University of Virginia Library

FRAGMENTS FROM THEOGNIS.

I.

Guided and aided by their holy will,
Jove and Apollo, may they guard me still,
My course of youth in safety to fulfil;
Free from all evil, happy with my wealth,
In joyous easy years of peace and health.

II.

My heart exults the lively call obeying,
When the shrill merry pipes are sweetly playing:
With these to chaunt aloud, or to recite,
To carol and carouse, is my delight:
Or in a steadfast tone, bolder and higher,
To temper with a touch the manly lyre.

III.

To revel with the pipe, to chaunt and sing,
This likewise is a most delightful thing:
Give me but ease and pleasure! What care I
For reputation or for property?

IV.

Learning and wealth, the wise and wealthy find
Inadequate to satisfy the mind;
A craving eagerness remains behind;
Something is left, for which we cannot rest;
And the last something always seems the best,
Something unknown, or something unpossest.

V.

My thirst was sated at a secret source,
I found it clear and limpid; but its course
Is alter'd now; polluted and impure!
I leave it; and where other springs allure,
Shall wander forth; or freely quaff my fill
From the loose current of the flowing rill.

VI.

To prove our gold or silver coarse or fine,
Fire is the test; for man the proof is wine:
Wine can unravel secrets, and detect
And bring to shame the proudest intellect,
Hurried and overborne with its effect.

VII.

My brain grows dizzy, whirl'd and overthrown
With wine; my senses are no more my own;
The ceiling and the walls are wheeling round.
But, let me try!—perhaps my limbs are sound:
Let me retire with my remaining sense,
For fear of idle language and offence.

VIII.

IX.

Kurnus, these lines of mine, let them remain
Conceal'd and secret—verse of such a strain
Betrays its author—all the world would know it!
“This is Theognis, the Megarian poet,
“So celebrated and renown'd in Greece!”
Yet some there are, forsooth, I cannot please;
Nor ever could contrive, with all my skill,
To gain the common liking and good will
Of these my fellow citizens.—No wonder!
Not even He, the God that wields the thunder
(The Sovereign all-wise almighty Jove)
Can please them with his government above:
Some call for rainy weather, some for dry,
A discontented and discordant cry
Fills all the earth, and reaches to the sky,

X.

XI.

XII.

Our commonwealth preserves its former frame,
Our common people are no more the same.
They, that in skins and hides were rudely dress'd,
Nor dreamt of law, nor sought to be redress'd
By rules of right, but in the days of old
Flock'd to the town, like cattle to the fold,
Are now the brave and wise. And we, the rest,
(Their betters nominally, once the best)
Degenerate, debased, timid and mean!
Who can endure to witness such a scene?
Their easy courtesies, the ready smile,
Prompt to deride, to flatter and beguile!
Their utter disregard of right or wrong,
Of truth or honour! Out of such a throng
(For any difficulties, any need,
For any bold design or manly deed)
Never imagine you can choose a just
Or steady friend, or faithful in his trust.
But change your habits! let them go their way!
Be condescending, affable, and gay!
Adopt with every man the style and tone
Most courteous and congenial with his own!
But in your secret counsels keep aloof
From feeble paltry souls that at the proof
Of danger or distress are sure to fail;
For whose salvation, nothing can avail!

XIII.

XIV.

My friend, I fear it! pride, which overthrew
The mighty Centaurs and their hardy crew—
Our pride will ruin us, your friends, and you.

XV.

Pride and oppressive rule destroy'd the state
Of the Magnesians—such was Smyrna's fate—
Smyrna the rich, and Colophon the great!
And ours, my friend, will follow soon or late.

XVI.

Kurnus, our state is pregnant to produce
The avenger of oppression and abuse!
The birth (believe me) will not tarry long;
For the same course of outrage and of wrong
Which ruin'd the Magnesian state of old,—
That very same, we witness and behold.

XVII.

I walk by rule and measure, and incline
To neither side, but take an even line;
Fix'd in a single purpose and design.
With learning's happy gifts to celebrate,
To civilize and dignify the State;
Not leaguing with the discontented crew,
Nor with the proud and arbitrary few.

XVIII.

That happy man, my friend, was never seen
Nor born into the world, whom saucy spleen
Forbore to scandalize! I know not, I!
What they would have? but whether I comply
To join with others in pursuit of ill,
Or keep myself aloof, they blame me still.
Such is my fortune; never understood,
But censur'd by the wicked or the good!
My consolation still remains the same;
Fools cannot imitate the man they blame.

XIX.

That happy man, my friend! that has through life
Pass'd unobnoxious to reproach or strife [OMITTED]
[OMITTED] Never existed yet; nor ever will!
A task there is which Jove could not fulfil,—
Infinite power and wisdom, both combin'd,
Would not avail to satisfy mankind.

XX.

The generous and the brave, in common fame,
From time to time encounter praise or blame:
The vulgar pass unheeded; none escape
Scandal or insult in some form or shape.
Most fortunate are those, alive or dead,
Of whom the least is thought—the least is said.

XXI.

The worldly-minded and the worldly wise,
In ignorance and arrogance, despise
All talents and attainments but their own;
Wisdom is their's, they think—and their's alone.
But no! the lessons of deceit and wrong,
In point of fact, are neither hard nor long:
And many know them; but a better will,
Prohibits some from practising their skill;—
Some have a taste for good, and some for ill.

XXII.

Many true counsels in this breast of mine
Lie buried: many a just and fair design,
But inefficient, indolent and weak;
I know my nature, and forbear to speak.

XXIII.

Court not a tyrant's favour, nor combine
To further his iniquitous design!
But, if your faith is pledg'd, though late and loth,
If covenants have pass'd between you both,
Never assassinate him! keep your oath!
But should he still misuse his lawless power,
To trample on the people, and devour,
Depose or overturn him;—any how!
Your oath permits it, and the gods allow.

XXIV.

I shall not join the funeral train, to go
An idle follower in the pomp of woe:
For why—no duty binds me? nor would he,
Their arbitrary chief, have mourn'd for me.

XXV.

I envy not these sumptuous obsequies,
The stately car, the purple canopies;
Much better pleas'd am I, remaining here,
With cheaper equipage and better cheer.
A couch of thorns, or an embroider'd bed,
Are matters of indifference to the dead.

XXVI.

Easy discourse with steady sense combin'd,
Are rare endowments in a single mind.

XXVII.

No costly sacrifice nor offerings given
Can change the purpose of the powers of heaven:
Whatever fate ordains, danger or hurt
Or death predestin'd, nothing can avert.

XXVIII.

The sovereign single person—what cares he
For love or hate, for friend or enemy?
His single purpose is—utility.

XXIX.

If popular distrust and hate prevail,
If saucy mutineers insult and rail,
Fret not your eager spirit! take a line
Just, sober, and discreet,—the same as mine!

XXX.

My friend, the feeling you can not correct
Will work at last a ruinous effect
To disappoint your hopes. You cannot learn
To bear unpleasant things with unconcern;
Nor work without repugnance or disgust
In tasks that ought to be perform'd, and must.

XXXI.

I care not for a friend that at my board
Talks pleasantly: the friend that will afford
Faithful assistance with his purse and sword
In need or danger, let that friend be mine!
Fit for a bold and resolute design;
Not for a conversation over wine!

XXXII.

XXXIII.

The civil person (he that to your face
Professing friendship: in another place
Talks in an alter'd tone) is not the man
For a determin'd, hearty partisan.
Give me the comrade eager to defend,
And, in his absence, vindicate a friend!
Whose strong attachment will abide the brunt
Of bitter altercation, and confront
Calumnious outrage with a fierce reproof,
Like brethren bred beneath a father's roof:
Friends such as these may serve for your behoof.
None others.—Mark my words! and let them be
Fix'd as a token in your memory
For aftertimes,—to make you think of me!

XXXIV.

XXXV.

Waste not your efforts, struggle not, my friend,
Idle and old abuses to defend!
Take heed! the very measures that you press,
May bring repentance with their own success.

XXXVI.

Kurnus, proceed like me! Walk not awry!
Nor trample on the bounds of property!

XXXVII.

“Bad company breeds mischief.” Kurnus, you
Can prove that ancient proverb to be true
In your own instance; you yourself were driven
To an unrighteous act, offending Heaven!

XXXVIII.

XXXIX.

Rash, angry words, and spoken out of season,
When passion has usurp'd the throne of reason,
Have ruin'd many. Passion is unjust,
And for an idle, transitory gust
Of gratified revenge, dooms us to pay
With long repentance at a later day.

XL.

XLI.

XLII.

Join with the world! adopt, with every man,
His party views, his temper, and his plan!
Strive to avoid offence! study to please!
Like the sagacious inmate of the seas,
That an accommodating colour brings,
Conforming to the rock to which he clings,
With every change of place changing his hue—
The model for a statesman, such as you!

XLIII.

Let not a base calumnious pretence,
Exaggerating a minute offence,
Move you to wrong a friend! If every time
Faults in a friend were treated as a crime,
Here upon earth, no friendship could have place.
But we, the creatures of a faulty race,
Amongst ourselves offend and are forgiven:—
Vengeance is the prerogative of Heaven.

XLIV.

A rival or antagonist is hard
To be deceived, they stand upon their guard:
But an old friend, Kurnus, is unprepared!

XLV.

XLVI.

No more with empty phrase and speeches fine
Seek to delude me—let your heart be mine!
Your friendship or your enmity declare
In a decided form, open and fair,
An enemy disguised, a friend in show!—
I like him better, Kurnus, as a foe!

XLVII.

XLVIII.

Change for the worse is sooner understood,
And sooner practis'd, than from bad to good.
Do not advise and school me! good, my friend!
I'm past the time to learn. I cannot mend.

XLIX.

You blame me for an error not my own:
Dear friend! the fault was yours, and yours alone.

L.

LI.

LII.

Bad faith hath ruined me; distrust alone
Has sav'd a remnant; all the rest is gone
To ruin and the dogs! The powers divine,
I murmur not against them, nor repine:
Mere human violence, rapine and stealth
Have brought me down to poverty from wealth.

LIII.

Learn patience, O my soul! though rack'd and torn
With deep distress—bear it!—it must be borne!
Your unavailing hopes and vain regret
Forget them, or endeavour to forget:
Those womanish repinings unrepress'd,
Which gratify your foes, serve to molest
Your sympathising friends. Learn to endure!
And bear calamities you cannot cure;
Nor hope to change the laws of destiny
By mortal efforts! Vainly would you fly
To the remotest margin of the sky,
Where ocean meets the firmament; in vain
Would you descend beneath, and dive amain,
Down to the dreary subterraneous reign.

LIV.

Entire and perfect happiness is never
Vouchsaf'd to man; but nobler minds endeavour
To keep their inward sorrows unreveal'd.
With meaner spirits nothing is conceal'd:
Weak, and unable to conform to fortune,
With rude rejoicing or complaint importune,
They vent their exultation or distress.
Whate'er betides us—grief or happiness—
The brave and wise will bear with steady mind,
Th' allotment, unforeseen and undefin'd,
Of good or evil, which the gods bestow,
Promiscuously dealt to man below.

LV.

O mighty Jove! I wish the powers of heaven
Would change their method!—that a rule were given
Henceforward, for the wicked and profane
To check their high presumption, and restrain
Their insolences and their cruelties:
Who mock your ordinances, and despise
Justice and right;—henceforth should every man,
In his own instance, justify the plan
Of Providence: and suffer for his crime
During his life: or at the very time,
With punishment inflicted on the spot;
For now, so long retarded or forgot,
The retribution ultimately falls
Wide of the mark—the vilest criminals
Escape uninjur'd; and the sad decree
Affects their innocent posterity,
(As oftentimes it happens) worthy men,
Blameless and inoffensive:—here again
The case is hard! where a good citizen,
A person of an honourable mind,
Religiously devout, faithful and kind,
Is doom'd to pay the lamentable score
Of guilt accumulated long before—
Some wicked ancestor's unholy deed.
I wish that it were otherwise decreed!
For now we witness wealth and power enjoy'd
By wicked doers; and the good destroy'd
Quite undeservedly, doom'd to atone
In other times, for actions not their own.

LVI.

LVII.

LVIII.

Kurnus, believe it! Fortune, good or ill,
No mortal effort, intellect or skill
Determine it; but heaven's superior will.
We struggle onward, ignorant and blind,
For a result unknown and undesign'd;
Avoiding seeming ills, misunderstood,
Embracing evil as a seeming good;
In our own plans unable to detect
Their final, unavoidable effect:
Tormented with unsatisfied desire,
The fortunate to further aims aspire
Beyond the bounds of mortal happiness;
Restless and wretched in their own success!
We strove like children, and the almighty plan
Controls the froward children of weak man!

LIX.

LX.

The yearly summons of the creaking crane,
That warns the ploughman to his task again,
Strikes to my heart a melancholy strain—
When all is lost, and my paternal lands
Are till'd for other lords, with other hands,
Since that disastrous wretched voyage brought
Riches and lands and every thing to nought.

LXI.

How could I bear it? In the public place
To chaunt and revel, when, before my face,
Seen in the distance, I discern the train
Of harvest-triumph, and the loaded wain
And happy labourers with garlands crown'd,
Returning from the hereditary ground,
No more my own! My faithful Scythian slave!
Break off this strain of idle mirth, and shave
Your flowing locks, and breathe another tone
Of sorrow for my fair possessions gone!

LXII.

Elate with wine, my losses I despise,
And rude attacks of railing enemies.
But youth departing, and remember'd years
Of early mirth and joy, move me to tears;
While, in the dreary future, I behold
The dark approach of age, cheerless and cold.

LXIII.

LXIV.

Schemes unadvisable and out of reason
Are best adjourn'd—wait for a proper season!
Time and a fair conjuncture govern all.
Hasty ambition hurries to a fall,
A fall predestin'd and ordain'd by heaven:
By a judicial blindness madly driven,
Mistaking and confounding good and evil,
Men lose their senses as they leave their level.

LXV.

Stir not a step! risk nothing! but believe
That vows and oaths are snares, meant to deceive!
Jove is no warrant for a promise given,—
Not Jove himself, nor all the gods in heaven.
Nothing is safe, no character secure,
No conduct, the most innocent and pure:
All are corrupt, the commons and the great,
Alike incapable to save the state.
The ruin of the noblest and the best
Serves for an idle ballad or a jest.
Shame is abolish'd, and in high command,
Rage, impudence, and rapine rule the land.

LXVI.

A trusty partizan, faithful and bold,
Is worth his weight in silver or in gold
For times of trouble; but the race is rare,—
Steady, determin'd men, ready to share
Good or ill fortune! Such, if such there are,
Could you survey the world, and search it round,
And bring together all that could be found,
The largest company you could enrol,
A single vessel would embark the whole!
So few there are! the noble, manly minds,
Faithful and firm, the men that honour binds,
Impregnable to danger and to pain,
And low seduction in the shape of gain.

LXVII.

Lash your obedient rabble! lash and load
The burden on their backs! spurn them and goad!
They'll bear it all; by practice and by birth
The most submissive humble slaves on earth!

LXVIII.

Friend! if your sense and judgment had been wholly,
Or nearly equal to your pride and folly,
You might have seen yourself approv'd and priz'd
As much precisely as you're now despis'd.

LXIX.

Scarce can I venture plainly to declare
Our present state, or what the dangers are.
Let the worst happen! I shall bear, I trust,
Whatever fate determines—bear we must!
Inextricable difficulties rise,
And death and danger are before our eyes.

LXX.

From many a friend you must withhold your plans!
No man is safe with many partizans,
No secret! With a party sure, but small,
Of bold adherents, trusty men withal,
You may succeed; else ruin must ensue,
Inevitable, for your friends and you.

LXXI.

LXXII.

A speechless messenger, the beacon's light,
Announces danger from the mountain's height!
Bridle your horses and prepare to fly:
The final crisis of our fate is nigh!
A momentary pause, a narrow space
Detains them, but the foes approach apace!
We must abide what fortune has decreed,
And hope that heaven will help us at our need.
Make your resolve! at home your means are great;
Abroad you will retain a poor estate,
Unostentatious, indigent, and scant,
Yet live secure, at least from utter want.

LXXIII.

Alas, for our disgrace! Cerinthus lost!
The fair Lelantian plain! a plundering host
Invade it—all the brave banish'd or fled!
Within the town, lewd ruffians in their stead
Rule it at random.—Such is our disgrace!
May Jove confound the Cypselizing race!

LXXIV.

LXXV.

To seize my lost possessions, and bestow,
Among my friends, the spoils of many a foe,—
Such is my trust and hope; meanwhile I rest
Content and cheerful, an admitted guest
Conversing with a wise and worthy mind
Profound in learning, and in taste refin'd:
Watching his words and thoughts, to bear away
Improvement and instruction day by day.

LXXVI.

Talk not of evils past! Ulysses bore
Severer hardships than my own, and more;
Doom'd to descend to Pluto's dreary reign,
Yet he return'd, and view'd his home again,
And wreak'd his vengeance on the plundering crew,
The factious haughty suitors, whom he slew:
Whilst all the while, with steady faith unfeign'd,
The prudent, chaste Penelope remain'd,
With her fair son, waiting a future hour,
For his arrival and return to power.

LXXVII.

Kurnus, of all good things in human life,
Nothing can equal goodness in a wife.
In our own case, we prove the proverb true;—
You vouch for me, my friend, and I for you.

LXXVIII.

LXXIX.

LXXX.

I search among my friends—none can I find,
No sterling unadulterated mind;
None that abides the crucible like mine
Rising above the standard—superfine!

LXXXI.

An exile has no friends! no partizan
Is firm or faithful to the banish'd man;
A disappointment and a punishment,
Harder to bear and worse than banishment!

LXXXII.

The last and worst of ills, save death alone,
The worst of human miseries is my own!
Those friends of mine have cast me off—and I
Must seek perforce a last resource, to try
To treat and tamper with the enemy.

LXXXIII.

Happy the man, with worldly wealth and ease,
Who, dying in good time, departs in peace:
Not yet reduc'd to wander as a stranger,
In exile and distress, and daily danger;
To fawn upon his foes, to risk the trial
Of a friend's faith, and suffer a denial!

LXXXIV.

No mean or coward heart will I commend
In an old comrade or a party friend;
Nor with ungenerous hasty zeal decry
A noble-minded gallant enemy.

LXXXV.

Not to be born—never to see the sun!
No worldly blessing is a greater one!
And the next best is speedily to die—
And lapt beneath a load of earth to lie!

LXXXVI.

For noble minds the worst of miseries,
Worse than old age or wearisome disease,
Is poverty—from poverty to flee,
From some tall precipice prone to the sea
It were a fair escape to leap below!
In poverty, dear Kurnus, we forego
Freedom in word and deed, body and mind:
Action and thought, are fetter'd and confined.
Let me then fly, dear Kurnus, once again!
Wide as the limits of the land and main,
From these entanglements; with these in view
Death is the lighter evil of the two.

LXXXVII.

Wearied and sick at heart, in seas of trouble,
I work against the wind, and strive to double
The dark disastrous cape of poverty.

LXXXVIII.

All kinds of shabby shifts are understood,
All kinds of arts are practised, bad and good;
All kinds of ways to gain a livelihood.

LXXXIX.

XC.

O poverty! how sorely do you press,
Debasing soul and body with distress:
To such degrading offices you bind
A manly form, an elevated mind,
Once elegantly fashion'd and refined.

XCI.

XCII.

You boast of wealth, and scornfully deplore
My poverty—something I have in store;
And with God's blessing I shall make it more.

XCIII.

Though gifted with a shrewd and subtle ken,
Timagoras!—the secret hearts of men
(You'll find it) are a point hard to be guess'd;
For poor and shabby souls, in riches dress'd,
Make a fair show; while indigence and care
Give to the noble mind a meaner air.

XCIV.

Dunces are often rich, while indigence
Thwarts the designs of elegance and sense;
Nor wealth alone, nor judgment can avail:
In either case, art and improvement fail.

XCV.

The passions and the wants of nature breed
Winged desires, that with an airy speed
Hurry abroad, for pleasure or for need,
On various errands, various as their hue—
A fluttering, eager, ever busy crew.

XCVI.

Plutus, of all the Gods, the first and best!
My wrongs with your assistance are redrest;
Now, reinstated in respectability,
In spite of all my baseness and humility.

XCVII.

My old companions, Fancy and Desire!
To treat you both, as each of you require,
My means are insufficient—never mind!
Ours is the common case of human-kind.

XCVIII.

XCIX.

C.

[The Gods have granted mighty stores of pelf]

The Gods have granted mighty stores of pelf
To many a sluggard, useless to himself
And his own partizans: but high renown
Awaits the warrior who defends the town.

CI.

CII.

Enjoy your time, my soul! another race
Will shortly fill the world, and take your place,
With their own hopes and fears, sorrow and mirth:
I shall be dust the while, and crumbled earth.
But think not of it! Drink the racy wine
Of rich Taygetus, pressed from the vine
Which Theotimus in the sunny glen,
(Old Theotimus, lov'd by Gods and men)
Planted, and water'd from a plenteous source,
Teaching the wayward stream a better course—
Drink it, and cheer your heart, and banish care—
A load of wine will lighten our despair.

CIII.

Ye twins of Jove! an undivided twain,
That on Eurotas' shore and happy plain
In endless harmony preside and reign,
Punish our guilt! If ever by design,
I wrong my friend, let all the loss be mine:
But, if the fault is his, double the fine!

CIV.

Now that in mid career, checking his course,
The bright sun pauses in his pride and force,
Let us prepare to dine, and eat and drink
The best of every thing that heart can think;
And let the shapely Spartan damsel fair
Bring, with a rounded arm and graceful air,
Water to wash, and garlands for our hair.
In spite of all the systems and the rules
Invented and observ'd by sickly fools,
Let us be brave, and resolutely drink,
Not minding if the dog-star rise or sink.

CV.

May Jove, the Almighty, with his own right hand
Guard and uphold this happy town and land!
With all the glorious blessed Gods above!
And may the bright Apollo guide and move
My voice and fancy, cunningly to carp
In songs accordant to the pipe and harp!
When, after solemn rites of sacrifice,
At feasts and banquets freely we devise
Of mirth and pastime, banishing afar
All fears of Persia and her threaten'd war;
With joyous airy songs of merry verse,
Quaffing and chanting—“May we ne'er be worse,”
But better, if a better thing can be,
Than thus to live at ease, cheerful and free;
While far remote, no fears our thoughts engage
Of death approaching, or disastrous age.

CVI.

CVII.

The Gods in just allotment have assign'd
Youth and old age, the portion of mankind,
Alike for all; impartially we share
Youth's early pleasures; equally we bear
The latter ills of life, sickness and care.
One single evil, more severe and rude
Than age or sickness or decrepitude,
Is dealt unequally; for him that rears
A thankless offspring, in his latter years
Ungratefully requited for his pains,
A parsimonious life, and thrifty gains
With toil and care acquir'd for their behoof,
And no return but insolent reproof,
Such as might scare a beggar from the gate,
A wretch unknown, poor and importunate!
To be revil'd, avoided, hated, curst;
This is the last of evils, and the worst!

CVIII.

The servant of the Muse, gifted and grac'd
With high pre-eminence of art and taste,
Has an allotted duty to fulfil;
Bound to dispense the treasure of his skill,
Without a selfish or invidious view;
Bound to recite, and to compose anew;
Not to reserve his talent for himself,
In secret, like a miser with his pelf.