And by her silence, signe of one dismaid,
The victorie did yeeld her as her share;
Yet did she inly fret and felly burne,
And all her blood to poysonous rancor turne:
That shortly from the shape of womanhed,
Such as she was when Pallas she attempted,
She grew to hideous shape of dryrihed,
Pined with griefe of folly late repented:
Eftsoones her white streight legs were altered
To crooked crawling shankes, of marrowe empted;
And her faire face to foule and loathsome hewe,
And her fine corpes to a bag of venim grewe.
This cursed creature, mindfull of that olde
Enfested grudge, the which his mother felt,
So soon as Clarion he did beholde,
His heart with vengefull malice inly swelt;
And weaving straight a net with manie a fold
About the cave, in which he lurking dwelt,
With fine small cords about it stretched wide,
So finely sponne, that scarce they could be spide.
Not anie damzell, which her vaunteth most
In skilfull knitting of soft silken twyne:
Nor anie weaver, which his worke doth boast
In diaper, in damaske, or in lyne ;
Nor anie skil'd in workmanship embost ;
Nor anie skil'd in loupes of fingring fine;
Might in their divers cunning ever dare
With this so curious networke to compare.
This same he did applie
For to entrap the careles Clarion,
That rang'd each where without suspition.
Suspition of friend, nor feare of foe,
That hazarded his health, had he at all.
But walkt at will, and wandred to and fro,
In the pride of his freedome principall :
Little wist he his fatall future woe,
But was secure; the liker he to fall.
He likest is to fall into mischaunce,
That is regardles of his governaunce.
Yet still Aragnoll (so his foe was hight)
Lay lurking covertly him to surprise;
And all his gins, that him entangle might,
Drest in good order as he could devise.
At length, the foolish Flie without foresight,
As he that did all daunger quite despise,
Toward those parts came flying carelesselie,
Where hidden was his hatefull enemie.
Who, seeing him, with secret ioy therefore
Did tickle inwardly in everie vaine;
And his false hart, fraught with all treasons store,
Was fill'd with hope his purpose to obtaine :
Himselfe he close upgathered more and more
Into his den, that his deceitfull traine
By his there being might not be bewraid,
Ne anie noyse, ne anie motion made.
Like as a wily foxe, that, having spide
Where on a sunnie banke the lambes doo play,
Full closely creeping by the hinder side,
Lyes in ambúshment of his hoped pray,
Ne stirreth limbe; till, seeing readie tide,
He rusheth forth, and snatcheth quite away
One of the litle yonglings unawares:
So to his worke Aragnoll him prepares.
Who now shall give unto my heavie eyes
A well of teares, that all may overflow?
Or where shall I find lamentable cryes,
And mournfull tunes, enough my griefe to show?
Helpe, O thou Tragick Muse, me to devise
Notes sad enough, t' expresse this bitter throw:
For loe, the drerie stownd is now arrived,
That of all happines hath us deprived.
The luckles Clarion, whether cruell Fate
Or wicked Fortune faultles him misled,
Or some ungracious blast out of the gate
Of Aeoles raine perforce him drove on hed,
Was (O sad hap and howre unfortunate!)
With violent swift flight forth caried
Into the cursed cobweb, which his foe
Had framed for his finall overthroe.
There the fond Flie, entangled, strugled long,
Himselfe to free thereout; but all in vaine.
For, striving more, the more in laces strong
Himselfe he tide, and wrapt his wingës twaine
In lymie snares the subtill loupes among;
That in the ende he breathlesse did remaine,
And, all his yongthly forces idly spent,
Him to the mercie of th' avenger lent.
Which when the greisly tyrant did espie,
Like a grimme lyon rushing with fierce might
Out of his den, he seized greedelie
On the resistles pray; and, with fell spight,
Under the left wing strooke his weapon slie
Into his heart, that his deepe groning spright
In bloodie streams forth fled into the aire,
His bodie left the spectacle of care.
GLOSSARY.-Tyne, affliction; yongth, youth; stie, mount; stownd, blow; burganet, helmet; wroken, avenged; doft, taken off; hight, called; mickle, much; eftsoones, immediately; embay, bathe; suffisaunce, excess; sprent, sprinkled; earne, yearn; spring, springal, youth; teade, torch; eathe, ease; dryrihed, drearyhead; lyne, linen; drerie stownd, dismal hour.
EDMUND SPENSER, 1553-1598.
FROM THE GREEK OF MNASALCUS.
Oh, never more, sweet locust,
Shalt thou with shrilly wing,
Along the fertile furrows sit
And thy gladsome carols sing;.
Oh, never more thy nimble wings
Shall cheer this heart of mine,
With sweetest melody, while I
Beneath the trees recline.
FROM THE GREEK OF MELEAGER, 100 B. C.
Oh, shrill-voiced insect, that, with dew-drops sweet
Inebriate, dost in desert woodlands sing;
Perch'd on the spray-top with indented feet,
Thy dusky body's echoings, harp-like ring.
Come, dear Cicada! chirp to all the grove,
The nymphs, and Pan, a new responsive strain ; That I, in noonday sleep, may steal from love, Reclined beneath this dark o'erspreading plane.
Translation of SIR C. A. ELTON.
FROM THE GREEK OF ANACREON, 600 B. C.
Happy insect, what can be
In happiness compared to thee?
Fed with nourishment divine,
The dewy morning's gentle wine!
Nature waits upon thee still,
And thy verdant cup does fill ;
'Tis fill'd wherever thou dost tread,
Nature self's thy Ganymede.
Thou dost drink, and dance, and sing,
Happier than the happiest king!
All the fields which thou dost see,
All the plants belong to thee;
All that summer hours produce,
Fertile made with early juice.
Man for thee does sow and plow;
Farmer he, and landlord thou!
Thou dost innocently enjoy;
Nor does thy luxury destroy.
The shepherd gladly heareth thee,
More harmonious than he.
Thee country hinds with gladness hear,
Prophet of the ripen'd year!
Thee Phoebus loves, and does inspire;
Phoebus is himself thy sire.
To thee, of all things upon earth,
Life is no longer than thy mirth.
Happy insect! happy thou,
Dost neither age nor winter know.
But when thou'st drunk, and danc'd, and sung
Thy fill, the flowery leaves among,
(Voluptuous and wise withal,
Epicurean animal!)
Satiated with thy summer feast,
Thou retir'st to endless rest.
Translation of ABRAHAM COWLEY, 1618-1657.
These tiny loiterers on the barley's beard,
And happy units of a numerous herd
Of playfellows, the laughing summer brings;
Mocking the sunshine on their glittering wings;
How merrily they creep, and run, and fly!
No kin they bear to labor's drudgery,
Smoothing the velvet of the pale hedge-rose,
And where they fly for dinner no one knows;
The dew-drop feeds them not; they love the shine
Of noon, whose suns may bring them golden wine.
All day they're playing in their Sunday dress-
When night reposes they can do no less;
Then to the heath-bell's purple hood they fly,
And like to princes in their slumbers, lie
Secure from rain, and dropping dews, and all
On silken beds in roomy, painted hall.
So merrily they spend their summer day,
Or in the corn-fields, or in new-mown hay.
One almost fancies that such happy things,
With colored hoods and richly burnished wings,
Are fairy folk, in splendid masquerade
Disguised, as if of mortal folk afraid;
Keeping their joyous pranks a mystery still,
Lest glaring day should do their secrets ill.
Flowers seem, as it were, to impart a portion of their own characteristics to all things that frequent them. This is peculiarly exemplified in the butterfly, which must be regarded, par excellence, as the insect of flowers, and a flower-like insect, gay and innocent, made after a floral pattern, and colored after floral hues. But even with families which are usually dark and repulsive-that, for instance, of cockroaches, which are for the most part black or brown-the few species which resort to flowers are gayly colored. What a contrast, also, between the dark, loathsome, in-door spiders and their prettily painted green and red, and white and yellow brethren of the fields and gardens, which seek their prey among the flowers; while more striking still is the dif ference between the wingless, disgusting plague of cities and the elegantly-formed, brightly-colored winged bugs, which are common fre
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