Chapter 18

Chapter XVIII
Arion. Ibycus. Simonides. Sappho The poets whose adventures compose this chapter were real
persons, some of whose works yet remain, and their influence on
poets who succeeded them is yet more important than their
poetical remains. The adventures recorded of them in the
following stories rest on the same authority as other narratives
of the Age of Fable, that is, that of the poets who have told
them. In their present form, the first two are translated from
the German, the story of Arion from Schlegel, and that of Ibycus
from Schiller. ARION Arion was a famous musician, and dwelt at the court of Periander,
king of Corinth, with whom he was a great favorite. There was to
be a musical contest in Sicily, and Arion longed to compete for
the prize. He told his wish to Periander, who besought him like
a brother to give up the thought. "Pray stay with me," he said,
"and be contented. He who strives to win may lose." Arion
answered, "A wandering life best suits the free heart of a poet.
The talent which a god bestowed on me, I would fain make a source
of pleasure to others. And if I win the prize, how will the
enjoyment of it be increased by the consciousness of my wide-
spread fame!" He went, won the prize, and embarked with his
wealth in a Corinthian ship for home. On the second morning
after setting sail, the wind breathed mild and fair. "Oh,
Periander," he exclaimed, "dismiss your fears! Soon shall you
forget them in my embrace. With what lavish offerings will we
display our gratitude to the gods, and how merry will we be at
the festal board!" The wind and sea continued propitious. Not a
cloud dimmed the firmament. He had not trusted too much to the
ocean, but he had to man. He overheard the seamen exchanging
hints with one another, and found they were plotting to possess
themselves of his treasure. Presently they surrounded him loud
and mutinous, and said, "Arion, you must die! If you would have
a grave on shore, yield yourself to die on this spot; but if
otherwise, cast yourself into the sea." "Will nothing satisfy
you but my life?" said he. "Take my gold, and welcome. I
willingly buy my life at that price." "No, no; we cannot spare
you. Your life will be too dangerous to us. Where could we go
to escape from Periander, if he should know that you had been
robbed by us? Your gold would be of little use to us, if, on
returning home, we could never more be free from fear." "Grant
me, then," said he, "a last request, since nought will avail to
save my life, that I may die as I have lived, as becomes a bard.
When I shall have sung my death-song, and my harp-strings shall
cease to vibrate, then I will bid farewell to life, and yield
uncomplaining to my fate." This prayer, like the