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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| XVII. | IDYLLIUM the SEVENTEENTH. PTOLEMY. |
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 | The Idyllia, Epigrams, and Fragments, of Theocritus, Bion, and Moschus |  |
135
IDYLLIUM the SEVENTEENTH. PTOLEMY.
Ye Muses, if ye hymn the first above,
With Jove begin the Strain, and end with Jove!
To Ptolemy, the first on Earth, belong
Your Harp's preluding Tones—your closing Song!
Heroes of old enjoy'd the immortal Meed
Of Bards, who blazon'd each distinguish'd Deed!
Thus in my Lays shall Ægypt's Sovereign live,
Such Lays, as ev'n to Gods new Glory give!
The Woodman lost in Ida's Shades of Oak,
Doubts where to strike, and long delays the Stroke!
Thus while around the princely Splendors stream,
I hesitate amidst the various Theme!
With Jove begin the Strain, and end with Jove!
To Ptolemy, the first on Earth, belong
Your Harp's preluding Tones—your closing Song!
Heroes of old enjoy'd the immortal Meed
Of Bards, who blazon'd each distinguish'd Deed!
Thus in my Lays shall Ægypt's Sovereign live,
Such Lays, as ev'n to Gods new Glory give!
The Woodman lost in Ida's Shades of Oak,
Doubts where to strike, and long delays the Stroke!
Thus while around the princely Splendors stream,
I hesitate amidst the various Theme!
Say, Muse, how bright the high-soul'd Father shone—
What peerless Wisdom deck'd his envied Throne!
Him Jove receiv'd with Honors, as a God,
A golden Palace his sublime Abode!
And near, above the prostrate Persian great,
The mitred Ammon holds his living Seat;
While, opposite, the Foe to Monsters gaunt,
Alcides sits enthron'd in Adamant—
Where, 'midst the Immortals, with Ambrosia blest
He views his Heirs, and hails each Son a Guest;
And joys, that deathless thro' the Lapse of Years,
His Progeny the Bloom of Glory wears!
For, sprung from Hercules the last, they trace
To Heaven the Lineage of a godlike Race!
When (as each Vein the fragrant Nectar fires)
To taste connubial Rapture he retires;
To this he gives, fo fatal to the Foe,
His shafted Quiver, and his long-bent Bow;
To that his iron Club in Charge allots—
Ponderous in all the solid Strength of Knots:
Thus, with his Arms, they lead the Son of Jove
To silver-footed Hebe's Bed of Love.
What peerless Wisdom deck'd his envied Throne!
Him Jove receiv'd with Honors, as a God,
A golden Palace his sublime Abode!
136
The mitred Ammon holds his living Seat;
While, opposite, the Foe to Monsters gaunt,
Alcides sits enthron'd in Adamant—
Where, 'midst the Immortals, with Ambrosia blest
He views his Heirs, and hails each Son a Guest;
And joys, that deathless thro' the Lapse of Years,
His Progeny the Bloom of Glory wears!
For, sprung from Hercules the last, they trace
To Heaven the Lineage of a godlike Race!
When (as each Vein the fragrant Nectar fires)
To taste connubial Rapture he retires;
To this he gives, fo fatal to the Foe,
His shafted Quiver, and his long-bent Bow;
To that his iron Club in Charge allots—
Ponderous in all the solid Strength of Knots:
Thus, with his Arms, they lead the Son of Jove
To silver-footed Hebe's Bed of Love.
But Berenice—Gods! her Sexes Pride—
What Prudence crown'd the Beauties of the Bride!
Sure, Venus' Self her odour'd Bosom prest,
And breath'd the Soul of Love into her Breast!
Touch'd by such Merits her Adorer came,
And Husband never felt so pure a Flame!
Her glowing Ardors heighten'd all her Charms,
And more than equal Fondness blest his Arms!
How oft, discarding all the Monarch's Care,
The Lover's Luxuries he was wont to share;
Pleas'd on his Sons the Burthen to remove,
And taste the sweet Delights of wedded Love!
Ah! how unlike the faithless Consorts Joys,
While far from home her vagrant Passion flies!
Tho' numerous Sons announce her guilty Fire,
Not one reflects the Image of the Sire.
Thro' the fond Favor of thy guardian Eye,
O thou, the fairest Daughter of the Sky,
The lovely Queen, O Venus, scap'd the Grave,
Yet never wafted o'er the moaning Wave;
But (ere she saw the infernal Waters flow)
Snatch'd from the grisly Ferry-man below—
Amid the Radiance of thy Temple plac'd,
And with a Share of all thy Glory grac'd:
There kind to all who worship at her Shrine,
She breathes soft Loves, and Sighs that equal thine.
His sable-eye-brow'd Spouse to Tydeus bore
Stern Diomed, who carnag'd Ilion's Shore:
To Peleus Thetis bare the warlike Boy,
Whose far-whirl'd Darts were destin'd to destroy:
'Twas Berenice's happier Fate to bear
Thee to high Lagus an unequall'd Heir!
Then brightening Coos, as she saw thee born,
With unfeign'd Triumphs hail'd thy infant Morn!
For, there invok'd, benign Lucina came,
And breath'd soft Languors o'er thy Mother's Frame!
While, beauteous Offspring, Coos laugh'd to see
Thy Father's Features all reviv'd in thee—
While, as her Eyes survey'd thy lovely Charms,
She clasp'd thee, shouting, to her eager Arms:
‘Blest Boy! such Glories on my Island shed,
‘As Phœbus on his Delos stream'd!’ (she said)
‘Thro' thee exalted, may the Dorians' Fame
‘Vie, in fair Honors, with Rhenæa's Name!’
She ceas'd: And thrice, the Clouds quick opening round,
Jove's soaring Eagle clang'd the auspicious Sound:
The sacred Omen spoke peculiar Love,
And mark'd, as soon as born, the Elect of Jove.
Such Favorites, Heaven-protected at their Birth,
Wield the bright Sceptre o'er the subject Earth;
While, rising from the rich prolific Shower,
Wide Plenty waves, and Myriads bless their Power.
Yet, where the Fatness of the Nile o'erflows,
With more abundant Fruits old Ægypt glows:
See her low Meads in fresh Luxuriance teem,
Deep as their Glebe imbibes the triturating Stream.
Here too, O Ptolemy, beneath thy Sway,
What Cities glitter to the Blush of Day!
Lo! with thy statelier Pomp no Kingdom vies,
While round thee thrice ten thousand Cities rise!
Struck by the Terror of thy flashing Sword,
Syria bow'd down—Arabia call'd thee Lord!
Phœnicia trembled, and the Lybian Plain
With the black Æthiop, own'd thy wide Domain!
Ev'n Lesser Asia and her Isles grew pale,
As o'er the Billows pass'd thy Crowd of Sail!
Earth feels thy Nod—and all the subject Sea—
And each resounding River rolls for thee!
And, while around thy thick Battalions flash,
Thy proud Steeds neighing for the warlike Clash;
Thro' all thy Marts the Tide of Commerce flows,
And Wealth, beyond a Monarch's Grandeur, glows.
Secure from Ravages, or slaughtering Arms,
The Rustics reap the Produce of their Farms;
Pasture their Herds, where Nile o'erflows the Coast,
Nor dread the Navies of the invading Host.
What Prudence crown'd the Beauties of the Bride!
137
And breath'd the Soul of Love into her Breast!
Touch'd by such Merits her Adorer came,
And Husband never felt so pure a Flame!
Her glowing Ardors heighten'd all her Charms,
And more than equal Fondness blest his Arms!
How oft, discarding all the Monarch's Care,
The Lover's Luxuries he was wont to share;
Pleas'd on his Sons the Burthen to remove,
And taste the sweet Delights of wedded Love!
Ah! how unlike the faithless Consorts Joys,
While far from home her vagrant Passion flies!
Tho' numerous Sons announce her guilty Fire,
Not one reflects the Image of the Sire.
Thro' the fond Favor of thy guardian Eye,
O thou, the fairest Daughter of the Sky,
The lovely Queen, O Venus, scap'd the Grave,
Yet never wafted o'er the moaning Wave;
But (ere she saw the infernal Waters flow)
Snatch'd from the grisly Ferry-man below—
138
And with a Share of all thy Glory grac'd:
There kind to all who worship at her Shrine,
She breathes soft Loves, and Sighs that equal thine.
His sable-eye-brow'd Spouse to Tydeus bore
Stern Diomed, who carnag'd Ilion's Shore:
To Peleus Thetis bare the warlike Boy,
Whose far-whirl'd Darts were destin'd to destroy:
'Twas Berenice's happier Fate to bear
Thee to high Lagus an unequall'd Heir!
Then brightening Coos, as she saw thee born,
With unfeign'd Triumphs hail'd thy infant Morn!
For, there invok'd, benign Lucina came,
And breath'd soft Languors o'er thy Mother's Frame!
While, beauteous Offspring, Coos laugh'd to see
Thy Father's Features all reviv'd in thee—
While, as her Eyes survey'd thy lovely Charms,
She clasp'd thee, shouting, to her eager Arms:
‘Blest Boy! such Glories on my Island shed,
‘As Phœbus on his Delos stream'd!’ (she said)
139
‘Vie, in fair Honors, with Rhenæa's Name!’
She ceas'd: And thrice, the Clouds quick opening round,
Jove's soaring Eagle clang'd the auspicious Sound:
The sacred Omen spoke peculiar Love,
And mark'd, as soon as born, the Elect of Jove.
Such Favorites, Heaven-protected at their Birth,
Wield the bright Sceptre o'er the subject Earth;
While, rising from the rich prolific Shower,
Wide Plenty waves, and Myriads bless their Power.
Yet, where the Fatness of the Nile o'erflows,
With more abundant Fruits old Ægypt glows:
See her low Meads in fresh Luxuriance teem,
Deep as their Glebe imbibes the triturating Stream.
Here too, O Ptolemy, beneath thy Sway,
What Cities glitter to the Blush of Day!
Lo! with thy statelier Pomp no Kingdom vies,
While round thee thrice ten thousand Cities rise!
Struck by the Terror of thy flashing Sword,
Syria bow'd down—Arabia call'd thee Lord!
140
With the black Æthiop, own'd thy wide Domain!
Ev'n Lesser Asia and her Isles grew pale,
As o'er the Billows pass'd thy Crowd of Sail!
Earth feels thy Nod—and all the subject Sea—
And each resounding River rolls for thee!
And, while around thy thick Battalions flash,
Thy proud Steeds neighing for the warlike Clash;
Thro' all thy Marts the Tide of Commerce flows,
And Wealth, beyond a Monarch's Grandeur, glows.
Secure from Ravages, or slaughtering Arms,
The Rustics reap the Produce of their Farms;
Pasture their Herds, where Nile o'erflows the Coast,
Nor dread the Navies of the invading Host.
Such gold-hair'd Ptolemy! whose easy Port
Speaks the soft Polish of the manner'd Court;
And whose severer Aspect, as he wields
The Spear dire-blazing, frowns in tented Fields:
And tho' he guards, while other Kingdoms own
His conquering Arms, the hereditary Throne;
Yet in vast Heaps no useless Treasure stor'd
Lies, like the Riches of an Emmet's Hoard;
But, with his Gifts adorn'd, each holy Shrine,
And ev'n the Domes of Kings and Subjects shine:
Nor from the sacred Feasts, where many a Choir
Wake to high Minstrelsy the rival Lyre,
His Bards, with melancholy Step, depart;
But triumph in the Meed that crowns their Art.
Hence then, the Muse's grateful Prophet sings
His honour'd Ptolemy—supreme of Kings!—
Can Patrons in a fairer Aim rejoice
Than thus to purchase Fame's enduring Voice?
This nobler Wealth while still the Atridæ hold,
Troy buried lies—and all their Heaps of Gold!
Lo!Ptolemy, on Virtue's arduous Road,
Hath in the Footsteps of his Father trode;
Yet rising over every fervent Trace
His manlier Mien displays superior Grace!
He—he alone, by all the Nine rever'd,
The fragrant Temple to his Parents rear'd;
Bade their bright Forms in Gold and Ivory rise,
And smile upon the solemn Sacrifice.
There, with his Queen, he duly decks the Shrine,
(When roll the Months around) with Rites divine;
And fatten'd Bullocks, as the Flame aspires,
Burns in the blushing Altar's holy Fires;
Fair at his Side Arsinoe's blooming Grace,
Than whom no lovelier Queen, of mortal Race,
The Blessings of so great a Consort proves—
The Brother and the Husband of her Loves.
Thus too the Gods—thus Jove and Juno wed;
And odour'd Iris shapes the immortal Bed!
Great Monarch hail! Be mine to bid thee rise;
And reach, with Brother Demigods, the Skies!
My Verse the Praise of future Times shall prove—
But thou, ask Virtue of almighty Jove!
Speaks the soft Polish of the manner'd Court;
And whose severer Aspect, as he wields
The Spear dire-blazing, frowns in tented Fields:
And tho' he guards, while other Kingdoms own
His conquering Arms, the hereditary Throne;
141
Lies, like the Riches of an Emmet's Hoard;
But, with his Gifts adorn'd, each holy Shrine,
And ev'n the Domes of Kings and Subjects shine:
Nor from the sacred Feasts, where many a Choir
Wake to high Minstrelsy the rival Lyre,
His Bards, with melancholy Step, depart;
But triumph in the Meed that crowns their Art.
Hence then, the Muse's grateful Prophet sings
His honour'd Ptolemy—supreme of Kings!—
Can Patrons in a fairer Aim rejoice
Than thus to purchase Fame's enduring Voice?
This nobler Wealth while still the Atridæ hold,
Troy buried lies—and all their Heaps of Gold!
Lo!Ptolemy, on Virtue's arduous Road,
Hath in the Footsteps of his Father trode;
Yet rising over every fervent Trace
His manlier Mien displays superior Grace!
He—he alone, by all the Nine rever'd,
The fragrant Temple to his Parents rear'd;
142
And smile upon the solemn Sacrifice.
There, with his Queen, he duly decks the Shrine,
(When roll the Months around) with Rites divine;
And fatten'd Bullocks, as the Flame aspires,
Burns in the blushing Altar's holy Fires;
Fair at his Side Arsinoe's blooming Grace,
Than whom no lovelier Queen, of mortal Race,
The Blessings of so great a Consort proves—
The Brother and the Husband of her Loves.
Thus too the Gods—thus Jove and Juno wed;
And odour'd Iris shapes the immortal Bed!
Great Monarch hail! Be mine to bid thee rise;
And reach, with Brother Demigods, the Skies!
My Verse the Praise of future Times shall prove—
But thou, ask Virtue of almighty Jove!
| The Idyllia, Epigrams, and Fragments, of Theocritus, Bion, and Moschus | |