No More Learning

Does the
Yemassee speak with a double tongue? Did not the Yemassee
promise Occonestoga to Opitchi-Manneyto with the other chiefs?
Where are they? They are gone into the swamp, where the
sun shines not, and the eyes of Opitchi-Manneyto are upon them.
He knows them for his slaves. The arrow is gone from their
shoulders, and the Yemassee knows them no longer. Shall the
dog escape who led the way to the English- who brought the
poison drink to the chiefs, which made them dogs to the English
and slaves to Opitchi-Manneyto? Shall he escape the doom the
Yemassee hath put upon them? Sanutee speaks the voice of the
Manneyto. Occonestoga is a dog, who would sell his father-
who would make our women to carry water for the palefaces.
He is not the son of Sanutee-Sanutee knows him no more.
Look, Yemassees, the Well-beloved has spoken! "
―
-
He paused, and turning away, sank down silently upon the
little bank on which he had before rested; while Malatchie, with-
out further opposition,- for the renunciation of his own son,
by one so highly esteemed as Sanutee, was conclusive against
the youth, advanced to execute the terrible judgment upon his
victim.
"O father, chief, Sanutee the Well-beloved! " was the cry that
now, for the first time, burst convulsively from the lips of the
prisoner: "hear me, father, - Occonestoga will go on the war-
path with thee and with the Yemassee against the Edisto, against
the Spaniard; hear, Sanutee,- he will go with thee against the
English. " But the old man bent not, yielded not, and the crowd
gathered nigher in the intensity of their interest.
"Wilt thou have no ear, Sanutee? It is Occonestoga, it is
the son of Matiwan, that speaks to thee. " Sanutee's head sank
as the reference was made to Matiwan, but he showed no other
sign of emotion. He moved not, he spoke not; and bitterly and
hopelessly the youth exclaimed:-
"Oh! thou art colder than the stone house of the adder, and
deafer than his ears. Father, Sanutee, wherefore wilt thou lose
me, even as the tree its leaf, when the storm smites it in sum-
mer? Save me, my father. "
And his head sank in despair as he beheld the unchanging
look of stern resolve with which the unbending sire regarded


## p. 13455 (#269) ##########################################

WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS
13455
him. For a moment he was unmanned; until a loud shout of
derision from the crowd, as they beheld the show of his weak-
ness, came to the support of his pride. The Indian shrinks from
humiliation, where he would not shrink from death; and as the
shout reached his ears, he shouted back his defiance, raised his
head loftily in air, and with the most perfect composure com-
menced singing his song of death,-the song of many victories.
"Wherefore sings he his death-song? " was the cry from many
voices: "he is not to die! "
"Thou art the slave of Opitchi-Manneyto," cried Malatchie
to the captive; "thou shalt sing no lie of thy victories in the
ear of Yemassee. The slave of Opitchi-Manneyto has no tri-
umph;" and the words of the song were effectually drowned, if
not silenced, in the tremendous clamor which they raised about
him.
It was then that Malatchie claimed his victim. The doom had
been already given, but the ceremony of expatriation and out-
lawry was yet to follow; and under the direction of the prophet,
the various castes and classes of the nation prepared to take a
final leave of one who could no longer be known among them.
First of all came a band of young marriageable women, who,
wheeling in a circle three times about him, sang together a wild
apostrophe containing a bitter farewell, which nothing in our lan-
guage could perfectly embody:
-
"Go: thou hast no wife in Yemassee-thou hast given no
lodge to the daughter of Yemassee - thou hast slain no meat
for thy children. Thou hast no name- the women of Yemassee
know thee no more. They know thee no more. "
And the final sentence was reverberated from the entire
assembly:-
―――――
-:
"They know thee no more they know thee no more. "
Then came a number of the ancient men, the patriarchs of
the nation, who surrounded him in circular mazes three several
times, singing as they did so a hymn of like import:-
―
"Go: thou sittest not in the council of Yemassee - thou shalt
not speak wisdom to the boy that comes. Thou hast no name in
Yemassee the fathers of Yemassee, they know thee no more. >>
And again the whole assembly cried out, as with one voice:-
"They know thee no more—they know thee no more. "
These were followed by the young warriors, his old associates,
who now in a solemn band approached him to go through a like
―――――――――
――


## p. 13456 (#270) ##########################################

13456
WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS
performance. His eyes were shut as they came, his blood was
chilled in his heart, and the articulated farewell of their wild
chant failed seemingly to reach his ear. Nothing but the last
sentence he heard:
"Thou that wast a brother,
Thou art nothing now
The young warriors of Yemassee,
They know thee no more. "
-―
And the crowd cried with them:
"They know thee no more. "
"Is no hatchet sharp for Occonestoga? » moaned forth the
suffering savage.
But his trials were only then begun. Enoree-Mattee now
approached him with the words with which, as the representa-
tive of the good Manneyto, he renounced him—with which he
denied him access to the Indian heaven, and left him a slave
and an outcast, a miserable wanderer amid the shadows and the
swamps, and liable to all the dooms and terrors which come with
the service of Opitchi-Manneyto.
"Thou wast a child of Manneyto — »
sung the high priest in a solemn chant, and with a deep-toned
voice that thrilled strangely amid the silence of the scene.
"Thou wast a child of Manneyto-
He gave thee arrows and an eye;
Thou wast the strong son of Manneyto-
He gave thee feathers and a wing;
Thou wast a young brave of Manneyto-
He gave thee scalps and a war-song:
But he knows thee no more. he knows thee no more. "
-
And the clustering multitude again gave back the last line in
wild chorus. The prophet continued his chant:-
"That Opitchi-Manneyto!
He commands thee for his slave-
And the Yemassee must hear him,
Hear, and give thee for his slave:
They will take from thee the arrow,
The broad arrow of thy people;
Thou shalt see no blessed valley,


## p. 13457 (#271) ##########################################

WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS
13457
Where the plum-groves always bloom;
Thou shalt hear no song of valor
From the ancient Yemassee;
Father, mother, name, and people,
Thou shalt lose with that broad arrow.
Thou art lost to the Manneyto-
He knows thee no more, he knows thee no more. "
The despair of hell was in the face of the victim, and he
howled forth in a cry of agony - that for a moment silenced
the wild chorus of the crowd around-the terrible consciousness
in his mind of that privation which the doom entailed upon him.
Every feature was convulsed with emotion; and the terrors of
Opitchi-Manneyto's dominion seemed already in strong exercise
upon the muscles of his heart, when Sanutee, the father, silently
approached him, and with a pause of a few moments, stood gaz-
ing upon the son from whom he was to be separated eternally-
whom not even the uniting, the restoring, hand of death could
possibly restore to him. And he, his once noble son,- the pride
of his heart, the gleam of his hope, the triumphant warrior, who
was even to increase his own glory, and transmit the endear-
ing title of Well-beloved, which the Yemassee had given him,
to a succeeding generation-he was to be lost forever! These
promises were all blasted; and the father was now present to
yield him up eternally-to deny him-to forfeit him, in fearful
penalty, to the nation whose genius he had wronged, and whose
rights he had violated. The old man stood for a moment,—
rather, we may suppose, for the recovery of his resolution, than
with any desire for the contemplation of the pitiable form before
him. The pride of the youth came back to him-the pride of
the strong mind in its desolation as his eye caught the inflexi-
ble gaze of his unswerving father; and he exclaimed bitterly and
loud:-
―――――
"Wherefore art thou come? Thou hast been my foe, not
my father! Away-I would not behold thee! " and he closed his
eyes after the speech, as if to relieve himself from a disgusting
presence.
"Thou hast said well, Occonestoga: Sanutee is thy foe; he is
not thy father. To say this in thy ears has he come. Look on
him, Occonestoga-look up and hear thy doom.
the old of the Yemassee, the warrior and the chief
XXIII-842
The young and
-they have
―――


## p. 13458 (#272) ##########################################

13458
WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS
all denied thee-all given thee up to Opitchi-Manneyto! Occo-
nestoga is no name for the Yemassee. The Yemassee gives it
to his dog. The prophet of Manneyto has forgotten thee; thou
art unknown to those who were thy people. And I, thy father-
with this speech, I yield thee to Opitchi-Manneyto. Sanutee is
no longer thy father-thy father knows thee no more. "
And once more came to the ears of the victim that melancholy
chorus of the multitude: -"He knows thee no more, he knows
thee no more. "
Sanutee turned quickly away as he had spoken; and as if he
suffered more than he was willing to show, the old man rapidly
hastened to the little mound where he had been previously sit-
ting, his eyes averted from the further spectacle. Occonestoga,
goaded to madness by these several incidents, shrieked forth the
bitterest execrations, until Enoree-Mattee, preceding Malatchie,
again approached. Having given some directions in an under-
tone to the latter, he retired, leaving the executioner alone with
his victim. Malatchie then, while all was silence in the crowd,-
a thick silence, in which even respiration seemed to be suspended,
-proceeded to his duty: and lifting the feet of Occonestoga
carefully from the ground, he placed a log under them; then
addressing him, as he again bared his knife, which he stuck in
the tree above his head, he sung:-
-
"I take from thee the earth of Yemassee
I take from thee the water of Yemassee
I take from thee the arrow of Yemassee -
Thou art no longer a Yemassee -
The Yemassee knows thee no more. "
-
"The Yemassee knows thee no more," cried the multitude;
and their universal shout was deafening upon the ear. Occo-
nestoga said no word now; he could offer no resistance to the
unnerving hands of Malatchie, who now bared the arm more
completely of its covering. But his limbs were convulsed with
the spasms of that dreadful terror of the future which was rack-
ing and raging in every pulse of his heart. He had full faith
in the superstitions of his people. His terrors acknowledged
the full horrors of their doom. A despairing agony, which no
language could describe, had possession of his soul. Meanwhile
the silence of all indicated the general anxiety; and Malatchie
prepared to seize the knife and perform the operation, when a


## p. 13459 (#273) ##########################################

WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS
13459
confused murmur arose from the crowd around: the mass gave
way and parted; and rushing wildly into the area came Matiwan,
his mother-the long black hair streaming-the features, an
astonishing likeness to his own, convulsed like his; and her ac-
tion that of one reckless of all things in the way of the forward
progress she was making to the person of her child. She cried
aloud as she came, with a voice that rang like a sudden death-bell
through the ring:-
―
"Would you keep the mother from her boy, and he to be lost
to her for ever? Shall she have no parting with the young brave
she bore in her bosom? Away, keep me not back- I will look
upon, I will love him. He shall have the blessing of Matiwan,
though the Yemassee and the Manneyto curse. "
The victim heard; and a momentary renovation of mental
life, perhaps a renovation of hope, spoke out in the simple excla-
mation which fell from his lips: -
"O Matiwan-O mother! "
She rushed towards the spot where she heard his appeal; and
thrusting the executioner aside, threw her arms desperately about
his neck.
"Touch him not, Matiwan," was the general cry from the
crowd. "Touch him not, Matiwan: Manneyto knows him no
more. "
"But Matiwan knows him; the mother knows her child,
though the Manneyto denies him. O boy-O boy, boy, boy! "
And she sobbed like an infant on his neck.
"Thou art come, Matiwan, thou art come; but wherefore? To
curse like the father—to curse like the Manneyto? " mournfully
said the captive.
"No, no, no! Not to curse not to curse! When did mother
curse the child she bore? Not to curse but to bless thee.
bless thee and forgive. "
To
"Tear her away," cried the prophet; "let Opitchi-Manneyto
have his slave. "
"Tear her away, Malatchie," cried the crowd, now impatient
for the execution. Malatchie approached.
"Not yet not yet," appealed the woman. "Shall not the
mother say farewell to the child she shall see no more? " and
she waved Malatchie back, and in the next instant drew hastily
from the drapery of her dress a small hatchet, which she had
there carefully concealed.


## p. 13460 (#274) ##########################################

13460
WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS
"What wouldst thou do, Matiwan? " asked Occonestoga, as his
eye caught the glare of the weapon.
"Save thee, my boy-save thee for thy mother, Occonestoga
-save thee for the happy valley. '
"Wouldst thou slay me, mother? wouldst strike the heart
of thy son? " he asked, with a something of reluctance to receive
death from the hands of a parent.
"I strike thee but to save thee, my son; since they cannot
take the totem from thee after the life is gone. Turn away from
me thy head; let me not look upon thine eyes as I strike, lest
my hands grow weak and tremble.
Turn thine eyes away-
I will not lose thee. "
His eyes closed; and the fatal instrument, lifted above her
head, was now visible in the sight of all. The executioner rushed
forward to interpose, but he came too late. The tomahawk was
driven deep into the skull, and but a single sentence from his
lips preceded the final insensibility of the victim.
"It is good, Matiwan, it is good: thou hast saved me- the
death is in my heart. And back he sank as he spoke; while a
shriek of mingled joy and horror from the lips of the mother
announced the success of her effort to defeat the doom, the most
dreadful in the imagination of the Yemassee.
"He is not lost-he is not lost! They may not take the
child from his mother. They may not keep him from the valley
of Manneyto. He is free-he is free! " And she fell back in
a deep swoon into the arms of Sanutee, who by this time had
approached. She had defrauded Opitchi-Manneyto of his victim,
for they may not remove the badge of the nation from any but
the living victim.
THE BURDEN OF THE DESERT
HE burden of the Desert,
The Desert like the deep,
That from the south in whirlwinds
Comes rushing up the steep; —
THE
I see the spoiler spoiling,
I hear the strife of blows:
Up, watchman, to thy heights, and say
How the dread conflict goes!


## p. 13461 (#275) ##########################################

WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS
13461
What hear'st thou from the desert? -
"A sound as if a world
Were from its axle lifted up
And to an ocean hurled;
The roaring as of waters,
The rushing as of hills,
And lo! the tempest-smoke and cloud,
That all the desert fills. "
What seest thou on the desert?
"A chariot comes," he cried,
"With camels and with horsemen,
That travel by its side;
And now a lion darteth
From out the cloud, and he
Looks backward ever as he flies,
As fearing still to see! "
-
What, watchman, of the horsemen ?
"They come, and as they ride,
Their horses crouch and tremble,
Nor toss their manes in pride;
The camels wander scattered,
The horsemen heed them naught,
But speed as if they dreaded still
The foe with whom they fought. "
What foe is this, thou watchman ? —
"Hark! hark! the horsemen come;
Still looking on the backward path,
As if they feared a doom;
Their locks are white with terror,
Their very shouts a groan:
'Babylon,' they cry, 'has fallen,
And all her gods are gone! >»


## p. 13462 (#276) ##########################################

13462
SIMONIDES OF CEOS
(B. C. 556-468)
BY WALTER MILLER
ROM the steps of "Tritonia's airy shrine," adorning with its
glistering columns the summit of "Sunium's marbled steep,"
there opens over mountains and waters a wide prospect,
which for natural beauty and richness of suggestion is scarcely
surpassed in all the Hellenic world. Separated from Sunium only by
a narrow strait of that wine-dark sea, the nearest of the "isles that
crown the Ægean deep" is the first of the Cyclades, the island of
Ceos, - Ionian and yet almost Attic. As it is impossible to think of
Stratford-on-Avon without a suggestion of Shakespeare, so Ceos has
but little meaning for us apart from her great bard, Simonides.
There, in the village of Iulis, he was born (556 B. C. ), the son of
Leoprepes, himself a chorus-leader and a poet's son; and so, by right
of inheritance and education, something of the gift of song was his.
In the national festival celebrated near his home each year in honor
of Carthæan Apollo, the young Simonides found occasion and exercise
for his native gifts. There also the greatest poets of Greece com-
peted for the choral prize; and yet before he was thirty, that prize
was his again and again. His fame soon spread far beyond his
native isle; so that the Muse-loving Hipparchus, when he came to
gather round his court at Athens the first artists and poets of his
time, at once sent for young Simonides to come from Ceos.
Upon the assassination of Hipparchus (514), Simonides was called
to Thessaly to be poet-laureate to the sons of Scopas at Crannon and
Pharsalus, and afterward at the court of Larissa. His sound common-
sense, and the consummate diplomacy with which he treated rulers
and handled difficult problems of statecraft, gave him an influence
with kings and statesmen never enjoyed by any other poet. We find
him in his later years in the same position of honor with Hiero of
Syracuse. His nephew Bacchylides and Pindar were there too, as
were also Eschylus and Epicharmus; but it was Simonides whose in-
fluence told in affairs of State. Hiero had quarreled violently with
his kinsman Theron, tyrant of Agrigentum; war had been declared;
the opposing armies stood face to face ready for battle: the wisdom
and tact of Simonides won a bloodless victory; the warring tyrants
were reconciled, and the armies marched back to their homes in
peace.


## p. 13463 (#277) ##########################################

SIMONIDES OF CEOS
13463
But it is at republican Athens that we find him at his best.
Though associated there with Miltiades, Themistocles, Cimon, King
Pausanias of Lacedæmon, Eschylus, Polygnotus, and the other giants
of those days of spiritual uplifting that followed the Persian wars,
his glory pales not in comparison. Those martial heroes beat back
the Mede at Marathon, Salamis, and Platea; he glorified the victo-
ries in his songs. In competition with the great warrior-poet Eschy-
lus himself, he won the State prize with his ode on Marathon.
Simonides died in Sicily in his eighty-ninth year (468), and was
buried before the gates of Syracuse.
As to his personal character: reared in accordance with the strict
moral code for which Ceos was justly famed, he had added to virtue
knowledge, and to knowledge temperance (owopodivn). Indeed, Simon-
ides's "temperance"- mastery of self, Hellenic "sanity» — had in
antiquity become proverbial. Love and wine find no place in his
verse. A striking feature of his writings is his tendency to moral
apothegms and maxims. The wisdom of the Seven Sages and the
piety of an Eschylus were his.
The world of critics, ancient and modern, has often reproached
him with being the first poet (though not the last! ) to sell his verse
for pay. Exalted Pindar did the same. And the calling of the poet
was reduced to a purely business basis. He knew what his work
was worth in gold, and he obtained his price. Witness Anaxilas of
Rhegium, who offered our poet-for a song of victory in honor of
his mules victorious in the race-a recompense too modest by half.
Simonides declined, so the story runs, explaining that he could not
sing the praises of asses' progeny. Anaxilas doubled his offer, and
Simonides in response wrote a famous ode beginning —
"Hail, daughters of the storm-swift steeds! »
But his literary contracts, according to the following anecdote,
were not always financially so successful. His Thessalian patron,
Scopas, once engaged him for a certain specified sum to write an ode
in his honor: when the ode was finished and sung, Scopas would pay
only half the stipulated honorarium, bidding Simonides collect the
other half from the Dioscuri whose praises had filled as large a por-
tion of the ode as his own. The grateful return was paid in full by
the sons of Zeus: Scopas, his sons, and all his court were banquet-
ing; the palace roof fell with a crash upon them, and Simonides
alone was saved. The gods are "better pay" than "tyrants"!
Simonides was the most productive of the Greek lyrists, as his
Muse was the most versatile. In no less than fifty-six public con-
tests, so he tells us, at fifty-six public festivals, his lyrical composi-
tions gained the first prize; and there may have been more after
that was written,- phenomenal success, when we remember that


## p. 13464 (#278) ##########################################

13464
SIMONIDES OF CEOS
Euripides, the favorite of the Hellenic world, received first prize
but five times. His successes moreover were commensurate with
his years. We have another epigram in which he rejoices to have
won at Athens, in his eighty-first year (476), the first prize with a
composition of his own produced by a chorus of fifty voices, with
Aristides the Just as choragos. And his public victories must, in
comparison with his odes written for private individuals and his
spontaneous bursts of song, have been only the smallest part of his
life's work.
His productions cover almost every field of lyrical composition.
No sort of choral song seems to have been wanting from his reper-
toire. We have fragments of Pæans, Hymns, Dithyrambs, Hypor-
chemes, Epinicia, Elegies, Dirges, and more, besides the Epigrams.
It is upon the epigrams that his greatest fame must rest, as they
alone of the extant remains do not consist of mere fragments. The
epigram was originally what the name implies,— the inscription upon
a tomb or upon a votive offering to explain its significance. By a
natural transfer of meaning, an epigram easily came to be a couple
of verses containing in pointed, polished form, a thought which might
very well serve as an inscription to the object that suggested it.
The unexpected-the ingenious turning of the point at the end-
was no essential feature of the classical epigram; but within the
compass of the few verses allotted to it, the story it had to tell must
be complete. And no one possessed in like degree the gift Simoni-
des had, of crowding a bookful of meaning into two faultless lines.
Upon the tomb of the Three Hundred at Thermopyla he wrote:
Go thou, stranger, and bear to Lacedæmon this message: —
Tell them that here we lie, faithful to Sparta's commands.
How long a poem he might with such a theme have made! But in
two lines, without a trace of artificiality or forced rhetoric, he has
sketched the Spartan character, and told the whole story of that
loyal devotion to country that meant so much to every Greek. De-
scription there is none: that would have been superfluous. No word
of praise is there: the deeds were their own encomium.
Diophon, Philo's son, at the Isthmus and Pytho a victor;
Broad jump, foot-race, disk, spear-throw, and wrestle he won.
In one line he gives his hero's name, his lineage, and his victory at
two great festivals; into the five words of the pentameter line with
consummate skill he puts in the exact order of their succession in
the stadium the five events of the Greek pentathlon, in which Philo's
son was victor.


## p. 13465 (#279) ##########################################

SIMONIDES OF CEOS
13465
The finest and most famous of all his epigrams are those inspired
by the Persian wars. The glory of those days permeated his verse;
the life of the victorious living and the death of the noble slain are
both glorified. These verses may be wanting in splendor and mag-
nificence: the man who could have furnished those qualities had
"stood on the wrong side in his country's life struggle; and Greece
turned to Simonides, not to Pindar, to make the record of her heroic
dead. " (Murray. ) A few even of these are no more than plain, pro-
saic statements of fact. Compare —
When, as leader of Greece, he routed the Median army,
King Pausanias gave Phoebus this off'ring of thanks,-
with the simple lines on the men of Tegea who fell at Platææ:-
Thanks to the valor of these men! that smoke never blackened the
heavens,
Rising from Median flames blazing in Tegean homes.
Theirs was to leave to their children a city of glory and freedom,
Theirs to lay down their lives, slain in defense of their own,—
and the general epitaph of the heroes of Platææ:-
-
---
Glory immortal they left a bequest to the land of their fathers-
Fame for the land they loved; death's sable shroud for themselves.
Still, though dead, are they not dead; for here their virtue abiding
Brings them from Hades again, gives them a glorious life.
-
A difficulty which taxed the epigrammatist's utmost skill to sur-
mount was the graceful weaving in of unmetrical names, of dates,
and of other naturally prosaic necessities. How well Simonides could
handle even these is illustrated by the two following autobiographical
notices:-
The following is brevity "gone to seed » :-
"Tell me then who thou art.
"Casmyl. Euagoras's son.
CHIEF of the Archons in Athens that year they named Adimantus,
When the fair tripod of bronze fell to Antiochis's tribe.
That year Xenophilus's son, Aristides the Just, was choragos,
Leader of fifty men singing the praise of the god.
Glory was won for their trainer, Simonides,- poet victorious,-
Ceian Leoprepes's son, then in his eightieth year.
-
FIFTY-AND-SIX great bulls, Simonides, fell to thee, prizes,
Tripods fifty-and-six, won ere this tablet was set.
So many times having trained the gladsome chorus of singers,
Victory's splendid car glorious didst thou ascend.
Whose son? Of what country? What victory ? »
From Rhodes. Boxing at Pytho. "


## p. 13466 (#280) ##########################################

13466
SIMONIDES OF CEOS
In the epigrams the dialect is Attic; in the choral odes the con-
ventional Doric has been retained.
The "epinician," the choral song in honor of a victor in the great
national games of Greece, may almost be called Simonides's own cre-
ation. Down to the times of Simonides a few verses had sufficed;
but with him came the full artistic structure of the magnificent
epinician ode as we find it perfected in Pindar. With the glorifica-
tion of the victor, the praises of a god or a mythical hero connected
with the victor-his fortunes, his family, or his country—are appro-
priately interwoven. Passing on by easy transitions from the human
to the divine, and from the divine again to the human, the poet dwells
upon the lessons of truth and wisdom suggested by his hero's life,
and the god whom he has glorified. "To be perfectly good is a hard
matter: only God may be perfect; and man is good only as God
dwells in him. "
In the epinicia, Simonides may fall short of the grandeur of
Pindar, and yield supremacy to him alone. But in the field of Elegy
and of the Dirge, as in the Epigram, he stands without a peer in the
world's literature. Pindar's pathos may be sublime, Eschylus's awful;
but Simonides knows how to touch the heart. Pindar philosophizes
on the glory awaiting the dead whose life has been well spent:
Simonides gives expression to the sorrow of the hearts that mourn,
and awakens our sympathies; he knows the healing power of tears,
and the power that the story of another's sorrow has to make them
flow, when one's own grief seems to have dried their fountain. He
dwells upon the frailty of human fortunes, the inevitability of fate,
and the goodness and justice of God, -the consolation of sympa-
thy, not of hope. What threnos could be more exquisitely delicate
and touching than Danaë's mother-heart yearning over her sleeping
babe,― unconscious of any danger, as together in the chest they
are helplessly tossed by the storm upon the waves; and the tearful
appeal at the end to Zeus, the father of her child! And as she
prays, the storm in her own bosom is stilled.
No less fine, in exquisite pathos and exalted patriotic sentiment,
are the few verses left to us of the elegy on the heroes of Ther-
mopylæ. It is quoted in full below.
Simonides's position among the melic poets may be suggested by
the influence he exercised on the development of lyric poetry, espe-
cially in choral song. (1) The dithyramb he removed from the narrow
sphere of Bacchus-worship and adapted it to the service of any god.
(2) With him the threnos was elevated from a simple monody to a
great choral.
(3) It was Simonides who introduced the myth into the
epinician and gave it the form which Pindar perfected. (4) And the
epigram as a recognized division of poetry is his own creation.


## p. 13467 (#281) ##########################################

SIMONIDES OF CEOS
13467
The best editions of the fragments are - Bergk, 'Poetæ Lyrici
Græci,' 4th ed. , Vol. iii. ; Schneidewin, Simonidis Cei Carminum Reli-
quiæ '; Hartung, 'Poetæ Lyrici Græci,' with a German translation, Vol.
vi. A few translations are given in Appleton, Greek Poetry in Eng-
lish Verse,' and Tomlinson, 'Selections from the Greek Anthology. '
(
Walter Miller
DANAE'S LAMENT
ND while she lay within the carven chest,
AND
Rocked by the soughing winds and troubled waves,
Fear crept into her not untearstained cheeks,
And clasping Perseus closelier round she spake :-
"O child, what woes are mine! Yet thou sleep'st sound.
In infant heedlessness thou slumberest
Within the bronze-nailed chest,
While lampless night and darkness swathe thee round.
Nor though the washing brine bedew thy hair,
Takest thou care,
Nor though the wind lift up its voice aloud,—
Face to my face, wrapped in thy purple shroud.
Not fearful unto thee the name of Fear!
Else wouldst thou to my words lend readier ear.
"Yet sleep, my babe, I bid thee sleep, my child,
And sleep, ye waters wild;
Sleep, mine insatiate woe!
And grant, O father Zeus, some respite come
Out of thy mercy. Nay, too bold I know
This boon I ask, past justice to bestow:
I pray thee, pardon me, my lips are dumb. "
Translated for 'A Library of the World's Best Literature' by Alphonse
G. Newcomer


## p. 13468 (#282) ##########################################

13468
SIMONIDES OF CEOS
[The following versions are all taken from a careful study of Simonides by
John Sterling. The essay appeared in the Westminster Review for
1838. ]
FROM THE EPINICIAN ODE FOR SCOPAS'
MAN can hardly good in truth become,
Α
With hands, feet, mind, all square, without a flaw.
Nor suits my thought the word of Pittacus,
Though he was sage, that to be virtuous
Is hard. This fits a god alone.
A man must needs to evil fall,
When by hopeless chance o'erthrown.
Whoso does well, him good we call,
And bad if bad his lot be known;
Those by the gods beloved are best of all.
Enough for me in sooth
Is one not wholly wrong,
Nor all perverse, but skilled in useful truth,-
A healthy soul and strong:
He has no blame from me,
Who love not blame;
For countless those who foolish be,
And fair are all things free from shame.
That therefore which can ne'er be found
I seek not, nor desire with empty thought,—
A man all blameless, on this wide-spread ground,
'Mid all who cull its fruitage vainly sought.
If found, ye too this prize of mine
Shall know: meanwhile all those I love
And praise, who do no wrong by will malign;
For to necessity must yield the gods above.
INSCRIPTION FOR AN ALTAR DEDICATED TO ARTEMIS
HE Sons of Athens here at sea subdued
THE
In fight all Asia's many-voiced brood;
And when the Medes had fallen, they built up this-
Their trophy due to maiden Artemis.


## p. 13469 (#283) ##########################################

SIMONIDES OF CEOS
13469
EPITAPH FOR THOSE WHO FELL AT THERMOPYLÆ
OⓇ
F THOSE who at Thermopyla were slain,
Glorious the doom, and beautiful the lot:
Their tomb an altar; men from tears refrain
To honor them, and praise, but mourn them not.
Such sepulchre, nor drear decay
Nor all-destroying time shall waste; this right have they.
Within their grave the home-bred glory
Of Greece was laid; this witness gives
Leonidas the Spartan, in whose story
A wreath of famous virtue ever lives.
FRAGMENT OF A SCOLION
LIKE
IKE a reinless courser's bound
Or an Amyclean hound,
Chase thou with wheeling footstep
the song's meandering sound.
TIME IS FLEETING
NO ONE dread gulf all things in common tend:
T There loftiest virtues, amplest riches, end.
Long are we dying; reckoned up from birth,
Few years, and evil those, are ours on earth.
Of men the strength is small, the hopes are vain,
And pain in life's brief space is heaped on pain;
And death inevitable hangs in air,
Of which alike the good and evil share.
'Mid mortal beings naught for ever stays:
And thus with beauteous love the Chian says,
"The race of man departs like forest leaves; "
Though seldom he who hears the truth receives.
For hope, not far from each, in every heart-
Of men full-grown, or those unripe-will start:
And still while blooms the lovely flower of youth,
The empty mind delights to dream untruth;
Expects nor age nor death, and bold and strong
Thinks not that sickness e'er can work it wrong.


## p. 13470 (#284) ##########################################

SIMONIDES OF CEOS
13470
Ah fools! deluded thus, untaught to scan
How swiftly pass the life and youth of man:
This knowing, thou, while still thou hast the power
Indulge thy soul, and taste the blissful hour.
AN
VIRTUE COY AND HARD TO WIN
ND 'tis said
That Virtue, dwelling high on pathless rocks,
A holy goddess, loves the holy place;
And never there is seen by eyes of those
Whom painful labor has not tried within,
And borne them up to manhood's citadel.
EPITAPHS
A
POOR man, not a Croesus, here lies dead,
And small the sepulchre befitting me:
Gorgippus I, who knew no marriage-bed
Before I wedded pale Persephone.
THOU liest, O Clisthenes, in foreign earth,
Whom wandering o'er the Euxine destiny found:
Thou couldst not reach thy happy place of birth,
Nor seest the waves that gird thy Chios round.
YOUNG Gorgo dying to her mother said,
While clinging on her bosom wept the maid,
"Beside my father stay thou here, and bear
A happier daughter for thine age to care. ”
AH! SORE disease, to men why enviest thou
Their prime of years before they join the dead? —
His life from fair Timarchus snatching now,
Before the youth his maiden bride could wed.


## p. 13471 (#285) ##########################################

13471
JEAN CHARLES SIMONDE DE SISMONDI
(1773-1842)
BY HUMPHREY J. DESMOND
W
HEN the Edict of Nantes was revoked, the Simonde family,
who were of the Huguenot faith, migrated from Dauphiné
in France to Geneva, where they became citizens of the
higher class. Here Jean Charles Leonard Simonde was born, May
9th, 1773. Noticing at the beginning of his literary career the simi-
larity of his family arms with those of the noble Tuscan house of
Sismondi, he adopted the name of Sismondi,
- reverting, as he believed, to the original
family name. Sismondi's intellectual tastes
came from his mother, a woman of superior
mind and energy. Though the family were
in good circumstances, his father served
for a time as the village pastor of Bossex.
The family mansion was at Châtelaine near
Geneva; and here and in the schools of the
republican city the future historian received
his education.

The period of his young manhood fell
in troublous times. His father, trusting
in the financial skill of Necker, had lost all
his investments with the collapse of the
Swiss banker. Young Sismondi cheerfully accepted the irksome du-
ties of clerk in a Lyons counting-house. Then the French Revolution
drove him back to Geneva; and revolutionary ideas invading Switzer-
land, the family fled to England in 1793. But Sismondi's mother
pined for the home and the society of happier days; and in the face
of revolutionary dangers they returned to Geneva. Here a tragedy
at Châtelaine, the family mansion,- the killing by Jacobin soldiers of
a friend to whom they had given shelter,-led them to seek securer
refuge in Italy; and they sold Châtelaine and settled down on a
small estate at Pescia, near Lucca. For two years Sismondi lived,
labored, and studied on his pleasant Italian farm. Though a man of
moderate views and a lover of liberty, he could not escape the tur-
moil of the times. On four occasions he was imprisoned as a suspect:
SISMONDI


## p. 13472 (#286) ##########################################

13472
JEAN CHARLES DE SISMONDI
now by the French, who thought him an aristocrat, and now by the Ital-
ians, who thought him a Frenchman. In 1800 he returned to Geneva,
which thereafter was his permanent home. Here he became the inti-
mate friend of Madame de Staël, by whom he was greatly influenced;
and he found himself at home in the circle of distinguished people
surrounding this brilliant woman. With her he visited Italy in 1805,
on the famous journey out of which she gave the world 'Corinne. '
At Geneva he became Secretary of the Chamber of Commerce for
the department of Leman; and always taking a keen interest in the
political affairs of his native city, he served for many years in its
Legislative Council. One of the episodes of his life was an interview
with Napoleon after the latter's return from Elba in 1815. Sismondi
espoused the cause of the Emperor, and published a series of arti-
cles in the Moniteur in support of the counter-revolution.
After Waterloo he visited his mother on the Tuscan farm which
she had continued to occupy. Here he met Miss Allen, an English
lady, sister-in-law of Sir James Mackintosh. Subsequently, in April
1819, he married her; and this union, though made late in life (he
was then forty-six), and not blessed with children, appears to have
been a happy one. He made his home at Chênes, a country-house
near Geneva. His mother, who had exercised a great influence over
him through all his manhood years, died in 1821. He found solace
now in the assiduous historical labors he had undertaken, and which
absorbed him almost up to the day of his death, June 25th, 1842.
The collected writings of Sismondi comprise sixty volumes, and
touch upon a wide variety of subjects. His earliest work, on the
'Agriculture of Tuscany (Geneva, 1801), was the result of his experi-
ences on his Pescia farm.
During his sojourn in England he acquired the English language;
and the influence of his acquaintance with the writings of Adam
Smith is apparent in a work on 'Commercial Wealth' which he pub-
lished at Geneva in 1803. Later on he completely changed his eco-
nomic opinions, as was evident in an article on 'Political Economy'
which he contributed in 1817 to the Edinburgh Encyclopædia. Subse-
quently, in 1819, his 'New Views of Political Economy' was published
in three volumes; and in 1836 he published his 'Studies in Social
Science,' two volumes of which are entirely devoted to political econ-
omy.
It is however as a historian that Sismondi made his first and last-
ing impression in literature. His History of the Italian Republics,'
in sixteen volumes, appeared between the years 1803 and 1819; and
that work being finished, he then turned to his still bulkier task, the
'History of the French,' which occupied his time from 1818 to the
year of his death in 1842, and of which twenty-nine volumes were


## p. 13473 (#287) ##########################################

JEAN CHARLES DE SISMONDI
13473
published. The amount of labor which he gave to these works was
prodigious. Speaking of his 'History of the Italian Republics,' he
says: "It was a work which continued for at least eight hours a day
during twenty years. I was obliged constantly to read and converse
in Italian and Latin, and occasionally in French, German, Portuguese,
and Provençal. " It required untiring research. "I have nine times,"
he says,
" traversed Italy in different directions, and have visited
nearly all places which were the theatres of any great event. I have
labored in almost all the great libraries, I have searched the archives
in many cities and many monasteries. " Dealing as he did with an
infinity of details, it is not to be wondered at that as he went more
and more into the Middle Age chronicles of petty Italian wars and
conspiracies, his ardor cooled. The work was not, in its reception,
a flattering success. However, the author was encouraged to per-
severe. His 'History of the French' extends from the reign of Clovis
to the accession of Louis XVI. , covering a period of nearly thirteen
centuries.
As a historian, Sismondi, though laborious and painstaking, suf-
fers by comparison with the better work done by later writers, who
have covered the same ground with a better perspective and a truer
historical grasp, with more literary genius, and with the advantage
of access to archives and original documents denied the Genevan.
"More recent investigations," says President Adams in his 'Manual
of Historical Literature,' "have thrown new light on Italian affairs
of the Middle Ages, and consequently Sismondi's work cannot be
regarded as possessing all its former value. " His History of the
French was soon entirely superseded by the greater work of Henri
Martin. Sainte-Beuve, in one of his 'Lundis' devoted to Sismondi,
rather sarcastically refers to him as "the Rollin of French history. "
The general spirit of his historical writings is made apparent in
the following extract from the close of his 'History of the French':
"I am
a republican; but while preserving that ardent love of
liberty transmitted to me by my ancestors, whose fate was united
with that of two republics, and a hatred of every kind of tyranny, I
hope I have never shown a want of respect for those time-honored
and lofty recollections which tend to foster virtue in noble blood, or
for that sublime devotion in the chiefs of nations which has often
reflected lustre on the annals of a whole people. "
He seems, however, in later years, to have become somewhat re-
actionary in his views; and this brought him into unpleasant rela-
tions with his neighbors. When France demanded the expulsion from
Switzerland of Prince Louis Napoleon, the citizens of Geneva were
particularly opposed to so inhospitable a measure. Sismondi believed
the demand should be granted. Threats were made against his life,
and his native city became for him a dangerous place of residence.
XXIII-843


## p. 13474 (#288) ##########################################

13474
JEAN CHARLES DE SISMONDI
Then, the overturning of the ancient constitution of Geneva by the
democratic revolution of November 1841, was a bitter grief to him.
Outside of his historical work, Sismondi was engaged in the year
1810 to furnish the publishers of the 'Biografia Universale' with the
lives of distinguished Italians; for which, we are informed, he was
paid six francs per article. At the conclusion of this task he pre-
pared a course of lectures on the 'Literature of the South of Europe,'
which he delivered at Geneva in 1811. This in the year 1814 was
the basis of a work in four volumes,-written, as Hallam tells us,
"in that flowing and graceful style which distinguishes the author,
and succeeding in all that it seeks to give,-a pleasing and popular,
yet not superficial or unsatisfactory, account of the best authors in
the Southern languages. " In 1822 he published a historical novel in
three volumes, called 'Julia Severa,' purporting to show the condi-
tion of France under Clovis; and in 1832 he condensed his 'History
of the Italian Republics' into one volume. M. Mignet, in his eulogy
read in 1845 before the Royal Academy of Sciences, says of Sismondi:
"For half a century he has thought nothing that is not honorable,
written nothing that is not moral, wished nothing that is not useful.
Thus has he left a glorious memory, which will be forever respected. "
1. 9. Me
休
​BOCCACCIO'S 'DECAMERON ›
From Literature of the South of Europe'
ج
Ο
NE cannot but pause in astonishment at the choice of so
gloomy an introduction to effusions of so gay a nature.
We are amazed at such an intoxicated enjoyment of life
under the threatened approach of death; at such irrepressible de-
sire in the bosom of man to divert the mind from sorrow; at
the torrent of mirth which inundates the heart, in the midst of
horrors which should seem to wither it up. As long as we feel
delight in nourishing feelings that are in unison with a melan-
choly temperament, we have not yet felt the overwhelming weight
of real sorrow. When experience has at length taught us the
substantial griefs of life, we then first learn the necessity of
resisting them; and calling the imagination to our aid to turn
aside the shafts of calamity, we struggle with our sorrow, and
treat it as an invalid from whom we withdraw every object which
may remind him of the cause of his malady. With regard to the
stories themselves, it would be difficult to convey an idea of them


## p. 13475 (#289) ##########################################

JEAN CHARLES DE SISMONDI
13475
by extracts, and impossible to preserve in a translation the mer-
its of their style. The praise of Boccaccio consists in the perfect.
purity of his language, in his eloquence, his grace, and above
all, in that naïveté which is the chief merit of narration, and the
peculiar charm of the Italian tongue. Unfortunately, Boccaccio
did not prescribe to himself the same purity in his images as in
his phraseology. The character of his work is light and sport-
ive. He has inserted in it a great number of tales of gallantry;
he has exhausted his powers of ridicule on the duped husband,
on the depraved and depraving monks, and on subjects in morals.
and religious worship which he himself regarded as sacred; and
his reputation is thus little in harmony with the real tenor of his
conduct.
THE TROUBADOUR
From Literature of the South of Europe'
ON
N THE most solemn occasions, in the disputes for glory, in
the games called Tensons, when the Troubadours combated
in verse before illustrious princes, or before the Courts of
Love, they were called upon to discuss questions of the most
scrupulous delicacy and the most disinterested gallantry. We
find them inquiring, successively, by what qualities a lover may
render himself most worthy of his mistress; how a knight may
excel all his rivals; and whether it be a greater grief to lose a
lover by death or by infidelity. It is in these Tensons that
bravery becomes disinterested, and that love is exhibited pure,
delicate, and tender; that homage to woman becomes a species
of worship, and that a respect for truth is an article in the creed
of honor. These elevated maxims and these delicate sentiments
were mingled, it is true, with a great spirit of refining.
If an
example was wanted, the most extravagant comparisons were
employed. Antitheses, and plays upon words, supplied the place
of proofs. Not unfrequently,—as must be the case with those
who aim at constructing a system of morals by the aid of talent.
alone, and who do not found it on experience, - the most perni-
cious sentiments, and principles entirely incompatible with the
good order of society and the observation of other duties, were
ranked amongst the laws of gallantry. It is, however, very credit-
able to the Provençal poetry, that it displays a veneration for the


## p. 13476 (#290) ##########################################

13476
JEAN CHARLES DE SISMONDI
beauties of chivalry; and that it has preserved, amidst all the
vices of the age, a respect for honor and a love of high feeling.
This delicacy of sentiment among the Troubadours, and this
mysticism of love, have a more intimate connection with the
poetry of the Arabians and the manners of the East than we
should suspect when we remember the ferocious jealousy of
the Mussulmans, and the cruel consequences of their system of
polygamy. Amongst the Mussulmans, woman is a divinity as
well as a slave, and the seraglio is at the same time a temple
and a prison. The passion of love displays itself amongst the
people of the South with a more lively ardor and a greater im-
petuosity than in the nations of Europe. The Mussulman does
not suffer any of the cares or the pains or the sufferings of life
to approach his wife. He bears these alone His harem is con-
secrated to luxury, to art, and to pleasure. Flowers and incense,
music and dancing, perpetually surround his idol, who is debarred
from every laborious employment. The songs in which he cele-
brates his love breathe the same spirit of adoration and of wor-
ship which we find in the poets of chivalry; and the most beautiful
of the Persian ghazeles, and the Arabian cassides, seem to be
translations of the verses or songs of the Provençals.