University of Virginia Library

EPIGRAMS.

I. OFFERINGS to the MUSES and APOLLO.

These roscid Roses, and this wildling Thyme,
I offer to the sacred Nine who love
The Heliconian Hill: But lo, to thee
Apollo, I devote the Laurel's Leaves,
Of sabler Hue. Such Offerings oft adorn
The Delphic Rock! And, meantime, to enrich
Thy Altar with its purple Stream, shall bleed
Yon' horn'd He-goat, that crops, so snowy-white,
The pendent Branches of the gummy Pine.

II. An OFFERING to PAN.

Daphnis the Fair, who tunes the Reed,
To Pan these Presents hath decreed:
Three Pipes his Lips that deftly suit;
A Scrip, that oft hath borne his Fruit;
A Skin, which from a Fawn he took—
A pointed Dart, a Shepherd's Crook!

III. To DAPHNIS sleeping.

While, Daphnis, on the leaf-strown Ground, you steep
Your weary Body in the Dews of Sleep;
And on the green Hill-top your Snares are laid—
With Pan, who hunts where erst your Footsteps stray'd,
The rude Priapus hastens to your Cave—
See on his Brows the saffron Ivy wave!
But fly them, tho' the sultry Noon-day glows,
Fly the wild Revellers, and forego Repose!

IV. A VOW to PRIAPUS.

Haply thro' yonder Village if thou bend
Thy Footsteps, turn thee, Goatherd, by the Grove
Of wide o'er-arching Oaks: There, freshly wrought,
A fig-tree Statue thou wilt find; tho' rough
With Bark, three-legg'd, and void of Ears, yet prompt
For Pleasure's Pranks: While, near, a hallow'd Fane
Low rises; and a sweet perennial Spring
Flows tinkling from the living Rock, that gleams
Thro' bowering Laurel, Myrtles, and the Shrub
Of odour'd Cypress—where the clustering Vine
Diffuses many a Tendril. In these Shades
The vernal Blackbird warbles his clear Note
Yet varied; and the yellow Nightingale,
Responsive in a sweeter Murmur, trills
Her rival Minstrelsy. Amid this Scene
Repose; and to thy God Priapus pray,
That he will free my Bosom from the Power
Of cruel Daphne! So the bleeding Goat
Shall grace his Shrine! Yet haply, if I gain
The Virgin, these fair Victims will I slay—
A Goat, a spotless Heifer, and a Lamb
Fat from the Stall! Propitious may the God
Attend; and crown my Wishes, and thy Prayer!

V. The CONCERT.

Say, Swain, hast thou a Mind to suit
Some Ditty to thy double Flute?
For by the Wood-nymphs, if thou will,
I'll try a Tune upon my Quill:
The Herdsman Daphnis too shall play
On his wax'd Reed, a lively Lay;
While at the Cave our Stand we keep,
Near yon' hoar Oak, and rob of Sleep
Arcadia's God—the Goatherd Pan—
Rousing the Snorer, all we can!

VI. THYRSIS hath lost his Kid.

Ah, Thyrsis! what avails this wasting Woe?
Thy lost Kid wanders thro' the Shades below!
The Wolf hath torn him, on the Pasture-Plain;
He died—And can thy Tears bring Life again?
Thy very Dogs exclaim: ‘What boots thy Moan?
‘When nought of him remains—no—not a Bone!’

VII. On the STATUE of ÆSCULAPIUS.

The Son of Pæon to Miletus came,
To meet his Nicias, of illustrious Name:
He, in deep Reverence of his Guest divine,
Deck'd with the daily Sacrifice his Shrine;
And of the God this Cedar Statue bought—
A finish'd Work, by skill'd Eetion wrought.
The Sculptor with a lavish Sum repay'd,
Here all the Wonders of his Art display'd!

VIII. EPITAPH on ORTHON, who died drunk.

Thus Orthon cries—My Fate, ye Topers, mark,
And travel not, top-heavy, in the Dark!
Drunk on the Road I died! How hard my Doom—
For Heaps of native Earth, a foreign Tomb!

IX. On the FATE of CLEONICUS.

O Stranger, spare thy Span of Life,
Nor sail thro' Winter's stormy Strife!
Poor Cleonicus found his Grave
In evil Hour, amidst the Wave;
What Time his Ship from Syria bore
Her Freight for Thasos' fertile Shore:
The Pleiads sinking down the Skies—
'Twas then he sunk, no more to rise!

X. On a MONUMENT erected to the MUSES.

Here, Xenocles, to you, ye hallow'd Nine,
A sweet Musician, rais'd this marble Shrine!
And who, so skill'd, such Offerings could refuse?
Who, fam'd for Music, could forget the Muse?

XI. EPITAPH on EUSTHENES the PHYSIOGNOMIST.

Here rests a Physiognomist, whose Skill
Thro' every Eye could probe the Soul at Will,
Wise Eusthenes! The Stranger deck'd his Bier,
And Philocles the Poet dropp'd a Tear:
Thus, in a foreign Land, fond Friendship gave,
'Twas all the Dead could wish, a decent Grave!

XII. On a TRIPOD dedicated to BACCHUS by DEMOTELES.

Demoteles who bade this Tripod grace,
Bacchus, with thee, the consecrated Place;
(Thee, of Heaven's Deities the blythest God)
The Paths of Life, in all Things temperate, trod:
Amid the Dance the manly Prize he won,
And fair his Being clos'd, as he begun.

XIII. On the IMAGE of the Heavenly VENUS.

Approach with Reverence—and your Offerings pay!
Behold no Goddess of the Vulgar here!
The Gift of chaste Chrysogona survey,
And stile her Venus of the rolling Sphere.
Plac'd in the House of Amphicles, she saw
Her Votary steady in domestic Life:
Approv'd her, true to Nature's genuine Law,
A tender Mother, and as fond a Wife.
Each smiling Year with some new Blessing came,
Thro' thee, Protectress of their genial Store!
Lo! their pure Bosoms felt Devotion's Flame—
And all shall prosper who the Gods adore!

XIV. EPITAPH on EURYMEDON.

Here, doom'd in early Life to die,
Eurymedon, thy Relics lie!
Thy little wandering Son we see,
While the cold Earth encloses thee:
Yet is thy Spirit with the Blest,
Enthron'd amid the Realms of Rest!
And all shall watch, with duteous Care,
For thy dear Sake, the Infant-Heir!

XV. On the Same.

Dost thou an equal Honor pay,
To sacred or polluted Clay?
‘Hail yonder Tomb (the Traveller cries)
‘Light on Eurymedon it lies!’

XVI. On ANACREON's STATUE.

This Statue mark with curious Eye,
O Stranger, and returning cry:
‘At Teios I've Anacreon seen,
‘Blythest of antient Bards I ween!
‘Add, that he lov'd the Young, the Fair—
‘You'll paint the Poet to a Hair!’

XVII. On EPICHARMUS.

XVIII. EPITAPH on CLITA,

the Nurse of MEDEUS.

This Tomb-Stone in the public Way
Medeus rear'd o'er Clita's Clay!
Her Care still lives before our Eyes,
Whilst, in the Boy, the Nurse we prize!

XIX. On ARCHILOCHUS.

XX. On the STATUE of PISANDER,

Who wrote a Poem, entitled ‘The Labors of Hercules.’

Pisander at Camirus born,
The first of Bards, whose Strains adorn
Jove's Offspring, while his peerless Might,
His various Labors they recite;
And, how the Nemean Lion fell,
Bold in heroic Diction, tell—
Pisander claims, in Glory great,
This brazen Statue from the State!

XXI. EPITAPH on the Poet HIPPONAX.

The Poet Hipponax lies here:
If bad, O come not, come not near!
But, if you're good, here sit at Ease—
And sleep, O Stranger, if you please!

XXII. THEOCRITUS on his own WORKS.

Theocritus my Name, of Syracuse,
I claim no kindred with the Chian Muse!
Praxag'ras' and Philina's Son, I scorn
The extrinsic Bays that other's Brows adorn!