THE SIXTEENTH IDILLION.

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A. H. Bullen

Argument.

The style of this Poem is more lofty than any of the rest, and Theocritus wrote it to Hiero, King of Syracuse in Sicily. Wherein he reproveth the nigardise of Princes and Great Men towards the Learned, and namely [especially] Poets: in whose power it is to make men famous to all posterity. Towards the end, he praiseth Hiero; and prayeth that Sicily may be delivered by his prowess from the invasions of the Carthaginians. This Idillion is named Hiero in respect of the person to whom it was written; or Charites, that is, "Graces," in respect of the matter whereof it treateth.

CHARITES, or HIERO

P
Oets have still this care, and still the Muses have this care;
To magnify the gods with Songs, and men that worthy are.
The Muses they are goddesses, and gods with praise they crown;
But we are mortal men, and mortal men let us renown!
But who, of all the men under the cope of heaven that dwell,
By opening of his doors, our Graces entertains so well
That unrewarded quite he doth not send them back again?
They in a chafe, all barefoot, home to me return with pain:
And me they greatly blame, and that they went for nought they grudge;
And all too weary, in the bottom of an empty hutch,
Laying their heads upon their knees full cold, they still remain:
Where they do poorly dwell, because they home returned in vain.
Of all that living are, who loves a man that speaketh well?
I know not one. For now a days for deeds that do excel
}
Men care not to be praised: but all are overcome with gain.{
For every man looks round, with hand in bosom, whence amain{
Coin he may get: whose rust rubbed off, he will not give again.{
But straightway thus he says, "The leg is further than the knee,
Let me have gold enough; the gods to Poets pay their fee!"
Who would another hear, "Enough for all, one Homer is;
Of poets he is Prince: yet gets he nought of me iwis!"
Madmen, what gain is this, to hoard up bags of gold within?
This is not money's use, nor hath to wise men ever been!
But part is due unto ourselves, part to the Poet's pen;
And many kinsfolk must be pleasured, and many men:
And often to the gods thou must do solemn sacrifice.
Nor must thou keep a sparing house: but when, in friendly wise,
Thou hast receivÈd strangers at thy board; when they will thence,
Let them depart! But chiefly Poets must thou reverence!
That after thou art hidden in thy grave, thou mayest hear well!
Nor basely mayest thou mourn when thou in Acheron dost dwell!
Like to some ditcher vile, whose hands with work are hard and dry;
Who from his parents poor, bewails his life in beggary.
In King Antiochus his Court, and King Alevas' too
To distribute the monthly bread a many had to do.
The Scopedans had many droves of calves, which in their stalls
'Mong oxen lowed; and shepherds kept, in the Cranonian dales,
}
Infinite flocks to bear the hospital [hospitable] Creondan's charge.{
No pleasure should these men enjoy of their expenses large,{
When once their souls they had embarked in the Infernal Barge;{
But leaving all this wealth behind, in wretched misery
Among the dead, without renown, for ever they should lie:
Had not Simonides the Chian Poet, with his pen
And with his lute of many strings so famous made these men
To all posterity. The very horses were renowned;
Which, from their races swift returned, with olive garlands crowned.
Whoever should have known the Lycian Princes and their race,
Or them of Troy, of Cignus [Cycnus] with his woman's coloured face:
Had not the Poets sung the famous Wars of them of old?
Nor yet Ulysses (who, for ten years space on seas was rolled,
By sundry sorts of men; and who at last went down to Hell
As yet alive; and from the Cyclops' den escapÈd well)
Had got such lasting fame: and drowned should lie in silence deep
Swineherd EumÆus, and PhilÆtus who had to keep
A herd of neat; Laertes eke himself had been unknown—
If far and wide their names, great Homer's verses had not blown.
Immortal fame to mortal men, the Muses nine do give:
But dead men's wealth is spent and quite consumed of them that live.
But all one pain[s] it is, to number waves upon the banks,
Whereof great store, the wind from sea doth blow to land in ranks;
Or for to wash a brick with water clear till it be white:
As for to move a man whom avarice doth once delight.
Therefore "Adieu!" to such a one for me! and let him have
Huge silver heaps at will, and more and more still let him crave!
But I, Goodwill of Men, and Honour, will prefer before
A many mules of price, or many horses kept in store.
Therefore I ask, To whom shall I be welcome with my train
Of Muses nine? whose ways are hard, if Jove guides not the rein.
The heavens yet have not left to roll both months and years on reels;
And many horses yet shall turn about the Chariot's wheels:
The man shall rise that shall have need of me to set him out;
Doing such deeds of arms as Ajax, or Achilles stout,
Did in the field of Simois, where Ilus' bones do rest
And now the Carthaginians, inhabiting the West,
Who in the utmost end of Liby' dwell, in arms are prest:
And now the Syracuseans their spears do carry in the rest;
Whose left arms laden are with targets made of willow tree.
'Mongst whom King Hiero, the ancient Worthies' match, I see
In armour shine; whose plume doth overshade his helmet bright.
O Jupiter, and thou Minerva fierce in fight,
And thou Proserpina (who, with thy mother, has renown
By Lysimelia streams, in Ephyra that wealthy town),
Out of our island drive our enemies, our bitter fate,
Along the Sardine sea! that death of friends they may relate
Unto their children and their wives! and that the town opprest
By enemies, of th' old inhabitants may be possesst!
That they may till the fields! and sheep upon the downs may bleat
By thousands infinite, and fat! and that the herds of neat
As to their stalls they go, may press the ling'ring traveller!
Let grounds be broken up for seed, what time the grasshopper
Watching the shepherds by their flocks, in boughs close singing lies!
And let the spiders spread their slender webs in armories;
So that of War, the very name may not be heard again!
But let the Poets strive, King Hiero's glory for to strain
Beyond the Scythean sea; and far beyond those places where
Semiramis did build those stately walls, and rule did bear.
'Mongst whom, I will be one: for many other men beside,
Jove's daughters love; whose study still shall be, both far and wide,
Sicilian Arethusa, with the people, to advance;
And warlike Hiero. Ye Graces! (who keep resiance [residence]
In the Thessalian Mount Orchomenus; to Thebes of old
So hateful, though of you beloved) to stay I will be bold,
Where I am bid to come: and I with them will still remain,
That shall invite me to their house, with all my Muses' train.
Nor you, will I forsake! For what to men can lovely be
Without your company? The Graces always be with me!

Emblem.

Si nihil attuleris, ibis Homere foras.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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