And whose severer aspect, as he wields
The spear dire-blazing, frowns in tented fields:
And though he guards, while other kingdoms own
His conquering arms, the' hereditary throne;
Yet in vast heaps no useless treasure stored
Lies, like the riches of an emmet's hoard;
But with his gifts adorn'd, each holy shrine,
And e'en 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 revered,
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
But thou, ask virtue of almighty Jove!
IDYLLIUM XVIII.
The Epithalamium of Helen.
IN Sparta once, when Atreus' younger son
The prize of peerless charms in Helen won,
Twelve maids, the fairest of the Spartan fair
(Soft hyacinthine wreaths adorn'd their hair),
Twelve lovely maids, Lacænæ's noblest pride,
Approach'd the tapestried chamber of the bride;
Led their gay dances at the bridal room,
And fill'd with choral song the festive dome;
To the light measure as they beat the ground,
And glanced their many-twinkling feet around,
'Why sleep, dear bridegroom! (was the nuptial
lay)
Ere night's pale curtain shade the twilight day?
Why thus repose thee on thy downy bed?
Say, have too plenteous wines oppress'd thy head?
Dear bridegroom, slumber, if thou wilt at eve—
Yet leave the bride-the lovely Helen leave?
Come, with her fellow virgins let her play,
And own a mother's care, till dawn of day!
For, if a few short maiden hours be pass'd,
Think, think, impatient man, they are her last!
From morn to night-from year to year thy wife,
Thrice happy bridegroom, she is thine for life!
Sure, Cupid's lucky sneeze inspired thy love,
To seek a father in Saturnian Jove;
And bless'd among the demigods, to gain
The brightest nymph of all the' Achaian train.
If, featured with their mother's charms, they rise,
Well may thy beauteous offspring grace the skies!
Of all our virgin tribes, that oft are seen
Anointed for the revels of the green,
Beside Eurotas' cooling baths—not one
A spotless form, compared with Helen, shone.
For as the cypress in the garden fair,
Or the stall steed that draws Thessalia's car,
Or as the rising of the purple morn,
When far-far off the wintry clouds are borne—
E'en as the morn when spring's soft zephyr blows,
With roseate charms the golden Helen glows.
In toil unrival'd, as in beauty's bloom,
Behold her various labours of the loom!
In webs, no Spartan female e'er display'd
Such colours melting into mellow shade.
See, with unequal'd grace she sweeps the strings;
Whether to her according harp she sings
Minerva's name, or wakes the liquid fire,
In chaste Diana's praise, along the lyre!
See (as the lyric murmurs sweetly die),
Love, charming boy, sits playing in her eye.
Ah, gentle girl! no longer of our train-
Yet we, when morning light illumes the plain,
Will crop the meadow leaves, that sweetly breathe,
To weave for thee a variegated wreath;
And mourn thee, as the solitary lamb
Laments with plaintive cries its absent dam.
Be flowering lotus twined, that loves the ground,
And with its wreath the plane tree branches
crown'd;
While dropping on the shaded turf below,
From silver shells ambrosial unguents flow:
And let us grave this line, in Dorian strain,
• Revere me, traveller: I am Helen's plane.'
Hail, happy pair, by smiling Hymen led,
Hail, happy pair, may Venus bless your bed!
May kind Latona mark your mutual love;
May riches crown your bliss-the gift of Jove!
Long may they grace the' hereditary throne;
And roll, in splendid tides, from sire to son!
Now sleep-and breathing on each breast desire,
Temper with sweet esteem your amorous fire!
Yet rise, as crimson streaks the orient gray-
Remember-we shall chant the choral lay,
Soon as the cock shall stretch his plumed throat,
Shake his gay crest, and sound his early note!
Sleep on, bless'd pair! a numerous offspring raise;
And give to Hymen's joys your golden days!'
IDYLLIUM XIX,
The Honey Stealer.
As Cupid, once, the arrant'st rogue alive, Robb'd the sweet treasures of the fragrant hive, A bee the frolic urchin's finger stung
With many a loud complaint his hands he wrung, Stamp'd wild the ground, his rosy finger blew, And straight, in anguish, to his mother flew: 'Mother (he cried, in tears all frantic drown'd), 'Twas but a little bee! and what a wound!' But she with smiles her hapless boy survey'd, And thus, in chiding accents, sweetly said— 'Of thee a truer type is no where foundWho, though so little, givest so great a wound!'
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