze (as the man is now no more) they have erected his statue, the colonists [165] that dwell in Syracuse, to the honour of one that was their fellow-citizen. Yea, for a gift he gave, wherefore we should be mindful thereof and pay him what wage we may, for many maxims he spoke that were serviceable to the life of all men. Great thanks be his.

XVIII
The Grave of Cleita.

The little Medeus has raised this tomb by the wayside to the memory of his Thracian nurse, and has added the inscription—

Here lies Cleita.

The woman will have this recompense for all her careful nurture of the boy,—and why?—because she was serviceable even to the end.

XIX
The statue of Archilochus.

Stay, and behold Archilochus, him of old time, the maker of iambics, whose myriad fame has passed westward, alike, and towards the dawning day. Surely the Muses loved him, yea, and the Delian Apollo, so practised and so skilled he grew in forging song, and chanting to the lyre.

XX
The statue of Pisander.

This man, behold, Pisander of Corinth, of all the ancient makers was the first who wrote of the son of Zeus, the lion-slayer, the ready of hand, and spake of all the adventures that with toil he achieved. Know this therefore, that the people set him here, a statue of bronze, when many months had gone by and many years.

XXI
The Grave of Hipponax.

Here lies the poet Hipponax! If thou art a sinner draw not near this tomb, but if thou art a true man, and the son of righteous sires, sit boldly down here, yea, and sleep if thou wilt.

XXII
For the Bank of Caicus.

To citizens and strangers alike this counter deals justice. If thou hast deposited aught, draw out thy money when the balance-sheet is cast up. Let others make false excuse, but Caicus tells back money lent, ay, even if one wish it after nightfall.

XXIII
On his own Poems. [167]

The Chian is another man, but I, Theocritus, who wrote these songs, am a Syracusan, a man of the people, being the son of Praxagoras and renowned Philinna. Never laid I claim to any Muse but mine own.