Then in the flowing bowl I drown those sighs,
Which, spite of wisdom, from our weakness rise.
The draught to the dead's memory I commend,
And offer to the now immortal friend.
But if opposed to what my thoughts approve,
Nor Pluto's rage there be, nor power of Jove;
On its dark side if thou the prospect take,
Grant all forgot beyond black Lethe's lake;
In total death suppose the mortal lie,
No new hereafter, nor a future sky;
Yet bear thy lot content! yet cease to grieve;
Why, ere death comes, dost thou forbear to live?
The little time thou hast, 'twixt instant now
And fate's approach, is all the gods allow;
And of this little hast thou ought to spare
To sad reflection, and corroding care?
The moments past, if thou art wise, retrieve
With pleasant memory of the bliss they gave.
The present hours in present mirth employ,
And bribe the future with the hopes of joy.
The future (few or more, howe'er they be)
Were destined erst; nor can by fate's decree
Be now cut off, betwixt the grave and thee.
THE FIRST HYMN OF CALLIMACHUS.
WHILE We to Jove select the holy victim,
Whom apter shall we sing, than Jove himself,
The god for ever great, for ever king,
Who slew the earth-born race, and measures right To Heaven's great habitants! Dictaan hear'st thou More joyful, or Lycæan, long dispute
And various thought has traced. On Ida's Mount, 7
Or Dicte, studious of his country's praise,
The Cretan boasts thy natal place: but oft
He meets reproof deserved: for he presumptuous
Has built a tomb for thee, who never knowst
To die, but livst the same to-day and ever.
Arcadian therefore be thy birth: Great Rhea
Pregnant to high Parrhasia's cliffs retired,
And wild Lycæus, black with shading pines.
Holy retreat! Sith hence no female hither,
Conscious of social love and nature's rites,
Must dare approach, from the inferior reptile
To woman, form divine. There the blest parent
Ungirt her spacious bosom, and discharged
The ponderous birth. She sought a neighbouring spring
To wash the recent babe; in vain. Arcadia,
(However streamy) now adust and dry,
Denied the goddess water; where deep Melas,
And rocky Cratis flow, the chariot smoked,
Obscure with rising dust; the thirsty traveller
In vain required the current, then imprisoned
In subterraneous caverns.
Forests grew
Upon the barren hollows, high o'ershading
The haunts of savage beasts, where now Iaon
And Erimanth incline their friendly urns.
Thou too, O Earth, great Rhea said, bring forth; And short shall be thy pangs. She said, and high She reared her arm, and with her sceptre struck The yawning cliff: from its disparted height Adown the mount the gushing torrent ran,
And cheered the valleys: there the heavenly mother Bathed, mighty king, thy tender limbs: she wrapped them
In purple bands; she gave the precious pledge
To prudent Neda, charging her to guard thee,
Careful and secret: Neda, of the nymphs
That tended the great birth, next Philyre
And Styx, the eldest. Smiling, she received thee,
And conscious of the grace, absolved her trust:
Not unrewarded; since the river bore
The favourite virgin's name; fair Neda rolls
By Leprion's ancient walls, a fruitful stream.
Fast by her flowery banks the sons of Arcas,
Favourites of Heaven, with happy care protect
Their fleecy charge; and joyous drink her wave.
Thee, god, to Cnossus Neda brought: the nymphs
And Corybantes thee, their sacred charge,
Received: Adraste rocked thy golden cradle:
The goat, now bright amidst her fellow stars,
Kind Amalthea, reached her teat distent
With milk, thy early food: the sedulous bee
Distilled her honey on thy purple lips.
Around, the fierce Curetes (order solemn
To thy foreknowing mother!) trod tumultuous
Their mystic dance, and clanged their sounding arms; 60
Industrious with the warlike din to quell
Thy infant cries and mock the ear of Saturn.
Swift growth and wondrous grace, O heavenly Jove, Waited thy blooming years; inventive wit, And perfect judgment, crowned thy youthful act. That Saturn's sons received the three-fold empire Of Heaven, of ocean, and deep hell beneath, As the dark urn and chance of lot determined, Old poets mention, fabling. Things of moment. Well nigh equivalent and neighbouring value By lot are parted: but high Heaven, thy share, In equal balance laid 'gainst sea or hell,
Flings up the adverse scale, and shuns proportion. 73
Wherefore not chance, but power, above thy brethren
Exalted thee, their king. When thy great will
Commands thy chariot forth; impetuous strength,
And fiery swiftness wing the rapid wheels,
Incessant; high the eagle flies before thee.
And oh! as I and mine consult thy augur,
Grant the glad omen; let thy favourite rise
Propitious, ever soaring from the right.
Thou to the lesser gods hast well assigned Their proper shares of power; thy own, great Jove, Boundless and universal. Those who labour The sweaty forge, who edge the crooked scythe, Bend stubborn steel, and harden gleening armour, Acknowledge Vulcan's aid. The early hunter Blesses Diana's hand, who leads him safe O'er hanging cliffs, who spreads his net successful, And guides the arrow through the panther's heart. 90 The soldier, from successful camps returning With laurel wreathed, and rich with hostile spoil, Severs the bull to Mars. The skilful bard, Striking the Thracian harp, invokes Apollo, To make his hero and himself immortal. Those, mighty Jove, meantime, thy glorious care, Who model nations, publish laws, announce Or life or death, and found or change the empire. Man owns the power of kings; and kings of Jove. And, as their actions tend subordinate To what thy will designs, thou giv'st the means Proportioned to the work; thou seest impartial, How they those means employ. Each monarch rules His different realm, accountable to thee, Great ruler of the world: these only have To speak and be obeyed; to those are given
Assistant days to ripen the design;
To some whole months; revolving years to some;
Others, ill-fated, are condemned to toil
Their tedious life, and mourn their purpose blasted
With fruitless act, and impotence of council.
Hail! greatest son of Saturn, wise disposer
Of every good! Thy praise what man yet born.
Has sung! or who that may be born shall sing!
Again, and often hail! indulge our prayer,
Great father! grant us virtue, grant us wealth:
For without virtue, wealth to man avails not;
And virtue without wealth exerts less power,
And less diffuses good. Then grant us, gracious,
Virtue and wealth; for both are of thy gift.
THE SECOND HYMN OF CALLIMACHUS.
HAH! how the laurel, great Apollo's tree,
And all the cavern shakes! far off, far off,
The man that is unhallowed: for the god,
The god approaches. Hark! he knocks; the gates
Feel the glad impulse: and the severed bars
Submissive clink against their brazen portals.
Why do the Delian palms incline their boughs,
Self-moved: and hovering swans, their throats released,
From native silence, carol sounds harmonious!
Begin, young men, the hymn: let all your harps
Break their inglorious silence; and the dance,
In mystic numbers trod, explain the music.
But first by ardent prayer, and clear lustration,
Purge the contagious spots of human weakness:
Impure no mortal can behold Apollo.
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