Twin peaks hath the isle: upon one thereof didst thou dart, and stand
Uplifting on high thy golden bow in a God’s right hand.
Flashed round thee on every side the bow’s bright splendour-sheen.
Then of the voyagers’ eyes was a little island seen
Of the Sporades, overagainst Hippuris’ tiny isle.
There cast they anchor, and waited: and soon Dawn’s rosy smile
Flushed up through the sky. In a tree-shadowed dell to Apollo they made
A goodly hallowed place, and an altar mid twilight of shade.
And the Splendour-god, because of the splendour that far-seen flamed,
Phoebus they called; and Anaphê, “Isle of Revealing,” they named
That rock, for that Phoebus revealed it to men bewildered sore.
And they sacrificed whatso men might provide on a desolate shore
For the sacrifice: but when, for that wine they had none, they shed
Water over the brands on the altar glowing red,
Medea’s Phaeacian maidens beholding them could not refrain
The laughter their bosoms within any more; for that oxen slain
For the sacrifice in Alcinoüs’ halls had they seen full oft.
But the heroes with mirthful hearts cast back their railing, and scoffed
With gibing words: and so, like the flame’s light-flickering play,
Flashed taunts ’twixt these and contention of jesting. And unto this day,
From the old song-sport of the heroes, in that isle women fling
Even such light scoffs at the men when gifts of atonement they bring
To Apollo the Splendour-god, unto Anaphê’s Warder-king.
But when thence they had loosed the hawsers, when summer-winds blew light,
Then did Euphêmus call to remembrance a dream of the night,
In his awe of the glorious son of Maia. For lo, him thought
That the god-given clod in his palm close unto his breast he had caught.
And therefrom like a suckling babe white streams of milk it drew,
Till the clod, for all that so little it were, to a woman grew
Like to a virgin. In love’s embrace, by desire overborne,
Did he lie with the damsel: yet even as a maiden for ruth did he mourn
To have humbled her whom the very milk of his breast had fed.
But she with unangry words spake comfort to him, and she said:
“Offspring of Triton am I, and the nurse of thy children to be:
No maid, dear friend; for that Triton and Libya gave birth unto me.
But me to the maidens the Daughters of Nereus do thou restore
To dwell in the sea nigh Anaphê’s isle. I shall rise once more
To the light of the sun, for thy children’s children a home prepared.”
Now his heart called this to remembrance; and all that dream he declared
Unto Aison’s son: then he mused in his soul on a prophecy
Of the Smiter from Far, and he uttered his thought, and thus spake he:
“O strange!—of a surety a weird of glorious renown is thine!
For the Gods shall make this clod, when thou castest it into the brine,
An island, wherein thy children’s children hereafter shall live.
For this was the stranger’s-gift which Triton did freely give
To thine hand on the Libyan shore. Of the Gods that abide for aye
None other was he who gave, when he met thee there in the way.”
He spake, and Euphêmus set not at nought that answering word;
But his heart for the Aisonid’s oracle-promise was gladness-stirred;
And he cast ’mid the surges the clod. Thence rose up an isle from the sea,
Kallistê, the sacred nurse of Euphêmus’ children to be,
Which in Sintian Lemnos wont to dwell in the ancient days,
And from Lemnos were driven forth by men of Tyrrhenian race;
And to Sparta as suppliants came they: from Sparta fared they on,
Until they were led of Thôras, Autesion’s mighty son,
To Kallistê: then changed they its name, and Thôra the isle did they call
From their chief:—but after Euphêmus’ days did this befall.
Thence parting, unhindered o’er long sea-rollers untold did they fare
Till they stayed on Aigina’s beach; and in innocent rivalry there
Hero with hero contended, the while the water they drew,
Who first should draw it, and who to the ship win first of the crew.
For their need, and withal the fresh strong breeze, bade hasten away.
Wherefore it cometh that yet do the youths of the Myrmidons lay
On their shoulders the jars full-brimmed, and burdened so do they speed
With light-running feet o’er the race-course striving for victory’s meed.
Be gracious, O blest generation of chieftains!—may these lays ring
Year after year in the ears of men ever sweeter to sing!
For now at the last am I come to the glorious ending of all,
To the bourne of your travail: for struggle nor strife did thereafter befall
Unto you, as homeward-bound from Aigina did Argo flee,
Neither tempest of winds brake forth; but over a peaceful sea
By the land of Kekrops, by Aulis coasting, and under the lee
Of Euboea, by cities Opuntian of Lokrian men did ye fleet,
Till with rapture of welcome on Pagasae’s strand ye set your feet.
The Translator’s Epilogue
The historian, if asked to name the country and the period in which literary men—not popular novelists, but men whose incentive to labour is the love of literature, science, research—were in the most enviable position, would go very far back from the present time, and point to Egypt as the country, and the three centuries before Christ as the period. “The history of literature,” it has been said, “is hardly anything but a martyrology, as though there were a conspiracy of ingratitude among men”: but the respect, honour and support accorded to literary genius under the Ptolemies form a striking contrast to its fate in other lands and epochs.
When, on the death of Alexander the Great, in 323 BC, his vast empire was divided amongst his generals, one of them, Ptolemy Soter, became king of Egypt. Once established in his kingdom, he soon proved that he was very much more than a mere soldier. He was a man of brains, with a taste for literature, and a love for those who pursued it. His successors were worthy of him: the Ptolemies created an era in the history of literature; they made learning the fashion, and scholars, poets and men of science honourable.
Ptolemy I
