University of Virginia Library

THE EPIGRAMS OF THEOCRITUS.

I. Offerings to the Muses and Apollo.

This wild thyme, and these roses, moist with dews,
Are sacred to the Heliconian Muse;
The bay, Apollo, with dark leaves is thine;
Thus art thou honour'd at the Delphic shrine;
And there to thee this shagg'd he-goat I vow,
That loves to crop the pine-tree's pendent bough.

II. An offering to Pan.

Daphnis the fair, who with bucolic song,
And pastoral pipe could charm the listening throng,
To Pan presents these emblems of his art,
A fawn's soft skin, a crook, and pointed dart,
Three rural pipes, adapted to his lip,
And for his homely food a leathern scrip.

III. To Daphnis sleeping.

On earth's soft lap, with leafy honours spread,
You, Daphnis, lull to rest your weary head:
While on the hill your snares for birds are laid,
Pan hunts your footsteps in the secret shade,
And rude Priapus, on whose temples wave
Gold ivy's leaves, resolv'd to find your cave:
Ah! fly these revellers, at distance keep,
And instant burst the silken bands of sleep.

IV. A vow to Priapus.

If by those oaks with roving step you wind,
An image fresh of fig-tree form'd you'll find;
Though cloath'd with bark, three-legg'd and void of ears,
Prompt for the pranks of pleasure he appears.
Springs gush perennial from the rocky hill,
And round the grotto roll their sparkling rill:
Green myrtles, bays, and cypress sweet abound,
And vines diffuse their circling arms around.
The vernal ousels their shrill notes prolong,
And modulate the loudly-varied song;
Sweet nightingales in soft-opponent strain,
Perch'd on the spray melodiously complain.
Repose you there, and to Priapus pray,
That Daphne may no more my bosom sway:
Grant this, a goat shall at his altar bleed;
But if I gain the maid, three victims are decreed;
A stall-fed lamb, a goat, and heifer fair:
Thus may the god propitious hear my prayer.

V. The Concert.

Say wilt thou warble to thy double flute,
And make its melody thy music suit?
Then, by the Nymphs I swear, I'll snatch the quill,
And on the rural lyre essay my skill:
The herdsman, Daphnis, on his reed shall play,
Whose sprightly numbers make the shepherds gay:
Fast by yon rugged oak our stand we'll keep,
And rob th'Arcadian deity of sleep.

VI. Thyrsis has lost his Kid.

What profit gain you, wretched Thyrsis, say,
Thus, thus to weep and languish life away?
Lost is your favourite kid; the wolf has tore
His tender limbs, and feasted on his gore:
Your very dogs exclaim, and cry, “What gain,
“When neither bones, nor ashes now remain?”

VII. On the Statue of Æsculapius.

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 Eëtion 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.

VIII. Orthon's Epitaph.

To every toping traveller that lives,
Orthon of Syracuse this warning gives;
With wine o'erheated, and depriv'd of light,
Forbear to travel on a winter's night;
This was my fate; and for my native land
I now lie buried on a foreign strand.

IX. On the fate of Cleonicus.

O stranger! spare thy life so short and frail,
Nor, but when times are seasonable, sail.
Poor Cleonícus, innocent of guile,
From Syria hasten'd to rich Thasos' isle;
The Pleiads sunk as he approach'd the shore;
With them he sunk, to rise, alas! no more.

X. On a Monument erected to the Muses.

Here Xenocles hath rais'd this marble shrine,
Skill'd in sweet music, to the tuneful Nine:
He from his art acquires immortal fame,
And grateful owns the fountain whence it came.

XI. 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.

XII. On a Tripod dedicated to Bacchus by Demoteles.

Demoteles, who near this sacred shrine
This tripod plac'd, with thee, O god of wine!
Whom blithest of the deities we call,
In all things prov'd, was temperate in all:
In manly dance the victory he gain'd,
And fair the tenor of his life maintain'd.

XIII. On the image of the heavenly Venus.

Here Venus, not the vulgar, you survey;
Stile her celestial, and your offering pay:
This in the house of Amphicles was plac'd,
Fair present of Chrysogona the chaste:
With him a sweet and social life she led,
And many children bore, and many bred.
Favour'd by thee, O venerable fair,
Each year improv'd upon the happy pair;
For long as men the deities adore,
With large abundance heav'n augments their store.

XIV. Epitaph on Eurymedon.

Dead in thy prime, this tomb contains,
Eurymedon, thy dear remains;
Thou, now with pious men inshrin'd,
Hast left an infant heir behind;
The state due care of him will take,
And love him for his father's sake.

XV. On the same.

[O traveller, I wish to know]

O traveller, I wish to know
If you an equal praise bestow
On men of honourable fame,
Or to poltroons you give the same:
Then “Fair befal this tomb,” you'll cry,
As oft you pass attentive by,
“Eurymedon, alas! is dead;
“Light lie the stone upon his dead.”

XVI. On Anacreon's statue.

With curious eye, O traveller, survey
This statue's form, and home-returning say,
“At Teos late with infinite regard,
“I saw the image of the sweetest bard,
“Anacreon; who, if antient poets claim
“The meed of praise, deserves immortal fame;”
Add this; “He lov'd (for this with truth you can)
“The fair, the gay, the young,” you'll paint the very man.

XVII. On Epicharmus.

The stile is Doric; Epicharmus he,
The poet who invented Comedy:
This statue, Bacchus, sacred stands to you;
Accept a brazen image for the true.
The finish'd form at Syracuse is plac'd,
And, as is meet, with lasting honours grac'd.
Far-fam'd for wisdom, the preceptive bard
Taught those who gave the merited reward:
Much praise he gains who form'd ingenuous youth,
And show'd the paths to virtue, and to truth.

XVIII. Epitaph on Clita, the Nurse of Medeus.

Medéus rais'd, inspir'd by grateful pride,
This tomb to Clita by the high-way side:
We still commend her for her fostering care;
And praise the matron when we praise the heir.

XIX. On Archilochus.

Archilochus, that antient bard, behold!
Arm'd with his own iambicks keen and bold;
Whose living fame with rapid course has run
Forth from the rising to the setting sun.
The Muses much their darling son approv'd,
The Muses much, and much Apollo lov'd;
So terse his stile, so regular his fire,
Composing verse to suit his sounding lyre.

XX. On the Statue of Pisander, who wrote a poem stiled, The LABOURS of HERCULES.

This statue fam'd Pisander's worth rewards,
Born at Camirus, first of famous bards
Who sung of Hercules, the son of Jove,
How with the lion he victorious strove,
And all the labours of this hero bold
The faithful bard in lofty numbers told.
The state regardful of the poet's name,
Hath rais'd this brazen statue to his fame.

XXI. Epitaph on the Poet Hipponax.

Old Hipponax the satirist lies here;
If thou'rt a worthless wretch, approach not near:
But if well bred, and from all evil pure,
Repose with confidence, and sleep secure.

XXII. Theocritus on his own works.

A Syracusian born, no right I claim
To Chios, and Theocritus my name:
Praxagoras' and fam'd Philina's son;
All praise I scorn'd but what my numbers won.