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The following sections, if they exist, are offprint from Beacham's Guide to Literature for Young Adults: "About the Author", "Overview", "Setting", "Literary Qualities", "Social Sensitivity", "Topics for Discussion", "Ideas for Reports and Papers". (c)1994-2005, by Walton Beacham.
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The Value of Latin
Pompeii
Ancient Rome
The Roman Forum
The Roman House
Roman Slaves
Roman Children
Education among the Romans
Some Common Professions and Trades among the Romans
Roman Doctors
The Roman Soldier
Caesar
Cicero
Vergil
Horace
Roman Literature
Some Famous Women of Ancient Rome
Roman Holidays
Funeral Customs and Burial Places
Roman Games
Some Famous Buildings of Ancient Rome
Some Famous Roman Letters
Some Ancient Romans of Fame
A Roman Banquet
Roman Roads
Some Roman Gods
Some Famous Temples of Ancient and Modern Rome
Some Religious Customs
Some Famous Pictures and Sculpture
Roman Book and Libraries
Ancient Myths and Legends
The Ancient Myth in Modern Literature
What English Owes to Greek
Modern Rome
Italy of To-day
O Tempora! O Mores!
A Plea for the Classics Eugene
Field
On an Old Latin Text Book T. W.
Higginson
St. Augustine’s Love of Latin Andrew
Lang
The Watch of the Old Gods
Old and New Rome Herman Merivale
The Fall of Rome Arthur Chamberlain
A Christmas Hymn Alfred Dommett
Roman Girl’s Song Mrs.
Hemans
Capri Walter Taylor
Field
Palladium Matthew Arnold
After Construing A.
C. Benson
A Roman Mirror Rennell
Rodd
The Doom of the Slothful John Addington Symonds
Hector and Andromache
Schiller
Tr. Sir E. B. Lytton
Enceladus Henry W. Longfellow
Nil Admirari John G.
Saxe
Perdidi Diem Mrs. Sigourney
Jupiter and His Children John G.
Saxe
The Prayer of Socrates John H. Finley
By the Roman Road Anonymous
A Nymph’s Lament Nora
Hopper
Helen of Troy Nora Hopper
An Etruscan Ring J.
W. Mackail
Orpheus With His Lute William Shakespeare
A Hymn in Praise of Neptune Thomas Campion
Horace’s Philosophy of Life
Tr.
Sir Theodore Martin
An Invitation to Dine Written by Horace to Vergil
Tr.
Sir Theodore Martin
The Golden Mean. Horace Tr.
Wm. Cowper
To the Reader. Martial Tr.
Page 2
Lord Byron
On Portia. Martial Tr.
Lamb
To Potitus. Martial Tr.
John Hay
What Is Given To Friends Is Not Lost.
Martial
To Cotilus. Martial Tr.
Elton
The Happy Life. Martial Tr. Sir Richard
Fanshawe
To a Schoolmaster. Martial Tr.
John Hay
Epitaph on Erotion. Martial Tr.
Leigh Hunt
Non Amo Te
Gratitude Robert
Burns
A Hymn to the Lares Robert Herrick
Elysium. Schiller Tr. Sir Edward
Bulwer Lytton
Orpheus Robert Herrick
Cerberus Oliver Herford
The Harpy Oliver Herford
Cupid and the Bee Anacreon
The Assembly of the Gods. A. Tassoni Tr.
A. Werner
A Model Young Lady of Antiquity Pliny the Younger
Translation Alfred
J. Church
To Lesbia’s Sparrow
Catullus
Translation
Elton
Cicero Catullus
Translation
Charles Lamb
De Patientia Thomas a Kempis
The Favorite Prayer of Mary Queen of Scots
Ultime Thule Seneca
Translation
The Roman of Old Anonymous
Ich bin Dein
Malum Opus James A. Morgan
Felis
Amantis Res Adversae
Puer ex Jersey
Flevit Lepus Parvulus
Carmen Vitae
Longfellow
Tr. Benjamin L. D’Ooge
Gaudeamus Igitur
Lauriger Horatius
America Tr. George
D. Kellogg
Integer Vitae Horace
Rock of Ages
Toplady
Tr. William Gladstone
Dies Irae Thomas of Celano
Ad Sanctum Spiritus Robert II, King of France
Adeste Fideles
De Nativitate Domini
* * * * *
PROGRAMS
* * * * *
THE VALUE OF LATIN
“Latin is the most logically constructed
of all the languages, and
will help more effectually than any other
study to strengthen the
brain centres that must be used when any
reasoning is required.”
—Dr.
Frank Sargent Hoffman
THE LATIN LANGUAGE.
Mosaics in History. Arthur Gilman.
Chautauqua. Vol. ii, p. 317.
Illustrated History of Ancient Literature.
John D. Quackenbos.
P. 305.
A SHORT STORY OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE.
Jessie A. Chase. Saint Nicholas.
Vol. xxvi, p. 593.
THE VALUE OF LATIN.
The Advantages which accrue from a Classical
Education. Caroline
R. Gaston. Education.
Vol. xxiii, p. 257.
The Study of Caesar. Adeline A. Knight.
Education. Vol. viii,
p. 188.
A Plea for Culture. T.W. Higginson.
Atlantic Monthly. Vol. xix,
p. 29.
The Nature of Culture Studies. R.M.
Wenley. School Review. Vol.
xiii, p. 441.
The Teaching of Second Year Latin.
H.W. Johnston. School Review.
Vol. x, p. 72.
ESSAY.
What I have gained from the Study of Latin.
THE VALUE OF LATIN AS A PREPARATION FOR THE STUDY
OF MEDICINE.
The Advantages that accrue from a Classical
Education. Caroline R.
Gaston. Education.
Vol. xxiii, p. 351.
The Value of Greek and Latin to the Medical
Student. Victor C.
Vaughan. School Review.
Vol. xiv, p. 389.
Latin and Greek in American Education.
Francis W. Kelsey.
Chap. iv.
THE PLACE OF THE HUMANITIES IN THE TRAINING OF ENGINEERS.
Latin and Greek in American Education.
Francis W. Kelsey.
Chap. iv.
The Value of the Humanistic Studies as
a Preparation for the Study
of Engineering. Herbert
C. Sadler. School Review. Vol. xiv,
p. 400.
THE VALUE OF LATIN AS A TRAINING FOR PRACTICAL LIFE.
Latin and Greek in American Education.
Francis W. Kelsey.
Chap. iv.
Bulletin of the Missouri State Normal
School (1909). P. 19.
The Practical Value of Humanistic Studies.
Wm. Gardner Hale.
School Review.
Vol. xix, p. 657.
THE VALUE OF LATIN TO THE BUSINESS GIRL.
Latin as a Vocational Study in the Commercial
Course. Albert S.
Perkins. The Classical
Journal. Vol. x, p.7.
ROME’S GIFT TO US.
The Indebtedness of the English Language
to the Latin. Federico
Garlanda. Chautauqua.
Vol. xi, p. 10.
A First Year Latin Book. (Introduction.)
Wm. Gardner Hale.
THE VALUE OF LATIN AS A TRAINING FOR THE LAWYER.
Bulletin of the Missouri State Normal
School (1909). P. 17.
Will Latin follow Greek out of the
High School. Joseph P. Behm.
Classical Weekly.
Vol. vii, p. 25.
POEM.—A Plea for the Classics. EUGENE FIELD.
“There is nothing on the earth,
or under it, like Pompeii.”
—W. D. Howells
POEM.—Pompeii.
Poetical Works. Mrs. Sigourney.
P. 270.
THE CITY OF POMPEII BEFORE THE DESTRUCTION.
The Last Days of Pompeii.
Sir Edward Bulwer-Lytton. P. 89.
THE DESTRUCTION OF POMPEII.
The Last Days of Pompeii.
Sir Edward Bulwer-Lytton. P. 366.
POEM.—The Earthquake.
Whittier’s Complete Poems.
P. 487.
A LETTER FROM PLINY THE YOUNGER TO TACITUS.
The Eruption of Vesuvius. Pliny the
Younger. Century. Vol. lxiv,
p. 642.
The Eruption of Vesuvius. Translation
of Pliny’s letter. Readings
in Ancient History.
Hutton Webster. P. 248.
A Doomed City. Arranged from Pliny’s
Letters. Chautauqua. Vol.
xviii, p. 506.
VESUVIUS, DESTROYER OF CITIES.
B.F. Fisher. Cosmopolitan.
Vol. xxxii, p. 573.
Peeps at Many Lands. Italy.
John Finnemore. Chap. xiv, p. 61.
A DAY IN POMPEII AS DESCRIBED BY SHELLEY.
The Prose Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley.
Harry Buxton Forman.
Vol. iv, p. 71.
With Shelley in Italy. Anna
B. McMahan. P. 187.
A DAY IN POMPEII AS DESCRIBED BY HOWELLS.
Italian Journeys. W.D.
Howells. Chap. viii.
POEM.—Pompeii.
Edgar Fawcett. Cosmopolitan.
Vol. xxiv, p. 182.
THE INTERIOR OF A POMPEIAN HOUSE.
H.G. Huntington. Cosmopolitan.
Vol. xxiv, p. 521.
A MUNICIPAL ELECTION IN A.D. 79.
Littell’s Living Age.
Vol. ccxlii, p. 188.
RECENT EXCAVATIONS AND DISCOVERIES IN POMPEII.
John L. Stoddard’s Lectures.
Naples. Vol. viii.
A DAY IN POMPEII AS DESCRIBED BY DICKENS.
Pictures from Italy. Charles
Dickens. P. 164.
PROBING POMPEII.
Antonio Sogliano. Cosmopolitan.
Vol. liii, p. 760.
POEM.—The Eruption of Vesuvius.
Poems. Victor Hugo. P.
112.
“Yet wears thy Tiber’s shore
A mournful mien—
Rome, Rome! Thou art no more
As thou hast been.”
—Mrs.
Hemans
ROLL CALL.
Quotations referring to Rome from Byron’s
“Childe Harold” or other
poems.
THE TOPOGRAPHY OF ROME.
A Day in Ancient Rome. Edgar
S. Shumway. P. 5.
Social Life at Rome in the Age of Cicero.
W. Warde Fowler.
Chap. i.
Ancient Rome in the Light of Recent
Discoveries. Rodolfo
Lanciani. Chap. iv.
Ancient History. Hutton Webster.
P. 631.
ROME: THE ETERNAL CITY.
The Eternal City. Lyman Abbott. Harper’s
Magazine. Vol. xliv,
p. 1.
New Splendors of Old Rome. Dante
Vaglieri. Cosmopolitan. Vol.
lii, p. 440.
A WALK IN ANCIENT ROME.
A Walk in Rome. Oscar Kuhns. Chautauqua.
Vol. xxxiv, P. 56.
THE WATERWORKS OF ROME.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. ii, p. 461.
Ancient Rome in the Light of Recent
Discoveries. Rodolfo
Lanciani. P. 299.
POEM.—A Roman Aqueduct.
Poetical Works. Oliver Wendell
Holmes. P. 326.
THE GARDENS.
The Gardens of Ancient Rome and What Grew
in them. St. Clair
Baddely, Littell’s
Living Age. Vol. ccxxxix, p. 458.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. ii, P. 475, 533.
POEM.—A Roman Garden.
Florence Wilkinson. Current Literature.
Vol. xliii, p. 570.
THE FOUNTAINS.
Roman Fountains. E. McAuliffe. Catholic
World. Vol. lxxvii,
p. 209.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. ii, p. 464.
Roba di Roma. William W. Story.
Chapter xvii.
The Prose Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley.
Harry Buxton Forman.
Vol. iv, p. 96.
With Shelley in Italy. Anna
B. McMahan. P 99.
Walks in Rome. Augustus J.C.
Hare. P. 305.
POEM.—The Fountain of Trevi.
Poetical Works. Bayard Taylor.
P. 91.
HAWTHORNE’S DESCRIPTION OF THE FOUNTAIN OF TREVI.
Walks in Rome. Augustus J.C.
Hare. P. 65.
POEM.—The Fountain.
Poetical Works. James R. Lowell.
P. 10.
A STROLL IN ROME AS DESCRIBED BY HORACE.
A Day in Ancient Rome. Edgar
S. Shumway. P. 51.
THE BURNING OF ROME.
Tacitus. Annales. Chap. xv.
Readings in Ancient History.
Hutton Webster. P. 232.
Readings in Ancient History.
Rome and the West. William Stearns
Davis. P. 192.
Illustrated History of Ancient Literature.
John D. Quackenbos.
P. 414.
Foreign Classics in English.
William Cleaver Wilkinson. Vol. iv,
p. 105.
THE SKY SCRAPERS OF ROME.
Rodolfo Lanciani. North American Review.
Vol. clxii, p. 45.
POEM.—Nero’s Incendiary Song.
Poems. Victor Hugo. P.
31.
POEM.—Urbs, Roma, Vale.
Littell’s Living Age.
J.P.M. Vol. cliv, p. 575; vol. clv,
p. 447.
Blackwood’s Magazine.
Vol. cxxxii, pp. 176, 490, 781.
“In many a heap the ground
Heaves, as if Ruin in a frantic mood
Had done its utmost. Here and there
appears,
As left to show his handiwork, not ours,
An idle column, a half-buried arch,
A wall of some great temple.”
—Rogers
THE TOPOGRAPHY OF THE FORUM.
Ancient Rome in the Light of Recent
Discoveries. Rodolfo
Lanciani. P. 82.
A Day in Ancient Rome. Edgar
S. Shumway. Pp. 21, 43.
The Remains of Ancient Rome.
J.H. Middleton. Vol. i, p. 231.
Ancient History. Hutton Webster.
P. 636.
THE ROMAN CAPITOL.
Eugene Lawrence. Harper’s Magazine.
Vol. xliv, p. 570.
THE ROSTRA.
Rome of To-day and Yesterday.
John Dennie. Pp. 65, 117.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. i, P. 356.
THE MAMERTINE PRISON.
Rome of To-day and Yesterday.
John Dennie. P. 35.
Ancient Rome in the Light of Recent
Discoveries. Rodolfo
Lanciani. P. 75.
A Day in Ancient Rome. Edgar
S. Shumway. P. 22.
DICKENS’ DESCRIPTION OF THE MAMERTINE PRISON.
A Day in Ancient Rome. Edgar
S. Shumway. P. 21.
RECENT EXCAVATIONS IN THE FORUM AS SEEN BY A TRAVELER.
Roma Beata. Maud Howe.
P. 254.
THE ROMAN FORUM AS CICERO SAW IT.
Walter Dennison. The Classical Journal.
Vol. iii, p. 318.
CICERO’S HOUSE NEAR THE FORUM.
Walks in Rome. Augustus J.C.
Hare. P. 249.
A ROMAN STREET SCENE.
Gallus. W.A. Becker.
P. 43.
POEM.—The Pillar of Trajan.
Complete Poetical Works. William
Wordsworth. P. 652.
NERO’S GOLDEN HOUSE.
Rome of To-day and Yesterday.
John Dennie. P. 192.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. i, p. 342.
The Life of the Greeks and Romans.
Guhl and Koner. P. 369.
The Golden House of Nero.
J.G. Winter. Classical Weekly. Vol.
vii, p. 163.
THE LAPIS NIGER.
Roma Beata. Maud Howe.
Pp. 163, 260.
POMPEY’S THEATER.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. i, P. 374.
Ancient Rome in the Light of Recent
Discoveries. Rodolfo
Lanciani. P. 190.
THE ROMAN FORUM AS IT APPEARS TO-DAY.
Roman Holidays and Others.
W.D. Howells. P. 96.
POEM.—In the Roman Forum
Amelia Josephine Burr. Literary Digest.
Vol. xlviii, p. 1130.
“Here is my religion, here is my
race, here are the traces of my
forefathers. I cannot express the
charm which I find here, and which
penetrates my heart and my senses.”
—Cicero: Pro
Domo.
THE PLAN OF THE ROMAN HOUSE.
Callus. W.A. Becker.
P. 237.
The Life of the Greeks and Romans.
Guhl and Koner. P. 357.
The Private Life of the Romans.
H.W. Johnston. Chap. vi.
Society in Rome under the Caesars.
William R. Inge. Chap. x.
THE HEATING AND LIGHTING OF THE HOUSE.
The Life of the Greeks and Romans.
Guhl and Koner. P. 457.
The Private Life of the Romans.
H.W. Johnston. Chap. vi.
Ancient Rome in the Light of Recent
Discoveries. Rodolfo
Lanciani. Pp. 78, 269.
THE INTERIOR OF THE HOUSE.
Social Life at Rome in the Age of Cicero.
W. Warde Fowler. Chap.
viii.
The Interior of a Pompeian House.
H.G. Huntington. Cosmopolitan.
Vol. xxiv, p. 52.
HOUSEHOLD FURNITURE.
Gallus. W.A. Becker.
P. 295.
Society in Rome under the Caesars.
W.R. Inge. Chap. x.
The Private Life of the Romans.
H.W. Johnston. Chap. vi.
A Day in Ancient Rome. Edgar
S. Shumway. P. 77.
THE PALATINE: HOME OF THE ARISTOCRACY.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara E. Clement. Vol. i, p. 324.
Walks in Rome. Augustus J.C.
Hare. Pp. 225, 249.
A HAUNTED HOUSE.
C. Pliny. Epist. 7, 27, 5-11.
“Is not a slave of the same stuff
as you, his lord? Does he not
enjoy the same sun, breathe the same air,
die, even as you do? Then
let your slave worship rather than dread
you. Scorn not any man. The
Universe is the common parent of us all.”
—Seneca
THE ROMAN SLAVE.
Gallus. W.A. Becker.
P. 200.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. ii, P. 530.
Caesar. A Sketch. James
Anthony Froude. Chap. ii.
The Private Life of the Romans.
H.W. Johnston. Chap. v.
The Life of the Greeks and Romans.
Guhl and Koner. P. 511.
Ancient History. Hutton Webster.
P. 596.
THE ROMAN SLAVE AS SEEN IN LITERATURE.
Vergilius. Irving Bacheller.
P. 38.
A Friend of Caesar. William
Stearns Davis. Chap. ii, pp. 33, 44.
TREATMENT OF SLAVES.
Cato: On Agriculture.
Translation in Source Book of Roman
History. Dana C.
Munro. P. 184.
Letter of Pliny the Younger. Translation
in Readings in Ancient
History. Hutton Webster.
P. 245.
THE HOUSEHOLD SLAVE.
The Life of the Greeks and Romans.
Guhl and Koner. P. 513.
Society in Rome under the Caesars.
William R. Inge. P. 160.
SLAVES AS PHYSICIANS.
The Life of the Greeks and Romans.
Guhl and Koner. P. 526.
Ancient Rome in the Light of Recent
Discoveries. Rodolfo
Lanciani. P. 71.
TRIMALCHIO’S COOK.
Trimalchio’s Dinner.
Harry Thurston Peck. P. 115.
SENECA’S OPINIONS UPON SLAVERY.
Readings in Ancient History.
Rome and the West. William Stearns
Davis. P. 259.
DIALOGUE.—A Slave Owner and His Slaves.
Readings in Ancient History.
Rome and the West. William Stearns
Davis. P. 90.
“Pueri mei sunt mea ornamenta.”
—Cornelia
THE ROMAN CHILD.
The Private Life of the Romans.
H.W. Johnston. P. 67.
HIS PETS AND GAMES.
The Private Life of the Romans.
H.W. Johnston. P. 73.
HIS PLAYTHINGS.
The Private Life of the Romans.
H.W. Johnston. P. 71.
Second Latin Book. Miller
and Beeson. Introduction. P. 20.
A ROMAN BOY AS DESCRIBED BY PETRONIUS.
Trimalchio’s Dinner.
Harry Thurston Peck. P. 112.
CICERO’S SON.
Roman Life in the Days of Cicero.
Alfred J. Church. Chap. ii.
A ROMAN BOY’S BIRTHDAY.
Bertha A. Bush. Saint Nicholas.
Vol. xxii, p. 38.
THE STORY OF A ROMAN BOY.
Second Latin Book. Miller
and Beeson. Introduction.
POEM.—A Girl’s Funeral in Milan.
In the Garden of Dreams. Louise
Chandler Moulton. P. 39.
ROMAN CHILDREN ON THEIR WAY TO SCHOOL.
Second Latin Book. Miller
and Beeson. Introduction. P. 24.
POEM.—To Lesbia’s Sparrow.
“Iam tristis nucibus puer relictis
Clamoso revocatur a magistro.”
—Martial
ODE.—To a Schoolmaster.
The Epigrams of Martial. Book
x: lxii.
EDUCATION AMONG THE ROMANS.
A Literary History of Rome.
J. Wight Duff. P. 49.
The Private Life of the Romans.
H.W. Johnston. Chap. iv.
Social Life at Rome in the Age of Cicero.
W. Warde Fowler.
Chap. vi.
WAGES OF SCHOOLMASTERS IN ANCIENT ROME.
R.F. Leighton. Education.
Vol. iv, p. 506.
THE TROUBLES OF THE ROMAN SCHOOLMASTER.
Society in Rome under the Caesars.
William R. Inge. Chap. vi.
THE PUNISHMENT OF PUPILS.
Roman Life in the Days of Cicero.
Alfred J. Church. P. 15.
Readings in Ancient History.
Rome and the West. William Stearns
Davis. P. 230.
CATO’S TRAINING OF HIS SON.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. ii, p. 525.
Social Life at Rome in the Age of Cicero.
W. Warde Fowler. Chap.
vi, p. 172.
A LETTER WRITTEN BY CICERO’S SON WHILE AT COLLEGE.
Social Life at Rome in the Age of Cicero.
W. Warde Fowler. Chap.
vi, p. 199.
Masterpieces of Latin Literature.
Gordon J. Laing. P. 176.
THE BOY POET SULPICIUS: A Tragedy of Roman Education.
J. Raleigh Nelson. School Review.
Vol. xi, p. 384.
“Rome had her great shopping district
(mainly on streets leading
into the Forum), and seemingly her ‘department
stores’; also her
class of inveterate shoppers.”
—Readings in
Ancient History. William Stearns Davis, p.
225.
POEM.—Pan in Wall Street.
Edmund Clarence Stedman. Atlantic Monthly.
Vol. xix, p. 118.
The Classic Myths in English Literature.
Charles Mills Gayley.
Chap. xv, p. 183.
HOW A WELL-TO-DO ROMAN SPENT HIS DAY.
Social Life at Rome in the Age of Cicero.
W. Warde Fowler.
Chap. ix.
Society in Rome under the Caesars.
William Ralph Inge. Chap.
viii.
The Private Life of the Romans.
H.W. Johnston. P. 308.
Ancient History. Hutton Webster.
P. 581.
BANKING AND MONEY LENDING.
Social Life at Rome in the Age of Cicero.
W. Warde Fowler.
Chap. iii, p. 80.
The Private Life of the Romans.
H.W. Johnston. P. 306.
A ROMAN AUTHOR.
Society in Rome under the Caesars.
William Ralph Inge. Chap. vi.
The Private Life of the Romans.
H.W. Johnston. P. 296.
THE BAKER.
The Life of the Greeks and Romans.
Guhl and Koner. P. 521.
The Private Life of the Romans.
H.W. Johnston. P. 191.
THE FLORIST.
Ancient Rome in the Light of Recent
Discoveries. Rodolfo
Lanciani. P. 273.
THE LAWYER.
Society in Rome under the Caesars.
William Ralph Inge. Chap. vi.
The Private Life of the Romans.
H.W. Johnston. P. 301.
A ROMAN CRAFT SET AT NOUGHT BY PAUL.
Bible. Acts, Chap. xix, v.
21 ff.
SOME BUSINESS ADVERTISEMENTS.
Readings in Ancient History.
Rome and the West. William Stearns
Davis. P. 263.
A BUSINESS PANIC IN ROME.
Readings in Ancient History.
Rome and the West. William Stearns
Davis. P. 222.
THE VEXATIONS OF CITY LIFE.
C. Pliny. Epist. i, 6. Translation
in Ancient Classics for
English Readers.
Pliny. W. Lucas Collins. Chap. x, p. 124.
“Mens sana in corpore sano.”
—Juvenal
THE SANITARY CONDITIONS OF ANCIENT ROME.
The Italians of To-day. Rene
Bazin. P. 121.
Roba di Roma. William W. Story.
Chap. vii.
Ancient Rome in the Light of Recent
Discoveries. Rodolfo
Lanciani. P. 70.
ROMAN DOCTORS.
Gallus. W.A. Becker.
P. 207.
Society in Rome under the Caesars.
W.R. Inge. Chap. vi.
Roba di Roma. William W. Story.
P. 527.
REMEDIES FOR TOOTHACHE AND HYDROPHOBIA.
Illustrated History of Ancient Literature.
John D. Quakenbos.
P. 404.
ANCIENT MICROBES.
Walks in Rome. Augustus J.C.
Hare. P. 416.
Ancient Rome in the Light of Recent
Discoveries. Rodolfo
Lanciani. P. 52.
THE FAITH CURE.
Ancient Rome in the Light of Recent
Discoveries. Rodolfo
Lanciani. Pp. 52, 68.
BAIAE: THE HEALTH RESORT.
Society in Rome under the Caesars.
W.R. Inge. Chap. ix.
MEDICAL SERVICE IN THE ROMAN ARMY.
Medicine in the Roman Army. Eugene
Hugh Byrne. Classical
Journal. Vol. v,
p. 267.
THE STORY OF A ROMAN DOCTOR.
Lazy Tours in Spain. Louise
Chandler Moulton. P. 103.
THE PUBLIC BATHS.
Society in Rome under the Caesars.
W.R. Inge. P. 232.
The Private Life of the Romans.
H.W. Johnston. P. 272.
“Tu regere imperio populos, Romane, memento;
hae tibi erunt artes; pacisque imponere
morem
parcere subiectis, et debellare superbos.”
—Vergil. Aeneid,
vi, 851 ff.
THE ROMAN SOLDIER.
Caesar. A Sketch. James
Anthony Froude. Chap. xiv.
THE SOLDIER’S ARMOR.
The Life of the Greeks and Romans.
Guhl and Koner. P. 567.
The Genesis of Rome’s Military
Equipment. Eugene S. McCartney.
Classical Weekly. Vol. vi,
p. 74.
CAESAR’S ART OF WAR.
Caesar’s Art of War and of Writing.
Atlantic Monthly. Vol. xliv,
p. 273.
CAESAR’S CARE FOR HIS SOLDIERS.
Caesar. A Sketch. James
Anthony Froude. Chap. xxiv.
DEBATE.
Resolved that Caesar was justified in
subduing Gaul.
DIALOGUE: A Roman Man o’ War’s Man.
Heroic Happenings. E.S.
Brooks. P. 63.
THE ITALIAN SOLDIER OF TO-DAY.
The Italians of To-day. Rene
Bazin. P. 66.
STUDYING CAESAR ON THE AISNE.
Literary Digest. Vol. l, p.
919.
POEM.—Gods of War.
Literary Digest. Vol. xlix,
p. 1022.
“The foremost man of all this world.”
—Shakespeare
THE BOYHOOD OF CAESAR.
Great Captains. Caesar.
Theodore A. Dodge. Chap. iii.
Roman Life in the Days of Cicero.
Alfred J. Church. Chap. viii.
Caesar. A Sketch. James
Anthony Froude. Chap. vi.
HIS PERSONAL APPEARANCE.
A History of Roman Literature.
Charles Thomas Cruttwell. P. 193.
Caesar. A Sketch. James
Anthony Froude. Chap. viii.
THE HABITS OF THE GAULS.
Great Captains. Caesar.
Theodore A. Dodge. Chap. iv.
Caesar. A Sketch. James
Anthony Froude. Chap. xiii.
CAESAR IN GAUL.
Caesar. A Sketch. James
Anthony Froude. Pp. 198, 217.
CAESAR’S ARMY AND A MODERN ARMY COMPARED.
Great Captains. Theodore A.
Dodge. Chaps. xxiii, xlvi.
THE ANIMALS OF THE HERCYNIAN FOREST.
Grace G. Begle. School Review.
Vol. viii, p. 457.
CAESAR’S FAVORITE HORSE.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. i, p. 362.
Ancient Rome in the Light of Recent
Discoveries. Rodolfo
Lanciani. P. 84.
Caesar. A Sketch. James
Anthony Froude. P. 537.
OUR ENGLISH FOREFATHERS AS DESCRIBED BY CAESAR.
Commentaries. Caesar.
Book v, Chaps. xii-xv.
CAESAR A GUEST AT THE HOME OF CICERO.
Foreign Classics in English.
William Cleaver Wilkinson. Vol. iv,
p. 243.
THE DEATH OF CAESAR.
Julius Caesar. William Shakespeare.
Act iii, scene i.
A NEW VERSION OF THE DEATH OF CAESAR.
Harper’s Magazine. Vol.
cxv, p. 655.
POEM.—The Lads of Liege.
The Present Hour. Percy Mackaye.
P. 35.
New York Times. Sept. 2, 1914.
“Caesar alone excepted, no ancient
Roman has been so widely, so
continuously, and so intensely alive since
his death, as has been
Marcus Tullius Cicero.”
—Wilkinson
THE HOUSE WHERE CICERO WAS BORN.
Roman Life in the Days of Cicero.
Alfred J. Church. Chap. vi.
HIS FAVORITE HOUSE.
Roman Life in the Days of Cicero.
Alfred J. Church. P. 121.
CICERO, THE MAN.
Cicero. John Lord. Chautauqua.
Vol. ii, p. 563.
Foreign Classics in English.
William Cleaver Wilkinson. Vol. iv.
Chap. vii.
CICERO, THE ORATOR.
Cicero in the Senate. Harriet
Waters Preston. Atlantic
Monthly. Vol. lxi,
p. 641.
CICERO, THE WIT.
Cicero as a Wit. W.L. Collins.
Chautauqua. Vol. xi, P. 377.
Cicero as a Wit. Francis W. Kelsey.
Classical Journal. Vol. iii,
p. 3.
Roman Life in the Days of Cicero.
Alfred J. Church. P. 197.
Foreign Classics in English.
William Cleaver Wilkinson, Vol. iv,
p. 235.
Humor Repeats Itself. Irene Nye.
Classical Journal. Vol. ix,
p. 154.
CICERO, THE EXILE.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. ii, p. 621.
Roman Life in the Days of Cicero.
Alfred J. Church. Chap. x.
THE PROSECUTION OF ARCHIAS.
Richard Wellington Husband. Classical
Weekly. Vol. ix, p. 165.
A COMPARISON: CICERO AND DEMOSTHENES.
Illustrated History of Ancient Literature.
John D. Quackenbos.
P. 286.
Foreign Classics in English.
William Cleaver Wilkinson. Vol. iv,
p. 487.
CICERO IN MAINE.
Martha Baker Dunn. Atlantic Monthly.
Vol. xciii, p. 253.
DEBATE: Resolved that Cicero was justified in
putting the Catilinarian
conspirators to death.
The conviction of Lentulus. H.C.
Nutting. Classical Journal.
Vol. iii, p. 186.
Catiline as a Party Leader. E.S.
Beesly. Fortnightly Review.
Vol. i, p. 175.
THE DEATH OF CICERO.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. ii, p. 624.
“The noble sage who knew everything.”
—Dante
SONG.—Opening Lines of the Aeneid.
An Experiment with the Opening Lines of
the Aeneid. J. Raleigh
Nelson. School Review.
Vol. vii, p. 129.
Dido. An Epic Tragedy.
Miller and Nelson. P. 57.
VERGIL.
Outline for the Study of Vergil’s
Aeneid. Maud Emma Kingsley.
Education. Vol.
xxiii, p. 148.
Vergil. Harper and Miller.
Introduction.
IN VERGIL’S ITALY.
Frank Justus Miller. Chautauqua.
Vol. xxxiv, p. 368.
DIDO: A Character Study.
J. Raleigh Nelson. School Review.
Vol. xii, p. 408.
Vergil. Harper and Miller.
VERGIL’S ESTIMATE OF HIS AENEID.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. ii, P. 636.
POEM.—The Doom of the Slothful.
John Addington Symonds.
ESSAY.—Paris and Helen.
Adventures among Books. Andrew
Lang. P. 235, or Cosmopolitan.
Vol. xviii, p. 173.
LEGENDS CONNECTED WITH VERGIL.
A History of Roman Literature.
Charles Thomas Cruttwell. P. 278.
VERGIL IN MAINE.
Martha Baker Dunn. Atlantic Monthly.
Vol. c, p. 773.
VERGIL’S INFLUENCE.
On Teaching Vergil. H.H. Yeames.
School Review. Vol. xx, p. 1.
A TRAVESTY ON THE TAKING OF TROY.
Roba di Roma. William W. Story.
P. 186.
North American Review. Vol.
xcvii, p. 255.
ST. PAUL’S VISIT TO VERGIL’S TOMB.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. ii, p. 640.
POEM.—To Vergil.
Poetical Works. Alfred Tennyson.
P. 511.
Littell’s Living Age.
Vol. clv, p. 2.
“Exegi monumentum acre perennius
regalique situ pyramidum altius.”
—Horace. Carmina.
III, xxx.
HORACE.
Horace: Person and Poet. Grant
Showerman. Classical Journal.
Vol. vi, p. 158.
A History of Roman Literature.
Charles Thomas Cruttwell. P. 515.
A GLIMPSE OF HORACE’S SCHOOLDAYS.
Roman Life in the Days of Cicero.
Alfred J. Church. P. 39.
Readings in Ancient History.
Rome and the West. William Stearns
Davis. P. 227.
POEM.—Capri.
Walter Taylor Field.
AN INVITATION FROM HORACE TO VERGIL FOR DINNER.
Foreign Classics in English.
Vol. iv. William Cleaver Wilkinson.
P. 183.
SOME TRANSLATIONS OF HORACE’S ODES.
Blackwood’s Magazine.
Vol. civ, p. 150.
POEM.—The Sabine Farm.
Michael Monahan. Current Literature.
Vol. xlviii, p. 344.
A DIALOGUE FROM HORACE.—The Bore. Sat.
i, 9.
A Day in Ancient Rome. Edgar
S. Shumway. P. 51.
Masterpieces of Latin Literature.
Gordon J. Laing. P. 295.
POEM.—I sing of myself. (Horace. Book
ii, Ode xx.)
Louis Untermeyer. Century Magazine.
Vol. lxiv, p. 960.
POEM.—Byron’s Farewell to Horace.
Childe Harold. Byron.
Canto iv, lxxvii.
“Haec studia adulescentiam alunt,
senectutem oblectant, secundas res
ornant, adversis perfugium ac solacium
praebent, delectant domi, non
impediunt foris, pernoctant nobiscum,
peregrinantur, rusticantur.”
—Cicero. Pro
Archia Poeta, vii.
ROLL CALL.—Gems of Latin Thought.
Illustrated History of Ancient Literature.
John D. Quackenbos.
P. 425.
LATIN MOTTOES AND PROVERBS.
Latin Lessons. M.L. Smith.
P. 212.
THE LITERATURE OF ROME.
Society in Rome under the Caesars.
William Ralph Inge. Chap. v.
Latin Literature. Nelson G. McCrea.
Classical Weekly. Vol. v,
p. 194.
CHILDREN IN ROMAN LITERATURE.
Childhood in Literature and Art.
Horace E. Scudder. Chap. ii,
p. 6.
THE CALENDAR.
How the Roman Spent his Year. William
F. Allen. Lippincott’s
Magazine. Vol. xxxiii,
p. 447.
The Ancient City. Fustel De
Coulanges. P. 212.
MUSIC IN ANCIENT ROME.
Society in Rome under the Caesars.
William Ralph Inge. Chap. v.
ROMAN FOLK-LORE.
Second Latin Book. Miller
and Beeson. P. 52.
ODE TO APOLLO.
Complete Poetical Works. Keats.
P. 7.
“A marked feature of the Roman character,
a peculiarity which at
once strikes the student of their history
as compared with that of
the Greeks was their great respect for
the home and the mater
familias.”
—Eugene Hecker
THE ROMAN MATRON.
The Private Life of the Romans.
H.W. Johnston. Chap. vii.
The Life of the Greeks and Romans.
Guhl and Koner. P. 482.
THE WOMEN OF CICERO’S TIME.
Social Life at Rome in the Age of Cicero.
W. Warde Fowler.
P. 150.
A Friend of Caesar. William
Stearns Davis. Chap. vi, p. 104.
THE WOMEN OF ULYSSES’ TIME.
Mischievous Philanthropy. Simon Newcomb.
Forum. Vol. i, p. 348.
THE ROMAN WOMAN AS DESCRIBED BY JUVENAL.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. ii, p. 537.
Readings in Ancient History.
Rome and the West. William Stearns
Davis. P. 247.
POEM.—Venus and Vulcan.
Poetical Works. John G. Saxe.
P. 238.
LOLLIA PAULINA, A WOMAN OF WEALTH AND MISFORTUNE.
Ancient Rome in the Light of Recent
Discoveries. Rodolfo
Lanciani. P. 104.
LIVIA, THE POLITICIAN.
The Women of the Caesars.
Guglielmo Ferrero. Chap. ii.
THE VESTAL VIRGINS.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. i, p. 3.
Ancient Rome in the Light of Recent
Discoveries. Rodolfo
Lanciani. P. 135.
A Friend of Caesar. William
Stearns Davis. Chap. iii, p. 37.
JULIA, AUGUSTUS’ DAUGHTER.
Rome of To-day and Yesterday.
John Dennie. P. 133.
Ancient Rome in the Light of Recent
Discoveries. Rodolfo
Lanciani. P. 81.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. ii, p. 547.
The Women of the Caesars.
Guglielmo Ferrero. Chap. ii.
MARTIAL’S EPIGRAM ON PORTIA.
Book i, xlii.
A CONTRAST: TARPEIA AND VIRGINIA.
A Day in Ancient Rome. Edgar
S. Shumway. Pp. 14, 40.
THE HISTORY OF WOMEN’S RIGHTS IN ROME.
A Short History of Women’s Rights.
Eugene Hecker. P. 1.
Some Roman Examples. Outlook.
Vol. xciii, p. 490.
Women and Public Affairs under the Roman
Republic. Frank Frost
Abbott. Scribner’s
Magazine. Vol. xlvi, p. 357.
POEM.—Our Yankee Girls.
Complete Poems. Oliver Wendell
Holmes. P. 327.
POEM.—To a Pair of Egyptian Slippers.
Sir Edwin Arnold. Oxford Book of Victorian
Verse. P. 499.
A ROMAN CITIZEN.
Anne C.E. Allinson. Atlantic Monthly.
Vol. cxii, p. 263.
“Januarias nobis felices multos annos!”
POEM.—January.
Henry W. Longfellow. Chautauqua.
Vol. xviii, p. 506.
JANUS.
Chautauqua. Vol. xviii, p.
365.
NEW YEAR’S DAY IN ROME.
How the Roman Spent his Year. William
F. Allen. Lippincott’s
Magazine. Vol. xxxiii,
p. 347.
CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS IN ROME.
Roba di Roma. William W. Story.
Chap. iv.
A CHRISTMAS HYMN.
Alfred Dommett.
THE ROMAN CARNIVAL.
Pictures from Italy. Charles
Dickens. P. 116.
ST. VALENTINE’S DAY IN ROME.
St. Valentine’s Day. Keziah
Shelton. Chautauqua. Vol. xvi,
p. 604.
POEM.—Pompey’s Christmas.
Carolyn Wells. St. Nicholas.
Vol. xxvii, p. 154.
POEM.—A Roman Valentine.
Emma D. Banks’s Original Recitations.
P. 91.
THE LIBERALIA.
The Private Life of the Romans.
H.W. Johnston. P. 87.
THE LUPERCALIA.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara E. Clement. Vol. i, p. 48.
Ancient Rome in the Light of Recent
Discoveries. Rodolfo
Lanciani. Pp. 36, 161.
Harper’s Dictionary of Classical
Literature and Antiquities.
Harry Thurston Peck.
P. 979.
THE SATURNALIA.
Gallus. W.A. Becker.
P. 193.
Roba di Roma. William W. Story.
Chap. v.
Social Life at Rome in the Age of Cicero.
W. Warde Fowler,
Chap. x.
Christmas Throughout Christendom.
O.M. Spencer. Harper’s
Magazine. Vol. xlvi,
p. 241.
December and its Festivals. Pamela
M. Cole. Chautauqua. Vol.
xvi, p. 343.
A ROMAN TRIUMPH.
Rome of To-day and Yesterday.
John Dennie. P. 83.
THE FLORALIA.
Roba di Roma. William W. Story.
P. 202.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. i, p. 57.
Harper’s Dictionary of Classical
Literature and Antiquities.
Harry Thurston Peck.
P. 677.
POEM.—Holy-cross Day.
Robert Browning.
“Reddenda est terra terrae.”
THE ROMAN’S BELIEF CONCERNING DEATH.
Caesar. A Sketch. James
Anthony Froude. Pp. 60, 530.
The Ancient City. Fustel De
Coulanges. Chap. i.
THE PREPARATION OF THE BODY FOR BURIAL.
The Life of the Greeks and Romans.
Guhl and Koner. P. 592.
ROMAN FUNERALS.
The Old Romans at Home. Benson J.
Lossing. Harper’s Magazine.
Vol. xlvi, p. 183.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara E. Clement. Vol. i, p. 67.
Walks in Rome. Augustus J.C.
Hare. P. 494.
The Private Life of the Romans.
H.W. Johnston. Chap. xii.
Gallus. W.A. Becker.
P. 507.
THE FUNERAL OF GALLUS.
Gallus. W.A. Becker.
P. 144.
THE FUNERAL OF MISENUS.
The Aeneid. Vergil. Book
vi, 212 ff.
THE FUNERAL OF JULIUS CAESAR.
Readings in Ancient History.
Rome and the West. William Stearns
Davis. P. 157.
Caesar. A Sketch. James
Anthony Froude. Chap xxvii.
THE CATACOMBS OF ROME.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. i, p. 300.
The Catacombs of Rome. Wm. Withrow.
Chautauqua. Vol. ii, p. 103.
Marble Faun. Nathaniel Hawthorne.
Chap. iii.
POEM.—The Antique Sepulcher.
Poetical Works. Mrs. Hemans.
P. 235.
THE BURIAL PLACE OF AUGUSTUS.
Rome of To-day and Yesterday.
John Dennie. P. 130.
Walks in Rome. Augustus J.C.
Hare. P. 50.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. i, p. 254.
THE TOMB OF HADRIAN.
Rome of To-day and Yesterday.
John Dennie. Pp. 238, 285.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. i, p. 262.
THE TOMB OF CECILIA METELLA.
Rome of To-day and Yesterday.
John Dennie. P. 172.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. i, p. 253.
Walks in Rome. Augustus J.C.
Hare. P. 342.
Childe Harold. Lord Byron.
Canto iv, xcix-civ.
THE TOMB OF MINICIA MARCELLA.[1]
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. i, p. 279.
TOMB INSCRIPTIONS AND MEMORIAL STRUCTURES.
The Life of the Greeks and Romans.
Guhl and Koner. P. 387.
The Old Romans at Home. Benson J.
Lossing. Harper’s Magazine.
Vol. xlvi, p. 184.
THE BURIAL OF A YOUNG ROMAN GIRL.
The Old Romans at Home. Benson J.
Lossing. Harper’s Magazine.
Vol. xlvi, p. 183.
EPITAPH ON EROTION, six years of age.
Martial.
POEM.—Tartarus.
Complete Poetical Works. Oliver
Wendell Holmes. P. 196.
[Footnote 1: See Pliny’s Letter on Minicia Marcella, p. 109.]
“Ast ubi me fessum sol acrior ire lavatum
Admonuit, fugio campum lusumque trigonem.”
—Horace
ROMAN GAMES.
Roba di Roma. William W. Story.
Chap. vi.
The Private Life of the Romans.
H.W. Johnston. Chap. ix.
Social Life at Rome in the Age of Cicero.
W. Warde Fowler.
Chap. x.
Roman Games. Vincenzo Fiorentino.
Cosmopolitan. Vol. xxxiv,
p. 269.
THE GAMES OF THE AMPHITHEATER.
Society in Rome under the Caesars.
William Ralph Inge. Chaps.
iii, viii.
The Private Life of the Romans.
H.W. Johnston. Chap. ix.
COMMON SPORTS IN ANCIENT ROME.
Roba di Roma. William W. Story.
Chap. xxii.
Gallus. W.A. Becker.
Pp. 398, 500.
The Life of the Greeks and Romans.
Guhl and Koner. P. 546.
A DAY OF SPORT IN THE CAMPUS MARTIUS.
Second Latin Book. Miller
and Beeson. Introduction, p. 36.
THE CHARIOT RACE.
Ben Hur. Lew Wallace.
Chap. xiv, p. 368.
ANCIENT SPORTS IN ROME TO-DAY.
Current Literature. Vol. xxxiii,
p. 325.
THE THEATER.
Roba di Roma. William W. Story.
Chap. viii.
The Life of the Greeks and Romans.
Guhl and Koner. P. 565.
Society in Rome under the Caesars.
William Ralph Inge. P. 222.
“MORRA” ILLUSTRATED.
Roba di Roma. William W. Story.
P. 123.
Walks in Rome. Augustus J.C.
Hare. P. 675.
Society in Rome under the Caesars.
William Ralph Inge. Chap viii.
“The world has nothing else like
the Pantheon.”
—Hawthorne
THE PANTHEON.
A Day in Ancient Rome. Edgar
S. Shumway. P. 9.
Rome of To-day and Yesterday.
John Dennie. P. 283.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. i, p. 249.
Walks in Rome. Augustus J.C.
Hare. P. 541.
LORD BYRON’S DESCRIPTION OF THE PANTHEON.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. i, p. 251.
Childe Harold. Lord Byron.
Canto iv, cxlvi.
THE COLISEUM.
The Life of the Greeks and the Romans.
Guhl and Koner. P. 434
Ancient Rome in the Light of Recent
Discoveries. Rodolfo
Lanciani. Pp. 125, 158.
Roba di Roma. William W. Story.
Chap. ix.
The Marble Faun. Nathaniel
Hawthorne. Chap. xvii.
DICKENS’ VISIT TO THE COLISEUM.
Pictures from Italy. Charles
Dickens. P. iii.
HAWTHORNE’S IMPRESSIONS OF THE ARCH OF TITUS.
A Day in Ancient Rome. Edgar
S. Shumway. P. 54.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. ii, p. 425.
THE COLISEUM, A FRAGMENT OF A ROMANCE.
The Prose Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley.
Harry Buxton Forman.
Vol. iii, p. 27.
“The authors who have lived and
written under an Italian sky, are
reticent and shy in the foreign schoolroom.
But if we transfer
ourselves with them to the market and
enter their families, then
they grow confiding and social.”
—Shumway
THE WRITING AND SENDING OF LETTERS.
The Private Life of the Romans.
H.W. Johnston. P. 287.
The Life of the Greeks and Romans.
Guhl and Koner. P. 530.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. ii, p. 541.
SOME ROMAN LETTERS FROM THE BIBLE.
Bible. Acts, Chap. xxiii,
25 ff.
Bible. Acts, Chap. xxvii.
A LETTER WRITTEN BY CICERO TO HIS WIFE.
Roman Life in the Days of Cicero.
Alfred J. Church. P. 206.
A LETTER WRITTEN BY CICERO DESCRIBING HIS RETURN FROM
EXILE.
Foreign Classics in English.
William Cleaver Wilkinson. Vol. iv,
p. 238.
A LETTER FROM PLINY THE YOUNGER TO TRAJAN, “On
the Christians.”
Illustrated History of Ancient Literature.
John D. Quackenbos.
P. 418.
Readings in Ancient History.
Hutton Webster. P. 250.
A LOVE LETTER FROM PLINY THE YOUNGER TO HIS WIFE.
Foreign Classics in English.
William Cleaver Wilkinson. Vol. iv,
p. 287.
Readings in Ancient History.
Hutton Webster. P. 241.
A FAMOUS LITERARY ANTIQUE.—The Letter of
Consolation written by Servius
Sulpicius to Cicero upon the death of Tullia.
Foreign Classics in English.
William Cleaver Wilkinson. Vol. iv,
p. 251.
A LETTER BY CICERO DESCRIBING CAESAR’S VISIT
AT CICERO’S HOME.
Foreign Classics in English.
William Cleaver Wilkinson. Vol. iv,
p. 244.
LETTER OF A SCHOOLBOY.
Source Book of Roman History.
Dana C. Munro. P. 197.
“They were a great race, not unworthy
of their fame,—those ancient
Romans; and Alpine flowers of moral beauty
bloomed amid the Alpine
snow and ice of their austere pride.”
—Wilkinson, p.
274
ANCIENT NICKNAMES.
Ancient Nicknames. W.W. Story.
Chautauqua. Vol. xi, p. 241.
A CONVERSATION BETWEEN CICERO AND ATTICUS.
A Roman Holiday Twenty Centuries Ago.
W.W. Story. Atlantic
Monthly. Vol. xliii,
p. 273.
HORATIUS, THE PATRIOT.
Readings in Ancient History.
Rome and the West. William Stearns
Davis. P. 16.
Poetical Works. Thomas Babington
Macaulay. Lays of Ancient
Rome, p. 31.
CAIUS VERRES, THE GRAFTER.
Caesar. A Sketch. James
Anthony Froude. Chap. ix.
Roman Life in the Days of Cicero.
Alfred J. Church. Chap. iv.
POMPEY, FORTUNE’S FAVORITE.
A Friend of Caesar. William
Stearns Davis. Chap. vi, p. 102.
Roman Life in the Days of Cicero.
Alfred J. Church. Chap. ix.
Great Captains: Caesar.
Theodore A. Dodge. Chap. ii.
MAECENAS, THE GENTLEMAN OF LEISURE.
Rome of To-day and Yesterday.
John Dennie. P. 161.
Foreign Classics in English.
William Cleaver Wilkinson. Vol. iv,
p. 177.
POEM.—Perdidi Diem.
Poetical Works. Mrs. Sigourney.
P. 32.
CATILINE, THE CONSPIRATOR.
Roman Life in the Days of Cicero.
Alfred J. Church. P. 135.
Harper’s Dictionary of Ancient
Literature and Antiquities. Harry
Thurston Peck. P. 296.
CATO, THE UPRIGHT.
A History of Roman Literature.
Charles Thomas Cruttwell. P. 95.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. ii, p. 525.
Readings in Ancient History.
Rome and the West. William Stearns
Davis. P. 97.
Great Captains: Caesar.
Theodore A. Dodge. Chap. xii.
PLINY THE ELDER AS DESCRIBED BY PLINY THE YOUNGER.
A History of Roman Literature.
Charles Thomas Cruttwell. P. 403.
PLINY THE YOUNGER AT HOME.
Peeps at Many Lands. Italy.
John Finnemore. Chap. iii.
Society in Rome under the Caesars.
William Ralph Inge. Chap. v.
Foreign Classics in English.
William Cleaver Wilkinson. Vol. iv,
p. 279.
“None of my friends shall in his
cups talk treason.”
—Martial
ROMAN COOKERY.
The Old Romans at Home. Benson J.
Lossing. Harper’s Magazine.
Vol. xlvi, p. 66.
The Private Life of the Romans.
H.W. Johnston. Chap. viii.
The Life of the Greeks and Romans.
Guhl and Koner. P. 501.
THE MEALS AND MENUS.
Gallus. W.A. Becker.
P. 451.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. ii, pp. 523,
533.
The Life of the Greeks and Romans.
Guhl and Koner. p. 501.
THE USE OF ICED WATER.
Ancient Rome in the Light of Recent
Discoveries. Rodolfo
Lanciani. P. 185.
MARTIAL’S PREPARATION FOR A BANQUET.
The Epigrams of Martial. Book
x: xlviii.
ENTERTAINMENTS AT BANQUETS.
Letter of Pliny the Younger. Translation
in Readings in Ancient
History. Hutton Webster.
P. 247.
TO THEOPOMPUS, A HANDSOME YOUTH BECOME A COOK.
The Epigrams of Martial. Book
x: lxvi.
DIDO’S BANQUET.
The Aeneid. Vergil. Book
i, 695-756.
A BANQUET AT THE HOME OF LENTULUS.
Gallus. W.A. Becker.
Scene 9.
THE COST OF HIGH LIVING IN OLD ROME.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. ii, pp. 524,
527, 535.
AT TRIMALCHIO’S DINNER. (Petronius, Satire 41.)
Trimalchio’s Dinner. (Translation)
Harry Thurston Peck.
Masterpieces of Latin Literature.
Gordon J. Laing. P. 389.
THE BILL OF FARE AT A BANQUET AT WHICH CAESAR SERVED.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. ii, p. 533.
“Could the entire history of the
construction of Roman military
roads and highways be written, it would
include romantic tales of
hazard and adventure, of sacrifice and
suffering, which would lend
to the subject a dignity and effectiveness
somewhat in keeping with
their value to Rome and to the world.”
—Clara Erskine
Clement
MILITARY ROADS.
Rome of To-day and Yesterday.
John Dennie. P. 104.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. ii, p. 484.
Lectures. John L. Stoddard.
Vol. viii, p. 301.
THE ROMAN AS A ROAD BUILDER.
The Roman Road Builders’ Message
to America. Archer B. Hulbert.
Chautauqua. Vol.
xliii, p. 133.
The Private Life of the Romans.
H.W. Johnston. P. 282.
The Life of the Greeks and Romans.
Guhl and Koner. P. 341.
Source Book of Roman History,.
Dana C. Munro. P. 111.
MEANS OF TRAVEL.
Gallus. W.A. Becker.
Chap. iv.
The Private Life of the Romans.
H.W. Johnston. P. 280.
The Life of the Greeks and Romans.
Guhl and Koner. P. 514.
VIA APPIA.
Ancient Rome in the Light of Recent
Discoveries. Rodolfo
Lanciani. Pp. 130, 264.
The Private Life of the Romans.
H.W. Johnston. P. 282.
Walks in Rome. Augustus J.C.
Hare. Pp. 303, 343.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. ii, p. 486.
Rome of To-day and Yesterday.
John Dennie. P. 106.
THE ANCIENT STREET-BULLY.
Society in Rome under the Caesars.
William Ralph Inge. Chap. iii.
LUXURIES ENJOYED BY THE WEALTHY TRAVELER.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. ii, p. 540.
“There are in Rome more gods than
citizens.”
—Fustel de Coulanges
POEM.—To the Gods of the Country.
Helen Redeemed and Other Poems.
Maurice Hewlett. P. 193.
THE PAGAN ALTARS.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. i, p. 149.
THE GREATER AND LESSER GODS.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. i, p. 22.
The Ancient City. Fustel de
Coulanges. P. 201.
The Classic Myths in English Literature.
Charles Mills Gayley.
Chap. xvi.
POEM.—Miracles.
Two Rivulets. Walt Whitman.
P. 102.
DID CAESAR BELIEVE IN GODS?
A Friend of Caesar. William
Stearns Davis. P. 309.
POEM.—By the Roman Road.
THE GODS OF THE UNDERWORLD.
Classic Myths in English Literature.
Charles Mills Gayley.
Chap. iv.
THE GODS OF THE WATERS.
The Classic Myths in English Literature.
Charles Mills Gayley.
Chap. v.
POEM.—Palladium.
Poems. Matthew Arnold.
P. 273.
POEM.—What has become of the Gods?
Poetical Works. John G. Saxe.
P. 22.
HYMN TO APOLLO.
Complete Poetical Works. John
Keats. P. 7.
“A vast wilderness of consecrated
buildings of all shapes and
fancies.”
—Dickens
THE ARCHITECTURE OF THE TEMPLES.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. i, p. 159.
Vol. ii, p. 691.
The Life of the Greeks and Romans.
Guhl and Koner. P. 297.
THE TEMPLE OF CONCORD.
Ancient Rome in the Light of Recent
Discoveries. Rodolfo
Lanciani. P. 77.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. i, p. 161.
Rome of To-day and Yesterday.
John Dennie. P. 65.
The Life of the Greeks and Romans.
Guhl and Koner. P. 312.
THE TEMPLE OF CASTOR AND POLLUX.
Ancient Rome in the Light of Recent
Discoveries. Rodolfo
Lanciani. Pp. 80, 150.
A Day in Ancient Rome. Edgar
S. Shumway. P. 44.
THE TEMPLE OF VESTA.
Ancient Rome in the Light of Recent
Discoveries. Rodolfo
Lanciani. Pp. 75, 160.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. ii, p. 689.
The Life of the Greeks and Romans.
Guhl and Koner. P. 319.
Italian Note-Books. Nathaniel
Hawthorne. P. 128.
THE TEMPLE OF SATURN.
Ancient Rome in the Light of Recent
Discoveries. Rodolfo
Lanciani. P. 77.
Rome of To-day and Yesterday.
John Dennie. P. 29.
Walks in Rome. Augustus J.C.
Hare. P. 143.
POEM.—Dedication Hymn.
Poems. Nathaniel P. Willis.
P. 91.
ST. PETER’S.
A Walk in Rome. Oscar Kuhns. Chautauqua.
Vol. xxxiv, p. 57.
A Night in St. Peter’s. T.
Adolphus Trollope. Atlantic Monthly.
Vol. xl, p. 409.
HAWTHORNE’S VISIT TO ST. PETER’S.
Italian Note-Books. Nathaniel
Hawthorne. Pp. 64, 143.
DICKENS’ IMPRESSIONS OF ROMAN CHURCHES.
Pictures from Italy. Charles
Dickens. P. 133.
POEM.—Jupiter and His Children.
John G. Saxe.
“In the house of every Greek and
Roman was an altar; on this altar
there had always to be a small quantity
of ashes, and a few lighted
coals. The fire ceased to glow upon
the altar only when the entire
family had perished; an extinguished hearth,
an extinguished family,
were synonymous expressions among the
ancients.”
—de Coulanges
THE PAGAN RELIGION.
Society in Rome under the Caesars.
William Ralph Inge. Chap. i.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. i, Chap. i.
Social Life at Rome in the Age of Cicero.
W. Warde Fowler.
Chap. xi.
SOME ROMAN GODDESSES.
Classic Myths in English Literature.
Charles Mills Gayley.
Chap. x.
Vergil. Introduction.
Charles Knapp.
THE PENATES.
The Ancient City. Fustel De
Coulanges. Chap. xvi.
THE BLESSING OF ANIMALS.
Roba di Roma. William W. Story.
P. 462.
Society in Rome under the Caesars.
William Ralph Inge. Chap. iii.
CHILDREN’S DAY IN ROME.
Heroic Happenings. Elbridge
S. Brooks. P. 89.
THE INTERPRETATION OF DREAMS.
Roba di Roma. William W. Story.
P. 142.
Society in Rome under the Caesars.
William Ralph Inge. Chap. i.
EASTER TIME IN ROME.
Anne Hollingsworth Wharton. Lippincott’s
Magazine. Vol. lxxix,
p. 528.
A ROMAN CITIZEN.
Bible. Acts, xxii, 25.
POEM.—Elysium.
Poems and Ballads of Schiller.
Tr. Sir Edward Bulwer-Lytton.
P. 369.
THE INFERNAL REGIONS.
Classic Myths in English Literature.
Charles Mills Gayley.
P. 354.
The Aeneid. Vergil. Book
vi.
Vita brevis, ars longa.
HOW TO STUDY PICTURES.
Charles H. Caffin. Saint Nicholas.
Vol. xxxii, p. 23.
ODE.—Upon the Sight of a Beautiful Picture.
Complete Poems. William Wordsworth.
P. 399.
SCULPTURE IN ANCIENT ROME.
Society in Rome under the Caesars.
William Ralph Inge. Chap. v.
THE SCULPTURE GALLERY OF THE CAPITOL AT ROME.
The Marble Faun. Nathaniel
Hawthorne. Chap. i.
POEM.—The Celestial Runaway: Phaeton.
Poetical Works. John G. Saxe.
P. 233.
DIDO BUILDING CARTHAGE.
The Aeneid. Vergil. Book
i, 418-440.
BYRON’S IMPRESSION OF THE LAOCOoeN.
Childe Harold. Canto iv, clx.
SHELLEY’S IMPRESSION OF THE LAOCOoeN.
The Prose Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley.
Harry Buxton Forman.
Vol. iii, p. 44.
ATALANTA’S FOOT RACE.
Classic Myths in English Literature.
Charles Mills Gayley.
P. 139.
Hellenic Tales. Edmund J.
Carpenter. P. 80.
POEM.—Ode on a Grecian Urn.
Complete Poetical Works. John
Keats. P. 134.
THE FAUN OF PRAXITELES.
The Marble Faun. Nathaniel
Hawthorne. Chap. i.
POEM.—A Likeness.
Willa S. Cather. Literary Digest.
Vol. xlviii, p. 219.
Vita sine litteris mors est.
ROMAN BOOKS.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. i, p. 401.
Ancient Rome in the Light of Recent
Discoveries. Rodolfo
Lanciani. Pp. 182, 199.
The Private Life of the Romans.
H.W. Johnston. P. 290.
CICERO’S LIBRARY.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. i, p. 405.
Ancient Rome in the Light of Recent
Discoveries. Rodolfo
Lanciani. P. 180.
PUBLIC LIBRARIES IN ROME.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. i, p. 413.
Ancient Rome in the Light of Recent
Discoveries. Rodolfo
Lanciani. Chap. vii.
The Life of the Greeks and Romans.
Guhl and Koner. P. 531.
THE BOOK MARKETS.
Ancient Rome in the Light of Recent
Discoveries. Rodolfo
Lanciani. P. 183.
The Life of the Greeks and Romans.
Guhl and Koner. P. 529.
Society in Rome under the Caesars.
William Ralph Inge. Chap. vi.
“O antique fables! beautiful and bright,
And joyous with the joyous youth of yore;
O antique fables! for a little light
Of that which shineth in you evermore,
To cleanse the dimness from our weary
eyes
And bathe our old world with a new surprise
Of golden dawn entrancing sea and shore.
—James Thomson
SONG.—Hymn to the Dawn.
Dido: An Epic Tragedy.
Miller and Nelson. P. 61.
THE RELATION OF THE CLASSIC MYTHS TO LITERATURE.
The Influence of the Classics on American
Literature. Paul Shorey.
Chautauqua. Vol.
xliii, p. 121.
Classic Myths in English Literature.
C.M. Gayley. Introduction.
THE ORIGIN OF MYTHS.
Classic Myths in English Literature.
C.M. Gayley. P. 431.
MYTHOLOGY IN ART.
Classic Myths in Modern Art. Chautauqua.
Vol. xlii, p. 455.
THE MYTH OF ADMETUS AND ALCESTIS.
Classic Myths in English Literature.
C.M. Gayley. P. 106.
TARPEIA AND THE TARPEIAN ROCK.
Walks in Rome. Augustus J.C.
Hare. P. 118.
The Marble Faun. Nathaniel
Hawthorne. Chap. xiii.
The Origin and Growth of the Myth about
Tarpeia. Henry A. Sanders.
School Review.
Vol. viii, p. 323.
LAMIA. Complete Poetical Works. John Keats. P. 146.
PLAY.—Persephone.
Children’s Classics in Dramatic
Form. Augusta Stevenson. Vol. iv.
RECITATION.—Mangled Mythology.
Literary Digest. Vol. xxxix,
p. 1110.
“The debt of literature to the myth-makers
of the Mediterranean has
been an endless one starting at Mt.
Olympus, and flowing down in
fertilizing streams through all the literary
ages.”
—James A. Harrison
ICARUS.
Poetical Works. Bayard Taylor.
P. 88.
ORPHEUS WITH HIS LUTE.
Henry VIII. William Shakespeare.
Act. iii, scene i.
IPHIGENIA AND AGAMEMNON.
The Shades of Agamemnon and Iphigenia.
Poems and Dialogues in
Verse. Walter Savage
Landor. Vol. i, p. 78.
VENUS AND VULCAN.
Poetical Works. John G. Saxe.
P. 238.
PANDORA.
Poetical Works. Bayard Taylor.
P. 203.
THE LEGEND OF ST. MARK.
Poetical Works. John G. Whittier.
P. 36.
ICARUS: OR THE PERIL OF THE BORROWED PLUMES.
Poetical Works. John G. Saxe.
P. 229.
LAODAMIA.
Complete Poetical Works. William
Wordsworth. P. 525.
THE LOTUS EATERS
Poetical Works. Alfred Tennyson.
P. 51.
THE SHEPHERD OF KING ADMETUS.
Complete Poetical Works. James
Russell Lowell. P. 44.
Classic Myths in English Literature.
C.M. Gayley. P. 131.
CERES.
Bliss Carman. Literary Digest.
Vol. xlv, p. 347.
PERSEPHONE.
Poetical Works. Jean Ingelow.
P. 181.
“We are all Greeks. Our laws,
our literature, our religion, our
arts, have their root in Greece.”
THE INFLUENCE OF GREEK ON ENGLISH.
The Iliad in Art. Eugene Parsons.
Chautauqua. Vol. xvi. p. 643.
The Greek in English. E.L. Miller.
School Review. Vol. xiii,
p. 390.
THE SOCIAL LIFE OF ANCIENT GREECE.
Edward Capps. Chautauqua.
Vol. xxiv, p. 290.
The Life of the Greeks and Romans.
Guhl and Koner. P. 183.
THE MODERN MAID OF ATHENS AND HER BROTHERS OF TO-DAY.
William E. Waters. Chautauqua.
Vol. xvii, p. 259.
OUR POETS’ DEBT TO HOMER.
English Poems on Greek Subjects.
James Richard Joy. Chautauqua.
Vol. xvii, p. 271.
ATHENS AS IT APPEARS TO-DAY.
In and about Modern Athens. William
E. Waters. Chautauqua. Vol.
xvii, p. 131.
Skirting the Balkan Peninsula. Robert
Hichens. Century Magazine.
Vol. lxiv, p. 84.
GREECE REVISITED.
Martin L. D’Ooge. Nation.
Vol. xcvi, p. 569.
THE INFLUENCE OF GREEK ARCHITECTURE IN THE UNITED
STATES.
W.H. Goodyear. Chautauqua.
Vol. xvi, pp. 3, 131, 259.
“What shall I say of the modern
city? Rome is yet the capital of the
world.”
—Shelley
POEM.—The Voices of Rome.
Poetical Works. Bayard Taylor.
P. 202.
THE BEAUTY OF ROME.
Rome. Maurice Maeterlinck. Critic.
Vol. xlvi, p. 362.
SHELLEY’S IMPRESSION OF ROME.
With Shelley in Italy. Anna
B. McMahan. P. 70.
A FRENCHMAN’S IMPRESSION OF ROME.
The Italians of To-day. Rene
Bazin. P. 94.
POEM.—At Rome.
Poetical Works. William Wordsworth.
P. 749.
HAWTHORNE’S MOONLIGHT WALK IN ROME
Italian Note-Books. Nathaniel
Hawthorne. P. 173.
THE AMERICAN SCHOOL IN ROME.
Howard Crosby Butler. Critic.
Vol. xxiii, p. 466.
THE VATICAN.
Roba di Roma. William W. Story.
P. 534.
The City of the Saints. Lyman Abbott.
Harper’s Magazine. Vol.
xlv, p. 169.
Walks in Rome. Augustus J.C.
Hare. Chap. xvi.
THE PROTESTANT CEMETERY IN ROME.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. ii, p. 512.
Roba di Roma. William W. Story.
P. 509.
Walks in Rome. Augustus J.C.
Hare. P. 698.
With Shelley in Italy. Anna
B. McMahan. Pp. 228, 241.
Literary Landmarks of Rome.
Laurence Hutton. P. 35.
POEM.—The Grave of Keats.
The Poems of Oscar Wilde.
Vol. ii, p. 5.
THE TIBER.
Rome of To-day and Yesterday.
John Dennie. P. 7.
Ancient Rome in the Light of Recent
Discoveries. Rodolfo
Lanciani. P. 232.
Following the Tiber. Lippincott’s
Magazine. Vol. xv, p. 30.
POEM.—Roman Antiquities.
Poetical Works. William Wordsworth.
P. 695.
THE EXPENSE OF LIVING IN ROME.
Roma Beata. Maud Howe.
Pp. 28, 250.
POEM.—February in Rome.
On Viol and Flute. Edmund
W. Gosse. P. 53.
POEM.—What he saw in Europe.
Current Literature. Vol. xxxvi,
p. 365.
POEM.—Rome Unvisited.
The Poems of Oscar Wilde.
Vol. i, p. 64.
POEM.—Roman Girl’s Song.
Poetical Works. Mrs. Hemans.
P. 227.
“No sudden goddess through the rushes
glides,
No eager God among the laurels hides;
Jove’s eagle mopes beside an empty
throne,
Persephone and Ades sit alone
By Lethe’s hollow shore.”
—Nora Hopper
SONNET.—On Approaching Italy.
The Poems of Oscar Wilde.
Vol. i, p. 59.
NAPLES.
Lectures. John L. Stoddard.
Naples. Vol. viii, p. 115.
Peeps at Many Lands. Italy.
John Finnemore. Chap. xiii.
CERTAIN THINGS IN NAPLES.
Italian Journeys. W.D.
Howells. P. 80.
A SCHOOL IN NAPLES.
Italian Journeys. W.D.
Howells. P. 139.
ITALIAN RECOLLECTIONS.
More Letters of a Diplomat’s Wife.
Mary King Waddington.
Scribner’s Magazine.
Vol. xxxvii, p. 204.
THE ITALIAN PEASANTRY.
Roma Beata. Maud Howe.
P. 34.
Peeps at Many Lands. Italy.
John Finnemore. Chap. xix.
A STROLL ON THE PINCIAN HILL.
The Marble Faun. Nathaniel
Hawthorne. Chap. xii.
HOTELS IN ITALY.
Roman Holidays and Others.
W.D. Howells. Chap. vi, p. 68.
A MODERN ITALIAN FARMYARD AS SEEN BY SHELLEY.
The Prose Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley.
Harry Buxton Forman.
Vol. iv, p. 43.
SCHOOL LIFE IN ITALY.
Glimpses of School Life in Italy.
Mary Sifton Pepper. Chautauqua.
Vol. xxxv, p. 550.
Education in Italy. Alex Oldrini.
Chautauqua. Vol. xviii, p. 413.
A NIGHT IN ITALY.
Exits and Entrances. Charles
Warren Stoddard. P. 41.
POEM.—In Italy.
Poetical Works. Bayard Taylor.
P. 130.
LIFE IN MODERN ITALY.
In Italy. John H. Vincent. Chautauqua.
Vol. xviii, p. 387.
Life in Modern Italy. Bella H. Stillman.
Chautauqua. Vol. xi,
p. 6.
“The seeds of godlike power are
in us still;
Gods are we, bards, saints, heroes, if
we will!”
—Matthew Arnold
POEM.—The Watch of the Old Gods.
POVERTY AMONG THE ANCIENT ROMANS.
Society in Rome under the Caesars.
William Ralph Inge. Chap. iii.
The Private Life of the Romans.
H.W. Johnston. P. 305.
The Ancient City. Fustel De
Coulanges. P. 449.
POVERTY AMONG THE AMERICANS.
The Problem of Poverty. Robert Hunter.
Outlook. Vol. lxxix,
p. 902.
The Weary World of Human Misery. World’s
Work. Vol. xvi,
p. 10526.
How the Other Half Lives.
Jacob Riis. Chap. xxii, p. 255.
THE CRAZE FOR AMUSEMENT AMONG THE ANCIENT ROMANS.
Society in Rome under the Caesars.
William Ralph Inge. Chap. ix.
Readings in Ancient History.
Rome and the West. William Stearns
Davis. P. 194.
THE CRAZE FOR AMUSEMENT AMONG THE AMERICANS.
What New York spends at the Theaters.
Literary Digest. Vol. xlv,
p. 19.
LUXURY AND EXTRAVAGANCE IN ANCIENT ROME.
Rome: The Eternal City.
Clara Erskine Clement. Vol. ii, pp. 524,
529.
Society in Rome under the Caesars.
William Ralph Inge. P. 262.
Readings in Ancient History.
Rome and the West. William Stearns
Davis. P. 305.
LUXURY AND EXTRAVAGANCE AMONG AMERICANS.
Newport: The City of Luxury.
Jonathan T. Lincoln. Atlantic
Monthly. Vol. cii,
p. 162.
Housekeeping on Half-a-million a Year.
Emily Harington.
Everybody’s.
Vol. xiv, p. 497.
The Passing of the Idle Rich.
Frederick Townsend Martin. Chap.
ii, p. 23.
POEM.—Tempora Mutantur.
Poetical Works. John G. Saxe.
P. 98.
* * * * *
SELECTIONS THAT MAY BE USED
FOR THE PROGRAMS
* * * * *
A Boston gentleman declares,
By all the gods above, below,
That our degenerate sons and heirs
Must let their Greek and Latin go!
Forbid, O Fate, we loud implore,
A dispensation harsh as that;
What! wipe away the sweets of yore;
The dear “amo, amas, amat?”
The sweetest hour the student knows
Is not when poring over French,
Or twisted in Teutonic throes,
Upon a hard collegiate bench;
’Tis when on roots and kais and gars
He feeds his soul and feels it glow,
Or when his mind transcends the stars
With “Zoa mou, sas agapo!”
So give our bright, ambitious boys
An inkling of these pleasures, too—
A little smattering of the joys
Their dead and buried fathers knew;
And let them sing—while glorying that
Their sires so sang, long years ago—
The songs “amo, amas, amat”
And “Zoa mou, sas agapo!”
—Eugene Field
[Footnote in original book
(published 1916):
Copyright. Used by permission
of Charles Scribner’s Sons.]
I remember the very day when the schoolmaster gave it to me.... And I remember that the rather stern and aquiline face of our teacher relaxed into mildness for a moment. Both we and our books must have looked very fresh and new to him, though we may all be a little battered now; at least, my New Latin Tutor is. It is a very precious book, and it should be robed in choice Turkey morocco, were not the very covers too much a part of the association to be changed. For between them I gathered the seed-grain of many harvests of delight; through this low archway I first looked upon the immeasurable beauty of words....
What liquid words were these: aqua, aura, unda! All English poetry that I had yet learned by heart—it is only children who learn by heart, grown people “commit to memory”—had not so awakened the vision of what literature might mean. Thenceforth all life became ideal....
Then human passion, tender, faithful, immortal, came also by and beckoned. “But let me die,” she said. “Thus, thus it delights me to go under the shades.” Or that infinite tenderness, the stronger even for its opening moderation of utterance, the last sigh of Aeneas after Dido,—
Nec me meminisse pigebit Elissam
Dum memor ipse mihi, dum spiritus hos
regit artus....
Or, with more definite and sublime grandeur, the vast forms of Roman statesmanship appear: “Today, Romans, you behold the commonwealth, the lives of you all, estates, fortunes, wives and children, and the seat of this most renowned empire, this most fortunate and beautiful city, preserved and restored to you by the distinguished love of the immortal gods, and by my toils, counsels, and dangers.”
What great thoughts were found within these pages, what a Roman vigor was in these maxims! “It is Roman to do and suffer bravely.” “It is sweet and glorious to die for one’s country.” “He that gives himself up to pleasure, is not worthy the name of a man."...
There was nothing harsh or stern in this book, no cynicism, no indifference; but it was a flower-garden of lovely out-door allusions, a gallery of great deeds; and as I have said before, it formed the child’s first real glimpse into the kingdom of words.
I was once asked by a doctor of divinity, who was also the overseer of a college, whether I ever knew any one to look back with pleasure upon his early studies in Latin and Greek. It was like being asked if one looked back with pleasure on summer mornings and evenings. No doubt those languages, like all others, have fared hard at the hands of pedants; and there are active boys who hate all study, and others who love the natural sciences alone. Indeed, it is a hasty assumption, that the majority of boys hate Latin and Greek. I find that most college graduates, at least, retain some relish for the memory of such studies, even if they have utterly lost the power to masticate or digest them. “Though they speak no Greek, they love the sound on’t.” Many a respectable citizen still loves to look at his Horace or Virgil on the shelf where it has stood undisturbed for a dozen years; he looks, and thinks that he too lived in Arcadia.... The books link him with culture, and universities, and the traditions of great scholars.
On some stormy Sunday, he thinks, he will take them down. At length he tries it; he handles the volume awkwardly, as he does his infant; but it is something to be able to say that neither book nor baby has been actually dropped. He likes to know that there is a tie between him and each of these possessions, though he is willing, it must be owned, to leave the daily care of each in more familiar hands....
I must honestly say that much of the modern outcry against classical studies seems to me to be (as in the case of good Dr. Jacob Bigelow) a frank hostility to literature itself, as the supposed rival of science; or a willingness (as in Professor Atkinson’s case) to tolerate modern literature, while discouraging the study of the ancient. Both seem to commit the error of drawing their examples of abuse from England, and applying their warnings to America.... Because the House of Commons was once said to care more for a false quantity in Latin verse than in English morals, shall we visit equal indignation on a House of Representatives that had to send for a classical dictionary to find out who Thersites was?...
Granted, that foreign systems of education may err by insisting on the arts of literary structure too much; think what we should lose by dwelling on them too little! The magic of mere words; the mission of language; the worth of form as well as of matter; the power to make a common thought immortal in a phrase, so that your fancy can no more detach the one from the other than it can separate the soul and body of a child; it was the veiled half revelation of these things that made that old text-book forever fragrant to me. There are in it the still visible traces of wild flowers which I used to press between the pages, on the way to school; but it was the pressed flowers of Latin poetry that were embalmed there first. These are blossoms that do not fade.
—Thomas Wentworth Higginson
Andrew Lang, in his Adventures Among Books, writes:
“Saint Augustine, like Sir Walter Scott at the University of Edinburgh, was ‘The Greek Dunce.’ Both of these great men, to their sorrow and loss, absolutely and totally declined to learn Greek. ’But what the reason was why I hated the Greek language, while I was taught it, being a child, I do not yet understand.’ The Saint was far from being alone in that distaste, and he who writes loathed Greek like poison—till he came to Homer. Latin the Saint loved, except ’when reading, writing, and casting of accounts was taught in Latin, which I held not far less painful or penal than the very Greek. I wept for Dido’s death, who made herself away with the sword,’ he declares, ’and even so, the saying that two and two makes four was an ungrateful song in mine ears, whereas the wooden horse full of armed men, the burning of Troy, and the very Ghost of Creusa, was a most delightful spectacle of vanity.’”
Were the old gods watching yet,
From their cloudy summits afar,
At evening under the evening star,
After the star is set,
Would they see in these thronging streets,
Where the life of the city beats
With endless rush and strain,
Men of a better mold,
Nobler in heart and brain,
Than the men of three thousand years ago,
In the pagan cities old,
O’er which the lichens and ivy grow?
Would they not see as they saw
In the younger days of the race,
The dark results of broken law,
In the bent form and brutal face
Of the slave of passions as old as earth,
And young as the infants of last night’s birth?
Alas! the old gods no longer keep
Their watch from the cloudy steep;
But, though all on Olympus lie dead
Yet the smoke of commerce still rolls
From the sacrifice of souls,
To the heaven that bends overhead.
Still, as we saunter down the crowded street,
On our own thoughts intent, and plans
and pleasures,
For miles and miles beneath our idle feet,
Rome buries from the day yet unknown treasures.
The whole world’s alphabet, in every line
Some stirring page of history she recalls,—
Her Alpha is the Prison Mamertine,
Her Omega, St. Paul’s, without the
walls.
Above, beneath, around, she weaves her spells,
And ruder hands unweave them all in vain:
Who once within her fascination dwells,
Leaves her with but one thought—to
come again.
So cast thy obol into Trevi’s fountain—
Drink of its waters, and, returning home,
Pray that by land or sea, by lake or mountain,
“All roads alike may lead at last
to Rome.”
—Herman Merivale
Rome ruled in all her matchless pride,
Queen of the world, an empire-state;
Her eagles conquered far and wide;
Her word was law, her will was fate.
Within her immemorial walls
The temples of the gods looked down;
Her forum echoed with the calls
To greater conquest and renown.
All wealth, all splendor, and all might
The world could give, before her lay;
She dreamed not there could come a night
To dim the glory of her day.
Rome perished: Legions could not save,
Nor wealth, nor might, nor majesty,—
The Roman had become a slave,
But the barbarian was free.
—Arthur Chamberlain
It was the calm and silent night!
Seven hundred years and fifty-three
Had Rome been growing up to might,
And now was queen of land and sea.
No sound was heard of clashing wars—
Peace brooded o’er the hushed domain:
Apollo, Pallas, Jove and Mars
Held undisturbed their ancient reign,
In the solemn midnight,
Centuries ago.
’Twas in the calm and silent night!
The senator of haughty Rome
Impatient, urged his chariot’s flight,
From lordly revel rolling home:
Triumphal arches, gleaming, swell
His breast with thoughts of boundless sway:
What recked the Roman what befell
A paltry province far away,
In the solemn midnight,
Centuries ago?
Within that province far away
Went plodding home a weary boor;
A streak of light before him lay,
Falling through a half shut stable-door
Across his path. He passed—for naught
Told what was going on within:
How keen the stars, his only thought—
The air how calm, and cold and thin
In the solemn midnight,
Centuries ago!
Oh, strange indifference! low and high
Drowsed over common joys and cares;
The earth was still—but knew not why,
The world was listening, unawares.
How calm a moment may precede
One that shall thrill the world forever!
To that still moment, none would heed,
Man’s doom was linked no more to sever—
In the solemn midnight,
Centuries ago!
It is the calm and silent night!
A thousand bells ring out, and throw
Their joyous peals abroad, and smite
The darkness—charmed and holy now!
The night that erst no name had worn,
To it a happy name is given;
For in that stable lay, new-born,
The peaceful prince of earth and heaven,
In the solemn midnight,
Centuries ago!
—Alfred Dommett
Rome, Rome! thou art no more
As thou hast been!
On thy seven hills of yore
Thou satt’st a queen.
Thou hadst thy triumphs then
Purpling the street,
Leaders and sceptred men
Bow’d at thy feet.
They that thy mantle wore,
As gods were seen—
Rome, Rome! thou art no more
As thou hast been!
Rome! thine imperial brow
Never shall rise:
What hast thou left thee now?—
Thou hast thy skies!
Blue, deeply blue, they are,
Gloriously bright!
Veiling thy wastes afar,
With color’d light.
Thou hast the sunset’s glow,
Rome, for thy dower,
Flushing tall cypress bough,
Temple and tower!
And all sweet sounds are thine,
Lovely to hear,
While night, o’er tomb and shrine
Rests darkly clear.
Many a solemn hymn,
By starlight sung,
Sweeps through the arches dim,
Thy wrecks among.
Many a flute’s low swell,
On thy soft air
Lingers, and loves to dwell
With summer there.
Thou hast the south’s rich gift
Of sudden song—
A charmed fountain, swift,
Joyous and strong.
Thou hast fair forms that move
With queenly tread;
Thou hast proud fanes above
Thy mighty dead.
Yet wears thy Tiber’s shore
A mournful mien:
Rome, Rome! Thou art no more
As thou hast been!
—Mrs. Hemans
Rising from the purpling water
With her brow of stone,
Sprite or nymph or Triton’s daughter,
Rising from the purpling water,
Capri sits alone—
Sits and looks across the billow
Now the day is done
Resting on her rocky pillow
Sits and looks across the billow
Toward the setting sun.
Misty visions trooping sadly
Glimmer through her tears,
Shapes of men contending madly,—
Misty visions trooping sadly
From the vanished years.
Here Tiberius from his palace
On the headland gray
Hurls his foes with gleeful malice,
Proud Tiberius at his palace
Murd’ring men for play.
There Lamarque’s recruits advancing
Scale yon rocky spot,
’Neath the moon their bright steel glancing,
See Lamarque’s recruits advancing
Through a storm of shot.
But today the goat bells’ tinkle
And the vespers chime,
Vineyards shade each rock-hewn wrinkle,
And today the goat bells’ tinkle
Marks a happier time.
Soft the olive groves are gleaming,
War has found surcease,
And as Capri sits a-dreaming
Soft the olive groves are gleaming,
Crowning her with peace.
—Walter Taylor Field
Set where the upper streams of Simois flow
Was the Palladium, high ’mid rock
and wood;
And Hector was in Ilium, far below,
And fought, and saw it not—but
there it stood!
It stood, and sun and moonshine rain’d their
light
On the pure columns of its glen-built
hall.
Backward and forward rolled the waves of fight
Round Troy,—but while this
stood, Troy could not fall.
So, in its lovely moonlight, lives the soul.
Mountains surround it, and sweet virgin
air;
Cold plashing, past it, crystal waters roll;
We visit it by moments, ah, too rare!
Men will renew the battle in the plain
Tomorrow; red with blood will Xanthus
be;
Hector and Ajax will be there again,
Helen will come upon the wall to see.
Then we shall rust in shade, or shine in strife,
And fluctuate ’twixt blind hopes
and blind despairs,
And fancy that we put forth all our life,
And never know how with the soul it fares.
Still doth the soul, from its lone fastness high,
Upon our life a ruling effluence send;
And when it fails, fight as we will, we die,
And while it lasts, we cannot wholly end.
—Matthew Arnold
Lord Caesar, when you sternly wrote
The story of your grim campaigns
And watched the ragged smoke-wreath float
Above the burning plains,
Amid the impenetrable wood,
Amid the camp’s incessant hum
At eve, beside the tumbling flood,
In high Avaricum,
You little recked, imperious head,
When shrilled your shattering trumpets’
noise,
Your frigid sections would be read
By bright-eyed English boys.
Ah me! Who penetrates today
The secret of your deep designs?
Your sovereign visions, as you lay
Amid the sleeping lines?
The Mantuan singer pleading stands;
From century to century
He leans and reaches wistful hands,
And cannot bear to die.
But you are silent, secret, proud,
No smile upon your haggard face,
As when you eyed the murderous crowd
Beside the statue’s base.
I marvel: That Titanic heart
Beats strongly through the arid page,
And we, self-conscious sons of art,
In this bewildering age,
Like dizzy revellers stumbling out
Upon the pure and peaceful night,
Are sobered into troubled doubt,
As swims across our sight,
The ray of that sequestered sun,
Far in the illimitable blue,—
The dream of all you left undone,
Of all you dared to do.
—Arthur Christoher Benson
They found it in her hollow marble bed,
There where the numberless dead cities sleep,
They found it lying where the spade struck deep
A broken mirror by a maiden dead.
These things—the beads she wore about her
throat,
Alternate blue and amber, all untied,
A lamp to light her way, and on one side
The toll men pay to that strange ferry-boat.
No trace today of what in her was fair!
Only the record of long years grown green
Upon the mirror’s lustreless dead sheen,
Grown dim at last, when all else withered there
Dead, broken, lustreless! It keeps for me
One picture of that immemorial land,
For oft as I have held thee in my hand
The chill bronze brightens, and I dream to see
A fair face gazing in thee wondering wise
And o’er one marble shoulder all the while
Strange lips that whisper till her own lips smile
And all the mirror laughs about her eyes.
It was well thought to set thee there, so she
Might smooth the windy ripples of her hair
And knot their tangled waywardness or ere
She stood before the queen Persephone.
And still it may be where the dead folk rest
She holds a shadowy mirror to her eyes,
And looks upon the changelessness, and sighs
And sets the dead land lilies in her hand.
—Rennell Rodd
When through the dolorous city of damned souls
The Florentine with Vergil took his way,
A dismal marsh they passed, whose fetid shoals
Held sinners by the myriad. Swollen
and grey,
Like worms that fester in the foul decay
Of sweltering carrion, these bad spirits sank
Chin-deep in stagnant slime and ooze that stank.
Year after year forever—year by year,
Through billions of the centuries that
lie
Like specks of dust upon the dateless sphere
Of heaven’s eternity, they cankering
sigh
Between the black waves and the starless
sky;
And daily dying have no hope to gain
By death or change or respite of their pain.
What was their crime, you ask? Nay, listen:
“We
Were sullen—sad what time we
drank the light,
And delicate air, that all day daintily
Is cheered by sunshine; for we bore black
night
And murky smoke of sloth, in God’s
despite,
Within our barren souls, by discontent
From joy of all fair things and wholesome pent:
Therefore in this low Hell from jocund sight
And sound He bans us; and as there we
grew
Pallid with idleness, so here a blight
Perpetual rots with slow-corroding dew
Our poisonous carcase, and a livid hue
Corpse-like o’erspreads these sodden limbs that
take
And yield corruption to the loathly lake.”
—John Addington Symonds
Andromache
Will Hector leave me for the fatal plain,
Where, fierce with vengeance for Patroclus slain,
Stalks Peleus’ ruthless son?
Who, when thou glid’st amid the dark abodes,
To hurl the spear and to revere the gods,
Shall teach thine Orphan One?
Hector
Woman and wife beloved—cease thy tears;
My soul is nerved—the war-clang in my ears!
Be mine in life to stand
Troy’s bulwark!—fighting for our
hearths, to go
In death, exulting to the streams below,
Slain for my father-land!
Andromache
No more I hear thy martial footsteps fall—
Thine arms shall hang, dull trophies, on the wall—
Fallen the stem of Troy!
Thou go’st where slow Cocytus wanders—where
Love sinks in Lethe, and the sunless air
Is dark to light and joy!
Hector
Longing and thought—yea, all I feel and
think
May in the silent sloth of Lethe sink,
But my love not!
Hark, the wild swarm is at the walls! I hear!
Gird on my sword—Belov’d one, dry
the tear—
Lethe for love is not!
—Schiller
Under Mount Etna he lies,
It is slumber, it is not death;
For he struggles at times to arise,
And above him the lurid skies
Are hot with his fiery breath.
The crags are piled on his breast,
The earth is heaped on his head;
But the groans of his wild unrest,
Though smothered and half suppressed,
Are heard, and he is not dead.
And the nations far away
Are watching with eager eyes;
They talk together and say,
“Tomorrow, perhaps today,
Enceladus will arise!”
And the old gods, the austere
Oppressors in their strength,
Stand aghast and white with fear
At the ominous sounds they hear,
And tremble, and mutter, “At length!”
Ah me! for the land that is sown
With the harvest of despair!
Where the burning cinders, blown
From the lips of the overthrown
Enceladus, fill the air.
Where ashes are heaped in drifts
Over vineyard and field and town,
Whenever he starts and lifts
His head through the blackened rifts
Of the crags that keep him down.
See, see! the red light shines!
’Tis the glare of his awful eyes!
And the storm-wind shouts through the pines,
Of Alps and of Apennines,
“Enceladus, arise!”
—Henry W. Longfellow
When Horace in Venusian groves
Was scribbling wit or sipping “Massic,”
Or singing those delicious loves
Which after ages reckon classic,
He wrote one day—’twas no vagary—
These famous words:—Nil admirari!
“Wonder at nothing!” said the bard;
A kingdom’s fall, a nation’s
rising,
A lucky or a losing card,
Are really not at all surprising;
However men or manners vary,
Keep cool and calm: Nil admirari!
If kindness meet a cold return;
If friendship prove a dear delusion;
If love, neglected, cease to burn,
Or die untimely of profusion,—
Such lessons well may make us wary,
But needn’t shock: Nil admirari!
Ah! when the happy day we reach
When promisers are ne’er deceivers;
When parsons practice what they preach,
And seeming saints are all believers,
Then the old maxim you may vary,
And say no more, Nil admirari!
—John G. Saxe
The Emperor Titus, at the close of a day
in which he had neither
gained any knowledge nor conferred benefit,
was accustomed to
exclaim, “Perdidi diem,” “I
have lost a day.”
Why art thou sad, thou of the sceptred
hand?
The rob’d in purple, and the high in state?
Rome pours her myriads forth, a vassal
band,
And foreign powers are crouching at thy gate;
Yet dost thou deeply sigh, as if oppressed by fate.
“Perdidi diem!”—Pour
the empire’s treasure,
Uncounted gold, and gems of rainbow dye;
Unlock the fountains of a monarch’s
pleasure
To lure the lost one back. I heard a sigh—
One hour of parted time, a world is poor to buy.
“Perdidi diem!”—’Tis
a mournful story,
Thus in the ear of pensive eve to tell,
Of morning’s firm resolves, the
vanish’d glory,
Hope’s honey left within the withering bell
And plants of mercy dead, that might have bloomed
so well.
Hail, self-communing Emperor, nobly wise!
There are, who thoughtless haste to life’s last
goal.
There are, who time’s long squandered
wealth despise.
Perdidi vitam marks their finished scroll,
When Death’s dark angel comes to claim the startled
soul.
—Mrs. Sigourney
JUPITER AND HIS CHILDREN
A Classic Fable
Once, on sublime Olympus, when
Great Jove, the sire of gods and men,
Was looking down on this our Earth,
And marking the increasing dearth
Of pious deeds and noble lives,
While vice abounds and meanness thrives,—
He straight determined to efface
At one fell swoop the thankless race
Of human kind. “Go!” said the King
Unto his messenger, “and bring
The vengeful Furies; be it theirs,
Unmindful of their tears and prayers,
These wretches,—hateful from their birth,—
To wipe from off the face of earth!”
The message heard, with torch of flame
And reeking sword, Alecto came,
And by the beard of Pluto swore
The human race should be no more!
But Jove, relenting thus to see
The direst of the murderous three,
What means this ancient tale? That Jove
In wrath still felt a parent’s love:
Whatever crimes he may have done,
The father yearns to spare the son.
—John G. Saxe
Socrates
Ere we leave this friendly sky,
And cool Ilyssus flowing by,
Change the shrill cicala’s song
For the clamor of the throng,
Let us make a parting prayer
To the gods of earth and air.
Phaedrus
My wish, O Friend, accords with thine,
Say thou the prayer, it shall be mine.
Socrates
This then, I ask, O thou beloved Pan,
And all ye other gods: Help, as ye can,
That I may prosper in the inner man;
Grant ye that what I have or yet may win
Of those the outer things may be akin
And constantly at peace within;
May I regard the wise the rich, and care
Myself for no more gold, as my earth-share,
Than he who’s of an honest heart can bear.
—John H. Finley
“Poetry and paganism do not mix very well nowadays. The Hellenism of our versifiers is, as a rule, not Greek; it is derived partly from Swinburne and partly from Pater. But now and then there comes a poet who has real appreciation of the beauty of classic days; who can express sincerely and vividly the haunting charm of Greek or Roman culture. Such an one is the anonymous writer of these lines, which appeared in the London Punch.”
The wind it sang in the pine-tops, it sang like a
humming harp;
The smell of the sun on the bracken was wonderful
sweet and sharp.
As sharp as the piney needles, as sweet as the gods
were good,
For the wind it sung of the old gods, as I came through
the wood!
It sung how long ago the Romans made a road,
And the gods came up from Italy and found them an
abode.
It sang of the wayside altars (the pine-tops sighed
like the surf),
Of little shrines uplifted, of stone and scented turf,
Of youths divine and immortal, of maids as white as
the snow
That glimmered among the thickets a mort of years
ago!
All in the cool of dawn, all in the twilight gray,
The gods came up from Italy along the Roman way.
The altar smoke it has drifted and faded afar on the
hill;
No wood-nymphs haunt the hollows; the reedy pipes
are still;
No more the youth Apollo shall walk in his sunshine
clear;
No more the maid Diana shall follow the fallow-deer
(The woodmen grew so wise, the woodmen grew so old,
The gods went back to Italy—or so the story’s
told!).
But the woods are full of voices and of shy and secret
things
The badger down by the brook-side, the flick of a
woodcock’s wings,
The plump of a falling fir-cone, the pop of the sunripe
pods,
And the wind that sings in the pine-tops the song
of the ancient gods—
The song of the wind that says the Romans made a road,
And the gods came up from Italy and found them an
abode!
O Sister Nymphs, how shall we dance or sing
Remembering
What was and is not? How sing any more
Now Aphrodite’s rosy reign is o’er?
For on the forest-floor
Our feet fall wearily the summer long,
The whole year long:
No sudden goddess through the rushes glides,
No eager God among the laurels hides;
Jove’s eagle mopes beside an empty throne,
Persephone and Ades sit alone,
By Lethe’s hollow shore.
And hear not any more
Echoed from poplar-tree to poplar-tree,
The voice of Orpheus making sweetest moan
For lost Eurydice.
The Fates walk all alone
In empty kingdoms, where is none to fear
Shaking of any spear.
Even the ghosts are gone
From lightless fields of mint and euphrasy:
There sings no wind in any willow-tree,
And shadowy flute-girls wander listlessly
Down to the shore where Charon’s empty boat,
As shadowed swan doth float,
Rides all as listlessly, with none to steer.
A shrunken stream is Lethe’s water wan
Unsought of any man:
Grass Ceres sowed by alien hands is mown,
And now she seeks Persephone alone.
The gods have all gone up Olympus’ hill,
And all the songs are still
Of grieving Dryads, left
To wail about our woodland ways, bereft,
The endless summertide.
Queen Venus draws aside
And passes, sighing, up Olympus’ hill.
Let us all cry together “Cytherea!”
Lock hands and cry together: it may be
That she will heed and hear
And come from the waste places of the sea,
Leaving old Proteus all discomforted,
To cast down from his head
Its crown of nameless jewels, to be hurled
In ruins, with the ruined royalty
Of an old world.
The Nereids seek thee in the salt sea-reaches,
Seek thee; and seek, and seek, and never find:
Canst thou not hear their calling on the wind?
We nymphs go wandering under pines and beeches,
And far—and far behind
We hear Paris’ piping blown
After us, calling thee and making moan
(For all the leaves that have no strength to cry,
The young leaves and the dry),
Desiring thee to bless these woods again,
Making most heavy moan
For withered myrtle-flowers,
For all thy Paphian bowers
Empty and sad beneath a setting sun;
For dear days done!
The Naiads splash in the blue forest-pools—
“Idalia—Idalia!”
they cry.
“On Ida’s hill,
With flutings faint and shrill,—
On Ida’s hill the shepherds vainly try
Their songs, and coldly stand their damsels by,
Whatever tunes they try;
For beauty is not, and Love may not be,
On land or sea—
Oh, not in earth or heaven, on land or sea,
While darkness holdeth thee.”
The Naiads weep beside their forest-pools,
And from the oaks a hundred voices call,
“Come back to us, O thou desired of all!
Elsewhere the air is sultry: here it cools
And full it is of pine scents: here is still
The world-pain that has driven from Ida’s hill
Thine unreturning feet.
Alas! the days so fleet that were, and sweet,
When kind thou wert, and dear,
And all the loves dwelt here!
Alas! thy giftless hands, thy wandering feet!
Oh, here for Pithys’ sake the air is sweet
And here snow falls not, neither burns the sun
Nor any winds make moan for dear days done.
Come, then: the woods are emptied all of glee,
And all the world is sad, desiring thee!”
—Nora Hopper
I am that Helen, that very Helen
Of Leda, born in the days of old:
Men’s hearts as inns that I might dwell in:
Houseless I wander to-night, and cold.
Because man loved me, no God takes pity:
My ghost goes wailing where I was Queen!
Alas! my chamber in Troy’s tall city,
My golden couches, my hangings green!
Wasted with fire are the halls they built me,
And sown with salt are the streets I trod,
Where flowers they scattered and spices spilt me—
Alas, that Zeus is a jealous God!
Softly I went on my sandals golden;
Of love and pleasure I took my fill;
With Paris’ kisses my lips were holden,
Nor guessed I, when life went at my will,
That the fates behind me went softlier
still.
—Nora Hopper
Where, girt with orchard and with oliveyard,
The white hill-fortress glimmers on the hill,
Day after day an ancient goldsmith’s skill
Guided the copper graver, tempered hard
By some lost secret, while he shaped the
sard
Slowly to beauty, and his tiny drill,
Edged with corundum, ground its way until
The gem lay perfect for the ring to guard.
Then seeing the stone complete to his desire,
With mystic imagery carven thus,
And dark Egyptian symbols fabulous,
He drew through it the delicate golden wire,
And bent the fastening; and the Etrurian sun
Sank behind Ilva, and the work was done.
What dark-haired daughter of a Lucumo
Bore on her slim white finger to the grave
This the first gift her Tyrrhene lover gave,
Those five-and-twenty centuries ago?
What shadowy dreams might haunt it, lying
low
So long, while kings and armies, wave on wave,
Above the rock-tomb’s buried architrave
Went trampling million-footed to and fro?
Who knows? but well it is so frail a thing,
Unharmed by conquering Time’s supremacy,
Still should be fair, though scarce less old than
Rome.
Now once again at rest from wandering
Across the high Alps and the dreadful sea,
In utmost England let it find a home.
—J. W. Mackail
Orpheus with his lute made trees,
And the mountain tops that freeze,
Bow themselves when he did sing:
To his music, plants and flowers
Ever sprung: as sun and showers
There had made a lasting spring.
Everything that heard him play,
Even the billows of the sea,
Hung their heads, and then lay by.
In sweet music is such art,
Killing care and grief of heart
Fall asleep or hearing, die.
—William Shakespeare
Of Neptune’s empire let us sing
At whose command the waves obey;
To whom the rivers tribute pay,
Down the high mountains sliding:
To whom the scaly nation yields
Homage for the crystal fields
Wherein they dwell:
And every sea-god pays a gem
Yearly out of his wat’ry cell
To deck great Neptune’s diadem.
The Tritons dancing in a ring
Before his palace gates do make
The waters with their echoes quake,
Like the great thunder sounding:
The sea-nymphs chant their accents shrill,
And the sirens, taught to kill
With their sweet voice,
Make every echoing rock reply
Unto their gentle murmuring noise
The praise of Neptune’s empery.
—Thomas Campion
Book II, Ode 16
(In part, only)
He lives on little, and is blest,
On whose plain board the bright
Salt-cellar shines, which was his sire’s
delight,
Nor terrors, nor cupidity’s unrest,
Disturb his slumbers light.
Why should we still project and plan,
We creatures of an hour?
Why fly from clime to clime, new regions
scour?
Where is the exile, who, since time began,
To fly from self had power?
Fell care climbs brazen galley’s sides;
Nor troops of horse can fly
Her foot, which than the stag’s
is swifter, ay,
Swifter than Eurus when he madly rides
The clouds along the sky.
Careless what lies beyond to know,
And turning to the best,
The present, meet life’s bitters
with a jest,
And smile them down; since nothing here below
Is altogether blest.
In manhood’s prime Achilles died,
Tithonus by the slow
Decay of age was wasted to a show,
And Time may what it hath to thee denied
On me perchance bestow.
To me a farm of modest size,
And slender vein of song,
Such as in Greece flowed vigorous and
strong,
Kind fate hath given, and spirit to despise
The base, malignant throng.
—Sir Theodore Martin
Book IV, Ode 12
Yes, a small box of nard from the stores of Sulpicius[2]
A cask shall elicit, of potency rare
To endow with fresh hopes, dewy-bright and delicious,
And wash from our hearts every cobweb
of care.
If you’d dip in such joys, come—the
better the quicker!—
But remember the fee—for it
suits not my ends,
To let you make havoc, scot-free, ’with my liquor,
As though I were one of your heavy-pursed
friends.
To the winds with base lucre and pale melancholy!—
In the flames of the pyre these, alas!
will be vain,
Mix your sage ruminations with glimpses of folly,—
’Tis delightful at times to be somewhat
insane.
—Sir Theodore Martin
[Footnote 2: Virgil must
bring some rare perfume in exchange
for the rich wine, since Horace
thus playfully conditions his
invitation.]
Horace. Book II, Ode 10
Receive, dear friends, the truths I teach,
So shalt thou live beyond the reach
Of adverse Fortune’s power;
Not always tempt the distant deep,
Nor always timorously creep
Along the treacherous shore.
He that holds fast the golden mean
And lives contentedly between
The little and the great,
Feels not the wants that pinch the poor,
Nor plagues that haunt the rich man’s door,
Imbittering all his state.
The tallest pines feel most the power
Of wintry blasts; the loftiest tower
Comes heaviest to the ground;
The bolts that spare the mountain’s side
His cloud-capt eminence divide,
And spread the ruin round.
The well-informed philosopher
Rejoices with a wholesome fear,
And hopes in spite of pain;
If winter bellow from the north,
Soon the sweet spring comes dancing forth,
And nature laughs again.
What if thine heaven be overcast?
The dark appearance will not last;
Expect a brighter sky.
The god that strings a silver bow
Awakes sometimes the Muses too,
And lays his arrows by.
If hindrances obstruct thy way,
Thy magnanimity display,
And let thy strength be seen:
But O! if Fortune fill thy sail
With more than a propitious gale,
Take half thy canvas in.
—William Cowper
Martial
He unto whom thou art so partial,
O reader, is the well-known Martial,
The Epigrammatist: while living,
Give him the fame thou wouldst be giving
So shall he hear, and feel, and know it:
Post-obits rarely reach a poet.
—Lord Byron
Martial. Book I, xlii
When the sad tale, how Brutus fell, was brought,
And slaves refused the weapon Portia sought;
“Know ye not yet,” she said, with towering
pride,
“Death is a boon that cannot be denied?
I thought my father amply had imprest
This simple truth upon each Roman breast.”
Dauntless she gulph’d the embers as they flamed
And, while their heat within her raged, exclaim’d
“Now, troublous guardians of a life abhorr’d,
Still urge your caution, and refuse the sword.”
—George Lamb
Martial. Book X, lxx
That scarce a piece I publish in a year,
Idle perhaps to you I may appear.
But rather, that I write at all, admire,
When I am often robbed of days entire.
Now with my friends the evening I must spend:
To those preferred my compliments must send.
Now at the witnessing a will make one:
Hurried from this to that, my morning’s gone.
Some office must attend; or else some ball;
Or else my lawyer’s summons to the hall.
Now a rehearsal, now a concert hear;
And now a Latin play at Westminster.
Home after ten return, quite tir’d and dos’d.
When is the piece, you want, to be compos’d?
—John Hay
Martial
Your slave will with your gold abscond,
The fire your home lay low,
Your debtor will disown his bond
Your farm no crops bestow;
Your steward a mistress frail shall cheat;
Your freighted ship the storms will beat;
That only from mischance you’ll save,
Which to your friends is given;
The only wealth you’ll always have
Is that you’ve lent to heaven.
—English Journal
of Education,
Jan.,
1856
Martial
They tell me, Cotilus, that you’re a beau:
What this is, Cotilus, I wish to know.
“A beau is one who, with the nicest care,
In parted locks divides his curling hair;
One who with balm and cinnamon smells sweet,
Whose humming lips some Spanish air repeat;
Whose naked arms are smoothed with pumice-stone,
And tossed about with graces all his own:
A beau is one who takes his constant seat
From morn till evening, where the ladies meet;
And ever, on some sofa hovering near,
Whispers some nothing in some fair one’s ear;
Who scribbles thousand billets-doux a day;
Still reads and scribbles, reads, and sends away;
A beau is one who shrinks, if nearly pressed
By the coarse garment of a neighbor guest;
Who knows who flirts with whom, and still is found
At each good table in successive round:
A beau is one—none better knows than he
A race-horse, and his noble pedigree”—
Indeed? Why Cotilus, if this be so,
What teasing trifling thing is called a beau!
—Elton
Martial
To Julius Martialis
The things that make a life to please,
(Sweetest Martial), they are these:
Estate inherited, not got:
A thankful field, hearth always hot:
City seldom, law-suits never:
Equal friends, agreeing forever:
Health of body, peace of mind:
Sleeps that till the morning bind:
Wise simplicity, plain fare:
Not drunken nights, yet loos’d from care:
A sober, not a sullen spouse:
Clean strength, not such as his that plows;
Wish only what thou art, to be;
Death neither wish, nor fear to see.
—Sir Richard Fanshawe
Martial. Book X, lxii
Thou monarch of eight parts of speech,
Who sweep’st with birch a youngster’s
breech,
Oh! now awhile withhold your hand!
So may the trembling crop-hair’d band
Around your desk attentive hear,
And pay you love instead of fear;
So may yours ever be as full,
As writing or as dancing school.
The scorching dog-day is begun;
The harvest roasting in the sun;
Each Bridewell keeper, though requir’d
To use the lash, is too much tir’d.
Let ferula and rod together
Lie dormant, till the frosty weather.
Boys do improve enough in reason,
Who miss a fever in this season.
—John Hay
Martial. Book X, lxi
Underneath this greedy stone,
Lies little sweet Erotion;[3]
Whom the Fates, with hearts as cold,
Nipp’d away at six years old.
Thou, whoever thou mayst be,
That hast this small field after me,
Let the yearly rites be paid
To her little slender shade;
So shall no disease or jar
Hurt thy house, or chill thy Lar;
But this tomb be here alone
The only melancholy stone.
—Leigh Hunt
[Footnote 3: A little girl who died at six years of age.]
NON AMO TE
Martial. I, 32
Non amo te, Sabidi, nec possum dicere quare:
Hoc tantum possum dicere, non amo te.[4]
[Footnote 4: This well
known epigram is the original of one
equally famous in English,
that written by Tom Brown on Dr. John
Fell, about 1670.
“I do not
like thee, Dr. Fell.
The reason why
I cannot tell;
But this I know
and know full well
I do not like
thee, Dr. Fell.” ]
Some hae meat and canna eat,
And some wad eat that want it;
But we hae meat and we can eat
And sae the Lord be thanket.
—Burns
Translation
Sunt quibus est panis
nec amor tamen ullus edendi:
Sunt quibus hic amor est
deest tamen ipse cibus.
Panis at est nobis
et amor quoque panis edendi
Pro quibus est Domino
gratia habenda Deo.
—The Lawrence Latinist
It was, and still my care is,
To worship ye, the Lares,
With crowns of greenest parsley,
And garlick chives not scarcely;
For favors here to warme me,
And not by fire to harme me;
For gladding so my hearth here,
With inoffensive mirth here;
That while the wassaile bowle here
With North-down ale doth troule here,
No sillable doth fall here,
To marre the mirth at all here.
For which, O chimney-keepers!
(I dare not call ye sweepers)
So long as I am able
To keep a country-table
Great be my fare, or small cheere,
I’ll eat and drink up all here.
—Robert Herrick
Past the despairing wail—
And the bright banquets of the Elysian Vale
Melt every care away!
Delight, that breathes and moves forever,
Glides through sweet fields like some sweet river!
Elysian life survey!
There, fresh with youth, o’er jocund meads,
His merry west-winds blithely leads
The ever-blooming May!
Through gold-woven dreams goes the dance of the Hours,
In space without bounds swell the soul and its powers,
And Truth, with no veil, gives her face to the day.
And joy today and joy tomorrow
But wafts the airy soul aloft;
The very name is lost to Sorrow,
And Pain is Rapture tuned more exquisitely soft.
Here the Pilgrim reposes the world-weary limb,
And forgets in the shadow, cool-breathing and dim,
The load he shall bear never more;
Here the mower, his sickle at rest, by the streams
Lull’d with harp strings, reviews, in the calm
of his dreams
The fields, when the harvest is o’er.
Here, He, whose ears drank in the battle roar,
Whose banners streamed upon the startled wind
A thunder-storm,—before whose thunder tread
The mountains trembled,—in soft sleep reclined,
By the sweet brook that o’er its pebbly bed
In silver plays, and murmurs to the shore,
Hears the stern clangour of wild spears no more.
—Schiller
Orpheus he went (as poets tell)
To fetch Euridice from hell;
And had her; but it was upon
This short, but strict, condition:
Backward he should not looke while he
Led her through hell’s obscuritie.
But ah! it happened as he made
His passage through that dreadful shade,
Revolve he did his loving eye,
For gentle feare, or jelousie,
And looking back, that look did sever
Him and Euridice forever.
—Robert Herrick
Dear Reader, should you chance to go
To Hades, do not fail to throw
A “Sop to Cerberus” at the gate,
His anger to propitiate.
Don’t say “Good dog!” and hope thereby
His three fierce Heads to pacify.
What though he try to be polite
And wag his tail with all his might,
How shall one amiable Tail
Against three angry Heads prevail?
The Heads must win.—What puzzles
me
Is why in Hades there should be
A watchdog; ’tis, I should surmise,
The last place one would burglarize.
—Oliver Herford
They certainly contrived to raise
Queer ladies in the olden days.
Either the type had not been fixed,
Or else Zooelogy got mixed.
I envy not primeval man
This female on the feathered plan.
We only have, I’m glad to say,
Two kinds of human birds today—
Women and warriors, who still
Wear feathers when dressed up to kill.
—Oliver Herford
Anacreon[5]
Young Cupid once a rose caressed,
And sportively its leaflets pressed.
The witching thing, so fair to view
One could not but believe it true,
Warmed, on its bosom false, a bee,
Which stung the boy-god in his glee.
Sobbing, he raised his pinions bright,
And flew unto the isle of light,
Where, in her beauty, myrtle-crowned,
The Paphian goddess sat enthroned.
Her Cupid sought, and to her breast
His wounded finger, weeping, pressed.
“O mother! kiss me,” was his cry—
“O mother! save me, or I die;
A winged little snake or bee
With cruel sting has wounded me!”
The blooming goddess in her arms
Folded and kissed his budding charms;
To her soft bosom pressed her pride,
And then with truthful words replied:
“If thus a little insect thing
Can pain thee with its tiny sting,
How languish, think you, those who smart
Beneath my Cupid’s cruel dart?
How fatal must that poison prove
That rankles on the shafts of Love.”
[Footnote 5: Anacreon
was a Greek society poet, living in the
sixth century B.C.]
O’er rolling stars, from heavenly stalls advancing,
The coaches soon were seen, and a long
train
Of mules with litters, horses fleet and prancing,
Their trappings all embroidery, nothing
plain;
And with fine liveries, in the sunbeams glancing,
More than a hundred servants, rather vain
Of handsome looks and of their stature tall,
Followed their masters to the Council Hall.
First came the Prince of Delos, Phoebus hight,
In a gay travelling carriage, fleetly
drawn
By six smart Spanish chestnuts, shining bright,
Which with their tramping shook the aerial
lawn;
Red was his cloak, three-cocked his hat, and light
Around his neck the golden fleece was
thrown;
And twenty-four sweet damsels, nectar-sippers,
Were running near him in their pumps or slippers.
Pallas, with lovely but disdainful mien,
Came on a nag of Basignanian race;
Tight round her leg, and gathered up, was seen
Her gown, half Greek, half Spanish; o’er
her face
Part of her hair hung loose, a natural screen,
Part was tied up, and with becoming grace;
A bunch of feathers on her head she wore,
And on her saddle-bow her falchion bore.
But Ceres and the God of Wine appeared
At once, conversing; and the God of Ocean
Upon a dolphin’s back his form upreared,
Floating through waves of air with graceful
motion;
Naked, all sea-weed, and with mud besmeared;
For whom his mother Rhea feels emotion,
Reproaching his proud brother, when she meets him,
Because so like a fisherman he treats him.
Diana, the sweet virgin, was not there;
She had risen early and o’er woodland
green
Had gone to wash her clothes in fountain fair
Upon the Tuscan shore—romantic
scene.
And not returning till the northern star
Had rolled through dusky air and lost
its sheen,
Her mother made excuses quite provoking,
Knitting at the time, a worsted stocking.
Juno-Lucina did not go—and why?
She anxious wished to wash her sacred
head.
Menippus, Jove’s chief taster, standing by
For the disastrous Fates excuses made.
They had much tow to spin, and lint to dry,
And they were also busy baking bread.
The cellarman, Silenus, kept away,
To water the domestics’ wine, that day.
On starry benches sit the famous warriors
Of the immortal kingdom, in a ring;
Now drums and cymbals, echoing to the barriers,
Announce the coming of the gorgeous king;
A hundred pages, valets, napkin-carriers
Attend, and their peculiar offerings bring.
And after them, armed with his club so hard,
Alcides, captain of the city guard.
With Jove’s broad hat and spectacles arrived
The light-heeled Mercury; in his hand
he bore
A sack, in which, of other means deprived,
He damned poor mortals’ prayers,
some million score;
Those he disposed in vessels, well contrived,
Which graced his father’s cabinet
of yore;
And, wont attention to all claims to pay,
He regularly signed them twice a day.
Then Jove himself, in royal habit dressed,
With starry diadem upon his head,
And o’er his shoulders an imperial vest
Worn upon holidays.—The king
displayed
A sceptre, pastoral shape, with hooked crest:
In a rich jacket too was he arrayed,
Given by the inhabitants of Sericane,
And Ganymede held up his splendid train.
—A. Tassoni
(Pliny, the Younger, writes the following
in a letter relative to
the death of Minicia Marcella, the daughter
of his friend, Fundanus.)
Tristissimus haec tibi scribo, Fundani nostri filia minore defuncta, qua puella nihil umquam festivius, amabilius, nec modo longiore vita sed prope immortalitate dignius vidi. Nondum annos quattuor decem impleverat, et iam illi anilis prudentia, matronalis gravitas erat, et tamen suavitas puellaris cum virginali verecundia. Ut illa patris cervicibus inhaerebat! Ut nos amicos paternos et amanter et modeste complectabatur! ut nutrices, ut paedagogos, ut praeceptores, pro suo quemque officio diligebat! quam studiose, quam intellegenter lectitabat! ut parce custoditeque ludebat! Qua illa temperantia, qua patientia, qua etiam constantia novissimam valetudinem tulit! Medicis obsequebatur, sororem, patrem adhortabatur, ipsamque se destitutam corporis viribus vigore animi sustinebat. Duravit hic illi usque ad extremum nec aut spatio valetudinis
—C. Pliny. Epist. v, 16
Translation
I have the saddest news to tell you. Our friend Fundanus has lost his youngest daughter. I never saw a girl more cheerful, more lovable, more worthy of long life—nay, of immortality. She had not yet completed her fourteenth year, and she had already the prudence of an old woman, the gravity of a matron, and still, with all maidenly modesty, the sweetness of a girl. How she would cling to her father’s neck! how affectionately and discreetly she would greet us, her father’s friends! how she loved her nurses, her attendants, her teachers,—everyone according to his service. How earnestly, how intelligently, she used to read! How modest was she and restrained in her sports! And with what self-restraint, what patience—nay, what courage—she bore her last illness! She obeyed the physicians, encouraged her father and sister, and, when all strength of body had left her, kept herself alive by the vigor of her mind. This vigor lasted to the very end, and was not broken by the length of her illness or by the fear of death; so leaving, alas! to us yet more and weightier reasons for our grief and our regret. Oh the sadness, the bitterness of that death! Oh the cruelty of the time when we lost her, worse even than the loss itself! She had been betrothed to a noble youth; the marriage day had been fixed, and we had been invited. How great a joy changed into how great a sorrow! I cannot express in words how it went to my heart when I heard Fundanus himself (this is one of the grievous experiences of sorrow) giving orders that what he had meant to lay out on dresses, and pearls, and jewels, should be spent on incense, unguents, and spices.
—Tr. Alfred J. Church
Lugete, o Veneres Cupidinesque,
Et quantumst hominum venustiorum.
Passer mortuus est meae puellae,
Passer, deliciae meae puellae,
Quem plus illa oculis suis amabat:
Nam mellitus erat suamque norat
Ipsa tam bene quam puella matrem,
Nec sese a gremio illius movebat,
Sed circumsiliens modo huc modo illuc
Ad solam dominam usque pipiabat.
Qui nunc it per iter tenebricosum
Illuc unde negant redire quemquam.
At vobis male sit, malae tenebrae
Orci, quae omnia bella devoratis:
Tam bellum mihi passerem abstulistis.
O factum male! io miselle passer!
Tua nunc opera meae puellae
Flendo turgiduli rubent ocelli.
—Catullus
Each Love, each Venus, mourn with me!
Mourn, every son of gallantry!
The sparrow, my own nymph’s delight,
The joy and apple of her sight;
The honey-bird, the darling dies,
To Lesbia dearer than her eyes,
As the fair one knew her mother,
So he knew her from another.
With his gentle lady wrestling,
In her snowy bosom nestling;
With a flutter and a bound,
Quiv’ring round her and around;
Chirping, twitt’ring, ever near,
Notes meant only for her ear.
Now he skims the shadowy way,
Whence none return to cheerful day.
Beshrew the shades! that thus devour
All that’s pretty in an hour.
The pretty sparrow thus is dead;
The tiny fugitive is fled.
Deed of spite! poor bird!—ah! see,
For thy dear sake, alas! for me!—
My nymph with brimful eyes appears,
Red from the flushing of her tears.
—Elton
The following tribute to Cicero was written
by Catullus, the Roman
lyric poet (87-54 B.C.)
Disertissime Romuli nepotum,
Quot sunt quotque fuere, Marce Tulli,
Quot que post aliis erunt in annis,
Gratius tibi maximas Catullus
Agit, pessimus omnium poeta,
Tanto pessimus omnium poeta
Quanto tu optimus omnium patronum.
Translation
Tully, most eloquent, most sage
Of all the Roman race,
That deck the past or present age,
Or future days may grace.
Oh! may Catullus thus declare
An overflowing heart;
And, though the worst of poets, dare
A grateful lay impart!
’Twill teach thee how thou hast surpast
All others in thy line;
For, far as he in his is last,
Art thou the first in thine.
—Charles Lamb
DE PATIENTIA
Patiendo fit homo melior,
Auro pulchrior,
Vitro clarior,
Laude dignior,
Gradu altior,
A vitiis purgatior,
Virtutibus perfectior,
Iesu Christo acceptior,
Sanctis quoque similior,
Hostibus suis fortior,
Amicis amabilior.
—Thomas a Kempis
O Domine Deus!
Speravi in te;
O care mi Iesu!
Nunc libera me:
In dura catena
In misera poena
Desidero te;
Languendo, gemendo,
Et genuflectendo
Adoro, imploro,
Ut liberes me!
Translation
My Lord and my God! I have trusted in Thee;
O Jesus, my Savior belov’d, set me free:
In rigorous chains, in piteous pains,
I am longing for Thee!
In weakness appealing, in agony kneeling,
I pray, I beseech Thee, O Lord, set me free!
[Footnote 6: From the
Prayer-book of Queen Mary, and believed to
be her composition. Said
to have been uttered by the queen just
before her execution.]
ULTIMA THULE
American pride has often gloried in Seneca’s
“Vision of the West”
written more than 1800 years ago.
Venient annis
Saecula seris, quibus Oceanus
Vincula rerum laxet, et ingens
Pateat tellus, Tethysque novos
Detegat orbes, nec sit terris
Ultima Thule.
—Seneca
Translation
A time will come in future ages far
When Ocean will his circling bounds unbar,
And, opening vaster to the Pilot’s hand,
New worlds shall rise, where mightier kingdoms are,
Nor Thule longer be the utmost land.
Oh, the Roman was a rogue,
He erat, was, you bettum;
He ran his automobilis
And smoked his cigarettum;
He wore a diamond studibus
And elegant cravatum,
A maxima cum laude shirt
And such a stylish hattum.
He loved the luscious hic-haec-hoc,
And bet on games and equi:
At times he won: at others, though,
He got it in the nequi.
He winked (quousque tandem?)
At puellas on the Forum,
And sometimes even made
Those goo-goo oculorum!
He frequently was seen
At combats gladiatorial,
And ate enough to feed
Ten boarders at Memorial:
He often went on sprees,
And said on starting homus,
“Hic labor, opus est,
Oh, where’s my hic-haec-domus?”
Although he lived in Rome—
Of all the arts the middle—
He was (excuse the phrase)
A horrid individ’l;
Ah, what a different thing
Was the homo (dative homini)
Of far away B.C.
From us of Anno Domini!
—Harvard Lampoon
ICH BIN DEIN
The Journal of Education commends this ingenious poem, written in seven languages—English, French, German, Greek, Latin, Spanish, and Italian—as one of the best specimens of Macaronic verse in existence, and worthy of preservation by all collectors.
In tempus old a hero lived,
Qui loved puellas deux;
He no pouvait pas quite to say
Which one amabat mieux.
Dit-il lui-meme un beau matin,
“Non possum both avoir,
Sed si address Amanda Ann,
Then Kate y yo have war.
Amanda habet argent coin,
Sed Kate has aureas curls;
Et both sunt very agathae
Et quite formosae girls.”
Enfin the joven anthropos,
Philoun the duo maids,
Resolved proponere ad Kate
Devant cet evening’s shades,
Procedens then to Kate’s domo,
Il trouve Amanda there,
Kai quite forgot his late resolves,
Both sunt so goodly fair,
Sed smiling on the new tapis,
Between puellas twain,
MALUM OPUS
Prope ripam fluvii solus
A senex silently sat;
Super capitum ecce his wig,
Et wig super, ecce his hat.
Blew Zephyrus alte, acerbus,
Dum elderly gentleman sat;
Et a capite took up quite torve
Et in rivum projecit his hat.
Tunc soft maledixit the old man,
Tunc stooped from the bank where he sat,
Et cum scipio poked in the water,
Conatus servare his hat.
Blew Zephyrus alte, acerbus,
The moment it saw him at that;
Et whisked his novum scratch wig
In flumen, along with his hat.
Ab imo pectore damnavit,
In coeruleus eye dolor sat;
Tunc despairingly threw in his cane,
Nare cum his wig and his hat.
L’Envoi
Contra bonos mores, don’t swear
It est wicked you know (verbum sat)
Si this tale habet no other moral
Mehercle! You’re gratus to
that.
—James A. Morgan
FELIS
A cat sedebat on our fence
As laeta as could be;
Her vox surgebat to the skies,
Canebat merrily.
My clamor was of no avail,
Tho’ clare did I cry.
Conspexit me with mild reproof,
And winked her alter eye.
Quite vainly ieci boots, a lamp,
Some bottles and a book;
Ergo, I seized my pistol, et
My aim cum cura took.
I had six shots, dixi, “Ye gods,
May I that felis kill!”
Quamquam I took six of her lives
The other three sang still.
The felis sang with major vim,
Though man’s aim was true,
Conatus sum, putare quid
In tonitru I’d do.
A scheme advenit in my head
Scivi, ’twould make her wince—
I sang! Et then the hostis fled
Non eam vidi since.
—Tennessee University Magazine
AMANTIS RES ADVERSAE
A homo ibat, one dark night
Puellas visitare
Et mansit there so very late
Ut illi constet cura.
Pueri walking by the house
Saw caput in fenestra,
Et sunt morati for a while
To see quis erat in there.
Soon caput turned its nasum round
In viam puerorum;
Agnoscunt there the pedagogue,
Oh! maximum pudorem!
Progressus puer to the door
Cum magna quietate,
Et turned the key to lock him in
Moratus satis ante.
Tum pedagogue arose to go
Est feeling hunky-dore:
Sed non potest to get out
Nam key’s outside the fore.
Ascendit sweetheart now the stairs
Cum festinato pede,
Et roused puellas from their sleep
Sed habent non the door key.
Tum excitavit dominum
By her tumultuous voce
Insanus currit to the door
Et vidit puellam.
“Furenti place,” the master roared,
“Why spoil you thus my somnum?
Exite from the other door
Si rogues have locked the front one.”
Puella tristis hung her head
And took her lover’s manum,
Et cite from the other door
His caput est impulsum.
Cum magno gradu redit domum
Retrorsum umquam peeping,
Et never ausus est again
Vexare people’s sleeping.
PUER EX JERSEY
Puer ex Jersey
Iens ad school;
Vidit in meadow,
Infestum mule.
Ille approaches
O magnus sorrow!
Puer it skyward
Funus TOMORROW.
Moral
Qui vidit a thing
Non ei well-known
Est bene for him
Id relinqui alone.
—Anonymous
* * * * *
SONGS THAT MAY BE USED
FOR THE PROGRAMS
* * * * *
16th Century Student Song
[**Music]
Flevit lepus parvulus
clamans altis vocibus:
[Chorus] Quid feci hominibus, quod me sequuntur canibus?
Neque in horto fui,
neque olus comedi.
Longas aures habeo,
brevem caudam teneo.
Leves pedes habeo,
magnum saltum facio.
Domus mea silva est,
lectus meus durus est.
[Footnote in original book
(published 1916):
By permission of Miss M.L.
Smith. Latin Lessons. Allyn and Bacon.]
H. W. Longfellow, 1839, English
B. L. D’Ooge, 1885, Latin
F. H. Barthelemon, 1741-1808
[**Music]
Ne narrate verbis maestis,
Esse vitam somnium!
Vita nam iners est inanis,
Et est visum perfidum.
Vita vera! vita gravis!
Meta non est obitus;
“Cinis es et cinis eris,”
Nihil est ad spiritus.
Ned laetitia, nec maeror,
Finis designatus est;
Sed augere, est noster labor,
Semper rem quae nobis est.
Ars est longa, tempus fugit,
Ut cor tuum valens sit,
Tamen modum tristem tundit
Neniae qui concinit.
Orbis terrae campo in lato,
In aetatis proeliis,
Mutum pecus turpe ne esto!
Heros esto in copiis!
Fidere futuro noli!
Anni numquam redeunt.
Age nunc! age in praesenti!
Fortes dei diligunt.
Summi nos admonent omnes
Simus inter nobilis,
Et legemus, disce dentes,
Signa viae posteris;
Signa forsitan futura
Alicui felicia,
Qui, tum in dura vitae via,
Cernat haec cum gratia.
Agite, tum nos nitamur
Quidquid erit, fortiter,
Superantes iam sequamur
Patienter, acriter.
Vita vera! vita gravis!
Meta non est obitus;
“Cinis es et cinis eris,”
Nihil est ad spiritus.
[**Music]
Gaudeamus igitur,
Iuvenes dum sumus;
Post iucundam iuventutem,
Post molestam senectutem,
Nos habebit humus.
Ubi sunt, qui ante nos
In mundo fuere?
Transeas ad superos,
Abeas ad inferos,
Quos si vis videre.
Vita nostra brevis est,
Brevi finietur;
Venit mors velociter,
Rapit nos atrociter,
Nemini parcetur.
Vivat academia,
Vivant professores,
Vivat membrum quodlibet,
Vivant membra quaelibet,
Semper sint in flore.
Vivant omnes virgines,
Faciles formosae;
Vivant et mulieres,
Dulces et amabiles,
Bonae, laboriosae.
Vivat et res publica,
Et qui illam regit.
Vivat nostra civitas,
Maecenatum caritas,
Quae nos hic protegit.
Pereat tristitia,
Pereant osores,
Pereat diabolus,
Quivis antiburschius
Atque irrisores.
Translation
While the glowing hours are bright,
Let not sadness mar them,
For when age shall rifle youth,
And shall drive our joys unsooth,
Then the grave will bar them.
Where are those who from the world
Long ago departed!
Scale Olympus’ lofty height—
See grim Hades’ murky night—
There are the great hearted.
Mortal life is but a span,
That is quickly fleeting;
Cruel death comes on apace
And removes us from the race,
None with favor treating.
Long may this fair temple stand,
Nassau now and ever!
Long may her professors grace
Each his own time honored place,
Friendship failing never.
May our charming maidens live,
Matchless all in beauty,
May our blooming matrons long
Be the theme of grateful song,
Patterns bright of duty.
May our Union grow in strength,
Faithful rulers guiding;
In the blaze of Freedom’s light
Where the genial arts are bright,
Find we rest abiding.
Out on sighing! Vanish hate,
And ye friends of sadness;
To his chill abode of woe,
Let the dread Philistine go,
Who would steal our gladness.
—Tr. J. A. Pearce, Jr.
LAURIGER HORATIUS
[**Music]
Lauriger Horatius,
Quam dixisti verum!
Fugit Euro citius
Tempus edax rerum.
Chorus
Ubi sunt, O pocula,
Dulciora melle,
Rixae, pax, et oscula
Rubentis puellae?
Crescit uva molliter,
Et puella crescit,
Sed poeta turpiter
Sitiens canescit.
Quid iuvat aeternitas
Nominis, amare
Nisi terrae filias
Licet, et potare?
Translation
Horace, crowned with laurels bright,
Truly thou hast spoken;
Time outspeeds the swift winds’ flight,
Earthly power is broken.
Chorus
Give me cups that foaming rise,
Cups with fragrance laden,
Pouting lips and smiling eyes,
Of a blushing maiden.
Blooming grows the budding vine,
And the maid grows blooming;
But the poet quaffs not wine,
Age is surely dooming.
Who would grasp at empty fame?
’Tis a fleeting vision;
But for love and wine we claim,
Sweetness all Elysian.
—Tr. J. A. Pearce, Jr.
This singable Latin translation of America
was made by Professor
George D. Kellogg of Union College and
appeared in The Classical
Weekly.
Te cano, Patria,
candida, libera;
te referet
portus et exulum
et tumulus senum;
libera montium
vox resonet.
Te cano, Patria,
semper et atria
ingenuum;
laudo virentia
culmina, flumina;
sentio gaudia
caelicolum.
Sit modulatio!
libera natio
dulce canat!
labra vigentia,
ora faventia,
saxa silentia
vox repleat!
Tutor es unicus,
unus avum deus!
Laudo libens.
Patria luceat,
libera fulgeat,
vis tua muniat,
Omnipotens!
[**Music]
Horace. Book I, Ode xxii
Integer vitae, scelerisque purus
Non eget Mauris jaculis nec arcu,
Nec venenatis gravida sagittis,
Fusce, pharetra.
Sive per Syrtes, iter aestuosas,
Sive facturus per inhospitalem
Caucasum, vel quae loca fabulosus
Lambit Hydaspes.
Pone me pigris ubi nulla campis
Arbor aestiva recreatur aura;
Quod latus mundi nebulae malusque
Iuppiter urget;
Pone sub curru nimium propinqui
Solis, in terra domibus negata:
Dulce ridentem Lalagen amabo,
Dulce loquentem.
Translation
Fuscus, the man of life upright and pure
Needeth nor javelin, nor bow of Moor
Nor arrows tipped with venom deadly-sure,
Loading his quiver.
Whether o’er Afric’s burning sand he rides,
Or frosty Caucasus’ bleak mountain-sides,
Or wanders lonely, where Hydaspes glides,
That storied river.
Place me where no life-laden summer breeze
Freshens the meads, or murmurs ’mongst the trees;
Where clouds oppress, and withering tempests’
breeze
From shore to shore.
Place me beneath the sunbeams’ fiercest glare,
On arid sands, no dwelling anywhere,
Still Lalage’s sweet smile, sweet voice e’en
there
I will adore.
—Tr. William Greenwood
Iesu, pro me perforatus,
Condar intra tuum latus,
Tu per lympham profluentem,
Tu per sanguinem tepentem,
In peccata mi redunda,
Tolle culpam, sordes munda.
Coram te nec iustus forem,
Quamvis tota vi laborem.
Nec si fide nunquam cesso,
Fletu stillans indefesso:
Tibi soli tantum munus:
Salva me, Salvator unus!
Nil in manu mecum fero
Sed me versus crucem gero;
Vestimenta nudus oro,
Opem debilis imploro;
Fontem Christi quaero immundus,
Nisi laves, moribundus.
Dum hos artus vita regit;
Quando nox sepulchre tegit;
Mortuos cum stare iubes;
Sedens iudex inter nubes;
Iesu, pro me perforatus,
Condar intra tuum latus.
—Toplady. Tr. by Gladstone
DIES IRAE[7]
Dies irae, dies illa
Solvet saeclum in favilla,
Teste David cum Sybilla.
Quantus tremor est futurus,
Quando iudex est venturus,
Cuncta stricte discussurus!
Tuba, mirum spargens sonum
Per sepulcra regionum,
Coget omnes ante thronum.
Mors stupebit, et natura,
Cum resurget creatura
Iudicanti responsura.
Liber scriptus proferetur,
Inquo totum continetur,
Unde mundus iudicetur.
Iudex ergo cum sedebit,
Quidquid latet, apparebit,
Nil inultum remanebit.
Quid sum miser tunc dicturus,
Quem patronum rogaturus,
Cum vix iustus sit securus?
Rex tremendae maiestatis,
Qui salvandos salvas gratis,
Salva me, fons pietatis!
Recordare, Iesu pie,
Quod sum causa tuae viae;
Ne me perdas illa die!
Quaerens me sedisti lassus,
Redemisti crucem passus:
Tantus labor non sit cassus!
Iuste iudex ultionis,
Donum fac remissionis
Ante diem rationis!
—Thomas of Celano
[Footnote 7: “This
marvelous hymn is the acknowledged masterpiece
of Latin poetry and the most
sublime of all uninspired hymns.”
—Schaff.]
Translation
Day of Wrath,—that Day of Days,—
When earth shall vanish in a blaze,
As David, with the Sibyl, says!
What a trembling will come o’er us,
When the Judge shall be before us,
For every hidden sin to score us!
The trumpet with its wondrous sound,
Piercing each sepulchral mound,
Shall summon all, the throne around.
Nature and death will stand aghast,
When those who to the grave have past,
Come answering to the judgment blast!
The Written Book shall be unrolled,
Wherein the deeds of all are told,
And shall the doom of all unfold.
For when the Judge shall be enthroned,
No secret shall be left unowned,
No crime or trespass unatoned.
When for a guilty wretch like me,
What plea, what pleader, will there be,
When scarcely shall the just go free!
King of tremendous majesty,
Whose grace saves all who saved may be,
Fountain of mercy, oh save me!
Forget not then, dear Son of God,
For my sake Thou thy way hast trod,
Nor let me sink beneath thy rod.
Yes, me to save Thou sat’st in pain,
Nor didst the bitter Cross disdain,—
Let not such anguish be in vain!
Unerring Judge, thy wrath restrain,
And let my sins remission gain,
While still the days of grace remain.
—Tr. Robert C. Winthrop
AD SANCTUM SPIRITUS[8]
Veni, Sancte Spiritus,
Et emitte coelitus
Lucis tuae radium.
Veni, pater pauperum,
Veni, dator munerum,
Veni, lumen cordium;
O lux beatissima,
Reple cordis intima
Tuorum fidelium!
Sine tuo numine
Nihil est in homine,
Nihil est innoxium.
Da tuis fidelibus
In te confitentibus
Sacrum septenarium;
Da virtutis meritum,
Da salutis exitum,
Da perenne gaudium!
[Footnote 8: Ascribed
to Innocent III, Robert II, of France, and
others. Ranks second
to Dies Irae among the Great Hymns. Can
be
sung to the tune of Rock of
Ages.]
Translation
Holy Spirit, come, we pray
Shed from Heaven thine inward ray,
Kindle darkness into day.
Come, Thou Father of the poor,
Come, Thou source of all our store,
Light of hearts forevermore.
Light most blissful! Fire divine!
Fill, oh! fill these hearts of Thine!
On our inmost being shine.
If in Thee it be not wrought
All in men is simply naught,
Nothing pure in deed and thought.
On the faithful who confide,
Solely in Thyself as guide,
Let Thy sevenfold gifts abide.
Grant them virtue’s full increase,
Grant them safe and sweet release,
Grant them everlasting peace!
ADESTE, FIDELES
A Christmas Hymn
Adeste, fideles,
Laeti, triumphantes,
Venite, venite in Bethlehem:
Natum videte
Regem Angelorum:
Chorus
Venite adoremus,
Venite adoremus,
Venite adoremus Dominum.
Deum de Deo,
Lumen de lumine,
Gestant puellae viscera:
Deum verum,
Genitum non factum:
Cantet nunc Io
Chorus Angelorum,
Cantet nunc aula caelestium:
Gloria in
Excelsis Deo:
Ergo qui natus
Die hodierna
Iesu, tibi sit gloria:
Patris aeterni
Verbum caro factum.
Translation
O come, all ye faithful,
Joyful and triumphant,
O come ye, O come ye to Bethlehem;
Come and behold him.
Born, the King of Angels;
O come, let us adore Him,
O come, let us adore Him,
O come, let us adore Him, Christ the Lord.
God of God,
Light of Light,
Lo! He abhors not the Virgin’s womb;
Very God,
Begotten, not created;
O come, let us adore Him, etc.
Sing choirs of Angels,
Sing in exultation,
Sing, all ye citizens of Heav’n above:
“Glory to God
In the highest”;
O come, let us adore Him, etc.
Yea, Lord, we greet Thee,
Born this happy morning;
Jesu, to Thee be glory given;
Word of the Father,
Now in flesh appearing;
O come, let us adore Him, etc.
DE NATIVITATE DOMINI[9]
Puer natus in Bethlehem
Unde gaudet Ierusalem
Hic iacet in praesepio,
Qui regnat sine termino.
Cognovit bos et asinus
Quod puer erat Dominus.
Reges de Saba veniunt,
Aurum, thus, myrrham offerunt.
Intrantes domum invicem
Novum salutant Principem.
De matre natus virgine
Sine virile semine;
Sine serpentis vulnere
De nostro venit sanguine;
In carne nobis similis,
Peccato sed dissimilis;
Ut redderet nos homines
Deo et sibi similes
In hoc natali gaudio
Benedicamus Domino.
Laudetur sancta Trinitas;
Deo dicamus gratias.
[Footnote 9: This may be sung to the tune of Sweet Hour of Prayer.]
* * * * *
Bazin, Rene. The Italians of Today. New York. Henry Holt & Co. $1.25
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Lanciani, Rodolfo. Ancient Rome in the Light of
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Munro, Dana Carleton. Source Book in Roman History.
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Wilkinson, William Cleaver. College Latin Course
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Wilkinson, William Cleaver. Foreign Classics in
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New York. Funk & Wagnalls
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[Transcriber’s Note: The following section is reproduced unchanged from the original text (published 1916).]
I wish to express my sincere gratitude to Professor Benjamin L. D’Ooge, of the Michigan State Normal School, for his generous assistance and hearty encouragement in the preparation of this work.
Sincere thanks are due to the various authors and publishers of copyrighted books from which selections are taken for their courteous permission to copy.
Specific acknowledgment is due George Bell and Sons, London, for Martial’s Epigrams; Smith, Elder, and Company, London, for The Doom of the Slothful; Houghton, Mifflin Co., for After Construing, A Roman Mirror, Enceladus, and the poems of John G. Saxe; The Chautauqua Press, for Capri and the Translations of Horace’s Odes; Charles Scribner’s Sons, for the Assembly of the Gods, Cerberus, the Harpy, A Plea for the Classics, and Malum Opus; The American Book Company, for Cupid and the Bee; Lothrop, Lee and Shepard Co., for A Christmas Hymn; New England Magazine, for the Fall of Rome; Little, Brown and Company, for the translation of Dies Irae; The Outlook Company, for the Prayer of Socrates; Allyn and Bacon, for the music for Flevit Lepus Parvulus.
I must beg forgiveness of any one whose rights I have overlooked and of a few whom, after repeated efforts, I have been unable to trace.
* * * * *
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[ Music ]
[ Errata:
Table of Contents:
Ultima Thule
text reads Ultime
Programs:
The Classic Myths in English Literature.
text reads Engish
Selections:
Are really not at all surprising;
text reads suprising
Songs:
AD SANCTUM SPIRITUS
word-form unchanged (also
in TOC)
ADESTE, FIDELES
text reads ADESTES
(also in TOC)]