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# Pastorals Epistles Odes (1748)/The Second Olympionique of Pindar

Layout 2
THE
SECOND OLYMPIONIQUE.
To Theron of Agrigentum, victorious in the Chariot-race.
The ARGUMENT.
He praises Theron king of Agrigentum, on account of the victory obtained in the Olympic Games, with a chariot and four horses, likewise for his justice, his hospitality, his fortitude, and the illustriousness of his ancestors; whose adventures are occasionally mentioned: then he interweaves digressions to Semele, Ino, Peleus, Achilles, and others, and describes the future state of the righteous and of the wicked. Lastly, he concludes with extolling his own skill in panegyrick, and the benevolence and liberality of Theron.
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
# Oriental Scenery/Part 1/Plate 20

Rohtasgarh Fort
No. XX.
VIEW OF PART OF ROTAS GHUR, IN BAHAR.
This view of Rotas Ghur was taken nearly at the top of the mountain within the works. A temple of the Hindoos, with a considerable flight of steps, formerly crowned the eminence on the left; the upper part of which has been thrown down by the Mahommedans, who erected a mosque near to it, and which in its turn is also become a ruin. No inhabitants are now to be found within the extensive walls of this magnificent fortress.
There are two gauts, or ways of ascent, to the fort, which are made tolerably easy by stone steps; the one called raje gaut (which is the superior), the other acbarpore gaut, which takes its name from the village of Acbarpore, near the foot of the mountain.
View of part of Rotas Ghur, in Bahar.
# Oriental Scenery/Part 1/Plate 21

Kara, Uttar Pradesh
No. XXI.
HINDOO TEMPLE NEAR CURRAH, ON THE EASTERN BANK OF THE RIVER GANGES.
Currah was formerly a very considerable town, about one hundred miles above the city of Bernares, on the opposite side of the river. This temple, although built for the worship of Hindoo idols, is almost wholly in the Mahommedan style of design, as indeed are many other Hindoo temples.
The banks of the Ganges are here very lofty, steep, and picturesque; but are subject to considerable alterations in the rainy season, as the river then rises to the height of thirty feet.
Hindoo Temple near Currah, on the Eastern bank of the River Ganges.
# Oriental Scenery/Part 1/Plate 13

Purana Qila
No. XIII.
PART OF THE FORT BUILT BY THE EMPEROR SHERE SHAH, AT DELHI.
Shere Shah's Fort, as it is generally called, is remarkable for the strength of its walls; within which there are the remains of a large mosque of excellent workmanship with many other buildings, but the whole are very much in ruins. It is situated without the walls of Shah Jehanabad, or modern Delhi, which is the third city of that name; the most ancient occupied a rising ground about twelve miles S. W. from the present city; the second, as well as the last, is on the S. W. banks of the river Jumma.
Western Entrance of Shere Shah's Fort, Delhi.
# Oriental Scenery/Part 1/Plate 16

Dashashwamedh Ghat
No. XVI.
DUSASUMADE GAUT, AT BERNARES, ON THE RiVER GANGES.
The Gauts at Bernares are the most considerable of any on the Ganges. The houses on the river side are occupied for the greater part by religious Hindoos. Vast multitudes of devotees, and others, resort to this city to perform penance, and transact mercantile affairs. An opinion prevails amongst them, that drawing their last breath at Cossi (the ancient name of this holy city) is a circumstance much in favour of their enjoyment of future happiness.
Bernares is four hundred and sixty miles N. W. from Calcutta, on the eastern bank of the river.
Dasasumade Gaut, at Bernares, on the River Ganges.
# Oriental Scenery/Part 1/Plate 2

Madan Mohan Temple, Vrindavan
No. II.
HINDOO TEMPLES AT BINDRABUND, ON THE RIVER JUMNA.
These Edifices are built of stone, in the style of ancient Hindoo architecture: one of them is still in tolerable preservation; it appears to have been built with considerable care, and the ornamental parts are executed in a very good taste. The basement story contains the idol Seva, to whom this temple is dedicated.
At what period they were erected could not be learnt: indeed, to ascertain the date of any of the Hindoo buildings, not merely modern, is exceedingly difficult, and it rarely happens any information can be obtained deserving credit.
Bindrabund is about seventy miles southward of Delhi, a large, populous, and very ancient town, principally inhabited by Hindoos.
Hindoo Temples at Bindrabund, on the River Jumna.
# Oriental Scenery/Part 1/Plate 19

Agori Fort
No. XIX.
HINDOO TEMPLES AT AGOUREE, ON THE RIVER SOANE, BAHAR.
Agouree is pleasantly situated on the river Soane, surrounded with hills well covered with wood. In this place are many Hindoo temples, and also a small fort, which make a very picturesque appearance from the river.
Agouree is a place of worship of the greatest antiquity, which is obvious from the fragments of sculptured idols frequently to be met with there. The village at present is not very considerable.
The large tree in this view is the Banyan or Buhr.
Agouree is about fifty miles south from Chunar Gur.
Hindoo Temples at Agouree, on the River Soane, Bahar.
# Oriental Scenery/Part 1/Plate 17

Tomb of Khusrau Mirza, at Khusro Bagh
No. XVII.
MAUSOLEUM OF SULTAN CHUSERO, NEAR ALLAHABAD.
Sultan Chusero was the son of the Emperor Jehangire. His tomb is situated amidst trees of considerable magnitude in a handsome garden, laid out in the Hindoostan taste, with paved walks, avenues and fountains.
The Mausoleum is built of freestone upon a paved terrace, and the whole has a grand effect.
Sultan Chusero died in the year 1621.
Mausoleum of Sultan Chusero, near Allahabad.
# Oriental Scenery/Part 1/Plate 18

Taj Mahal
No. XVIII.
THE PRINCIPAL GATE LEADING TO THE TAJE MAH'L, AT AGRA.
This Gate is of red stone and white marble, elegantly ornamented. The spandals over the arches are decorated with foliage of various coloured stones inlaid. The Taje Mah'l is a Mausoleum of white marble, built by the Emperor Shah Jehan, in the year 1631, for his favourite Queen; and is considered by the natives as the most beautiful work of the kind in Hindoostan. The Emperor also lies interred here.
The space between the gate and the tomb is converted into a garden, with avenues of trees, fountains, beds of flowers, &c. The river Jumna washes the lofty walls of the terrace on which this celebrated building stands.
Agra is distant from Delhi southward about one hundred and thirty-seven miles.
The principal Gate leading to the Taje Mah'l, at Agra.
# Oriental Scenery/Part 1/Plate 14

Ramnagar Fort
No. XIV.
RAMNUGUR, NEARLY OPPOSITE BERNARES, ON THE RIVER GANGES.
Ramnugur is a fort built by Rajah Bulwunt Sing, and considerably improved by his son Cheyt Sing. Near to this fort the latter Rajah began to erect a temple for the Hindoo worship, the basement story only of which is completed; it is of freestone, and much admired for the richness of its ornamental parts, and the very extraordinary degree of sharpness and precision in their execution.
Ramnugur is about three miles above Bernares.
Ramnugur, nearly opposite Bernares, on the River Ganges.
# Oriental Scenery/Part 1/Plate 15

Bodhi Tree
No. XV.
THE SACRED TREE AT GYAH, IN THE PROVINCE OF BAHAR.
By the natives this favourite Tree is called the Bhur, and by Europeans the Banyan. It is a species of the fig, and bears a small red fruit. In every village they are to be met with. Small temples are usually built under them, where frequently may be observed fragments of mutilated idols, the work of Mahommedan intolerance, which are again often collected by the patient Hindoos, and, though defaced, are still regarded with veneration.
This Tree, the Bramins assure the people, proceeds from another more sacred one, which is growing within a very ancient temple, under ground, in the fort of Allahabad; and, notwithstanding the distance is not less than two hundred miles, the story obtains an easy belief from credulous devotees, who cheerfully pay the sacred fee that admits them to a ceremonial adoration of it.
Gyah is near three hundred miles N. W. from Calcutta.
The Sacred Tree at Gyah, in the province of Bahar.
# Patriotic pieces from the Great War/File Three

FILE THREE
File Three stood motionless and pale, Of nameless pedigree; One of a hundred on detail— But would I had been he!
In years a youth, but worn and old, With face of ivory; Upon his sleeve two strands of gold— Oh, would I had been he!
The General passed down the line, And walked right rapidly, But saw those threads and knew the sign— Oh, where was I, File Three!
"Twice wounded? Tell me where you were." The man of stars asked he. "Givenchy and Lavenze, sir"— Oh, where was I, File Three!
Then crisply quoth the General: "You are a man, File Three." And Tommy's heart held carnival— God! Would I had been he!
# Patriotic pieces from the Great War/For France

FOR FRANCE
Permission of the author
She had been stricken, sorely, ere this came; And now they wrote that he, her boy, was dead— Her only one! Through blinding tears she read, Trying to see what followed his dear name. He had died "gloriously," the letter said, "Guarding the Tricolor from touch of shame Where raged the battle furious and wild." Catching her breath, she stayed despair's advance. She was a mother; but, besides—a child Of France!
And after, though remembrance of past years Dulled not to her fond vision nor grew dim; Though every slightest incident of him Was treasured in her breast, she shed no tears. Her cup was full now, even to the brim, And for herself she knew nor hopes nor fears. So, toiling patiently, with noble pride And lifted head she met each pitying glance, She was the mother of a son who died— For France!
—Florence Earle Coates
# Patriotic pieces from the Great War/Both Worshipped the Same Great Name

BOTH WORSHIPED THE SAME GREAT NAME
Jack Smith belonged to the Y. M. C. A. Pat Sheehan to the K. of C. Both marched away 'neath the flag one day To fight for the Land of the Free. Jack bowed his head as he said a prayer, Pat knelt with his parish priest. Then they stood up square to go "over there" To grapple the Hunnish beast.
Now their altar rails were not the same, Though they camped in the same old shack. But just the same 'twas the same Great Name They worshiped, both Pat and Jack. While Jack stood straight as he humbly prayed, Pat knelt at a candled shrine; But the same great God heard each whispered word That harkens to yours and mine.
They didn't agree, did Jack and Pat, On methods of worship true; But what of that? They went to the mat For the old Red, White and Blue. They knelt apart, but 'twas side by side, They fought for their homes and right ​And the blood-red tide of the kaiser's pride They battled by day and night.
Each bullet its billet has got, they say, And always will find some mark. And Pat and Jack in a trench mud black Lay side by side in the dark. Their life's blood ebbed with a failing tide As they came toward the Great Unknown; But hand in hand from that far-off land They knew they were not alone.
So "over the top" to the Glory Side, Where never is war nor tears; Where the true and tried in God's love abide With nothing of doubts nor fears. And the God they met as they entered in Where the souls of all men are free, Was the God of Jack's Y. M. C. A. And the God of Pat's K. of C.
# Patriotic pieces from the Great War/Efficiency

EFFICIENCY
By permission of the author
I
For forty years he plotted, For forty years he planned, His ships on every ocean, His spies in every land; He perverted social progress, He exploited poor men's thrift, He "utilized" the princeling And the human wreck adrift. There was naught for him too trifling, Or too great for him to wrench, He corrupted press and pulpit, Even Justice on the bench; The maid who dressed my lady The man who drove her car, The statesman in the senate, And the men who lead in war.
And yet for all his well laid trains, For all the fires he fanned, For all the things he bought and sold, And all the plots he planned: He shall not pull it off, my boy, He can not put it through, He's up against a world in arms Of fearless men and true.
II
Forty years of preparation, All at a tyrant's will, For forty years, a nation In one eternal drill; His furnaces ablazing With case of mighty guns, Shipyards crammed with seacraft And dreadnaughts, tons on tons; Learn'd men concocting poison, Devising gun and snare, To ruin a friendly neighbor And slay him unaware. No enemy was moving, No flag of war unfurled, He plotted 'gainst a peaceful, An unsuspecting world.
And yet for all his well-laid trains, For all the fires he fanned, For all the things he bought and sold. And all the plots he planned: He shall not pull it off, my boy, He can not put it through, He's up against a world in arms Of fearless men and true.
III
For three years now you'e beaten him, In sky, on earth, at sea, Briton, Frenchman, Belgian, And the men of Italy; He boasted he'd sack Paris, The Marne proved that boast vain, He names no more Verdun nor Somme, He's beaten on the Aisne. And now 'tis for America To join the valiant line, To run him from his cover, Back to the river Rhine. If you had plotted forty years To murder your nearest friend, What would you think if your success Attained no better end?
Foiled, disgraced, bankrupt, and bled, Despised: now God forefend, If this be not for "efficiency" A very sorry end. He shall not pull it off, my boy, He can not put it through, He's up against a world in arms Of fearless men and true.
—Dr. Felix E. Schelling
# Patriotic pieces from the Great War/First U. S. Soldier Dead Buried in France

FIRST U. S. SOLDIER DEAD BURIED IN FRANCE
America's first soldier dead in the war have been buried. Their coffins were draped in the folds of the flag for which they died.
Comrades bore them to the center of a hollow square, formed by American soldiers and veteran French troops. From the massed ranks there stepped a French general. He walked straight to the three coffins, reverently hesitating at the first. Then he stiffened to the salute, doffed his cap, bowed, his face lined as though the mute remains before him were of his own children.
"Private Enright," he said softly, as he bowed before the nearest bier, "Private Gresham"—and he turned to the second—"and Private Hay"—as he turned still further to face the third coffin—
"In the name of France, I bid you farewell. Of your own free will, you left your happy, prosperous country, and took your place by our side.
"You fell facing the foe, in hard, in desperate hand-to-hand fight."
The general hesitated a moment, looked at each of the three flag-draped coffins, and then turned.
​"All honor to them," he continued. "Their families should be proud to learn of their deaths.
"We of France ask that the mortal remains of these young men be left with us forever.
"We will inscribe on their tombs:
"'Here Lie the First United States Soldiers to Fall on French Soil for Liberty and Justice.'
"Passersby will uncover their heads to their graves; men of heart visiting the battlefield will go out of their way to bring their tribute of respect and gratitude.
"Private Enright, Private Gresham, Private Hay—in the name of France I thank you. May God receive your souls. Farewell!"
A great volley of seventy-fives crashed the final volley of farewell through the leaden, rain-soaked air. Then stalwart American soldiers, tears trickling down their faces, lowered their comrades' remains and covered them over with the soil for which they fought and died.
# Patriotic pieces from the Great War/Columbia Comes

COLUMBIA COMES
Permission of the author
In war's fast deepening shades Columbia stood And watched Democracy's descending star. She heard with pity Belgium's dying cry, Whose rape by Germany made Satan blush. When her own children died by German blasts While in their merchant ships on lawful seas, Columbia felt the rub of future chains, And saw Death write with steel his awful name Across the flags of all her cherished kin. Then Liberty's bright torch lit well her path, At whose far-distant end is destiny; She saw her Lincoln keeping anxious watch. And now, the troops of seventeen seventy-six, In battle cry, are charging in her soul.
Presumptuous Germany! to make a foe Of her whose birth was of throne-shaking war That threw the Western walls of Empire down; Who first hitched lightning to her spacious car And in it pioneered the undersea; Who saddled first the untamed steeds of air And rode them at her will through lofty heavens; Whose tireless mind still cleaves new seas of thought; Whose fearless feet still march to Freedom's drums.
—Thomas Meek Butler
# Patriotic pieces from the Great War/Consolation

Also published as "The Philosophy of Thomas"
CONSOLATION
In summer we suffered from dust and from flies, The flies in our rations, the dust in our eyes, An' some of our fellows, they dropt in the 'eat, But the Boche, oh, the Boche, was perspirin'—a treat!
There were times when we longed for a tankard o' beer, Bein' sick of warm water—our tipple out 'ere, But our tongues might be furry an' throats like a flue, Yet it's nothing to wot the fat Boches went through.
Now the winter is 'ere with the wet an' the cold, An' our rifles an' kit are a sight to be'old, An' in trenches that's flooded we tumble and splosh, "Wot cheer?" we remarks. "It's the same for the Boche."
If we're standin' in two foot o' water, you see, Quite likely the Boches are standin' in three; An' though the keen frost may be ticklin' our toes, Oo doubts that the Boches' 'ole bodies is froze?
​Are we sleepy or sick or 'arf dead for a meal? Just think of 'ow underfed Boches must feel! Are we badly in need of a shave an' a wash? Consider the 'orrible state of a Boche!
So 'ere's philosophy simple and plain, Wotever we 'ates in the bloomin' campaign, 'Tis balm to our souls, as we grumble and cuss, To feel that the Boches are 'atin it wuss.
# Patriotic pieces from the Great War/Father and Son

FATHER AND SON
Permission of the author
I
THE FATHER
Would God that I could go in place Of him, my hope of house and race. Would I could shoulder knapsack, gun Against the wild and furious Hun. Would I could face the tempest, rain, The bullets, hunger, thirst and pain. I'd revel in the maddest fray, If only he, my boy, could stay.
I would be glad to sink in sea, Be crucified, or hanged on tree, Or fall in airplane from the sky. I've lived. What matter when I die? I'd stand, with smiles, in vilest trench, And laugh at gases, mud and stench. I would not wail for eyes gone blind, Or shrink from shatt'ring of the mind, I'd revel in the maddest fray, If only he, my boy, could stay.
'Tis ill to know his youthful breast May be by pallid fear oppressed; ​That he may fall in brutal hands And be a slave to their commands; That he may shudder, starve and thirst Among the demon Huns accursed. Oh, joy, if I could only go And take the pain and bear the blow! I'd revel in the maddest fray, If only he, my boy, could stay.
His boyish flesh is all too fair To meet the brutes and devils there. His face it is too glad and bright To front the demons of the night. His heart it is too kind and warm To bear the ice and snow and storm. Would I for him herewith could go And bear the pain and face the foe, I'd revel in the maddest fray, If only he, my boy, could stay.
II
THE SON
The call to duty now has come; The flags are out, with fife and drum. The cause for which we fight is just; In God above is all our trust. I gladly go to do my share; ​My chance is equal and is fair. I hope, indeed, that I may live; In need I have a life to give.
My father long has done his part; He gave me home and all his heart. I'd be unworthy of my race If peril now I dared not face. My country has done all for me; I gladly serve to keep it free. I hope, indeed, that I may live; In need I have a life to give.
I feel my heart is strong within; I prize the chance to fight and win. And if I perish, I but ask That word come back I did my task. I'll act so that no blush of shame Will come to them that bear my name. I'm happy that, where'er I roam, My father is secure at home. I hope, indeed, that I may live; In need I have a life to give.
—Calvin Dill Wilson
# Patriotic pieces from the Great War/Fly a Clean Flag

FLY A CLEAN FLAG
By permission of the author and the publishers, The Reilly & Britton Co., Chicago
This I heard the Old Flag say As I passed it yesterday: "Months ago your friendly hands Fastened me on slender strands And with patriotic love Placed me here to wave above You and yours. I heard you say On that long departed day: 'Flag of all that's true and fine, Wave above this house of mine; Be the first at break of day And the last at night to say To the world this word of cheer: Loyalty abideth here.'
"Here on every wind that's blown, O'er your portal I have flown; Rain and snow have battered me, Storms at night have tattered me; Dust of street and chimney stack Day by day have stained me black, And I've watched you passing there, Wondering how much you care. Have you noticed that your flag, Is to-day a wind-blown rag? ​Has your love so careless grown By the long neglect you've shown That you never raise your eye To the symbol that you fly?"
"Flag, on which no stain has been, 'Tis my sin that you're unclean," Then I answered in my shame. "On my head must lie the blame. Now with patriotic hands I release you from your strands, And a spotless flag shall fly Here to greet each passer-by. Nevermore shall Flag of mine Be a sad and sorry sign Telling all who look above I neglect the thing I love. But my flag of faith shall be Fit for every eye to see."
—Edgar A. Guest
# Patriotic pieces from the Great War/Forget It, Soldier!

FORGET IT, SOLDIER!
Sometimes when I grow weary Of beans and soup and stew, I long to be where I could get A home-cooked meal or two. Such thoughts as turkey, steaks and chops Go floating through my head; Biscuits, muffins, hot cakes And loaves of home-made bread.
Forget it, soldier! Such feasts are not for you. Let hunger spice your soup and beans And appetize your stew.
At night when I get tired Of bed sack, straw and cot; Of sleeping under blankets, Sometimes warm and sometimes not, I dream of great fourposter beds, With pillow, quilt and sheet And mattresses in which you sink About a thousand feet.
Forget it, soldier! Such ease is not for you. Let hard work make your bed sack soft, As other fellows do.
​But worst of all, when I get bored With what the fellows say, I think about a girl I know So many miles away; The nicest, dearest little girl You'd ever care to know. She was my sweetheart once, it seems, A hundred years ago.
Forget it, soldier! Sweethearts are not for you. Your rifle is your sweetheart, So learn to shoot it true.
—C. F. R.—Camp Hancock