Chapter 14

Whilst we that pine in life's disease,Uncertain-blessed, less happy are.

Lucian, speaking of a little boy who died at five years of age (i. 332), makes him cry:

ἀλλά με μὴ κλαίοις· καὶ γὰρ βιότοιο μετέσχονπαύρου καὶ παύρων τῶν βιότοιο κακῶν.

A little girl in another epitaph (i. 366) says to her father:

ἴσχεο λύπας,Θειόδοτε· θνατοὶ πολλάκι δυστυχέες.

A young man, dying in the prime of life, is even envied by Agathias (i. 384):

ἔμπης ὄλβιος οὗτος, ὃς ἐν νεότητι μαρανθεὶςἔκφυγε τὴν βιότου θᾶσσον ἀλιτροσύνην.

But it is not often that we hear in the Greek Anthology a strain of such pure and Christian music as this apocryphal epitaph on Prote:

οὐκ ἔθανες, Πρώτη, μετέβης δ' ἐς ἀμείνονα χῶρον,καὶ ναίεις μακάρων νήσους θαλίῃ ἐνὶ πολλῇ,ἔνθα κατ' Ἠλυσίων πεδίων σκιρτῶσα γέγηθαςἄνθεσιν ἐν μαλακοῖσι, κακῶν ἔκτοσθεν ἁπάντων·οὐ χειμὼν λυπεῖ σ', οὐ καῦμ', οὐ νοῦσος ἐνοχλεῖ,οὐ πεινῇς, οὐ δίψος ἔχει σ'· ἀλλ' οὐδὲ ποθεινὸςἀνθρώπων ἔτι σοι βίοτος· ζώεις γὰρ ἀμέμπτωςαὐγαῖς ἐν καθαραῖσιν Ὀλύμπου πλήσιον ὄντος.[176]

Death at sea touched the Greek imagination with peculiar vividness. That a human body should toss, unburied, unhonored, on the waves, seemed to them the last indignity. Therefore the epitaphs on Satyrus (i. 348), who exclaims,

κείνῳ δινήεντι καὶ ἀτρυγέτῳ ἔτι κεῖμαιὕδατι μαινομένῳ μεμφόμενος Βορέῃ,

and on Lysidike (i. 328), of whom Zenocritus writes,

χαῖταί σου στάζουσιν ἔθ' ἁλμυρὰ δύσμορε κούρηναυηγὲ φθιμένης εἰν ἁλὶ Λυσιδίκη,

and on the three athletes who perished by shipwreck (i. 342), have a mournful wail of their own. Not very different, too, is the pathos of Therimachus struck by lightning (i. 306):

αὐτόμαται δείλῃ ποτὶ ταὔλιον αἱ βόες ἦλθονἐξ ὄρεος πολλῇ νιφόμεναι χιόνι·αἰαῖ, Θηρίμαχος δὲ παρὰ δρυῒ τὸν μακρὸν εὕδειὕπνον· ἐκοιμήθη δ' ἐκ πυρὸς οὐρανίου.[177]

It is pleasant to turn from these to epitaphs which dwell more upon the qualities of the dead than the circumstances of their death. Here is the epitaph of a slave (i. 379):

Ζωσίμη ἡ πρὶν ἐοῦσα μόνῳ τῷ σώματι δούληκαὶ τῷ σώματι νῦν εὗρεν ἐλευθερίην.[178]

Here is a buffoon (i. 380):

Νηλειὴς Ἀΐδης· ἐπὶ σοὶ δ' ἐγέλασσε θανόντι,Τίτυρε, καὶ νεκύων θῆκέ σε μιμολόγον.[179]

Perhaps the most beautiful of all the sepulchral epigrams is one by an unknown writer, of which I here give a free paraphrase (Anth. Pal.vii. 346):

Of our great love, Parthenophil,This little stone abideth stillSole sign and token:I seek thee yet, and yet shall seek,Though faint mine eyes, my spirit weakWith prayers unspoken.Meanwhile, best friend of friends, do thou,If this the cruel fates allowBy death's dark river,Among those shadowy people, drinkNo drop for me on Lethe's brink:Forget me never!

Of our great love, Parthenophil,This little stone abideth stillSole sign and token:I seek thee yet, and yet shall seek,Though faint mine eyes, my spirit weakWith prayers unspoken.

Meanwhile, best friend of friends, do thou,If this the cruel fates allowBy death's dark river,Among those shadowy people, drinkNo drop for me on Lethe's brink:Forget me never!

Of all the literary epitaphs, by far the most interesting are those written for the poets, historians, and philosophers of Greece. Reserving these for separate consideration, I pass now to mention a few which belong as much to the pure epigram as to the epitaph. When, for example, we read two very clever poems on the daughters of Lycambes (i. 339), two again on a comically drunken old woman (i. 340, 360), and five on a man who has been first murdered and then buried by his murderer (i. 340), we see that, though the form of the epitaph has been adopted, clever rhetoricians, anxious only to display their skill, have been at work in rivalry. Sardanapalus, the eponym of Oriental luxury, furnishes a good subject for this style of composition. His epitaph runs thus in the Appendix Planudea (ii. 532):

εὖ εἰδὼς ὅτι θνητὸς ἔφυς, τὸν θυμὸν ἄεξετερπόμενος θαλίῃσι· θανόντι σοι οὔτις ὄνησις·καὶ γὰρ ἐγὼ σποδός εἰμι, Νίνου μεγάλης βασιλεύσας.τόσσ' ἔχω ὅσσ' ἔφαγον καὶ ἐφύβρισα, καὶ μετ' ἔρωτοςτέρπν' ἐδάην· τὰ δὲ πολλὰ καὶ ὄλβια κεῖνα λέλειπται.ἥδε σοφὴ βιότοιο παραίνεσις ἀνθρώποισιν.[180]

We find only the fourth and fifth lines among the sepulchral epigrams of the Anthology of Cephalas (i. 334), followed by a clever parody composed by the Theban Crates. Demetrius, the Spartan coward, is another instance of this rhetorical exercise. Among the two or three which treat of him I quote the following (i. 317):

ἁνίκ' ἀπὸ πτολέμου τρέσσαντά σε δέξατο μάτηρ,πάντα τὸν ὁπλιστὰν κόσμον ὀλωλεκότα,αὐτά τοι φονίαν, Δαμάτριε, αὐτίκα λόγχανεἶπε διὰ πλατέων ὠσαμένα λαγόνων·κάτθανε, μηδ' ἐχέτω Σπάρτα ψόγον· οὐ γὰρ ἐκείναἤμπλακεν, εἰ δειλοὺς τοὐμὸν ἔθρεψε γάλα.[181]

Agathias writes a very characteristic elegy on Lais (i. 315):

ἕρπων εἰς Ἐφύρην τάφον ἔδρακον ἀμφὶ κέλευθονΛαΐδος ἀρχαίης, ὡς τὸ χάραγμα λέγει·δάκρυ δ' ἐπισπείσας, χαίροις γύναι, ἐκ γὰρ ἀκουῆς·οἰκτείρω σέ γ', ἔφην, ἣν πάρος οὐκ ἰδόμην·ἆ πόσον ἠϊθέων νόον ἤκαχες· ἀλλ' ἴδε Λήθηνναίεις, ἀγλαΐην ἐν χθονὶ κατθεμένη.[182]

An epitaph on the inutility of epitaphs is an excellent novelty, especially when the witty poet (Paulus Silentiarius) has the humor to make the ghost eager to speak while the wayfarer is inattentive (i. 332):

οὔνομά μοι. τί δὲ τοῦτο; πατρὶς δέ μοι. ἐς τί δὲ τοῦτο;κλεινοῦ δ' εἰμὶ γένους. εἰ γὰρ ἀφαυροτάτου;ζήσας δ' ἐνδόξως ἔλιπον βίον. εἰ γὰρ ἀδόξως;κεῖμαι δ' ἐνθάδε νῦν. τίς τίνι ταῦτα λέγεις;[183]

The value of the epitaphs on poets and great men of Greece is this—that, besides being in many cases of almost perfect beauty, they contain the quintessence of ancient criticism. Every epithet is carefully so chosen as to express what the Greeks thought peculiar and appropriate to the spirit and the works of their heroes.

Orpheus is the subject of the following exquisite elegy by Antipater of Sidon (i. 274):

οὐκέτι θελγομένας, Ὀρφεῦ, δρύας, οὐκέτι πέτραςἄξεις, οὐ θηρῶν αὐτονόμους ἀγέλας·οὐκέτι κοιμάσεις ἀνέμων βρόμον, οὐχὶ χάλαζαν,οὐ νιφετῶν συρμούς, οὐ παταγεῦσαν ἅλα.ὤλεο γάρ· σὲ δὲ πολλὰ κατωδύραντο θύγατρεςΜναμοσύνας, μάτηρ δ' ἔξοχα Καλλιόπα·τί φθιμένοις στοναχεῦμεν ἐφ' υἱάσιν, ἁνίκ' ἀλαλκεῖντῶν παίδων Ἀΐδην οὐδὲ θεοῖς δύναμις;[184]

Sophocles receives a gift of flowers and ivy, and quiet sleep from Simmias the Theban (i. 277):

ἠρέμ' ὑπὲρ τύμβοιο Σοφοκλέος, ἠρέμα, κισσέ,ἑρπύζοις, χλοεροὺς ἐκπροχέων πλοκάμους,καὶ πέταλον πάντη θάλλοι ῥόδον, ἥ τε φιλορῥώξἄμπελος, ὑγρὰ πέριξ κλήματα χευαμένη,εἵνεκεν εὐεπίης πινυτόφρονος, ἣν ὁ μελιχρὸςἤσκησεν Μουσέων ἄμμιγα κἀκ Χαρίτων.[185]

Among the nine epitaphs on Euripides none is more delicate than the following by Ion (i. 282):

χαῖρε μελαμπετάλοις, Εὐριπίδη, ἐν γυάλοισι·Πιερίας τὸν ἀεὶ νυκτὸς ἔχων θάλαμον·ἴσθι δ' ὑπὸ χθονὸς ὢν, ὅτι σοι κλέος ἄφθιτον ἔσταιἶσον Ὁμηρείαις ἀενάοις χάρισιν.[186]

Where could a poet be better lulled to rest than among the black-leaved hollows of Pieria? But the most touching tribute to Euripides is from the pen of a brother dramatist, the comic poet Philemon (ii. 94):

εἰ ταῖς ἀληθείαισιν οἱ τεθνηκότεςαἴσθησιν εἶχον, ἄνδρες ὥς φασίν τινες,ἀπηγξάμην ἂν ὥστ' ἰδεῖν Εὐριπίδην.[187]

Aristophanes is praised by Antipater of Thessalonica (ii. 37) as the poet who laughed and hated rightly:

κωμικὲ καὶ στύξας ἄξια καὶ γελάσας.

His plays are characterized as full of fearful graces, φοβερῶν πληθόμενοι χαρίτων. Over the grave of Anacreon, who receives more tributes of this kind than any other poet, roses are to bloom, and wine is to be poured, and the thoughts of Smerdies, Bathyllus, and Megistias are to linger. Antipater of Sidon in particular paid honor to his grave (i. 278):

θάλλοι τετρακόρυμβος, Ἀνάκρεον, ἀμφὶ σὲ κισσὸςἁβρά τε λειμώνων πορφυρέων πέταλα·πηγαὶ δ' ἀργινόεντος ἀναθλίβοιντο γάλακτος,εὐῶδες δ' ἀπὸ γῆς ἡδὺ χέοιτο μέθυ,ὄφρα κέ τοι σποδιή τε καὶ ὀστέα τέρψιν ἄρηται,εἰ δή τις φθιμένοις χρίμπτεται εὐφροσύνα,ὦ τὸ φίλον στέρξας, φίλε, βάρβιτον, ὦ σὺν ἀοιδᾷπάντα διαπλώσας καὶ σὺν ἔρωτι βίον.[188]

The same poet begins another epitaph thus:

τύμβος Ἀνακρείοντος· ὁ Τήϊος ἐνθάδε κύκνοςεὕδει χἠ παίδων ζωροτάτη μανίη.

Less cheerful are the sepulchres of the satirists. We are bidden not to wake the sleeping wasp upon the grave of Hipponax (i. 350):

ὦ ξεῖνε, φεῦγε τὸν χαλαζεπῆ τάφοντὸν φρικτὸν Ἱππώνακτος, οὗτε χἀ τέφραἰαμβιάζει Βουπάλειον ἐς στύγος,μή πως ἐγείρῃς σφῆκα τὸν κοιμώμενον,ὃς οὐδ' ἐν ᾅδῃ νῦν κεκοίμικεν χόλον,σκάζουσι μέτροις ὀρθὰ τοξεύσας ἔπη.[189]

The same thought is repeated with even more of descriptive energy in an epitaph on Archilochus (i. 287):

σῆμα τόδ' Ἀρχιλόχου παραπόντιον, ὅς ποτε πικρὴνμοῦσαν ἐχιδναίῳ πρῶτος ἔβαψε χόλῳ,αἱμάξας Ἑλικῶνα τὸν ἥμερον· οἶδε Λυκάμβηςμυρόμενος τρισσῶν ἅμματα θυγατέρων·ἠρέμα δὴ παράμειψον, ὁδοιπόρε, μή ποτε τοῦδεκινήσῃς τύμβῳ σφῆκας ἐφεζομένους.[190]

Diogenes offers similar opportunities for clever writing. The best of his epitaphs is this well-known but anonymous dialogue (i. 285):

εἰπὲ, κύον, τίνος ἀνδρὸς ἐφεστὼς σῆμα φυλάσσεις;τοῦ κυνός. ἀλλὰ τίς ἦν οὗτος ἀνὴρ ὁ Κύων;Διογένης. γένος εἰπέ. Σινωπεύς. ὃς πίθον ᾤκει;καὶ μάλα· νῦν δὲ θανὼν ἀστέρας οἶκον ἔχει.[191]

The epitaphs on Erinna, who died when she was only nineteen, are charged with the thought which so often recurs when we reflect on poets, like Chatterton, untimely slain—what would not they have done, if they had lived? (i. 275):

ὁ γλυκὺς Ἠρίννης οὗτος πόνος, οὐχὶ πολὺς μὲνὡς ἂν παρθενικᾶς ἐννεακαιδεκέτευς,ἀλλ' ἑτέρων πολλῶν δυνατώτερος· εἰ δ' Ἀΐδας οἱμὴ ταχὺς ἦλθε, τίς ἂν ταλίκον ἔσχ' ὄνομα;[192]

Sappho rouses a louder strain of celebration (i. 276):

Σαπφώ τοι κεύθεις χθὼν Αἰολὶ τὰν μετὰ Μούσαιςἀθανάταις θνατὰν Μοῦσαν ἀειδομέναν,ἃν Κύπρις καὶ Ἔρως σὺν ἅμ' ἔτραφον, ἇς μέτα Πειθὼἔπλεκ' ἀείζωον Πιερίδων στέφανον,Ἑλλάδι μὲν τέρψιν, σοὶ δὲ κλέος· ὦ τριέλικτονΜοῖραι δινεῦσαι νῆμα κατ' ἠλακάτας,πῶς οὐκ ἐκλώσασθε πανάφθιτον ἦμαρ ἀοιδῷἄφθιτα μησαμένα δῶρ' Ἑλικωνιάδων;[193]

This is the composition of Antipater of Sidon, who excels in this special style. Without losing either the movement or the passion of poetry, he is always delicate and subtle in his judgments. His epigrams on Pindar are full of fire (i. 280):

Πιερικὰν σάλπιγγα, τὸν εὐαγέων βαρὺν ὕμνωνχαλκευτάν, κατέχει Πίνδαρον ἅδε κόνις,οὗ μέλος εἰσαΐων φθέγξαιό κεν, ὥς ποτε Μουσῶνἐν Κάδμου θαλάμοις σμῆνος ἀνεπλάσατο.[194]

The very quintessence of criticism is contained in the phrases σάλπιγξ, χαλκευτάς. The Appendix Planudea (ii. 590) contains another epitaph on Pindar by Antipater, which for its beautiful presentation of two legends connected with his life deserves to be quoted:

νεβρείων ὁπόσον σάλπιγξ ὑπερίαχεν αὐλῶν,τόσσον ὑπὲρ πάσας ἔκραγε σεῖο χέλυς·οὐδὲ μάτην ἁπαλοῖς περὶ χείλεσιν ἐσμὸς ἐκεῖνοςἔπλασε κηρόδετον, Πίνδαρε, σεῖο μέλι.μάρτυς ὁ Μαινάλιος κερόεις θεὸς ὕμνον ἀείσαςτὸν σέο καὶ νομίων λησάμενος δονάκων.[195]

It is impossible to do justice to all these utterances on the early poets. Æschylus (i. 281):

ὁ τραγικὸν φώνημα καὶ ὀφρυόεσσαν ἀοιδὴνπυργώσας στιβαρῇ πρῶτος ἐν εὐεπίῃ.

Alcman (i. 277):

τὸν χαρίεντ' Ἀλκμᾶνα, τὸν ὑμνητῆρ' ὑμεναίωνκύκνον, τὸν Μουσῶν ἄξια μελψάμενον.

Stesichorus (ii. 36):

Ὁμηρικὸν ὅς τ' ἀπὸ ῥεῦμαἔσπασας οἰκείοις, Στησίχορ', ἐν καμάτοις.

Ibycus (ii. 36):

ἡδύ τε Πειθοῦς,Ἴβυκε, καὶ παίδων ἄνθος ἀμησάμενε.

Enough has been quoted to show the delicate and appreciative criticism of the later and lighter Greek poets for the earlier and grander. It is also consolatory to find that almost no unknown great ones are praised in these epigrams; whence we may conclude that the masterpieces of Greek literature are almost as numerous now as they were in the age of Nero. The philosophers receive their due meed of celebration. Plato can boast of two splendid anonymous epitaphs (i. 285):

γαῖα μὲν ἐν κόλποις κρύπτει τόδε σῶμα Πλάτωνος,ψυχὴ δ' ἀθάνατον τάξιν ἔχει μακάρων.

And—

αἰετέ, τίπτε βέβηκας ὑπὲρ τάφον; ἢ τίνος, εἰπὲ,ἀστερόεντα θεῶν οἶκον ἀποσκοπέεις;ψυχῆς εἰμὶ Πλάτωνος ἀποπταμένης ἐς Ὄλυμπονεἰκών· σῶμα δὲ γῆ γηγενὲς Ἀτθὶς ἔχει.[196]

It is curious to find both Thucydides (ii. 119) and Lycophron (ii. 38) characterized by their difficulty.

Closely allied in point of subject to many of the epitaphs are the so-called hortatory epigrams, ἐπιγράμματα προτρεπτικά. These consist partly of advice to young men and girls to take while they may the pleasures of the moment, partly of wise saws and maxims borrowed from the Stoics and the Cynics, from Euripides and the comic poets. Lucian and Palladas are the two most successful poets in this style. Palladas, whose life falls in the first half of the fifth century, a pagan, who regarded with disgust the establishment of Christianity, attained by a style of "elegant mediocrity" to the perfection of proverbial philosophy in verse. When we remember that the works of Euripides, Menander, Philemon, Theophrastus, and the Stoics were mines from which to quarry sentiments about the conduct of life, we understand the general average of excellence below which he rarely falls and above which he never rises. Yet in this section, as in the others of the Anthology, some of the anonymous epigrams are the best. Here is one (ii. 251):

εἰς ἀΐδην ἰθεῖα κατήλυσις, εἴτ' ἀπ' Ἀθηνῶνστείχοις, εἴτε νέκυς, νίσεαι ἐκ Μερόης·μὴ σέ γ' ἀνιάτω πάτρης ἀποτῆλε θανόντα·πάντοθεν εἷς ὁ φέρων εἰς ἀΐδην ἄνεμος.[197]

Here is another, which repeats the old proverb of the cup and the lip (ii. 257):

πολλὰ μεταξὺ πέλει κύλικος καὶ χείλεος ἄκρου.

And another, on the difference between the leaders and the followers in the pomp of life (ii. 270):

πολλοί τοι ναρθηκοφόροι παῦροι δέ τε βάκχοι.

Equally without author's name is the following excellent prayer (ii. 271):

Ζεῦ βασιλεῦ τὰ μὲν ἐσθλὰ καὶ εὐχομένοις καὶ ἀνεύκτοιςἄμμι δίδου· τὰ δὲ λυγρὰ καὶ εὐχομένων ἀπερύκοις.[198]

Lucian gives the following good advice on the use of wealth (ii. 256):

ὡς τεθνηξόμενος τῶν σῶν ἀγαθῶν ἀπόλαυε,ὡς δὲ βιωσόμενος φείδεο σῶν κτεάνων·ἔστι δ' ἀνὴρ σοφὸς οὗτος ὃς ἄμφω ταῦτα νοήσαςφειδοῖ καὶ δαπάνῃ μέτρον ἐφηρμόσατο.[199]

Agathias asks why we need fear death (ii. 264):

τὸν θάνατον τί φοβεῖσθε, τὸν ἡσυχίης γενετῆρα,τὸν παύοντα νόσους καὶ πενίης ὀδύνας;μοῦνον ἅπαξ θνητοῖς παραγίνεται, οὐδέ ποτ' αὐτὸνεἶδέν τις θνητῶν δεύτερον ἐρχόμενον·αἱ δὲ νόσοι πολλαὶ καὶ ποίκιλαι, ἄλλοτ' ἐπ' ἄλλονἐρχόμεναι θνητῶν καὶ μεταβαλλόμεναι.[200]

The remainder of my quotations from this section will all be taken from Palladas. Here is his version of the proverb attributed to Democritus that life's a stage (ii. 265):

σκηνὴ πᾶς ὁ βίος καὶ παίγνιον· ἢ μάθε παίζειντὴν σπουδὴν μεταθεὶς ἢ φέρε τὰς ὀδύνας.[201]

Here, again, is the old complaint that man is Fortune's plaything (ii. 266):

παίγνιόν ἐστι τύχης μερόπων βίος, οἰκτρός, ἀλήτης,πλούτου καὶ πενίης μεσσόθι ῥεμβόμενος.καὶ τοὺς μὲν κατάγουσα πάλιν σφαιρηδὸν ἀείρει,τοὺς δ' ἀπὸ τῶν νεφελῶν εἰς ἀΐδην κατάγει.[202]

Here again, but cadenced in iambics, is the Flight of Time (ii. 266):

ὦ τῆς βραχείας ἡδονῆς τῆς τοῦ βίου·τὴν ὀξύτητα τοῦ χρόνου πενθήσατε·ἡμεῖς καθεζόμεσθα καὶ κοιμώμεθα,μοχθοῦντες ἢ τρυφῶντες· ὁ δὲ χρόνος τρέχει,τρέχει καθ' ἡμῶν τῶν ταλαιπώρων βροτῶν,φέρων ἑκάστου τῷ βίῳ καταστροφήν.[203]

The next epigram is literally bathed in tears (ii. 267):

δακρυχέων γενόμην καὶ δακρύσας ἀποθνήσκω·δάκρυσι δ' ἐν πολλοῖς τὸν βίον εὗρον ὅλον.ὦ γένος ἀνθρώπων πολυδάκρυτον, ἀσθενές, οἰκτρόν,φαινόμενον κατὰ γῆς καὶ διαλυόμενον.[204]

When he chooses to be cynical, Palladas can present the physical conditions of human life with a crude brutality which is worthy of a monk composing a chapterDe contemptu humanæ miseriæ. It is enough to allude to the epigrams upon the birth (ii. 259) and the breath (ii. 265) of man. To this had philosophy fallen in the death of Greece. One more quotation from Palladas has a touch of pathos. The old order has yielded to the new: Theodosius has closed the temples: the Greeks are in ashes: their very hopes remain among the dead (ii. 268):

Ἕλληνές ἐσμεν ἄνδρες ἐσποδωμένοι,νεκρῶν ἔχοντες ἐλπίδας τεθαμμένας·ἀνεστράφη γὰρ πάντα νῦν τὰ πράγματα.

With this wail the thin, lamentable voice of the desiccated rhetorician ceases.

Akin to these hortatory epigrams, in their tone of settled melancholy, are some of the satiric and convivial. It is necessary, when we think of the Greeks as the brightest and sunniest of all races, to remember what songs they sang at their banquets, and to comfort ourselves with the reflection that between their rose-wreaths and the bright Hellenic sky above them hung for them, no less than for ourselves, the cloud of death.

What more dismal drinking-song can be conceived than this? (i. 337):

οὐδὲν ἁμαρτήσας γενόμην παρὰ τῶν με τεκόντων·γεννηθεὶς δ' ὁ τάλας ἔρχομαι εἰς Ἀΐδην·ὦ μῖξις γονέων θανατηφόρος· ὤμοι ἀνάγκηςἥ με προσπελάσει τῷ στυγερῷ θανάτῳ·οὐδὲν ἐὼν γενόμην· πάλιν ἔσσομαι ὡς πάρος οὐδέν·οὐδὲν καὶ μηδὲν τῶν μερόπων τὸ γένος·λειπόν μοι τὸ κύπελλον ἀποστίλβωσον, ἑταῖρε,καὶ λύπης ἀκονὴν τὸν Βρόμιον πάρεχε.[205]

The good sense of Cephalas placed it among the epitaphs; for, in truth, it is the quintessence of the despair of the grave. Yet its last couplet forces us to drag it from the place of tombs, and put it into the mouth of some late reveller of the decadence of Hellas. It has to my ear the ring of a drinking-song sung in a room with closed shutters, after the guests have departed, by some sad companion who does not know that the dawn has gone forth and the birds are aloft in the air. The shadow of night is upon him. Though Christ be risen and the sun of hope is in the sky, he is still as cheerless as Mimnermus. If space sufficed, it would be both interesting and profitable to compare this mood of the epigrammatists with that expressed by Omar Khayyám, the Persian poet of Khorassan, in whose quatrains philosophy, melancholy, and the sense of beauty are so wonderfully mingled that to surpass their pathos is impossible in verse.[206]Here is another of the same tone (ii. 287):

ἠὼς ἐξ ἠοῦς παραπέμπεται, εἶτ' ἀμελούντωνἡμῶν ἐξαίφνης ἥξει ὁ πορφύρεος,καὶ τοὺς μὲν τήξας, τοὺς δ' ὀπτήσας, ἐνίους δὲφυσήσας ἄξει πάντας ἐς ἓν βάραθρον.[207]

And another with a more delicate ring of melancholy in the last couplet (ii. 289):

ὑπνώεις ὦ 'ταῖρε· τὸ δὲ σκύφος αὐτὸ βοᾷ σε·ἔγρεο, μὴ τέρπου μοιριδίῃ μελέτῃ·μὴ φείσῃ Διόδωρε· λάβρος δ' εἰς Βάκχον ὀλισθὼνἄχρις ἐπὶ σφαλεροῦ ζωροπότει γόνατος·ἔσσεθ' ὅτ' οὐ πιόμεσθα, πολὺς πολύς· ἀλλ' ἄγ' ἐπείγου.ἡ συνετὴ κροτάφων ἅπτεται ἡμετέρων.[208]

And yet another (ii. 294), which sounds like the Florentine Carnival Song composed by Lorenzo de' Medici—

Chi vuol esser lieto sia;Di doman non è certezza—πῖνε καὶ εὐφραίνου· τί γὰρ αὔριον ἢ τὶ τὸ μέλλονοὐδεὶς γινώσκει· μὴ τρέχε, μὴ κοπία·ὡς δύνασαι, χάρισαι, μετάδος, φάγε, θνητὰ λογίζου·τὸ ζῆν τοῦ μὴ ζῆν οὐδὲν ὅλως ἀπέχει·πᾶς ὁ βίος τοιόσδε ῥοπὴ μόνον· ἂν προλάβῃς σοῦἂν δὲ θάνῃς ἑτέρου πάντα· σὺ δ' οὐδὲν ἔχεις.[209]

Chi vuol esser lieto sia;Di doman non è certezza—

πῖνε καὶ εὐφραίνου· τί γὰρ αὔριον ἢ τὶ τὸ μέλλονοὐδεὶς γινώσκει· μὴ τρέχε, μὴ κοπία·ὡς δύνασαι, χάρισαι, μετάδος, φάγε, θνητὰ λογίζου·τὸ ζῆν τοῦ μὴ ζῆν οὐδὲν ὅλως ἀπέχει·πᾶς ὁ βίος τοιόσδε ῥοπὴ μόνον· ἂν προλάβῃς σοῦἂν δὲ θάνῃς ἑτέρου πάντα· σὺ δ' οὐδὲν ἔχεις.[209]

But the majority of the ἐπιγράμματα σκωπτικά, or jesting epigrams, are not of this kind. They are written for the most part, in Roman style, on ugly old women, misers, stupid actors, doctors to dream of whom is death, bad painters, poets who kill you with their elegies, men so light that the wind carries them about like stubble, or so thin that a gossamer is strong enough to strangle them; vices, meannesses, deformities of all kinds. Lucillius, a Greek Martial of the age of Nero, is both best and most prolific in this kind of composition. But of all the sections of the Anthology this is certainly the least valuable. The true superiority of Greek to Latin literature in all its species is that it is far more a work of pure beauty, of unmixed poetry. In Lucillius the Hellenic muse has deigned for once to assume the Roman toga, and to show that if she chose she could rival the hoarse-throated satirists of the empire on their own ground. But she has abandoned her lofty eminence, and descended to a lower level. The same may be said in brief about the versified problems and riddles (ii. pp. 467-490), which are not much better than elegant acrostics of this or the last century. It must, however, be remarked that the last-mentioned section contains a valuable collection of Greek oracles.

Of all the amatory poets of the Anthology, by far the noblest is Meleager. He was a native of Gadara in Palestine, as he tells us in an epitaph composed in his old age:

πάτρα δέ με τεκνοῖἈτθὶς ἐν Ἀσσυρίοις ναιομένα, Γάδαρα.[210]

It is curious to think of this town, which from our childhood we have connected with the miracle of the demoniac and the swine, as a Syrian Athens, the birthplace of the most mellifluous of all erotic songsters. Meleager's date is half a century or thereabouts before the Christian era. He therefore was ignorant of the work and the words of One who made the insignificant place of his origin world-famous. Of his history we know really nothing more than his own epigrams convey; the two following couplets from one of his epitaphs record his sojourn during different periods of his life at Tyre and at Ceos:

ὃν θεόπαις ἤνδρωσε Τύρος Γαδάρων θ' ἱερὰ χθών·Κῶς δ' ἐρατὴ Μερόπων πρέσβυν ἐγηροτρόφει.Ἀλλ' εἰ μὲν Σύρος ἐσσί, Σάλαμ· εἰ δ' οὖν σύγε Φοῖνιξ,Ναίδιος· εἰ δ' Ἕλλην, χαῖρε· τὸ δ' αὐτὸ φράσον.[211]

This triple salutation, coming from the son of Gadara and Tyre and Ceos, brings us close to the pure humanity which distinguished Meleager. Modern men, judging him by the standard of Christian morality, may feel justified in flinging a stone at the poet who celebrated his Muiscos and his Diocles, his Heliodora and his Zenophila, in too voluptuous verse. But those who are content to criticise a pagan by his own rule of right and wrong will admit that Meleager had a spirit of the subtlest and the sweetest, a heart of the tenderest, and a genius of the purest that has been ever granted to an elegist of earthly love. While reading his verse, it is impossible to avoid laying down the book and pausing to exclaim: How modern is the phrase, how true the passion, how unique the style! Though Meleager's voice has been mute a score of centuries, it yet rings clear and vivid in our ears; because the man was a real poet, feeling intensely, expressing forcibly and beautifully, steeping his style in the fountain of tender sentiment which is eternal. We find in him none of the cynicism which defiles Straton, or of the voluptuary's despair which gives to Agathias the morbid splendor of decay, the colors of corruption. All is simple, lively, fresh with joyous experience in his verse.

The first great merit of Meleager as a poet is limpidity. A crystal is not more transparent than his style; but the crystal to which we compare it must be colored with the softest flush of beryl or of amethyst. Here is a little poem in praise of Heliodora (i. 85):

πλέξω λευκόϊον, πλέξω δ' ἁπαλὴν ἅμα μύρτοιςνάρκισσον, πλέξω καὶ τὰ γελῶντα κρίνα,πλέξω καὶ κρόκον ἡδύν· ἐπιπλέξω δ' ὑάκινθονπορφυρέην, πλέξω καὶ φιλέραστα ῥόδα,ὡς ἂν ἐπὶ κροτάφοις μυροβοστρύχου Ἡλιοδώραςεὐπλόκαμον χαίτην ἀνθοβολῇ στέφανος.[212]

Nothing can be more simple than the expression, more exquisite than the cadence of these lines. The same may be said about the elegy on Cleariste (i. 307):

οὐ γάμον ἀλλ' Ἀΐδαν ἐπινυμφίδιον Κλεαρίσταδέξατο, παρθενίας ἅμματα λυομένα·ἄρτι γὰρ ἑσπέριοι νύμφας ἐπὶ δικλίσιν ἄχευνλωτοὶ καὶ θαλάμων ἐπλαταγεῦντο θύραι·ἠῷοι δ' ὀλολυγμὸν ἀνέκραγον, ἐκ δ' Ὑμέναιοςσιγαθεὶς γοερὸν φθέγμα μεθαρμόσατο·αἱ δ' αὐταὶ καὶ φέγγος ἐδᾳδούχουν παρὰ παστῷπεῦκαι, καὶ φθιμένᾳ νέρθεν ἔφαινον ὁδόν.[213]

The thought of this next epigram recalls the song to Ageanax in Theocritus's seventh idyl (ii. 402):

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