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tion. Moreover, though the composition of the martial elegy did not at once lead the Greek Muse into the region of pure fancy and passion, it accustomed her to embody strong feelings in concise expression; it lopped the redundancy of epic diction, and prepared the Greek language for its forthcoming honours of lyric poetry.

Excepting Callinus, however, all the elegiac poets come unequivo. cally within the lyric period. The elegy was strictly a musical poem, and was sung to instrumental accompaniment. This will not seem so much at variance with our notions, as the fact of statutes and morals having been musically promulgated; for we attach to the term elegy the idea of profound, though not of impetuous feeling. It is therefore naturally congenial with music, and approaches, though it does not reach, the character of lyric poetry. To inquire whether the Greek elegy was sung to the lyre, or to any other instrument, and to determine from thence whether we should etymologically call it a lyric poem or not, would be to classify compositions not by nature, but by accident. The affinity between Elegiac and Lyric poetry lies in their being both the distinct effusions of the heart, more peculiarly couched than other poetry in the emphatic and harmonious language of supported sensibility. Their difference consists in elegiac sentiment being equable and deliberate, and in lyric feeling being lively, elate, and impassioned, and, from the alliance of fancy with enthusiasm, various and versatile in its range of associations.

The Elegy, therefore, marches to slow measure, and is not distinguished by rapidity of fancy. Whilst the Lyric poem may vary from rapid to slow movement, and is privileged to use either the tersest regularity, or the boldest variety of rhythin. It is the dream of genius in its most entranced and imaginative mood. There is this in common between the Greek ode and elegy, that both of them at times are solemn. Yet nothing can be well imagined more different than the simple and plain gravity of Tyrtæus, and the high-rapt and visionary solemnity of the Tragic Choral Odes.

The term Elegy is applied to Greek poems of sterner stuff than we should call Elegiac, with the soft and tender associations which we attach to the term. The so called Elegies of Tyrtæus and Callinus are purely martial. Mimnermus is the first elegiast whose style can be called plaintive. His fragments breathe the regrets of an eloquent though sensual genius for departed enjoyments. The elegies of Solon and Theognis lean to the Gnomic class of poetry, rather than to that of sensibility. Simonides wrote poems of this kind : and from the universal testimony of the ancients to his powers of pathos, we may believe them to have been excellent. But the choicest of his fragments is not elegiac. And time has revelled on the noble image of Simonides, so as to leave us but few lines of his syinmetry, by which we can compute what it must have been. I submit a translation of one of the elegies of Tyrtæus, though I am conscious how faintly it represents the fine spirit of the original. It is the elegy generally placed first in the publication of his fragments; beginning

Τεθνάμεναι γαρ καλόν επι προμάχοισι πεσοντα. .

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 wo;
Whilst 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,
Till, lost to all but ignominious fears,
He shall not blush to leave a recreant's name,
And children, like himself, inured to shame.

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 unblessed)
To welter in the combat's foremost thrust,
His hoary head dishevellid in the dust,
And venerable bosom bleeding bare.,

But Youth's fair form, though fallen, is ever fair,
And beautiful in death the boy appears,
· The hero boy, that dies in blooming years :
In man’s regret he lives and woman's tears,
More sacred than in life, and lovelier far,
For having perish'd in the front of war.

The war hymns of Tyrtæus were so popular, that Lycurgus the orator informs us of their having been sung in their camp two hundred years after the time of the poet. They possess a sobriety more peculiar to the Spartan character than to that of Greece at large. There is nothing like transport in these military appeals, no summons to a hurried or headlong attack. That was not the character of Spartan discipline. Its object was to inpsire a devoted magnanimity above impetuosity. Hence even the martial music of this people was purposely calculated not to inflame, but to soothe the spirit of the combatant. They used not the trumpet in their march into battle, says Thucydides, because they wished not to excite the rage of their warriors. Their charging-step was made to the “Dorian mood of flutes and soft recorders. The valour of a Spartan was too highly tempered to require a stunning or rousing impulse. His spirit was like a steed too proud for the spur. Education had hardened his nature into a fortitude that could bear the last polish of serenity. Yet, stoic as he was, there was a holy enjoyment of patriotic battle, mixed with the calm of bis selfpossession. History minutely describes him advancing with a cheerful countenance and majestic pace to close with his enemy; and when he was about to kill or die for his country, he measured his last steps to music that filled him with sweet and solemn associations. It was at once a delightful and terrible sight, says Plutarch, to see them marching on to the tune of their flutes, without ever troubling their order or Vol. II. No. 17.-1822.

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confounding their ranks; their music leading them into danger with a deliberate hope and assurance, as if some Divinity had sensibly assisted them. The issue of those cool and musical approaches pretty generally showed them superior to the most furious onsets.

The Lyric poetry of the Greeks comprehended a vast variety of strains, extending from the most earnest and sacred, to the lightest festive character. Many of their religious hymns, as we have already seen by those of the Homeridæ, partook considerably of the Epic character, that is, they related the actions of the Deities, to whom they were addressed ; and it is probable that the very ancient hymnic poetry of Bacis and Olen was of this narrative description. Greek superstition, however, often poured itself forth in Lyric numbers, and with the characteristic ardour, pride, and pomp of Lyric poetry. It was for furnishing strains of this kind that Pindar was allotted a seat of honour in the temple of Delphi, and a share of the offerings that were made to it. Nor whilst the lyre accompanied hymns at the altar, was it less the companion of song at the social board. The instrument was given from hand to hand at convivial parties; and to play it and sing to it well, was held amongst the most esteemed accomplishments that a Greek could bring into society. In this respect the national manners were widely different from those of the Romans, who, in later times at least, thought it disreputable to sing at banquets.* The Greeks considered music as a branch of liberal education, so that a supper at Rome, whatever it might have been to the palate, must have been much less agreeable to the ear than at Athens.

The singing at a Greek entertainment commenced with an anthem in honour of one or other of the gods, in which all the company joined. This religious custom, a relic of sober antiquity, seems to have been kept up in ages less distinguished by habitual piety, just as “ Non Nobis Domine” is sung after a modern dinner, or a grace repeated in our own graceless times. When the pæan was finished, the host gave the lyre to the guest beside him, and challenged him for a song; and the most learned authorities solemnly assure us that there was no possibility for the bashful or bad singer to escape obeying this command. When he had complied, he had a right, in turn, to compel his neighbour to warble ; and thus the song went completely round. If any one was awkward at the lyre, he was permitted to sing without it, simply holding a myrtle branch in his hand; but from singing there was no refuge, as under the milder system of modern manners, either in the apology of a cold, or the offer to tell a story. There was another species of songs to which the name of Scolia seems most particularly to belong; which did not circulate regularly, but partook more of the nature of wit combats. Some one of the company sung a strain, and gave the lyre and challenge to any one he chose, who, if he wished to support his credit, sung different words and turns of thought on the same

This was not always the case, however:-“Utinam extarent,” says Cicero, “ illa carmina quæ multis sæculis ante suam ætatem in epulis esse cantitata à singulis convivis de clarorum virorum laudibus in originibus scriptum reliquit Cato.”

CICERO, Brut. 19. 1 Plutarch Sympos. I. Qu. 1.-πρωτον μεν ηδον ωδην κοινως απαντες μια φωνη παιαναζοντες. .

# Ilgen de Scol. Poesi.

subject, either from memory or extemporaneously. This kind of song, Professor Ilgen maintains, derived the name of Scolion from the oblique direction in which it passed among the rival songsters. The Scolion was of all different characters, from the utmost gravity of morals and mythology to the loosest jollity.

When the wine had circulated for a certain time however, we may conceive that a rivalship, which was likely to be confined to the wits of the party, would be felt rather unsociable; and that the songs which required neither a retentive memory nor powers of improvisation would be resumed, and conclude the entertainment. The Kōmos was the song peculiar to the mellowest state of inebriety; and, according to Suidas, was the serenade which the tipsy lover sung at untimely hours before his mistress's habitation, sometimes concluding it, when she was unkind, with smashing her windows.

The example of Terpander, Archilochus, and Alcman, in Lyric poetry, was followed by a rich and numerous succession of poets in the same walk of composition; of whom Stesichorus, Alcæus, Sappho, Simonides, Ibycus, Bacchylides, and Anacreon, are the names of most eminent reputation. Their united æras fill up a space of about two hundred years; during which time they peculiarly enriched three out of the four dialects of Greek.- In the lonic, we have still the gay relics of Anacreon. Lesbos gave Alcæus and Sappho as ornaments to the Æolic dialect; and that island must have been a favourite haunt of the Lyric Muse, since it also claimed the memory of Terpander and Arion. Pindar, in the Doric dialect, perfected this species of poetry, and stands at the head of it in the universal estimation. Yet, if it be not treason to his acknowledged supremacy, I would say, that deplorably scanty as are the relics of the preceding lyrists, there are traits in them of a simple power over the affections, which are not to be met with in the more magnificent art with which Pindar addresses the imagination Of the Lyric poets I shall treat more in detail in another Lecture.

The Milk-Maid and the Banker.
A Milk-maid with a very pretty face,

Who lived at Acton,
Had a black Cow, the ugliest in the place,

A crooked-back'd one,
A beast as dangerous, too, as she was frightful,

Vicious and spiteful,
And so confirmed a truant, that she bounded
Over the hedges daily, and got pounded.
"Twas all in vain to tie her with a tether,
For then both cord and cow eloped together.
Armed with an oaken bough, (what folly!
It should have been of birch, or thorn, or holly,)
Patty one day was driving home the beast,

Which bad, as usual, slipp'd its anchor,

When on the road she met a certain Banker,
Who stopp'd to give his eyes a feast
By gazing on her features, crimson'd high
By a long cow-chase in July,

“Are you from Acton, pretty lass?" he cried :

Yes," - with a curtsey she replied. “Why then you know the laundress, Sally Wrench ?”

“She is my cousin, Sir, and next door neighbour.” “ That's lucky-I've a message for the wench,

Which needs despatch, and you may save my labour.
Give her this kiss, my dear, and say I sent it,
But mind, you owe me one I've only lent it.”
“She shall know," cried the girl, as she brandish'd her bough,

“Of the loving intentions you bore me;
But as to the kiss, as there's haste, you'll allow
That you'd better run forward and give it my Cow,
For she, at the rate she is scampering now,

Will reach Acton some minutes before me.”

The Farmer's Wife and the Gascon.

At Neuchatel, in France, where they prepare

Cheeses that set us longing to be mites, There dwelt a farmer's wife famed for her rare

Skill in these small quadrangular delights. Where they were made, they sold for the immense

Price of three sous a-piece;

But as salt water made their charms increase, In England the fix'd rate was eighteen-pence. This damsel bad to help her in the farm,

To milk her cows and feed her hogs, A Gascon peasant, with a sturdy arm

For digging or for carrying logs,
But in his noddle weak as any baby,

In fact a gaby,
And such a glutton when you came to feed him,

That Wantley's dragon, who “ate barns and churches,

As if they were geese and turkies,"
(Vide the Ballad,) scarcely could exceed him.
One morn she had prepared a monstrous bowl

Of cream like nectar,
And wouldn't go to church (good careful soul!)

Till she had left it safe with a protector;
So she gave strict injunctions to the Gascon,
To watch it while his mistress was to mass gone.
Watch it he did-he never took his eyes off,

But lick'd his upper, then his under lip,
And doubled up his fist to drive the flies off,
Begrudging them the smallest sip,

Which if they got,
Like my Lord Salisbury, he heaved a sigh,
And cried—"O happy, happy fly,

How I do envy you your lot!"
Each moment did his appetite grow stronger;

His bowels yearn’d;
At length he could not bear it any longer,

But on all sides his looks he turn'd,
And finding that the coast was clear, he quaft'd
The whole up at a draught.

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