FROM THEOCRITUS.

IYDLL. VII.

SCARCE midway were we yet, nor yet descried

The stone that hides what once was Brasidas:

When there drew near a wayfarer from Crete,

Young Lycidas, the Muses' votary.

The horned herd was his care: a glance might tell

So much for every inch a herdsman he.

Slung o'er his shoulder was a ruddy hide
Torn from a he-goat, shaggy, tangle-haired,
That reeked of rennet yet: a broad belt clasped
A patched cloak round his breast, and for a staff
A gnarled wild-olive bough his right hand bore.
Soon with a quiet smile he spoke his eye

Twinkled, and laughter sat upon his lip:

"And whither ploddest thou thy weary way

Beneath the noontide sun, Simichides?

For now the lizard sleeps upon the wall,

The crested lark hath closed his wandering wing.

Speed'st thou, a bidd'n guest, to some reveller's

board?

Or townwards, to the treading of the grape ?

For lo! recoiling from thy hurrying feet

The pavement-stones ring out right merrily."

SPEECH OF AJAX.

SOPH. Aj. 645.

LL strangest things the multitudinous years

ALL

Bring forth, and shadow from us all we know.

Falter alike great oath and steeled resolve;

And none shall say of aught, 'This may not be.' Lo! I myself, but yesterday so strong,

As new-dipt steel am weak and all unsexed

By yonder woman: yea I mourn for them,

Widow and orphan, left amid their foes.

But I will journey seaward-where the shore
Lies meadow-fringed-so haply wash away

My sin, and flee that wrath that weighs me down.
And, lighting somewhere on an untrodden way,

I will bury this my lance, this hateful thing,

Deep in some earth-hole where no eye shall see

N

Night and Hell keep it in the underworld!

For never to this day, since first I grasped

The gift that Hector gave, my bitterest foe,
Have I reaped aught of honour from the Greeks.

So true that byword in the mouths of men,

"A foeman's gifts are no gifts, but a curse."

Wherefore henceforward shall I know that God

Is great; and strive to honour Atreus' sons.

Princes they are, and should be obeyed. How else?

Do not all terrible and most puissant things

Yet bow to loftier majesties? The Winter,

Who walks forth scattering snows, gives place anon

To fruitage-laden Summer; and the orb

Of weary Night doth in her turn stand by,

And let shine out, with her white steeds, the Day:

Stern tempest-blasts at last sing lullaby

To groaning seas: even the arch-tyrant, Sleep,

Doth loose his slaves, not hold them chained for

ever.

And shall not mankind too learn discipline?

I know, of late experience taught, that him

Who is my foe I must but hate as one

Whom I may yet call Friend: and him who loves

me

Will I but serve and cherish as a man

Whose love is not abiding. Few be they

Who, reaching Friendship's port, have there found

rest.

But, for these things they shall be well. Go thou, Lady, within, and there pray that the Gods May fill unto the full my heart's desire. And ye, my mates, do unto me with her Like honour: bid young Teucer, if he come, To care for me, but to be your friend still. For where my way leads, thither I shall go: Do ye my bidding; haply ye may hear,

Though now is my dark hour, that I have peace.