With one hand; with the other I up-hove

My weighty club, and on his temple drove, But broke in pieces the rough olive wood On his hard shaggy head: he from above Fell ere he reached me, by the stroke subdued, And nodding with his head on trembling feet he stood.

"Darkness came over both his eyes: his brain Was shaken in the bone; but when I spied The monster stunned and reeling from his pain,

I cast my quiver and my bow aside, And to his neck my throttling hands applied, Before he could recover. I did bear me With vigour in the death-clutch, and astride His body from behind from scath did clear me, So that he could not or with jaw or talons tear

me.

"His hind feet with my heels I pressed aground; Of his pernicious throat my hands took care; His sides were for my thighs a safe-guard found

From his fore-feet: till breathless high in air
I lifted him new sped to hell's dark lair.
Then many projects did my thoughts divide,
How best I might the monster's carcass bare,
And from his dead limbs strip the shaggy hide:
Hard task it was indeed, and much my patience
tried.

"I tried, and failed with iron, wood, and flint;
For none of these his skin could penetrate;
Then some Immortal gave to me a hint
With his own talons I might separate
The carcass and the hide: success did wait

The trial of this thought; he soon was flayed.
I wear his hide, that serves me to rebate
Sharp-cutting war. The Nemean beast was

laid

tone.

Sit, therefore, in that spot; and pray the god,
Gracious Priapus, to release this heart
From love of Daphne. Promise at my hand
Three victims I devote in sacrifice-
A goodly kid; but, if he still deny,

Fed in the stall; and may the god be kind!
A heifer, and a shagged goat, and lamb

Another translation of the Same.

TURNING down, goatherd, by the oaks, you'll see
A fig-tree statue, put up recently,
Three-footed, with the bark on, without ears;
Yet plain enough Priapus it appears.
A sacred hedge runs round it; and a brook,
Flowing from out a little gravelly nook,
Keeps green the laurel and the myrtle trees
And odorous cypresses:

And there's a vine there, heaping all about
Its tendrilled clusters out;

And vernal blackbirds through the sprays
Shake their shrill notes a thousand ways;
And yellow nightingales reply,
Murmuring a honied song deliciously.

havoc made."

ON THE STATUE OF ESCULAPIUS. THE son of Pron to Miletus came To meet his Nicias of illustrious name; He, in deep reverence of his guest divine, Deck'd with the daily sacrifice his shrine; And of the god this cedar statue boughtA finish'd work, by skilled Eetion wrought. The sculptor, with a lavish sum repaid, Here all the wonders of his art display'd.

Another translation of the Same.

AT fam'd Miletus, Pæon's son the wise
Arriv'd, with learned Nicias to advise,
Who to his shrine with daily offerings came,
And rais'd this cedar statue to his fame;
The cedar statue by Eetion wrought,
Illustrious artist! for large sums he bought:
The work is finish'd to the owner's will,
For here the sculptor lavish'd all his skill.

A VOW TO PRIAPUS.

O GOATHERD! wind adown that village road, Where oaks are growing. Thou wilt find beyond

That I may yearn for Psamathe no more;
Myself, with a fine kid, will follow you,
And sacrifice; and should the deity nod,
A heifer and a goat shall thank him too,
And a house-lamb. Hear, then, kind-hearted god!

EPITAPH

ON EUSTHENES THE PHYSIOGNOMIST.

To Eusthenes, the first in wisdom's list,
Philosopher and Physiognomist,

This tomb is rais'd; he from the eye could scan
The cover'd thought, and read the very man.
By strangers was his decent bier adorn'd,
By strangers honour'd, and by poets mourn'd:
Whate'er the Sophist merited he gain'd,
And dead, a grave in foreign realms obtain'd.

ON ANACREON.

STRANGERS, who near this statue chance to roam,
Let it awhile your studious eyes engage;
And you may say, returning to your home,
"I've seen the image of the Teïan sage-
Best of the bards, who grace the Muses' page."

THE DYING SHEPHERD.

LONE shepherds, who your goats and well-wool'd sheep

Teach to climb up this mountain's ridgy steep;
By Earth adjured and dark Persephone,
O grant this small but grateful boon to me
Clitagoras! that on yon craggy rock
Some shepherd softly to my browzing flock
May pipe; and meadow-flowers of early spring
Wreathe, for my grave a rustic offering.
Pressing the milky teats of teeming ewe,
With milk-libations may the swain bedew
My tomb; these are-these are those charities
Of mutual love, which even in Hades please.

THE OFFERING TO THE RURAL DEITIES.
To Pan, the master of the woodland plain,
To young Lyæus and the azure train

Of Nymphs, that make the pastoral life their care,
With offerings due old Arcas pours his prayer.
To Pan a playful kid, in wars untried,
He vows, yet sporting by its mother's side;
And lays the creeping ivy on the vine,
A grateful present to the God of Wine;
And to the gentler Deities, who guide

Their winding streamlets down the mountain's side,

Each varied bud from autumn's shady bowers, Mixed with the full-blown roses' purple flowers. Therefore, ye Nymphs, enrich my narrow field, With the full stores your bounteous fountains

yield:

Pan, bid my luscious pails with milk o'erflow, And, Bacchus, teach my yellow vines to glow.

TO THE SAME.

YE lowly huts! thou sacred hill,
Haunt of the Nymphs! pure gushing rill,
That underneath the cold stone flowest!
Pine, that those clear streams o'ergrowest!
And thou, O Pan, whose wandering flocks
Frolic o'er the thyme-clad rocks

Pleased, the rustic goblet take,

Filled with wine, and th' oaten cake,
Offered to your deities
acides.

By a true

PAN TO HIS WORSHIPPERS.

Go, rouse the deer with horn and hound, And chase him o'er the mountains free; Or bid the hollow woods resound

The triumphs of your archery.Pan leads and, if you hail me right, As guardian of the sylvan reign, I'll wing your arrows on their flight,

And speed your coursers o'er the plain.

INSCRIPTION ON THE BANKS OF A
RIVER.

NoT here, O thirsty traveller, stoop to drink; The sun has warmed, and flocks disturbed, its brink;

But climb yon upland, where the heifers play, Where that tall pine excludes the sultry day; There will you list a bubbling rill that flows Down the cool rock, more cold than Thracian

snows.

INSCRIPTION ON A BOAT.

THEY say that I am small and frail,
And cannot live in stormy seas:-

It may be so; yet every sail

Makes shipwreck in the swelling breeze: Nor strength nor size can then hold fast,

But fortune's favour, heaven's decree:Let others trust in oar and mast,

But may the gods take care of me!

ON A GRASSHOPPER.* THOUGH humble be this grave of mine, O stranger, in thine eyes, And this low tomb-stone scarcely seem above the ground to rise;

Yet to the fair Philænis her

due meed of praise award,

For the love which she has shown to me, the thorn-frequenting bard.

For two whole years she cherish'd me, and when the hand of doom

Bereft her of my soothing strains,

she laid me in this tomb.

* Chirping crickets, or grasshoppers, (the ǎxpides, as well as the TTT.) were kept in houses like singing birds, and more especially in the apartments of the women. By a quick, tremulous motion of the wings against the sides, these little creatures produced a sort of song, which, according to the notion of the Greeks, formed a part of the full charm of summer. The fashion of wearing a golden cricket in the hair, was one of great antiquity in Athens. Many fanciful interpretations have been given of this custom; by some it was said to denote not only the love of music, but the privileges of autochthony, of which this insect was the sacred symbol.

See Hase's Ancient Greeks.

ON HOMER.

DIM grow the planets, when the God of Day Rolls his swift chariot through the heavenly way; The Moon's immortal round, no longer bright, Shrinks in pale terror from the glorious light:Thus, all eclipsed by Homer's wondrous blaze, The crowd of poets hide their lessened rays.

ON A STATUE OF ANACREON. COME, see your old Anacreon, How, seated on his couch of stone With silvery temples garlanded, He quaffs the rich wine, rosy-red; How, with flush'd cheek and swimming eye, In drunken fashion, from his thigh He lets his robe unheeded steal, And drop and dangle o'er his heel. One sandal's off; one scarce can hide The lean and shrivell'd foot inside. Old Anacreon-hark! he sings Still of love to th' old harp strings! Still, Bathylla-still, Megiste,How he coax'd ye, how he kiss'd ye! Gentle Bacchus, watch and wait, You must watch and hold him straight; Hold him up; for, if he fall,

You lose your boldest bacchanal

EPITAPH ON AN AGED FISHERMAN.
THERIS, the aged fisherman, whose skill
Taught him to live, and many a basket fill
With fishes, (for their plundering foe was he,
And than the sea-fowl oftener tost at sea,)—
Theris, whose few-oared boat, and seine, and
hooks,

Could win the fishes from their secret nooks.
Yet, not Arcturus, nor the blasts that blow
Down-rushing, swept this aged man below:
But, like a lamp long burning, and whose light
Flickers, self spent, and is extinguish'd quite,
In a rush hut he died-to him this grave
(No wife, no child, he had) his brother fishers

gave.

ON HIMSELF.

FAR from Tarentum's native soil I lie,
Far from the dear land of my infancy.
Tis dreadful to resign this mortal breath,
But in a stranger clime 'tis worse than death.
Call it not life to pass a fevered age
In ceaseless wanderings o'er the world's wide

stage.

But me the Muse has ever loved, and given
Sweet joys to counterpoise the curse of heaven;
Nor lets my memory decay, but long
To distant times preserves my deathless song.