so versatile, so successful as the Greek. The Roman, often outstripped in the competition, felt that that which was his by rights was gradually slipping away from him. The nation by the great, admired, carest, And hated, shunned by me, above the rest, No longer now, restrained by wounded pride, I haste to show (nor thou my warmth deride), I cannot rule my spleen, and calmly see, A Grecian capital, in Italy! Grecian? O no! with this vast sewer compared, The dregs of Greece are scarcely worth regard: Long since, the stream that wanton Syria laves Has disembogued its filth in Tiber's waves, Its language, arts; o'erwhelmed us with the scum Of torrent tongue, and never-blushing face; Which shifts to every form, and shines in all: Grammarian, painter, augur, rhetorician, Rope-dancer, conjurer, fiddler, physician, All trades his own your hungry Greekling counts; And bid him mount the sky-the sky he mounts! You smile-was't a barbarian, then, that flew? No, 'twas a Greek; 'twas an Athenian, too! -Bear with their state who will: for I disdain To feed their upstart pride, or swell their train: Slaves, that in Syrian lighters stowed, so late, With figs and prunes (an inauspicious freight), Already see their faith preferred to mine, And sit above me! and before me sign!That on the Aventime I first drew air, Of Antioch's streets, its minstrel, harp, And, from the womb, was nursed on See! they step forth, and figure to the life, The naked nymph, the mistress, or the wife, So just, you view the very woman there, And fancy all beneath the girdle bare! No longer now, the favourites of the stage Boast their exclusive power to charm the age: The happy art with them a nation shares, Greece is a theatre, where all are players. For lo! their patron smiles,-they burst with mirth; He weeps they droop, the saddest souls on earth; He calls for fire-they court the mantle's heat; 'Tis warm, he cries-and they dissolve in Foh! how it savors of the dregs of lust, When an old hag, whose blandishments disgust, Affects the infant lisp, the girlish squeak, And mumbles out, "My life!" "My soul!" in Greek.. Women support the Bar; they love the law, And raise litigious questions for a straw; They meet in private, and prepare the Bill, Draw up the Instructions with a lawyer's skill, Suggest to Celsus where the merits lie, And dictate points for statement or reply. Nay, more, they fence! who has not marked their oil, Their purple rugs for this preposterous toil? Room for the lady-lo! she seeks the list, And fiercely tilts at her antagonist, A post! which, with her buckler, she provokes, And bores and batters with repeated strokes; Till all the fencer's art can do she shows, And the glad master interrupts her blows. O worthy, sure, to head those wanton dames, Who foot it naked at the Floral games; Unless, with nobler daring, she aspire, And tempt the arena's bloody field-for hire! What sense of shame is to that female known, Who envies our pursuits, and hates her own? Yet would she not, though proud in arms to shine (True woman still), her sex for ours resign. But she is more intolerable yet, Who plays the critic when at table set; Calls Virgil charming, and attempts to prove Poor Dido right, in venturing all for love. From Maro, and Mæonides, she quotes The striking passages, and, while she notes Their beauties and defects, adjusts her scales, And accurately weighs which bard prevails. The astonished guests sit mute: grammarians yield, Loud rhetoricians, baffled, quit the field; Even auctioneers and lawyers stand aghast, And now a woman speaks!-So thick and fast, The wordy shower descends, that you would swear A thousand bells were jangling in your ear, A thousand basins clattering. Vex no more Your trumpets and your timbrels, as of yore, To ease the laboring moon; her single yell Can drown their clangor, and dissolve the spell. -WILLIAM GIFFORD. THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES JUVENAL [From Satires X] This is ever a favorite theme of the moralist. Juvenal's treatment of it is more like that of an essayist than of a satirist. It is inspired not by direct observations of life, as in Horace, but by reading and meditation on abstractions. In every clime, from Ganges' distant stream To Gades, gilded by the western beam, What plan, how happily soe'er begun, Cursed with their prayers, by too indul- Bewildered thus by folly or by fate, Even strength itself is fatal; Milo tries His wondrous arms, and-in the trial dies! Yet none from earthen bowls destruction sip: Dread then the draught, when, mantling, at your lip, The goblet sparkles, radiant from the mine, And the broad gold inflames the ruby wine. And do we, now, admire the stories told But avarice wider spreads her deadly Of the two Sages, so renowned of old; Hoards, which o'er all paternal fortunes rise, As o'er the dolphin towers the whale in For this, in other times, at Nero's word, derous sword, How this forever laughed, whene'er he stepped Beyond the threshold; that, forever wept? But all can laugh:-the wonder yet appears, What fount supplied the eternal stream of tears! Democritus, at every step he took, His sides with unextinguished laughter shook, Rushed to the swelling coffers of the Though, in his days, Abdera's simple great, Chased Lateranus from his lordly seat, While sweetly in their cocklofts slept the And heard no soldier thundering at their door. The traveler, freighted with a little wealth, Sets forth at night, and wins his way by stealth: Even then, he fears the bludgeon and the blade, And starts and trembles at a rush's shade; While, void of care, the beggar trips along, And, in the spoiler's presence, trolls his song. The first great wish, that all with rap towns No fasces knew, chairs, litters, purple Add, too, the zeal of clients robed in Who hang upon his reins, and grace the Yes, in those days, in every varied scene, The good old man found matter for his spleen: A wondrous sage! whose story makes it clear That men may rise in folly's atmosphere, Beneath Boeotian fogs, of soul sublime, And great examples to the coming time.He laughed aloud to see the vulgar fears, Laughed at their joys, and sometimes at their tears: Secure the while, he mocked at Fortune's frown, And when she threatened, bade her hang or drown! Superfluous then, or fatal, is the prayer, Which to the Immortals' knees we fondly bear. Some, Power hurls headlong from her envied height, Some, the broad tablet, flashing on the sight, With titles, names: the statues, tumbled down, Are dragged by hooting thousands through the town; The brazen cars torn rudely from the yoke, What lips! what cheeks! ha, traitor!for my part, I never loved the fellow-in my heart." "But tell me; Why was he adjudged to bleed? And who discovered? and who proved the deed?" "Proved!-a huge, wordy letter came to-day From Capreæ." Good! what think the people? They! They follow fortune, as of old, and hate, With their whole souls, the victim of the state. Yet would the herd, thus zealous, thus on fire, Had Nurscia met the Tuscan's fond desire, And crushed the unwary prince, have all combined, And hailed Sejanus, Master of Mankind! For since their votes have been no longer bought, All public care has vanished from their thought; And those who once, with unresisted sway, Gave armies, empire, everything, away, For two poor claims, have long renounced the whole, And, with the blameless steeds, to shivers And only ask-the Circus and the Dole. broke "But there are more to suffer." "So I find; A fire so fierce for one was ne'er de signed. I met my friend Brutidius, and I fear, "But let our slaves be there," another cries: "Yes; let them (lest our ardor they forswear, And drag us, pinioned, to the Bar) be there." |