HESIOD.

From the Works and Days.

CREATION OF PANDORA.

THE food of man in deep concealment lies,
The angry Gods have veil'd it from our eyes.
Else had one day bestow'd sufficient cheer,
And though inactive fed thee through the year.
Then might thy hand have laid the rudder by,
In black'ning smoke for ever hung on high;
Then had the labouring ox foregone the soil,
And patient mules had found reprieve from toil,
But Jove conceal'd our food, incensed at heart
Since mock'd by wise Prometheus' wily art.
Sore ills to man devised the Heavenly Sire,
And hid the shining element of fire.
Prometheus, then, benevolent of soul,

In hollow reed the spark recovering stole,
Cheering to man, and mock'd the God whose gaze
Serene rejoices in the lightning's rays.

"Oh son of Japhet! with indignant heart

Spake the Cloud-gatherer; oh unmatch'd in art!
Exultest thou in this the flame retriev'd,

And dost thou triumph in the God deceiv'd?
But thou, with the posterity of man,

Shalt rue the fraud whence mightier ills began:
I will send evil for thy stealthy fire,

An ill which all shall love, and all desire."

The Sire who rules the earth and sways the

pole

Had said, and laughter fill'd his secret soul,
He bade the crippled God his hest obey,
And mould with tempering water plastic clay;
Imbreathe the human voice within her breast,
With firm-strung nerves th' elastic limbs invest:
Her aspect fair as Goddesses above,

A virgin's likeness with the brows of love.
He bade Minerva teach the skill that dies
The web with colours as the shuttle flies:
He call'd the magic of love's charming queen
To breathe around a witchery of mien:
Then plant the rankling stings of keen desire,
And cares that trick the limbs with prank'd attire:

Bade Hermes last impart the craft refined
Of thievish manners and a shameless mind.

He gives command, th' inferior powers obey, The crippled artist moulds the temper'd clay: A maid's coy image rose at Jove's behest; Minerva clasp'd the zone, diffused the vest; Adored Persuasion and the Graces young Her taper'd limbs with golden jewels hung; Round her smooth brow the beauteous-tressed

Hours

A garland twined of Spring's purpureal flowers;
The whole attire Minerva's graceful art,
Disposed, adjusted, form'd to every part;
And last the winged herald of the skies,
Slayer of Argus, gave the gift of lies;
Gave trickish manners, honey'd words instill'd,
As he that rolls the deep'ning thunder will'd:
Then by the feather'd messenger of Heaven,
The name Pandora to the maid was given:
For all the Gods conferr'd a gifted grace
To crown this mischief of the mortal race.

The Sire commands the winged herald bear

f

The finish'd nymph, th' inextricable snare:

To Epimetheus was the present brought;
Prometheus' warning vanish'd from his thought:
That he disclaim each offering from the skies,
And straight restore, lest ill to man arise.
But he received, and conscious knew too late
Th' insidious gift, and felt the curse of fate,

On earth of yore the sons of men abode
From evil free and labour's galling load;
Free from diseases that with racking rage
Precipitate the pale decline of age.
Now swift the days of manhood haste away,
And misery's pressure turns the temples gray.
The woman's hands an ample casket bear:
She lifts the lid-she scatters ills in air,
Hope sole remain'd within, nor took her flight,
Beneath the vessel's verge conceal'd from light:
Or ere she fled, the maid, advised by Jove,
Seal'd fast th' unbroken cell, and dropp'd the lid
above.

Issued the rest in quick dispersion hurl'd,

And woes innumerous roam'd the breathing world: With ills the land is full, with ills the sea; Diseases haunt our frail humanity: