The Idyllia, Epigrams, and Fragments, of Theocritus, Bion, and Moschus with the Elegies of Tyrtaeus, Translated from the Greek into English Verse. To which are Added, Dissertations and Notes. By the Rev. Richard Polwhele |
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| XVIII. |
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| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. | IDYLLIUM the TWENTY-SECOND. CASTOR and POLLUX. |
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 | The Idyllia, Epigrams, and Fragments, of Theocritus, Bion, and Moschus |  |
168
IDYLLIUM the TWENTY-SECOND. CASTOR and POLLUX.
PART the SECOND.
Next Castor rise (since now thy Brother's Praise
Hath kindled the rapt Muse's hymning Lays)
Rise, mailed Chief, who lov'st the heroic Course,
Thou mighty Master of the Warrior-horse!
Hath kindled the rapt Muse's hymning Lays)
Rise, mailed Chief, who lov'st the heroic Course,
Thou mighty Master of the Warrior-horse!
The bold Twin-offspring of immortal Jove
Wrought up to Frenzy by the Power of Love,
Had borne, rapacious, from their Father's Dome
Leucippus' Daughters—fair in Virgin-bloom!
Aphareus' Sons the injurious Deed survey'd,
(The future Bridegrooms of each ravish'd Maid)
And strait pursued the Brothers, in their Flight,
Idas strong-limb'd, and Lynceus, sharp of Sight.
Wrought up to Frenzy by the Power of Love,
Had borne, rapacious, from their Father's Dome
Leucippus' Daughters—fair in Virgin-bloom!
Aphareus' Sons the injurious Deed survey'd,
(The future Bridegrooms of each ravish'd Maid)
And strait pursued the Brothers, in their Flight,
Idas strong-limb'd, and Lynceus, sharp of Sight.
But when the Heroes reach'd the sacred Way
Where high-entomb'd Aphareus' Ashes lay;
Each leap'd impetuous from his lofty Car,
All arm'd with Spears and Targets for the War.
‘Why thus (aloud beneath his Casque he spoke)
‘Why (Lynceus cries) the frantic Fight provoke?
‘For others Brides, say, whence this Fury came?
‘And why, unsheath'd, your ready Faulchions flame?
‘Long since Leucippus hath affix'd their Dowers,
‘Betroth'd, and with an Oath confirm'd them ours.
‘And sure, 'twas base, thro' Cunning, to prevail,
‘With dazzling Lures of Gold their Sire assail;
‘Hurry their Mules and Herds and Wealth away,
‘And make our Property your lawless Prey.
Where high-entomb'd Aphareus' Ashes lay;
169
All arm'd with Spears and Targets for the War.
‘Why thus (aloud beneath his Casque he spoke)
‘Why (Lynceus cries) the frantic Fight provoke?
‘For others Brides, say, whence this Fury came?
‘And why, unsheath'd, your ready Faulchions flame?
‘Long since Leucippus hath affix'd their Dowers,
‘Betroth'd, and with an Oath confirm'd them ours.
‘And sure, 'twas base, thro' Cunning, to prevail,
‘With dazzling Lures of Gold their Sire assail;
‘Hurry their Mules and Herds and Wealth away,
‘And make our Property your lawless Prey.
‘Oft have I argued, tho' my Words are few—
(A plain Remonstrance, but, alas! too true)
“Say, hath not Elis—Nurse of many a Steed,
“The Arcadian Vallies that improve the Breed
“Of beauteous Kine, and Sparta's wide Domain,
“And proud Messene's State, and Argos' Plain,
“And where rich Corinth opes her ample Bay,
“All Grecia's Towns in populous Display—
“Say, have not these, of Maids a numerous Tribe,
“Bright-blooming, to be won without a Bribe?
“Virgins, that boast, in Mind as Beauty fair,
“The genial Nurture of parental Care.
“For you, who from a Lineage great and good
“Draw the pure Current of heroic Blood,
“How easy, while their honor'd Sires rejoice,
“Amidst the lovely Train, to fix your Choice!
“My Friends, it ill becomes a Prince, I've said,
“Insidious, to supplant the Bridal Bed!
“Our Nuptials but allow us to pursue,
“And we'll engage to find fit Brides for you.”
‘Such were my Words—but ah! the Breezes gave
‘Their Sound, all unavailing, to the Wave!
‘Yet tho' no Prayers your stubborn Bosoms bent,
‘Ev'n now (for we are kin) ev'n now relent!
‘But if our warlike Prowess must be tried,
‘And hateful Arms be fix'd on, to decide;
‘If Vengeance bid the Blood of Kindred stain
‘In Fight too ominous, the listed Plain;
‘Let Idas and the valiant Pollux yield
‘To Castor and to me, the doubtful Field!
‘Let us, the younger Two, contend alone,
‘Nor leave our wretched Parents to bemoan
‘The general Death! Let some return to chear
‘Their drooping Friends, and wipe the Virgin's Tear,
‘And to supply the Place of those who died—
‘Each the fond Bridegroom of a happy Bride.
‘Thus lighter Mischiefs may our House befall,
‘Nor the dire Contest speed the Fates of all.’
He spoke, nor vainly: On the Ground, in haste,
Their Armour Idas and brave Pollux plac'd.
But Lynceus, boldly marching to the Field,
Shook his strong Spear, beneath his circling Shield.
Then Castor brandish'd his uplifted Lance,
And their plum'd Helmets wave, as they advance.
(A plain Remonstrance, but, alas! too true)
“Say, hath not Elis—Nurse of many a Steed,
“The Arcadian Vallies that improve the Breed
“Of beauteous Kine, and Sparta's wide Domain,
“And proud Messene's State, and Argos' Plain,
“And where rich Corinth opes her ample Bay,
“All Grecia's Towns in populous Display—
170
“Bright-blooming, to be won without a Bribe?
“Virgins, that boast, in Mind as Beauty fair,
“The genial Nurture of parental Care.
“For you, who from a Lineage great and good
“Draw the pure Current of heroic Blood,
“How easy, while their honor'd Sires rejoice,
“Amidst the lovely Train, to fix your Choice!
“My Friends, it ill becomes a Prince, I've said,
“Insidious, to supplant the Bridal Bed!
“Our Nuptials but allow us to pursue,
“And we'll engage to find fit Brides for you.”
‘Such were my Words—but ah! the Breezes gave
‘Their Sound, all unavailing, to the Wave!
‘Yet tho' no Prayers your stubborn Bosoms bent,
‘Ev'n now (for we are kin) ev'n now relent!
‘But if our warlike Prowess must be tried,
‘And hateful Arms be fix'd on, to decide;
‘If Vengeance bid the Blood of Kindred stain
‘In Fight too ominous, the listed Plain;
171
‘To Castor and to me, the doubtful Field!
‘Let us, the younger Two, contend alone,
‘Nor leave our wretched Parents to bemoan
‘The general Death! Let some return to chear
‘Their drooping Friends, and wipe the Virgin's Tear,
‘And to supply the Place of those who died—
‘Each the fond Bridegroom of a happy Bride.
‘Thus lighter Mischiefs may our House befall,
‘Nor the dire Contest speed the Fates of all.’
He spoke, nor vainly: On the Ground, in haste,
Their Armour Idas and brave Pollux plac'd.
But Lynceus, boldly marching to the Field,
Shook his strong Spear, beneath his circling Shield.
Then Castor brandish'd his uplifted Lance,
And their plum'd Helmets wave, as they advance.
First with their Spears they tried the warlike Art
To find, ill-guarded, some more vital Part:
But all in vain the alternate Weapons struck;
The sharp Points breaking to their Targets stuck!
Next, the bright Faulchions from their Sheaths they drew,
And to the closing Fight with Fury flew!
At the broad Buckler of his vengeful Foe,
And nodding Casque, while Castor aim'd the Blow;
The quick-ey'd Lynceus all his Powers display'd,
And lopp'd the rival Plumage with his Blade.
But soon that Blade its Force too feeble sound,
Struck with the Hand that held it to the Ground.
And fruitless now each Effort to withstand—
Hurrying he sought, with mutilated Hand,
His Father's Tomb, where Idas had reclin'd
To view the intestine Fray, with anxious Mind.
With unabated Rage, the Son of Jove
Rush'd on; and rising, thro' his Navel drove
The forceful Faulchion! From the gaping Wound
His Bowels gush'd, and welt'ring gor'd the Ground.
To Earth he falls! and gasping as he lies,
Death's dim Suffusion veils his glaring Eyes.
To find, ill-guarded, some more vital Part:
But all in vain the alternate Weapons struck;
The sharp Points breaking to their Targets stuck!
Next, the bright Faulchions from their Sheaths they drew,
And to the closing Fight with Fury flew!
172
And nodding Casque, while Castor aim'd the Blow;
The quick-ey'd Lynceus all his Powers display'd,
And lopp'd the rival Plumage with his Blade.
But soon that Blade its Force too feeble sound,
Struck with the Hand that held it to the Ground.
And fruitless now each Effort to withstand—
Hurrying he sought, with mutilated Hand,
His Father's Tomb, where Idas had reclin'd
To view the intestine Fray, with anxious Mind.
With unabated Rage, the Son of Jove
Rush'd on; and rising, thro' his Navel drove
The forceful Faulchion! From the gaping Wound
His Bowels gush'd, and welt'ring gor'd the Ground.
To Earth he falls! and gasping as he lies,
Death's dim Suffusion veils his glaring Eyes.
Nor ever was ill-omen'd Idas led
By his fond Mother, to the Nuptial Bed!
For, as vindictive of his Brother's Doom,
He tore a Column from Aphareus' Tomb,
Aiming its massive Vengeance at the Foe
With wild uplifted Arm, in Act to throw—
Heaven's sovereign Lord elanc'd a flaming Brand
That dash'd the shattering Marble from his Hand!
Thro' all his writhing Frame the Lightnings sped,
And, in a Crash of Thunder, he fell dead!
By his fond Mother, to the Nuptial Bed!
For, as vindictive of his Brother's Doom,
He tore a Column from Aphareus' Tomb,
Aiming its massive Vengeance at the Foe
With wild uplifted Arm, in Act to throw—
173
That dash'd the shattering Marble from his Hand!
Thro' all his writhing Frame the Lightnings sped,
And, in a Crash of Thunder, he fell dead!
The Brothers thus unrival'd Fervor fires,
Brave in themselves, and sprung from valiant Sires!
Hail Sons of Leda! let each noble Name
Give to my hymning Harp a deathless Fame!
For every Poet, kindling, as he sings
Your Deeds, and Helen's, and the heroic Kings
Who levell'd Ilion's Pride, in antient Days,
Lives in your Spirit, and partakes the Praise!
His lofty Lyre to warlike Glory strung,
Your high Renown the Chian Poet sung,
With Argive Fleets, and Battles fam'd afar,
And Troy, and Thetis' Son the Tower of War.
I too chaunt martial Numbers; nor refuse
The humble Offerings of my votive Muse!
Such as the Nine inspire, my Verse appears—
Poetic Honors charm immortal Ears!
Brave in themselves, and sprung from valiant Sires!
Hail Sons of Leda! let each noble Name
Give to my hymning Harp a deathless Fame!
For every Poet, kindling, as he sings
Your Deeds, and Helen's, and the heroic Kings
Who levell'd Ilion's Pride, in antient Days,
Lives in your Spirit, and partakes the Praise!
His lofty Lyre to warlike Glory strung,
Your high Renown the Chian Poet sung,
With Argive Fleets, and Battles fam'd afar,
And Troy, and Thetis' Son the Tower of War.
I too chaunt martial Numbers; nor refuse
The humble Offerings of my votive Muse!
Such as the Nine inspire, my Verse appears—
Poetic Honors charm immortal Ears!
| The Idyllia, Epigrams, and Fragments, of Theocritus, Bion, and Moschus | |