Specimens of the Poets and Poetry of Greece and Rome

In total ruin sunk. My son! My son!
O woe, woe, woe! Affliction's cruel pow'r
Teaches my voice the frantic notes of madness.
Att. Knowest thou aught then touching thy

son's death?

Hec. Strange, inconceivable to thought, I see Horrors on horrors, woes on woes arise. Never henceforth, ah, never shall I know A day without a tear, without a groan.

Ch. Dreadful, oh dreadful are the ills we suffer.

Hec. Alas my son, son of a wretched mother, What hard mishap hath robb'd thee of thy life? What fate, what hand accurs'd hath wrought thy death?

Att. I know not; on the wave-washed strand I found him.

Hec. Cast up, or fall'n beneath the bloody spear? Att. Cast on the smooth sand by the surging

wave.

Hec. Ah me! now know I what my dream forbodes:

The black-wing'd phantom pass'd me not; the

vision

Show'd to my sleeping fancy's frighted eye
My son no longer in the light of life.

Ch. These visions, teach they who hath slain thy son?

Hec. He, our false friend, who spurs the Thracian steed,

To whom his father for protection sent him.
Ch. Ah me! what, slew him to possess his
gold?

Hec. Unutterable deeds, abominable,
Astonishing, unholy, horrible!
Where are the laws of hospitality?

Tyrant accurs'd, how hast thou gored his body,
Gash'd with the cruel sword his youthful limbs,
And steel'd thy heart against the sense of pity?
Ch. Never on mortal head did angry heav'n
Pour such a storm of miseries as on thine.
But Agamemnon I behold, our lord,
Advance this way: let us be silent, friends.

AGAMEMNON, HECUBA, CHORUS.

Aga. Why, Hecuba, dost thou delay to come, And place thy daughter in the tomb? For since Talthybius told us not to touch the virgin, The sons of Greece forbear, and touch her not. I marvel at thy stay, and come to seek thee. Well is each mournful honour there prepar'd, If in such mournful honours aught be well.But, ha! what lifeless corse before the tents Behold I here? Some Trojan: for the robes That clothe the limbs, inform me 'tis no Grecian. Hec. Unhappy son! But naming the unhappy, [apart.

I name myself. Alas, what shall I do? Shall I fall down at Agamemnon's knees, Or bear in silence my calamities?

Aga. Alas, was ever woman born so wretched!
Hec. Never indeed, not Misery herself.
But for what cause thus at thy knees I fall,
Now hear; if justly I endure these ills,
And such thy thought, patient I will endure
them;

If not, avenge me of this impious man,
Who, of the gods above or gods beneath
Reckless, hath done a most unholy deed,
Oft at my hospitable board receiv'd,
And number'd 'mongst the foremost of my
friends:

Thus grac'd, with fell intent he slew my son; Nor, when the deed was done, deign'd to entomb

Aga. Why thus lamenting dost thou turn from The dead, but flung him welt'ring on the wave. me? But we are slaves, but we perchance are weak; What hath been done? tell me: what body Yet the blest gods are strong, the law is strong

this?

Hec. O royal Agamemnon, at thy knees Suppliant I fall, and grasp thy conqu'ring hand.

Which rules e'en them; for by the law we judge That there are gods, and form our lives, the bounds

Of justice and injustice mark'd distinct:
This law looks up to thee: if disregarded,
If he escapes its vengeance, whose bold hand
Inhospitably stabs his guest, or dares
Pollute the sacred ordinance of heav'n,
There is no justice in th' affairs of men.

Deem these deeds base then, reverence my woes,
Have pity on me, as a picture view
The living portrait of my miseries.
Frewhile I was a queen, but now thy slave;
Erewhile blest in my children, childless now
In my old age, abandon'd, outcast, wretched.
Ah, whither dost thou turn the backward step?
Suing shall I reap nothing but repulse?
Why should poor mortals with incessant care
Each unavailing science strive t' attain,
And slight, as nothing worth, divine Persuasion,
Whose pow'rful charms command the hearts of

men,

And bend them unreluctant to her will?
Who then may, henceforth, hope his state may
flourish?

Of all my sons (and I could boast such sons!)
Not one is left; myself in bonds, and led
To base and ignominious servitude,

The smoke of Troy yet mounting to the skies.
Oh that by some nice art, or by some god,
My arins, my hands, my hair, my feet had voice,
That each part vocal with united pray`rs
Might supplicate, implore, importune thee!
Imperial lord, illustrious light of Greece,
Let me prevail: give me thine hand, avenge me,
A wretch indeed, an outcast; yet avenge me!
The cause of justice is the good man's care,
And always to requite the villain's deeds.

Ch. how wonderful th' events of human life,
Its laws determin'd by necessity,
Changing the sternest foe to a kind friend,
And the kind friend to a malignant foe!
Aga. Thee Hecuba, thy son, and thy misfor-

tunes

I pity, nor reject thy suppliant hand;
And in the cause of justice and the gods
Without surmise that for Cassandra's sake
I let my vengeance loose, and crush the tyrant.
Hence anxious fears rush thronging on my mind:
This man the army deems a friend, the dead
A foe: though dear to thee, yet this fond love
Is private, to the troops no common care.
Consider then; thou hast my will, my wish
To favour thee, to yield thee ready aid;
But slow, should Greece with taunting voice re-

Hec. Numbers are strong; add stratagem, resistless.

Aga. Yet like I not this female fellowship.

Hec. Were not Ægyptus' sons by women slain, The men of Lemnos all extirpated? But leave me to conduct this enterprise: Only permit this female slave to pass Safe through the army. Go thou to the Thracian, Tell him that Hecuba, once queen of Troy, On matters that no less of good to him Import than me, would see him and his sons; It is of moment they should hear my words. Awhile, O king, the mournful rites forbear For my Polyxena, my late slain daughter; That on one pile the brother and the sister, To me a double grief, may blaze together, And mix their ashes in one common grave.

Aga. Then be it so: for should the army sail, My power could not indulge thy fond request: But since the god breathes not the fav'ring gales We must perforce await a prosp'rous voyage. Success attend thee: for the general good Of individuals and of states requires That vengeance overtake th' unrighteous deed, And virtue triumph in her just reward.

HECUBA, CHORUS.

Chorus.

Thou, then, oh natal Troy! no more
The city of the unsack'd shalt be,
So thick from dark Achaia's shore
The cloud of war hath covered thee.
Ah! not again

I tread thy plain

The spear-the spear hath rent thy pride;
The flame hath scarr'd thee deep and wide;
Thy coronal of towers is shorn,
And thou most piteous art-most naked and
forlorn!

I perish'd at the noon of night!
When sleep had sealed each weary eye;
When the dance was o'er,

And harps no more

Rang out in choral minstrelsy.
In the dear bower of delight
My husband slept in joy,
His shield and spear
Suspended near,

Secure we slept: that sailor band

Full soon we deem'd no more should stand Beneath the walls of Troy.

And I, too, by the taper's light,

Which in the golden mirror's haze
Flash'd its interminable rays,

Bound up the tresses of my hair
That I love's peaceful sleep might share.

I slept; but, hark! that war shout dread,
Which rolling through the city spread;
And this the cry,-"When, sons of Greece,
When shall the lingering leaguer cease;
When will ye spoil Troy's watch-tower high,
And home return?"-I heard the cry,
And, starting from the genial bed,
Wild, as a Doric maid, I fled,
And knelt, Diana, at thy holy fane,
A trembling suppliant-all in vain.
They led me to the sounding shore-
Heavens! as I passed the crowded way
My bleeding lord before me lay-
I saw I saw-and wept no more,
Till, as the homeward breezes bore
The bark returning o'er the sea,
My gaze, oh Ilion, turned on thee!
Then, frantic, to the midnight air,
I curs'd aloud the adulterous pair-
They plunge me deep in exile's woe,
They lay my country low:

Their love-no love! but some dark spell,
In vengeance, breath'd by spirit fell.

Rise, hoary sea, in awful tide,

And whelm that vessel's guilty pride;

Nor e'er, in high Mycene's hall,

From Themis' seat, his ruthless hand
In blood, in mother's blood, to lave.

Ch. He stirs, he moves his covering vest.
Elect. Wretch, thy voice has broke his rest.
Ch. And yet, I think, sleep locks his eye.
Elect. Wilt thou begone? Hence wilt thou fly,
That quiet here again may dwell?
Ch. Hush, hush! he sleeps again-
Elect.
'Tis well.
Ch. Awful queen, whose gentle power
Brings sweet oblivion of our woes,

And in the calm and silent hour,
Distils the blessings of repose,―
Come, awful Night!

Elect. Softly let your warblings flow;
Farther, a farther distance keep:

Death then indeed is near.

Elect. When Phoebus gave the dire command To bathe in mother's blood his hand,

By whom the father sunk in dust,
He doom'd us victims.
Ch.

Dire these deeds, but just. Orest. [waking.] O gentle Sleep, whose lenient power thus soothes

Let Helen boast in peace of mighty Ilion's fall." Disease and pain, how sweet thy visit to me,

FROM THE ORESTES.

In this play Orestes is represented as pursued by the Furies, in punishment for the murder of his mother Clytemnestra.

[ELECTRA watching over her sleeping brother; CHORUS approaching his couch.

Elect. Softly! softly! fall the sound
Of thy footstep on the ground!
Gently! gently! like the breath
Of a lute-song in its death;
Like the sighing of a reed,
Faintly murmuring to be freed,
So softly let thy whispers flow.

Ch. Like a reed, as soft and low!
Elect. Ay, low, low! but tell me why
Damsels, ye are lingering by?
Long hath sorrow torn his breast;
Now his weary eyes have rest.

Ch. How fares it with him? Dearest, say.
Elect. Sad and tearful is my lay.
Breathing on his couch he lieth,
Still he suffereth, still he sigheth.

Ch. What say'st thou, mourner?
Elect.

If the dewy slumber flee.
Ch. Yet wail I his unhappy state;
Abhorred deeds of deadly hate,
Rage of vindictive, torturing woes,

Woe to thee,

Which the relentless powers of heaven impose.
Elect. Unjust, unjust the stern command,
The stern command Apollo gave

Who wanted thy soft aid! Blessing divine,
That to the wretched givest wish'd repose,
Steeping their senses in forgetfulness!

Where have I been? Where am I? How brought hither?

My late distraction blots remembrance out.

Elect. What heartfelt joy to see thee thus composed!

Wilt thou I touch thee? Shall I raise thee up? Orest. Assist me then, assist me; from my

Elect. Now, my loved brother, hear me while Why dost thou weep, my sister? Why decline

the Furies

Permit thy sense thus clear and undisturbed. Orest. Hast thou aught new? If good, I thank thee for it;

If ill, I have enough of ill already.

Elect. Thy father's brother, Menelaus, arrives; His fleet lies anchor'd in the Nauphian bay. Orest. Comes he then? Light on our afflictions dawns;

Much to my father's kindness doth he owe.

Thy drooping head and hide it in thy vest?
I blush to give thee part in my disease,
And wound with grief thy virgin tenderness.
Let not my ills be thus infectious to thee;
Thou barely didst assent; I did the deed;
I shed her blood. But Phœbus I must name
Who urged me to this most unholy act;
Then, save with soothing words, assist me not.
Had these eyes seen my father, had I asked him
In duty if I ought to slay to my mother?

Elect. He comes; and, to confirm what now II think he would have prayed me not to plunge

say,

Brings Helena from Ilium's ruin'd walls.
Orest. More to be envied, were he saved alone;
Bringing his wife, he brings a mighty ill.

Elect. The female race of Tyndarus was born
To deep disgrace, and infamous through Greece.
Orest. Be thou unlike them then; 'tis in thy
power;

And further than in words thy virtue prove.
Elect. Alas, my brother, wildly rolls thine eye:
So quickly changed! The frantic fit returns.
Orest. Ah, mother! Do not set thy Furies on

My murdering sword in her who gave me birth,
Since he could not revisit heaven's sweet light
And I must suffer all these miseries.
But now unveil thy face and dry thy tears,
My sister, though afflictions press us sore;
And when thou seest me in these fitful moods,
Soothe my disordered sense, and let thy voice
Speak peace to my distraction: when the sigh
Swells in thy bosom, 'tis a brother's part
With tender sympathies to calm thy griefs;
These are the blessed offices of friends.-
But to thy chamber go, afflicted maid,
There seek repose, close thy long-sleepless eyes,
With food refresh thee and the enlivening bath.
Shouldst thou forsake me, or with too close
tendance

Impair thy delicate and tender bealth,
Then were I lost indeed; for thou alone,
Abandoned as I am, art all my comfort.

Elect. Should I forsake thee! No; my choice
is fix'd;

And I will die with thee, or with thee live.

FRAGMENTS.

THERE is a streamlet issuing from a rock.
The village-girls, singing wild madrigals,
Dip their white vestments in its waters clear,
And hang them to the sun. There first I saw her.
Her dark and eloquent eyes, mild, full of fire,
'Twas heaven to look upon; and her sweet voice,
As tuneable as harp of many strings,
At once spoke joy and sadress to my soul!

II.

And all, who know it, come and come again.
DEAR is that valley to the murmuring bees;
The small birds build there; and, at summer-

noon,

As in the shining grass she sate concealed,
Oft have I heard a child, gay among flowers,
Sing to herself....

III.

THIS is true liberty, when freeborn men,
Having to advise the public, may speak free;
Which he who can and will, deserves high

praise:

Who neither can, nor will, may hold his peace:
What can be juster in a state than this?
и 2

EMPEDOCLES.

[About 455 B. C.]

THIS celebrated philosopher and naturalist | to have perished by a fall down the opening of was a native of Agrigentum. According to Plu- Mount Etna. tarch, he maintained that all things were produced from the principles of fire, air, water, and earth, into which they are again resolved. To these he added two other powers, Love and Discord; the former harmonizing and uniting, the latter disjoining and repelling. Empedocles also believed in a state of pre-existence or metempsychosis, declaring that he himself had pre-existed in both sexes of the human race, as well as in the bodies of birds and fishes. He is reported

Of his poetical works, two epigrams are remaining, both distinguished by the use of the figure of Paronomasia or Pun. One of these has been translated by Mr. Merivale, and given in his Anthology, "not more (he says) on account of the celebrity of its author, than as an ancient specimen of this sort of writing." The pun consists in the derivation of the name "Pausanias" anò rÕV NAVELV rasavias,-only a portion of which double meaning, however, has been preserved in the translation.

EPITAPH ON A PHYSICIAN. PAUSANIAS-not so named without a cause, As one who oft has given to pain a pause,—

Blest son of Esculapius, good and wise,
Here, in his native Gela, buried lies;
Who many a wretch once rescued by his charms
From dark Persephone's constraining arms.

BACCHYLIDES.

[About 450 B. C.]

BACCHYLIDES was the nephew of Simonides, | esteemed his Pythian Odes above those of Pindar; and a native of the island of Cos. He composed a judgment, which is justly glanced at and exhymns and odes, and was generally charac-posed by Longinus. One of his admirers, in a terized for the uniform delicacy and correctness of his productions. He stood high in favour with Hiero, king of Syracuse, who is even said to have

later age, was the Emperor Julian, who is stated by Ammianus Marcellinus to have drawn from him many rules for the conduct of his own life.

DRINKING.

THIRSTY Comrade! wouldst thou know
All the raptures that do flow,
From those sweet compulsive rules
Of our ancient drinking schools?—
First, the precious draught shall raise
Amorous thoughts in giddy maze,
Mingling Bacchus' present treasure
With the hopes of higher pleasure.
Next, 'twill chase through empty air
All th' intolerant host of Care;
Give thee conquest, riches, power;

Bid thee reign o'er land and sea
With unquestioned sovereignty.
Thou thy palace shalt behold
Bright with ivory and gold;

While each ship that ploughs the main,
Filled with Egypt's choicest grain,
Shall unload her ponderous store,
Thirsty comrade, at thy door.

PEACE.

FOR thee, sweet Peace, Abundance leads along
Her jovial train, and bards awake the song.

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