ANYTE.

A native of Tegea. Called by Antipater, "The Female Homer." Flourished about B.C. 280.

THE WOODLAND GROT (Jacobs I. 131, vii.).

Translated by C.

Stranger, by this worn rock thy limbs repose,
Soft thro' the verdant leaves the light wind blows:
Here drink from the cool spring. At noon-day heat
Such rest to way-worn traveller is sweet.

There is another epigram in the Anthology, which may be compared with this. The author is unknown. The translation is by Shepherd (Jacobs IV. 194, ecclxiii.):

In yonder thicket springs the secret rill,
Whose streams perennial my green margin fill;
O'er my clear waters, bubbling cool below,
Laurels and elms their dusky shadows throw.
When fierce at noontide glows the summer's heat,
Here, way-worn traveller! rest thy weary feet:
Here quench thy thirst, in listless luxury laid,

And court sweet slumbers in the grateful shade.

A pretty description of a woodland scene, such as these epigrams bring before the eye, was "Inscribed on the back of a landscape, drawn by the Rev. William Bree," by Anna Seward:

Here, from the hand of genius, meets your eye
The tangled foliage of a shadowy dell;
Meets it in Nature's truth;-and see, the brook
Thro' yon wild thicket work its way oblique,
Hurrying and dashing thro' the lonely wood.

EPITAPH ON A YOUNG GIRL (Jacobs I. 134, xxii.).
Translated by Bishop Blomfield in "Museum Criticum."
I mourn Antibia-whose paternal gate

Unnumber'd suitors throng'd, her love to gain;
For she was fair and wise-but envious Fate

Forbade; and all their amorous hopes are vain.

Marullus, a learned Greek of the 16th century, who was celebrated for his Latin poetry, has an epitaph in that language, which has much resemblance in thought, though not in expression, to that by

Anyte. It is on Albina, translated by Whaley in his "Collection of
Original Poems and Translations," 1745, p. 293:

Here fair Albina lies, yet not alone;
That was forbid by Cytherea's son:
His quiver, arrows, and his bow lie here,
And Beauty's self lay lifeless on her bier.
Strew roses then, and violets round her shower,
She that's now dust, was yesterday a flower.

LEONIDAS OF TARENTUM.

Flourished B.C. 280. An epitaph, which he composed for himself. shows that he was an exile from his native land, and it is conjectured that he was carried away captive by Phyrrhus, King of Epirus.

ON THE PICTURE OF VENUS ANADYOMENE
(Jacobs I. 164, xli.).

Translated by C.

Fresh rising from the ocean foam,
Her mother's breast, her native home,
Apelles saw Love's queen display
Her matchless form bedash'd with spray.
Each grace he saw, and drawing near,
On breathing canvas fix'd them here.
See, from her hair her slender fingers
Press out the salt dew where it lingers;
See, in those mild, love-breathing eyes,
Her soft glance languishingly dies;
Whilst shews each gently-swelling breast,
Like the ripe apples of the west:
And Juno weeps, and Pallas sighs-
She's lovelier far! We yield the prize.

This celebrated picture was painted for the temple of Esculapius at Cos. It is said that Campaspe, the most beautiful woman of her time, sat for Venus, and that, while painting, Apelles fell in love with the model, whom he afterwards married.

Praxiteles in sculpture rivalled Apelles in painting. His statue of Venus at Cnidos, was one of his most celebrated works, and, according to the story, surprised even the goddess herself. There is a wellknown Greek epigram upon it by an unknown author. The following

translation is found in Addison's "Remarks on Several Parts of Italy." Florence. -Ed. 1765 (Jacobs IV. 168, ccxlvii.):

Anchises, Paris, and Adonis too,

Have seen me naked and exposed to view:
All these I frankly own without denying;
But where has this Praxiteles been prying?

These epigrams, without doubt, suggested to Prior his lines on Cloes Picture, entitled "Venus Mistaken:

When Cloe's picture was to Venus shown,

Surpris'd, the goddess took it for her own.

And what, said she, docs this bold painter mean?
When was I bathing thus, and naked seen?
Pleas'd Cupid heard, and check'd his mother's pride;
And who's blind now, mamma? the urchin cried.
"Tis Cloe's eye, and cheek, and lip, and breast;
Friend Howard's genius fancied all the rest.

ON A FRAIL BARK (Jacobs I. 166, xlviii.).
Translated by C.

They tell me I am slight and frail,
Unskill'd to breast the waves and gale:
'Tis true; yet many a statelier form
Than mine, has founder'd in the storm.
It is not size, it is not power,

But Heav'n, that saves in danger's hour;-
Trust, helmsman, to your spars; but see!
God, 'midst the tempest, saved e'en me!

Sir George Wheler, who travelled in Greece towards the end of the 17th century, found an inscription on the wall of a house at Chalcedon, which proved to be a votive tablet set up by Philo, a Christian, in gratitude for a prosperous voyage. It was restored and translated by Theobald, and forms an interesting comparison with the latter part of Leonidas' epigram. (Nichols' "Illustrations of Literary History," II. 739):

Invoke who will the prosp'rous gale behind,
Jove at the prow, while to the guiding wind
O'er the blue billows he the sail expands,

Where Neptune with each wave heaps hills of sands:
Then let him, when the surge he backward plows,

Pour to his statue-god unaiding vows:

But to the God of gods, for deaths o'erpast,
For safety lent him on the wat'ry waste,
To native shores return'd, thus Philo pays
His monument of thanks, of grateful praise.

Cowper, in language which has much similarity to the epigram of Leonidas, beautifully expresses the necessity of Heavenly aid in the voyage of life (“Human Frailty,” last two stanzas):

Bound on a voyage of awful length,

And dangers little-known,
A stranger to superior strength,
Man vainly trusts his own.

But oars alone can ne'er prevail

To reach the distant coast;

The breath of Heaven must swell the sail,
Or all the toil is lost.

HOME (Jacobs I. 168, lv.).

Translated by Bland.

Cling to thy home! If there the meanest shed
Yield thee a hearth and shelter for thy head,
And some poor plot, with vegetables stored,
Be all that Heaven allots thee for thy board,
Unsavoury bread, and herbs that scatter'd grow
Wild on the river-brink or mountain-brow;
Yet e'en this cheerless mansion shall provide
More heart's repose than all the world beside.

This description of a poor man's home, forcibly recalls Virgil's account, in the fourth Georgic, of the old Corycian peasant, which Dryden thus translates:

Some scattering pot-herbs here and there he found,

Which, cultivated with his daily care,

And bruis'd with vervain, were his frugal fare.

Sometimes white lilies did their leaves afford,

With wholesome poppy-flowers to mend his homely board:

For late returning home he supp'd at ease,

And wisely deem'd the wealth of monarchs less

Than little of his own, because his own did please.

And the general thought of the epigram has been finely reproduced by Goldsmith, in "The Traveller," in the description of the Swiss: Thus every good his native wilds impart, Imprints the patriot passion on his heart; And e'en those ills, that round his mansion rise, Enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies. Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms, And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms; And as a child, when scaring sounds molest, Clings close and closer to the mother's breast,

So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar,
But bind him to his native mountains more.

DIOTIMUS.

Chronologically placed by Brunck and Jacobs, between Leonidas of Tarentum and Theocritus.

A WINTER THUNDER-STORM IN GREECE (Jacobs I. 186, x.).
Translated by C.

The gentle herd return'd, at evening close,
Untended from the hills, and white with snows;
For ah! Therimachus beneath the oak,

Sleeps his long sleep, touch'd by the lightning-stroke.

The death of a shepherd is pathetically pictured by Ambrose Philips, in his third Pastoral:

In yonder gloomy grove out-stretch'd he lay,
His lovely limbs upon the dampy clay;
On his cold cheek the rosy hue decay'd,
And, o'er his lips, the deadly blue display'd:
Bleating around him lie his plaintive sheep,

And mourning shepherds came in crowds to weep.

But effective as is this description, how far more touching is the Greek, where there is no description,-where the sheep returning "untended," suffices to tell the tale of death, and “the lightning-stroke” to explain the havoc of dissolution.

EUPHRON.
Flourished B.C. 280.

HUMAN LIFE.

Translated by Cumberland.

Tell me, all-judging Jove, if this be fair,
To make so short a life so full of care?

There is a touching pathos in this cry of the sorrowful heathen. All his hopes were centered in the enjoyments of this life, and yet all his hopes were vain, for care had clouded his pleasures, and the end was drawing near. To the complaint of the heathen, Cowper gives the answer of the Christian ("Epistle to a Protestant Lady in France"):