than the "knowing what we wor- ship." Briefly, then, the famous em- porium of books was destroyed by a bishop; the loss was irreparable: when the hand of a caliph directed the torch, the library was good for nothing but to serve as fuel.
"And what has all this to do with the Hymn to Ceres?" As much as the conflagration of one library has relation to that of another. The burning of Moscow probably involved a loss, inferior perhaps in degree, but similar in kind, to that sustained by the cause of literature in the sack of Alexandria. It was in the ancient library of that city that a copy of the Hymn to Ceres, transcribed from a very ancient MS. about the close of the 14th century, was discovered by the research of Christian Frederic Mathæi.
Pausanias quotes this hymn (Attic. 38, Messen. 30. Corinth. 14.) as the work of Homer. The Scholiast of Nicander speaks of it merely as ascribed to Homer. The argument which has been adduced against its genuineness, or high antiquity, from the supposed inferiority of the composition, is, I think, chimerical: the poem, whether we regard the noble simplicity of the details, or the occasional grandeur of the imagery, has much in it that is worthy of Homer: but a more solid objection may be raised on verbal minutiæ. Allowing for the corruptions of the text, many of the expressions are deficient in classical purity of style. Parallels have been traced with this hymn in Moschus, Catullus, Virgil, and Apollonius Rhodius; but they appear to me fanciful: and the difficulty of distinguishing between direct imitation and casual coincidence of thought, renders any such criterion of antiquity doubtful and unsafe.
It is pretty clear, that Ceres was the Egyptian Isis: she was the moon and earth alternately: the moon being considered, in fact, as only a celestial earth. The Cnidians called her Cura; which was a feminine title of the sun: the Greeks interpreted this Cora, or the damsel: and
Proserpine, who was, however, idenhence we have the tale of the Virgin tically the same with Luna and Lucina, Dian and Hecate. mourning of Ceres for her daughter The might have had some astronomical mourning for the loss of her husband reference. Thus Isis was said to go Orus; who was the sun in the winter solstice. In the Mythologicon of Fulgentius, Ceres is said to be the Earth (under which character she is identified with Vesta) and Proserpine its fruitfulness; creeping forth, proserpentem, from the roots of the soil: as Hecate, she symbolizes the maturity of harvest, when the corn is producgod of the hollow places of the earth, ed a hundred fold. Pluto, as the is necessarily the god of all treasures, whether mineral or vegetable, and rape of the daughter of Ceres typithus assimilates with Plutus. His ground: the mother, searching after fies the seed deposited under the heat of the sun by which the corn is the damsel with torches, refers to the ripened; and seed-time and harvest are represented by the allegory of should dwell half the year under the Ceres stipulating that her daughter earth, and the remaining half above it.
There is a terra cotta at the Vatican, exhibiting Ceres in a car, drawn by serpents, with a torch in each hand. It is not impossible that Orland. Fur. xii. 2. Ariosto might have alluded to this,
O'er wood, o'er vale, o'er mountain, plain, Upon a chariot which two serpents drew, and strand,
*And with a blazing pine in either hand,
Lakes, rivers, torrents, in her search she
O'er earth, o'er seas, o'er all the world above, Then to the lowest depths of Tartarus
I have continued the translation as far as the break in the copy occasionremnant of the poem is chiefly occued by a mutilation in the text. The pied with a recapitulation of the surprise of Proserpine described in her of the names of her companions. own narrative, and a formidable list
For this translation I am indebted to a friend, whose just conception of the genius and manner of Ariosto eminently qualifies him to supply what is still a desideratum in our literature.
My song is of the venerable Goddess, Ceres, with sweeping locks: I sing of her, And her proud-pacing daughter whom stern Dis Ravish'd away, (the wide-discerning Jove, Who launches the deep thunder, yielded her;) Far from the golden-throned, fair-fruitaged queen : She played the while with broad-zoned ocean maids, And gather'd flowers; the goodly violets, Crocus and roses, o'er the velvet mead, And yellow-flowering flags and hyacinths; Narcissus too, which earth produced, a snare To lure the rosebud-visaged maid, and please Hell's all-receiving God. Miraculous
That gladdening flower, and all that look'd thereon, Gazed, as in muse, admiring, whether God Immortal, or the dying child of earth:
Its root upbore a hundred heads; the sky Wide overhead with breathing odour laugh'd; Expanded earth, and the salt heaving sea. She in a trance of rapture stoop'd and spread Both her extended hands, as she would reach The beauteous toy. But then the broad-track'd earth Yawn'd in the midst asunder, on that plain
Of Nysa: and the king of hell, the son Of Saturn, many-titled, upward sprang On his immortal coursers through th' abyss,
And snatching her, sore-struggling, drew her down, Lamenting-shrill, within his golden car.
She strait shriek'd out aloud, and with strain'd voice Call'd on her Sire, the highest and the best: That voice no mortal nor immortal ear
Heard; nor her own companions, fair of form; Save the bland daughter of Persæus; she Who still with glossy fillets binds her hair, Hecaté, far within her grotto, heard: The Solar king, Hyperion's beamy son, He also heard the damsel, when she call'd Upon her father Jove; who sate apart From all the deities, within his fane, Receiving many prayers and incense-smoke From rites of mortals. Her, resisting thus, The uncle-God, with Jove's intelligence, Imperial Pluto, many-titled son
Of Saturn, dragg'd upon his deathless steeds, Long as the goddess-virgin could behold The earth and planetary heaven, the sea With fishy tides full-flowing, the sun's blaze, So long she hoped to see her mother dear,
This was the Nysa of Caria: (Strabo, xiv. 960.) Many cities were called Nusa, or Nysa: from Nusus, or Nus, who was in reality Noah. Hammon-No, mentioned in the last Leisure-Hour as a title of Jupiter, commonly occurs as the name of a city. It it called No in Scripture. Ezek. xxx. 15. Jablonski (b. 2, ch. ii. 161.) renders it BioσTONIS, Jove's city; and seems to think that No means place or seat. There can, however, be no doubt, that the city was denominated from a union of the proper name of the patriarch with that of the people of Afric, whose type was the Sun, which in common with the other celestial bodies, was the recipient of human demons, or, deified ancestral ghosts. The Dorians built a city in Sicily which they called Noa. See Bryant's New Analysis, v. ii. p. 210.
Or one near-passing of th' immortal tribes:
So long, though grieved, hope lull'd her mighty mind. Meanwhile the tops of mountains rang; the depths Of ocean thrill'd to that immortal voice:
Her venerable mother heard it too;
Swift anguish seized upon her heart; she rent With her own hands the fillet that enwreathed Her undecaying tresses; then athwart Her shoulders cast a mantle sable-blue, And, bird-like, flitted fast o'er moist and dry Exploring. But nor God nor mortal man Would tell her of the truth; nor angel bird Sooth-speaking meet her on her onward way. Nine days the reverend Goddess through the earth Wandered, two sparkling torches in her grasp, Nor tasted once the nectar's beverage sweet, Nor cates ambrosial, mourner as she was, Nor plunged her body in the fountain baths. But when the tenth resplendent morning rose Upon her, Hecaté then cross'd her path, Bearing a lamp, and strait accosting spake : "Bright-gifted, season-bringing Ceres dread! Who of celestial Gods or mortal men
Has borne away thy Proserpine, and wrung Thy soul with anguish? for I heard a voice, But saw not with mine eyes who this might be: All, that my hurried speech imparts, is true."
So Hecaté: her answer'd not a word The long-hair'd Rhea's daughter, but with her Rush'd on, the blazing torch in either grasp: They to the Sun drew nigh, whose glance surveys Both Gods and man, and stood before his steeds. Then question'd him the noble Goddess: " Hail, O Sun! and as a goddess honour me,
If e'er by word or work I soothed thy heart: My daughter--whom I bare, my sweetest branch, My glory and my beauty-I have heard
Her troubled voice along the desart air,
As torn away, but saw not with mine eyes. Thou o'er the space of earth, and o'er the sea
Look'st from Jove's ether with thy rays; then speak Truth to my question: if that anywhere Thou hast beheld what God or man is he, Who, bearing far from me my child beloved, Reluctant to his ravishing grasp, hath fled?” She said; and thus replied Hyperion's son: "Daughter of long-hair'd Rhea, queenly Ceres! All shall be known to thee: for I revere And greatly pity thee, who griev'st the loss Of this thy daughter with the long-paced step. There is no other God to blame save he, Cloud-gatherer Jove, who to his brother Dis Has given her, to be call'd his blooming bride. He, snatching her, athwart the murky gloom Dragg'd her upon his horses, shrieking loud. But, Goddess! stay thy mighty grief: to nurse Measureless anger rashly and in vain, Becomes thee not: for no ignoble son Among immortals is imperial Dis,
Brother and kinsman; since to him hath fall'n
The lot, when erst the triple realm was shared, That he should dwell with those o'er whom he reigns."
He said, and cheer'd his steeds; they at the shout Sprang with the car, like birds upon the wing. But her a grief more vehement and keen Invaded, mind and soul; and then incensed With the cloud-blackening Jove, she left her seat Vacant in heavenly council, and, withdrawn Apart, from high Olympus took her way To human cities and luxuriant tilth: Her charms defacing with the weight of years. Of men or broad-zoned women, who had look'd Upon her form, not one could recognise ; Till now she reach'd the house of Celeus sage, King o'er Eleusis' incense-fuming plains. Afflicted in her inmost heart, she sate Beside the way, fast by a virgin well, Whence drew the city-dwellers, in the shade, (For overhead an olive sapling grew)
Like to an age-bow'd matron, now debarr'd
The fruits of marriage, and wreath'd Venus' gifts; Such as the nurses who the children rear
Born to law-giving kings, directresses
Who rule the echoing mansion with their voice. Her Celeus' daughters saw, what time they came Beside the yielded waters, which they drew In brazen vases for their father's house; Four like to Goddesses, in virgin bloom, Callidice, Cleisidice, fair Demo,
And, eldest of them all, Callithoë.
They saw, but knew her not: the face of Gods
Is hard to be discern'd by mortal eyes.
But, standing nigh, they greet her with wing'd words: "Who, whence art thou, dame of an aged race? Why wend'st thou from the city, nor draw'st nigh The dwellings, where the dames of kindred age, And younger women, live in shady chambers, Who with kind speech and act might welcome thee?”
They said, and these the Goddess' answering words: "Dear children! strangers of soft woman-kind! Hail! I will speak; it shall become me well
To meet your questions with the words of truth. Doris, the name my honour'd mother gave:
Anon from Crete o'er the broad face of sea
I, undesiring, came: a pirate band
Forced me reluctant: soon at Thoricum
In their swift ship they touch'd: the women throng'd Up the main land; they near the hawsers spread Their viands. But my soul no dainty fare Desired with stealthy step I broke away Through the main land's dark soil, and thus escaped My haughty lords, lest haply they may sell Their unbought slave, and revel in my cost. So came I hither wandering; nor yet know What land it be, or who inhabit it. Now may the dwellers in th' Olympian halls Grant you both youthful husbands, and fair babes As parents wish: but damsels ! pity me Kindly, dear children! till I reach the house Of man and woman, ready with my hands
To labour for them, whatsoever works May suit an aged woman.
A new-born infant, dandled in mine arms,
And spread the couch in my lord's massive chamber, And teach the females their embroidery-tasks."
The Goddess said; and thus the virgin chaste Callidice, the fairest of the fair:
"O! nurse! the dispensations of the Gods, Though grieving with the burden, men must bear : The Gods are stronger: but I will instruct Thee clearly; and will name the ruling chiefs, The great ones of the people, who protect Our city's walls with councils and just laws. Here dwells Triptolemus the sage; and there Diocles; Polyxenus here, and there Blameless Eumolpus, and here Dolichus, And there our noble father. Of all these
Their wives maintain the household-state, nor one Would scorn thy person, though at hasty glance, And thrust thee from the door, but welcome thee; For thou are like some Goddess. An' thou will, Remain, the while we seek our father's house; And to our beauteous mother Metanira All in its order tell; if haply she
May bid thee to her mansion, nor permit Thy quest of other dwelling-place. A son, Late-born, in her compacted chamber lies, With many wishes sought, with joy embraced : If thou wilt rear him up, and he attain The measure of his youth, she of thy sex, Who sees thee, well might envy; such thy meed.”
She spoke the Goddess bent her head, and they Filling their shining pitchers from the springs Bore them away exulting: swift they reach'd Their father's spacious house, and all, whate'er They heard and saw, unto their mother told. She, instant, sent them forth, to bid the dame With measureless reward. They,-as the deer, Or heifers in the vernal season, full
With pasture, o'er the meadow leap with bounds,-- Gathering the foldings of their graceful robes, Went hastening to the hollow wain-worn way; Their tresses, like the crocus flow'rets, waved Dishevell❜d on their shoulders; and they found By the way-side, where they had left her late, The venerable Goddess: her they led To the dear dwelling of their sire; but she, Behind them, sore-afflicted in her heart, Walk'd with veil'd head; the sable mantle trail'd With hollow rustling round her slender feet.
Straight came they to Jove-foster'd Celeus' gates,
And through the portal pass'd to where beside The solid couch's pillar sate erect
The venerated mother; on her lap
The babe, the new-sprung blossom; towards her ran
The virgins; but the Goddess set her feet
Across the threshold, and behold! she touch'd
The roof-beam with her head, and through the doors
Flash'd a dilated splendour all divine.
The mother shame and awe and trembling pale Seized, and she left her seat, and bade her sit.
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