Part 21

wears sometimes a cap, with a rod in her hand, both signs of independence, as the latter was used by the magistrates in the manumission of slaves, and the cap was worn by those who were to be soon liberated, while at other times she appears in a chariot.

She is, however, more frequently represented holding the book of the laws, and in her hand a sword with which to defend them.

A temple was raised to her by Gracchus on Mount Aventine, adorned with elegant statues and brazen columns, with a gallery in which were deposited the public acts of the state.

VICTORY.

Styx, daughter of Ocean and Thetis, was the mother of Victory. This deity attended at the conquests of all countries and of all heroes. At Italy and Greece, temples were elevated to her; at Greece she was named Nice, and Sylla instituted festivals in her honour at the former place. In the temple of Jupiter, on the Capitoline hill, a golden statue of the goddess was placed, weighing three hundred and twenty pounds.

A thunderbolt having fallen on the statue and broken its wings, Pompey restored the courage of the people, who were dejected at the accident, by crying,

"Romans! the gods have broken the wings of Victory; henceforth she cannot escape from us." {251}

Victory, by the commands of her mother, aided Jupiter in his battle with the Titans; and the monarch of Olympus to reward her powerful services, decreed that the Gods should swear by her, and that those who violated the oath, should be exiled ten years from the celestial court, and deprived of the nectar and ambrosia of Olympus.

VOLUPTUOUSNESS

is a female figure, nearly naked, her hair wreathed with roses, and her face and form, full, but exquisitely developed.

In her hand is a cup of gold, from which a serpent is drinking, while around her are supposed to exist all the luxuries which attend her reign.

She was the goddess of sensual pleasures, and had a temple at Rome, where she was worshipped under the title of Volupia.

CALUMNY AND ENVY

are the daughters of Night, and though poets have been peculiarly the victims of these evils, yet they have frequently celebrated them in their verses; nor could more important engines in the mischiefs which arose in the world be well chosen; for, from Calumny, which is the offspring of Falsehood, arises crushed hearts and broken friendships--while of Envy it has well been remarked, "Open your heart once to receive her as a guest, and farewell to joy, peace, and contentment." {252}

FAMINE

is the daughter of Night, and inhabited the infernal regions, though the Lacedemonians dedicated to her an altar in the Temple of Minerva.

She is drawn miserable, pale, wan, meagre, and dejected: her eyes hollow and sunken, her complexion of a leaden hue, her teeth yellow, and her whole appearance worn and melancholy.

DISCORD,

daughter of Night, is the mother of a family of evils, almost too numerous to mention. Having been refused admission to the nuptials of Thetis and Peleus, it is said that it was she, who, to revenge herself, threw on the table among the festal company, the apple, with the inscription, "To the most beautiful."

This apple was the origin of the Trojan war, and of innumerable misfortunes to the Greeks.

The goddess is represented with a pale and ghastly look, her garments torn, her eyes sparkling with fire, holding a dagger concealed in her bosom. Her head is generally enwreathed with serpents, and she is imagined to be the cause of all the miseries, dissensions, and quarrels, which fall upon the inhabitants of the earth. {253}

We have now enumerated the most remarkable of the Allegorical Divinities, the number being too great to mention all. For the same reason we must omit the crowd of Emperors, Kings, and Princes, who, having the folly to believe themselves gods, found mortals sufficiently weak to grant them faith, and to accord them homage.

In concluding the Greek Mythology, however, we must mention several fables, which are so intimately connected therewith, as almost to form part of its history.

* * * * *

PHILEMON AND BAUCIS.

Philemon and Baucis were an aged couple, of Phrygia, who, unblessed by the goods of fortune, found in their mutual and deep affection, a happiness, which nothing could overwhelm.

"There Had lived long married and a happy pair Now old in love, tho' little was their store, Inured to want, their poverty they bore, Nor aimed at wealth, professing to be poor."

As they were sitting together, enjoying the sweets of mutual affection, two travellers, with a melancholy and impoverished appearance, after having asked hospitality, and been refused by the inhabitants of the village, sought refuge under their humble roof. Unaccustomed to visitors, they were, however, received by them with kindness, and invited to partake of a modest repast.

As they sate in kind communion, the forms of those whom they entertained suddenly changed, and they beheld Jupiter and Mercury in the place of the miserable beings they had received; the ancient couple throwing themselves on their knees, offered to their guests the deep homage of their hearts.

The Gods were pleased with their entertainment; but could not forget the inhospitality with which they had been received by their countrymen, and let loose the waves, and sent the thunderbolt to consume the town and its inhabitants. Philemon and Baucis, were, however, saved, and a superb temple replaced their lowly dwelling, of which they were made the priests.

They lived long and happily, and having entreated Jupiter that neither might outlive the other, they both died on the same day, and their bodies were changed into trees, and placed before the {254} door of the Temple which had arisen on the ruins of their lowly cottage.

"Lost in a lake the floated level lies; A watery desert covers all the plains, Their cot alone, as on an isle, remains Wond'ring with weeping eyes, while they deplore Their neighbours' fate, and country now no more, Their little shed, scarce large enough for two, Seems, from the ground, in height and bulk to grow A stately temple shoots within the skies, The crotchets of their cot in columns rise, The pavement polished marble they behold, The gates with sculpture graced, the spires and roof of gold!"

OVID.

* * * * *

PYRAMUS AND THISBE.

Pyramus and Thisbe were two young Thebans, who, being greatly enamoured of one another, had their union opposed by their friends, between the families of whom there had been a variance for many years.

"But to prevent their wandering in the dark, They both agree to fix upon a mark; A mark that could not their designs expose: The tomb of Venus was the mark they chose; There they might rest secure beneath the shade, Which boughs, with snowy fruit encumbered, made. A wide spread mulberry tree its rise had took Just in the margin of a gurgling brook."

OVID.

They determined, however, if possible, to elude the vigilance of their persecutors, and agreed to meet outside the walls of the city, under the mulberry tree which grew there, and then to celebrate {255} their union. Thisbe was the first who arrived at the place appointed, when the sudden arrival of a lioness so frightened her, that she fled away, dropping her veil in her flight. This the lioness smeared with blood, and then disappeared, leaving it under the trysting tree.

In a short time Pyramus arrived, but found that she, for whom he looked, was absent: the bloody veil alone met his anxious gaze, which he instantly recognized, and concluded that she had been torn to pieces by wild beasts. In his despair he drew his sword and killed himself.

When the fears of Thisbe were passed away, she returned to the mulberry tree, but found only the lifeless remains of her lover. In the agony which overcame her, she fell upon the weapon with which Pyramus had destroyed himself, and joined him in his endless rest.

"But when her view the bleeding love confessed, She shrieked, she tore her hair, she beat her breast, She raised the body, and embraced it round, And bathed with tears unfeigned, the gaping wound, Then her warm lips to the cold face applied-- 'And is it thus, ah! thus we meet,' she cried My Pyramus, whence sprang thy cruel fate? My Pyramus; ah! speak, ere 'tis too late: I, thy own Thisbe; but one word implore, One word thy Thisbe never asked before! Fate, though it conquers, shall no triumph gain, Fate, that divides us, still divides in vain. Now, both our cruel parents, hear my prayer, My prayer to offer for us both I dare, O see our ashes in one urn confined, Whom love at first, and fate at last, has joined. Thou tree, where now one lifeless lump is laid, Ere long o'er two shall cast a friendly shade, Still let our loves from thee be understood, Still witness, in thy purple fruit our blood-- She spoke, and in her bosom plunged the sword All warm, and reeking from its slaughtered Lord."

OVID.

* * * * *

ACIS AND GALATEA.

Polyphemus, the most dreadful and hideous of the Cyclops, loved Galatea, one of the beautiful race of the sea-nymphs. Day by day, did the giant sit by the side of a fountain, neglecting his flocks, and murmuring love songs the most touching and impassioned; while he adorned his person and endeavoured to render himself as agreeable, by these and other means, to his nymph as possible. {256}

Galatea treated all his attentions with disrespect, and bestowed her affections upon Acis; meeting him in secret in a grotto, there enjoying the sweet society of one another, unsuspicious of the danger which threatened them.

"Acis knelt At Galatea's feet. She gazed awhile, One delicate hand was pressed against her cheek, That flushed with pleasure, and her dark hair streamed Shadowing the brightness of her fixed eye, Which on the young Sicilian shepherd's face Shone like a star-- 'Twas strange that she, a high sea-nymph should leave, Her watery palaces, and coral caves, Her home, and all immortal company, To dwell with him, a simple shepherd boy."

BARRY CORNWALL.

Polyphemus, however, discovered their retreat, and with it, the cause of all the scorn and indifference, with which he had been treated.

"At once he saw His rival, and the nymph he loved so well, Twined in each other's arms. 'Away,' he cried, 'Away thou wanton nymph, and thou, my slave. Earth born and base, thou--thou whom I could shake To atoms, as the tempest scatters abroad The sea-sand tow'rd the skies, away, away!'"

Acis came forth from his retreat, and Polyphemus threw an enormous rock upon him, which crushed him beneath its weight.

"The shepherd boy, He felt the Cyclop's wrath, for on his head The mighty weight descended: not a limb, Or bone, or fragment, or a glossy hair, Remained of all his beauty."

Galatea was in despair, and as she could not restore him to life, she changed him into a river, on the banks of which, she could still sport at even time, and sing to her beautiful, but lost love.

"She changed, As Grecian fables say, the shepherd boy Into a stream, and on its banks would lie, And utter her laments in such a tone, As might have moved the rocks, and then would call Upon the murdered Acis. He the while Ran to the sea, but oft on summer nights Noises were heard, and plaintive music like, The songs you hear in Sicily--shepherd swains For many an age would lie by that lone stream, And from its watery melodies catch an air, And tune it to their simple instruments."

BARRY CORNWALL.

* * * * *

{257}

HERO AND LEANDER.

Hero was a priestess of Venus, at Sestos, whom Leander met during one of the festivals held annually at the fane of the goddess, in honour of Adonis.

"As thro' the temple passed the Sestian maid, Her face a softened dignity displayed; And as she shone superior to the rest, In the sweet bloom of youth and beauty dress'd, Such softness, tempered with majestic mien, The earthly priestess matched the heavenly queen."

The appearance of Hero inflamed the bosom of Leander, nor was he long in expressing his love to the beautiful being who had won it. In the very temple of the goddess, whose priestess she was, and while warmed with the rites at which she had been assisting, Leander avowed his passion.

"Her lily hand he seized, and gently pressed, And softly sighed the passion of his breast, Then to the temples last recess conveyed The unreluctant, unresisting maid, Silent she stood, and wrapt in thought profound, Her modest eyes were fixed upon the ground, Her cheeks she hid, in rosy blushes drest, And veiled her lily shoulders with her vest."

MUSAEUS.

The earnest wooing of Leander was assisted by the boy-god, and Hero, won by his passionate pleading, and by a love as strong as it was sudden, consented to become his bride.

"How more than sweet, That moment, as he knelt at Hero's feet, Breathing his passion in each thrilling word, Only by lovers said, and lovers heard."

L. E. L.

Before they parted, she told him of her place of abode over the broad Hellespont, which he must cross, ere he could enjoy her society, and pointed out the spot to which he should look at night for a torch to guide his way. {258}

"Dimly and slowly the hours passed by, until Leander saw day's bright orb disappear: He thought of Hero and the lost delight, Her last embracings, and the space between; He thought of Hero, and the future night, Her speechless rapture, and enamoured mien."

KEATS.

At last the twilight came, followed by the darkness of night, and the bright star of Venus alone looked down on the expectant lover. He saw not the dark rush of Helle's wave, he heard not the fierce sweep of its waters; he thought only of the beautiful bride, who had sate watching, and waiting for the weary sun to go down; when, lo

"Her turret torch was blazing high, Though rising gale and breaking foam, And shrieking sea birds warned him home; And clouds aloft, and tides below, With sighs, and sounds, forbade to go; He could not see, he would not hear, Or sound or sign foreboding fear; His eye but saw that light of love, The only star it hailed above; His ear but rang with Hero's song, 'Ye waves divide not lovers long!'"

With a strong hand and anxious heart, the husband-lover dashed aside the impetuous waves; and sought and gained in safety the shore which the blazing light had signalled. And, oh! the tenderness of that meeting; the obstacles which intervened added an additional zest, and the waves seemed to have nerved the youth to a higher excitement, as he gazed on Hero. But the sorrowful morning came, and

"They parted, but they met again-- The blue sea rolled between them--but in vain! Leander had no fear, he cleft the wave, What is the peril fond hearts will not brave! Delicious were their moonlight wanderings, Delicious were the kind, the gentle things Each to the other breathed; a starry sky, Music and flowers, this is earth's luxury. The measure of its happiness is full, When all around, like it, is beautiful. There were sweet birds to count the hours, and roses, Like those on which a blushing cheek reposes, Violets as fresh as violets could be; Stars over head, with each a history Of love told by its light; and waving trees And perfumed breathings upon every breeze."

L. E. L.

But their intercourse was soon stopped, it seemed too beautiful {259} for earth; Leander, however, thought not of this, but with the enthusiastic ardour of youth, looked forward to a long life of delights. The day to him was a dull blank, and was employed in watching the spot, where at night he saw the beacon which cheered his way. But alas! the change came too soon.

"One night the sky, As if with passion, darkened angrily, And gusts of wind swept o'er the troubled main Like hasty threats, and then were calm again; That night, young Hero by her beacon kept Her silent watch, and blamed the night and wept, And scarcely dared to look upon the sky; Yet lulling still her fond anxiety."

L. E. L.

Morning came, and came after a night of such terror, as but rarely is known to mortals; for the first time Leander had not sought her bower, and an indistinct shadow brooded over her mind, of some vague, uncertain dread, as she wandered down to the sea shore.

"Her heart sick with its terror, and her eye, Roving in tearful, dim uncertainty. Not long uncertain,--she marked something glide, Shadowy and indistinct upon the tide; On rushed she in that desperate energy, Which only has to know, and knowing, die-- --It was Leander!"

L. E. L.

The melancholy tale is told; storm nor tempest had power to keep the husband from his wife, and in the wildness of his struggles for life, when hope was gone and despair succeeded, his last glance sought the watch light in Abydos, and his last sigh was given to the fond being who looked in vain from its rocky strand.

* * * * *

PYGMALION

was a statuary, celebrated in Cyprus for the exquisite skill of his statues. He became disgusted to such a degree with the debauchery of the females of Amathus, that he resolved never to marry, but to devote himself to his art.

In this he became so proficient, that his marble busts seemed almost like life--and one, the figure of a female, was regarded by him with such affection that he grew deeply enamoured of it, {260} worshipping it with all the devotion which mortals usually pay to woman.

The passion increased, and the gods, pitying his despair, changed the statue into that of a beautiful female, whom he married, and had by her a son called Paphos, who founded the town of the same name in Cyprus.

"There was a statuary, one who loved And worshipped the white marble that he shaped; Till, as the story goes, the Cyprus' queen, Or some such fine, kind hearted deity, Touched the pale stone with life, and it became At last Pygmalion's bride."

BARRY CORNWALL.

* * * * *

SAPPHO AND PHAON.

The story of Sappho and of Phaon has become almost, if not quite as well known, as that of Hero and Leander. Sappho was celebrated for her beauty and her poetical talents, all of which she bestowed in love on Phaon.

"A youth so shaped, with such a mien, A form like that of Jove serene, With sparkling eyes, and flowing hair, And wit, that ever charms the fair."

He gave himself up for a time to the pleasure of her society, but man was as fickle then as now, and he grew tired, even conceiving a disdain for her who had so quickly given herself to his arms.

To a mind like Sappho's, finely wrought, as that of poets usually are, this became insupportable; life was a burthen; song, now that the one had gone whose praise she valued more than all beside, became neglected; and in a fit of insupportable madness she threw herself into the sea.

"From Leucadia's promontory Flung herself headlong for the Lesbian boy, (Ungrateful he to work her such annoy;) But time hath as in sad requital, given A branch of laurel to her, and some bard Swears that a heathen God or Goddess gave Her swan-like wings wherewith to fly to heaven. And now, at times, when gloomy tempests roar Along the Adriatic, in the waves She dips her plumes, and on the watery shore Sings as the love-crazed Sappho sung of yore."

BARRY CORNWALL.

{261}

Of all her compositions, but two now remain; which, fragments as they are, shew by their uncommon sweetness and beauty, how worthily the praises of the ancients were bestowed upon a poet, whom they even ventured to call the tenth muse.

"Then came a dark browed spirit, on whose head Laurel and withering roses loosely hung: She held a harp, amongst whose chords her hand Wandered for music--and it came. She sang A song despairing, and the whispering winds Seemed envious of her melody and streamed Amidst the wires to rival her, in vain. Short was the strain but sweet: methought it spoke Of broken hearts, and still and moonlight seas, Of love, and loneliness, and fancy gone, And hopes decayed for ever: and my ear Caught well remembered names, 'Leucadia's rock,' At times, and 'faithless Phaon:' then the form Passed not, but seemed to melt in air away: This was the Lesbian Sappho."

BARRY CORNWALL.

The Lesbians were so enraptured with her strains, that they raised her to divine honours, and erected a temple to her, and even stamped their money with her image.

"Thou! whose impassioned face The poet loves to trace, Theme of the sculptor's art, and poet's story, How many a wandering thought Thy loveliness hath brought, Warming the heart with its imagined glory! Yet, was it History's truth. That tale of wasted youth, Of endless grief, and love forsaken, pining? What wert thou, thou whose woe The old traditions show, With Fame's cold light around thee vainly shining! Did'st thou indeed sit there In languid lone despair? Thy harp neglected by thee idly lying? Thy soft and earnest gaze, Watching the lingering rays, In the far west, where Summer-day was dying? Did'st thou, as day by day, Rolled heavily away, And left thee anxious, nerveless and dejected, Wandering thro' bowers beloved, Roving where he had roved, Yearn for his presence, as for one expected? Did'st thou, with fond wild eyes Fix'd on the starry skies, Wait feverishly for each new day to waken? Trusting some glorious morn Might witness his return, {262} Unwilling to believe thyself forsaken? And when contrition came, Chilling that heart of flame, Did'st thou, O saddest of Earth's grieving daughters, From the Lucadian steep, Dash, with a desperate leap, And hide thyself within the whelming waters? Such is the tale they tell, Vain was thy beauty's spell-- Vain all the praise thy song could still inspire, Though many a happy band, Rung with less skilful hand, The borrowed love notes of thy echoing lyre. Fame, to thy breaking heart, No comfort could impart, In vain thy brow the laurel wreath was wearing; One grief and one alone Could bow thy bright head down, --Thou wert a woman, and wert left despairing!"

MRS. NORTON.

* * * * *

NUMA POMPILIUS.

This hero was born on the very day that Romulus laid the foundation of the Roman city: he married Tatia, the daughter of the Sabine king, whom however he had the misfortune to lose; owing to which, he retired into the country that he might devote his time more uninterruptedly to study.

When, upon the death of Romulus, he was chosen by the senators to be their sovereign, it was with great difficulty that he could be persuaded to undertake the onerous task, which, however, he filled to the satisfaction of his subjects, dismissing the body guards who usually attended upon the Roman Emperor, thus showing he had no distrust of his subjects.

His great object was to quell the spirit of war and conquest which he found in the people, and to inculcate the love of peace, with a reverence for the deity, whose worship by images he forbade, and established a priesthood for it, the effect of which was to prevent any graven images or statues from appearing in their sanctuaries for upwards of one hundred and thirty years.