and the culture of the ancient world was running low when its /vers de
societe/ reached no higher level than this. Of course they can only be
called poetry by a large stretch of courtesy. In a few instances the
work is raised to the level of art by a curious Dutch fidelity and
minute detail. In one given in this selection,[12] a great poet has
bent to this light and trivial style. The high note of Simonides is as
clear and certain here as in his lines on the Spartans at Thermopylae
or in the cry of grief over the young man dead in the snow-clogged
surf of the Saronic sea. With such exceptions, the only touch of
poetry is where a graver note underlies their light insolence. "Drink
with me," runs the Greek song, "be young with me; love with me, wear
garlands with me; be mad with me in my madness; I will be serious with
you in your seriousness."[13] And so behind the flutes and flowers
change comes and the shadow of fate stands waiting, and through the
tinkling of the rose-hung river is heard in undertone the grave murmur
of the sea.
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[1] /Omnem vitae imaginem expressit . . . omnibus rebus, personis,
adfectibus accomodatus/: see the whole passage, Inst. Rhet. x. i.
69-72.

[2] Anth. Pal. xi. 286.

[3] Ibid. xi. 438, 439.

[4] Ibid. v. 134, 135; xi. 1.

[5] Ibid. v. 81; xi. 64.