MUSIC. perhaps this will still exist hereafter in a greater degree, and will extend still further, unless some one again draws forth the national music to the light. For formerly the subjects of their songs used to be the exploits of heroes, and the praises of the Gods; and accordingly Homer says of Achilles—
With this he soothes his lofty soul, and sings
Th' immortal deeds of heroes and of kings.[1]
And of Phemius he says—
Phemius, let acts of gods and heroes old,
What ancient bards in hall and bower have told,
Attemper'd to the lyre your voice employ,
Such the pleased ear will drink with silent joy.[2]
And this custom was preserved among the barbarians, as Dinon tells us in his history of Persia. Accordingly, the poets used to celebrate the valour of the elder Cyrus, and they foresaw the war which was going to be waged against Astyages. "For when," says he, "Cyrus had begun his march against the Persians, (and he had previously been the commander of the guards, and afterwards of the heavy-armed troops there, and then he left;) and while Astyages was sitting at a banquet with his friends, then a man, whose name was Angares, (and he was the most illustrious of his minstrels,) being called in, sang other things, such as were customary, and at last he said that—
A mighty monster is let loose at last
Into the marsh, fiercer than wildest boar;
And when once master of the neighbouring ground
It soon will fight with ease 'gainst numerous hosts.
And when Astyages asked him what monster he meant, he said—'Cyrus the Persian.' And so the king, thinking that his suspicions were well founded, sent people to recal Cyrus, but did not succeed in doing so."
34. But I, though I could still say a good deal about music, yet, as I hear the noise of flutes, I will check my desire for talking, and only quote you the lines out of the Amateur of the Flute, by Philetærus—
O Jove, it were a happy thing to die
While playing on the flute. For flute-players
Are th' only men who in the shades below
Feel the soft power and taste the bliss of Venus.
But those whose coarser minds know nought of music,
Pour water always into bottomless casks.
