A Handbook for Latin Clubs Part 25

[Footnote 5: Anacreon was a Greek society poet, living in the sixth century B.C.]

THE a.s.sEMBLY OF THE G.o.dS

O'er rolling stars, from heavenly stalls advancing, The coaches soon were seen, and a long train Of mules with litters, horses fleet and prancing, Their trappings all embroidery, nothing plain; And with fine liveries, in the sunbeams glancing, More than a hundred servants, rather vain Of handsome looks and of their stature tall, Followed their masters to the Council Hall.

First came the Prince of Delos, Phoebus hight, In a gay travelling carriage, fleetly drawn By six smart Spanish chestnuts, s.h.i.+ning bright, Which with their tramping shook the aerial lawn; Red was his cloak, three-c.o.c.ked his hat, and light Around his neck the golden fleece was thrown; And twenty-four sweet damsels, nectar-sippers, Were running near him in their pumps or slippers.

Pallas, with lovely but disdainful mien, Came on a nag of Basignanian race; Tight round her leg, and gathered up, was seen Her gown, half Greek, half Spanish; o'er her face Part of her hair hung loose, a natural screen, Part was tied up, and with becoming grace; A bunch of feathers on her head she wore, And on her saddle-bow her falchion bore.

But Ceres and the G.o.d of Wine appeared At once, conversing; and the G.o.d of Ocean Upon a dolphin's back his form upreared, Floating through waves of air with graceful motion; Naked, all sea-weed, and with mud besmeared; For whom his mother Rhea feels emotion, Reproaching his proud brother, when she meets him, Because so like a fisherman he treats him.

Diana, the sweet virgin, was not there; She had risen early and o'er woodland green Had gone to wash her clothes in fountain fair Upon the Tuscan sh.o.r.e--romantic scene.

And not returning till the northern star Had rolled through dusky air and lost its sheen, Her mother made excuses quite provoking, Knitting at the time, a worsted stocking.

Juno-Lucina did not go--and why?

She anxious wished to wash her sacred head.

Menippus, Jove's chief taster, standing by For the disastrous Fates excuses made.

They had much tow to spin, and lint to dry, And they were also busy baking bread.

The cellarman, Silenus, kept away, To water the domestics' wine, that day.

On starry benches sit the famous warriors Of the immortal kingdom, in a ring; Now drums and cymbals, echoing to the barriers, Announce the coming of the gorgeous king; A hundred pages, valets, napkin-carriers Attend, and their peculiar offerings bring.

And after them, armed with his club so hard, Alcides, captain of the city guard.

With Jove's broad hat and spectacles arrived The light-heeled Mercury; in his hand he bore A sack, in which, of other means deprived, He d.a.m.ned poor mortals' prayers, some million score; Those he disposed in vessels, well contrived, Which graced his father's cabinet of yore; And, wont attention to all claims to pay, He regularly signed them twice a day.

Then Jove himself, in royal habit dressed, With starry diadem upon his head, And o'er his shoulders an imperial vest Worn upon holidays.--The king displayed A sceptre, pastoral shape, with hooked crest: In a rich jacket too was he arrayed, Given by the inhabitants of Sericane, And Ganymede held up his splendid train.

--A. Ta.s.soni

A MODEL YOUNG LADY OF ANTIQUITY

(Pliny, the Younger, writes the following in a letter relative to the death of Minicia Marcella, the daughter of his friend, Funda.n.u.s.)

Tristissimus haec tibi scribo, Fundani nostri filia minore defuncta, qua puella nihil umquam festivius, amabilius, nec modo longiore vita sed prope immortalitate dignius vidi. Nondum annos quattuor decem impleverat, et iam illi anilis prudentia, matronalis gravitas erat, et tamen suavitas puellaris c.u.m virginali verecundia. Ut illa patris cervicibus inhaerebat! Ut nos amicos paternos et amanter et modeste complectabatur! ut nutrices, ut paedagogos, ut praeceptores, pro suo quemque officio diligebat! quam studiose, quam intellegenter lect.i.tabat!

ut parce custoditeque ludebat! Qua illa temperantia, qua patientia, qua etiam constantia novissimam valetudinem tulit! Medicis obsequebatur, sororem, patrem adhortabatur, ipsamque se dest.i.tutam corporis viribus vigore animi sustinebat. Duravit hic illi usque ad extremum nec aut spatio valetudinis aut metu mortis infractus est, quo plures gravioresque n.o.bis causas relinqueret et desiderii et doloris. O triste plane acerb.u.mque funus! O morte ipsa mortis tempus indignius! Iam destinata erat egregio iuveni, iam electus nuptiarum dies, iam nos vocati. Quod gaudium quo maerore mutatum est! Nec possum exprimere verbis quantum anima vulnus acceperim, c.u.m audivi Fundanum ipsum, praecipientem, quod in vestes margarita gemmas fuerat erogaturus, hoc in tus et unguenta et odores impenderetur.

--C. Pliny. _Epist._ v, 16

Translation

I have the saddest news to tell you. Our friend Funda.n.u.s has lost his youngest daughter. I never saw a girl more cheerful, more lovable, more worthy of long life--nay, of immortality. She had not yet completed her fourteenth year, and she had already the prudence of an old woman, the gravity of a matron, and still, with all maidenly modesty, the sweetness of a girl. How she would cling to her father's neck! how affectionately and discreetly she would greet us, her father's friends! how she loved her nurses, her attendants, her teachers,--everyone according to his service. How earnestly, how intelligently, she used to read! How modest was she and restrained in her sports! And with what self-restraint, what patience--nay, what courage--she bore her last illness! She obeyed the physicians, encouraged her father and sister, and, when all strength of body had left her, kept herself alive by the vigor of her mind. This vigor lasted to the very end, and was not broken by the length of her illness or by the fear of death; so leaving, alas! to us yet more and weightier reasons for our grief and our regret. Oh the sadness, the bitterness of that death! Oh the cruelty of the time when we lost her, worse even than the loss itself! She had been betrothed to a n.o.ble youth; the marriage day had been fixed, and we had been invited. How great a joy changed into how great a sorrow! I cannot express in words how it went to my heart when I heard Funda.n.u.s himself (this is one of the grievous experiences of sorrow) giving orders that what he had meant to lay out on dresses, and pearls, and jewels, should be spent on incense, unguents, and spices.

--Tr. Alfred J. Church

TO LESBIA'S SPARROW

Lugete, o Veneres Cupidinesque, Et quantumst hominum venustiorum.

Pa.s.ser mortuus est meae puellae, Pa.s.ser, deliciae meae puellae, Quem plus illa oculis suis amabat: Nam mellitus erat suamque norat Ipsa tam bene quam puella matrem, Nec sese a gremio illius movebat, Sed circ.u.msiliens modo huc modo illuc Ad solam dominam usque pipiabat.

Qui nunc it per iter tenebricosum Illuc unde negant redire quemquam.

At vobis male sit, malae tenebrae Orci, quae omnia bella devoratis: Tam bellum mihi pa.s.serem abstulistis.

O factum male! io miselle pa.s.ser!

Tua nunc opera meae puellae Flendo turgiduli rubent ocelli.

--Catullus

Translation

Each Love, each Venus, mourn with me!

Mourn, every son of gallantry!

The sparrow, my own nymph's delight, The joy and apple of her sight; The honey-bird, the darling dies, To Lesbia dearer than her eyes, As the fair one knew her mother, So he knew her from another.

With his gentle lady wrestling, In her snowy bosom nestling; With a flutter and a bound, Quiv'ring round her and around; Chirping, twitt'ring, ever near, Notes meant only for her ear.

Now he skims the shadowy way, Whence none return to cheerful day.

Beshrew the shades! that thus devour All that's pretty in an hour.

The pretty sparrow thus is dead; The tiny fugitive is fled.

Deed of spite! poor bird!--ah! see, For thy dear sake, alas! for me!-- My nymph with brimful eyes appears, Red from the flus.h.i.+ng of her tears.

--Elton

CICERO

The following tribute to Cicero was written by Catullus, the Roman lyric poet (87-54 B.C.)

Disertissime Romuli nepotum, Quot sunt quotque fuere, Marce Tulli, Quot que post aliis erunt in annis, Gratius tibi maximas Catullus Agit, pessimus omnium poeta, Tanto pessimus omnium poeta Quanto tu optimus omnium patronum.

Translation

Tully, most eloquent, most sage Of all the Roman race, That deck the past or present age, Or future days may grace.

Oh! may Catullus thus declare An overflowing heart; And, though the worst of poets, dare A grateful lay impart!

'Twill teach thee how thou hast surpast All others in thy line; For, far as he in his is last, Art thou the first in thine.

--Charles Lamb

_DE PATIENTIA_

Patiendo fit h.o.m.o melior, Auro pulchrior, Vitro clarior, Laude dignior, Gradu altior, A vitiis purgatior, Virtutibus perfectior, Iesu Christo acceptior, Sanctis quoque similior, Hostibus suis fortior, Amicis amabilior.

--Thomas a Kempis

THE FAVORITE PRAYER OF MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS[6]