LXXXI.

Thou canst seek out and compass all that wit Can find or teach;—yet since thou wilt, come take The lyre-be mine the glory giving it—

Strike the sweet chords, and sing aloud, and wake Thy joyous pleasure out of many a fit

Of tranced sound-and with fleet fingers make
Thy liquid-voiced comrade talk with thee:
It can talk measured music eloquently.

LXXXII.

. Then bear it boldly to the revel loud,
Love-wakening dance, or feast of solemn state,
A joy by night or day-for those endowed
With art and wisdom, who interrogate,
It teaches, babbling in delightful mood

All things which make the spirit most elate, Soothing the mind with sweet familiar play, Chasing the heavy shadows of dismay.

LXXXIII.

To those who are unskill'd in its sweet tongue, Though they should question most impetuously Its hidden soul, it gossips something wrongSome senseless and impertinent reply. But thou, who art as wise as thou art strong, Can compass all that thou desirest. I Present thee with this music-flowing shell, Knowing thou canst interrogate it well.

LXXXIV.

And let us two henceforth together feed

On this green mountain slope and pastoral plain, The herds in litigation-they will breed

Quickly enough to recompense our pain,

If to the bulls and cows we take good heed;-
And thou, though somewhat over fond of gain,
Grudge me not half the profit. Having spoke,
The shell he proffer'd, and Apollo took;
LXXXV.

And gave him in return the glittering lash,
Installing him as herdsman;-from the look
Of Mercury then laugh'd a joyous flash.

And then Apollo with the plectrum strook
The chords, and from beneath his hands a crash
Of mighty sounds rush'd up, whose music shook
The soul with sweetness; as of an adept
His sweeter voice a just accordance kept.

LXXXVI.

The herd went wandering o'er the divine mead,
Whilst these most beautiful Sons of Jupiter
Won their swift way up to the snowy head
Of white Olympus, with the joyous lyre
Soothing their journey; and their father dread
Gather'd them both into familiar
Affection sweet,-and then, and now, and ever,
Hermes must love Him of the Golden Quiver,

LXXXVII.

To whom he gave the lyre that sweetly sounded,
Which skilfully he held and played thereon.
He piped the while, and far and wide rebounded
The echo of his pipings; every one
Of the Olympians sat with joy astounded,

While he conceived another piece of fun, One of his old tricks-which the God of Day Perceiving, said:-« I fear thee, Son of May;

LXXXVIII.

I fear thee and thy sly cameleon spirit,

Lest thou should steal my lyre and crooked bow; This glory and power thou dost from Jove inherit, To teach all craft upon the earth below; Thieves love and worship thee-it is thy merit To make all mortal business ebb and flow By roguery-now, Hermes, if you dare, By sacred Styx a mighty oath to swear

LXXXIX.

. That you will never rob me, you will do
A thing extremely pleasing to my heart.>>
Then Mercury sware by the Stygian dew,
That he would never steal his bow or dart,
Or lay his hands on what to him was due,
Or ever would employ his powerful art
Against his Pythian fane. Then Phoebus swore
There was no God or man whom he loved more.
XC.

<< And I will give thee as a good-will token,

The beautiful wand of wealth and happiness; A perfect three-leaved rod of gold unbroken, Whose magic will thy footsteps ever bless; And whatsoever by Jove's voice is spoken

Of earthly or divine from its recess,
It, like a loving soul, to thee will speak,
And more than this do thou forbear to seek.

XCI.

For, dearest child, the divinations high
Which thou requirest, 't is unlawful ever

That thou, or any other deity

Should understand-and vain were the endeavour;

For they are hidden in Jove's mind, and I

In trust of them, have sworn that I would never
Betray the counsels of Jove's inmost will
To any God-the oath was terrible.

XCII.

Then, golden-wanded brother, ask me not To speak the fates by Jupiter design'd; But be it mine to tell their various lot

To the unnumber'd tribes of human kind. Let good to these, and ill to those be wrought As I dispense-but he who comes consign'd By voice and wings of perfect augury To my great shrine, shall find avail in me.

ХСІІІ.

. Him will I not deceive, but will assist;
But he who comes relying on such birds
As chatter vainly, who would strain and twist
The purpose of the Gods with idle words,

And deems their knowledge light, he shall have mist
His road-whilst I among my other hoards
His gifts deposit. Yet, O son of May!

I have another wondrous thing to say:

XCIV.

There are three Fates, three virgin Sisters, who Rejoicing in their wind-outspeeding wings, Their heads with flour snowed over white and new, Sit in a vale round which Parnassus flings Its circling skirts-from these I have learn'd true Vaticinations of remotest things.

My father cared not. Whilst they search out dooms, They sit apart and feed on honeycombs.

XCV.

They, having eaten the fresh honey, grow
Drunk with divine enthusiasm, and utter
With earnest willingness the truth they know;
But if deprived of that sweet food, they mutter
All plausible delusions ;-these to you

I give;-if you inquire, they will not stutter;
Delight your own soul with them :-any man
You would instruct, may profit, if he can.
XCVI.

Take these and the fierce oxen, Maia's childO'er many a horse and toil-enduring mule, O'er jagg'd-jaw'd lions, and the wild

White-tusked boars, o'er all, by field or pool, Of cattle which the mighty Mother mild

Nourishes in her bosom, thou shalt ruleThou dost alone the veil of death upliftThou givest not-yet this is a great gift.» XCVII.

Thus king Apollo loved the child of May

In truth, and Jove cover'd them with love and joy. Hermes with Gods and men even from that day

Mingled, and wrought the latter much annoy, And little profit, going far astray

Through the dun night. Farewell, delightful Boy, Of Jove and Maia sprung,-never by me, Nor thou, nor other songs shall unremember'd be.

THE CYCLOPS;

A SATYRIC DRAMA.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GREEK OF EURIPIDES.

SILENUS.

CHORUS OF SATYRS. ULYSSES.

THE CYCLOPS.

SILENUS.

O, BACCHUS, what a world of toil, both now

And ere these limbs were overworn with age,
Have I endured for thee! First, when thou fled'st
The mountain-nymphs who nurst thee, driven afar
By the strange madness Juno sent upon thee;
Then in the battle of the sons of Earth,
When I stood foot by foot close to thy side,
No unpropitious fellow-combatant,

And driving through his shield my winged spear,
Slew vast Enceladus. Consider now,
Is it a dream of which I speak to thee?
By Jove it is not, for you have the trophies!
And now I suffer more than all before.
For when I heard that Juno had devised
A tedious voyage for you, I put to sea
With all my children quaint in search of you;
And I myself stood on the beaked prow
And fix'd the naked mast, and all my boys.
Leaning upon their oars, with splash and strain
Made white with foam the green and purple sea,-
And so we sought you, king. We were sailing,
Near Malea, when an eastern wind arose,
And drove us to this wild Etnean rock;
The one-eyed children of the Ocean God,

The man-destroying Cyclopses inhabit,
On this wild shore, their solitary caves,

And one of these, named Polypheme, has caught us
To be his slaves; and so, for all delight

Of Bacchic' sports, sweet dance and melody,
We keep this lawless giant's wandering flocks.

My sons indeed, on far declivities,

Young things themselves, tend on the youngling sheep,
But I remain to fill the water-casks,

Or sweeping the hard floor, or ministering
Some impious and abominable meal

To the fell Cyclops. I am wearied of it!
And now I must scrape up the litter'd floor
With this great iron rake, so to receive
My absent master and his evening sheep
In a cave neat and clean. Even now I see
My children tending the flocks hitherward.
Ha! what is this? are your Sicinnian measures
Even now the same, as when with dance and song
You brought young Bacchus to Athaa's halls?

"T was the Gods' work-no mortal was in fault.
But, O great offspring of the ocean-king,
We pray thee and admonish thee with freedom,
That thou dost spare thy friends who visit thee,
And place no impious food within thy jaws.
For in the depths of Greece we have uprear'd
Temples to thy great father, which are all
His homes. The sacred bay of Tænarus
Remains inviolate, and each dim recess
Scoop'd high on the Malean promontory,
And aery Sunium's silver-veined crag,
Which divine Pallas keeps unprofaned ever,
The Gerastian asylums, and whate'er
Within wide Greece our enterprise has kept
From Phrygian contumely; and in which
You have a common care, for you inhabit
The skirts of Grecian land, under the roots
Of Ætna and its crags, spotted with fire.
Turn then to converse under human laws,
Receive us shipwreck'd suppliants, and provide
Food, clothes, and fire, and hospitable gifts;
Nor fixing upon oxen-piercing spits
Our limbs, so fill your belly and your jaws.
Priam's wide land has widow'd Greece enough;
And weapon-winged murder heap'd together
Enough of dead, and wives are husbandless,

Wealth, my good fellow, is the wise man's God,
All other things are a pretence and boast.
What are my father's ocean promontories,
The sacred rocks whereon he dwells, to me?
Stranger, I laugh to scorn Jove's thunderbolt,
I know not that his strength is more than mine.
As to the rest I care not :-When he pours
Rain from above, I have a close pavilion
Under this rock, in which I lie supine,
Feasting on a roast calf or some wild beast,
And drinking pans of milk; and gloriously
Emulating the thunder of high heaven.

And when the Thracian wind pours down the snow,

I wrap my body in the skins of beasts,
Kindle a fire, and bid the snow whirl on.

The earth, by force, whether it will or no,

Bringing forth grass, fattens my flocks and herds,

Which, to what other God but to myself

And this great belly, first of deities,

Should I be bound to sacrifice? I well know
The wise man's only Jupiter is this,

To eat and drink during his little day,
And give himself no care. And as for those
Who complicate with laws the life of man,
I freely give them tears for their reward.
I will not cheat my soul of its delight,
Or hesitate in dining upon you:-
And that I may be quit of all demands,
These are my hospitable gifts ;-fierce fire
And yon ancestral cauldron, which o'erbubbling,
Shall finely cook your miserable flesh.
Creep in!-

Ay! ay! I have escaped the Trojan toils,
I have escaped the sea, and now I fall
Under the cruel grasp of one impious man.
O Pallas, mistress, Goddess, sprung from Jove,
Now, now, assist me! Mightier toils than Troy
Are these.-I totter on the chasms of peril;-
And thou who inhabitest the thrones
Of the bright stars, look, hospitable Jove,
Upon this outrage of thy deity,
Otherwise be consider'd as no God!
CHORUS (alone).

For your gaping gulf, and your gullet wide,
The ravine is ready on every side,

The limbs of the strangers are cook'd and done,

There is boil'd meat, and roast meat, and meat from the

coal,

You may chop it, and tear it, and gnash it for fun,

A hairy goat's-skin contains the whole.

Let me but escape, and ferry me o'er

The stream of your wrath to a safer shore.