FOOTNOTES:

κεῖνος ὁ ταῖς ἀγέλαισιν ἐράσμιος οὐκέτι μέλπει,οὐκέτ' ἐρημαίῃσιν ὑπὸ δρυσὶν ἥμενος ᾄδει,ἀλλὰ παρὰ Πλουτῆι μέλος Ληθαῖον ἀείδει,[162]

and in the allusion made to the Sicilian girlhood of grim Persephone (126-129). This vein of tender and melodious sentiment, which verges on theconcettiof modern art, seems different from the style ofEuropa.

To English readers, the three elegies, on Daphnis, on Adonis, and on Bion, severally attributed to Theocritus, Bion, and Moschus, will always be associated with the names of Milton and Shelley. There is no comparison whatever between Lycidas and Daphnis. In spite of the misplaced apparition of St. Peter, and of the frigidity which belongs to pastoral allegory, Lycidas is a richer and more splendid monument of elegiac verse. The simplicity of the Theocritean dirge contrasts strangely with the varied wealth of Milton's imagery, the few ornaments of Greek art with the intricate embroideries of modern fancy. To quote passages from these well-known poems would be superfluous; but let a student of literature compare the passages πᾷ ποκ' ἄρ' ἦσθ' and ὦ Πάν Πάν with Milton's paraphrase "Where were ye, nymphs—," or the concise paragraphs about the flowers and valleys that mourned for Daphnis with the luxuriance of Milton's invocation "Return, Alpheus."

When Shelley wroteAdonaishis mind was full of the elegies on Bion and Adonis. Of direct translation in his Lament there is very little; but he has absorbed both of the Greek poems, and transmuted them into the substance of his own mind. Urania takes the place of Aphrodite—the heavenly queen, "most musicalof mourners," bewails the loss of her poetical consort. Instead of loves, the couch of Adonais is surrounded by the thoughts and fancies of which he was the parent; and, instead of gods and goddesses, the power of nature is invoked to weep for him and take him to herself. Whatever Bion and Moschus recorded as a fact becomes, consistently with the spiritualizing tendency of modern genius, symbolical in Shelley's poem. His art has alchemized the whole structure, idealizing what was material and disembodying the sentiments which were incarnated in simple images.Adonaisis a sublime rhapsody; its multitudinous ideas are whirled like drops of golden rain, on which the sun of the poet's fancy gleams with ever-changing rainbow hues. In drifts and eddies they rush past, delighting us with their rapidity and brilliancy; but the impression left upon our mind is vague and incomplete, when compared with the few and distinct ideas presented by the Doric elegies. At the end ofAlastorthere occurs a touching reminiscence of Moschus, but the outline is less faint than inAdonais, the transmutation even more complete.

Tennyson, among the poets of the nineteenth century, owes much to the Greek idyllists. His genius appears to be in many respects akin to theirs, and the age in which he lives is not unlike the Ptolemaic period. Unfitted, perhaps, by temperament for the most impassioned lyrics, he delights in minutely finished pictures, in felicities of expression, and in subtle harmonies of verse. Like Theocritus, he finds in nature and in the legendsof past ages subjects congenial to his muse.ŒnoneandTithonusare steeped in the golden beauty of Syracusan art. "Come down, O maid," transfers, with perfect taste, the Greek idyllic feeling to Swiss scenery; it is a fine instance of new wine being poured successfully into old bottles, for nothing can be fresher, and not even theThalysiais sweeter. It would be easy enough to collect minor instances which prove that the laureate's mind is impregnated with the thoughts and feelings of the poems I have been discussing. For instance, both the figure "softer than sleep," and the comparison of a strong man's muscles to the smooth rush of running water over sunken stones, which we find inEnid, occur in Theocritus.

At the end of this chapter I cannot refrain from once more recommending all lovers of pure verse and perfect scenery to study the Greek idyllists upon the shores of the Mediterranean. Nor would it be possible to carry a better guide-book to the statue-galleries of Rome and Naples. For in the verses of Theocritus, Bion, and Moschus, the æsthetic principles of the Greeks, in the age to which our relics of their statuary for the most part belong, are feelingly and pithily expressed; while the cold marble, that seems to require so many commentaries, receives from their idyllic coloring new life.

FOOTNOTES:[142]Down the dark stream he went; the eddies drownedThe muses' friend, the youth the nymphs held dear.[143]I may refer my readers to the chapter on the Cornice in mySketches in Italy and Greecefor a fuller treatment of this landscape.[144]Not for us alone, as we once thought, friend Nicias, did Love's parent, whosoever among gods that was, beget Lord Eros. Not for us did fair things first reveal their fairness; we who are mortal men, and have no vision of to-morrow.[145]One bright morning in the first week of June I went out into the fields at Borca below Macugnaga, which were then full of brilliant and sweet flowers. There I met an old woman, with whom I talked about her life in what seemed to me a terrestrial Paradise. She threw her arms and eyes to heaven, and looking round her, cried, "Che brutto paese!"—"Ah, what an ugly country to live in!" Compare Browning'sUp at a Villa, Down in the City.[146]Now rests the deep, now rest the wandering winds,But in my heart the anguish will not rest,While for his love I pine who stole my sweetness,And made me less than virgin among maids.[147]Adieu, dread queen, thou to the ocean turnThy harnessed steeds; but I abide and suffer:Adieu, resplendent moon, and all you starsThat follow on the wheels of night, adieu![148]Into the black waveFell headlong as a fiery star from heavenFalls headlong to the deep, and sailors cryOne to another, Lighten sail; behold,The breeze behind us freshens![149]Would I wereThe murmuring bee, that through the ivy screenAnd through the fern that hides thee, I might comeInto thy cavern![150]Perhaps this is over-stated. In the later Greek literature of the Sophists we find many very exquisiteconcetti. Philostratus, for example, from whom Jonson translated "Drink to me only with thine eyes," calls the feet of the beloved one ἐρηρεισμένα φιλήματα, or "kisses pressed upon the ground." Even Empedocles (see vol. i. p. 220) and Pindar (see vol. i. p. 369) are not free from the vice of artificial metaphor. Compare, too, the labored metaphors and compound epithets quoted from Chæremon above, chap. xvi., and the specimens quoted below from Meleager, chap. xxi.[151]How wonderfully beautiful is her description of Delphis and his comrade Eudamnippus: "Their cheeks and chin were yellower than helichrysus; their breasts more radiant far than thou, O Moon, as having lately left the fair toil of the wrestling-ground."[152]How of oldThe goatherd by his cruel lord was bound,And left to die in a great chest; and howThe busy bees, up coming from the meadows,To the sweet cedar, fed him with soft flowers,Because the Muse had filled his mouth with nectar.Yes, all these sweets were thine, blessed Comatas;And thou wast put into the chest, and fedBy the blithe bees, and passed a pleasant time.Leigh Hunt'sJar of Honey from Mount Hybla.[153]This ought probably to be printed, after Ahrens, αἰάζ' ὦ τὸν Ἄδωνιν. The exclamation occurs in a fragment of Sappho (Bergk, No. 63), whose lyric on the legend of Adonis may have suggested Bion's idyl.[154]Sleep, Cypris, no more, on thy purple-strewed bed;Arise, wretch stoled in black—beat thy breast unrelenting,And shriek to the worlds, "Fair Adonis is dead."Translation byMrs.Barrett Browning.[155]And the poor Aphrodite, with tresses unbound,All dishevelled, unsandalled, shrieks mournful and shrillThrough the dusk of the groves. The thorns, tearing her feet,Gather up the red flower of her blood, which is holy,Each footstep she takes; and the valleys repeatThe sharp cry which she utters, and draw it out slowly.She calls on her spouse, her Assyrian.—Ibid.[156]When, ah! ah!—she saw how the blood ran awayAnd empurpled the thigh; and, with wild hands flung out,Said with sobs, "Stay, Adonis! unhappy one, stay!"Translation byMrs.Barrett Browning.[157]This basket for holding flowers, the work of Hephæstus, had the tale of Io carved upon it. So Catullus, in the counterpane of Thetis, has wrought in needlework the story of Ariadne; and Statius, in the mantle given by Adrastus to Admetus, has woven that of Hero and Leander. Both of these Roman poets excel Moschus in picturesque effect.[158]Italian art of the Renaissance in the designs of Mantegna and Raphael and Giulio Romano did full justice to these marine triumphs.[159]There came, O Bion, poison to thy mouth,Thou didst feel poison! how could it approachThose lips of thine, and not be turned to sweet?Leigh Hunt.[160]Who now shall play thy pipe, oh! most desired one;Who lay his lips against thy reeds? who dare it?For still they breathe of thee, and of thy mouth,And Echo comes to seek her voices there.—Ibid.[161]Echo too mourned among the rocks that sheMust hush, and imitate thy lips no longer.—Leigh Hunt.[162]No longer pipes he to the charmèd herds,No longer sits under the lonely oaks,And sings; but to the ears of Plato nowTunes his Lethean verse.—Ibid.

[142]Down the dark stream he went; the eddies drownedThe muses' friend, the youth the nymphs held dear.

[142]

Down the dark stream he went; the eddies drownedThe muses' friend, the youth the nymphs held dear.

[143]I may refer my readers to the chapter on the Cornice in mySketches in Italy and Greecefor a fuller treatment of this landscape.

[144]Not for us alone, as we once thought, friend Nicias, did Love's parent, whosoever among gods that was, beget Lord Eros. Not for us did fair things first reveal their fairness; we who are mortal men, and have no vision of to-morrow.

[145]One bright morning in the first week of June I went out into the fields at Borca below Macugnaga, which were then full of brilliant and sweet flowers. There I met an old woman, with whom I talked about her life in what seemed to me a terrestrial Paradise. She threw her arms and eyes to heaven, and looking round her, cried, "Che brutto paese!"—"Ah, what an ugly country to live in!" Compare Browning'sUp at a Villa, Down in the City.

[146]Now rests the deep, now rest the wandering winds,But in my heart the anguish will not rest,While for his love I pine who stole my sweetness,And made me less than virgin among maids.

[146]

Now rests the deep, now rest the wandering winds,But in my heart the anguish will not rest,While for his love I pine who stole my sweetness,And made me less than virgin among maids.

[147]Adieu, dread queen, thou to the ocean turnThy harnessed steeds; but I abide and suffer:Adieu, resplendent moon, and all you starsThat follow on the wheels of night, adieu!

[147]

Adieu, dread queen, thou to the ocean turnThy harnessed steeds; but I abide and suffer:Adieu, resplendent moon, and all you starsThat follow on the wheels of night, adieu!

[148]Into the black waveFell headlong as a fiery star from heavenFalls headlong to the deep, and sailors cryOne to another, Lighten sail; behold,The breeze behind us freshens!

[148]

Into the black waveFell headlong as a fiery star from heavenFalls headlong to the deep, and sailors cryOne to another, Lighten sail; behold,The breeze behind us freshens!

[149]Would I wereThe murmuring bee, that through the ivy screenAnd through the fern that hides thee, I might comeInto thy cavern!

[149]

Would I wereThe murmuring bee, that through the ivy screenAnd through the fern that hides thee, I might comeInto thy cavern!

[150]Perhaps this is over-stated. In the later Greek literature of the Sophists we find many very exquisiteconcetti. Philostratus, for example, from whom Jonson translated "Drink to me only with thine eyes," calls the feet of the beloved one ἐρηρεισμένα φιλήματα, or "kisses pressed upon the ground." Even Empedocles (see vol. i. p. 220) and Pindar (see vol. i. p. 369) are not free from the vice of artificial metaphor. Compare, too, the labored metaphors and compound epithets quoted from Chæremon above, chap. xvi., and the specimens quoted below from Meleager, chap. xxi.

[151]How wonderfully beautiful is her description of Delphis and his comrade Eudamnippus: "Their cheeks and chin were yellower than helichrysus; their breasts more radiant far than thou, O Moon, as having lately left the fair toil of the wrestling-ground."

[152]How of oldThe goatherd by his cruel lord was bound,And left to die in a great chest; and howThe busy bees, up coming from the meadows,To the sweet cedar, fed him with soft flowers,Because the Muse had filled his mouth with nectar.Yes, all these sweets were thine, blessed Comatas;And thou wast put into the chest, and fedBy the blithe bees, and passed a pleasant time.Leigh Hunt'sJar of Honey from Mount Hybla.

[152]

How of oldThe goatherd by his cruel lord was bound,And left to die in a great chest; and howThe busy bees, up coming from the meadows,To the sweet cedar, fed him with soft flowers,Because the Muse had filled his mouth with nectar.Yes, all these sweets were thine, blessed Comatas;And thou wast put into the chest, and fedBy the blithe bees, and passed a pleasant time.

Leigh Hunt'sJar of Honey from Mount Hybla.

[153]This ought probably to be printed, after Ahrens, αἰάζ' ὦ τὸν Ἄδωνιν. The exclamation occurs in a fragment of Sappho (Bergk, No. 63), whose lyric on the legend of Adonis may have suggested Bion's idyl.

[154]Sleep, Cypris, no more, on thy purple-strewed bed;Arise, wretch stoled in black—beat thy breast unrelenting,And shriek to the worlds, "Fair Adonis is dead."Translation byMrs.Barrett Browning.

[154]

Sleep, Cypris, no more, on thy purple-strewed bed;Arise, wretch stoled in black—beat thy breast unrelenting,And shriek to the worlds, "Fair Adonis is dead."

Translation byMrs.Barrett Browning.

[155]And the poor Aphrodite, with tresses unbound,All dishevelled, unsandalled, shrieks mournful and shrillThrough the dusk of the groves. The thorns, tearing her feet,Gather up the red flower of her blood, which is holy,Each footstep she takes; and the valleys repeatThe sharp cry which she utters, and draw it out slowly.She calls on her spouse, her Assyrian.—Ibid.

[155]

And the poor Aphrodite, with tresses unbound,All dishevelled, unsandalled, shrieks mournful and shrillThrough the dusk of the groves. The thorns, tearing her feet,Gather up the red flower of her blood, which is holy,Each footstep she takes; and the valleys repeatThe sharp cry which she utters, and draw it out slowly.She calls on her spouse, her Assyrian.—Ibid.

[156]When, ah! ah!—she saw how the blood ran awayAnd empurpled the thigh; and, with wild hands flung out,Said with sobs, "Stay, Adonis! unhappy one, stay!"Translation byMrs.Barrett Browning.

[156]

When, ah! ah!—she saw how the blood ran awayAnd empurpled the thigh; and, with wild hands flung out,Said with sobs, "Stay, Adonis! unhappy one, stay!"

Translation byMrs.Barrett Browning.

[157]This basket for holding flowers, the work of Hephæstus, had the tale of Io carved upon it. So Catullus, in the counterpane of Thetis, has wrought in needlework the story of Ariadne; and Statius, in the mantle given by Adrastus to Admetus, has woven that of Hero and Leander. Both of these Roman poets excel Moschus in picturesque effect.

[158]Italian art of the Renaissance in the designs of Mantegna and Raphael and Giulio Romano did full justice to these marine triumphs.

[159]There came, O Bion, poison to thy mouth,Thou didst feel poison! how could it approachThose lips of thine, and not be turned to sweet?Leigh Hunt.

[159]

There came, O Bion, poison to thy mouth,Thou didst feel poison! how could it approachThose lips of thine, and not be turned to sweet?

Leigh Hunt.

[160]Who now shall play thy pipe, oh! most desired one;Who lay his lips against thy reeds? who dare it?For still they breathe of thee, and of thy mouth,And Echo comes to seek her voices there.—Ibid.

[160]

Who now shall play thy pipe, oh! most desired one;Who lay his lips against thy reeds? who dare it?For still they breathe of thee, and of thy mouth,And Echo comes to seek her voices there.—Ibid.

[161]Echo too mourned among the rocks that sheMust hush, and imitate thy lips no longer.—Leigh Hunt.

[161]

Echo too mourned among the rocks that sheMust hush, and imitate thy lips no longer.—Leigh Hunt.

[162]No longer pipes he to the charmèd herds,No longer sits under the lonely oaks,And sings; but to the ears of Plato nowTunes his Lethean verse.—Ibid.

[162]

No longer pipes he to the charmèd herds,No longer sits under the lonely oaks,And sings; but to the ears of Plato nowTunes his Lethean verse.—Ibid.

The History of its Compilation.—Collections of Meleager, Philippus, Agathias, Cephalas, Planudes.—The Palatine MS.—The Sections of the Anthology.—Dedicatory Epigrams.—Simonides.—Epitaphs: Real and Literary.—Callimachus.—Epigrams on Poets.—Antipater of Sidon.—Hortatory Epigrams.—Palladas.—Satiric Epigrams.—Lucillius.—Amatory Epigrams.—Meleager, Straton, Philodemus, Antipater, Rufinus, Paulus Silentiarius, Agathias, Plato.—Descriptive Epigrams.

The Anthology may from some points of view be regarded as the most valuable relic of antique literature which we possess. Composed of several thousand short poems, written for the most part in the elegiac metre, at different times and by a multitude of authors, it is coextensive with the whole current of Greek history, from the splendid period of the Persian war to the decadence of Christianized Byzantium. Many subjects of interest in Greek life, which would otherwise have had to be laboriously illustrated from the historians or the comic poets, are here fully and melodiously set forth. If we might compare the study of Greek literature to a journey in some splendid mountain region, then we might say with propriety that from the sparkling summits where Æschylus and Sophocles and Pindar sit enthroned we turn in our less strenuous moods to gather the meadow flowers of Meleager, Palladas, Callimachus. Placing them between the leaves of the book of our memory, we possess an everlasting treasure of sweet thoughts, which will serve in after-days to remind us of those scenes of Olympian majesty through which we travelled. The slight effusions of these minor poets are even nearer to our hearts than the masterpieces of the noblest Greek literature. They treat with a touching limpidity and sweetness of the joys and fears and hopes and sorrows that are common to all humanity. They introduce us to the actual life of a bygone civilization, stripped of its political or religious accidents, and tell us that the Greeks of Athens or of Sidon thought and felt exactly as we feel. Even theGraffitiof Pompeii have scarcely more power to reconstruct the past and summon as in dreams the voices and the forms of long-since-buried men. There is yet another way in which the Anthology brings us closer to the Greeks than any other portion of their literature. The lyrists express an intense and exalted mood of the race in its divine adolescence. The tragedians exhibit the genius of Athens in its maturity. The idyllists utter a rich nightingale note from the woods and fields of Sicily. But the Anthology carries us through all the phases of Hellenic civilization upon its uninterrupted undercurrent of elegiac melody. The clear fresh light of the morning, the splendor of noonday, the mellow tints of sunset, and the sad gray hues of evening are all there. It is a tree which bears the leaves and buds and blossoms and fruitage of the Greek spirit on its boughs at once. Many intervals in the life of the nation which are represented by no other portion of its literature—the ending, for example, of the first century before Christ—here receive a brilliant illustration. Again, there is no more signal proof of the cosmopolitan nature of the later Greek culture than is afforded by the Anthology. From Rome, Alexandria, Palestine, Byzantium, no less than from the isles and continent of Greece, are recruited the poets, whose works are enshrined in this precious golden treasury of fugitive pieces.

The history of the Anthology is not without interest. By a gradual process of compilation and accretion it grew into its present form from very slight beginnings. The first impulse to collect epigrams seems to have originated in connection with archæology. From the very earliest the Greeks were in the habit of engraving sentences, for the most part in verse, upon their temples, statues, trophies, tombs, and public monuments of all kinds. Many of these inscriptions were used by Herodotus and Thucydides as authorities for facts and dates. But about 200 B.C. one Polemon made a general collection of the authentic epigrams to be found upon the public buildings of the Greek cities. After him Alcetas copied the dedicatory verses at Delphi. Similar collections are ascribed to Mnestor and Apellas Ponticus. Aristodemus is mentioned as the compiler of the epigrams of Thebes. Philochorus performed the same service for Athens. Neoptolemus of Paros and the philosopher Euhemerus are also credited with similar antiquarian labors. So far, the collectors of epigrams had devoted themselves to historical monuments; and of their work, in any separate form at least, no trace exists. But Meleager of Gadara (B.C. 60) conceived the notion of arranging in alphabetical order a selection of lyric and erotic poetry, which he dedicated to his friend Diocles. He called this compilation by the name of στέφανος, or wreath, each of the forty-six poets whom he admitted into his book being represented by a flower. Philip of Thessalonica, in the time of Trajan, following his example, incorporated into the garland of Meleager those epigrams which had acquired celebrity in the interval. About the same time or a little later, Straton of Sardis made a special anthology of poems on one class of subjects, which is known as the μοῦσα παιδική, and into which, besides ninety-eight of his own epigrams, he admitted many of the compositions of Meleager, Philip, and other predecessors. These collections belong to the classical period of Greek literature. But the Anthology, as we possess it, had not yet come into existence. It remained for Agathias, a Byzantine Greek of the age of Justinian, to undertake a comprehensive compilation from all the previous collections. After adding numerous poems of a date posterior to Straton, especially those of Paulus Silentiarius, Macedonius, Rufinus, and himself, he edited his κύκλος ἐπιγραμμάτων, divided into seven books. The first book contained dedicatory epigrams, the second descriptive poems, the third epitaphs, the fourth reflections on the various events of life, the fifth satires, the sixth erotic verses, the seventh exhortations to enjoyment. Upon the general outline of the Anthology as arranged by Agathias two subsequent collections were founded. Constantinus Cephalas, in the tenth century, at Byzantium, and in the reign of Constantinus Porphyrogenitus, undertook a complete revision and recombination of all pre-existing anthologies. With the patience of a literary bookworm, to whomthe splendid libraries of the metropolis were accessible, he set about his work, and gave to the Greek anthology that form which it now bears. But the vicissitudes of the Anthology did not terminate with the labors of Cephalas. Early in the fourteenth century a monk, Planudes, set to work upon a new edition. It appears that he contented himself with compiling and abridging from the collection of Cephalas. His principal object was to expurgate it from impurities and to supersede it by what he considered a more edifying text. Accordingly he emended, castrated, omitted, interpolated, altered, and remodelled at his own sweet will: "non magis disposuit quam mutilavit et ut ita dicam castravit hunc librum, detractis lascivioribus epigrammatis, ut ipse gloriatur," says Lascaris in the preface to his edition of the Planudean Anthology.[163]He succeeded, however, to the height of his desire; for copies ceased to be made of the Anthology of Cephalas; and when Europe in the fifteenth century awoke to the study of Greek literature, no other collection but that of Planudes wasknown. Fortunately for this most precious relic of antiquity, there did exist one exemplar of the Anthology of Cephalas. Having escaped the search of Poggio, Aurispa, Filelfo, Poliziano, and of all the emissaries whom the Medici employed in ransacking the treasure-houses of Europe, this unique manuscript was at last discovered in 1606 by Claude de Saumaise, better known as Milton's antagonist Salmasius, in the Palatine Library at Heidelberg. A glance at this treasure assured the young scholar—for Saumaise was then aged only twenty-two—that he had made one of the most important discoveries which remained within the reach of modern students. He spent years in preparing a critical edition of its text; but all his work was thrown away, for the Leyden publishers to whom he applied refused to publish the Greek without a Latin version, and death overtook him before he had completed the requisite labor. Meanwhile the famous Palatine MS. had been transferred, after the sack of Heidelberg in 1623, to the Vatican, as a present to Pope Gregory XV. Isaac Voss, the rival of Saumaise, induced one Lucas Langermann to undertake a journey to Rome, in order that he might make a faithful transcript of the MS. and publish it, to the annoyance of the great French scholar. But Saumaise dying in 1653, the work, undertaken from motives of jealousy, was suspended. TheMS. reposed still upon the shelves of the Vatican Library; and in 1776 the Abbé Giuseppe Spalletti completed a trustworthy copy of its pages, which was bought by Ernest, Duke of Gotha and Altenburg, for his library. In the year 1797 the MS. itself was transferred to Paris after the treaty of Tolentino; and in 1815 it was restored to Heidelberg, where it now reposes. Meanwhile Brunck had published, from copies of this MS., the greater portion of the Anthology in hisAnalecta Veterum Poetarum Græcorum; and Jacobs, between 1794 and 1814, had edited the whole collection with minutest accuracy upon the faith of the Abbé Spalletti's exemplar. The edition of Didot, to which I shall refer in my examination of the Anthology,[164]is based not only on the labors of Brunck and Jacobs, but also upon the MSS. of the unfortunate Chardon de la Rochette, who, after spending many years of his life in the illustration of the Anthology of Cephalas, was forced in old age to sell his collections for a small sum. They passed in 1836 into the possession of the (then) Imperial Library.

The Palatine MS., which is our sole authority for the Anthology as arranged by Cephalas, is a 4to parchment of 710 pages. It has been written by different hands, at different times, and on different plans of arrangement. The index does not always agree with the contents, but seems to be that of an older collection, of which the one we possess is an imperfect copy. Yet Cephalas is often mentioned, and always with affectionate reverence, by the transcribers of the MS. In one place he is called ὁ μακάριος καὶ ἀείμνηστος καὶ τριπόθητος ἄνθρωπος, "the blessed man, who is ever to be held in thrice affectionate and longing recollection," the sentiment of which words we in the middle of this nineteenth century may most cordially echo.

The first section of the Anthology is devoted to Christian epigramsupon the chief religious monuments and statues of Byzantium. However these may interest the ecclesiastical student, they have no value for a critic of Greek poetry. The second section consists of a poem in hexameters upon the statues which adorned the gymnasium of Zeuxippus. Some conception may be formed, after the perusal of this very pedestrian composition, of the art treasures which Byzantium contained in the fifth century. Authentic portraits of the great poets and philosophers of Greece, as well as works of imagination illustrative of theIliadand the Attic tragedies, might then be studied in one place of public resort. Byzantium had become a vast museum for the ancient world. The third section is devoted to mural inscriptions from the temple of Apollonis in Cyzicus. The fourth contains the prefaces of Meleager, Philip, and Agathias, to their several collections. The fifth, which includes 309 epigrams, is consecrated to erotic poetry. The sixth, which numbers 358, consists of a collection of inscriptions from temples and public monuments recording the illustrious actions of the Greeks or votive offerings of private persons. In the seventh we read 748 epitaphs of various sorts. The eighth carries us again into the dismal region of post-pagan literature: it contains nothing but 254 poems from the pen of Saint Gregory the Theologian. The 827 epigrams of the ninth section are called by their collector ἐπιδεικτικά; that is to say, they are composed in illustration of a variety of subjects, anecdotical, rhetorical, and of general interest. Perhaps this part of the whole Anthology hasbeen the favorite of modern imitators and translators. Passing to the tenth section, we find 126 semi-philosophical poems, most of which record the vanity of human life and advise mortals to make the best of their brief existence by enjoyment. The eleventh is devoted to satire. It is here that the reflex influence of Latin on Greek literature is most perceptible. The twelfth section bears the name of Straton, and exhibits in its 258 epigrams the morality of ancient Hellas under the aspect which has least attraction for modern readers. The thirteenth embraces a few epigrams in irregular metres. The fourteenth is made up of riddles and oracles. The fifteenth, again, has half a century of poems which could not well be catalogued elsewhere. The sixteenth contains that part of the Planudean collection which does not occur in our copy of the Anthology of Cephalas. It may be mentioned in conclusion that, with one or two very inconsiderable exceptions, none of the poems of the early Greek lyrists and Gnomic writers are received into the so-called Anthology.

To the student of Greek history and Greek customs no section of the Anthology is more interesting than that which includes the ἐπιγράμματα ἀναθηματικά, the record of the public and the private votive offerings in Hellas. Here, as in a scroll spread out before us, in the silver language of the great Simonides,[165]may be read the history of the achievements of the Greeks against Xerxes and his hosts. The heroes of Marathon, the heroes of Thermopylæ, Megistias the soothsayer, Leonidas the king, Pausanias the general, the seamen of Salamis, the Athenian cavalry, the Spartans of Platæa—all receive their special tribute of august celebration at the hands of the poet who best knew how to suit simple words to splendid actions. Again, the στήλη which commemorated in Athens the patriotic tyrannicide of Aristogeiton, the statue of Pan which Miltiades after Marathon consecrated in honor of his victory, the trophies erected by Pausanias at Delphi to Phœbus, the altar to Zeus Eleutherios dedicated in common by all the Greeks, the tripod sent to Delphi by Gelon and the other tyrants of Sicily after their victory over the Carthaginians, for each and all of these Simonides was called on to compose imperishable verse. Our heart trembles even now when we read such lines as these:

ὦ ξεῖν' ἀγγέλλειν Λακεδαιμονίοις ὅτι τῇδεκείμεθα τοῖς κείνων ῥήμασι πειθόμενοι.[166]

And who does not feel that the grandeur of the occasion exalts above all suspicion of prosiness the frigid simplicity of the following?

τόνδε ποθ' Ἕλληνες ῥώμῃ χερός, ἔργῳ Ἄρηος,εὐτόλμῳ ψυχῆς λήματι πειθόμενοι,Πέρσας ἐξελάσαντες, ἐλεύθερον Ἑλλάδι κόσμονἱδρύσαντο Διὸς βωμὸν Ἐλευθερίου.[167]

But it is not merely within the sphere of world-famous history that the dedicatory epigrams are interesting. Multitudes of them introduce us to the minutest facts of private life in Greece. We see the statues of gods hung round with flowers and scrolls, the shrines filled with waxen tablets, wayside chapels erected to Priapus or to Pan, the gods of the shore honored with dripping clothes of mariners, the Paphian home of Aphrodite rich with jewels and with mirrors and with silks suspended by devout adorers of both sexes. A fashionable church in modern Italy—the Annunziata at Florence, for example, or St. Anthony at Padua—is not more crowded with pictures of people saved from accidents, with silver hearts and waxen limbs, with ribbons and artificial flowers, with rosaries and precious stones, and with innumerable objects that only tell their tale of bygone vows to the votary who hung them there, than were the temples of our Lady of Love in Cneidos or in Corinth. In the epigrams before us we read how hunters hung their nets to Pan, and fishermen their gear to Poseidon; gardeners their figs and pomegranates to Priapus; blacksmiths their hammers and tongs to Hephæstus. Stags are dedicated to Artemis and Phœbus, and corn-sheaves to Demeter, who also receives the plough, the sickle, and the oxen of farmers. A poor man offers the produce of his field to Pan; the first-fruits of the vine are set aside for Bacchus and his crew of satyrs; Pallas obtains the shuttle of a widow who resolves to quit her life of care and turn to Aphrodite; the eunuch Alexis offers his cymbals, drums, flutes, knife, and golden curls to Cybele. Phœbus is presented with a golden cicada, Zeus with an old ash spear that has seen service, Ares with a shield and cuirass. A poet dedicates roses to the maids of Helicon and laurel-wreaths to Apollo. Scribes offer their pens and ink and pumice-stone to Hermes; cooks hang up their pots and pans and spits to the Mercury of the kitchen. Withered crowns and revel-cups are laid upon the shrine of Lais; Anchises suspends his white hair to Aphrodite, Endymion his bed and coverlet to Artemis, Daphnis his club to Pan. Agathias inscribes hisDaphniacato the Paphian queen. Prexidike has an embroidered dress to dedicate. Alkibie offers her hair to Here, Lais her mirror to Aphrodite, Krobylus his boy's curls to Apollo, Charixeinos his long tresses to the nymphs. Meleager yields the lamp of his love-hours to Venus; Lucillius vows his hair after shipwreck to the sea-gods; Evanthe gives her thyrsus and stag's hide to Bacchus. Women erect altars to Eleithuia and Asclepius after childbirth. Sophocles dedicates a thanksgiving shrine for poetic victories. Simonides and Bacchylides record their triumphs upon votive tablets. Gallus, saved from a lion, consecrates his hair and vestments to the queen of Dindymus. Prostitutes abandon their ornaments to Kupris on their marriage. The effeminate Statullion bequeaths his false curls and flutes and silken wardrobe to Priapus. Sailors offer a huge cuttlefish to the sea-deities. An Isthmian victor suspends his bit, bridle, spurs, and whip to Poseidon. A boy emerging into manhood leaves his petasos and strigil and chlamys to Hermes, the god of games. Phryne dedicates winged Eros as the first-fruits of her earnings. Hadrian celebrates the trophies erected by Trajan to Zeus. Theocritus writes inscriptions for Uranian Aphrodite in the house of his friend Amphicles, for the Bacchic tripod of Damomenes, and for the marble muse of Xenocles. Erinna dedicates the picture of Agatharkis. Melinna, Sabæthis, and Mikythus are distinguished by poems placed beneath their portraits. There is even a poem on the picture of a hernia dedicated apparently in some Asclepian shrine; and a traveller erects the brazen image of a frog in thanksgiving for a draught of wayside water. Cleonymus consecrates the statues of the nymphs:

αἳ τάδε βένθηἀμβρόσιαι ῥοδέοις στείβετε ποσσὶν ἀεί.Ambrosial nymphs, who always tread these watery deeps with roseate feet.

αἳ τάδε βένθηἀμβρόσιαι ῥοδέοις στείβετε ποσσὶν ἀεί.

Ambrosial nymphs, who always tread these watery deeps with roseate feet.

It will be seen by this rapid enumeration that a good many of the dedicatory epigrams are really epideictic or rhetorical; that is to say, they are written on imaginary subjects. But the large majority undoubtedly record such votive offerings as were common enough in Greece with or without epigrams to grace them.

What I have just said about the distinction between real and literary epigrams composed for dedications applies still more to the epitaphs. These divide themselves into two well-marked classes: 1. Actual sepulchral inscriptions or poems written immediately upon the death of persons contemporary with the author; and, 2. Literary exercises in the composition of verses appropriate to the tombs of celebrated historical or mythical characters. To the first class belong the beautiful epitaphs of Meleager upon Clearista (i. 307), upon Heliodora (i. 365), upon Charixeinos, a boy twelve years old (i. 363), upon Antipater of Sidon (i. 355), and the three which he designed for his own grave (i. 352). Callimachus has left some perfect models in this species of composition. The epitaph on Heracleitus, a poet of Halicarnassus, which has been exquisitely translated by the author ofIonica, has a grace of movement and a tenderness of pathos that are unsurpassed:

εἶπέ τις, Ἡράκλειτε, τεὸν μόρον, ἐς δέ με δάκρυἤγαγεν, ἐμνήσθην δ' ὁσσάκις ἀμφότεροιἥλιον ἐν λέσχῃ κατεδύσαμεν· ἀλλὰ σὺ μέν που,ξεῖν' Ἁλικαρνησεῦ, τετράπαλαι σποδιή·αἱ δὲ τεαὶ ζώουσιν ἀηδόνες, ᾗσιν ὁ πάντωνἁρπακτὴς Ἀΐδης οὐκ ἐπὶ χεῖρα βαλεῖ.[168]

His epitaph on the sea-wrecked Sopolis (i. 325), though less touching, opens with a splendid note of sorrow:

ὤφελε μηδ' ἐγένοντο θοαὶ νέες· οὐ γὰρ ἂν ἡμεῖςπαῖδα Διοκλείδου Σώπολιν ἐστένομεν·νῦν δ' ὁ μὲν εἰν ἁλί που φέρεται νέκυς· ἀντὶ δ' ἐκείνουοὔνομα καὶ κενεὸν σῆμα παρερχόμεθα.[169]

The following couplet upon Saon (i. 360) is marked by its perfection of brevity:

τᾷδε Σάων ὁ Δίκωνος Ἀκάνθιος ἱερὸν ὕπνονκοιμᾶται· θνάσκειν μὴ λέγε τοὺς ἀγαθούς.[170]

Among the genuine epitaphs by the greatest of Greek authors, none is more splendid than Plato's upon Aster (i. 402):

Ἀστὴρ πρὶν μὲν ἔλαμπες ἐνὶ ζωοῖσιν Ἑῷος·νῦν δὲ θανὼν λάμπεις Ἕσπερος ἐν φθιμένοις.[171]

To Plato is also ascribed a fine monumental epigram upon the Eretrian soldiers who died at Ecbatana (i. 322):

οἵδε ποτ' Αἰγαίοιο βαρύβρομον οἶδμα λιπόντεςἘκβατάνων πεδίῳ κείμεθ' ἐνὶ μεσάτῳ.χαῖρε κλυτή ποτε πατρὶς Ἐρέτρια· χαίρετ' Ἀθῆναιγείτονες Εὐβοίης· χαίρε θάλασσα φίλη.[172]

Erinna's epitaph on Baucis (i. 409) deserves quotation, because it is one of the few pieces accepted by the later Greeks, but probably without due cause, as belonging to a girl whose elegiacs were rated by the ancients above Sappho's:

στᾶλαι καὶ Σειρῆνες ἐμαὶ καὶ πένθιμε κρωσσὲὅστις ἔχεις Ἀΐδα τὰν ὀλίγαν σποδιάν,τοῖς ἐμὸν ἐρχομένοισι παρ' ἠρίον εἴπατε χαίρειν,αἴτ' ἀστοὶ τελέθωντ' αἴθ' ἑτέρας πόλιος·χὤτι με νύμφαν εὖσαν ἔχει τάφος εἴπατε καὶ τό·χὤτι πατήρ μ' ἐκάλει Βαυκίδα χὤτι γένοςΤηνία, ὡς εἰδῶντι· καὶ ὅττι μοι ἁ συνεταιρὶςἬρινν' ἐν τύμβῳ γράμμ' ἐχάραξε τόδε.[173]

Sappho herself has left the following lament for the maiden Timas (i. 367):

Τιμάδος ἅδε κόνις, τὰν δὴ πρὸ γάμοιο θανοῦσανδέξατο Φερσεφόνας κυάνεος θάλαμος,ἇς καὶ ἀποφθιμένας πᾶσαι νεοθᾶγι σιδᾶρῳἅλικες ἱμερτὰν κρατὸς ἔθεντο κόμαν.[174]

In each of these epitaphs the untimely fading of a flower-like maiden in her prime has roused the deepest feeling of the poetess. This, indeed, is the chord which rings most truly in the sepulchral lyre of the Greeks. Their most genuine sorrow is for youth cut off before the joys of life were tasted. This sentiment receives, perhaps, its most pathetic though least artistic expression in the following anonymous epitaph on a young man. The mother's love and anguish are set forth with a vividness which we should scarcely have expected from a Greek (i. 336):

νηλεὲς ὦ δαῖμον, τί δέ μοι καὶ φέγγος ἔδειξαςεἰς ὀλίγων ἐτέων μέτρα μινυνθάδια;ἢ ἵνα λυπήσῃς δι' ἐμὴν βιότοιο τελευτὴνμητέρα δειλαίην δάκρυσι καὶ στοναχαῖς,ἥ μ' ἔτεχ' ἥ μ' ἀτίτηλε καὶ ἣ πολὺ μείζονα πατρὸςφροντίδα παιδείης ἤνυσεν ἡμετέρης;ὃς μὲν γὰρ τυτθόν τε καὶ ὀρφανὸν ἐν μεγάροισικάλλιπεν· ἡ δ' ἐπ' ἐμοὶ πάντας ἔτλη καμάτους.ἦ μὲν ἐμοὶ φίλον ἦεν ἐφ' ἁγνῶν ἡγεμονήωνἐμπρεπέμεν μύθοις ἀμφὶ δικασπολίας·ἀλλά μοι οὐ γενύων ἐπεδέξατο κούριμον ἄνθοςἡλικίης ἐρατῆς, οὐ γάμον, οὐ δαΐδας·οὐχ ὑμέναιον ἄεισε περικλυτὸν, οὐ τέκος εἶδε,δύσποτμος, ἐκ γενεῆς λείψανον ἡμετέρης,τῆς πολυθρηνήτου· λυπεῖ δέ με καὶ τεθνεῶταμητρὸς Πωλίττης πένθος ἀεξόμενον,Φρόντωνος γοεραῖς ἐπὶ φροντίσιν, ἣ τέκε παῖδαὠκύμορον, κενεὸν χάρμα φίλης πατρίδος.[175]

The common topic of consolation in these cases of untimely death is the one which Shakespeare has expressed in the dirge for Fidele, and D'Urfey in his dirge for Chrysostom by these four lines:

Back to Index Next