Book of illustrations : Ancient Tragedy

I deem not of the gods, as having form'd
Connubial ties to which no law assents,
Nor as oppressed with chains: disgraceful this
I hold, nor ever will believe that one
Lords it o'er others: of no foreign aid
The god, who is indeed a god, hath need:
These are the wretched fables of the bards.
Euripides: Hercules 1444.

10

O Jove, who rulest the rolling of the earth,
And o'er it hast thy throne, whoe'er thou art,
The ruling mind, or the necessity
Of nature, I adore thee: dark thy ways,
And silent are thy steps; to mortal man
Yet thou with justice all things dost ordain.
Euripides: Daughters of Troy 955.

11

Was this then human, or divine?
Did it a middle nature share?
What mortal shall declare?
Who shall the secret bounds define?
When the gods work we see their pow'r;
We see on their high bidding wait
The prosperous gales, the storms of fate:
But who their awful councils shall explore?
Euripides: Helena 1235.

12

And those, the Ever-Virgin ones, I call,
Erinnyes dread that see all human deeds,
Swift-footed, that they mark how I am slain
By you Atreidae; may they seize on them.
Doers of evil, with all evil plagues
And uttermost destruction.
Sophocles: Ajax 937 [Plumptre].
Passing bits of Nature-Painting

13

Thou firmament of God, and swift-wing'd winds,
Ye springs of rivers, and of ocean waves
That smile innumerous! Mother of us all,
O Earth, and Sun's all-seeing eye, behold,
I pray, what I a God from Gods endure.
Aeschylus: Prometheus 88 [Plumptre].

14

A Sacred Spot
This spot is holy, one may clearly tell,
Full as it is of laurel, olive, vine.
And many a nightingale within sings sweetly.
Rest my limbs here upon this rough-hewn rock.
Sophocles: Oedipus at Colonus 16.

15

A Grove of the Furies
Rush not on
Through voiceless, grass-grown grove,
Where blends with rivulet of honey'd stream
The cup of water clear.
Do. 156.

16

A Meadow of Artemis
Thee, goddess, to adorn I bring this crown
Inwoven with the various flowers that deck
The unshorn mead, where never shepherd dared
To feed his flock, and the scythe never came,
But o'er its vernal sweets unshorn the bee
Ranges at will, and hush'd in reverence glides
Th' irriguous streamlet: garish art hath there
No place; of these the modest still may cull
At pleasure, interdicted to th' impure.
Euripides: Hippolytus 81.

17

The Nile
These are the streams of Nile, the joy of nymphs,
Glowing with beauty's radiance; he his floods
Swell'd with the melted snow o'er Egypt's plain
Irriguous pours, to fertilize her fields,
Th' ethereal rain supplying.
Euripides: Helena 1.

18

The Nightingale
On thee, high-nested in the museful shade
By close-inwoven branches made,
Thee, sweetest bird, most musical