and distresses the fascination which he exercised upon all who approached him-the wisdom and beauty and power of his teaching, with its intermixture of mystic weakness are not for us to record. In all this he was still a poet; and those who sat at his feet and listened to the half-inspired monologue which only the necessities of human weakness ever really seem to have interrupted, were under the dominion as much of the improvisatore as of the philosopher. But still the strain had altered his garland and singing-robes had been put aside; and he who chanted "with happy heart" on the sunny heights of Quantock, had suffered many changes ere he became the inmate of the invalid chamber at Highgate. It is most touching to remember that he went there, putting himself under voluntary restraint, in order to overcome the fatal habit which had enslaved him. Upon that last sphere, however, with its peacefulness tinged by melancholy, its conflict softened down by calming influences of age and care, we will not attempt to enter. He died there, so far as is apparent, at peace with all, mourned by the children to whom he had fulfilled few of the duties of a father, and defended in his grave by the relatives who had done little to aid his life. The Sara of his youth, whatever had been her wrongs, uttered no word of complaint before the world; and a second Sara, beautiful and gifted as became the child of a poet, appeared out of the privacy of life only to hold up a shield of love and reverence over her father's name. Thus, let us thank Heaven, after his many sins and censures, he received as a man better than he deserved at last from the relentings of natural love. But as a poet it would be difficult to allot him more than he deserves. No English minstrel has ever merited a higher or more perfect place among the thrones of our poetic heaven. NINE IDYLLS OF BION. THESE versions were made purely for my own pleasure, and not with any purpose to provoke comparison with those of previous translators. The steady readers of 'Maga,' who have yet a classical tooth left in their heads, and are curious in such matters, may, however, remember that three of Bion's Idylls were long ago translated in her pages:-the First, and greatest, very elegantly, by Mr M. J. Chapman, in July 1835; the Second, in April 1837; the Third, in May 1834, and a second time in April 1837, in the same Paper which contained a youthful attempt at the famous Ode of Sappho, my own earliest contribution to the Magazine. A hundred other scattered renderings of particular Idylls are in print elsewhere (ex. gr., four in Bland's Anthology); but they are seldom, I believe, to be found all together. I translate from Gaisford's Edition of the 'Poetæ Græci Minores;' and have given, I think, everything (except the merest fragments), rightly or wrongly attributed to Bion, which is worth translating.-HENRY KING. IDYLL I. THE LAMENT FOR ADONIS. I WAIL Adonis ! fair Adonis dead! I wail Adonis, and the echoing Loves I wail Adonis ! and the echoing Loves Around their youthful master whine and howl IO 20 Her passing limbs and drink her sacred blood. Her Boy-But him the dark blood, spouting high "Alas!"-the mountains and the forests cry- For Aphrodite's sorrow;-'mid the hills 30 40 The fountains for Adonis weep ;—and all The grieving flowers are wet with crimson tears. But She through mountain-pass, through thorp and town, Woe! woe for Cytherea !--he is dead, The fair Adonis !-Echo answers "Dead! She, when as from that hideous wound she saw 50 "Not all expires,-while yet through heart and frame 60 "Can drink and drain their nectar!-Evermore "To me the memory of that kiss shall be * * Was this line in Tennyson's mind, when he wrote "Dear as remembered kisses after Death"? 70 + In all the range of Poetry I know no lament for survivorship so simple and tender as these words ὁ δὲ τάλαινα ζώω, καὶ Θεὸς ἐμμὶ, καὶ οὐ δύναμαι σε διώκειν and can only feel how impossible it is to render them worthily. "Whate'er is beautiful! Ah me! for aye My sorrow, though for ever, evermore, "I weep Adonis, and with jealous fear "Dread thee, dark Goddess!-Diest thou so, O thrice "The Loves mope idle, and the Cestus lacks "The spell that charmed thee living, dead with thee !— "What madness made thee hunt? Ah! why should one 80 "So fair as thou with savage beasts contend?" So Cypris wailed-so with her wailed the Loves. The fair Adonis ! and for him the tears Of Paphia gush as fast as from his wound The crimson life-drops, that, with touch of earth I wail Adonis! fair Adonis dead! The couch, with foliage pillowed soft and fair :- 90 To thee he yet is lovely!-Garlands bring And flowers to deck him with, though of all flowers 100 The fragrance perished when Adonis died :— "Ai! ai! for Cytherea !" wail the Loves. VOL. CX.-NO. DCLXXIII. "Alas!" each echoes each-" Adonis dead! Cease thy lamenting, Cypris !-for to-day IDYLL II. EROS AND THE FOWLER. A youthful fowler for his feathered game He hied, and told his chance :-and "There," he said, 130 ΙΟ 20 * IDYLL III. THE TUTOR AND THE PUPIL. At dawn, while yet I slept, beside my bed To Earth his noddling head :-and thus to me Koppav-Gaisford's, or Ruhnken's, happy emendation of the ordinary reading, kúμwv. |