OVERFLOWINGS OF THE JAR.

THE JOURNEY TO THE FEAST.

(FROM THEOCRITUS.)

THIS, instead of an overflowing," ought to have been a constituent part of the Jar, because it supplies what has been wanting to complete our specimens of Theocritus; namely, a sample of the happiest and most enjoying portion of his genius. The original is one of his finest productions. The chief part of it relates what befell him on his way to a friend's house out of town, to join a party at harvest-home. He overtakes a brother poet, who, in respect to his condition in life, might have been to Theocritus what a Burns from the plough might have been to a "gentleman," had any such rival poet existed in Burns' time. This inspired rustic, who (with the propriety noticed in our remarks on the subject) speaks as well as the gentleman himself, is represented as reciting a poem of his composition, to beguile the way. Theocritus, in return, recites a composition of his own; and the whole piece concludes with a description of the luxurious orchard nest which awaited our author on his arrival at the house he was going to :

Once on a time myself and Eùcritus
Went out of town, taking Amyntas with us,
To join a feast of Ceres, that was given
By Phrasidàmus and Antigenes,
Sons of Lycòpeus, and descended too
(If that is anything) from Clitias,

Ay, and from Calcon, who with his strong foot
Dug from the rock the fount there, at Burinna,
Where you perceive such a thick bower of elms
And poplars, making quite a roof o'erhead.

We had not got half way, nor yet discern'd
The tomb of Brasilas, when we overtook,
Travelling along, a favourite of the Muse,-
A goatherd, of the name of Lycidas;

And goatherd well he seem'd; for on his shoulders
Hung a right simple goatskin, hairy and thick,
Smelling as if 't was new; about his body
Was an old jerkin, tied with platted straw;
And in his hand he bore a crooked stick
Made of wild olive. Placidly he turned,
A little smile parting his kindly lips,
And with a genial eye accosting me,
Said, "Ah, Theocritus! and where go you
At noon, when all the lizards are asleep,
And not a lark but sobers. Is 't a feast

You're making haste to, or some vintager's,

That thus you dash the pebbles with your sandals ?"
"Lycidas," answered I, "the world, my friend,
Shepherds, reapers, and all, count you a poet
Of the first pastoral order,—which delights me :
Nevertheless, I hope you see another.
It is a feast we're going to. Some friends
Keep one to-day to holy Mother Earth,
For gratitude, their garners are so full.
But come ;—as we are going the same way,
And love the same good pastime, let's indulge

Each other's vein a little; for my lips
Breathe also of the Muse; and people call me
Greatest of living song ;—a praise, however,
Of which I am not credulous,-no, by Earth;
For there's Philetas, and our Samian too,
Whom I no more pretend to have surpass'd,
Than frogs the grasshoppers."

Well; we agreed;

And Lycidas, with one of his sweet smiles,
Said, "You must let me give you, when we finish,
This olive-stick, for you have proved yourself

A scion truly from the stock of Jove.

I also hate the builder that pretends

To rival mountain-tops, and just as much

Those dunghill cocks that tear their throats in vain
With trying to outcrow Homer himself!

But come, let us begin, Theocritus.—

Well,

I'll be first then. Tell me if you like
This little piece, friend, which I hammered out

The other day as I was pacing Ætna.

Lycidas here commences his recitation of the following verses, which are in honour of a friend who has gone abroad, and include the Legend of Comatas:

66

Ageanax, if he forgets me not

His faithful friend, shall safely cross the seas
To Mytelene, both when the south wind,
Warned by the westering Kids,* adds wet to wet,
And when Orion dips his sparkling feet.

Let halcyons smooth the billows, and make still
The west wind and the fiercer east, which stirs
The lowest sea-weeds;-halcyons, of all birds

* The constellation so called.

W

Dear to the blue-eyed Nymphs, and fed by them.
Let all things favour the kind voyager,

And land him safely;-and that day, will I,
Wearing a crown of roses or white violets,
Quaff by my fire-side Pteleatic wine;

And some one shall dress beans; and I will have
A noble couch, to lie at ease upon,

Heaped up of asphodel and yielding herbs;
And there I'll drink in a divine repose,
Calling to mind Ageanax, and drain

With clinging lips the goblet to the dregs:
And there shall be two shepherds to play to me
Upon the pipe; and Tityrus, standing by,
Shall sing how Daphnis was in love with Xenia,
And used to walk the Mountain, while the oaks
Moaned to him on the banks of Himera;
And how he melted in his love away,
Like snows on Athos, or on Rhodope,
Or Hæmus, or the farthest Caucasus ;-
And Tityrus shall sing also, how of old
The goatherd by his cruel lord was bound,
And left to die in a great chest; and how
The busy bees, up coming from the meadows
To the sweet cedar, fed him with soft flowers,
Because the Muse had filled his mouth with nectar.
Yes, all those sweets were thine, blessed Comatas ;
And thou wast put into the chest, and fed
By the blithe bees, and passed a pleasant time.
Would that in my time also thou wert living,
That we might keep our flocks upon the Mountain,
And I might hear thy voice, while thou shouldst lie
Under the oak-trees or the pines, and modulate
Thy pipe deliciously, divine Comatas.”

Here ended he his song, and thus in turn
I took up mine:-"Dear Lycidas, the Nymphs
Have taught me also, while I kept my flocks,