In discussing the origin and history of Orphism, it is usual to treat it rather as a system of belief than as a ritual. The former aspect of it probably was more salient in later times, yet it is certain that the Orphic movement began rather as a ritual with strong emphasis on purification and a rule of life. Its theological and traditional aspect developed only gradually, and the greatest characteristic of this development was always its readiness to incorporate elements possibly alien to the original Dionysos mystery, till it finally takes all Greek religious tradition within its scope. It was early influenced by Eleusinian ideas, and exerted a mutual influence on the cults and myths of the Kabeiroi and those of Sabazios. Whether its own ritual was affected by these latter to the same degree as its mythology we cannot say with certainty, but it may at any rate be affirmed that Orphism was an eclectic type of religion from the beginning. This was indeed only natural to such a system which depended for its teaching on wandering priests, and may never have possessed any kind of temple. It may also be safely said that neither the rite nor the central beliefs of Orphism were nearly as much affected by these borrowings as its mythology. It took over the names and some of the legends of strange deities and grafted them on to its own system. The ritual may have remained in all essentials the same, as did the eschatology.

Mr. Richards is justified in saying that is here indefensible, but he does not much mend matters by reading . Iocasta may have been a paragon of all the virtues, but what has that to do with it? No, the real correction is . ‘ To whom should I tell even greater things than this rather than to thee ?’

This article argues for an allusion in Virgil's Eclogue 4 to one of Pindar's victory odes (Olympian 6). It will be suggested that this Pindaric pretext is viewed by the Latin poet through a Callimachean perspective which adds to it further layers of significance. Consequently, the evidence will be discussed for reading the allusion in terms of royal ideology which places Virgil's poem in the tradition of Hellenistic ruler-encomia.

L has …, P … Paley wanted to delete Subsequent editors did not take up the suggestion. J. Diggle on the other hand has proposed that was originally a gloss on ‘It would be no cause for surprise that a scribe who had never seen the like of Homer's (Il. 4. 189) should fuse the two versions by distributing the two in what he thought a fair and impartial manner.’ Diggle arrives at The metre is tidied up, the corruption explained. But would be unique in Euripides. is the Euripidean Greek for ‘O dear one’. For ‘O dear Hector’ he writes (Tro. 673). If he did want to create here by repetition a sense of there is no reason why he should not have written what is in L; compare Tro. 1081 , Su. 278 and Andr. 530

The prospect of human immortality is manifest in many of Plato's writings, appearing as early as the Apology (28c, 41c–d) and the Crito (54b–d), and as late as Book 12 of the Laws (967d). But nowhere is immortality given so much attention, nor as central a place in Plato's philosophical projects, as in what have traditionally been referred to as his Middle Period works, so it is hardly surprising that we find an extensive treatment of the subject of immortality in Socrates’ own encomium in the Symposium (206e–209e). Eros, Socrates tells us, is not merely a desire to possess the good, but one that pushes us towards possessing the good forever (205a, 206a) and, because of this, eros is necessarily a desire for immortality (207a). However, it is evident that Socrates’ presentation of immortality in the Symposium is fundamentally different from those found in other dialogues. This is not merely because in this work alone Socrates attributes the desire for immortality to eros; rather it is also because the nature of the immortality that Socrates recommends here, and the means by which he suggests it is achieved, are wholly unique to this work. Whereas in other dialogues Plato casts his discussions in terms of the persistence of the soul in some super-sensible realm, here he offers a picture of lovers achieving human immortality by creating memorials (μνῆμαι) that will outlast them.

The reader of Juvenal's fifth satire, making his way through the new Oxford text edited by W. V. Clausen, finds the sweep of the poet's indignant rhetoric interrupted by the obeli of 104. Reference to Clausen's paper which he quotes in support of his proposed reading glaucis sparsus (A.J.P. lxxvi [1955], 58–60) reveals that he proceeds from the assumption that the line is corrupt, and evidence that this is the case must be sought elsewhere.

In the collection of oracular responses included in Book 14 of the Palatine Anthology, the oracle which bears the number 77 is introduced by the lemma χρησμòς ⋯ν τοῖς θησ⋯ως β⋯οις ⋯ναφερόμενος its text is as follows:

The same oracle, with the same introductory formula, is also quoted as a scholium in the margin to the text of Herodotus 1.65.3 (the famous oracle given to Lycurgus that will be discussed below) in the manuscript Flor. Laur. 70.3; first discovered by Jacob Gronovius, it can now be read in the editions of Stein, Rosen and Asheri.

In his poem ‘The Last Hours of Cassiodorus’, Peter Porter has the Christian sage ask: ‘After me, what further barbarisms?’. Yet, Cassiodorus himself accepted, even valorized, at least one form of barbarism that had been rejected by earlier rhetoricians: sardismos (σαρδισμός), the mixture of multiple languages in close proximity. In its earliest attestation, Quintilian classified it as a type of solecism (Inst. 8.3.59). By contrast, five centuries later Cassiodorus in his Commentary on the Psalms used the term three times to praise the mixture of Greek, Hebrew and Latin in the Latin Psalter. This reversal, from vice to virtue of speech, illustrates some significant changes in attitudes toward language and multilingualism that developed as Christianity reshaped Roman literary culture. For one, Christian preachers, modelling themselves on the plain style of the Gospels, embraced forms of speech that had been regarded as low and stigmatized. In the words of Augustine (In psalm. 36, Serm. 3.6): ‘better you understand us in our barbarism than to have been deserted in our eloquence’ (melius in barbarismo nostro uos intelligitis, quam in nostra disertudine uos deserti eritis).1 Secondly, Hebrew now entered the linguistic consciousness of the Roman literary elite as one of the three languages of Scripture. Even if in-depth knowledge remained rare, it was worthy of being mentioned alongside Greek and Latin, just as it had appeared with them in the inscription on Jesus’ cross (Luke 23:38, John 19:20). Lastly, linguistic variety itself came to be positively valued since it reflected the diversity of a church coming together out of many peoples. Commenting on the bride's appearance in Psalm 45, both Augustine and Cassiodorus saw the variegated adornment of her robe as a reference to the diversity of Christian languages.

The so-called Latin Iliad, the main source for the knowledge of the Greek epic poem in the Latin West during the Middle Ages, is a hexametric poetic summary (epitome) of Homer's Iliad likely dating from the Age of Nero, which reduces the 15,693 lines of the original to a mere 1,070 lines (6.8%).

Pindar's Celedones have raised much controversy over the years. Their identity still remains uncertain, although there have been many attempts from scholars to specify whether the term refers to mythical creatures comparable to the Sirens of Homer or to elaborate life-like statues adorning the gable of a long-lost Delphic temple. In this paper, I wish to argue for a metaphorical reading of the Celedones in Pindar's Paean 8 that resides in the poetic (re-)signification of proper names and how they are put into narrative(s). Drawing intratextual evidence from Olympian 1 and intertextual evidence from early Greek epic, I contend that the Celedones, richly semanticized as they are, become the means by which Pindar deals with the rigours of the song-making process, as he strives to introduce an ambivalent take on the choral praise of Apollo at Delphi, one that rests on the paradox of song exquisiteness and its negative consequences.

If in the various books of the Iliad and Odyssey the speeches or personated lines are separated from the rest, the metrical phenomena will, when tabulated, be found to show a perceptible divergence from those of the narrative verse. The differences are worth some notice. They throw into sharp relief the subtle rules that control the narrative type; and, what is more important, they do to some extent suggest the principle, of which these rules are the necessary outcome. There is also involved another point of considerable interest; for the contrast between narrative- and speech-verse exactly coincides, it must be remembered, with a very remarkable difference in the use of the augment; and the more this coincidence is considered, the less easy it will be found to dismiss it as accidental.

Printed texts of Greek authors reflect a divergence of opinion, some giving ὐσμενος others ὐσμενος Only ἄσμενος is correct, and it was never called in question until Usener (Neue Jahrb. 1865, 255) drew attention to the spelling ὐσμενος in the Bodleian MS. (Clarkianus 39) of Plato and in the Paris MS. (A) of the same author. He was followed by Schanz, who gave ὐσμενος in his editions of Platonic dialogues.

These notes, which are conservative more often than they are revolutionary, have originated from some reviews which I have recently written of books on Apuleius. I have found that the only way to preserve any consistency in the format is to open each note by citing the text I should prefer and then following that with a Latin apparatus criticus. The aim of the notes is generally only to shed light on the individual passages, to offer conversion or conviction, but some notes serve the rather larger purpose of bolstering a general view of the editors of Apuleius against some modern misconceptions.