For she unclad had leapt to scare
The serpents from her infant lair.
Swift the Cadmean princes, arm'd
In glittering steel, throng'd in, alarm'd;
Amphitryon foremost of the ring,
His naked falchion brandishing,
Smitten with a pang severe.
Others pain we lightly bear;
But the woes, that home befal,
Press alike the hearts of all.

He stood. Delight and wonder mix'd
His step suspense, in silence, fix'd;
Surveying with a rapture wild,
The might and courage of his child:
And heav'n beyond his utmost thought,
Had turn'd the fearful news to nought.

A neighbouring seer he summoned straight,
Tiresias, who best knew

To read the dark decrees of fate;
Of Jove, a prophet true:

Who, to him and all the host,
His fortunes did explain:

What monsters he shall slay by land,
And what amidst the main :
And who, with fell ambition flown,
Shall from a high estate be thrown,
To meet, beneath his righteous doom,
A bitter lot, a timeless tomb.
And last of all, on Phlegra's coast,
When gods against the giant host
Should stand in dread array;
That underneath his weapons, must
Their radiant locks be smear'd in dust,
Did that diviner say.

And he with peace, his lot to close,
Shall dwell for aye in sweet repose;
Amid those mansions wondrous fair,
A portion with the gods to share;
And of his mighty toils the meed,
Hebe, the destined bride, shall lead,
In youthful beauty's bloom;
And the blessed spousals ending,
Near Saturnian Jove ascending,
Gaze round upon the awful dome:

FROM NEMEAN III.

INNATE WORTH.

GREAT is the power of inbred nobleness: But he, that all he hath to schooling owes, A shallow wight obscure, Plants not his step secure;

Feeding vain thoughts on phantoms numberless,

Of genuine excellence mere outward shows.
In Phillyra's house, a flaxen boy,
Achilles oft in rapturous joy
His feats of strength essay'd.
Aloof, like wind, his little javelin flew :
The lion and the brindled boar he slew
Then homeward to old Chiron drew

Their panting carcasses.

This, when six years had fled.

And all the after time

Of his rejoicing prime,

It was to Dian and the blue-eyed Maid,
A wonder how he brought to ground
The stag without or toils or hound:
So fleet of foot was he.

FROM NEMEAN VIII.

THE POETS PRAYER FOR A GUILELESS AND BENEVOLENT DISPOSITION.

HATEFUL of old the glozing plea, With bland imposture at his side, Still meditating guile;

Fill'd with reproaches vile;

Who pulls the splendid down,

And bids th' obscure in fest'ring glory shine.

Such temper far remove, O Father Jove, from

me.

The simple paths of life be mine;
That when this being I resign,
I to my children may bequeath
A name they shall not blush to hear.
Others for gold the vow may breathe,
Or lands that see no limit near:
But fain would I live out my days,
Beloved by those with whom they're past,
In mine own city, till at last

In earth my limbs are clad;

Still praising what is worthy praise,
But scatt'ring censure on the bad.
For virtue by the wise and just
Exalted, grows up as a tree,
That springeth from the dust,
And by the green dews fed,
Doth raise aloft her head,

And in the blithe air waves her branches free.

FROM NEMEAN X.

CASTOR AND POLLUX.

THEIR days with mutual interchange are

spent,

One with Father Jove on high,

And one within earth's caverns pent,

In the glens of Therapnæ.

Such their equal doom dispensed;

And this the life that Pollux chose

Rather than a god to be

And dwell in heav'n perpetually,
When Castor fell by blows

Of Idas' javelin, for his herd incensed.
As from Taygetus around he spied,
Lynceus, of mortals, keenest-eyed,
Had seen them ambush'd in a hollow oak.
On speedy foot forthwith they ran,
And swift their deed of blood began,
Those sons of Aphareus; on whom
Jove signal vengeance took.
For, after them, flew Leda's son;
And they, beside their father's tomb,
Stood to bide his coming on.

Snatching thence a carved stone,
The scutcheon of the dead,

They, at the breast of Pollux levell❜d it:
But him they did not bruise,

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' Atridæ 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

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.

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, cracular, 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 Lapithæ

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.