. The literature of all nations and all ages; history, character, and incident . beloved Adonis ! joy to see !When come, well come to those who welcome thee. BION. BiON, the second of the three Greek bucolic poets, wasborn near Smyrna, in Asia Minor. The latter part of his lifewas spent in Sicily, the home of pastoral poetry. He seemsto have been contemporary with Theocritus. From the idyllof Moschus entitled Bions Epitaph, it is inferred that hedied from poison administered by jealous rivals, on whomretribution duly fell. Bion is associated with the Alexandrianschool, but there is no evidence
. The literature of all nations and all ages; history, character, and incident . beloved Adonis ! joy to see !When come, well come to those who welcome thee. BION. BiON, the second of the three Greek bucolic poets, wasborn near Smyrna, in Asia Minor. The latter part of his lifewas spent in Sicily, the home of pastoral poetry. He seemsto have been contemporary with Theocritus. From the idyllof Moschus entitled Bions Epitaph, it is inferred that hedied from poison administered by jealous rivals, on whomretribution duly fell. Bion is associated with the Alexandrianschool, but there is no evidence to show whether he livedamong the Alexandrians, or simply wrote for them. Hiscritics find in him a certain sentimentalism and over-refine-ment, and an absence of that truth to nature and breadth ofthought which are so prominent in Theocritus. The longestand best of his surviving poems is the Lament for Adonis,which has been imitated by Shelley. Bion writes with muchharmony and tenderness, and as to his general merits, standsas far below Theocritus as he stands above GRBEK LITERATURE!. 43 The Lament for Adonis. Idyll I. I AND the lyoves Adonis dead deplore: Tlie beautiful Adonis is indeedDeparted, parted from us. Sleep no more In purple, Cypris [Venus] ! but in watchet weed,*All-wretched ! beat thy breast and all aread—fAdonis is no more. The I^oves and I I^ament him. Oh ! her grief to see him bleed,Smitten by white tooth on his whiter thigh,Out-breathing lifes faint sough upon the mountain high ! Adown his snowy flesh drops the black gore; Stiffen beneath his brow his sightless eyes;The rose is off his lip; with him no more I/ives Cythereas kiss—but with him dies. He knows not that her lip his cold lip tries,But she finds pleasure still in kissing him. Deep is his thigh-wound; hers yet deeper lies,Een in her heart. The Oreads eyes are dim;His hounds whine piteously; in most disordered trim, Distraught, unkempt, unsandalled, Cypris rushesMadly along the tangled th
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