SONG OF HYBRIAS THE CRETAN. My wealth's a burly spear and brand, And a right good shield of hides untann'd, With these I plough, I reap, I sow, With these I make the sweet vintage flow, And all around me truckle. But your wights that take no pride to wield A massy spear and well-made shield, Nor joy to draw the sword: Oh, I bring those heartless, hapless drones, Down in a trice on their marrow-bones, To call me King and Lord. VOL. I. FRAGMENT FROM THE GREEK OF ALCMAN. THE mountain summits sleep: glens, cliffs, and caves, Are silent-all the black earth's reptile brood The bees-the wild beasts of the mountain wood : In depths beneath the dark red ocean's waves Its monsters rest, whilst wrapt in bower and spray Each bird is hush'd that stretch'd its pinions to the day. MARTIAL ELEGY FROM THE GREEK OF TYRTEUS. How glorious fall the valiant, sword in hand, In front of battle for their native land! But oh! what ills await the wretch that yields, A recreant outcast from his country's fields! The mother whom he loves shall quit her home, An aged father at his side shall roam; His little ones shall weeping with him go, And a young wife participate his woe; While scorn'd and scowl'd upon by every face, They pine for food, and beg from place to place. Stain of his breed! dishonouring manhood's form, All ills shall cleave to him: - Affliction's storm Shall blind him wandering in the vale of years, He shall not blush to leave a recreant's name, But we will combat for our fathers' land, And we will drain the life-blood where we stand To save our children :— fight ye side by side, And serried close, ye men of youthful pride, Disdaining fear, and deeming light the cost Of life itself in glorious battle lost. Leave not our sires to stem th' unequal fight, Whose limbs are nerved no more with buoyant might; Nor lagging backward, let the younger breast Permit the man of age (a sight unbless'd) |