Nor forced a step retreat.

Then rushing on with violent spear,
In Lynceus' sides he drove

The steely point: while Jove,

On Idas, thunder dire

Flash'd, in whose smould'ring fire,
Deserted and alone, both perish'd there.
So ill are like to fare

Who levy war against their better's head.

Back to his brother, Pollux strode in haste, Whom not yet dead he found,

But stretch'd upon the ground,

With short breath, shudd'ring, all aghast; And dewing his warm tears with many a groan,

Aloud he made his moan.

"Oh, Father Jove! what end
Shall to this anguish be?
Command death too for me

With him, O king! Honour no more is left
To one of friends bereft;

And few of mortals faithful are to lend
Their succour in calamity."

He ended; and before him stood
The Almighty Sire, and thus

Was heard in answering voice:

"Thou art my son: but him of mortal brood, Engender'd after thee,

Thy mother to her husband bare.

But come: of these things yet I give thee choice. If thou the doom of death

And hated age wouldst flee,

And in Olympus still abide with us

And Pallas and stern Mars of ebon spear;
This henceforth is thy lot.

But for thy brother if thou yet dost fight,
And art resolved of all

T'allow him equal share,

Then under earth, o'erwhelm'd,
Thou half thy days must breathe,

And half in heav'n amidst our golden hall."
Such were the words: and he

In counsel waver'd not,

But straight unclosed the sight

And then the voice of Castor brazen-helm'd.

FROM ISTHMIAN III.

JOVE! our greatest virtues we,
Mortal beings owe to thee.

Bliss thrives with such as fear thy sway,
But from the froward falls away.
The brave and good, in warbled strains,
Should win requital of their pains,
And, wafted by the choral throng,
Be borne in graceful pomp along.

FROM ISTHMIAN IV.

THEY, who their puissance never try, Are lost in dumb obscurity; And such, as strive, may haply meet, Before the end, some strange defeat. For Fortune, at her will, bestows

On mortal works the appointed close.

And sometimes have the better men, Through guile of worse, supplanted been *

FROM ISTHMIAN VIII.

MARRIAGE OF PELEUS AND THETIS.

AND Jove for Thetis with bright Neptune vied, Each wishing her his bride,

By spell of love possest.

But they, the pow'rs divine averr'd,
Must from that nuptial bed refrain,
Soon as presageful lips they heard
Utter the sure prophetic strain.
For Themis, in the midst who sat,
Reveal'd the stern decree of fate;
That from the sea-nymph born, an heir,
Stronger than his sire, shall bear
Another weapon grasp'd in hand,
Mightier than the levin-brand,
Or than that three-forked mace;
If she meet in strict embrace
With the Sovran of the Sky,
Or his brother-deity.

"Cease then your suit. And let her brook
A mortal bed, and look

Upon a son in fight laid low;

With hands like Mars' to chase the foe,
And speed of foot, as lightning-shine.
To bid the spousal rites, be mine:
So her to Peleus I assign,
Son of Eacus, renown'd
O'er Iolcos' ample bound

For the man that honours most
With pious pray'r our saintly host.
To Chiron's everlasting den
Be the tidings swiftly sped:
Nor Nereus' child for us again
The petals of contention spread.
But when next that solemn eve
Duly doth the moon divide,
For the chieftain let her leave
Her lovely virgin zone aside."

The Goddess ended. And her speech
When the pow'rs Saturnian heard,
Their deathless brows they nodded each.
Nor without fruit her heav'nly word
Fell to the ground. For, as they say,
Jove himself did keep the day
Of Thetis' nuptials; and the rhymes
Of poets sage to stranger climes
Achilles early prowess show'd,
He, who the viny Mysian shore,
Sprinkling with empurpled gore
Of Telephus, bedew'd;

And for th' Atride bridged their homeward way;

Compute the chances,

And deem there's ne'er a one, in dangerous times,
Who wins the race of glory, but than him

A thousand men more gloriously endowed
Have fallen upon the course; a thousand others

Have had their fortunes foundered by a chance,
Whilst lighter barks pushed past them; to whom add

A smaller tally of the singular few

Who, gifted with predominating powers,
Bear yet a temperate will and keep the peace.-
The world knows nothing of its greatest men.

Taylor's Philip Van Artevelde.

And ransom'd beauteous Helena;
And cut the nerves of Troy in twain,
That erst amid the battle fray
Had stopt his lance's furious way;
Memnon's might and Hector's pride;
And many a glorious prince beside;
Whom he pointing down their road
To Proserpine's dark abode,
In lustre gave alike to shine
Ægina and his noble line.

Nor when in death himself he lay,
Lack'd he a sweet recording lay.
But at his funeral pyre and sacred tomb,
The Heliconian maidens, standing round,
Pour'd forth in many a lamentable sound
The dirgeful strain that told his timeless doom.
For fav ring Gods the brave consign
E'en in their death to song divine.

A FRAGMENT.

TO THE SUN UNDER AN ECLIPSE.

Man's stalwart strength and bar

With dark obstruction Wisdom's winding way? Lo! on thy chariot-track

Hangs midnight pitchy-black;

While thou, from out thine ancient path afar,
Hurriest thy belated car.

But thee, by mightiest Jove, do I implore-
O'er Thebes thy fleet steeds' flight
To rein, with presage bright

Of plenteousness and peace for evermore.
Fountain of Light!-O venerated Power!-
To all of earthly line

A wonder and a sign,

What terror threatenest thou at this dread hour? Doom of battle dost thou bring;

Or cankerous blight, fruit-withering;

Or crushing snow-showers' giant weight;

Or faction, shatterer of the state;

Or breaching seas poured o'er the plain; Or frost that fettereth land and spring;

glance

Lights far and wide, unveil to me, unveil

Thy brow, that once again mine eye may hail The lustre of thy cloudless countenance. Surpassing star! Why thus at noon of day Withdrawing, would'st thou mar

Droops heavily with rain?

Such fate, portendeth such, thy gloomy brow?
Or, deluging beneath the imprison'd deep,
This earth once more, man's infant race wilt
thou

Afresh from off the face of nature sweep?

ensued, the Athenians set about building a theatre of more solid materials, and better adapted to the improving character of the Greek drama.

"Pratinas" (says Mr. Cumberland,) “struck out a considerable improvement in the orchestral part of his drama, by revoking the custom of allowing the minstrels to join the chaunt or strain with the chorus, and suffering them only to accompany with their pipes. The people, however, not yet weaned from their old prejudice for the noisy Bacchanalian songs of their village masques, opposed themselves violently against the innovation, when, in the midst of the tumult, Pratinas appeared on the stage in person, and, in a kind of Salian song, accompanied with dancing, addressed his audience to the following effect:

What means this tumult? Why this rage?
What thunder shakes the Athenian stage?
'Tis frantic Bromius bids me sing;
He tunes the pipe, he smites the string;

The Dryads with their chief accord,
Submit and hail the Drama's Lord.*
Be still! and let distraction cease,
Nor thus profane the Muse's peace.
By sacred fiat I preside

The Minstrel's master and his guide:
He, while the choral strains proceed,
Shall follow, with responsive reed;
To measur'd notes, whilst they advance,
He, in wild maze, shall lead the dance.
So generals in the front appear,
Whilst Music echoes from the rear.-
Now silence each discordant sound!
For, see, with ivy-chaplet crown'd,
Bacchus appears! he speaks in me—
Hear, and obey the God's decree.

* Pratinas had been the first to introduce satyrs and dryads with these lively songs and movements, and was, therefore, regarded as the inventor of the satiric drama.

H

Then, from the shore, the rocks

and windy summits high

Of wood-topt Pelion rear'd

their beacon midst the sky.

The helm, with both his hands, the pilot Tiphys held;

The vessel cut the wave,

with quiet course impell'd; Then swift they near'd the shore; the wooden ladder cast, And forth the heroes leap'd,

relieved from labours past. Then to the circling throng

the horseman Peleus cried'; "Mark, friends! yon shadowing crag, midway the mountain side: There Chiron dwells, most just of all the Centaur race, That haunt high Pelion's top;

a cave his dwelling place.

He there awards the right,

or heals the body's pains; And chaunts to neighbouring tribes, oracular, his strains.

To Phœbus' chorded harp,

the laws, in wisdom, sings; Or Hermes' hollow lute,

of shell sonorous, strings; And therefore Thetis came,

with silver feet, to trace High Pelion's waving woods,

my babe in her embrace; And here to Chiron's hands,

the new-born infant brought, To cherish with a father's eye, and rear with prudent thought. Indulge my longing, friends!

with me the cavern tread, To mark how fares my boy;

how gifted, and how bred."

He trod the beaten path;

we follow'd where he led; We enter'd straight a grot,

of gloomy twilight shade: There on a lowly couch,

the Centaur huge was laid. At length unmeasured stretch'd, his rapid legs were thrown; And, shod with horny hoofs,

reclin'd upon the stone.

The boy Achilles stood,

erect, beside the sire;

And smote with pliant hand

the spirit-soothing lyre.

But, when the Centaur saw

the noble kings appear,

He rose with courteous act, and kiss'd,

and brought them dainty cheer.

The wine in beakers served,

the branchy couches spread

With scatter'd leaves, and placed

each guest upon his bed.

In dishes rude the flesh

of boars and stags bestowed; While draughts of luscious wine in equal measure flow'd.

But now, when food and drink had satisfied the heart, With loud, applauding hands,

they urged my minstrel's art: That I, in contest match'd

against the Centaur sire, Should, to some wide-famed strain, attune the ringing lyre.

But I, averse, forbore

in contest to engage,

And blush'd, that youth should vie with more experienced age, Till Chiron join'd the wish,

himself prepared to sing; And forced me to contend,

reluctant, on the string. Achilles stretch'd his hand,

and gave the beauteous shell, Which Chiron took, and sang

the Centaur combat fell: How them the Lapitha

for daring outrage slew; How, mad with strength of wine, 'gainst Hercules they flew ; And him, on Pholoe's mount, to stubborn conflict drew.

I next the lute received,

of echo sweet and shrill, And bade my breathing lips

their honour'd song distil:
In dark and mystic hymn,
I sang of Chaos old,
How the disparted elements

in round alternate roll'd; Heaven flow'd through boundless space, and earth her teeming train

Fed from her ample breast, and deep in whirlpools heaved the main.

I sang of elder Love,

who, self-sufficing, wrought Creation's differing forms,

with many-counsell'd thought. Of baneful Saturn next,

and how the heaven above Fell with its regal sway

to thunder-launching Jove.

I sang the younger gods,

whence rose their various birth, How spread their separate powers through sea, and air, and earth. Of Brimus, and of Bacchus last, and giants' mystic fame,

And whence man's weaker race arose, of many-nation'd name. Through winding cavities,

that scoop'd the rocky cell, With tone sonorous thrill'd

my sweetly vocal shell. High Pelion's mountain-heads, and woody valleys round, And all his lofty oaks

remurmur'd to the sound. His oaks uprooted rush,

and all tumultuous wave, Around the darken'd mouth of Chiron's hollow cave.

The rocks re-echo shrill;

the beasts of forest wild Stand at the cavern's mouth,

in listening trance beguil'd: The birds surround the den;

and, as in weary rest,⚫ They drop their fluttering wings, forgetful of the nest. Amazed the Centaur saw:

his clapping hands he beat, And stamp'd in extasy the rock with hoof'd and horny feet. When Tiphys threads the cave, and bids the Minyan train To hurry swift on board;

and thus I ceased my strain. The Argonauts leap'd up in haste, and snatch'd their arms again. Then Peleus to his breast

his boy, embracing, rears;

Kissing his head and beauteous eyes, and smiling through his tears. Achilles so was soothed;

and, as I left the cave,

A leopard's spotted skin,

in pledge, the Centaur gave. Forth from the den we sprang,

down from the mountain high; The aged Centaur spread

his raised hands tow'rds the sky: And call'd on all the gods

a safe return to give, That, fam'd in ages yet unborn,

the youthful kings might live. Descending to the shore,

we climb'd the bark again; Each press'd his former bench

and lash'd with oar the main; Huge Pelion's mountain swift

receded from our view,

And o'er vast Ocean's green expanse the foam white-chafing flew.

TO THE MOON.

HEAVENLY Selene! goddess queen! that shedd'st abroad the light! Bull-horned moon! air-habiting!

thou wanderer through the night! Moon, bearer of the nightly torch! thou star-encircled maid! Female at once, and male the same; still fresh, and still decay'd! Thou! that in thy steeds delight'st,

as they whirl thee through the sky: Clothed in brightness! mighty mother of the rapid years that fly! Fruit-dispenser! amber-visaged! melancholy, yet serene! All-beholding! sleep-enamour'd!

still with trooping planets seen! Quiet-loving! who in pleasaunce,

and in plenty takest delight! Joy-diffusing! fruit-maturing!

sparkling ornament of night!

Swiftly-pacing! ample-vested!

star-bright! all-divining maid! Come benignant! come spontaneous! with thy starry sheen array'd! Sweetly-shining! save us, virgin!

give thy holy suppliants aid!

FROM THE ORPHIC REMAINS.

I.

ONE self-existent lives: created things
Arise from him; and he is all in all.
No mortal sight may see him; yet himself
Sees all that live. He out of good can bring
Evil to men: dread battle; tearful woes;
He, and no other. Open to thy sight
Were all the chain of things, could'st thou behold
The Godhead, ere as yet he stepp'd on earth.
My son! I will display before thine eyes
His footsteps, and his mighty hand of power.
Himself I cannot see. The rest is veil'd
In clouds; and ten-fold darkness intercepts
His presence. None discerns the Lord of men,
But he, the sole begotten, of the tribe

Of old Chaldeans: he, to whom was known
The path of stars, and how the moving sphere
Rolls round this earth, in equal circle framed,
Self-balanced on her centre. 'Tis the God,
Who rules the breathing winds, that sweep around
The vault of air, and round the flowing swell
Of the deep, watery element; and shows
Forth, from on high, the glittering strength of
flame.

Himself, above the firmament's broad arch,
Sits, on a throne of gold: the round earth lies
Under his feet. He stretches his right hand
To th' uttermost bounds of ocean, and the root
Of mountains trembles at his touch; nor stands
Before his mighty power. For he, alone,
All-heavenly is, and all terrestrial things
Are wrought by him. First, midst, and last, he
holds

With his omniscient grasp. So speaks the lore
Of ancient wisdom: so the man, who sprang
Forth from the cradling waters, speaks: who took
The double tables of the law from God;
Other to speak, were impious. Every limb
I tremble, and my spirit quakes within.

II.

JOVE is the first and last;

who th' infant thunder hurl'd; Jove is the head and midst; the framer of the world; Jove is a male; a nymph

of bloom immortal, Jove; Jove is the base of earth,

and starry Heaven above. Jove is the breath of all;

the force of quenchless flame; The root of ocean, Jove;

the sun and moon, the same. Jove is the King, the Sire,

whence generation sprang; One strength, one Demon, great, on whom all beings hang;