  John Patterson, "a Greek prophet not without honor in his own American land," was born near Lexington, Kentucky, June 10, 1861. He was graduated from Kentucky State University in 1882; and the following year Harvard granted him the degree of Bachelor of Arts. He took his Master's degree from Kentucky University in 1886. The late Professor John Henry Neville, one of Kentucky's greatest classical scholars, first taught John Patterson Greek; and to his old professor he is indebted for much of his success as a teacher of Greek and a translator and critic of its literature. Professor Patterson's first school after leaving Harvard was a private one for boys near Midway, Kentucky; and he was for several years principal of the high school at Versailles, Kentucky. His first book, Lyric Touches (Cincinnati, 1893), is his only really creative work so far. It contains several fine poems and was widely admired at the time of its appearance. In 1894 Professor Patterson was made instructor of Greek in the Louisville High School, which position he held for seven years. His first published translation was The Medea of Euripides (Louisville, 1894), which he edited with an introduction and notes. This was followed by The Cyclops of Euripides (London, 1900), perhaps his finest work hitherto. In 1901 Kentucky University conferred the honorary degree of Master of Literature upon Professor Patterson; and in the same year he helped to establish the Patterson-Davenport school of Louisville. In 1907 he became professor of Greek in the University of Louisville; and since September, 1908, he has been Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences of the University with full executive powers, practically president. His institution granted him the honorary degree of LL. D. in 1909. Doctor Patterson's latest work is a translation into English of
A CLUSTER OF GRAPES [From. Lyric Touches (Cincinnati, 1893)] Misty-purple globes, Beads which brown autumn strings Upon her robes, Like amethyst ear-rings Behind a bridal veil Your veils of bloom their gems reveal. Mellow, sunny-sweet, Ye lure the banded bee To juicier treat, Aiding his tipsy spree With more dulcet wine Than clover white or wild woodbine. Dripping rosy dreams To me of happy hall Where laughter trims The lamps till swallow-call; Of flowery cup and throng Of men made gods in wit and song. Holding purer days Your luscious fruitfulness, When prayer and praise The bleeding ruby bless, And memory sees the blood Monks of lazy hills, Stilling the rich sunshine Within your cells, Teach me to have such wine Within my breast as this, Of faith, of song, of happiness. CHORAL ODE (Eripides' Medea, Lines 627-662.) [From the same] The loves in excess bring nor virtue nor fame, But if Cypris gently should come, No goddess of heaven so pleasing a dame: Yet never, O mistress, in sure passion steeped, Aim at me thy gold bow's barbed flame. May temperance watch o'er me, best gift of the gods, May ne'er to wild wrangling and strifes Dread Cypris impel me soul-pierced with strange lust; But with favoring eye on the quarrelless couch Spread she wisely the love-beds of wives! Oh fatherland! Oh native home! Never city-less May I tread the weary path of want Ever pitiless And full of doom; But on that day to death, to death be slave! Without a country's worse than in a grave. Mine eye hath seen, nor do I muse On other's history. Nor home nor friend bewails thy nameless pangs.— Perish dismally The fiend who fails To cherish friends, turning the guileless key Of candor's gate! Such friend be far from me! |
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