LITERATURE AND ART
I
THE GROVE OF THE MUSES
AUTHOR UNKNOWN
Say thou that this grave is consecrate to the Muses, pointing to the
books by the plane-trees, and that we guard it; and if a true lover of
ours come hither, we crown him with our ivy.
II
THE VOICE OF THE WORLD
ANTIPATER OF SIDON
The herald of the prowess of heroes and the interpreter of the
immortals, a second sun on the life of Greece, Homer, the light of the
Muses, the ageless mouth of all the world, lies hid, O stranger, under
the sea-washed sand.
III
THE TALE OF TROY
ALPHEUS
Still we hear the wail of Andromache, still we see all Troy toppling
from her foundations, and the battling of Ajax, and Hector, bound to
the horses, dragged under the city's crown of towers, through the Muse
of Maeonides, the poet with whom no one country adorns herself as her
own, but the zones of both worlds.
IV
ORPHEUS
ANTIPATER OF SIDON
No longer, Orpheus, wilt thou lead the charmed oaks, no longer the
rocks nor the lordless herds of the wild beasts; no longer wilt thou
lull the roaring of the winds, nor hail and sweep of snowstorms nor
dashing sea; for thou perishedst; and the daughters of Mnemosyne wept
sore for thee, and thy mother Calliope above all. Why do we mourn over
dead sons, when not even gods avail to ward off Hades from their
children?
V
SAPPHO
POSIDIPPUS
Doricha, long ago thy bones are dust, and the ribbon of thy hair and
the raiment scented with unguents, wherein once wrapping lovely
Charaxus round thou didst cling to him carousing into dawn; but the
white leaves of the dear ode of Sappho remain yet and shall remain
speaking thy blessed name, which Naucratis shall keep here so long as
a sea-going ship shall come to the lagoons of Nile.
VI
ERINNA (1)
AUTHOR UNKNOWN
Thee, as thou wert just giving birth to a springtide of honeyed songs
and just finding thy swan-voice, Fate, mistress of the threaded
spindle, drove to Acheron across the wide water of the dead; but the
fair labour of thy verses, Erinna, cries that thou art not perished,
but keepest mingled choir with the Maidens of Pieria.
VII
ERINNA (2)
LEONIDAS OF TARENTUM
The young maiden singer Erinna, the bee among poets, who sipped the
flowers of the Muses, Hades snatched away to be his bride; truly
indeed said the girl in her wisdom, "Thou art envious, O Death."
VIII
ANACREON'S GRAVE (1)
AUTHOR UNKNOWN
O stranger who passest this the tomb of Anacreon, pour libation over
me in going by; for I am a drinker of wine.
IX
ANACREON'S GRAVE (2)
ANTIPATER OF SIDON
O stranger who passest by the humble tomb of Anacreon, if thou hast
had aught of good from my books pour libation on my ashes, pour
libation of the jocund grape, that my bones may rejoice wetted with
wine; so I, who was ever deep in the wine-steeped revels of Dionysus,
I who was bred among drinking tunes, shall not even when dead endure
without Bacchus this place to which the generation of mortals must
come.
X
PINDAR
ANTIPATER OF SIDON
As high as the trumpet's blast outsounds the thin flute, so high above
all others did thy lyre ring; nor idly did the tawny swarm mould their
waxen-celled honey, O Pindar, about thy tender lips: witness the
horned god of Maenalus when he sang thy hymn and forgot his own
pastoral reeds.
XI
THESPIS
DIOSCORIDES
I am Thespis who first shaped the strain of tragedy, making new
partition of fresh graces among the masquers when Bacchus would lead
home the wine-stained chorus, for whom a goat and a basket of Attic
figs was as yet the prize in contests. A younger race reshape all
this; and infinite time will make many more inventions yet; but mine
are mine.
XII
SOPHOCLES
SIMMIAS
Gently over the tomb of Sophocles, gently creep, O ivy, flinging forth
thy pale tresses, and all about let the rose-petal blow, and the
clustered vine shed her soft tendrils round, for the sake of the wise-
hearted eloquence mingled of the Muses and Graces that lived on his
honeyed tongue.
XIII
ARISTOPHANES
PLATO
The Graces, seeking to take a sanctuary that will not fall, found the
soul of Aristophanes.
XIV
RHINTHO
NOSSIS
With a ringing laugh, and a friendly word over me do thou pass by; I
am Rhintho of Syracuse, a small nightingale of the Muses; but from our
tragical mirth we plucked an ivy of our own.
XV
MELEAGER (1)
MELEAGER
Tread softly, O stranger; for here an old man sleeps among the holy
dead, lulled in the slumber due to all, Meleager son of Eucrates, who
united Love of the sweet tears and the Muses with the joyous Graces;
whom God-begotten Tyre brought to manhood, and the sacred land of
Gadara, but lovely Cos nursed in old age among the Meropes. But if
thou art a Syrian, say /Salam/, and if a Phoenician, /Naidios/, and if
a Greek, Hail; they are the same.
XVI
MELEAGER (2)
MELEAGER
Island Tyre was my nurse; and the Attic land that lies in Syrian
Gadara is the country of my birth; and I sprang of Eucrates, I
Meleager, the companion of the Muses, first of all who have run side
by side with the Graces of Menippus. And if I am a Syrian, what
wonder? We all dwell in one country, O stranger, the world; one Chaos
brought all mortals to birth. And when stricken in years, I inscribed
this on my tablets before burial, since old age is death's near
neighbour; but do thou, bidding hail to me, the aged talker, thyself
reach a talking old age.
XVII
PYLADES THE HARP-PLAYER
ALCAEUS OF MESSENE
All Greece bewails thee departed, Pylades, and cuts short her undone
hair; even Phoebus himself laid aside the laurels from his unshorn
tresses, honouring his own minstrel as was meet, and the Muses wept,
and Asopus stayed his stream, hearing the cry from their wailing lips;
and Dionysus' halls ceased from dancing when thou didst pass down the
iron path of Death.
XVIII
THE DEATH OF MUSIC
LEONTIUS
When Orpheus was gone, a Muse was yet haply left, but when thou didst
perish, Plato, the harp likewise ceased; for till then there yet lived
some little fragment of the old melodies, saved in thy soul and hands.
XIX
APOLLO AND MARSYAS (1)
ALCAEUS OF MESSENE
No more through pine-clad Phrygia, as of old, shalt thou make melody,
uttering thy notes through the pierced reeds, nor in thy hands as
before shall the workmanship of Tritonian Athena flower forth,
nymph-born Satyr; for thy hands are bound tight in gyves, since being
mortal thou didst join immortal strife with Phoebus; and the flutes,
that cried as honey-sweet as his harp, gained thee from the contest no
crown but death.
XX
APOLLO AND MARSYAS (2)
ARCHIAS
Thou hangest high where the winds lash thy wild body, O wretched one,
swinging from a shaggy pine; thou hangest high, for thou didst stand
up to strife against Phoebus, O Satyr, dweller on the cliff of
Celaenae; and we nymphs shall no longer as before hear the honey-
sounding cry of thy flute on the Phrygian hills.
XXI
GLAPHYRUS THE FLUTE-PLAYER
ANTIPATER OF THESSALONICA
Phoebus said over clear-voiced Glaphyrus as he breathed desire through
the pierced lotus-pipes, "O Marsyas, thou didst tell false of thy
discovery, for this is he who carried off Athena's flutes out of
Phrygia; and if thou hadst blown then in such as his, Hyagnis would
not have wept that disastrous flute-strife by Maeander."
XXII
VIOL AND FLUTE
THEOCRITUS
Wilt thou for the Muses' sake play me somewhat of sweet on thy twin
flutes? and I lifting the harp will begin to make music on the
strings; and Daphnis the neatherd will mingle enchantment with
tuneable breath of the wax-bound pipe; and thus standing nigh within
the fringed cavern mouth, let us rob sleep from Pan the lord of the
goats.
XXIII
POPULAR SONGS
LUCILIUS
Eutychides, the writer of songs, is dead; flee, O you under earth!
Eutychides is coming with his odes; he left instructions to burn along
with him twelve lyres and twenty-five boxes of airs. Now Charon has
come upon you; whither may one retreat in future, since Eutychides
fills Hades too?
XXIV
GRAMMAR, MUSIC, RHETORIC
LUCILIUS
Pluto turns away the dead rhetorician Marcus, saying, "Let the dog
Cerberus suffice us here; yet if thou needs must, declaim to Ixion and
Melito the song-writer, and Tityus; for I have no worse evil than
thee, till Rufus the critic comes to murder the language here."
XXV
CALAMUS
AUTHOR UNKNOWN
I the reed was a useless plant; for out of me grew not figs nor apple
nor grape-cluster; but man consecrated me a daughter of Helicon,
piercing my delicate lips and making me the channel of a narrow
stream; and thenceforth, whenever I sip black drink, like one inspired
I speak all words with this voiceless mouth.
XXVI
IN THE CLASSROOM
CALLIMACHUS
Simus son of Miccus, giving me to the Muses, asked for himself
learning, and they, like Glaucus, gave a great gift for a little one;
and I lean gaping up against this double letter of the Samian, a
tragic Dionysus, listening to the little boys; and they repeat /Holy
is the hair/, telling me my own dream.
XXVII
THE POOR SCHOLAR
ARISTON
O mice, if you are come after bread, go to another cupboard (for we
live in a tiny cottage) where you will feed daintily on rich cheese
and dried raisins, and make an abundant supper off the scraps; but if
you sharpen your teeth again on my books and come in with your
graceless rioting, you shall howl for it.
XXVIII
THE HIGHER METAPHYSIC
AGATHIAS
That second Aristotle, Nicostratus, Plato's peer, splitter of the
straws of the sublimest philosophy, was asked about the soul as
follows: How may one rightly describe the soul, as mortal, or, on the
contrary, immortal? and should we speak of it as a body or
incorporeal? and is it to be placed among intelligible or sensible
objects, or compounded of both? So he read through the treatises of
the transcendentalists, and Aristotle's /de Anima/, and explored the
Platonic heights of the /Phaedo/, and wove into a single fabric the
whole exact truth on all its sides. Then wrapping his threadbare cloak
about him, and stroking down the end of his beard, he proffered the
solution:--If there exists at all a nature of the soul--for of this I
am not sure--it is certainly either mortal or immortal, of solid
nature or immaterial; however, when you cross Acheron, there you shall
know the certainty like Plato. And if you will, imitate young
Cleombrotus of Ambracia, and let your body drop from the roof; and you
may at once recognise your self apart from the body by merely getting
rid of the subject of your inquiry.
XXIX
THE PHAEDO OF PLATO
AUTHOR UNKNOWN
If Plato did not write me, there were two Platos; I carry in me all
the flowers of Socratic talk. But Panaetius concluded me to be
spurious; yes, he who concluded that the soul was mortal, would
conclude me spurious as well.
XXX
CLEOMBROTUS OF AMBRACIA
CALLIMACHUS
Saying, "Farewell, O Sun," Cleombrotus of Ambracia leaped off a high
wall to Hades, having seen no evil worthy of death, but only having
read that one writing of Plato's on the soul.
XXXI
THE DEAD SCHOLAR
CALLIMACHUS
One told me of thy fate, Heraclitus, and wrung me to tears, and I
remembered how often both of us let the sun sink as we talked; but
thou, methinks, O friend from Halicarnassus, art ashes long and long
ago; yet thy nightingale-notes live, whereon Hades the ravisher of all
things shall not lay his hand.
XXXII
ALEXANDRIANISM
CALLIMACHUS
I hate the cyclic poem, nor do I delight in a road that carries many
hither and thither; I detest, too, one who ever goes girt with lovers,
and I drink not from the fountain; I loathe everything popular.
XXXIII
SPECIES AETERNITATIS
PTOLEMAEUS
I know that I am mortal, and ephemeral; but when I scan the
multitudinous circling spirals of the stars, no longer do I touch
earth with my feet, but sit with Zeus himself, and take my fill of the
ambrosial food of gods.
XXXIV
THE PASTORAL POETS
ARTEMIDORUS
The pastoral Muses, once scattered, now are all a single flock in a
single fold.
XXXV
ON A RELIEF OF EROS AND ANTEROS
AUTHOR UNKNOWN
Nemesis fashioned a winged Love contrary to winged Love, warding off
bow with bow, that he may be done by as he did; and, bold and fearless
before, he sheds tears, having tasted of the bitter arrows, and spits
thrice into his low-girt bosom. Ah, most wonderful! one will burn with
fire: Love has set Love aflame.
XXXVI
ON A LOVE BREAKING THE THUNDERBOLT
AUTHOR UNKNOWN
Lo, how winged Love breaks the winged thunderbolt, showing that he is
a fire more potent than fire.
XXXVII
ON A LOVE PLOUGHING
MOSCHUS
Laying down his torch and bow, soft Love took the rod of an ox-driver,
and wore a wallet over his shoulder; and coupling patient-necked bulls
under his yoke, sowed the wheat-bearing furrow of Demeter; and spoke,
looking up, to Zeus himself, "Fill thou the corn-lands, lest I put
thee, bull of Europa, under my plough."
XXXVIII
ON A PAN PIPING
ARABIUS
One might surely have clearly heard Pan piping, so did the sculptor
mingle breath with the form; but in despair at the sight of flying,
unstaying Echo, he renounced the pipe's unavailing sound.
XXXIX
ON A STATUE OF THE ARMED VENUS
AUTHOR UNKNOWN
Pallas said, seeing Cytherea armed, "O Cyprian, wilt thou that we go
so to judgment?" and she, laughing softly, "why should I lift a shield
in contest? if I conquer when naked, how will it be when I take arms?"
XL
ON THE CNIDIAN VENUS OF PRAXITELES
AUTHOR UNKNOWN
The Cyprian said when she saw the Cyprian of Cnidus, "Alas where did
Praxiteles see me naked?"
XLI
ON A SLEEPING ARIADNE
AUTHOR UNKNOWN
Strangers, touch not the marble Ariadne, lest she even start up on the
quest of Theseus.
XLII
ON A NIOBE BY PRAXITELES
AUTHOR UNKNOWN
From life the gods made me a stone; and from stone again Praxiteles
wrought me into life.
XLIII
ON A PICTURE OF A FAUN
AGATHIAS
Untouched, O young Satyr, does thy reed utter a sound, or why leaning
sideways dost thou put thine ear to the pipe? He laughs and is silent;
yet haply had he spoken a word, but was held in forgetfulness by
delight? for the wax did not hinder, but of his own will he welcomed
silence, with his whole mind turned intent on the pipe.
XLIV
ON THE HEIFER OF MYRON
AUTHOR UNKNOWN
Ah thou wert not quick enough, Myron, in thy casting; but the bronze
grew solid before thou hadst cast in a soul.
XLV
ON A SLEEPING SATYR
PLATO
This Satyr Diodorus engraved not, but laid to rest; your touch will
wake him; the silver is asleep.
XLVI
THE LIMIT OF ART
PARRHASIUS
Even though incredible to the hearer, I say this; for I affirm that
the clear limits of this art have been found under my hand, and the
mark is fixed fast that cannot be exceeded. But nothing among mortals
is faultless.