Space in Archaic Greek Lyric: City, Country and The Sea

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Title Space in archaic Greek lyric: city, countryside and sea
Author J.G.M. Heirman
Faculty Faculty of Humanities
Year 2012
Pages 226
ISBN 978 90 5629 700 8
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AUP-Heirman Thesis:AUP/Voorbij 08-12-2011 14:00 Pagina 1
UvA Dissertation Space in
Space in Archaic Greek Lyric: City, Countryside and Sea Jo Heirman

Faculty of Humanities Archaic Greek Lyric:
City, Countryside
From the end of the twentieth century onwards space has become a ‘hot topic’
in literary studies. This thesis contributes to the spatial turn by focusing on
space in archaic Greek lyric (7th–5th c bc). A theoretical framework inspired
and Sea
by narratology, phenomenology and metaphor theory is applied to archaic
lyric poems in which city, countryside and sea are of importance. Heirman
argues that space is predominantly symbolic: the city is a political or an
erotic metaphor, the countryside an erotic symbol, and the sea a symbol of
danger. He also attempts to connect the symbolism of space with the context jo heirman
of the symposium, in which the lyric poems were performed: city metaphors
are linked with sympotic plays of ‘guessing’, the erotic activities in the
countryside reveal a projection of erotic fantasies of the symposiasts, and
the danger at sea serves to reinforce the cohesion of the sympotic group.
Jo Heirman was educated at Ghent University (Belgium), where he obtained

a Master’s Degree in Classics in 2008. In 2008 he was appointed as
a PhD-researcher for a project of Irene de Jong on ‘Space in Ancient Greek
Literature’ at the University of Amsterdam. He has written several articles
on space which combine classics and literary theory. By the end of 2012
he will have edited a conference volume on the ideological role of space
in ancient and modern literature with Jacqueline Klooster (The Ideologies
of Lived Space in Literature: Ancient and Modern, Academia Press Ghent).
9 789056 297008
SPACE IN ARCHAIC GREEK LYRIC:
CITY, COUNTRYSIDE AND SEA
The publication is made possible by a grant from the Netherlands
Organisation for Scientific Research (NWO) and the Institute of
Culture and History, University of Amsterdam (IC&G).
Lay-out: Jo Heirman
Cover design: René Staelenberg, Amsterdam
ISBN 978 90 5629 700 8

e-ISBN 978 90 4851 638 4 (pdf)
e-ISBN 978 90 4851 639 1 (ePub)
NUR 617 / 635
© J. Heirman / Vossiuspers UvA – Amsterdam University Press,

2012
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright

reserved above, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in
or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or
by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or
otherwise) without the written permission of both the copyright
owner and the author of the book.
ACADEMISCH PROEFSCHRIFT
ter verkrijging van de graad van doctor

aan de Universiteit van Amsterdam
op gezag van de Rector Magnificus
prof. dr. D.C. van den Boom
ten overstaan van een door het college voor promoties
ingestelde commissie,
in het openbaar te verdedigen in de Agnietenkapel
op donderdag 23 februari 2012, te 14:00 uur
door
Jo Gaby Marc Heirman

geboren te Dendermonde, België
Promotiecommissie
Promotor: Prof. dr. I.J.F. de Jong
Overige leden: Prof. dr. K. Demoen

Prof. dr. A.P.M.H. Lardinois
Prof. dr. H.A. van der Liet
Dr. J.J.H. Klooster
Faculteit der Geesteswetenschappen

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS………………………………………….…7
TEXTS, TRANSLATIONS, ABBREVIATIONS…………………...11
INTRODUCING SPACE IN LYRIC………………………………...13
1. A THEORETICAL FRAMEWORK OF SPACE ....................... 17
1.1. THE DICTION OF SPACE: ITS USE AND EFFECT ........ 17
1.2. THE ROLES OF SPACE ....................................................... 22
1.2.1. Space as Setting and Frame ......................................... 26
1.2.2. Space as Symbol ............................................................ 29
Symbolic Associations .............................................................. 29
Symbolic Form: Metaphor and Personification .................. 32
2. THE CITY ....................................................................................... 39
2.1. INTRODUCTION ................................................................. 39
2.2. MYTHOLOGICAL CITIES AS SETTINGS
AND FRAMES .................................................................................... 39
2.2.1. The ‘new Archilochus’ ................................................. 40
2.2.2. Ibycus’ Ode to Polycrates ............................................ 46
2.3. THE CITY AS PERSONIFICATION AND METAPHOR 55
2.3.1. City Personification: Theognis 39-52 and Solon 4 .... 55
2.3.2. City Metaphors ............................................................. 63
Politics as War: Theognis 233-234 and 235-236 ..................... 63
Love as War: Archilochus 23 and Theognis 949-954 ............ 67
2.4. CONCLUSION ...................................................................... 73
3. THE COUNTRYSIDE .................................................................. 75
3.1. INTRODUCTION ................................................................. 75
3.2. THE COUNTRYSIDE AS SETTING ................................... 75
3.2.1. The Plain in the ‘new Archilochus’
and Bacchylides 13………………………………………………….. 80
3.2.2. The River ........................................................................ 81
3.2.3. The Shore ....................................................................... 83
3.3. THE COUNTRYSIDE AS EROTIC SYMBOL .................... 86
3.3.1. Fields (ἄρουραι)............................................................ 86
5
Fields as Metaphors: Pindar Pythian 4 and 6,
Theognis 581-582 ....................................................................... 86
Fields and Erotic Associations: Sappho 96,
Anacreon 346<1> ........................................................................ 88
3.3.2. Gardens (κῆποι)............................................................ 95
Gardens as Metaphors: Archilochus 196a,
Pindar Olympian 9 ...................................................................... 96
Gardens and Erotic Associations: Ibycus 286 ........................ 96
3.3.3. Meadows (λειμῶνες) ................................................... 99
Anacreon 417 ............................................................................ 100
Archilochus 196a...................................................................... 101
Theognis 1249-1252 ................................................................. 107
Sappho 2.................................................................................... 109
3.4. CONCLUSION .................................................................... 112
4. THE SEA ....................................................................................... 115
4.1. INTRODUCTION ............................................................... 115
4.2. THE SEA AS SETTING AND FRAME IN
MYTHOLOGICAL JOURNEYS ..................................................... 115
4.2.1. Pindar Pythian 4: The Argonauts’ Sea Journey ...... 116
4.2.2. Bacchylides 17: Theseus’ Sea Journey .................. 12424
4.3. SEA SIMILES ....................................................................... 136
4.3.1. Bacchylides 13 ............................................................. 137
4.3.2. Semonides 7 ................................................................. 141
4.4. THE SEA AS SYMBOL OF DANGER .............................. 146
4.4.1. During the Sea Journey .............................................. 146
4.4.2. Before and After the Sea Journey ............................. 166
4.5. CONCLUSION .................................................................... 173
5. CONCLUSION ............................................................................ 175
EPILOGUE: THE SYMBOLISM OF SPACE AND THE
SYMPOSIUM………………………………………………………...177
BIBLIOGRAPHY…………………………………………………….183
INDEX OF PASSAGES……………………………………………..217
SUMMARY…………………………………………………………...219
SAMENVATTING…………………………………………………..223
6
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This thesis has not been the work of myself alone: many people
have contributed to it and I wish to express my gratitude to them.
The first person I wish to thank is my supervisor, Professor Irene
de Jong, who made this thesis possible by obtaining NWO-funding
for a research project on space in ancient Greek literature and
selecting me as her PhD student. It was an honour for me to work
with such a leading scholar, especially one who shares the goal of
approaching ancient Greek literature from the perspective of
modern literary theory. From the very early (and naive) draft
versions to the final revisions, she has generously and rigorously
helped me improve the structure and content of my work.
I would like to give special thanks to other colleagues at the
University of Amsterdam: Prof. Marietje van Erp Taalman Kip for
her meticulous correction of my chapters about the city and the sea;
Dr. Jacqueline Klooster, Dr. Mathieu de Bakker, Niels Koopman
and Paul van Uum for their most useful comments on draft
versions; Prof. Albert Rijksbaron for his erudite advice on text-
critical and linguistic matters; and the members of the Amsterdam
‘Hellenistenclub’, who offered many suggestions for revision in a
lively evening discussion of a section of my chapter on the
countryside. I am grateful to the Institute of Culture and History at
the University of Amsterdam for aiding me by providing all
necessary facilities to conduct my research in the best possible
manner and by allowing me to partake in many interesting courses.
I must thank, even praise, Oikos, the National Research
School in Classical Studies, which I found to be one of the most
positive surprises in Dutch academic life. Thanks to Oikos, PhD
students in Classics are able to be in contact with junior and senior
researchers and partake in numerous research groups, seminars
and master classes, such as a particularly memorable one in Athens.
In particular, I wish thank the former director, Prof. Ineke Sluiter,
as well as the current director, Prof. André Lardinois. As an expert
of archaic Greek lyric, he deserves special thanks for helping me
flesh out my research ideas and constructively commenting on my
7
chapter about the sea; his cheerful presence has always stimulated
my pleasure in academic life. Special thanks also to other members
of Oikos who commented on sections of my thesis, namely Dr.
Floris Overduin, Dr. Maarten de Pourcq, Dr. Caroline Trieschnigg
and Robert Clear, as well as to the ‘Philologische Studiefonds’ for a
grant.
I would also like to acknowledge researchers from abroad
who helped me sharpen my thoughts and analyses. In the first
place I wish to thank the staff of classics at Ghent University, where
I obtained my bachelor and master degrees in Classics: especially
Prof. Kristoffel Demoen for his willingness to explore the
possibility of a joint PhD, and Dr. Pieter Borghart, Dr. Koen de
Temmerman, Annelies Bossu and Zoë Ghyselinck for their detailed
and constructive comments on several draft versions. I also owe
thanks to classicists at the University of Oxford, where I was able
to conduct my research in January-February 2010, in particular to
Dr. Tim Whitmarsh for arranging my stay in Oxford, Dr. Dirk
Obbink for allowing me to attend his classes on lyric and
discussing with me his edition of the ‘new Archilochus’, and
Timothy Holt and Enrico Prodi for detailed reactions to my
writings about the city and the countryside. I also wish to express
my gratitude for feedback about my work to Dr. Elton Barker, Dr.
Fiona Hobden, Dr. Hans Bernsdorff and Fabian Meinel. Finally, I
wish to thank the scholars who were so kind to send me texts
which I was unable to consult: Prof. Ewen Bowie, Prof. Lucia
Athanassaki, Prof. Claude Calame, Prof. Chris Carey, Prof.
Anastasia Peponi, Prof. Dimitris Yatromanolakis, Dr. Anika
Nicolosi and Dr. Laura Swift.
Last but not least, friends, new and old, from inside and
outside academia, need to be warmly thanked. In addition to my
Oikos colleagues, these include my colleagues and friends of ‘PC
Hoofthuis 337’ (David, Niels, Paul, Rogier, Ron), my pub friends
Simon and Cristina, the students of Greek and Latin at the
University of Amsterdam, my Belgian friends (in particular Anne-
Sophie, Ellen, Flor, Lien, Severine, Yannick, Zoë), my sisters Evy
and Karolien, and my wonderful and amazing love Sanne (you
8
rock my world!). My warmest gratitude for their endless support
and confidence in my abilities goes out to my parents Eddy and
Anne-Marie, to whom I dedicate this thesis.
9
TEXTS, TRANSLATIONS, ABBREVIATIONS
TEXTS AND TRANSLATIONS
In principle I use the Loeb editions. When I adopt a different

reading from another edition, this is explicitly mentioned.
Translations are taken over, with minor adaptations, which are not
systematically noted.
D.E. Gerber, Greek Elegiac Poetry from the seventh to the fifth Centuries
BC, Cambridge (Mass.) 2006 (first edition 1999)
---, Greek Iambic Poetry from the seventh to the fifth Centuries BC,
Cambridge (Mass.) 2006 (first edition 1999)
D.A. Campbell, Greek Lyric I: Sappho, Alcaeus, Cambridge (Mass.)
2002 (first edition 1982)
---, Greek Lyric II: Anacreon, Anacreontea, Choral Lyric from Olympus
to Alcman, Cambridge (Mass.) 1988
---, Greek Lyric III: Stesichorus, Ibycus, Simonides, and Others,
Cambridge (Mass.) 2001 (first edition 1991)
---, Greek Lyric IV: Bacchylides, Corinna, and Others, Cambridge
(Mass.) 1992
G. Most, Hesiod: The Shield; Catalogue of Women; Other Fragments,
Cambridge (Mass.) 2007
---, Hesiod: Theogony; Works and Days; Testimonia, Cambridge (Mass.)
2006
A.T. Murray, Homer: Iliad I. Books 1-12, Cambridge (Mass.) 1999
(first edition 1924)
---, Homer: Iliad II. Books 13-24, Cambridge (Mass.) 1995 (first edition
1925)
---, Homer: Odyssey I. Books 1-12, Cambridge (Mass.) 1995 (first
edition 1919)
---, Homer: Odyssey II. Books 13-24, Cambridge (Mass.) 1995 (first
edition 1919)
W.H. Race, Pindar: Nemean Odes; Isthmian Odes; Fragments,
Cambridge (Mass.) 1997
---, Pindar: Olympian Odes; Pythian Odes, Cambridge (Mass.) 1997
11
M.L. West, Greek Epic Fragments from the seventh to the fifth Centuries
BC, Cambridge (Mass.) 2003
---, Homeric Hymns, Cambridge (Mass.) 2003
ABBREVIATIONS
DNP H. Cancik - H. Schneider - M. Lanfester (eds.), Der

Neue Pauly, Brill Online
LfgrE B. Snell - H.J. Mette (eds.), Lexikon des

frühgriechischen Epos, Göttingen 1955-2010
KG R. Kühner - B. Gerth, Ausführliche Grammatik der

griechische Sprache, Hannover 1890-1904
LSJ H.G. Liddell - R. Scott - H. Stuart Jones - R.

Mackenzie (eds.), Greek-English Lexicon, Oxford 1996
(9th edition, with revised supplement)
SAGN 1 I.J.F. de Jong - R. Nünlist - A. Bowie (eds.), Narrators,

Narratees and Narratives in Ancient Greek Literature.
Studies in Ancient Greek Narrative 1, Leiden 2004
SAGN 2 I.J.F. de Jong - R. Nünlist (eds.), Time in Ancient Greek

Literature. Studies in Ancient Greek Narrative 2, Leiden
2007
SAGN 3 I.J.F. de Jong (ed.), Space in Ancient Greek Literature.

Studies in Ancient Greek Narrative 3, Leiden
forthcoming
Standard abbreviations as found in LSJ apply for ancient authors

and works.
12
INTRODUCING SPACE IN LYRIC
‘L’espace ! Voici peu d’années, ce terme n’évoquait rien d’autre

qu’un concept géométrique, celui d’un milieu vide.’1
Up until the twentieth century, time has been the dominant trope
in the teleologically haunted Western humanities. The frameworks
for understanding cultural progress privileged temporal stages,
such as primitiveness to civilisation and simplicity to complexity.
At the end of the twentieth century, however, space began to
demand its place next to time. This has been noted especially by
philosophers like Michel Foucault, Henri Lefebvre and Edward
Soja, who focused on space as a social construct in relation to issues
of power and knowledge. In a brief essay, ‘Des espaces autres’,
Foucault announced that after the nineteenth century, which was
dominated by a historical outlook, ‘l’époque actuelle serait peut-
être plutôt l’époque de l’espace’.2 His prediction was accurate: the
end of the twentieth century witnessed a ‘spatial turn’ in
humanities, which has lead to a focus on space and its constitutive
role in a variety of fields, such as archaeology, anthropology,
sociology and ethnography. 3 It has by now been acknowledged
that space is a social construct which is fundamental for our
understanding of people’s identity, public life, power structures
and human-environment interactions.4
The shift in attention from time to space is also attested in
literary studies. Until recently, space has been neglected in favour
of time in literary analysis. The reason for this neglect is probably a
consequence of the influential idea of Gotthold Ephraim Lessing in
his Laocoon (1766) that literature is essentially a temporal art – as
opposed to spatial arts, such as painting or sculpture – a claim
1 Lefebvre 1974, 7.
2 Foucault 1994 (1967), 752.
3 On the ‘spatial turn’ see especially Döring-Thielmann 2008; Hallet-Neumann
2009; Warf-Arias 2009.

4 For the ideological role of space see further Heirman-Klooster forthcoming, with
further references.
13
repeated by the narratologist Gérard Genette.5 From the end of the
twentieth century onwards, however, space has become a ‘hot
topic’ in literary studies, as demonstrated by the proliferation of
books on the essential role of space in a particular genre or period.6
The growing awareness of the importance of space in
literature has also affected the study of ancient Greek literature.
Recently, research has been conducted on the relation between
literary space and cartography (papers collected in Bonnafé-
Decourt-Helly 2000), on space in the ancient novel (papers in
Paschalis-Frangoulidis 2002), on space in relation to myth, ritual
and identity (Calame 2006), and on space in connection with issues
of visualisation and ‘mapping’ of the plot (Purves 2010; Clay 2011).
Moreover, several projects are currently running on space in
ancient Greek literature. One of these is the Herodotus Encoded
Space-Text-Imaging Archive (HESTIA), led by Christopher Pelling
and Elton Barker (2008-2012). It makes use of the latest ICT in
combination with close textual study to investigate the
geographical concepts through which Herodotus describes the
conflict between Greeks and Persians. Another is the third volume
of the series Studies in Ancient Greek Narrative edited by Irene de
Jong, which is devoted to space (forthcoming); the topic will be
discussed by specialists in all genres of Greek literature from
Homer to Flavius Josephus. One genre will not be considered,
apart from a brief survey of space in the choral lyric poets Pindar
and Bacchylides by Bruno Currie, in de Jong’s forthcoming
volume: archaic Greek lyric. My thesis sets out to fill this gap.
At the same time, my thesis may shed new light on archaic
Greek lyric. Archaic lyric is here understood in its broad sense, 7 a
5 Genette 1969, 43.

6 To mention just a few: Berghahn 1998 (modern English novels); Hallaq-Ostle-
Wild 2002 (modern Arabic literature); Andrew 2007 (Russian fiction); Störmer-
Caysa 2007 (mediaeval literature).
7 See Campbell 1982 (1967), xiv; Nagy 1990, 2 and 18; Gerber 1997, 1; Budelmann
2009, 2-7. Actually, the term ‘lyric’ is a misnomer, for it implies that all poems
were accompanied on a lyre and fails to take into account that elegiac lyric was
accompanied on an aulos and that iambic lyric was probably not musically
14
general denominator of all kinds of non-hexametric poetry from
the seventh till the fifth century BC, heterogeneous in language,
meter, content, function and modes of performance. Traditionally,
archaic Greek lyric is further subdivided into iambic and elegiac
poetry (poets like Archilochus, Semonides, Solon and Theognis),
and melos or lyric in its strict sense (poets like Anacreon, Alcaeus,
Bacchylides, Pindar, Simonides and Sappho). The latter is further
subdivided into monodic or solo lyric and choral lyric. 8
Unfortunately, much of archaic lyric poetry has been lost, and what
is preserved is often highly fragmentary. Most of it has been
indirectly handed down via citations in works of later Greek and
Roman authors, while other poems are preserved on papyri, often
in a bad state. Only the corpus of Theognis and part of Pindar’s
poetry has been passed down through a direct manuscript
tradition. So far, studies of archaic Greek lyric aimed at a better
understanding of its dialects and metrical systems, of archaic Greek
history and society, or concerned literary interpretation.9 Currently,
the focus lies on the contexts and modes of performance of lyric
poetry. The acknowledgement that lyric poems were primarily
meant to be delivered orally for various audience of listeners and
in various modes has caused a ‘performative turn’:10 scholars now
accompanied. For the Alexandrians, lyric poetry encompassed only melic poetry,
as their canon of nine lyrics was a canon of nine melic lyric poets.
8 Needless to say that this is a simplified classification; for the problems involved
in these subdivisions, especially between monodic and choral lyric, I refer to

Harvey 1955, Davies 1988, Calame 1998 and Yatromanolakis 2008.
9 For lyric meters see Thomson 1961 (1929); Dale 1950; Cole 1988b; Golston-Riad
2005. For lyric dialects see Nöthiger 1971 (Stesichorus and Ibycus); Hooker 1977
and Bowie 1981 (Alcaeus and Sappho); Felsenthal 1980 and Cassio 2005 (choral
lyric); Ruijgh 1980 (a good survey of lyric in general). For archaic lyric poetry as a
representation of archaic Greek history or society cf. Adkins 1972 and Podlecki
1984. For literary interpretations see, for instance, Campbell 1982 (1967), Gerber
1970, Degani-Burzacchini 2005 (1977), Adkins 1985, Fowler 1987, De Martino-Vox
1996, Hutchinson 2001, with ample secondary literature for individual poems and
fragments.
10 Cf. Budelmann 2009, 15. Herington 1984 and Gentili 1988 (1985, especially Ch. 1
and 3) were the first to draw attention to the performance of archaic lyric poetry;
cf. later especially Bowie 1986, Krummen 1990, Stehle 1997, Kowalzig 2007 and
Athanassaki 2009.
15
concentrate on the way archaic lyric poetry was performed and
how this affects the understanding of the poems, as well as on the
places where the poems were performed. However, the role of
space within the poems has largely been neglected: this will form
the subject of my thesis.
The question is then what I understand by space. Space is a
concept which can be approached from many different angles. One
is to examine (temporal and) spatial deixis, i.e. the hic (et nunc) of
the enunciation of archaic lyric poetry. This kind of research has
been conducted in Peponi 1992, a collection of articles in Arethusa
2004 and Cazzato 2011. Another is to focus on the cultural-
historical significance of sanctuaries or places such as Salamis or
Thebes mentioned in archaic lyric poems. This approach has been
undertaken in Veta and Catenacci 2006 as well as, for Bacchylides
and Pindar, in Hornblower 2004 and Eckermann 2007. Another
way to consider space is to focus on the literary roles of ‘types of
space’, such as an island or the underworld. This is the approach I
will undertake. I will focus on three dominant and recurrent types
of space: city, countryside and sea. These types are much
understudied: no in-depth study has been conducted on the city in
archaic Greek lyric, while older studies on the countryside (Treu
1955; Parry 1957; Elliger 1975) and the sea (Lesky 1947; Péron 1974,
on Pindar) need updating, especially because most of these studies
are rooted in a Snellian, geistesgeschichtliche approach to ancient
Greek poetry. By investigating these three types of space together, I
hope to offer a fairly broad view of the presentation of space in
archaic lyric poetry.
In the first chapter a theoretical framework will be
developed for a linguistic and literary analysis of these types of
space. The linguistic research question concerns the diction of space
in comparison to epic poetry (especially epithets). I will focus on
differences in lexical, referential and semantic use and differences
in effect with respect to the context in which the diction is used.
The second and most central research question is a literary one and
concerns the roles of space in archaic lyric poems, which I examine
from the perspective of various modern literary theories and again
16
in comparison with epic poetry. I first discuss the role of space as
setting, i.e. the scenic backdrop, and frame, i.e. all other places
referred to which do not constitute the actual setting of the
narrative. I then concentrate on the symbolic role of space, which I
subdivide into symbolic associations and symbolic form, i.e.
metaphor and personification.
The theoretical framework will be employed in three
subsequent chapters on the city (chapter two), the countryside
(chapter three) and the sea (chapter four). Each of these chapters
consists of a section on the role as setting and frame and the role as
symbol, with close attention to the diction in both sections. My
investigation will unfold along detailed, micro-analytical readings
of archaic lyric poems. This is partly due to the fragmentary state of
most archaic lyric poetry, but it is also my hope that these detailed
discussions are of interest to students of archaic lyric poems who
do not specifically engage in the study of space. Because of my
micro-analytical focus, I will limit my study to a representative
corpus of 33 poems by a wide range of poets in which the city,
countryside or sea is of importance. A list of all the poems
discussed can be found in the index of passages. For the sake of
clarity, I will quote the relevant parts of the poems at the beginning
of each of my analyses.
1. A THEORETICAL FRAMEWORK OF SPACE
1.1. THE DICTION OF SPACE: ITS USE AND EFFECT
My first research question is linguistic and concerns the lyric

diction of space. The language of lyric poetry is a mixture of several
dialects (such as Aeolic, Attic, Ionic and Doric) with an epic
Kunstsprache, which is itself a mixture of Ionic with Aeolic and
Achaean elements. 11 While the scarcity of extensive epigraphic
material limits our knowledge of the dialects of archaic Greece,12
11 A good survey of lyric dialects is offered in Ruijgh 1980; see further supra n9.
12 Cf. Ruijgh 1980, 416.
17
the epic Kunstsprache is well known from epic poetry. Because epic
poetry forms the point of comparison for my analysis of space in
lyric poetry, the lyric diction of space will be examined in
comparison to epic poetry, by which I understand the Homeric
epics, the Homeric Hymns, Hesiod’s poetry and what has been
preserved from the cyclic epics.13
Before explaining how the diction will be investigated,
methodological issues concerning the fixation of both lyric and epic
poetry, the Homeric epics in particular, must be addressed, for
these affect the way in which the comparison is made. There has
been much debate whether the Homeric epics were textually fixed
around the moment of composition and, if so, whether these
versions significantly differed from the later ones by the
Peisistratids in sixth-century Athens and, finally, from those of the
Hellenistic Alexandrians. The ‘dictation theory’, defended by
Richard Janko, Barry Powell and Martin West, 14 argues that the
Iliad and the Odyssey were textually fixed around their moment of
composition, i.e. when the Greek alphabet developed (around the
eighth century BC). According to these scholars, the early fixed
texts did not undergo any drastic changes in sixth century Athens
or later in Hellenistic Alexandria. This theory has been countered
by Gregory Nagy’s ‘evolutionary theory’. It claims that there was a
long and multiform tradition of oral recomposition in performance,
with ‘transcripts’ appearing only from the sixth century and
significantly different fixed ‘scripts’ being the work of the later
Alexandrinian scholars.15
13 Cf. Lexicon des frühgriechischen Epos.

14 Janko 1998; Powell 1991, 185-220; West 1995.
15 Nagy 1996, 29-112 and 1997; followed e.g. by Burgess 2001, 49-53. Nagy
distinguishes between five phases in particular: (1) most fluid period without
written texts (early second millennium to the middle of the eight century BC), (2)
more formative, Panhellenic reperformance period, still without written texts (mid
eigth - mid sixth century BC), (3) first transcripts in Athens thanks to the
Peisistratids (mid sixth till latter part of the fourth century BC), (4) period of
standardisation of transscripts (latter part of the fourth - middle of the second
century BC), (5) more fixed period of scripts in Alexandria (from the second
century BC onwards).
18
A similar debate regarding the fixation of archaic lyric
poetry is ongoing. One theory is that all surviving examples were
textualised around their moment of composition, i.e. from the
seventh till the fifth century BC, and did not undergo important
changes; the other holds that they were textualised only in the fifth
and fourth centuries BC after continued reperformance and
considerably differ from the original compositions. 16 Recently,
however, scholars 17 have made clear that orality and literacy
should not be too sharply distinguished from each other. They
have shown that a long transition from pure orality to widespread
literacy lasted from the archaic through the classical age and that
the early presence of textual versions of poems did not exclude
later, oral reperformances of these poems. In this light, the
synthetic suggestion made by André Lardinois 18 regarding the
fixation of archaic lyric poems seems likely: while they were
probably already textualised during the seventh till the fifth
century BC, the versions of the poems we now have display
significant changes due to oral reperformances.
Because of the uncertainty of the dates of the fixation of epic
and lyric poetry, scholars19 are no longer inclined to discuss the
relationship between both genres as if lyric poetry were dependent
on or even subordinated to an earlier fixed set of Homeric texts.20
Instead, they consider both genres as symbiotic poetic traditions
16 For the former possibility see Gerber 1997, 3-4 and Morrison 2007, 40-42 (in
general); Blaise 2006, 128-131, Irwin 2006, 72-75 and Noussia-Fantuzzi 2010, 47-55
(on Solon). For the latter cf. Nagy 1990, 53-54 (on the Theognidea); Stehle 2006, 102-
111 (on Solon).
17 Thomas 1992, especially 15-28 and 43-52; Calinescu 1993, 175-190; Bakker 1998,
29-37.
18 Lardinois 2006 (see also Budelmann 2009, 8).
19 Martin 1997 and 2001; Dalby 1998; Barker-Christensen 2006, especially 9 and 12-
16; Irwin 2005, 22-29; Swift forthcoming. Cf. also Fowler 1987, 20-39, who
demonstrates in detail that no direct, verbatim allusions to specific Homeric
passages are found in archaic Greek lyric before mid sixth century BC. In this
respect, it is also important to point out that certain lyric meters were older than
the epic hexameter (see Nagy 1974).
20 The same debate presently runs in epic poetry itself, as the Epic Cycle is no
longer considered to be later than the Homeric epics: see especially Burgess 2001.
19
that draw upon a common stock of diction and themes. For my
present purposes this means that I will concentrate on the way
archaic lyric poetry differs from epic poetry in the handling of a
common reservoir of diction, without assuming the priority of epic
poetry over lyric poetry. In particular, I will focus on two sorts of
differences: differences in lexical, referential and semantic use and
differences in effect.
To begin with the former, scholars21 have noted that archaic
lyric poetry lexically differs from epic poetry in its particular
combinations of epithets and nouns. In Archilochus 105.1 and
Theognis 10, for instance, the sea noun with which the epithet
βαθύς (‘deep’) is combined is πόντος, while in epic poetry it is
used with ἅλς. Another type of lexical differences can be added to
this: epithets can differ from epic poetry in formation (ἱπποτρόφος,
‘horse-rearing’, in Ibycus 282.30, as opposed to ἱππόβοτος, ‘grazed
by horses’, in epic poetry). Secondly, there can be referential
differences, insofar as words that refer to people or objects in epic
poetry are used about space in lyric poetry (e.g. ταλαπείριος,
‘much-suffering’, in Ibycus 282.8 about Pergamum, instead of
about people as in epic poetry). Finally, there can be semantic
differences, i.e. differences in meaning (e.g. ἀνώνυμος in Ibycus
282.15, meaning ‘unnameable’, not ‘nameless’ as in epic poetry).
A second point of attention concerns the effect of the diction.
According to a traditional belief, diction shared with epic poetry
merely serves to evoke an ‘epic atmosphere’ in archaic lyric
poetry.22 Recently, however, scholars have argued that such diction
is deliberately appropriated to achieve various, significant effects.
In a martial context, for instance, it can be appropriated to establish
a heroic effect when used about soldiers who fight for their polis
21 See, for example, Fowler 1987, 39-52; Egoscozabal 2004; Graziosi-Haubold 2009,
96-102: these scholars refute an older theory (defended by Page 1963, 119-164 and
Schrerer 1963, 96-97) that lyric diction is conventionally epic without any
differences. The differences in the combinations of epithets and nouns have been
pointed out especially as regards Bacchylides (Robbins 1997, 287; Maehler 2004,
19; Cairns 2010, 38-41) and the elegiac poetry of Archilochus (cf. Kirkwood 1974,
24-52; Campbell 1976; Létoublon 2008, 53).
22 See most notably Page 1963, 119-163.
20
(the elegies of Tyrtaeus and Callinus), or, on the contrary, to
establish an anti-heroic effect when used about warriors who flee
from the battlefield (‘new Archilochus’).23
Because epithets are clear markers of diction shared with
epic poetry and because they often concern space, both the use and
effect of the diction will be investigated with special attention to
them.24 Given the comparison to epic poetry, I cannot avoid the
much debated question whether epithets are ornamental or
contextually relevant. This debate has especially dominated
Homeric scholarship, 25 and it has sharpened dramatically since
Milman Parry’s argument that the Homeric epithets, excluding a
small number of ‘particularised’ ones, have no value other than
metrical. 26 At present, most scholars agree that epithets are an
instrument of versification and that the very frequent ones have no
contextual relevance (e.g. θοός, ‘swift’, of ships anchored at
beaches).27 However, they also allow for instances where epithets
can be argued to be contextually relevant. An example from the
Iliad is the epithet πελώριος (‘mighty’) of Ajax in 3.339, used by
Helen in response to Priam’s question who the tall and strong
Greek hero who surpasses all the others is.
As for the epithets in lyric poetry, at first A.E. Harvey 28
assumed that poets made use of epithets merely as an ornament to
set up an ‘epic’ tone. This idea became widespread in
commentaries on lyric poets and has recently been restated as
regards epithets of lyric landscapes in particular. 29 However, it
would be very unlikely that epithets in archaic Greek lyric bore no
23 For the former see Irwin 2005, especially part one; for the latter see Barker-
Christensen 2006 and Swift forthcoming.
24 Cf. Elliger 1975, 93-97 and Bonnafé 1984, 11 (on epithets of nature in the Iliad).
25 For a concise state of the art on Homeric epithets I refer to de Jong 1998, 121-126.
26 See Parry 1971 (1928), 119-165. His criteria for deciding whether an epithet is
particularised are: metrically equivalent epithets, determinative epithets, epithets

separated from their noun, epithets in enjambment.
27 For the ornamental use of the epithet cf. LfgrE, s.v. θοός and Parry 1971 (1928),
158-159.
28 Harvey 1957.
29 Le Meur 1998, 23-24.
21
contextual significance, for, as Leif Bergson30 has pointed out in his
study of epithets in tragic poetry, in non-epic poetry there was no
need of fixed formulae to memorise large-scale poems, such as the
Homeric epics. The irrelevance of mnemonic devices implies that
lyric and tragic poets had much more freedom when handling
epithets. The contextual significance of epithets has, in fact, been
demonstrated for melic lyric poetry. Charles Segal31 has shown that
in Bacchylides epithets are important signposts that direct the
narratees through the narrative, by underlining significant turns of
events, intensifying pathos or marking changes of tone. Alessandra
Romè and Anne Broger32 have demonstrated that in Alcaeus and
Sappho epithets acquire different overtones than in epic poetry, i.e.
political and erotic ones, because of the different contexts in which
they are used. Focusing on epithets of space, I will investigate
whether the contextual relevance of epithets, as suggested for melic
lyric poetry by Segal, Romè and Broger, applies to archaic lyric
poetry in general.
1.2. THE ROLES OF SPACE
My second, more central research question is literary and regards

the roles of space in archaic lyric poetry, for which epic poetry will
again serve as a point of comparison. To investigate the roles of
space, I will make use of several modern literary theories, amongst
which narratology. Narratological theories will be particularly
important, for, as Irene de Jong has pointed out, ‘narratology, often
called the grammar of narrative, indeed is comparable to our
grammars, as it helps us to order and understand certain aspects of
the texts we study’. 33 Although my theoretical framework is
primarily intended for archaic Greek lyric, I hope that with the
30 Bergson 1956, 28.

31 Segal 1976, followed by Maehler 1982, 24-25 and 2004, 19-20 as well as by
Robbins 1997, 287.
32 Romè 1965; Broger 1996, especially 304-309.
33 De Jong 2007, 14; see also Grethlein-Rengakos 2009, 3.
22
necessary modifications it may also be of use to students of space
in other literatures.34
Because my theoretical framework starts from narratology,
some methodological issues concerning the transfer of narratology
to archaic Greek lyric poetry need to be addressed. Until recently,
narratology and lyric poetry criticism were firmly separated from
each other: narratologists focused on novels and epic poetry, while
lyric critics did not engage in narratological analyses. The latter has
been deplored by lyric critics such as Eva Müller-Zettelmann and
Margarete Rubik:35
While...narratology at the beginning of the twenty-first century

can rely upon a sizeable corpus of internationally recognised
and widely applied theoretical frames of reference, ‘modern’
poetry theory forms an enclave far from the influences of
mainstream literary theory and still works with axioms derived
basically from post-Romantic conceptions of genre and
reception... The results are a failure to make use of the results of
modern linguistic, literary and cultural theory, an
impressionistic and evaluative procedure of analysis, and a
terminological pluralism that defies constructive academic
debate. It is, therefore, high time to lift the theory of poetry to a
level that corresponds to the level of reflection in modern
literary studies by means of a transfer of theories from other
fields.
Recently, however, in the wake of the ‘transgeneric’ turn in

narratology, which has widened the field to other genres which
initially fell beyond its scope, Peter Hühn and Jörg Schönert have
pioneered narratological analyses of lyric poetry. To
methodologically justify this approach, they argue that ‘[n]arration
is an anthropologically universal semiotic practice, independent of
culture and period, used to structure experience and produce and
communicate meaning, and is as such one of the basic operations at
34 See also Heirman 2011b for my model of space.

35 Müller-Zettelmann-Rubik 2005, 7-8; see also Müller-Zettelmann 2002, 130-134.
23
work even in lyric poetry’.36 They contend that the same narrative
techniques are at play in prose and lyric poetry, although not
necessarily in the same way. For instance, both use mediation, i.e.
the presentation of events from a particular perspective. 37 Hühn
and Schönert have also put this transfer into practice: with their
colleagues from Hamburg, they are publishing an ongoing series of
narratological studies of English and German lyric poetry from the
sixteenth through the twentieth century.38
Narratology has recently also been applied to archaic Greek
lyric poetry, independently of the work done by the Hamburg
scholars. In 2007 Andrew Morrison published a book on the
narrator in archaic lyric and Hellenistic poetry, while Irene de Jong
included the choral lyric poets Pindar and Bacchylides in the three
series of her Studies in Ancient Greek Narrative because their
Epinician Odes contain long mythological narratives (2004 on the
narrator and narratee, 2007 on time, forthcoming on space). The
critical response to the SAGN’s analysis of choral lyric poetry only
highlights the relevance of extending its approach to the whole of
archaic Greek lyric poetry,39 i.e. also to iambic, elegiac and monodic
lyric, particularly in light of the work by Hühn and Schönert. A
narratological approach seems justified especially for iambic lyric,
because, as Ewen Bowie 40 has argued, this genre includes many
brief stories: in Archilochus’ iambic poetry, for instance, there are
many political, erotic and military stories as well as animal fables.
The importance of narration in iambic lyric might be explained, as
André Lardinois has noted, by the fact that the iambic meter lends
itself well for the telling of stories, ‘because it allows, like the
36 Hühn-Schönert 2005, 1; see also Hühn 2002, 13-14 and 2004, and Hühn-Sommer
2012.
37 Müller-Zettelmann 2002, 137-148, too, points out that mediation is at play both
in prose and lyric poetry. She also discusses other points of connection, such as the
distinction between story and discourse and the narratorial standpoint.
38 See Hühn-Kiefer 2005 and Hühn-Schönert-Stein 2007. Cf. also Müller-
Zettelmann 2002, 134-146 (on Herrick, Browning and Coleridge) and Short 2001,
347-350 (on Keats).
39 Scodel on SAGN 1 in BMCR (2005); Kenaan on SAGN 2 in AN 8 (2009).
40 Bowie 2001; followed in Kantzios 2005, 51-52 and Lardinois 2006, 25-26.
24
hexameter, for the free flow of sentences from one line to the next’.
41It is clear that narration can be at play in elegiac and monodic
lyric, too, if the recent definition of narration by one of the leading
narratologists, Monika Fludernik, is taken into account.42 Fludernik
argues against the reduction of narration to sequentiality, by which
a narrative is considered a mere sequence of two or more events.
According to her, narration ultimately depends on experientiality: it
is enough if there is an anthropomorphic agent, conveying his or
her, or someone else’s, past or present experiences, to speak of a
narrative. As for archaic Greek lyric, this definition justifies a
broadening of the narratological approach from choral and iambic
lyric poetry to most elegiac and monodic lyric poetry, where, as
Bruno Gentili and Chris Carey have pointed out,43 the narration of
personal experience is common.
Thus, narration seems to be at play in the whole of archaic
Greek lyric in two forms: sequential, in which an internal narrator
or, in the case of mythological narratives, an external narrator
recounts past or present events (especially in iambic and choral
lyric poetry),44 and experiential, about past or present experiences
(especially in elegiac and monodic lyric poetry). However, there
are also (parts of) archaic lyric poems which deal with
omnitemporal state of affairs, such as Semonides 1 about the vain
hopes of man, and thereby fall outside the scope of these two
categories. Consequently, these cannot be considered narratives.
However, I will not be so rigid as to exclude these non-narrative
(parts of) poems from my corpus, but in such cases I will use the
term ‘speaker’ instead of ‘narrator’.45
Now that the transfer of narratology to archaic lyric poetry
has been argued for, time has come to build up my theoretical
framework for the analysis of the roles of space. Generally
41 Lardinois 2006, 26.

42 Fludernik 1996, 19-22.
43 Gentili 1988 (1985), 109 and Carey 2009, 151.
44 Cf. also the historical and mythological stories in long elegiac, of which,
unfortunately, most are lost: see recently Lulli 2011.

45 In this respect, I deviate from Hutchinson 2001, x and Morrison 2007, 16 and 32,
who adopt the term narrator for all archaic lyric poetry.
25
speaking, I distinguish between two roles: one as setting and frame
and one as symbol. These roles, however, are not mutually
exclusive, as the setting can acquire symbolic overtones. In this
respect, the distinction is based on a difference in gradation
according to the dominant role.
1.2.1. Space as Setting and Frame
According to many narratologists, the basic role of space is that of

setting, i.e. providing a scenic backdrop against which the narrated
events take place.46 The setting can be very concrete and detailed,
to the extent that it turns into a description. It can also remain
implicit and vague, so that it requires a serious effort for the
narratees’ imagination to concretise it.47 Whether detailed or not,
indications of the setting are distributed either throughout the
narrative (at moments when the action requires an explanation of
the locale) or concentrated at the beginning (as a kind of synoptic
description).48
Because epic poetry serves as a point of comparison, it is
relevant to point out that the dominant role of space in the
Homeric epics is that of setting. As Theodore Andersson, Christos
Tsagalis and Irene de Jong have demonstrated,49 in Homer space is
often reduced to set the scene of the narrative and mentioned only
when relevant to the plot: more interesting than space an sich is
what happens in space. Although there is more attention to space
46 See Chatman 1978, 138-139; van Baak 1983, 47; Ronen 1986, 423; Bal 1997 (1985),
133-141; Buchholz-Jahn 2005, 552-553; Ryan 2012. For a detailed state of the art of
narratological theories of space I refer to Dennerlein 2009, 13-47.
47 On the attention paid to space see Chatman 1978, 106; Zoran 1984, 313 and 320;
Bal 1997 (1985), 135-136; van Baak 1983, 36 and 126. The relation between space
and imagination has now become the focus of attention in cognitive narratology:
see Ryan 2003, Herman 2002, 263-300 and especially Dennerlein 2009. Although
these raise some interesting theoretical challenges, their hermeneutical value for
the analysis of literary texts has yet to be demonstrated.
48 For the distribution of space see Zoran 1984, 321-322.
49 Andersson 1976, 15-52 (Iliad and Odyssey); Tsagalis 2010, 87-97 (Iliad); de Jong
forthcoming b (Iliad and Odyssey).
26
in the Odyssey, because of the theme of Odysseus’ wanderings, and
in the Homeric similes in the Iliad, space is essentially subordinated
to the plot of the narrative. As regards the Homeric similes about
the sea, for instance, their main role is to illustrate an event, i.e. the
noise of the attack or withdrawal of a fighting mass (Il. 2.207-210
and 394-397; 15.381-384), or emotions, i.e. the confusion or distress
felt by a mass or hero (Il. 9.1-8; 14.16-22; 15.624-629), of the
narrative.50
The spaces referred to in the narrative are, however, not
restricted to the setting. The narratologist Ruth Ronen has
demonstrated that the narrative also encompasses several ‘frames’,
places which do not constitute the actual locale. 51 These frames are
classified by their distance from the setting: the setting is
surrounded by or juxtaposed with ‘secondary’ background frames
and frames that are more ‘distant’ from the setting. To take the Iliad
as an example, the setting is the Trojan plain, while the sea is the
secondary frame and Greece a distant frame. Frames and setting
can be interchanged in the course of the narrative, as the space
which is the setting at the beginning of the narrative can later
become a secondary or distant frame and vice versa. As for the
Homeric epics, this applies especially to the Odyssey: when
Odysseus finds himself on Scheria, Ithaca is a distant frame; when
returned home, Ithaca is the setting and the stops on his long
voyage have become distant frames. Another important aspect of
the relation between setting and frames, according to Ronen, is that
the former constitutes the ‘actual’ space of the narrative, whereas
the latter, especially the distant frames, are sometimes
counterfactual or hypothetical, insofar as ‘they contain an
impossible, imagined or believed situation which cannot be or is
not actualized’.52 A case in point is the moment Odysseus arrives in
Ithaca (see Od. 13.187-258). For the narrator and the narratees it is
clear that Odysseus has returned home, or, in other words, that
50 Cf. Fränkel 1999 (1921), 301-305; Coffey 1957, 124 and 130; Scott 1974, 62-66. See
further 4.3.
51 Ronen 1986, especially 423-429 (followed in Ryan 2012).
52 Ronen 1986, 429.
27
Ithaca is the actual setting. However, Odysseus, the character
inside the story, is not aware of his homecoming at first, but
believes that he has arrived in an unknown country: he still
considers Ithaca a distant frame, a place he hopes to reach
eventually. This example shows that the narrator can handle
setting and frames to build up an effect of dramatic irony.53
In my analyses of setting and frame I will focus on the way
they are affected by the temporal structure of the narrative. For this
purpose I will make use of the popular, threefold division of time
in duration, order and frequency by the ‘founding father’ of
narratology, Gérard Genette. 54 Duration concerns the narrative
rhythm or speed, i.e. the relation between narrated time and
narrating time, as an event of the story can be passed over in
silence in the narrative (ellipsis), presented rapidly and in broad
strokes (summary), or in great detail (scene), sometimes to the
extent that the narrated time comes to a complete standstill (pause).
Order regards the question whether the events are narrated in a
chronological sequence. Frequency, finally, deals with the number
of times an event is recounted in the narrative: one event can be
narrated once (singulative) or more than once (repeating), and
several events can be recounted only once (iterative). Order and
frequency are handled in a particular way in epic and archaic lyric
poetry (especially Pindar) in what are known as ‘lyric narratives’.55
The order of lyric narratives is anachronical, as they begin in
ultimas res, move back in time to the earliest point – typically with
the particle γάρ or a relative pronoun – then move forwards in
time again (usually in greater detail) until the point of departure is
53 See de Jong 2001, ad loc. for a discussion of this passage as an instance of a

‘delayed-recognition’ story-pattern, with the use of dramatic irony.
54 See Genette 1983, Ch. 4-6; cf. also Bal 1997 (1985), 80-113 and de Jong 2007. Cp.
also Bakhtin’s chronotope theory for the relation between time and space, which
was originally designed as an analytical instrument to trace generic divisions
throughout the history of the Western novel from ancient Greece to Rabelais:
Bakhtin 1981 (1938); further e.g. Keunen 2007 and Bemong a.o. 2010.
55 For ‘lyric narrrative’ (also called ‘epic regression’) in epic poetry and Pindar see
Krischer 1917, 136-140; Schadewaldt 1966 (1938), 84; Slater 1983, 118-126; de Jong
2001, xiv.
28
reached. The order influences the frequency of the events
recounted, as the event mentioned in the beginning is repeated in
the end. In archaic Greek lyric the repeated event is often used as a
thematic parallel between the mythological narrative and the
situation of the narrator. The question then is how the anachronical
order and the repetition of certain events affect the setting and
frames of the narratives.
1.2.2. Space as Symbol
The role of space is not restricted to that of setting and frame: space
can also have a symbolic role. Making use of phenomenological
theories and metaphor theories, I distinguish between two types of
symbolism of space: symbolic associations and symbolic form, i.e.
metaphor and personification.
Symbolic Associations
A first type of the symbolic role of space is when space, as Herman

Meyer and Gerhard Hoffmann have shown, 56 is semantically
charged to the extent that it has symbolic associations. As an
example, the city of Babylon has associations with perverse
sexuality from the Old Testament (the ‘Whore of Babylon’), while
the countryside has religious and mystical associations in Romantic
poetry. Sometimes the symbolic associations become so dominant
that we are dealing with imaginary instead of real spaces, i.e. with
spaces that are the product of the imagination of the narrator (or
speaker) or a character and exist only in his or her mind but not in
the actual world. Although space primarily has a role as setting
and frame in the Homeric epics, it acquires symbolic associations in
some cases. For instance, spatial marks on the Trojan battlefield,
such as the oak tree near the Scaean gate, are associated with
security for the Trojans in the Iliad, while the rugged mountains
56 Meyer 1975 (1963); Hoffmann 1978.
29
and caves on the island of the Cyclopes are associated with a lack
of civilisation in the Odyssey (9.106-115).57
The symbolic associations of different types of space are
sometimes opposed to each other in ways that vary cross-culturally,
as Jurij Lotman and Joost van Baak have demonstrated.58 A well-
known example is the opposition between city and countryside. In
Hellenistic poetry and, above all, in Roman bucolic poetry, the
complex, urban life is often opposed to the simple and honest life
in the countryside. 59 As for archaic Greek lyric, a fragment by
Alcaeus (130b) contains a dramatic monologue in which an exiled
narrator complains that he has been driven out of the city (lines 8-9)
and spends a ‘rustic life’ (ζώω μοῖραν ἔχων ἀγροϊωτίκαν, 2) as a
wolf-like figure (λυκαιμίας, 10), longing for the agora and the boulē
(lines 3-5). The savage and lonely life in the countryside seems to
be set against the socio-political, ‘civilised’ life. However, the
opposition might not be as strict as it seems. At the end of the
fragment, the narrator recounts a kind of beauty conquest of
women in a precinct, close to which he apparently finds himself.
Does this mean that the opposition between city and countryside is
maintained, as the narrator only briefly forgets the hardship of his
life at the countryside, or even reinforced, as he catches a glimpse
of the civilised life in bitter contrast to his own rustic life? Or does
it weaken the opposition, as it indicates that life in the countryside
is not so hard after all? Even if the former were more likely, it
would be too tentative to conclude on the basis of one fragment
that the opposition between city and countryside applies to archaic
Greek lyric poetry.60 More generally speaking, a risk in studying
57 For the symbolic associations of the spatial marks on the Trojan plain I refer to
Elliger 1975, 57-62; Thorton 1984, 150-163; Trachsel 2007, 66-98; Clay 2011, 103-105.
For the island of Polyphemus cf. de Jong 2001, ad loc.
58 Lotman 1990, 123-142 and van Baak 1983, 54-78.
59 Cf. Elliger 1975, 363 (on Theocritus) and 438 (on Horace); van Baak 1983, 45 (in
general); Reinhardt 1988 (on Theocritus).

60 Steiner 1986, 92-94 observes an opposition between the countryside as wild and
hostile and the city as a source of blessings in Pindar’s Epinician Odes. However,
the only example she is able to offer is Pythian 9, where Cyrene and Telesicrates
30
types of space as a set of binary oppositions is that no gradations or
intermediate dimensions are taken into account, so that the
complexity of space is overlooked or left unexplored.61 Therefore, it
seems more fruitful to investigate the symbolic associations of
types of space an sich, which, for my purposes, are the city,
countryside and sea. Of course, it is often difficult to exactly decide
whether we are dealing with symbolic associations, for they range
from manifestly marked to more implicit. This means that the
observation of symbolic associations is ultimately a matter of
interpretation that cannot be proven with certainty. However, it is
still possible to substantiate the observation on the basis of close
attention to the diction and the context in the particular poem.
In some cases the symbolic associations of space are
connected to the mood or emotions of the characters or the narrator
(or speaker) located in that space. In these cases, we are dealing
with the ‘psychologising function’ of space, 62 i.e. of mirroring
someone’s feelings or contrasting with them. This function has
been argued to be typical of the countryside in ancient Greek
poetry, expanding on the belief that man and countryside were still
closely connected to each other in ancient Greece.63 In tragic and
Hellenistic poetry desolated landscapes sometimes mirror the
protagonists’ loneliness and despair (cf. the island of Lemnos in
Sophocles’ Philoctetes 686-706 and 1452-1467, and the Syris-
landscape in Argonautica 4.1235-1250). 64 For archaic Greek lyric
many scholars have even argued that the primary function of the
countryside is psychologising, as it often serves as an outer
arrive at a southern, fertile city after their trails in rugged, northern Greece, but
even in this poem city and countryside are not directly set against each other.
61 Cf. O’Toole 1980, 135-136 and 140; Rehm 2002, 1 and 270. For a complication of
the opposition between city and countryside in antiquity I refer to Rosen-Sluiter

2006.
62 See Bachelard 1989 (1957); Hillebrand 1971, 33-106; Assert 1972, 61-67; Meyer
1975 (1963), 216-219 and 222-229 (‘erlebte Raum’); Bollnow 1963, 229-242 and
Hoffmann 1978, 55-79 (‘gestimmte Raum’).
63 Cf. Parry 1957 and Segal 1963.
64 For tragic poetry see Rehm 2002, 114-137. For Hellenistic poetry cf. Jenkyns 1998,
43-49 and Klooster forthcoming.
31
reflection of inner moods, especially in poets like Alcaeus, Sappho
and Ibycus.65
Symbolic associations of space can also be standardised as
literary motifs. When they are not restricted to one specific poem
but are at play in a wider literary tradition, they should be
examined against the background of that tradition. An example
from ancient Greek poetry is the motif of the ‘meadow of love’,
which is associated with virginal innocence and abduction. The
flowery meadow is the place where a young and innocent girl finds
herself, sometimes picking flowers, before being abducted by a
man; the most famous example is the abduction of Persephone by
Hades, as told in the Hymn to Demeter.66
Symbolic Form: Metaphor and Personification
A second type of the symbolic role of space is the symbolic form, i.e.
space as metaphor or personification. While in the first type the
symbolic role has been proven to stem from an association with
something else, here it stems from the representation of something
else. 67 As studies of metaphor in Pindar and Archilochus have
demonstrated, the use of metaphors is characteristic of archaic
Greek lyric, especially in comparison with epic poetry, where
similes prevail over metaphors.68 In order to make clear how I will
analyse the use of metaphors of space in archaic Greek lyric, it is
important to address the radical changes in the way metaphors
have been studied from the last century onwards.69
65 Treu 1955, 203-212; Elliger 1975, 176-202; Jenkyns 1998, 33-38; Le Meur 1998, 23.
66 For the ‘meadow of love’ motif in Greek poetry see Motte 1973, 38-48 and 208-
213; Bremer 1975; Cairns 1997, 60-66; Calame 1999 (1992), 165-174. See further
3.3.3.
67 That metaphor is a form of symbol has been argued in extenso by Ricoeur 1976,
45-70.
68 For metaphors in archaic Greek lyric see Steiner 1986 (on Pindar) and Crowther
2003 (on Archilochus). For the domination of similes over metaphors in epic
poetry see Stanford 1972 (1936), 118-143.
69 For a detailed state of the art of metaphor theories I refer to Biebuyck 1998, 19-99
and Leezenberg 2001, 69-148.
32
Up until the early-mid twentieth century metaphor
theorists followed ancient theories of metaphor (Aristotle, Cicero,
Quintilian) 70 by analysing metaphor as an abbreviated simile, a
substitution of one word or expression in terms for another (the
classical, Aristotelian example being Achilles equated with a lion).71
The idea of metaphor as a substitution soon came under attack. An
example from archaic Greek lyric that illustrates the problems
involved in this idea is a piece from Archilochus’ Cologne Epode
(fragment 196a), in which a man persuades a girl to sexually
engage with him. In lines 21-24 he makes use of spatial metaphors
to seduce the girl:
θρ]ιγκοῦ δ᾽ ἔνερθε καὶ πυλέων ὑποφ[

μ]ή τι μέγαιρε, φίλη·
σχήσω γὰρ ἐς ποη[φόρους
κ]ήπους....
‘But, my dear, do not begrudge me (to go?) under the

coping and the gates; for I shall steer towards grassy
gardens....’
Although most scholars agree that the spatial references are

metaphors for the pudenda muliebria, it is unclear which female
genitals each reference precisely points to. For instance, some think
that the gardens stand for the mons Veneris, while others suggest
pubic hair. 72 The impossibility of precisely determining the
referents derives from the fact that metaphors are no mere
substitutions.
Being aware of the inadequacy of the substitution theory,
I.A. Richards and Max Black proposed the interactionism theory in
the mid-twentieth century. This theory, which has been influential
70 Ancient views on metaphor are discussed in Stanford 1972 (1937), 3-77 and
Innes 2003, 7-27.
71 Cf. Aristot. Rhet. 1406b and Quint. Inst. Orat. 8.6.9-10: Il. 20.158-177.
72 See further my discussion of the fragment in 3.3.2 and 3.3.3.
33
in classical scholarship,73 holds that the metaphorical referent (the
‘vehicle’) and the non-metaphorical referent (the ‘tenor’) interact
with each other against a commonly shared background of
similarities and differences. 74 Its assumption, however, that
metaphor is a verbal phenomenon inherent to literary language has
been questioned during the past few decades: metaphor is now
considered a cognitive phenomenon generally characteristic of
human thought.
The cognitive metaphor theory developed by Georke Lakoff,
Mark Johnson and Mark Turner75 deconstructed the interactionist
scheme of tenor-vehicle-ground and defined metaphor as a process
of mapping of concepts from one domain (the ‘source domain’) to
another (the ‘target domain’), as exemplified by metaphors like life
as a journey and debate as war. Cognitive metaphor theory not
only brought along a new perspective on metaphors in literature,76
but also provoked a high interest in the workings of metaphor
outside literary texts (for example in advertisements). To
understand the function of metaphors of space in archaic lyric
poems, I will adopt the findings of cognitive metaphors theorists.
These theorists speak of varying functions of metaphors, from a
means to inform or explain something, i.e. as cognitive elucidation,
to a means to persuade or indirectly express emotions.77 Which of
73 See e.g. Leidl 2003 and the papers collected in Harrison-Paschalis-Frangoulidis

2005 (on the ancient novel); for archaic lyric poetry see Steiner 1986, 1-10, Nünlist
1998, 1-2, Crowther 2003, 84-91.
74 Richards 1965 (1936), especially 93-98; Black 1954-1955 (he chose for the less
influential terms ‘principal subject’, ‘subsidiary subject’ and ‘system of associated

commonplaces’).
75 Lakoff-Johnson 2003 (1980); Lakoff-Turner 1989; for ancient Greek literature
Sluiter 2005 and 2011. It is interesting to note that in contrast to Aristotle, Cicero
did not limit the use of metaphors to literature, for in De Oratore 3.155 he says that
even peasants use metaphors.
76 Cf., for instance, the special issues on the cognitive value of metaphors in Poetics
Today 13, 4 (1992), 14, 1 (1993) and 22, 3 (1999).

77 For metaphor as cognitive elucidation see Lakoff-Turner 1989, 63-65. For the
persuasive function of metaphor see Lakoff-Turner 1989, 63-65 and above all
Charteris-Black 2005. For metaphor as an indirect expression of emotions see
34
these functions are at play in a particular poem will be decided on
the basis of the poem as a whole. 78
A fourth approach to metaphors is the narratological one by
Benjamin Biebucyk, Gunther Martens and Monika Fludernik. 79
These scholars argue that metaphors have an important, thematic
function within the plot of a narrative and require hermeneutic
participation by the reader. In Charles Dickens’ Little Dorritt, for
instance, prison metaphors constitute a key theme of the plot,
suggesting that life itself should be considered a prison. This
approach is, however, less useful for my purposes, since small-
scale lyric poetry often includes only one metaphor, which does
not form part of a larger plot.
In addition to metaphors, I will also be looking at instances
of personification of space, i.e. when inanimate subjects are endowed
with human traits. 80 What often helps clarify whether we are
dealing with personification is a comparison of the diction to other
early Greek poetry:81 if nouns, adjectives or verbs used about space
in a lyric poem refer to human beings elsewhere in early Greek
poetry, we can conclude that we are dealing with personification of
space. Personification of space is relatively scarcely attested in epic
poetry, although instances of nature physically responding to the
numinous power or presence of gods are not uncommon.82 In my
Fainsilber-Ortony 1987, Steen 1999, 501, Kövecses 2000 and Knowles-Moon 2006,
127-129.
78 This avoids the critique by Biebuyck-Martens 2011 that cognitive metaphor
theory is not useful to study literary metaphors, because it isolates the metaphor
from the rest of the text. For the application of cognitive metaphor theory to
metaphors in lyric poetry in relation to the poem as a whole see Steen 1999 and
2009, Crisp 2003 and Müller 2009.
79 Biebuyck 1998, 89-97 and 163-346, Biebuyck 2007, Biebuyck-Martens 2009, 119-
120 and 2011; Fludernik 2009, 73-76, 2009b, 2011.

80 For personification in literature see Paxson 1994. For personification in ancient
Greek literature see Webster 1954, Yatromanolakis 1991 and the papers collected
in Stafford-Herrin 2005.
81 I use ‘early Greek poetry’ for epic and archaic lyric poetry throughout my thesis.
82 Especially in the Homeric Hymns: h. Ven. 5.69-74, h. 27.6-9 and h. 28.9-14; see also
Il. 13.27-29; 14.347-349; Th. 194. The Hymn to Delos is a notable exception with its
extended personification of the island of Delos (see further de Jong forthcoming c).
35
analyses I will investigate the functions of personification in
relation to the poem as a whole: is it used only as a means of
dramatisation, as scholars have pointed out,83 or are other functions
involved? In what follows, I distinguish between several subtypes
of personification, which can, of course, overlap.84
Firstly, there is what John Ruskin has called the pathetic
fallacy, when space is endowed with feelings normally ascribed to
human beings.85 This subtype is best known from Romantic poetry.
In a poem by William Cowper, for instance, it is said that ‘The
fruitful field / Laughs with abundance’ (The Task, Book 6).
According to Ruskin, the pathetic fallacy occurs only in Romantic
poetry, but not in Greek or Latin literature. This has been partially
refuted by Frank Copley, Jeffrey Hurwitt and Richard Jenkyns,86
who have pointed out instances of the pathetic fallacy in Greek and
Latin literature, including archaic Greek lyric. One of the aims of
this thesis is to investigate whether there is pathetic fallacy of space
in archaic Greek lyric.
A second subtype of personification is activisation, by which
space is endowed with physical or mental life, e.g. rage or calmness.
In Statius’ Silvae (4.3.61), for example, the shores and woods are
said to be moving in rage (Fervent litora mobilesque silvae).
Thirdly, there is anthropomorphisation, the bodily appearance
of space as man or woman. This is a popular type of personification
in late antique, Roman poetry (especially Ausonius, Claudian,
Prudentius and Rutilius Namatianus), where the city of Rome is
presented as a woman whose attributes reveal the status and
power of the Empire. In a poem by Rutilius Namatianus (1.115-120),
for example, Rome is anthropomorphised as a woman wearing a
laurel headdress and a golden diadem.87
83 See Biddle 1991, 187 and Yatromanolakis 1991, 37ff.

84 Although these subtypes of personification are largely based on Webster 1954,
10, I made some modifications: I replaced Webster’s ‘animisation’ by ‘pathetic
fallacy’, which is more standard, and I added a fourth category, namely
‘prosopopoiia’.
85 See Ruskin 1907 (1856), 205-245.
86 Copley 1937; Hurwitt 1981; Jenkyns 1998, 22-25.
87 For the anthropomorphisation of Rome in late antiquity see Roberts 2001.
36
A final subtype of personification is prosopopoiia, the
attribution of speech to space. A famous example from Latin
literature is Cicero’s In Catilinam (1.18), in which the Roman patria
accuses Catiline of having committed crimes against her and asks
him to leave Rome out of fear of him. An example from modern
lyric poetry is the Song of the Cities by Rudyard Kipling, in which
several cities utter exclamations. Sydney, for instance, exclaims:
‘Greeting! My birth-stain have I turned to good; Forcing strong
wills perverse to steadfastness; The first flush of the tropics in my
blood. And at my feet Success!’
Now that my theoretical framework of space has been set
out, it can be put employed in the next three chapters about the city,
the countryside and the sea.
37
2. THE CITY
2.1. INTRODUCTION
Considerable attention has been paid to the presentation of cities,

most notably Troy, in epic and tragic poetry 88 but not in lyric
poetry. Setting out to fill this gap, this chapter focuses on the roles
of the city in archaic Greek lyric, giving careful consideration to the
diction used of the city. Firstly, I will discuss mythological cities
(especially Troy) as settings and frames in war narratives (2.2).
Secondly, I will examine contemporary cities (πόλεις, ἄστεα) as
personifications (2.3.1) and metaphors (2.3.2).
2.2. MYTHOLOGICAL CITIES AS SETTINGS AND

FRAMES
This section offers a discussion of mythological cities with a role as

setting similar to Troy in the Iliad, i.e. the scenic background
against which the events take place,89 and as distant frame, i.e. a
place far removed from that scenic backdrop. My discussion is
based on two fragments related to the Trojan saga: the ‘new
Archilochus’ (P.Oxy.LXIX4708) and Ibycus’ Ode to Polycrates
(fragment 282). My analyses will focus on the way setting and
frame are affected by the temporal structure of the narratives, i.e.
by their chronological or anachronical order and the frequency of
the events recounted, as well as by the use of diction shared with
epic poetry, especially epithets. 90 As for the diction, I will also
investigate whether there are lexical differences from epic poetry,
by examining the particular combinations of epithets and nouns
and the formation of an epithet, as well as semantic differences or
88 Cf. Scully 1990; Anderson 1997; several papers in Bernardini 2000 and 2004 and
Fartzoff 2009. See also more in general Demoen 2001.

89 For the role of Troy as setting in the Iliad see Anderson 1976, 15-37 and de Jong
forthcoming b.
90 For diction and time see further my introductory chapter (1.1 and 1.2.1).
39
differences in meaning and referential differences, insofar as
epithets are used of cities instead of people.
2.2.1. The ‘new Archilochus’
With the new Archilochus fragment (P.Oxy.LXIX4708) we have the

first known example of a mythological narrative in elegiac couplets
from the archaic Greek period. Since the fragment was only edited
in 2005, textual criticism has been the main scholarly focus. 91
Nonetheless, recent years have witnessed an increasing number of
publications dealing with the interpretation of the text. These
mainly fall into two categories: intertextual discussions with
comparisons to Homer, Hesiod and Pindar, and discussions of the
myth in relation to other ancient Greek literature and
iconography.92 With my analysis of space, of the city in this chapter
and of the coastal plain with a river in the next chapter,93 I hope to
give an impetus to further literary discussions.
In the most recent edition94 the ‘new Archilochus’ runs as
follows:
] . . . .[
εἰ δὲ] . [ . . . . ] . [ . ] . . θεοῦ κρατερῆ[ς ὑπ’ ἀνάγκης
91 See D’Alessio 2006, 19-20; Henry 2006; Luppe 2006, 1-4; Nicolosi 2006, 2007 and
Burzacchini-Nicolosi 2008, 524-528; Obbink 2006, 1-7; West 2006, 11-15; Lulli 2011,
89-98.
92 For the first category cf. Barker-Christensen 2006, 9-41 and Swift forthcoming
(comparison of the theme of flight with the Homeric epics); Bernsdorff 2006, 1-7
(connection of line 14 with Hesiod); D’Alessio 2006, 20-22 (link with Pi. N. 9);
Nicolosi 2007, 297-324 and Burzacchini-Nicolosi 2008, 529-542 (commentaries with
many intertextual parallels). For the second category see Mayer 2006, 5-18; Aloni-
Ianucci 2007, 210-256; Lulli 2011, 98-105 and forthcoming.
93 See 3.2.
94 Because of its recent edition, the text of the ‘new Archilochus’ has not yet
appeared in the Loeb editions. The text and translation I use derives from a
forthcoming article by Dirk Obbink, which has few changes in comparison to his
original edition of 2005. For the most recent apparatus criticus I refer to Lulli 2011,
90.
40
οὐ χρή] ἀν̣[α]λ̣[κείη]ν̣ [κ̣]αὶ κακότητα λέγει̣[ν·
π̣]ήμ[α]τ’ ε̣ὖ̣ [εἵμ]εθα̣95 δ̣[ῆι]α φυγεῖν· φεύγ[ειν δέ τις ὦρη.
5 κ̣α̣ί π̣οτ̣[ε μ]οῦνος ἐὼν̣ Τήλεφος Ἀρκα̣[σίδης
Ἀργείων ἐφόβ̣ησε πολὺν στρατ̣[όν,] ο̣[ἱ δὲ φέβοντο
ἄλκι̣μ̣[οι,] ἦ τ̣όσα δὴ μοῖρα θεῶν ἐφόβε̣ι̣,
αἰχμητ̣α̣ί περ̣ ἐόντε[ς]. ἐυρρείτ̣ης δὲ Κ[άïκος
π]ι̣π̣τ̣όν̣των νεκύων στείνετ̣ο καὶ [πεδίον
10 Μ̣ύσι̣ο̣ν̣. οἱ δ’ ἐπὶ θῖν̣α̣ πολυφλο̣ίσβοι[ο θαλάσσης
χέρσ’] ὑπ’ ἀμειλίκτου φωτὸς ἐναιρό[μενοι

προ]τ̣ροπάδην ἀπ̣έκλινον ἐυκν̣ήμ̣[ιδες Ἀχαιοί.
ἀ]σ̣πάσιοι δ’ ἐς νέας ὠ[κ]υ̣π̣όρ[ο]υ̣ς [ἔφυγο̣ν̣96
π̣αῖδές τ̣’ ἀθανάτων κ̣α̣ὶ ἀδελφεο̣ί, [οὓς Ἀγαμέμνων
15 Ἴλιον εἰς ἱερὴν ἦγε μαχησομένο̣[υς.
ο]ἷ δὲ τότ̣ε̣ β̣λαφθέντες ὁδοῦ παρὰ θ[ῖν’ ἀφίκοντο,
95 This is the reading adopted in Obbink 2006 (see also Swift forthcoming; for
[εἵμ]εθα̣ cf. also West 2006). Obbink forthcoming is more hesitant and has only
π̣]ήμ[α]τ’ .. [...]εθα̣
96 The supplement ἔφυγο̣ν̣ has been suggested by West 2006 (cf. Il. 11.327:
ἀσπασίως φεύγοντες ἀνέπνεον Ἕκτορα δῖον, ‘they [sc. the Greeks] gladly had
respite in their flight for godly Hector’; Il. 10.366: φεύγων ἐς νῆας, ‘he [sc.
Diomedes] fled to the ships’). Obbink 2005 and forthcoming has ἐσέβαν (cf. Hdt.
4.85.1: ἐσβὰς ἐς νέα, ‘he [sc. Darius] went aboard ship’; see also Lulli 2001), while
Nicolosi 2006 and 2007 has ἀνέβαν (with ἐς in Od. 3.483 and 4.760, although not
with ships). See further 3.2.3.
41
Τε]ύθραντος δ̣’ ἐρ̣ατὴν πρ̣ὸς πόλιν [ἐ]ξ̣[έπεσον.
ἔ]ν̣θ̣α̣ [μ]έν̣ο̣ς πνείοντ̣ε̣ς ὁμῶς αὐτ̣ο̣[ί τε καὶ ἵπποι
ἀ]φ̣ρ̣[αδί]ηι97 μεγάλως θυμὸν ἀκηχ̣έ[δατο·
20 φ]άντ̣ο̣ γ̣ὰρ ὑψίπ̣υλον Τρώων πόλιν̣ εἰσ[αναβαίνειν
̣ δ’ ἐπάτευν Μυσίδα πυροφόρο̣[ν.

]η̣ν98
Ἡρακλ]έη̣ς δ̣’ ἤν̣τησ[ε] βοῶν̣ ταλ̣[α]κάρδιον [υἱόν
οὖ]ρον ἀμ̣[εί]λ̣ι̣κ̣[τον] δηίωι ἐν [πολ]έμ̣[ωι
Τ]ήλεφον ὃς Δ̣α̣ν̣α̣οῖσι κακὴν̣ [τ]ό[τε φύζαν ἐνόρσας
25 ἤ]ρ̣ειδ̣ε[ν [πρό]μαχος, πατρὶ χαριζόμ̣[ενος.
...].........[.].....[
...].[.]...[......]..[
. . . ] . . . . [ . . . . . . ] . θα . [
97 Obbink forthcoming has ἀ]μφ’ Ἑ[λέν]ηι (cf. Il. 3.70: ἀμφ᾽ Ἑλένῃ καὶ κτήμασι
πᾶσι μάχεσθαι, ‘battling for Helen and all possessions’; see also Henry 2006 and
Lulli 2011), but I choose for his initial reading ἀ]φ̣ρ̣[αδί]ηι (Obbink 2005; cf. Il.
2.368: ἀφραδίηι πολέμοιο, ‘by folly in war’). The mention of Helen at this point in
the story would be odd, for why would the Greeks become distressed for the sake
of Helen? The noun ἀ]φ̣ρ̣[αδί]ηι, on the other hand, makes perfect sense in the
context of the Greeks’ delusion of being in Troy (see further infra).
98 The reading of Obbink 2005 and forthcoming is αἶψα ἄκτ]ην (cf. also Henry
2006 and Lulli 2011), but there are two problems with this supplement: there is
already a noun that functions as direct object, namely Μυσίδα, and it is hard to
imagine that a coast would bear wheat (πυροφόρο̣[ν). Several other supplements
have been put forward (for a list of them see Burzacchini-Nicolosi 2008, 538, n27),
none of which have gained general approval. Therefore, I believe it is best to
remain prudent and accept only the two legible letters, ]η̣ν̣, as Nicolosi 2006 and
2007 does.
42
... One does not have to call it weakness and cowardice [sc. having to
retreat], if it is under the compulsion of a god; we did well to hasten to flee
from dreadful calamities...: there is a proper time for flight. Even once
Telephus from Arcadia put to flight the great army of Argives, and they
fled, the brave ones; indeed, so greatly was the fate of the gods routing
them - although they were spear-men. The fair-flowing river Caicus and
the plain of Mysia were being filled with falling corpses. And being slain
at the hands of the relentless man [sc. Telephus], the well-greaved Greeks
turned off with headlong speed to the shore of the loud-roaring sea. Gladly
did the sons of the immortals and brothers fled to their swift ships, whom
Agamemnon was leading to sacred Troy to fight. On that occasion,
because they had lost their way, they arrived at that shore, and they set
upon the lovely city of Teuthras. And there, snorting fury along with
their horses, they came in great distress of spirit by their folly: for they
thought they were ascending the high-gated city of the Trojans, but in fact
they trod wheat-bearing Mysia. And Heracles encountered them [sc. the
Greeks], as he shouted to his brave-hearted son Telephus, a relentless
guardian in destructive battle, who, inciting unfortunate flight in the
Danaans, strove in the front on that occasion to gratify his father...
The beginning of the fragment discusses a justification for retreat.

Against an accusation of cowardice, fleeing is deemed rightful if it
is compelled by a god (lines 2-4). A second justification for flight is
an exemplum in the form of mythological narrative, which starts
with π̣οτ̣[ε (‘once’)99 in line 5 and ends where our fragment breaks
off. It recounts the Greeks’ fight with and flight from the Mysian
Telephus after they had left for Troy but mistakenly landed in
Mysia.
The mythological narrative is temporally structured as a
‘lyric narrative’, a device known from epic poetry and Pindar’s
For ποτε cuing a transition to a mythological narrative cp. Pindar’s Epinician

99
Odes (e.g., O. 3.13, P. 1.16, I. 4.52, N. 4.25); see further Pfeijffer 2004, 216 and
Nünlist 2007, 233.
43
lyric poetry.100 After mentioning the Greeks’ fight with the Mysian
Telephus and their flight from the battlefield to the shore (lines 5-
14a), the story moves backwards to its beginning: the Greeks’
journey to Troy (14b-15). Thereupon, it moves forwards again:101
the Greeks lose their way en route to ‘sacred’ Troy (with τότε in 16
referring to their sea voyage), arrive at the Mysian shore and set
upon the Mysian capital, which they believe to be Troy (lines 16-21).
The narrative then ends where it began: with the Greeks being put
to flight by Telephus, which is enabled by the half-god Heracles
(lines 22-25). His assistance to Telephus makes a thematic parallel
with the retreat under the compulsion of a god, referred to in the
lines preceding the mythological narrative.
The city which is the setting of the narrative is the Mysian
city, called the city of Teuthras (Τε]ύθραντος...πόλιν, line 17), who
was the stepfather of Telephus and the former king of Mysia. The
epithet used of it is ἐρατήν (‘lovely’), which only once refers to a
city elsewhere in early Greek poetry (h. Ap. 477, of the Cretans’
hometown), in contrast to the frequent use of the related epithet
ἐρατεινός of cities. Both ἐρατεινός and ἐρατός occur especially in
peaceful contexts: the former in a context of inhabiting a city,
treading in it and coming to or moving away from it,102 the latter in
a context of beauty and youth, music and festivities.103 In the ‘new
Archilochus’, however, ἐρατός is used in a martial context, as the
100 For ‘lyric narrative’ (also called ‘epic regression’) in epic poetry see Krischer
1917, 136-140, Schadewaldt 1966 (1938), 84 and de Jong 2001, xiv; in Pindar cf.
Slater 1983, 118-126. See also 1.2.1 and 3.2.
101 Because the ‘lyric narrative’ is structured as first moving backwards and then
forwards, one should not speak in terms of analepsis (Bernsdorff 2006, 4-5) or
flashback (D’Alessio 2006, 21; Nicolosi 2007, 311 and Burzacchini-Nicolosi 2008,
537; Lulli 2011, 99).
102 Cf. h. Ap. 422; Il. 2.532, 571, 583, 591 and 607, 3.239, 401 and 443, 7.79, 14.226,
18.291; Th. 136.

103 Beauty and youth: Sol. 4.20 and 25.1; Pi. O. 10.99; Thgn. 1131 and 1348; Tyrt.
10.28. Music and festivities: Th. 65 and 70; Archil. 1.2; Pi. I. 2.31, P. 9.12, frr. 124.1
and 140b.17; Stes. 278.2; Thgn. 778. See also Fowler 1987, 45, who says that in epic
and archaic lyric poetry ‘ἐρατός and related words are very common in a context
of music, poetry and festivity’.
44
Greeks set upon ([ἐ]ξ̣[έπεσον) 104 the ‘lovely city’. Its use can be
interpreted as referring to the situation before the Greeks’ attack,
when the Mysian city was still lovely. At the same time, if we are
aware that the narratees have already been informed (lines 8-10)
that the ‘lovely city’ will be surrounded by a plain and a river filled
with corpses later in the story, the epithet might contrast with the
impending situation around the city, thus enhancing the grimness
of the attack.105
The city which is the distant frame is Troy, mentioned twice
in the narrative (lines 15 and 20). Firstly, Troy (Ἴλιον) is the distant
place to which Agamemnon is leading the Greeks (lines 14b-15).
The narrator immediately links the journey to Troy with future
battle in Troy through the participle μαχησομένο̣[υς used for the
Greeks. Moreover, he stresses the importance of the battle by the
epithet ἱερήν (‘sacred’) of Troy, for in early Greek poetry the
epithet conveys that Troy is under divine protection, as it was built
by gods and consists of many temples and cults for its tutelary
deities.106 A sense of irony, however, seems to be evoked in this
fragment by the fact that the Greeks are defeated in Mysia, a less
significant town, on their way to ‘sacred Troy’.
The second time Troy is mentioned is in an instance of
‘embedded focalisation’,107 when the narrator renders the Greeks’
104 The supplement [ἐ]ξ[έπεσον, suggested by Obbink 2005 and forthcoming, has
been accepted by other scholars as well (e.g. Aloni-Ianucci 2007 and Lulli 201).
Other supplements suggested, εἰσέβαλον (Luppe 2006) and εἰσανέβαν (West
2006), are less likely, because a ξ is visible, as I noticed myself when having a look
at the papyrus in Oxford. Nevertheless, the reading [ἐ]ξ[έπεσον in combination
with πρ̣ὸς πόλιν is only possible if it is considered a kind of forerunner of the
verb προσπίπτω, used in a context of city attack from the fifth century onwards
(cf. especially Th., e.g. 1.5.1 and 4.25.9; see also LSJ, s.v. προσπίπτω II).
105 Cp. Il. 21.218, where the epithet-noun combination ἐρατεινὰ ῥέεθρα (‘lovely
streams’) contrasts with the present horrible situation of a river filled with bodies
of Trojans killed by Achilles (cf. Richardson 1993, ad loc.). See further 3.2.2.
106 See LfgrE, s.v. ἱερός; Locher 1963, 36-52; Scully 1990, 23-40.
107 For ‘embedded focalisation’ see Bal 1997 (1985), 100-118; de Jong 2004 (1987),
33-38 and 101-148.
45
belief of ascending (εἰσ[αναβαίνειν) 108 the city of the Trojans
(Τρώων πόλιν̣, line 20). The verb φάντ̣ο̣ already suggests that the
Greeks were mistaken,109 and this is confirmed in the next line (21),
where the narrator explicitly says that the Greeks in fact ‘trod
wheat-bearing Mysia’ (ἐπάτευν Μυσίδα πυροφόρο̣[ν]): 110 the
narrator juxtaposes the distant frame (Troy) and the setting (Mysia)
as imagined space against actual space to create an effect of
dramatic irony.111 The use of one of the stock epithets of Troy in
early Greek poetry, ὑψίπυλος,112 underscores the Greeks’ mistaken
belief that they have arrived in Troy.
2.2.2. Ibycus’ Ode to Polycrates
Ibycus 282 is an ode dedicated to Polycrates, tyrant of Samos, and

is known as the earliest extant encomium in Greek literature. The
bulk of the Ode consists of a mythological narrative about the
Trojan War, which can be divided in two parts: the first
concentrates on the sack of Troy (lines 1-9), while the second is a
praeteritio focusing on praise of the Greeks (10-46) which leads on
to the final praise of Polycrates (47-48).
108 The supplement εἰσαναβαίνειν, suggested by West 2006, has been taken over
by Obbink forthcoming (cf. Il. 6.74=17.320 and 24.700). Another supplement
suggested is εἰσαφικέσθαι (cf. Il. 13.645 and 22.17; see Obbink 2005 and Luppe
2006). I prefer the former, because the movement it expresses and the aspect of
duration parallel the use of ἐπάτευν in the next line (21).
109 For this use of φημί (in epic poetry) see Fournier 1946, 14 and LfgrE, s.v. φημί
I3b. Cf. Agamemnon’s mistaken dream of conquering Troy in Il. 2.37-38: φῆ γὰρ ὅ
γ᾽ αἱρήσειν Πριάμου πόλιν ἤματι κείνωι, νήπιος (‘for he [Agamemnon] believed
that he would take the city of Priam on that day, the fool’).
110 For a discussion of Μυσίδα πυροφόρο̣[ν] see 3.2.1.
111 For dramatic irony in the use of ‘embedded focalisation’ due to the characters’
limited knowledge I refer to de Jong 2001b (with an eye on Homer and

Herodotus).
112 For lyric poetry cf. B. 9.46, where ‘high-gated Troy’ tastes the valour of
Automedon, who sacked the city, and Ibyc. 282.14 about ‘the unnameable day of
the capture of high-gated Troy’ (see further 2.2.2). For epic poetry cf. Il. 16.698 and
21.544, where the Greeks would have taken ‘high-gated Troy’, if Apollo had not
supported the Trojans; see further Scully 1990, 69-80 on epithets of Troy in epic
poetry.
46
The mythological narrative is characterised by a marked
use of diction shared with epic poetry. This was pointed out for the
first time and at the same time criticised by Denys Page: he judged
the narrative ‘little more than a series of epic formulae, rather
pinned than painted in’, which ‘all come straight from the Epic,
and…stand uprooted, unadapted, substitutes for thought’. 113 To
this he added that ‘[a]nother typical fault is observed in the
excessive accumulation of epithets’ as part of ‘a cento of Homeric
formulae hung on a feeble framework, loosely bound together with
tedious repetitions and odious turns of phrase’. Page’s harsh
verdict set the tone for further discussions of the Ode. Although
scholars have noted that certain epithets and epithet-noun
combinations are different from those used in epic poetry,114 the
common opinion remains that the diction is conventionally epic
and ornamental, without much, if any, contextual significance; in
the words of Francesco Sisti: ‘l’imitazione omerica è superficiale e
limitata alle espressioni più convezionali dello stile epico. Gli
epiteti ricorrenti, l’uso di clausole formulari fra le più note, spesso
fuse fra di loro, determinano una andatura goffa e artificiosa’.115 In
light of the fact that in other archaic lyric poets such as Archilochus
and Bacchylides diction does differ from epic poetry, especially on
a lexical level, and that epithets do have strong contextual
significance, e.g. by intensifying pathos,116 I will try to review this
negative judgment of Ibycus through a detailed investigation of the
use of the diction about the Trojan city and its effects.
The fragment, of which we miss the opening strophe, runs
as follows:
...]α̣ι Δαρδανίδα Πριάμοιο μέ-

γ’ ἄσ]τ̣υ περι̣κ̣λεὲς ὄλβιον ἠνάρον̣
113 1951, 165-166.

114 Harvey 1955, 222-223; Maehler 1963, 74-75; Nöthiger 1971, 174-192; Péron 1982,
43-44; Woodbury 1985, 198; Müller-Goldingen 2001, 22-23; Bonnano 2004, 76.
115 Sisti 1967, 74. Cf. also e.g. Harvey 1955, 222-223, who calls the diction
‘infelicitous’ and ‘trite’.

116 See further 1.1 and my discussion of the ‘new Archilochus’ and Bacchylides 13
in 3.2.
47
Ἄργ]ο̣θεν ὀρ̣νυμένοι
Ζη]ν̣ὸς μεγάλο̣ιο βουλαῖς
5 ξα]ν̣θᾶς Ἑ̣λένας περὶ ε̣ἴδει

δῆ]ρ̣ιν πολύυμνον ἔχ[ο]ντες
πό]λεμον̣ κ̣ατὰ [δ]ακρ[υό]εντα,
Πέρ]γαμον δ’ ἀνέ[β]α ταλαπείριο̣[ν ἄ]τα
χρυ]σοέθειραν δ[ι]ὰ Κύπριδα.
10 νῦ]ν̣ δέ μοι οὔτε ξειναπάτ[α]ν Π̣[άρι]ν̣

ἦν] ἐπιθύμιον οὔτε τανί[σφ]υρ[ον
ὑμ]νῆν Κασσάνδραν
Πρι]ά̣μοιό τε παίδας ἄλλο̣υ[ς
Τρο]ίας θ’ ὑψιπύλοιο ἁλώσι̣[μο]ν̣

15 ἆμ]αρ ἀνώνυμον, οὐδ’ ἐπ̣[ελεύσομαι
ἡρ]ώων ἀρετὰν
ὑπ]εράφανον οὕς τε̣ κοίλα̣[ι
νᾶες] πολ̣υγόμφοι̣ ἐ̣λεύσα̣[ν

Τροί]α̣ι κακόν, ἥρωας ἐσ̣θ[λούς·
20 τῶν] μὲν κρείων Ἀγαμέ̣[μνων
ἆ̣ρ̣χε Πλεισθ[ενί]δας βασιλ̣[εὺ]ς̣ ἀγὸς ἀνδρῶν
Ἀτρέος ἐσ[θλὸς π]άις ἔκγ̣[ο]νος.
καὶ τὰ μὲ[ν ἂν] Μ̣οίσαι σε̣σοφι̣[σ]μ̣έναι

εὖ Ἑλικων̣ίδ[ες] ἐ̣μβαίεν λόγω[ι·
25 †θνατ[ὸ]ς δ’ ο̣ὔ̣ κ̣[ε]ν̣ ἀνὴρ
διερὸς [……]†117 τὰ ἕκαστα εἴποι,
ναῶν ὅ̣[σσος ἀρι]θ̣μὸς ἀπ’ Αὐλίδος

Αἰγαῖ̣ον διὰ [πό]ν̣τον ἀπ’ Ἄργεος
ἠλύθο̣[ν ἐς Τροία]ν
30 ἱπποτρόφο̣[ν, ἐν δ]ὲ φώτ̣ες
117The problems with this reading are discussed in detail in Hutchinson 2001, ad
loc.
48
χ]αλκάσπ[ιδες, υἷ]ε̣ς Ἀχα̣[ι]ῶν·
τ]ῶν μὲν πρ[οφ]ερέστατος α[ἰ]χ̣μᾶι̣
ἷξε]ν πόδ[ας ὠ]κὺς Ἀχιλλεὺς
καὶ μέ]γ̣ας Τ[ελαμ]ώ̣νιος ἄλκι[μος Αἴας
35 ……]...[……]λο[.].υρός.118
………κάλλι]στο̣ς ἀπ’ Ἄργεος

……..Κυάνι]ππ[ο]ς ἐς Ἴλιον119
…………..]
…………..]..[.]…
40 …………..]α χρυσόστροφ[ος
Ὕλλις ἐγήνατο, τῶι δ̣’ [ἄ]ρα Τρωίλον
ὡσεὶ χρυσὸν ὀρει-
χάλκωι τρὶς ἄπεφθο[ν] ἤδη
Τρῶες Δ[α]ναοί τ’ ἐρό[ε]σσαν

45 μορφὰν μάλ’ ἐίσκον̣ ὅμοιον.
τοῖς μὲν πέδα κάλλεος αἰέν·
καὶ σύ, Πολύκρατες, κλέος ἄφθιτον ἑξεῖς
ὡς κὰτ ἀοιδὰν καὶ ἐμὸν κλέος.
…they destroyed the great, far-famed, prosperous city of Priam,

descendant of Dardanus, setting off from Greece by the plans of great
Zeus, enduring much-sung strife over the beauty of auburn Helen in a
tearful war, and ruin ascended much-suffering Pergamum due to the
golden-haired Cyprian. But now it was not my desire to sing of Paris,
deceiver of his host, or of slim-ankled Cassandra and Priam’s other
children and the unnameable day of the capture of high-gated Troy, nor
118 Campbell 2001 (1991) supplements with πυρός and tentatively translates with
‘who threw fire (on Troy?)’. However, the π is far from certain: others read γυρός
(Page 1962, Gerber 1970 and even Campbell 1982 (1967)). Therefore, I believe it is
better to remain prudent and print only ., as Davies 1991 and De Martino-Vox
1996 do.
119 In my analysis I do not pay attention to the mention of Troy and Argos in lines
36-37, because this part of the fragment has been too badly preserved.
49
shall I recount the proud valour of the heroes, whom hollow, many-bolted
ships brought to be an evil to Troy, noble heroes: they were commanded by
lord Agamemnon, Pleisthenid king, leader of men, noble son born to
Atreus. On these themes the skilled Muses of Helicon may well embark in
story; † but no mortal man in his life † could tell in detail, the great
number of ships that came from Aulis across the Aegean Sea away from
Greece to horse-rearing Troy, with bronze-shielded men on board, sons of
the Achaeans; among them foremost with the spear went swift-footed
Achilles and great and brave Telamonian Ajax...; (with them also went)
from Greece to Troy Cyannipus, the most handsome man…and golden-
girdled Hyllis bore…, and to him Trojans and Greeks likened Troilus as
gold already thrice-refined to orichalc, judging him very similar in
loveliness of appearance. These always have a share in beauty: you too,
Polycrates, will have imperishable fame as song and my fame can give it.
The setting of the first part of the narrative is Troy, as lines 1-9 focus
on the sack of the Trojan city. Ibycus’ Ode is one of our few extant
places in ancient Greek poetry in which the fall of Troy is
recounted in some detail. 120 In epic poetry there was an entire
Ilioupersis as part of the Epic Cycle, but we only possess fragments
of it and a summary in Proclus’ Chrestomathia: the Odyssey (8.492-
520) is the only of the surviving epic poems that recount the fall of
Troy.121 From lyric poetry we know of an Ilioupersis by Sakadas,
which has been lost, and one by Stesichorus, of which only a few
scraps have been preserved (frr. 196-205; S88-143); sparse
references to the fall of Troy are attested elsewhere in lyric poetry
(most notably in Pindar).122 In tragic poetry the fall of Troy serves
as the background against which other parts of the Trojan saga are
recounted: only the situation before (e.g., Sophocles’ lost Lacoön) or
after (e.g., Sophocles’ lost Ajax Locrus and Polyxena, Euripides’
120 For the fall of Troy in epic and tragic poetry see Anderson 1997.
121 In the Iliad only indirect hints are found: in speeches by Trojan or Greek
characters, in similes about burning cities, through connections with the
destruction of Thebes and by the death of Hector (see further de Jong 2009).
122 I. 5.36-38; O. 8.45-46; P. 5.83-85 and 11.33-34; Pae. 6, triad B. Besides in Pindar,
also in Alc. 42; B. 13.166-167 (see 3.2.2); Thgn. 1231-1232.
50
Troades and Hecuba) the fall is dramatised, since the fall itself could,
of course, not be staged.
As for the destruction of Troy recounted in lines 1-2, the
Trojan city is referred to by the noun ἄστυ, with Δαρδανίδα
Πριάμοιο μέγ’ as a fusion of two epic formulae before the noun, i.e.
Πριάμοιο Δαρδανίδα and ἄστ̣υ μέγα Πριάμοιο, 123 and two
epithets after the noun, περι̣κ̣λεές and ὄλβιον. The epithet
περικλεής (‘far-famed’) is attested only here in early Greek
poetry: 124 it slightly differs in formation from περικλυτός (‘very
glorious’), used of cities in the Odyssey.125 The use of the epithet in
connection with a destroyed city can be interpreted in the sense that
the fame of Troy persists even after the city has been sacked. This
may have metapoetic implications, because it is perpetuated by
epic and lyric poets, like Ibycus, who sing of Troy (cp. line 7 about
the δῆ]ρ̣ιν πολύυμνον, ‘much-sung strife’, and the end of the Ode
about the lasting fame of poetry). Moreover, if we consider that by
destroying a far-famed city the Greeks have become famous
themselves,126 the opening lines seem to pave the way for the praise
of the Greeks in the rest of the Ode.
The next epithet of Troy is ὄλβιος (‘prosperous’). The fact
that in most epic and other lyric poetry the epithet is used of
people, while here (and in Pindar) of a city 127 suggests a mild
degree of personification. In epic poetry the epithet often has the
connotation of past prosperity, which is explicitly marked by
123 Cf. Harvey 1955, 222; Sisti 1967, 70; Hutchinson 2001, ad loc.
124 Cf. later in A.R. 1.1322, where it is also used in combination with ἄστυ (about
the foundation instead of the destruction of a city).
125 Of the Myrmidones, ruled by Achilles: Od. 4.9; of Ithaca, to which Odysseus
and Telemachus go to kill the suitors: Od. 16.170 and 24.154.

126 Cp. the use of the epithet ἀγακλυτός of the Greek heroes who won the Trojan
War in the Odyssey (in Od. 8.502 of Odysseus; in 14.237 of Idomeneus; in 21.295 of
Eurytion; in 24.103 of Amphimedon).
127 Cf. Hutchinson 2001, ad loc.; for Pindar see N. 4.24 (Thebes), 9.3, (Aetna) O. 13.4
(Corinth), P. 10.1 (Sparta). For its use of people see LfgrE, s.v. ὄλβιος for epic
poetry (if not used of people, ὄλβιος is neuter plural and denotes prosperous gifts
by the gods). For lyric poetry see Alc. 42.14, B. 3.8, 5.50, 17.102, Pi. N. 1.71, O. 7.10,
P. 1.65, 6.5, 9.4, frr. 120 and 131, Sapph. 112.1, Simon. 521.2, Sol. 23.1, Thgn. 165,
167, 934, 1013, 1253, 1335 and 1375.
51
temporal adverbs such as πρίν (‘before’) and ποτε (‘once’) (e.g.,
about Priamus in Il. 24.543, about Odysseus in Od. 17.420 and
18.138). Although these explicit markers of temporality are here
lacking, the idea of pastness may still be felt.128 A sense of pathos is
evoked by the use of the epithet with the verb ἠνάρον: in light of
the use of the verb ἐναίρω in connection with the killing of people
(and animals) in epic and other lyric poetry, 129 the city is
personified as someone whose blessedness came to a brutal end
through murder (‘activisation’).130 Thus, it is clear from the opening
lines that the diction of the Ode differs from epic poetry on a lexical
as well as a referential level and that this diction has important
contextual effects, i.e. of revealing a balance between praise and
pathos.
A sense of pathos is also evoked by the second mention of
the fall of Troy in line 8, when the story widens its temporal
horizon to cover the departure from Argos (Ἄργ]ο̣θεν
ὀρ̣νυμένοι),131 the Greek Heimat of all warriors who fight against
the Trojans, 132 and war at Troy (lines 3-7). The image of ἄ]τα
ascending (ἀνέ[β]α) the citadel of Troy (Πέρ]γαμον) may recall the
Trojan horse: if we consider that in early Greek poetry ἄτα means
‘delusion’ or ‘ruin’, 133 the noun might convey both the delusion of
128 Contrast this to the use of the epithet about cities in a current state of prosperity
in Pindar (see the instances noted above).
129 Cf. LfgrE, s.v. ἐναίρω for its use in epic poetry; only in Od. 19.263, the verb is
not said of people (or animals) but of the skin (disfigured by weeping). For lyric
poetry (only Pindar) see Slater, s.v. ἐναίρω. The difference has also been noted by
Page 1951, 166; Gerber 1970, ad loc.; Simonini 1979, 286; De Martino-Vox 1996, ad
loc.; Hutchinson 2001, ad loc.; Bonnano 2004, 75-76.
130 For ‘activisation’ as a subtype of personification see 1.2.2; cf. also 2.3.1.
131 For a similar use of the present participle to widen the temporal horizon after
mention of city destruction in archaic Greek lyric see Pi. P. 1.65-66: ἔσχον δ’
Ἀμύκλας ὄλβιοι Πινδόθεν ὀρνύμενοι (‘they took Amyclae, the prospered ones,
setting off from Pindus’).
132 See Cingano 2004, 59 and see further infra my discussion of lines 27-28. For
Argos as Greece cf. also epic poetry: LfgrE, s.v. Ἄργος VI; Drews 1979; Wathelet
1992, 100-101.
133 For the meaning ‘delusion’ see epic poetry: LfgrE, s.v. ἀάτη. For ‘ruin’ see lyric
poetry: Pindar, s.v. ἄτα; further B. 13.80, Sol. 4.35 and 13.3, Thgn. 103, 133 and 231.
52
the Trojans who think that the horse is an offer of the Greeks to the
gods and the consequent ruin of Troy. The latter explains the use of
the epithet ταλαπείριο̣ν of Πέργαμον, as it seems to foreshadow134
the suffering because of the ruin of Troy. If we are aware that the
epithet is used only of people (ἱκέτης, ξεῖνος, πρέσβυς) elsewhere
in early Greek poetry,135 a personifying image with a sense of pathos
is evoked of the Trojan city as a human being in deep suffering
(‘pathetic fallacy’). 136 The end of the Trojan War seems to be
connected to its beginning, as the mention in line 9 that the golden-
haired Cyprian (χρυ]σοέθειραν δ[ι]ὰ Κύπριδα) caused the sack of
Troy is probably an allusion to the Judgment of Paris, whose choice
for the charming Aphrodite led to the abduction of Helen and,
consequently, to the Trojan War.137
The narrator mentions the fall of Troy for the third time in
the praeteritio (lines 14-15a), presumably to pave the way for the
praise of the Greek heroes who sacked the city. The phrase Τρο]ίας
θ’ ὑψιπύλοιο ἁλώσι̣[μο]ν̣ ἆμ]αρ ἀνώνυμον is similar to that in
Stesichorus 89, in which a Trojan says that they are misled by a
trick with a horse, which caused ‘the day of capture of spacious
Troy’ (εὐρυ]χόρ[ο]υ Τρο<ί>ας ἁλώσι[μον ἆμαρ, line 11).138 We find
the epithet-noun combination ἁλώσιμον ἆμαρ with the genitive
Τροίας both in Stesichorus and Ibycus. In Ibycus the epithet
ὑψιπύλοιο is used with Τροίας (not εὐρυχόρου), which often
appears in the context of the destruction of a city in early Greek
poetry.139 Moreover, the epithet ἀνώνυμον is added to the noun
ἆμαρ: it is used of a person in the sense of ‘nameless’ in epic poetry
134 Cf. Maehler 1963, 76 for the proleptic use of the epithet.
135 Of ἱκέτης in Od. 6.193 and 14.511; of ξεῖνος in Od. 7.24, 17.84, 19.379, h. Ap. 168;
of πρέσβυς in Cypr. fr. 16.1. See also Sisti 1967, 71; Gerber 1970, ad loc.; Nöthiger
1971, 163-164; De Martino-Vox 1996, ad loc.; Hutchinson 2001, ad loc.; Bonnano
2004, 76; Gentili-Catenacci 2007, ad loc.
136 Cf. also Hutchinson 2001, ad loc. for pathos being evoked by the epithet
ταλαπείριο̣ν.
137 Cf. Maehler 1963, 76; Barron 1969, 133; Simonini 1979, 287. For the Judgment of
Paris in early Greek poetry see Cypria and Il. 24.27-30.

138 The parallel has been noted by Simonini 1979, 289 and Hutchinson 2001, ad loc.
139 See my discussion of the ‘new Archilochus’ in 2.2.1.
53
(Od. 8.552), but in Ibycus’ Ode of the day of the capture of Troy in
the sense of ‘unnameable’,140 as in his praeteritio the narrator says
that he does not wish to recount the fall of Troy.
A final allusion to the fall of Troy seems to be made in lines
27b-30a, when the narrator says that ships come ‘from Aulis across
the Aegean Sea away from Argos to horse-rearing Troy’. This
phrase reveals the spatial situation of the bulk of the praeteritio
(lines 15b-46) about the excellence and beauty of the Greeks. The
setting is the Aegean Sea, which implies that the narrator sings the
praise of the Greeks while they are on board ship (cf. also the
mention of ships, κοίλα̣[ι / νᾶες] πολ̣υγόμφοι̣, in lines 17-18). The
distant frames are, on the one hand, Aulis and Argos, i.e. the city
from which they have departed (ἀπό of ἀπ’ Αὐλίδος as prefix of
ἠλύθο̣ν) and the Greek homeland from which they are moving
away (ἀπό of ἀπ’ Ἄργεος as a preposition),141 and, on the other
hand, Troy, the place to which they are heading. In contrast to its
140 Cf. Harvey 1957, 222; Gerber 1970 ad loc.; De Martino-Vox 1996, ad loc.; Gentili-
Catenacci 2007, ad loc.; contra Maehler 1963, 75, n3, who believes that the epithet
has the same meaning as in epic poetry. Scholars have suggested that besides the
primary meaning ‘unnameable’, the epithet also has a connotation of ‘hateful’ (cf.
the meaning of δυσώνυμος, e.g. in Od. 19.571) (Nöthiger 1971, 166) or ‘inglorious’
(cf. the meaning in the only other lyric instance, Pi. O. 1.82) (Simonini 1979, 289
and Hutchinson 2001, ad loc.). Both of these connotations are based on the
supposition that the destruction of Troy reflects an anti-Greek perspective. This is
unlikely, because the repeated mention of the fall of Troy serves as a means to
praise the Greeks in the rest of the Ode.
141 See LSJ, s.v. ἀπέρχομαι, LSJ, s.v. ἀπό I 1 and KG II.1.430.1. Supposing that
Argos, too, denotes the place of departure, scholars have altered the text to make it
intellegible. Hutchinson 2001, ad loc., for instance, has proposed that ἀπ’ Ἄργεος
intruded into line 28 because of the similar line-ending in 27. However, the
question, which Hutchinson leaves unanswered, remains what would have stood
in the place of ἀπ’ Ἄργεος. Only Cingano 2004, 73 does not believe that Argos
denotes the place of departure, but contends that it is the place where the Greek
army gathered before moving to Aulis. This is, however, problematic, because just
as in line 3 Argos rather seems to refer to Greece in general instead of to a city in
particular, as Cingano himself admits for line 3. Furthermore, the mention of the
ships (ναῶν ὅ̣[σσος ἀρι]θ̣μός) and the Aegean Sea (Αἰγαῖ̣ον διὰ [πό]ν̣τον) makes
clear that there is movement over sea (from Greece to Troy) instead of over land
(from the city of Argos to Aulis).
54
ornamental use of places in other early Greek poetry,142 the use of
the epithet ἱπποτρόφος (‘horse-rearing’) of Troy in Ibycus’ Ode
may hint once more at the tale of the Trojan horse. In that case, the
fall of Troy by the wooden horse would be foreshadowed already
at the moment the Greeks are only on their way to Troy.
2.3. THE CITY AS PERSONIFICATION AND METAPHOR
My analysis of Ibycus 282 has shown that although the Trojan city
primarily has a role as setting and frame, it is also personified. In
this section I turn to contemporary cities with a more dominant
symbolic role of personification (2.3.1) and metaphor (2.3.2). My
discussion focuses on two points: the diction used of the cities in
comparison to epic and other lyric poetry and the functions of the
personifications and metaphors.143
2.3.1. City Personification: Theognis 39-52 and Solon 4
City personification is most strongly at play in two elegiac poems:

Theognis144 39-52 and Solon 4. Both poems describe disorder and
impending rise of tyranny and civil strife in a city as a result of
hybris, greed and unjust leadership of aristocrats, to whom the
poems are directed. 145 The instances of personification in both
poems will be discussed together to facilitate the comparison.
Before embarking on my discussion, I offer the texts and
translations of the relevant (parts of the) poems.
142 Op. 507, Thrace; B. 11.114, cities of the Greeks; Pi. N. 10.41, Argos.
143 See further my introduction for metaphor and personification (1.2.2).
144 I speak of ‘Theognis’ in the sense of, and interchangeable with, Theognidea or
Corpus Theognideum, ‘an anthology containing genuine works of Theognis,

selections from other elegists (e.g. Tyrtaeus, Mimnermus, Solon) and anonymous
poems, together with numerous verses repeated throughout the corpus, usually
with some slight variation’ (Gerber 2006 (1999), 7; see further Nagy 1985 and
Colesanti 2011).
145 See further Irwin 2006, 63-72 and Faraone 2008, 76-85.
55
Theognis 39-52:
Κύρνε, κύει πόλις ἥδε, δέδοικα δὲ μὴ τέκηι ἄνδρα

40 εὐθυντῆρα κακῆς ὕβριος ἡμετέρης.
ἀστοὶ μὲν γὰρ ἔθ’ οἵδε σαόφρονες, ἡγεμόνες δὲ
τετράφαται πολλὴν εἰς κακότητα πεσεῖν.
οὐδεμίαν πω, Κύρν’, ἀγαθοὶ πόλιν ὤλεσαν ἄνδρες·
ἀλλ’ ὅταν ὑβρίζειν τοῖσι κακοῖσιν ἅδηι,
45 δῆμόν τε φθείρωσι δίκας τ’ ἀδίκοισι διδῶσιν
οἰκείων κερδέων εἵνεκα καὶ κράτεος,
ἔλπεο μὴ δηρὸν κείνην πόλιν ἀτρεμέεσθαι,146
μηδ’ εἰ νῦν κεῖται πολλῆι ἐν ἡσυχίηι,
εὖτ’ ἂν τοῖσι κακοῖσι φίλ’ ἀνδράσι ταῦτα γένηται,
50 κέρδεα δημοσίωι σὺν κακῶι ἐρχόμενα.
ἐκ τῶν γὰρ στάσιές τε καὶ ἔμφυλοι φόνοι ἀνδρῶν
μούναρχοι τε· πόλει μήποτε τῆιδε ἅδοι.
Cyrnus, this city is pregnant, and I fear that she will give birth to a man
who will set right our wicked insolence. These townsmen are still of sound
mind, but their leaders have changed and fallen into the depths of
depravity. Never yet, Cyrnus, have noble men destroyed a city; but
whenever the base take delight in insolence and ruin the people and give
judgments in favour of the unjust for the sake of their own profit and
power, do not expect that city to remain calm long, even if it now lies in
complete calmness, whenever this is dear to base men, profit that comes
along with public harm. From these things arise civil strife, the spilling of
kindred blood, and tyrants; may they never please this city.
Solon 4, lines 9-22:
οὐ γὰρ ἐπίστανται κατέχειν κόρον οὐδὲ παρούσας

10 εὐφροσύνας κοσμεῖν δαιτὸς ἐν ἡσυχίηι
.................................................................................
146Gerber 2006 (1999) has ἀτρεμιεῖσθαι, but the manuscripts (OXUrI) have
ἀτρεμέεσθαι (cf. Garzya 1958, 152; Van Groningen 1966, ad loc.; Campbell 1982
(1967), ad loc.): see further infra.
56
πλουτέουσιν δ’ ἀδίκοις ἔργμασι πειθόμενοι
.................................................................................
οὔθ’ ἱερῶν κτεάνων οὔτε τι δημοσίων
φειδόμενοι κλέπτουσιν ἀφαρπαγῆι ἄλλοθεν ἄλλος,
οὐδὲ φυλάσσονται σεμνὰ Δίκης θέμεθλα
15 ἣ σιγῶσα σύνοιδε τὰ γιγνόμενα πρό τ’ ἐόντα
τῶι δὲ χρόνωι πάντως ἦλθε ἀποτεισομένη.
τοῦτ’ ἤδη πάσηι πόλει ἔρχεται ἕλκος ἄφυκτον,
ἐς δὲ κακὴν ταχέως ἤλυθε δουλοσύνην,
ἣ στάσιν ἔμφυλον πόλεμόν θ’ εὕδοντ’ ἐπεγείρει,
20 ὃς πολλῶν ἐρατὴν ὤλεσεν ἡλικίην·
ἐκ γὰρ δυσμενέων ταχέως πολυήρατον ἄστυ
τρύχεται ἐν συνόδοις τοῖς ἀδικέουσι φίλαις.
For they do not know to restrain excess or to conduct in an orderly and

peaceful manner festivities of a banquet that are at hand…they grow
wealthy, yielding to unjust deeds…sparing neither sacred nor public
property, they steal with rapaciousness, one from one source, one from
another, and they have no regard for the august foundations of Justice,
who bears silent witness to the present and the past and who in time
assuredly comes to retribution. This is now coming on the whole city as
an inescapable wound, and the city quickly comes to wretched slavery:147
this arouses civil strife and slumbering war, which makes an end to the
lovely youth of many; for at the hands of its enemies the much beloved city
is quickly being worn out amid conspiracies dear to the unjust.
A first subtype of city personification attested in both poems is

anthropomorphisation, the bodily presentation of the city (πόλις) as a
147 Gerber translates the aorist ἤλυθε as a past tense, but just like most other
commentators (Siegmann 1975, 269; Degani-Burzacchini 2005 (1977), ad loc.;

Adkins 1985, 118; Stahl 1992, 408; Mülke 2002, ad loc.; Noussia-Fantuzzi 2010, ad
loc.) I consider it a gnomic aorist, just like the aorists in lines 15-17 and 20: in
combination with the generic present tenses in lines 8-14, 19 and 22, they
generalise the particular situation in the city (for gnomic aorists and their use with
generic present tenses see further Rijksbaron 2002 (1984), 31-33, with the example
of Hdt. 1.194.4 and 3.82.3).
57
human being.148 In Theognis 39-40 the city is anthropomorphised as
a pregnant woman who is about to give birth. This is suggested by
the referential difference in the use of the verbs κυέω and τίκτω,
which refer to females in epic and other lyric poetry. 149 The
presence of these verbs (and activities) makes it less likely that we
should interpret the use of πόλις as metonymical, i.e. representing
the inhabitants of the city, rather than as personification. The one to
whom the city is about to give birth is ‘a man who will set right our
wicked insolence’, probably a tyrant who will bring an end to the
aristocratic misconduct.150 It is somewhat paradoxical that the birth
of a tyrant is feared, but that its effects are positively valued: it
conveys to the aristocratic addressees that, if they do not take up
their responsibility, someone from outside the aristocratic circle
will seize power and restore order. A more hostile stance towards
tyranny is adopted in a doublet of lines 39-40 later in the Theognidea
(lines 1081-1081b), as the tyrant is considered one who commits
hybris himself: while line 1081 is the same as 39, in 1081b we have
ὑβρίστην, χαλεπῆς ἡγέμονα στάσιος (‘an insolent man, a leader
of grievous strife’).151
148 For personification and its subtypes see my introduction (1.2.2).

149 For κυέω (women and mares) cf. Il. 19.117 and 23.266. For τίκτω (women and
goddesses) see LfgrE, s.v. τίκτω 2; Slater, s.v. τίκτω a (Pindar), B. 1.126, 5.119,
17.29, 36 and 54 and 19.49.
150 Scholars have tried to find out which particular tyrant is alluded to: some (West
1974, 68-69 and Calame 2004, 425) have argued for the tyrant Theagenes of
Megara. However, because the city is presented as a general, paradigmatic polis
rather than the city of Megara in particular, it seems better to speak of the rise of
tyranny in general (cf. Nagy 1983, 90-91 and 1985, 41-42; von der Lahr 1992, 10;
Irwin 2005, 68).
151 For a discussion of the difference I refer to Nagy 1983, 85-88 and 1985, 44-46;
von der Lahr 1992, 87-89; Lardinois 2006, 30-31. An overtly positive stance towards
a monarchic rule by the anthropomorphisation of a city as a woman giving birth is
attested elsewhere in archaic Greek lyric. In Pindar’s Second Olympian Ode,
dedicated to Theron of Acragas after his victory of the chariot race, it is said that
‘no city for a hundred years has given birth to a man more beneficent in his mind
or generous with his hand for his friends than Theron’ (τεκεῖν μή τιν᾽ ἑκατόν γε
ἐτέων πόλιν φίλοις ἄνδρα μᾶλλον / εὐεργέταν πραπίσιν ἀφθονέστερόν τε
χέρα / Θήρωνος, lines 93-95a).
58
In Solon 4 anthropomorphisation is twice at play. Firstly,
the city (πόλις) is anthropomorphised as a slave, i.e. a person
deprived of his civil rights, in line 18.152 This is suggested by the
referential difference in the use of δουλοσύνην, which is used of
slaves in the household (Od. 22.423) and people enslaved as a result
of tyranny (Sol. 9.3-4 and 11.4), debts because of poverty (Thgn.
1215) or marriage (Pi. P. 12.15) in epic and other lyric poetry. By the
use of the epithet κακήν (‘wretched’) of δουλοσύνην city slavery is
negatively qualified, as it is considered the cause of civil strife and
war (cf. lines 19-20). The reference to city slavery is probably an
allusion to the rise of tyranny, not only because δουλοσύνη is the
result of tyranny elsewhere in Solon’s poetry (9.3-4 and 11.4), but
also because the connection of tyranny with civil strife and war is a
recurrent theme in ancient Greek literature (cf. Thgn. 51-52 and
Hdt. 3.82.3).153
Secondly, in line 21 there is mention of the ‘much beloved
city’ (πολυήρατον ἄστυ). In epic and other lyric poetry the epithet
πολυήρατος is used of a whole range of nouns, but mostly of
female εἶδος and of youth. 154 It is used of a city only twice: to
describe Thebes (Od. 11.275), in contrast with the dreadful situation
caused by Oedipus, and Athens (B. 19.9-10), to praise the city of the
Athenians for whom the poem is destined.155 In Solon’s poem its
use of the city (ἄστυ) of the speaker evokes an image of a city as a
person he dearly loves: this points at their emotional bond and at
152 Cp. the popular anthropomorphisation of a city, not as slave because of

tyranny, but as a tyrant itself, in the fifth and fourth centuries BC (especially
Thucydides, e.g. 1.122.3, 1.124.2-3, 3.37.2; see further Connor 1977, Rauflaub 1979,
Tuplin 1985).
153 Cf. Stahl 1992, 392-393; Mülke 2002, ad loc.; Irwin 2005, 98-104; Henderson 2006,
131; Noussia-Fantuzzi 2010, ad loc. Masaracchia 1958, 264 believes that slavery has
to be connected with debts because of poverty, but this is the theme of lines 23b-
25, which deal with the situation of the poor only (τῶν δὲ πενιχρῶν / ἱκνέονται
πολλοὶ γαῖαν ἐς ἀλλοδαπὴν / πραθέντες δεσμοῖσί τ’ ἀεικελίοισι δεθέντες, ‘and
many of the poor are going to a foreign land, sold and bound in shameful fetters’).
154 Of female εἶδος: Hes. Th. 908, frr. 10a.45 and 17a.7; h. Cer. 315. Of youth: Od.
15.366; h. Ven. 225 and 274; Hes. frr. 30.31 and 205.2; Simon. eleg. fr. 8.6; Thgn.
1305.
155 For the latter cf. also Ar. Nub. 300b-301.
59
the same time contrasts with the dreadful attitude of the
aristocratic leaders towards the city (cf. lines 22 and 9-14).156
A second subtype of city personification is the pathetic
fallacy. It occurs only in Theognis’ poem (lines 51-52), when
emotions of delight are attributed to the city (πόλει). It is clear
from the referential difference in the use of the verb ἅδοι: in epic
and other lyric poetry the verb ἁνδάνω is used with a dative of
person to convey that someone or something pleases someone else.157
Although the emotions of delight are attributed to the city, the
wish that the city may not be delighted in civil strife, the spilling of
kindred blood and tyrants is ultimately directed to the aristocratic
addressees.
A final and most frequently attested subtype of city
personification is activisation, by which a city is endowed with
physical or mental life. In Theognis 47-48 the city (πόλις) is
activised as a person who now lies in complete calmness but will
not remain calm for long. This is evinced by the referential
difference in the use of the verb κεῖται and the noun ἡσυχίηι,
which denote rest and calmness of people in epic and other lyric
poetry.158 It is also communicated with the verb ἀτρεμέεσθαι:159 the
156 Cp. the loving relationship between a city and its citizens in ancient Greek
literature, presented as romantic (in tragedy, e.g. A. Eu. 851-852, and
historiography, e.g. Pericles’ Funeral Oration in Thu. 2.35-42) or passionate (in
comedy, e.g. Ar. Eq. 731-740, and philosophy, e.g. Pl. Grg. 481d and 513a). See
further Yatromanolakis 2005.
157 Cf. LfgrE, s.v. ἁνδάνω for epic poetry. For lyric poetry Pi. I. 4.15 and 8.18, N.
6.36 and 8.38, O. 3.1, P. 1.29, 2.96 and 6.51; Sol. 34.8 and 36.23; Thgn. 26, 34 and 44.
For similar instances of the ‘pathetic fallacy’ in archaic Greek lyric see Archil. 13.2,
where the city (πόλις) ‘will take pleasure in festivities’ (θαλίηις τέρψεται), even
though citizens have been washed over at sea (see 4.4.2 for a discussion of the
poem), and Xenoph. 2.20, where it is said that ‘there would be little joy for the city’
(σκιμκρὸν δ’ ἄν τι πόλει χάρμα γένοιτ’) from an Olympian victory, because it
would not fatten the city treasury.
158 For ἡσυχίη used of persons see Od. 18.22; h. Merc. 356; Archil. 196a.16; Pi. O.
4.16, P. 1.70 and 4.296. For κεῖμαι of persons see Od. 5.457, 9.75, 14.502; h. Merc. 21;
Alc. 6.14 and 129.18; Archil. 24.17 (see 4.4.2) and 130.2; Hipp. 115.12; Pi. N. 7.35, P.
1.15, 5.93 and 9.83, fr. 203.2; Sapph. 55.1; Simon. 543.17; Thgn. 428, 568 and 1268;
Tyrt. 10.22.
60
verb ἀτρεμέω is attested in early Greek poetry only in Opera 539,
where it is used of goose pimples, while the more frequently
attested adverb ἀτρέμα(ς) (‘without motion’) is mostly used of
people who are sitting, standing or sleeping.160 The activisation of
the city as a person who will turn from calmness to agitation
renders the imminent turmoil in the city, caused by the misconduct
of the aristocrats (cf. lines 44-46 and 49-50).
In Solon’s poem activisation is twice at play. Firstly, the city
(πόλις) is activised as a vulnerable human being in line 17.161 This
is suggested by the referential difference in the use of the noun
ἕλκος, which refers to the wound of a person in epic and other lyric
poetry. 162 The epithet used of ἕλκος, ἄφυκτον, conveys the
inescapability of the wound, i.e. the harm to the city. Because τοῦτ’
at the beginning of line 17 refers to the assured retribution of Dikè
told of in lines 15-16, 163 the harm to the city is caused by the
goddess Dikè. However, if we are aware that the retribution of
159 Several conjectures have been suggested for the manuscript reading
ἀτρεμέεσθαι (OXUrI): the most noteworthy are the aorist ἀτρεμέ’ ἧσθαι (Young)
and the future ἀτρεμίεσθαι (Bergk, West, Gerber). None of these conjectures,
however, are necessary, for the verb ἔλπομαι can be constructed with a present
infinitive in the sense of ‘expect’ or ‘suppose’ (cf. LfgrE, s.v. ἔλπομαι/ἔλπω 1aαbb
for epic poetry, e.g. Il. 10.355 and 13.309; Slater, s.v. ἔλπομαι d for Pindar: O. 1.64
and fr. 61). Therefore, I follow the manuscript reading ἀτρεμέεσθαι (cf. also
Garzya 1958, 152, Van Groningen 1966, ad loc., Campbell 1982 (1967), ad loc.; see
also originally Gerber, who notes in 1970, ad loc. that ‘it would be better, however,
to leave the text unchanged’).
160 Cf. Il. 2.200 (sitting), 13.280 and 438 (standing), 14.352 (sleeping); Od. 13.92
(sleeping). See also my discussion of Semon. 7 in 4.3.2.

161 Cp. Aeschylus’ Agamemnon 640, where a common wound befalls a city (πόλει
μὲν ἕλκος ἓν τὸ δήμιον τυχεῖν) because of the death of many soldiers in war
(parallel noted by Gerber 1970, ad loc.; Noussia-Fantuzzi 2010, ad loc.; Mülke 2002,
ad loc.; Henderson 2006, 131).
162 See Adkins 1985, ad loc.; Mülke 2002, ad loc.; Henderson 2006, 131. For epic
poetry cf. LfgrE, s.v. ἕλκος; for lyric poetry see Archil. 13.8; Pi. N. 8.29, P. 1.52, 3.48
and 4.271; Thgn. 1134.
163 Cf. Masaracchia 1958, 264; Degani-Burzachini 2005 (1977), ad loc.; Mülke 2002,
ad loc.
61
Dikè is the result of the misconduct of the aristocrats, 164 the
aristocrats are ultimately responsible for harming their own city. In
this way, the image of the ‘inescapable wound’ acquires grim
overtones that are reinforced by the use of the noun πόλει with
πάσηι, as one segment of the city, the aristocratic, is guilty of
wounding the whole city.165
Secondly, in lines 21-22 the city (ἄστυ) is activised as a
human who is being worn out (τρύχεται), as is clear from the
referential difference from epic and other lyric poetry, where all
passive and most active forms of the verb τρύχω refer to people.166
Again the aristocrats, who meet in conspiring factions, are
considered responsible: they are called ‘unjust’ (ἀδικέουσι) and
even enemies (δυσμενέων). In this way, both instances of
activisation in lines 17 and 21-22 create a grim image of a city as a
human being afflicted by his own citizens, the aristocrats.
The question, finally, is which function the city
personifications in both poems have. First of all, their basic
function is that of dramatisation,167 as they present the disastrous
situation in the city in a vivid and dramatic manner. Next, they
have a persuasive function: 168 the aristocratic addressees are
emotionally engaged by the anthropomorphisation of the cities and
the attribution of emotions to the cities, in order to be persuaded to
take action and prevent the disastrous events from unfolding.169
164 See Linforth 1919, 201; Campbell 1982 (1967), ad loc.; Stahl 1992, 391-392;
Henderson 2006, 131.
165 Cf. Mülke 2002, ad loc. and Irwin 2005, 108.
166 See Adkins 1985, ad loc. and Mülke 2002, ad loc. For the use of persons see Od.
1.288, 10.177, 15.309, 16.84 and 17.387, Thgn. 752. In three instances active forms of
the verb are used of Odysseus’ household (οἶκος), worn down by the suitors.
167 For personification and dramatisation see Biddle 1991, 187; Yatromanolakis
1991, 37ff. See also my introductory chapter (1.2.2).

168 For the persuasive function of metaphors, including personification, see further
my discussion of Archil. 23 (2.3.2). Cp. also Adkins 1985, 124-125 and especially
Irwin 2005, 85-198, who point out that Solon 4 is a speech to persuade, rather than
a political treatise (contra Jaeger 1926; Siegmann 1975; Stahl 1992).
169 A modern parallel of a (more explicit) persuasive function of personification
can be found in a novel written by the French Nobel Prize winner Jean-Marie
Gustave Le Clézio. In Ourania the internal narrator, a geographer, gives a lecture
62
2.3.2. City Metaphors
Cities can also be used as metaphors in archaic Greek lyric. First, I

discuss political city metaphors (Theognis 233-234 and 235-236)
and, next, erotic city metaphors (Archilochus 23 and Theognis 949-
954).170
Politics as War: Theognis 233-234 and 235-236
The first city metaphors I discuss occur in Theognis 233-234. In this

poem the speaker complains about the lack of recognition an
aristocrat (ἐσθλὸς ἀνήρ)171 gets from the ‘empty-minded people’
(κενεόφρονι δήμωι). The efforts the aristocrat makes for the people
are made clear by his metaphorical representation as an ἀκρόπολις
and a πύργος:
Ἀκρόπολις καὶ πύργος ἐὼν κενεόφρονι δήμωι,

Κύρν’, ὀλίγης τιμῆς ἔμμορεν ἐσθλὸς ἀνήρ.
Although a noble man is a citadel and a bastion for the empty-minded

people, Cyrnus, his share of honour is slight.
about a Mexican valley for a Mexican audience, which he ends as follows: ‘J’ai fait
pour vous....le portrait de votre Vallée et de sa terre fertile, depuis son émergence
de la fôret jusqu’aujourd’hui, à l’ère de la monoculture intensive. En le faisant, il
me semblait que je peignais pour vous le corps d’une femme, un corps vivant à la
peau sombre,...un corps de femme indienne plein de force et de jeunesse. Prenez
garde à ce que ce corps de femme si beau et si généreux ne devienne, du fait de
votre âpreté ou au gain de votre inconscience, le corps desséché et stérile d’une
veille à la peau grise, décharnée, vouée à la mort prochaine’ (p. 96).
170 I have written an abbreviated version of this section in Dutch in Heirman 2011.
For metaphors see further my introduction (1.2.2).

171 For ἐσθλὸς ἀνήρ as an aristocrat cf. also Thgn. 35, 57, 71, 186 and 441. See
further Hasler 1959, 122-123; Van Groningen 1966, 93; von der Lahr 1992, 22;
Gerber 2006 (1999), ad Thgn. 35.
63
In epic and other lyric poetry, the noun ἀκρόπολις literally refers
to the citadel of a city,172 but it is used as a metaphor for a person in
Theognis 233. In light of the fact that a citadel provides solid
defense to the inhabitants of a city, the aristocrat is represented as a
source of protection for the people. This leads to another difference
from its literal usage: whereas a citadel provides martial defense, in
Theognis’ poem an aristocrat provides martial protection by his
military prowess as well as political protection by his role in the
polis.
The noun πύργος usually refers to a bastion of a city in epic
and other lyric poetry.173 In some instances it is used as a metaphor,
mostly in a martial sense of a warrior whose solid defense in battle
is praised: in Od. 11.556 Odysseus praises Ajax as a bastion lost to
the Greeks (τοῖος γάρ σφιν πύργος ἀπώλεο);174 in Callinus 1.20 it
is said of a soldier who bravely fights and whom the people see as
a bastion (ὥσπερ γάρ μιν πύργον ἐν ὀφθαλμοῖσιν ὁρῶσιν); in
Alcaeus 112.10 warlike men are praised by being called a bastion of
the city (ἄνδρες γὰρ πόλιο̣ς πύργος ἀρεύιοι). In Pindar Pythian 5
the metaphor has a political sense on top of its martial sense:175 the
prosperity of Battus, founder and first king of Cyrene, is called a
bastion of the city (πύργος ἄστεος, line 56), in order to legitimise
and even praise the reign of Arkesilas IV of Cyrene, the addressee
172 For epic poetry see Od. 8.494 and 504. For lyric poetry see e.g. Pi. O. 7.49 and
Thgn. 1232.
173 For epic poetry see LfgrE, s.v. πύργος; for lyric poetry Archil. 98.9 and 15, Pi. I.
5.48 and O. 8.38, Tyrt. 23.12.

174 Cp. also the use of the adverb πυργηδόν (‘like a citadel’) of soldiers fighting in
close array to prevent a breakthrough of the enemy in the Iliad (12.43; 13.152;
15.618).
175 According to Longo 1974, 220-228, the πύργος metaphor has a political sense in
Alcaeus as well, because the names mentioned at the right-hand parts of the end
of Alcaeus’ fragment, Κλεανακτ̣ίδαν and Ἀρχεανακτ̣ίδαν, refer according to the
scholiasts to the Mytilenean tyrants Myrsilus and Pittacus. However, the scholia
are our only sources that equate the names with Myrsilus and Pittacus (cf. Page
1979 (1955), 174-175). Moreover, even if these tyrants were alluded to, a
connection with the metaphor is hard to defend, as the part of the fragment
between the end and the metaphor consists of hardly anything but lacunae.
64
of the Ode.176 In Theognis, too, the πύργος metaphor seems to have
a martial as well as a political sense, but here the ideological stance
differs, as instead of a monarch an aristocrat is praised as someone
who provides protection for the people on a martial and a political
level. The fact that πύργος is used in a similar metaphorical sense
as ἀκρόπολις strengthens the martial-political importance of the
aristocracy, while at the same time it adds a particular effect of
praise.
In the distich that follows Theognis 233-234 another city metaphor

is used (lines 235-236):
Οὐδὲν ἔτι πρέπει177 ἧμιν ἅτ’ ἀνδράσι σωιζομένοισιν,

ἀλλ’ ὡς πάγχυ πόλει, Κύρνε, ἁλωσομένηι.
It is no longer fitting for us to regard ourselves as men who are being

saved, Cyrnus, but as a city that will be completely conquered.
In order to explain the use of πόλει with ἁλωσομένηι we need to

take the use of ἧμιν into account. Although stricto sensu it refers to
the speaker and the addressee Cyrnus, the fact that the former
takes an aristocratic stance throughout the Theognidea and
176 See further Currie 2004, 227-257 (especially 254-257) for other ways in which
Arkesilas’ reign is justified in Pythian 5: through his dependence on the supposed
divine right of the Battiads to rule and their special status in the form of a hero
cult.
177 Gerber reads ἐπιπρέπει (see also Young and Van Groningen), a conjecture for
the reading of the manuscript (A) ἐπιτρέπει, which is generally considered

implausible, because the verb is never attested in an impersonal form and its
meaning ‘to turn/leave/entrust to’ (LSJ, s.v. ἐπιτρέπω) does not fit the present
context. I follow another conjecture: ἔτι πρέπει (see Hudson-Williams, Garzya,
West and Ferrari). Just as ἐπιπρέπει, πρέπει means ‘it is fitting’ (LSJ, s.v.
ἐπιπρέπω II and πρέπω III.4) when used impersonally with a dative and an
infinitive, which is here unexpressed (as in X. HG. 4.1.37). The reason why I am
inclined to opt for ἔτι πρέπει is because it reflects a common paleographical error,
the transposition of letters (π and τ), and well indicates the change in the situation
compared to the previous distich (see further my discussion of the poem).
65
indirectly addresses his fellow aristocrats through the latter 178
implies that the poem is about the situation of the aristocracy in
general. In this way, ἁλωσομένηι-πόλει is a political metaphor,
insofar as city conquest stands for the impending downfall of the
aristocratic power. With the metaphorical-political sense of
ἁλωσομένηι-πόλει Theognis’ poem differs from most other early
Greek poetry, where the verb ἁλίσκομαι is used in a literal sense of
city conquest.179
Both Theognis 233-234 and 235-236 show that references to
(parts of) the city are metaphorical for aristocrats. The political
sense of the metaphors reveals that in both poems martial diction is
adapted to a political context, so that politics become represented
as war:180 aristocrats think of their political power as a source of
protection for the people which has to be consolidated but which
nevertheless collapses. This brings us to the question which
function the metaphors in Theognis have. In light of the fact that
they are used by an aristocrat who addresses his fellow aristocrats,
their function might be to establish what in metaphor theory has
been called ‘cognitive elucidation’, i.e. the presentation of a
situation or an event in a new light to deepen the recipient’s
178 See especially Cobb-Stevens 1985, Figueira 1985 and von der Lahr 1992. Cf. also
my discussion of Thgn. 39-52 in 2.3.1.
179 Cf. Il. 2.374 and 4.291, Od. 22.230, B. 3.27, Pi. O. 8.42, and cf. the epithet
ἁλώσιμος (Ibyc. 282.14 and Stes. 89.11) and the noun ἅλωσις (Pi. Pae. 6.81); cp.,
however, the erotic metaphor of city conquest infra. My interpretation differs from
that of commentators (Van Groningen 1966, ad loc.; Gerber 1970 and 2006 (1999),
ad loc.) who believe that ἁλωσομένηι has to be interpreted in a legal sense of
‘condemned’ or ‘convicted’, as in Antiphon’s Against the Stepmother for Poisoning
2.3.6: τὸ μὲν ἁλῶναι καὶ ἀποφυγεῖν ἀμφοτέρας τὰς διώξεις ἐν ἴσαις ἐλπίσι
θῶμεν αὐτῶι εἶναι (‘Let us presume that his expectations of conviction or
acquittal were the same in the one suit as in the other’). Problematic, however, is
not only that the parallel stems from a later period in a different, oratory context,
but also that the legal sense does not fit the use of the verb with the noun πόλει,
for it is hard to imagine how and why a city would be ‘condemned’ or ‘convicted’.
180 Cp. the use of war imagery in a political context in Solon 4 (especially lines 1-8),
discussed in detail in Irwin 2005, 91-111. For modern parallels of ‘politics as war’ I
refer to the metaphor specialists Gibbs 1994, 140-145, Lakoff 2002 (1996), 400-403,
Kövecses 2005, 174 (with examples from American politics) as well as to Sluiter
2005, 7-9 (with the example of the ‘war against Islamism’ in Dutch politics).
66
awareness of it.181 In both Theognidean poems there is a tone of
nostalgia, as the speaker wishes to make clear to his fellow
aristocrats through the metaphors that their former political
superiority is being threatened: in lines 233-234 their martial and
political importance is undervalued by the people, and in lines 235-
236 their political dominance is over.
Love as War: Archilochus 23 and Theognis 949-954
I now turn to erotic city metaphors in archaic Greek lyric, on the

basis of discussions of Archilochus 23 and Theognis 949-954.
In Archilochus 23 a man responds to a speech of a woman,
which has been lost, with a speech of his own, which he ends with
an image of a woman conquering a city:182
. . . . . . . . . . . . .]. .[. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .]. . . .[. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .].[
. . . . . . . . . . . .]. . .[. . . . . . . . . .].[. . .]ισ[. . . .]ν[
. . . . . . . . . .]. . . . .[. . .]. .[. . . .] . . . . . . . . .γει[
5 . . . . . . . . . . .]. . . . .[. . .]. .[ ]. . . . . γὰρ ἐργματ[
. . . . . . . . . .]. . . . .[. . . .] . . . . . . . .ιχα. .ω [
.].[.]. …. . . . . . τὴν δ᾽ ἐγὠνταμειβόμ[ην·
‘γύνα[ι], φάτιν μὲν τὴν πρὸς ἀνθρώπω[ν κακὴν
μὴ τετραμήνηις μηδέν· ἀμφὶ δ᾽ εὐφ[ρόνι,
10 ἐμοὶ μελήσει. [θ]υμὸν ἵλαον τίθεο.
ἐς τοῦτο δή τοι τῆς ἀνολβίης δοκ[έω
ἥκειν; ἀνὴρ τοι δειλὸς ἆρ᾽ ἐφαινόμην,
οὐ]δ᾽ οἷός εἰμ᾽ ἐγὼ [α]ὐτὸς οὐδ᾽ οἵων ἄπο.
ἐπ]ίσταμαί τοι τὸν φιλ[έο]ν[τα] μὲν φ[ι]λεῖν,
181 For cognitive elucidation see my introduction (1.2.2). See also my discussion of
the ship of state metaphors in 4.4.1.
182 Although some editors (Laserre-Bonnard, Treu, Tarditi) treat fragments 23 and
24 as one poem, because no paragraphus is visible, I follow the common opinion

(cf. Lobel, Peek, Adrados, West, Slings, Bossi, Gerber) by considering them
separate poems, because there is a difference in subject matter: in fragment 23 a
man holds a speech of defense to a woman, while fragment 24 is about the return
of a sailor after a sea voyage (for the latter see my discussion in 4.4.2).
67
15 τὸ]ν δ᾽ ἐχθρὸν ἐχθαίρειν τε [κα]ὶ κακο[
μύ]ρμηξ. λόγωι νυν τ[ῶιδ᾽ ἀλη]θείη πάρ[α.
πό]λιν δὲ ταύτη[ν . . .].[. . . . ἐ]πιστρέ[φεα]ι[.
οὔ]τοί ποτ᾽ ἄνδρες ἐξε[πόρθη]σαν, σὺ δ[ὲ
ν]ῦν εἷλες αἰχμῆι κα[ὶ μέγ᾽ ἐ]ξήρ(ω) κ[λ]έος.
20 κείνης ἄνασσε καὶ τ[υραν]νίην ἔχε·
π[ο]λ[λοῖ]σ[ί θ]η[ν ζ]ηλωτὸς ἀ[νθρ]ώπων ἔσεαι.’
…for deeds…I replied: ‘Lady, have no fear of the evil rumour that people
spread; as for kindly report (?), that will be my concern. Make your heart
propitious. Do you think I have reached such a degree of misery? I seemed
to you then to be a base man, not the sort of person I am and my ancestors
were. Indeed I know how to repay love with love and hatred with hate and
biting abuse (?) like an ant. There is truth then in what I say. You turn
towards that city. Men have never sacked it, but now you have captured it
with the spear and you have gained great fame. Rule over it and retain
your dominance; you will surely be envied by many people.
Some scholars assume that the man talks about an actual city
conquest by a woman, i.e. Artemisia, a female ruler of
Halicarnassus praised in Hdt. 7.99 and 8.68-69, or the wife of the
Lydian king Candaules.183 I rather side with other scholars,184 who
consider the city a metaphor for the man who is speaking to the
woman, because he tries to persuade her to reject the slanders
spread by his enemies, which apparently have made her distrust
him, (lines 8-16) and urges her to retain her dominance over the
183 For Artemisia cf. Kamerbeek 1961, 9-15, Kirkwood 1974, 29, Rankin 1977, 79-80,
Slings 1987, ad 8-21, Luppe 1995, 21. For the wife of Candaules see Clay 1986, who
refers to Hdt. 1.12.2, which states that the story of Gyges and Candaules was
mentioned in a iambus of Archilochus. The problem with the latter is not only that
Hdt. 1.12.2 does not necessarily refer to fragment 23, for it could easily refer to
fragment 19, in which there is mention of Gyges’ possessions, but also that the end
of the fragment is not really in line with the story: Candaules’ wife would not
capture the city, for she is already the Queen (for other objections against Clay’s
hypothesis I refer to Bossi 1990, 110).
184 E.g. Adrados 1981 (1956), ad loc.; West 1974, 119; Burnett 1983, 73-74; Crowther
2003, 96.
68
city, i.e. himself (lines 17-21).185 The metaphor of city conquest has
an erotic sense: his statement that men have never sacked
(ἐξε[πόρθη]σαν)186 the city, but that only the woman has captured
it (εἷλες) and is able to rule over it, expresses that she is the only
one who is privileged to engage erotically with him. This also
explains the jealousy of other people.
The metaphor of city conquest reveals a gender reversal
compared to epic poetry, as is particularly clear from the word
groups εἷλες αἰχμῆι and μέγ᾽ ἐ]ξήρ(ω) κ[λ]έος. To begin with the
former, in the Iliad a man sacks a city and takes a woman captive
with his spear: in Il. 16.57, for instance, Achilles speaks of a girl
whom he conquered with his spear after he had sacked a well-
walled city, sc. Lyrnessus (δουρὶ δ᾽ ἐμῶι κτεάτισσα πόλιν
εὐτείχεα πέρσας).187 In Archilochus’ fragment, however, a woman
captures a city as a soldier with a spear, i.e. as an αἰχμητής.188 On
the metaphorical level this implies that the woman erotically
dominates the man, which is unlike other male archaic poetry,
185 Lobel’s supplements πό]λιν and ἐ]πιστρέ[φεα]ι[ in line 17 have been accepted
by most editors (Tarditi, West, Bossi, Gerber; Slings does not accept the latter
supplement, even though he considers it probable). The use of ταύτην with πόλιν
about the speaker may surprise, for usually the speaker is referred to by ὅδε (‘this-
here’) instead of by οὗτος (‘that-there’) (see KG II.1.467.1). In Archil. 23 the use of
οὗτος could be explained by its connotation of familiarity (see KG II.1.467.5 and
LSJ, s.v. οὗτος CIb: Pi. N. 9.29, S. OT 56, Pl. PhD 69c), expressing what is known to
the female addressee, i.e. the man himself.
186 The supplement ἐξε[πόρθη]σαν, suggested by Lobel, has been adopted in most
editions (West, Bossi and Gerber; not in Tarditi or Slings, although the latter calls
it a ‘logical supplement’).
187 For the captivity of women as a stock element of city conquest in epic poetry
see further e.g Il. 6.453-462 and Od. 8.523-530; see also in tragic poetry e.g. A. Th.
325-368 and E. Ph. 561-565.
188 My suggestion that the reference to the spear represents the woman as an
αἰχμητής counters the opinions that the reference is unimportant or too concrete
to fit the metaphor (see West 1974, 119 and Slings 1987, ad 8-21 respectively) or
that it is a phallic symbol (Crowther 2003, 96), which implies that penetration is
carried out by a woman. The latter opinion is further complicated by the
acknowledgement of metaphor specialists that metaphors are no mere
substitutions of referents (see further 1.2.2, with the example of Archil. 196a, and
cf. also 3.3.3 on Thgn. 1249-1254).
69
where ‘erotic desire is typically presented in accordance with the
active/passive model, with the male in the active role and the
woman in the passive one’.189 As for the latter, κλέος (‘fame’) is the
result of the fighting by male warriors in the Iliad, but it is
attributed to a female warrior in Archilochus. 190 On the
metaphorical level there is an ideological reversal compared to the
Odyssey: in the Odyssey Penelope gains κλέος from her faithful and
chaste life during Odysseus’ long-lasting absence, 191 whereas in
Archilochus the woman acquires it through her erotic activity with
the man.
A second lyric poem that contains an erotic metaphor of city

conquest is Theognis 949-954:
νεβρὸν ὑπὲξ ἐλάφοιο λέων ὣς ἀλκὶ πεποιθὼς

950 ποσσὶ καταμάρψας αἵματος οὐκ ἔπιον·
τειχέων δ’ ὑψηλῶν ἐπιβὰς πόλιν οὐκ ἀλάπαξα·
ζευξάμενος δ’ ἵππους ἅρματος οὐκ ἐπέβην·
πρήξας δ’ οὐκ ἔπρηξα, καὶ οὐκ ἐτέλεσσα τελέσσας,
δρήσας δ’οὐκ ἔδρησ’, ἤνυσα δ’ οὐκ ἀνύσας.
Like a lion trusting in its might, I snatched a fawn from under a doe with
my claws, and did not drink its blood; I mounted the high walls of a city,
and did not sack it; I yoked horses, and did not mount the chariot; I have
done, and not done, completed, and not completed, performed, and not
performed, accomplished, and not accomplished.
The image of city conquest in line 951 is presented along with other
images which all serve to point out, as is particularly clear from the
final distich, that the narrator did something which gave him the
189 Greene 2008, 25-26 (see e.g. Anacr. 417 and Archil. 196a, both discussed in
3.3.3).
190 Cf. Il. 4. 197 and 207, 5.3, 7.91, 17.131.
191 In Od. 24, for instance, Agamemnon praises Penelope’s loyalty to Odysseus in
bitter contrast to his own wife Clytaemnestra, saying that the glory of her virtue
will never perish (τῶι οἱ κλέος οὔ ποτ᾽ ὀλεῖται ἧς ἀρετῆς, 196b-197a).
70
power to do something else which he did not complete. The erotic
sense of the image of city conquest is clear from that of the other
images: the image of a lion snatching a fawn reappears in the
predominantly (homo)erotic book 2 of the Theognidea (1278cd) and
is charged with a more manifestly erotic sense in the Anthologia
Palatina (12.146, Rhianus), while the image of yoking a horse is
attested as an erotic metaphor elsewhere in archaic Greek lyric
(e.g., Anacreon 346<1> and 417).192 In this way, all the images seem
to convey that the narrator did something which gave him erotic
power over his partner but did not complete his erotic actions.193
This is also suggested by erotic uses of the verbs in the final
distich.194
The erotic metaphors of city conquest in Archilochus 23 and
Theognis 949-954 are used because metaphors may be employed to
express emotions and experiences, especially erotic ones, indirectly,
because these are often difficult to talk about in a straightforward
manner.195 In Archilochus 23 this might serve a persuasive purpose:
metaphors are highly persuasive, because they are not only based
on emotions but also activate emotional responses by the
receiver. 196 In this light, the metaphor of city conquest suits the
192 See further 3.3.1 on Anacr. 346<1> and 3.3.3 on Anacr. 417. Cp. also the erotic
metaphor of horse-back riding in Thgn. 267-270 (with Van Groningen 1966, ad
loc.).
193 That the poem is erotic has been argued by most scholars: Hudson-Williams
1979 (1910), ad loc.; Carrière 1975 (1948), ad loc.; West 1974, 119; Burnett 1983, ad
loc.; Ferrari 1989, ad loc.; Gerber 2006 (1999), ad loc.
194 See Van Groningen 1966, ad loc. Admittedly, most of the parallels which Van
Groningen lists are from a later period (Theoc. and AP), but for ἐτέλεσσα -
τελέσσας there is a parallel from Sapph. 1.26-27, where ‘Sappho’ prays to
Aphrodite and begs: ὄσσα δέ μοι τέλεσσαι θῦμος ἰμέρρει, τέλεσον (‘fulfill al that
my hearts longs to fulfill’). Although Van Groningen 1966, ad loc. was the first to
point out the erotic parallels, he nonetheless thought that the point might be
political, speculatively thinking of Miltiades after his defeat at Paros, recounted in
Hdt. 6.134.
195 See my introduction (1.2.2); cf. also my discussion of the ship of state metaphors
in 4.4.1.
196 For the persuasive function of metaphors see my introduction (1.2.2); cf. also
my discussion of city personification (2.3.1). My interpretation of the metaphor

differs from the biographical explanation by Crowther 2003, 97-99: because
71
man’s speech to persuade the girl to reject the slanders, spread by
his enemies, and to turn towards him. In Theognis 949-954 the
indirectness could be linked with ancient Greek views on
metaphors as enigmas or riddles, known from Aristotle’s Rhetorica
(1405b4-5: μεταφοραὶ γὰρ αἰνίττονται; cf. also 1458a26) and
Theognis’ ‘ship of state’ metaphor (671-682), in which a riddling
message has been hidden for the aristocrats
(ταῦτά μοι ἠινίχθω κεκρυμμένα τοῖς ἀγαθοῖσιν, line 681): the
riddling nature of the metaphors seems to be hinted at by the
playful juxtaposition of participles and main verbs in the final
distich of Theognis 949-954. This riddling use of metaphors could
be connected with the performance context of the Theognidea, i.e.
the symposium, 197 where a popular form of competitive
entertainment was that of εἰκάζειν (‘guessing’).198
In terms of erotic metaphors of city conquest, Archilochus
23 and Theognis 949-954 differ from epic and other lyric poetry,
where the verbs αἱρέω, ἀλαπάζω and πορθέω/πέρθω are used in
a literal sense of capturing and sacking a city.199 The erotic sense
‘Archilochus’ was a soldier, Crowther argues, he could easily compare love to

war. However, we have to bear in mind that ‘[a]n Iambic ‘I’ is not the key to the
private character of the person which it represents, be it the poet or someone else’
(Tsagarakis 1977, 50; for the ‘lyric I’ in general see further Slings 1990, Gerber 1997,
6-8 and Budelmann 2009, 16-17).
197 That Theognis’ poems were most likely performed in the context of the
symposium is the common opinion in lyric scholarship: see Bartol 1993, 51-57,
Gerber 1997b, 92-93, Stehle 1997, 215, Aloni-Ianucci 2007, 69-74 and Aloni 2009,
170. See further the epilogue to this thesis for the performance contexts of archaic
Greek lyric.
198 For the sympotic play of guessing, with reference to Theognis (257-260, 861-864
and 1229-1230) and based on evidence from Aristophanes’ Wasps, Plutarch’s

Symposium of the Seven Sages and fragments of the New Comedy, I refer to Martin
2001, 61-64 and Collins 2004, 127-129. The connection between this play and the
use of metaphors has been made for the horse metaphor in Thgn. 1249-1252 by
Vetta 1980, ad loc.; see also my discussion of the ‘ship of state’ metaphors in 4.4.1.
199 For epic poetry cf. Il. 2.12, 37, 66, 141, 228 and 329, 4.406, 239 and 416, 7.71, 9.28,
129 and 668, 15.71 and 558, 16.153, 21.544 (αἱρέω); Il. 2.367, 9.136, 278 and 328,
24.245 (ἀλαπάζω); Il. 2.374, 4.291, 6.415, 9.40, 12. 15, 13.861, 16.708, 18.454, 19.296,
20.92, 21.584, 24.729, Od. 1.2, Hes. fr. 43a.62 (πέρθω); Il. 4.308 (πορθέω). For lyric
poetry see Pi. I. 6.31 and N. 4.29 (αἱρέω); B. 11.122, Pi. I. 5.36, N. 3.37 and 7.35, O.
72
reveals that martial diction is adapted to an erotic context in both
poems, so that love becomes represented as war. 200 This can be
regarded as a reversal of a practice in the Iliad to describe military
clashes on the battlefield as erotic encounters (cf. the use of
ὀαριστύς and μείγνυμι).201 The use of the war ‘frame’ for erotic
matters is very popular in Hellenistic Greek poetry, where the
lover is represented as a helpless, unarmed victim of an armed Eros
(cf. A.R. 3.275-298 and several epigrams in AP 12, e.g. 45, 50 and 80-
83), and above all in Latin elegiac poetry in the form of the ‘warfare
of love’ motif (militia amoris), most famously employed in Ovid’s
Militat omnis amans (Amores 1.9, ‘every lover is a soldier’). Although
Latin scholars 202 often consider it to be a typically Latin elegiac
motif resulting from Roman military culture, there are earlier
instances in Hellenistic poetry and its origins can ultimately be
traced back to archaic Greek lyric.
2.4. CONCLUSION
This chapter has illustrated two of the roles the city can play in
archaic Greek lyric. Firstly, mythological cities predominantly have
a role as setting similar to Troy in the Iliad, i.e. the scenic backdrop
to the action, or as distant frame, i.e. a place distant from the action.
In this case, much of the diction apparently shared with epic poetry
(especially epithets) actually differs on a lexical level, in the
particular combinations of epithets and nouns and the formation of
epithets, a semantic level, in differences in meaning of epithets, and
a referential level, insofar as epithets are used of cities instead of
10.32 and P. 1.54 (πέρθω); Pi. N. 4.26 (πορθέω). Cp., however, the political
metaphor of city destruction in Thgn. 235-236 supra.
200 Cp. also the use of war imagery in Sappho’s erotic poetry (frr. 1, 16, 31 and 44),
discussed in detail in Rissman 1983. For modern (English) parallels of ‘love as

war’ I refer to the metaphor specialists Lakoff-Johnson 2003 (1980), 49 and
Kövecses 2005, 26 (e.g., ‘She fled from his advances’ and even the verb
‘conquering’ itself).
201 Examples are 13.291; 17.228; 22.127-128; 15.509-510. See further Monsacré 1984,
63-77.
202 Cf. Barsby 1991 (1973), ad Ov. Am. 1 and Lyne 1980, 71-78.
73
people. Particularly when combined with the anachronical order of
a ‘lyric narrative’, the dominant effect of the diction is that it
enhances the grim overtones of the attack or destruction of a city.
Secondly, contemporary cities have a symbolic role, i.e. are
personified or metaphorical. 203 Instances of personification have
been revealed by referential differences in the use of the diction
compared to epic and other lyric poetry. Their function is to
dramatise the narrative and persuade to take action. In the case of
the metaphors martial diction has been adapted to a political and
an erotic context: the capture of a city becomes a metaphor for an
erotic ‘conquest’ or the downfall of political power. The function of
political city metaphors is to establish ‘cognitive elucidation’, while
that of the erotic city metaphors is to express sexual experiences in
indirect manner, either as a means of persuasion or to evoke a play
of guessing.
My discussion of Ibycus 282 has also pointed out instances of personification

203
about Troy, but the roles of the Trojan city as setting and distant frame
predominate. In this respect, the distinction between setting and symbol is one of
gradation according to the dominant role.
74
3. THE COUNTRYSIDE
3.1. INTRODUCTION
Expanding on the belief that man and countryside were still closely
connected to each other in archaic Greece,204 scholars have argued
that in archaic Greek lyric the countryside primarily has the
‘psychologising function’ of mirroring the mood or emotions of the
human subject. 205 In this chapter I will re-evaluate this view,
focusing on the different roles of the countryside, i.e. land outside
the city, whether cultivated or left in its natural condition.206 Firstly,
I will discuss the role of the coastal plain with a river as battlefield
setting (3.2) and, secondly, the symbolic-erotic role of fields (3.3.1),
gardens (3.3.2) and meadows (3.3.3).
3.2. THE COUNTRYSIDE AS SETTING: THE COASTAL

PLAIN WITH A RIVER IN THE ‘NEW ARCHILOCHUS’
AND BACCHYLIDES 13
This section considers the coastal plain with a river as battlefield

setting, i.e. the scenic backdrop against which martial events take
place, as in the Iliad.207 My discussion is based on close-readings of
two fragments related to the Trojan saga: the ‘new Archilochus’
and Bacchylides 13. Both fragments will be discussed and
compared against the background of the Trojan battlefield in the
Iliad in three separate parts, dealing with the plain (3.2.1), the river
(3.2.2) and the shore (3.2.3). My analyses will focus on the way the
204 See Parry 1957 and Segal 1963.

205 Treu 1955, 203-212; Elliger 1975, 176-202; Jenkyns 1998, 33-38; Le Meur 1998, 23.
For the ‘psychologising function’ see further 1.2.2 (and 4.4.1 on the sea).
206 I prefer the term countryside to ‘landscape’ (Elliger 1975 and Le Meur 1998) and
‘nature’ (Treu 1955, Bonnafé 1984 and Jenkyns 1998), because landscape refers
only to detailed descriptions of large areas of the countryside, but excludes brief
and evocative references, while nature includes the sea, which forms the subject of
the next chapter.
207 For the Trojan plain in the Iliad see Elliger 1975, 43-61; Andersson 1976, 15-37;
Thornton 1984, 150-163; Trachsel 2007, 79-98; de Jong forthcoming b.
75
temporal order of the mythological narratives and, above all, the
use of diction shared with epic poetry (especially epithets) affect
the depiction of the settings.208 Before embarking on my analyses, I
will offer the text and a translation of Bacchylides 13, with a brief
overview of the mythological narrative and its temporal order; for
the ‘new Archilochus’ I refer to my chapter on the city.209
Bacchylides 13 is an Epinician Ode dedicated to Pytheas,
descendant of a distinguished Aiginetan family, after his victory of
the pancration, a combination of boxing and wrestling, at the
Nemean games. After an introductory section, which has largely
been lost, the narrator tells the mythological story of Heracles and
the Nemean lion (43-57), praises the victor and his city (58-99), tells
a second, more extended mythological story about the fight of the
descendants of Aeacus, Ajax and Achilles, against the Trojans (100-
167), and (after a badly preserved piece) concludes by praising the
victor and his city again (175-231). The central myth about the
Aeacidae runs as follows:
100 τῶν υἷας ἀερσιμάχ[ας,

ταχύν τ᾽ Ἀχιλλέα
εὐειδέος τ᾽ Ἐριβοίας
παῖδ᾽ ὑπέρθυμον βοά[σω
Αἴαντα σακεσφόρον ἥ[ρω,
105 ὅστ` ἐπὶ πρύμναι σταθ[εὶς
ἔσχεν θρασυκάρδιον [ὁρ-
μαίνοντα ν[ᾶας
θεσπεσίωι πυ[ρὶ καῦσαι
Ἕκτορα χαλ[κοκορυστά]ν,
110 ὁππότε Π[ηλεΐδας
τρα[χ]εῖαν [ἐν στήθεσσι μ]ᾶνιν
ὠρίνατ[ο Δαρδανίδας
208 For diction and time and see 1.1 and 1.2.1 respectively.
209 See 2.2.1.
76
τ᾽ ἔλυσεν ἄ[τας.
οἳ πρὶν μὲν [.........]ν210
115 Ἰ]λίου θαητὸν ἄστυ
οὐ λεῖπον, ἀτυζόμενοι [δέ
πτᾶσσον ὀξεῖαν μάχα[ν,
εὖτ᾽ ἐν πεδίῳ κλονέω[ν
μαίνοιτ᾽ Ἀχιλλεύς,
120 λαοφόνον δόρυ σείων·
ἀλλ᾽ ὅτε δὴ πολέμοι[ο
λῆξεν ἰοστεφάνο[υ
Νηρῆιδος ἀτρόμητο[ς υἱός,
[124-132: sea simile]211
ὣς Τρῶες, ἐπ[εὶ] κλύον [αἰ-

χματὰν Ἀχιλλέα
135 μίμνο[ντ᾽] ἐν κλισίασιν
εἵνεκ[ε]ν ξανθᾶς γυναικός,
Β]ρ[ι]σηΐδος ἱμερογυίου,
θεοῖσιν ἄντειναν χέρας,
φοιβὰν ἐσιδόντες ὑπαὶ
140 χειμῶνος αἴγλαν·
πασσυδίαι δὲ λιπόντες
τείχεα Λαομέδοντος
ἐ]ς πεδίον κρατερὰν
ἄϊξαν ὑ[σ]μίναν φέροντες,
145 ὦρσάν τ[ε] φόβον Δαναοῖς.

ὤτρυνε δ᾽ Ἄρης
ε]ὐεγχής, Λυκίων τε
Λοξίας ἄναξ Ἀπόλλων·
ἷξόν τ᾽ ἐπὶ θῖνα θαλάσσας.
210 Just like Jebb, Maehler and Irigoin, Campbell follows the emendation
πολύπυργον of Blass and Desrousseaux, but I find it too speculative on the basis
of one end-ν only.
211 The sea simile will be discussed in detail in the chapter on the sea: 4.3.1.
77
150 ν]αυσὶ δ᾽ εὐπρύμνοις παρα<ὶ>
μάρναντ᾽, ἐναριζ[ο]μ[έν]ων
δ᾽ ἔρ]ευθε φώτων
αἵμα]τι γαῖα μέλα[ινα
Ἑκτορ]έας ὑπὸ χειρ[ός,
155 ἦν <δὲ> μ]έγ᾽ ἡμιθέοις
ὄνααρ] ἰσόθεον δι᾽ ὁρμάν.
ἆ δύσφ]ρονες, ἦ μεγάλαισιν ἐλπίσιν

πνε<ί>]οντες ὑπερφ[ία]λόν
θ` ἱέντες] αὐ[δὰ]ν
160 Τ[ρῶε]ς ἱππευταὶ κυανώπιδας ἐκ-
πέρσαντες ὤισθεν] νέας
νεῖσθαι πάλιν εἰλα]πίνας τ᾽ ἐν
λαοφό]ροις ἕξειν θ[εόδ]ματον πόλιν.
μ]έλλον ἄρα πρότε[ρο]ν δι-
165 ν]ᾶντα φοινίξει[ν Σκ]άμανδρ[ον,
θν]άισκοντες ὑπ[᾽ Αἰα]κίδαις
ἐρειψ[ι]πύ[ργοις.
Of their sons who rouse the fight I shall shout aloud swift Achilles and the
high-spirited son of fair Eriboea, Ajax, shield-bearing hero, who stood on
the stern and kept off bold-hearted, bronze-helmeted Hector as he was
raging to burn the ships with awful fire, after Peleus’ son had stirred up
harsh wrath (in his breast) and freed the Dardanids from ruin. Previously
they would not leave the wondrous…city of Ilium, but in bewilderment
they cowered for fear of the keen fight, when Achilles was furiously raging
on the plain, brandishing his host-slaughtering spear. But when the
fearless son of the violet-crowned Nereid ceased from the fight [sea simile];
so when the Trojans heard that the spearman Achilles was remaining in
his tent on account of the blonde woman, lovely-limbed Briseis, they
stretched up their hands to the gods, after they had seen a bright light
under the storm cloud. After having left Laomedon’s walls with all speed
they rushed into the plain, bringing violent battle, and they roused fear in
the Danaans. Ares of the mighty spear urged them on, and Loxias Apollo,
lord of the Lycians; and they reached the shore of the sea. By the strong-
78
sterned ships they fought, and the dark earth reddened with the blood of
men slain by the hand of Hector, for he was a great (boon) to the demigods
in his godlike charge. Ah, misguided ones! Breathing forth great hopes
and uttering arrogant shouts those Trojan horsemen (thought that they
would lay waste) the dark-eyed ships (and return home again) and that
their god-built city would hold feasts in (its streets). In truth they were
destined first to crimson the eddying Scamander, dying at the hands of the
citadel-wrecking Aeacidae.
Just as in the ‘new Archilochus’, the mythological narrative has the

temporal order of a ‘lyric narrative’, which moves backwards and
then forwards again in time (usually in greater detail) until the
point of departure is reached.212 After announcing that he will sing
of the Aeacidae (100-104), the narrator begins with the battle at the
ships of Ajax against Hector (105-109). The story moves backwards
with ὁππότε in 110 to Achilles’ withdrawal from battle and the
consequent relief felt by the Trojans (110-113) and to Achilles’
furious killing on the plain and the resulting fear of the Trojans
before his retreat with πρίν in 114 (114-120). With ἀλλ` ὅτε in 121
the story progresses to another mention of Achilles’ retreat from
the battlefield and the Trojans’ resulting relief, which is illustrated
with a sea simile, (121-140) and to the fight on the plain and the
Greeks’ withdrawal to the shore (141-149). The story then ends
where it started, with the battle at the ships (150-156). Thereafter,
the narrator looks forwards to the eventual defeat of the Trojans by
the Aeacidae (157-167) and finishes the mythological narrative with
a praise of the Aeacidae as he promised in the beginning. This
enables him to turn to a eulogy of the Aegenitan victor and his city
because the Aegenitans considered Aeacus their mythical king.
212Cf. Cairns 2010, 140-141 and Carey forthcoming. For the ‘new Archilochus’ see
2.2.1 and cf. also 1.2.1.
79
3.2.1. The Plain in the ‘new Archilochus’ and Bacchylides
13
In the Iliad the Trojan plain is the largely unspecified setting of the
battle between the Trojans and the Greeks. The same applies to
Bacchylides 13, in which two martial scenes are envisaged on the
Trojan plain. The first is before Achilles’ retreat from battle, when he
is furiously raging on the plain (lines 118-120), and the second is
immediately after Achilles’ withdrawal, when the Trojans rush with
all speed into the plain to start a violent battle (lines 141-144). Both
scenes taking place on the Trojan plain entirely depend upon
Achilles: his presence brings about defeat for and fear from the
Trojans (cf. lines 116-117), while his absence leads to success and
gives them relief (cf. lines 138-140 and 145). This leads to the praise
of Achilles and, ultimately, of the Aeginetan victor, to whom the
Ode is dedicated, because Achilles’ grandfather Aeacus was
considered the mythical king of Aegina.
In the ‘new Archilochus’ the Mysian plain (πεδίον
Μ̣ύσι̣ο̣ν̣)213 forms the setting of the battle between the Greeks and
the Mysians before the Trojan War, as it is being filled with the
bodies of the defeated. 214 It is later mentioned before the fight
between the Greeks and the Mysians, when the narrator corrects
the Greeks’ belief that they are in Troy by saying that they actually
trod ‘wheat-bearing Mysia’ (Μυσίδα πυροφόρο̣[ν, line 21). The
epithet used of Mysia, πυροφόρον, has a particular effect due to
the anachronical order: since the narratees know from the
beginning that later the Mysian plain will be filled with corpses,
the description of the plain’s fertility before the battle takes place
creates a grim effect.215
213 Except for Luppe 2006, who offers no supplement, all scholars (Obbink 2006
and forthcoming; Nicolosi 2006 and 2007 and Nicolosi-Burzacchini 2008; West
2006; Aloni-Ianucci 2007; Lulli 2011) defend the supplement πεδίον, as the noun of
Μ̣ύσι̣ο̣ν̣.
214 See further my discussion in 3.2.2.
215 In the Telephus myth recounted in Pindar’s Isthmian 8.50-51, a similar epithet is
used of the Mysian plain, ἀμπελόεις (‘vine-covered’). It occurs at a later moment
80
3.2.2. The River
In the Iliad the rivers Scamander/Xanthus and Simoïs define the

natural borders of the Trojan battlefield and are associated with
security for the Trojans.216 The only exception is Iliad 21, where the
Scamander turns into the setting of and even falls victim to
Achilles’ wanton outrage. The slaughter of the Trojans near the
Scamander is recounted in a highly condensed form by the narrator
in Bacchylides 13, who creates an effect of dramatic irony by
juxtaposing the Trojans’ vain hopes of winning the Trojan War (cf.
lines 157-163) with his omniscient anticipation of their defeat by the
Aeacidae near the Scamander (lines 164-167).217 The fact that the
slaughter near the Scamander is ascribed to both Achilles and Ajax
in Bacchylides’ version enables the narrator to end the narrative
with praise of the Aeacidae, as he promised in the beginning (lines
100-104). This facilitates the transition from the mythological
narrative to the eulogy of the Aegenitan victor and his city.218
The image of the Scamander turning crimson (φοινίξει[ν)
and eddying (διν]ᾶντα) with the corpses of the Trojans in
Bacchylides 13 recalls the beginning of Iliad 21: the Trojans ‘were
forced into the deep-flowing river with silver eddies’ (ἐς ποταμὸν
εἰλεῦντο βαθύρροον ἀργυροδίνην, 8) and ‘whirled about in the
eddies’ (ἑλισσόμενοι περὶ δίνας, 11), so that the ‘deep-eddying
in the story, which is not recounted in the Archilochean fragment, namely when
Achilles ultimately defeated Telephus and ‘stained vine-covered Mysia with blood
as he sprinkled the plain with the dark blood of Telephus’ (ὃ καὶ Μύσιον
ἀμπελόεν / αἵμαξε Τηλέφου μέλανι ῥαίνων φόνωι πεδίον). In Isthmian 8, too, a
grim effect is established by epithet, in this case by the sharp opposition between
the fertility of the plain and the bloodiness of the battle.
216 See Thornton 1984, 155-156 and Trachsel 2007, 66-99.
217 As for the use of external narratorial prolepsis, Bacchylides’ fragment differs
from the Iliad, where narratorial prolepses are usually internal, i.e. within the scope
of the narrative, while external prolepses are mostly made by characters (only in
2.724-725 and 12.3-35 by the narrator) (cf. de Jong 2004 (1987), 88-89 and 2007b, 25-
26). For the dramatic irony see Carey 1999, 26 and Morrison 2007, 102.
218 Cf. Maehler 1982, ad loc.; Fearn 2007, 140; McDevitt 2009, ad loc.; Carey
forthcoming.
81
Xanthus’ (Ξάνθου βαθυδινήεντος, 15) was filled with Trojans and
its water was reddened with their blood (ἐρυθαίνετο δ᾽ αἵματι
ὕδωρ, 21).219 This image, sketched by the narrator, soon acquires a
grim undertone in the Iliad, when the Trojan River Scamander
complains to Achilles that his lovely streams are full of corpses and
that he cannot pour his water into the bright sea, as he is filled with
corpses (πλήθει γὰρ δή μοι νεκύων ἐρατεινὰ ῥέεθρα, / οὐδέ τί
πηι δύναμαι προχέειν ῥόον εἰς ἅλα δῖαν / στεινόμενος νεκύεσσι,
21.218-220a). It seems that this grimness is taken over in
Bacchylides.
The Iliadic scene of a lovely river filled with corpses is
similar to the image of the fair-flowing river Caecus (ἐυρρείτ̣ης δὲ
Κ[άïκος) 220 and the Mysian plain being filled (στείνετ̣ο) with
falling corpses (π]ι̣π̣τό
̣ ν̣των 221 νεκύων) in the ‘new Archilochus’
(lines 8b-10a). Both in the Iliadic scene and the ‘new Archilochus’
the gruesomeness is underscored by the epithets ἐρατεινά and
ἐυρρείτης respectively, as they remind of the natural flowing of the
219The same image as in B. 13 is used in a prolepsis of the battle near the

Scamander in B. 27.36b-38a, but without reference to Ajax and uttered by a
character, the centaur Chiron, who prophesies that Achilles ‘will crimson the
eddying Scamander as he kills the battle-loving Trojans’ ([δινᾶ]ντα φοινίξειν
Σκ[άμανδρον / κτείνον[τα φιλ]οπτολέμους / Τρῶας]). A similar image is
attested in B. 3.44-45, where Croesus, mounting the pyre to commit suicide,
laments that Sardis is sacked due to the Persians and ‘the gold-eddying Pactolus is
reddened with blood’ (ἐρεύθεται αἵματι χρυσο]δίνας / Πακτωλός). The image
reveals two lexical differences from B. 13 and 27: the noun αἵμα is combined with
the verb ἐρεύθω (cf. Il. 21.21) instead of with φοινίσσω, and the hapax epithet
χρυσο]δίνας (if the supplement is correct) is chosen for the participle δινᾶντα. If
we are aware that the epithet refers to the alluvial gold brought down from Mount
Tmolus (cf. Maehler 1982, ad loc. and McDevitt 2009, ad loc.), to which Croesus
owed part of his wealth, the mixing of the gold with the blood of the dead Lydians
indicates the brutal end of Croesus’ prosperous reign.
220 The supplement Κ[άϊκοϲ has been generally accepted, for in Pi. I. 5.42, too, the
river Caicus is mentioned in the battle between the Mysians and the Greeks.
221 According to Obbink 2005, ad loc. and Barker-Christensen 2006, 13, the present
tense πιπτόντων is ‘odd’, for one would expect an aorist or perfect participle
(‘fallen’). However, the present participle makes sense if we consider it
simultaneous to the imperfect στείνετο, as the filling up of the plain takes place at
the same time as and because of the falling of the bodies.
82
rivers in the peaceful situation before the battle: once lovely or fair-
flowing, they have become scenes of brutal murder. In the ‘new
Archilochus’ the harshness is reinforced in light of the fact that the
whole battle is pointless, as it results from the Greeks’ erroneous
belief of finding themselves on Trojan soil.
3.2.3. The Shore
In the Iliad the shore forms part of the narrative setting during the
battle at the ships (book 15). The same applies to Bacchylides 13,
when the narrator says that the Trojans drove the Greeks back to
the shore after Achilles’ withdrawal and fought them by the ships,
while the dark earth of the shore reddened with the blood of the
Trojans slain by Hector (lines 149-154). This scene is later echoed by
that of the crimsoning Scamander (lines 164-165):222 the similarity in
phrasing makes clear that the Trojans have turned from victors into
victims. At the same time, the expression αἵματι γαῖα μέλαινα
may add a sense of praise, if we take into account that it recalls its
use in the narration of the battle at the ships in Iliad 15 (line 715):223
in the latter the dark earth reddens with the blood of both Greeks
and Trojans, but in the former solely with that of the Greeks killed
by Hector. In this way, emphasis is put on Hector’s heroic exploits
and the narrator can indirectly praise Ajax, as the opening of the
narrative (lines 105-109) states that Hector is kept from throwing
fire in the ships thanks to him.
In the ‘new Archilochus’ the shore sets the scene for the
withdrawal of the Greeks from the battle against the Mysians:
being slain at the hands of Telephus, the Greeks turned off to the
‘shore of the loud-roaring sea’ (line 10). In Homer the expression
ἐπὶ θῖν̣α̣ πολυφλο̣ίσβοιο θαλάσσης occurs in four scenes: in Il.
1.34 Chryses silently walks along the ‘shore of the loud-roaring sea’
to pray to Apollo for revenge because the Greeks refused to return
his daughter; in Il. 9.182 Odysseus, Ajax and Phoenix go along the
‘shore of the loud-roaring sea’ to pray to Poseidon that they may
222 For a discussion of the river scene see 3.2.2.

223 For the parallel cf. Maehler 1982, ad loc. and Cairns 2010, ad loc.
83
persuade Achilles to reappear on the battlefield; in Il. 23.59 Achilles
is groaning heavily on the ‘shore of the loud-roaring sea’ because
of grief over the loss of his friend Patroclus; in Od. 13.220 Odysseus
is pacing by the ‘shore of the loud-roaring sea’, heavily lamenting
and mournfully longing for his native land, without realising that
he has arrived in Ithaca. It is clear from this overview that the shore
is a place of despondency in Homer, as is also suggested by
instances of the noun θίς without the epithet-noun combination
πολυφλο̣ίσβοιο θαλάσσης, 224 while the loud noise of the sea
mirrors the emotional agitation of the despondent people on the
shore.225
The question then is whether ἐπὶ θῖν̣α̣ πολυφλοίσβοιο
θαλάσσης is used in the same manner in the new Archilochus
fragment. For the use of θῖνα we need to take into account that the
phrase which follows indicates that the Greeks gladly (ἀ]σ̣πάσιοι)
fled (ἔφυγο̣ν̣) to their swift ships. The use of ἀσπάσιος seems to
align with that in the Iliad, signalling relief at escape from death in
war (by Hector or Achilles),226 as the Greeks who are still alive feel
relieved that they escaped death at the hands of Telephus (referred
224 In Il. 1.350 Achilles bursts out into tears ‘at the shore of the grey sea’ (θῖν᾽ ἔφ᾽
ἁλὸς πολιῆς) after Briseïs has been taken away from him. In Il. 24.12 Achilles,
mourning for Patroclus, roams ‘along the shore of the sea’ (παρὰ θῖν᾽ ἁλός). In
Od. 10 the shore of Circe’s island is thrice a place of despondency for Odysseus
and his comrades: Odysseus’ comrades marvel at a stag ‘by the shore of the barren
sea’ (παρὰ θῖν᾽ ἁλὸς ἀτρυγέτοιο, line 179), which ‘was literally a godsend to
Odysseus-hero, which he exploited to cheer up his despondent men, knowing that
soon he would have to demand new exertions of them’ (de Jong 2001, ad loc.); on
his way ‘to the ship and the shore of the sea’ (ἐπὶ νῆα θοὴν καὶ θῖνα θαλάσσης,
407) Odysseus sees his comrades crying, as they think his companions are all
dead; moving ‘to the ship and the shore of the sea’ (ἐπὶ νῆα θοὴν καὶ θῖνα
θαλάσσης, 569) Odysseus and his comrades are weeping because they are about
to descend into the underworld.
225 Only in Il. 9.182 the epithet-noun combination does not seem to have a
mirroring function. In this case, the epithet could be brought into connection with
Poseidon, prayed to by Odysseus, Ajax and Phoenix, who as a sea god is able to
stir up the sea.
226 By Hector in Il. 7.118, 8.448 and 11.327; by Achilles in Il. 18.270, 19.72, 21.607. Cf.
also Taaffe 1990-1991, 133, n7 (in a discussion of its use in the Odyssey about relief
at escape from death at sea).
84
to as ἀμειλίκτου φωτός, ‘relentless man’, in line 11) and arrived at
their ships by the shore. This implies that the shore is not a place of
despondency, but, on the contrary, of relief. 227 As for
πολυφλοίσβοιο θαλάσσης, its use together with the adverb
προ]τ̣ροπάδην (‘with headlong speed’) and the verb ἀπ̣έκλινον
(‘turned off’) suggests that it mirrors agitated action instead of
emotion: 228 the epithet-noun combination seems to function as a
shortened Homeric simile that illustrate the noisy retreat of a
fighting mass with a storm at sea (cf., e.g., Il. 2.207-210).229
Besides retreat, the shore also sets the scene for the Greeks’
arrival in Mysia before their fight against Telephus, after they have
lost their way en route to Troy (line 16).230 The second mention of
the shore makes manifestly clear that the narrative has the
temporal order of a ‘lyric narrative’, as it moves backwards from
the withdrawal of the Greeks towards the Mysian shore to the
beginning of their expedition towards Troy and then forwards
227 Another interpretation should be given if the supplement ἐσέβαν (cf. Hdt.
4.85.1: ἐσβὰς ἐς νέα, ‘he [sc. Darius] went aboard ship’; see Obbink 2006 and
forthcoming) or ἀνέβαν (with ἐς in Od. 3.483 and 4.760, but not about ships; see
Nicolosi 2006) in line 13 were correct. If line 13 would render the embarking of the
Greeks on their ships, the movement backwards to the beginning of the Trojan
expedition would start from line 13 (cf. Nicolosi 2007, ad loc.). In that case, the
feelings of gladness at the start of the expedition might serve as a point of contrast
with the Greeks’ emotions at the retreat to the Mysian shore: the shore would then
be no longer a place of relief, but, as in Homer, of sadness. There are, however,
two reasons why the interpretation I give is more probable. Firstly, the
supplement ἔφυγον (West 2006) is to be preferred, as it has close parallels with
the epithet ἀσπάσιος (e.g. Il. 11.327) and ἐς νέας (Il. 10.366). Secondly, the
movement backwards to the beginning of the Trojan expedition more likely starts
with οὓς in line 14, for lyric narratives typically go back with a relative pronoun
(see further Krischer 1917, 136-140; Schadewaldt 1966 (1938), 84; Slater 1983, 118-
126; de Jong 2001, xiv).
228 Cp. the use of the epithet-noun combination with the noun κῦμα (‘wave’) in
epic poetry and Archilochus 13, mirroring noisy actions and grief respectively: see
further 4.4.2.
229 See further 4.3.
230 The supplement θ[ῖν’ ἀφίκοντο has been accepted by most scholars, except for
West 2006, 14, who suggests παρά θ’ ὅρμον ἔλασσαν (‘overshot their (proper)
mooring-place’), but, as he admits himself, ‘exempli gratia, though without much
spirit’.
85
again to their arrival at the Mysian shore. The anachronical order
affects the narratees’ understanding of the second mention of the
shore, for they had been told that the Greeks would retreat to the
same shore after their defeat.
3.3. THE COUNTRYSIDE AS EROTIC SYMBOL
In this section I turn to areas of the countryside other than a coastal

plain with a river and attempt to demonstrate that these have a
symbolic, mainly erotic, role. The first part deals with fields (3.3.1),
the second with gardens (3.3.2) and the third with meadows (3.3.3).
3.3.1. Fields (ἄρουραι)
In epic poetry ἄρουρα primarily denotes an agricultural field,

particularly one that it is fertile and arable or the property of a rich
landowner. Sometimes its meaning is broadened to include land,
ground or earth in general. 231 In archaic lyric poetry, too, most
notably in Pindar, the meaning of an agricultural field that is fertile
and tillable (Pi. fr. 52d.25, N. 6.9 and 11.39; Tyrt. 6.3) or the
possession of a wealthy landowner (Pi. O. 12.19, P. 11.15) is attested
alongside the broader meaning of land, mostly ancestral (Pi. I. 1.35,
N. 5.8, O. 2.14, P. 4.34, Pae. 6.106).
Additionally, archaic lyric fields are also presented
symbolically, either as (erotic) metaphors or as spaces endowed with
erotic associations.
Fields as Metaphors
A first symbolic presentation of fields is as metaphor. Most often

fields are erotic metaphors for female bodies that receive ‘seed’
For ἄρουρα in epic poetry see LfgrE 1 (agricultural land) and 2 (land, ground or
231
earth in general), with all instances listed.
86
(from the man) and bring forth ‘fruit’ (sc. children).232 An example
is found in a mythological narrative about the Argonauts in
Pindar’s Pythian 4. When the Argonauts stop at Lemnos on their
return journey and have sexual intercourse with the female
inhabitants, it is told that ‘in foreign fields then the destined day, or
nights, received the seed of your shining prosperity’ (καὶ ἐν
ἀλλοδαπαῖς / σπέρμ᾽ ἀρούραις τουτάκις ὑμετέρας ἀκτῖνος
ὄλβου δέξατο μοιρίδιον / ἆμαρ ἢ νύκτες, lines 255b-257a). The
‘shining prosperity’ is that of King Arkesilas IV of Cyrene, the
addressee of the Ode, for the first king of Cyrene, Battus, was
considered a descendant of the Argonaut Euphamus and one of the
Lemnian women (cf. lines 257b-258a: τόθι γὰρ γένος Εὐφάμου
λοιπὸν αἰεὶ / τέλλετο, ‘for there the race of Euphamus was planted
to continue forever’). 233 The Pindaric narrator uses the erotic
metaphor of the fields to explain the descendance of the Battiad
kings from the Argonauts.234
Another example of the erotic metaphor of the fields is
Theognis 581-582, in which the speaker says that he hates a lustful
man who wants another one’s field, i.e. a woman’s body of another
man: ἐχθαίρω ἄνδρα τε μάργον / ὃς τὴν ἀλλοτρίην βούλετ`
ἄρουραν.235
Field metaphors are used without an erotic sense only in
one instance: Pindar’s Pythian 6 begins with the words ‘Listen! For
again we are ploughing the field of lively-eyed Aphrodite or of the
Graces’ (ἀκούσατ᾽· ἦ γὰρ ἑλικώπιδος Ἀφροδίτας / ἄρουραν ἢ
232 Cp. the use of ἄρουρα as an erotic metaphor for Jocaste’s body, which did not
only bear Oedipous but was also ‘sowed’ by him, in tragic poetry (A. Th. 752-754
and S. OT 1256-1257). See further DuBois 1988, 65-89.
233 Cf. also the prophecy of Medea at the beginning of the mythological narrative:
νῦν γε μὲν ἀλλοδαπᾶν κριτὸν εὑρήσει γυναικῶν/ ἐν λέχεσιν γένος (‘he

[Euphamus] will find in the beds of foreign women a chosen race’, lines 50-51).
The erotic sense of the field metaphor in lines 254-255 has been pointed out by
Braswell 1988, ad loc., DuBois 1988, 67-68 and Iakob 1994, ad loc.
234 See further 4.2.1. for a discussion of Pythian 4.
235 For μάργος and μαργοσύνη in the sense of ‘lustful’ and ‘lustfulness’ see Alcm.
58.1; Anacr. 432; Thgn. 1271 and 1301; A. Supp. 741; E. El. 1027. For the erotic
interpretation of Thgn. 581-582 cf. Van Groningen 1966, ad loc.
87
Χαρίτων / ἀναπολίζομεν, lines 1-3a). In this Ode ploughing the
fields seem to be a poetological metaphor for producing poetry,
since the plural χάριτες sometimes refers to the charm of poetry
(e.g., I. 1.6 and 3.8, O. 13.19) 236 and similar metaphors about
ploughing and cultivating are attested elsewhere in Pindar (N.
6.33-35 and 10.26; O. 9.27).237
Fields and Erotic Associations
For a second symbolic presentation of fields we need to investigate

their presence in two archaic lyric fragments, Sappho 96 and
Anacreon 346<1>.
In Sappho 96 a girl called Atthis is reminded of a woman who
has moved away to Lydia but deeply misses her:
]Σαρδ.[..]
πόλ]λακι τυίδε̣ [ν]ῶν ἔχοισα
ὠσπ.[...].ώομεν, .[...]..χ[..]-
σε θέαι σ’ ἰκέλαν ἀρι-
5 γνώται, σᾶι δὲ μάλιστ’ ἔχαιρε μόλπαι̣.
νῦν δὲ Λύδαισιν ἐμπρέπεται γυναί-
236 See further Gianotti 1975, 68-80, Mullen 1982, 82-94 and MacLachlan 1993, 87-
123.
237 For N. 6.33-35 (Πιερίδων ἀρόταις / δυνατοὶ παρέχειν πολὺν ὕμνον ἀγερώχων
ἑργμάτων / ἕνεκεν, ‘for those who plough the fields of the Pierian Muses, they
are able to provide a rich supply of songs, because of their proud achievements’)
see Gerber 1999, ad loc; for O. 9.27 cf. my discussion in 3.3.2. Many commentators
(Gildersleeve 1965 (1890), ad loc., Wilamowitz-Moellendorff 1922, 137-138, Farnell
1961 (1932), ad loc., Vetta 1979, 88, Nünlist 1998, 138) argue that Aphrodite has
erotic associations in Pythian 6, because Xenocrates’ son, Thrasybulus, is
addressed in erotic terms in Pi. fr. 124. However, an erotic interpretation of
‘ploughing the fields’ seems unlikely, as there are no other erotic allusions in this
Ode: Aphrodite rather seems to be referred to because of her charm (see LSJ, s.v.
Ἀφροδίτη 3: e.g. A. Ag. 4190) and because she is often related to the Charites in a
context of beauty and grace (see LFgrE, s.v. Ἀφροδίτη 4bβ: Od. 18.192-194, h. Ven.
5.61-63, Cypr. frr. 3 and 4).
88
κεσσιν ὤς ποτ’ ἀελίω
δύντος ἀ βροδοδάκτυλος σελάννα238
πάντα περρέχοισ’ ἄστρα. φάος δ’ ἐπί-

10 σχει θάλασσαν ἐπ’ ἀλμύραν
ἴσως καὶ πολυανθέμοις ἀρούραις·
ἀ δ’ ἐέρσα κάλα κέχυται, τεθά-

λαισι δὲ βρόδα κἄπαλ’ ἄν-
θρυσκα καὶ μελίλωτος ἀνθεμώδης.
15 πόλλα δὲ ζαφοίταισ’, ἀγάνας ἐπι-

μνάσθεισ’ Ἄτθιδος ἰμέρωι
λέπταν ποι φρένα κ[α]ρ̣[τέρω<ι>]239 βόρηται.
κῆθι δ’ ἔλθην ἀμμ.[..]..ισα τό̣δ’ οὐ

νῶντ’ ἀ[..]υστονυμ̣[...] πόλυς
20 γαρύει̣ [...]αλον̣[......].ο̣ μέσσον240
…Sardis…often turning her thoughts in this direction…(she honoured)

you as being like a goddess for all to see, and she took most delight in your
song. Now she is conspicuous among the Lydian women like the rosy-
fingered moon after sunset, surpassing all stars. And its light spreads out
over the salty sea and the flowery fields alike; the dew is shed in beauty,
and roses bloom and tender chervil and flowery melilot. Often as she goes
to and fro, when remembering gentle Atthis doubtless her tender heart is
238 The noun σελάννα is a conjecture by Schubart for μήνα, which is impossible
for reasons of meter and content, and has been accepted by all scholars (only Page
puts μήνα between cruces, but see Heitsch 1967, 391-392, Janko 1982 and Neri 2001
for a refutation of Page’s objections to the conjecture).
239 Campbell follows Page’s emendation κ[ᾶ]ρ̣[ι σᾶι, while Voigt only adopts the
legible letters. I prefer the emendation κ[α]ρ̣[τερῶ<ι>, proposed in Kamerbeek

1956, 101 and taken over in Lardinois 2001, 86 and 2008, 84.
240 The scattered remains after line 20 are considered the beginning of a new
fragment by most scholars (Kirkwood 1974, 118; McEvilley 1973, 277; Campbell
2002 (1982), ad loc.; Hutchinson 2001, 185-186).
89
consumed by strong desire. To go there…this…mind…much…sings…(in
the) middle.
A simile, in which the Lydian woman is compared to the moon,

turns into a description of fields (lines 9b-14) through the mention
of the moonlight spreading out over the sea and the fields. After
this top-down movement, the description ‘zooms in’ from a scenic
picture of the ‘flowery fields’ (πολυανθέμοις ἀρούραις, 11) to a
close-up of the dew and the different species of flowers on the
fields (roses, tender chervil and flowery melilot). This effects a
detailed image of the fields, after a general picture has been
provided.
The close-up of the flowers and the dew presents the fields
as a symbolic space endowed with erotic associations. Flowers,
especially roses, which are connected to the goddess Aphrodite, are
associated with female desire in Sappho’s poetry. 241 A good
example is Sappho 94, in which ‘Sappho’ reminds a girl of the good
times they spent together, putting garlands of flowers, including
roses (βρ[όδων, line 13), around their necks and satisfying their
desire.242 The sweet smell of the melilot, a subspecies of the lotus,
might underscore the erotic associations of the lotus in early
Greeky poetry, which are suggested by a scene in the Dios Apate in
Iliad 14, in which a lotus (λωτόν, 348) and other flowers spring up
as a result of the erotic encounter between Zeus and Hera. The
chervil seems to acquire erotic associations through the epithet
ἄπαλος, which refers to (body parts of) women, mainly in an erotic
context, elsewhere in Sappho’s poetry: in Sappho 94 it describes a
girl’s neck (ἀ]πάλαι δέραι, 16) around which garlands are put,
while desire is satisfied; in fragment 82 a girl called Gyrinno (τὰς
ἀπάλας Γυρίννως), who is compared to the more shapely
241 See McEvilley 1973, 265-269, Elliger 1975, 193, Snyder 1997, 51. Cf., e.g., frr. 78
and 98.
242 Cf. also my discussion of Sapph. 2 in 3.3.3.
90
Mnasidica; in 126 a female companion (ἀπάλας ἐτα<ί>ρας) in the
context of sleeping on her bosom.243
Dew has been appropriated in an erotic context in early
Greek poetry244 because of its associations with fertility, as a sign
(Il. 23.598-599) or cause of it (Od. 13.244-245).245 In Hesiod fragment
26, for instance, the virginal daughters of Porthaon find themselves
amid flowers and dew (ἐέρ]σ̣η̣ν, line 20), which seem to reflect
their latent sexuality. Next, in the Dios Apate scene in Iliad 14 ‘drops
of glistering dew fell off’ (στιλπναὶ δ᾽ ἀπέπιπτον ἔερσαι, 351b) as
a result of the erotic activities between Zeus and Hera. Finally, in
some (badly preserved) fragments of Sappho dew (δροσόεν]τας in
23.11, δροσ[ό]εσσα in 71.8, ἐέρσας in 73.9) is mentioned in
connection with love (ἔρωτος in 23.1, φιλότ[ατ’] in 71.3) and
female beauty (of Hermione and Helen in 23.4-5, of Mica in 71.1, of
Aphrodite in 73.3).
The erotic associations the fields acquire through references
to flowers and dew seem to have a psychologising function: they
seem to mirror erotic desire. The intriguing question is: whose
desire? In the first place it seems to be that of the Lydian woman
for the girl Atthis, as the Lydian woman’s heart is said to be
consumed by strong desire (ἰμέρωι… κ[α]ρ̣[τέρω<ι>, 16-17) in the
stanza that follows the description of the fields. 246 However, it
243 See Hutchinson 2001, ad loc. and Ferrari 2010 (2007), 35. Cf. also other instances
of the epithet in early Greek poetry: in h. Ven. 5 of the breasts (στήθεσιν ἀμφ᾽
ἁπαλοῖσιν, 88) and neck (ἀμφ᾽ ἁπαλῇ δειρῇ, 90) of Aphrodite, as perceived by
Anchises, who is seized with love for her; in Alcm. 3.80 of the hand (χηρός) of a
girl, who is described in erotic terms.
244 See Boedeker 1994, 54-60, who discusses the examples I give, including Sapph.
96; cf. also Elliger 1975, 192-193 and Snyder 1997, 51-52 for Sapph. 96 in particular.
245 Il. 23.598-599: ὡς εἴ τε περὶ σταχύεσσιν ἐέρση / ληΐου ἀλδήσκοντος, ὅτε
φρίσσουσιν ἄρουραι (‘as corn with the dew upon the ears waxes ripe, when the
fields are bristling’); Od. 13.244-245: οἱ σῖτος ἀθέσφατος, ἐν δέ τε οἶνος /
γίγνεται· αἰεὶ δ᾽ ὄμβρος ἔχει τεθαλυῖά τ᾽ ἐέρση (‘corn grows beyond measure,
and the wine-grape as well: and the rain never fails it, nor the copious dew’). See
further LfgrE, s.v. ἐέρση and Boedeker 1994, 31-51.
246 Contra Carey 1978, who argues that the description is devoid of emotions and
appeals to reason as a means to console Atthis (see below for the opinion that the
poem is consolatory). For the psychologising function of space see also my
91
could also be the desire of Atthis for the Lydian woman: since
‘Sappho’ is the speaker who addresses the girl and describes the
woman in erotic terms, she might project erotic desire for the
woman onto the addressee. In any case, a sense of pain is
established by their separation because it is impossible to fulfil the
desire. This observation accords with a recent suggestion by André
Lardinois that the (end of the) poem is not only a consolation, but
also or especially a lament: ‘Sappho’ may console Atthis by the
thought that the Lydian woman still remembers her and longs for
her, while lamenting the impossibility for them to come together
and satisfy the desire mirrored by the flowery and dewy fields.247
In Anacreon 346<fr.1> a girl called Herotime is addressed

throughout:248
οὐδε...[.]σ.φ..α..[...]..[
φοβερὰς δ’ ἔχεις πρὸς ἄλλωι
φρένας, ὦ καλλιπρό[σ]ωπε παίδ[ων.
καί σε δοκεῖ μὲν ἐ[ν δό̣]μοισι[ν

5 πυκινῶς ἔχουσα [μήτηρ
ἀτιτάλλειν. σ[.].[....]...[
τὰς ὑακιν[θίνας ἀρ]ούρας
discussion of Anacr. 346<1> below, and further my introduction (1.2.1) and my

discussion of sea poems (4.4.1).
247 Cf. Lardinois 1994, 74 and 2001, 86, who points out that the Lydian woman’s
wanderings (ζαφοίταισ’) resemble those of grieving people. For the dominant

opinion of consolation see Page 1979 (1955), 95; Saake 1971, 177-178; Carey 1978,
367-368; Hague 1984.
248 Cf. Serrao 1968, 43-51; Cavallini 1990; Kurke 1999, 192; Rosenmeyer 2003, 173-
177. Some scholars (Bowra 1961 (1936), 287-289; Barigazzi 1956, 140-148;
Merkelbach 1958, 96-97; Campbell 1988, ad loc.) believe that in line 3 a boy is
addressed and that the address to Herotime in line 13 marks the beginning of a
new poem. This belief has been rejected for several reasons. Firstly, the noun παῖς
does not necessarily refer to a boy, for in epic poetry (e.g. Il. 1.20 and 443; 3.175)
and archaic lyric poetry (e.g. Anacr. 348.2, of Artemis; Sapph. 132.1, of Cleïs) the
noun also refers to a girl; the only other time the noun is combined with the
epithet καλλιπρόσωπος is even in reference to a girl (Filox. 8, of Galatea). Next,
there is no coronis after line 12 that would mark the beginning of a new poem.
92
ἵ]να Κύπρις ἐκ λεπάδνων
....]´[.]α[ς κ]ατέδησεν ἵππους.
10 ......]δ’ ἐν μέσωι κατῆ<ι>ξας

......]ωι δι’ ἅσσα πολλοὶ
πολ]ιητέων φρένας ἐπτοέαται·
λεωφ]όρε λεωφόρ’ Ἡρο[τ]ίμη.
…nor…but you have a timid heart as well, lovely-faced girl. And (your
mother) thinks that she tends you (at home), keeping a firm hold on you.
But you...the fields of hyacinth, where the Cyprian tethered mares with
yoke straps. And you darted down in the midst (of the throng?), so that
many citizens find their hearts excited by passion; Herotime, public
highway, public highway.
In line 6b the scene shifts from the indoors space of the house, in
which the girl’s mother believes that she keeps a firm hold on her
(lines 4-6a), 249 to the outdoors space of the ‘fields of hyacinths’
(ὑακιν[θίνας ἀρ]ούρας, line 7). The fields are presented as a
symbolic space with erotic associations through the use of the
epithet ὑακινθίνας,250 as hyacinths are associated with Aphrodite
249 The supplements ἐ[ν δό̣]μοισι[ν and [μήτηρ in lines 4-5 were suggested by
Gallavotti and have been accepted by most editors (Gentili and Campbell, but not
Page).
250 Because ἄρουρα is used with a flower epithet, scholars read the fragment as if
λειμών (‘meadow’), on which flowers naturally grow, were mentioned instead of

ἄρουρα (Gentili 1958, ad loc.; Serrao 1968, 42; Degani-Burzacchini 2005 (1977), ad
loc.). Some even argue that the scene represents the ‘meadow of love’ motif, in
which a young girl is seduced or abducted by a man (Calame 1999 (1992), 165 and
Rosenmeyer 2004, 176), but there are no signs of seduction or abduction by a man
(see further 3.3.3 for this motif). Slings 1978, 38 goes even further by suggesting
that the scenery in lines 6b-9 represents a mixture of the erotic ‘meadow’ of
Aphrodite and the chaste ‘meadow’ of Artemis (cf. E. Hipp. 73-81), for the latter
proposing the supplement Αἰδώς in line 5b, who represents Artemis as the
guardian of the chastity meadow in Hipp. 78. This suggestion, however, is a petitio
principii, as it is supported by Slings’ own supplement. Moreover, even if the
supplement were likely, this does not make Αἰδώς present in the outdoors scenery
of lines 6b-9.
93
in early Greek poetry, probably because of their seductive smell:251
in Cypria fragment 4 Aphrodite is clothed in perfumed garments of
flowers, including hyacinths (ἔν θ’ ὑακίνθωι); in Alcaeus 196b
Aphrodite is present with youths garlanded with hyacinth
(νεαίνι[αι / ].ξ ἰακ[υνθ]ω<ι> στεφανώμενοι, 7b-8); in an
epithalamium by Sappho (fragment 194, paraphrased in Himerius’
Orationes 9.4), girls are led into the bridal room together with
Aphrodite, whose hair is bound with hyacinth (καὶ τῆς μὲν
ὐακίνθωι τὰς κόμας σφίγξασα).
In Anacreon’s fragment, too, hyacinths are associated with
Aphrodite, who ‘tethered mares with yoke straps’
(ἐκ λεπάδνων…κ]ατέδησεν) in the fields of hyacinth. The image
of mares252 yoked by Aphrodite seems to be an erotic metaphor for
the loss of virginity of girls, as is clear from the parallel image of
Aphrodite yoking (ζεύξασ’) a girl who was previously an
‘unyoked filly’ (πῶλον ἄζυγα) in Euripides’ Hippolytus 546-554.253
The connection between the fields of hyacinth and Herotime (cf.
σ[.]) seems to render the metaphor of the yoking of the mares as
the imagination of the girl’s own desire for the loss of virginity; this
would be further underscored if the verb lost in line 6b expressed
her longing for the fields.254
251 Cf. LfgrE, s.v. ὑάκινθος. For the parallels see Gentili 1958, ad loc.; Serrao 1968,
42-43, n16; Degani-Burzacchini 2005 (1977), ad loc.; Tsomis 2001, 122, n141.
252 That ἵππους represent mares is suggested by –α[ς, presumably the end of an
unpreserved epithet.
253 Cf. Kirkwood 1974, 154; Calame 1999 (1992), 165; Tsomis 2001, 122; see also the
erotic metaphor of taming a filly in Anacr. 417 discussed in 3.3.3. Interpreting

ἐκ λεπάδνων as freed from yoke straps, some scholars (Gentili 1958, 187; Serrao
1968, 43; Degani-Burzacchini 2005 (1977), ad loc.; Bernsdorff forthcoming) believe
that lines 8-9 are about horses ranging free and convey a sense of promiscuity.
However, this does not accord with the tethering of the horses expressed by the
verb κατέδησεν. The preposition ἐκ makes sense with the verb, if we are aware
that it can express the instrument or means by which something is done (see e.g. S.
Ph. 563 and 710; cf. further LSJ, s.v. ἐκ III6 and KG II.1.430).
254 See Bernsdorff forthcoming. Other supplements suggest that she moves
towards the fields (cf. Serrao’s ῥίμφ’ ἐποίχεαι, ‘go lightly to’; Slings’ ὑπεξέφευγες,
‘withdrew to’), or that she is present in the fields (Gentili’s and Degani-
Burzacchini’s βόσκεαι, ‘graze on’).
94
While the outdoors scene in the fields seems to reflect the
girl’s own erotic desire, that in the city in the next stanza (lines 10-
14) conveys the erotic effect she has on the citizens, many of whom
are excited by passion as she darts in their midst.255 This ultimately
leads to hyperbolic mockery of the girl through the use of the
double vocative λεωφόρ’, in juxtaposition to her lofty first name
Hero-time (‘honoured by the hero’ or ‘honour of the hero’): while
the epithet is used of a public highway in epic poetry (Il. 15.682), it
here suggests a whore.256
3.3.2. Gardens (κῆποι)
Gardens (κῆποι) are generally cultivated areas of land where fruit

trees are grown in epic poetry.257 In archaic Greek lyric gardens
sometimes refer to the favourite spot of a venerated hero or god (Pi.
O. 3.24, Pelops’ Olympia; P. 5.24, Aphrodite’s Cyrene; P. 9.53, Zeus
Ammon’s Libya).
In addition, archaic lyric gardens are also presented
symbolically, either as metaphors or as space with erotic associations.
255 For the erotic meaning of the verb πτοέω, ‘exciting by passion’, in ancient
Greek literature see, e.g., Alc. 283.3-4; Sapph. 22.14 and 31.5-6; Pr. 856 (cf. Gentili
1958, ad loc. and Serrao 1968, 48).
256 For the mockery of the name see Kurke 1999, 194, n47; contra Degani-
Burzacchini 2005 (1977), ad loc., who believe that the name is merely arbitrary. For
mockery as a central theme in Anacreon’s poetry, e.g. also in frr. 417 (discussed in
3.3.3) and 347, see Fränkel 1975 (1962), 293; Gentili 1958, xx; De Martino-Vox 1996,
918; Lambin 2002, 111-120. The image of the whore seems to contradict the
statement at the beginning of the fragment that the girl has a timid heart. Two
suggestions have been put forward to solve this problem: one is that the fragment
presents a sequence in the life of Herotime from a timid girl to a public whore
(Serrao 1968, 43-51; Cavallini 1990; Kurke 1999, 192; Rosenmeyer 2003, 173-177),
another that two girls are set in opposition to each other: a timid girl (tentatively
called Smerdeis, a girl mentioned in Anacr. 366) and a whore (Gentili 1958, 181
and 193-194). The former is unlikely in light of the use of present tenses at the
beginning and end of the fragment, and the latter because there is no clear
indication of an addressee shift. In my view, the contradiction can only be solved
if we consider the beginning ironic in light of what follows and the end
hyperbolic.
257 Il. 8.306; Od. 4.737; 7.129; 24.247 and 338.
95
Gardens as Metaphors
A first symbolic presentation of gardens is as metaphor. In

Archilochus’ Cologne Epode gardens are metaphors for female
genitals; when a man utters σχήσω γὰρ ἐς ποη[φόρους / κ]ήπους
(‘I shall steer towards grassy gardens’, lines 23-24a) while seducing
a girl, he hints at his intended sexual activities. 258 In Pindar’s
Olympian 9 the ‘garden of the Graces’ is metaphorical for poetry: in
the opening praise of victor and city the phrase ἐξαίρετον Χαρίτων
νέμομαι κᾶπον (‘I am cultivating the exquisite garden of the
Graces’, line 27) stands for the production of poetry, since the
plural χάριτες sometimes denotes the charm of poetry (e.g., I. 1.6
and 3.8, O. 13.19) and comparable poetological metaphors of
cultivating and ploughing are found elsewhere in Pindar (N. 6.33-
35 and 10.26, P. 6.1-3).259
Gardens and Erotic Associations
For a second symbolic presentation of gardens we need to have a

close look at Ibycus 286:
ἦρι μὲν αἵ τε Κυδώνιαι

μηλίδες ἀρδόμεναι ῥοᾶν
ἐκ ποταμῶν, ἵνα παρθένων
κῆπος ἀκήρατος, αἵ τ’ οἰνανθίδες
5 αὐξόμεναι σκιεροῖσιν ὑφ’ ἕρνεσιν
οἰναρέοις θαλέθοισιν. ἐμοὶ δ’ ἔρος
οὐδεμίαν κατάκοιτος ὥραν·
ἀλλ’ ἅθ’ ὑπὸ260 στεροπᾶς φλέγων
258 For the metaphorical-erotic sense of the garden see the parallels provided by
Merkelbach-West 1974, 106 and Slings 1987b, ad loc.: Archipp. 50, D.L. 2.116.11,
Hesychius and Photius, s.v. κῆπος. Cf. further my discussion of the Epode in 3.3.3.
259 See further my discussion of P. 6.1-3 in 3.3.1.
260 The reading ἀλλ` ἁθ` ὑπὸ is a conjecture (see Page, Campbell, De Martino-Vox,
Tortorelli) for the codd. reading τε ὑπὸ, which is improbable, as τε cannot stand in
initial position (cf. Denniston 1954 (1934), s.v. τε I.8).
96
Θρηίκιος Βορέας ἀίσ-
10 σων παρὰ Κύπριδος ἀζαλέαις μανί-
αισιν ἐρεμνὸς ἀθαμβὴς
ἐγκρατέως πεδόθεν λαφύσσει261
ἡμετέρας φρένας.
In spring bloom Cydonian quince trees, watered from flowing streams,

where stands an undefiled garden of girls, and vine flowers growing
under the shady vine shoots. But for me love is quiet at no season: like the
Thracian North Wind blazing with lightning, rushing from the Cyprian
with parching fits of madness, dark and unabashed, it [eros] powerfully
burns my heart from the roots.
In the first half of the poem (lines 1-6a) a spring garden is depicted
with quince trees and shady vines. The symbolism of the garden is
clear from the fact that it is ‘undefiled’ (ἀκήρατος) rather than
cultivated, which would have been expected. The connection
between the undefiled garden and parthenoi, young virgins, 262
reveals that the former symbolises the youthful virginity of the
261 The codices read φυλάσσει, but this reading is considered implausible (Page,
Davies, Campbell and Cavallini put it between cruces), because the static meaning
‘guarding’ does not seem to fit the ferociousness of Boreas (it is nevertheless
defended by Gentili 1967, 178-180, 1984b, 193-197 and Gentili-Catenacci 2007, ad
loc.; Bonnano 1990, 73-79; Luginbill 1995, 343-347). Conjectures proposed are
τινάσσει (‘shakes’; Campbell 1982 (1967), ad loc.), φλάσει (‘will crush’; Tortorelli
2004) and λαφύσσει (‘burns’; West 1966, 152-153 and 1975, 307, Borthwick 1979,
Tsomis 2003, 237, n50). I opt for λαφύσσει defended by most scholars, because it
well conveys the destructive power of eros and its heat (cp. e.g. AP 5.239) and
aligns with other examples of textual corruption from φυλάσσω to λαφύσσω (see
further the scholars mentioned above).
262 I do not see why we should consider the girls Charites (De Martino-Vox 1996,
ad loc.), Hesperides (Calame 1999 (1992), 169), Muses (Tortorelli 2004, 375) or
nymphs (Fränkel 1975 (1962), 284; Campbell 1982 (1967), ad loc.; Elliger 1975, 199;
Jenkyns 1982, 33-34; Gentili 1984b, 291, n4 and Gentili-Catenacci 2007, ad loc.;
Tsomis 2003, 236): if the girls would represent one of these groups, a more
manifest reference to them would be expected. Moreover, as regards the dominant
opinion that they are nymphs, nowhere in early Greek poetry nymphs are called
παρθένοι and nowhere do they inhabit a garden (cf. LfgrE, s.v. νύμφη 1a for their
habitats).
97
latter, as it is rendered as a space where love has not yet been
made. 263 The connection with the young virgins is further
underscored by the blooming vine flowers (οἰνανθίδες…
θαλέθοισιν) that grow under the vine shoots (ὑφ’ ἕρνεσιν
οἰναρέοις), for the verb θαλέθω and the nouns ἕρνος and ἄνθος
are sometimes used of people in their youth in early Greek
poetry.264
The incipient sexuality of the parthenoi is also symbolised by
the Cydonian quince trees and the spring season. Archaic Greek
sources reveal that Cydonian quinces, fruits sacred to Aphrodite,
were offered to brides to awaken sexual desire in them for their
husbands on their wedding night: in Stesichorus 187 they are
thrown to Helen at her marriage with Menelaus, and a prescription
by Solon (Plu. Sol. 20.3) states that a bride should eat a Cydonian
quince before entering the bridal chamber, as it encourages sexual
intimacy between the couple.265 In Ibycus’ poem the reference to
blooming Cydonian quince trees implies that the girls will be
sexually active in the near future. This is further evinced by the
spring season, as spring is associated with the awakening of love in
early Greek poetry: in Alcaeus 296b.3, for example, Aphrodite
appears ‘when the gates of spring are opened’ (ὠς γὰρ ὀί[γ]οντ’
ἔαρος πύ[λαι), and in Theognis 1275-1276 ‘Love rises in season,
when the burgeoning earth blooms with spring flowers’ (Ὡραῖος
263 Cp. the connection of ἀκήρατος with virginity, in Pi. Pae 8.81 and E. Tr. 675-
676. See also Euripides’ Hippolytus 73-74, where the ἀκήρατος λειμών, from
which Hippolytus has gathered a garland for Artemis, symbolises the virginal
chastity of Hippolytus (and Artemis).
264 For the verb see e.g. Od. 6.63; cf. also the similar use of θάλλω in Pi. O. 9.16, P.
4. 65 and 9.8. For the noun ἔρνος see Il. 18.56; Od. 6.163; B. 5.87; Pi. fr. 33c.2. For
ἄνθος cf. Il. 13.484; Hes. fr. 28; h. Cer. 108; h. Merc. 375; h. Ven. 10.3; Mimn. 1.4 and
2.3; Pi. P. 4. 158; Sol. 25.1; Thgn. 994, 1007-1008, 1017-1018, 1070, 1305, 1348; Tyrt.
10.28; see further Silk 1974, 102, n16 and MacLachlan 1993, 57-60, and cf. my
discussion of Archil. 196a in 3.3.3. Bowra 1961 (1936), 262, Jenkyns 1982, 34 and
Davies 1986, 401 suggest that the vines symbolise sexuality, but they can only
provide parallels from Latin literature (Cat. 64.145-146 and Ov. Met. 14.661-674).
265 See further Faraone 1999, 69-78.
98
καὶ Ἔρως ἐπιτέλλεται, ἡνίκα περ γῆ / ἄνθεσιν εἰαρινοῖς θάλλει
ἀεξομένη).266
The incipient sexuality of the young virgins in the first half
of the poem contrasts with the permanent erotic passion of the
mature narrator in the second half of the poem (lines 6b-13),267 as
conveyed by the statement that love is never calm for him as well
as the image of eros rushing ‘from the Cyprian’ (παρὰ Κύπριδος),
i.e. the goddess of love Aphrodite, and burning his heart from the
roots.
3.3.3. Meadows (λειμῶνες)
In epic poetry meadows (λειμῶνες) are typically uncultivated

pieces of grass and flowers where animals reside.268 Occasionally
epic meadows are depicted as symbolic-erotic spaces where young
and innocent girls find themselves, sometimes picking flowers,
before being abducted by men. The best known example of this
‘meadow of love’ motif is the abduction of Persephone by Hades.269
Except for two highly fragmentary instances (Simon. 519 fr.
32, Pi. Th. 7.3), archaic lyric meadows are symbolically presented as
spaces invested with erotic associations. Of the four symbolic
meadows I discuss, the first two have erotic associations connected
to the ‘meadow of love’ motif.
266 Cf. also Cypr. 4 and Sapph. 2 discussed in 3.3.3 for the erotic associations of
spring flowers.
267 Cp. Euripides’ Hippolytus 73-74, referred to above, where the ἀκήρατος λειμών
marks a contrast with the erotic passion of Phaedra in the rest of the play (see
further e.g. Swift 2009, 370-371).
268 Birds and other winged creatures: Il. 2.461, 463 and 467, 16.151; Od. 5.72; Od.
12.45 and 159. Cattle: Od. 21.49; h. Cer. 175; h. Merc. 72, 104, 198, 221, 340, 503.
Goats: Od. 4.605 and 9.132.
269 Cf. h. Cer. 1-32 and 414-432; see also the brief reference to Medusa and Poseidon
in Th. 279. Cp. also, in tragic and Hellenistic poetry, Eur. Ion 887-896 (Creusa and
Apollo) and Mosch. Eur. 28-36 and 63-114 (Europe and Zeus). For a discussion of
the ‘meadow of love’ motif in ancient Greek poetry I refer to Motte 1973, 38-48 and
208-213; Bremer 1975; Calame 1999 (1992), 165-174.
99
Anacreon 417
Anacreon 417 offers an extended metaphor of a rider and a filly for

a man addressing a girl:270
πῶλε Θρηικίη, τί δή με
λοξὸν ὄμμασι βλέπουσα
νηλέως φεύγεις, δοκεῖς δέ
μ’ οὐδὲν εἰδέναι σοφόν;
5 ἴσθι τοι, καλῶς μὲν ἄν τοι
τὸν χαλινὸν ἐμβάλοιμι,
ἡνίας δ’ ἔχων στρέφοιμί
σ’ ἀμφὶ τέρματα δρόμου.
νῦν δὲ λειμῶνάς τε βόσκεαι
10 κοῦφά τε σκιρτῶσα παίζεις,
δεξιὸν γὰρ ἱπποπείρην
οὐκ ἔχεις ἐπεμβάτην.
Thracian filly, why, looking at me from the corner of your eyes, do you flee
pitilessly from me and suppose that I have no skill? Let me tell you, I
could well put the bit on you, and with the reins in my hand turn you
around the race-posts. Instead you graze in meadows and play and leap
lightly, since you have no skilful rider, experienced in horses.
In lines 9-10 an image is presented of a filly playing and leaping

lightly in meadows, which conveys the youthful playfulness and
innocence of the girl. 271 That the filly is alone in the meadows
270 Hutchinson 2001, 278; Tsomis 2001, 120; Rosenmeyer 2004, 172-174. Other
commentators (Degani-Burzacchini 2005 (1977), 269; Kurke 1999, 183; Lambin
2002, 77-78; Gentili-Catenacci 2007, 227) think that a hetaera is addressed, following
the interpretation of Heraclitus, who quotes the poem (Alleg. Hom. 5). However, in
that case we would expect the noun ἵππος (‘mare’) for an adult woman, instead of
πῶλος (‘filly’), which is frequently used of young virgins (especially in drama: E.
Hec. 142 and Hipp. 546; Ar. Lys. 1308).
271 See Rosenmeyer 2004, 171-173; cf. h. Cer. 5, where Persephone is playing
(παίζουσαν) in a meadow, and cp. also h. 30.14-15, where young girls are playing
100
without being accompanied by a ‘skilful rider, experienced in
horses’ (lines 11-12) reveals that the man who presents himself as
sexually competent (cf. also σοφόν in line 4) does not have sexual
contact with the girl.272 He only tries to seduce her by expressing
his wish to put the bit on the filly and race with her, i.e. to sexually
engage with the girl (lines 5-8).273 In this way, the ‘meadow of love’
in Anacreon’s poem has associations with seduction instead of with
abduction.274 However, it might be that the man’s wish for sexual
activities expressed in lines 5-8 presages what he will undertake
after he has spoken to the girl. In that case, the man would mock
the girl’s youthful innocence before sexually engaging with her
after all.275
Archilochus 196a
In Archilochus’ Cologne Epode (fragment 196a) a man recounts a

conversation in which he seduced a girl and the sexual activities
that followed the conversation:
........................................
πάμπαν ἀποσχόμενος·
ἶσον δὲ τολμ[
and leaping (παίζουσαι σκαίρουσι) in a flowery scenery. Contra the belief of

scholars who hold the hetaera theory (Degani-Burzacchini 2005 (1977), ad loc.;
Kurke 1999, 184; Gentili-Catenacci 2007, ad loc.) that the verb παίζειν denotes an
erotic play and conveys the hetaera’s promiscuity: this interpretation is improbable
because the filly (girl) is alone and has no one to ‘play’ with.
272 For the erotic metaphor of horse-back riding in ancient Greek poetry cf., e.g.,
Thgn. 257-260 and Ar. Lys. 677.

273 Parallels for the erotic metaphors are, e.g., E. Hipp. 545-554 and AP 5.202 and
203 (Asclepiades). See also the erotic metaphor of yoking mares in Anacr. 346<1>
discussed in 3.3.1.
274 Cf. also infra Archilochus’ Cologne Epode. For the suggestion that the poem
forms part of the ‘meadow of love’ motif see Calame 1999 (1992), 166.
275 For mockery in Anacreon’s poetry see further my discussion of fr. 346<1> in
3.3.1. This interpretation goes counter to the claim of Degani-Burzacchini 2005

(1977), 69 and Hutchinson 2001, 279 that the man mocks himself by representing
himself as a ‘loser’ who cannot erotically conquer even a young girl.
101
εἰ δ᾽ ὦν ἐπείγεαι καί σε θυμὸς ἰθύει,
ἔστιν ἐν ἡμετέρου
5 ἣ νῦν μέγ᾽ ἱμείρε[ι
καλὴ τέρεινα παρθένος. δοκέω δέ μι[ν
εἶδος ἄμωμον ἔχειν·
τὴν δὴ σὺ ποίη[σαι φίλην.’
τοσαῦτ᾽ ἐφώνει· τὴν δ᾽ ἐγὼνταμει[βόμην·
10 ‘Ἀμφιμεδοῦς θύγατερ,
ἐσθλῆς τε καὶ [
γυναικός, ἣν νῦν γῆ κατ᾽ εὐρώεσσ᾽ ἔ[χει,
τ]έρψιές εἰσι θεῆς
πολλαὶ νέοισιν ἀνδ[ράσιν
15 παρὲξ τὸ θεῖον χρῆμα· τῶν τις ἀρκέσε[ι.
τ]αῦτα δ᾽ ἐφ᾽ ἡσυχίης
εὖτ᾽ ἂν μελανθῆ[ι
ἐ]γώ τε καὶ σὺ σὺν θεῶι βουλεύσομεν.
π]είσομαι ὥς με κέλεαι·
20 πολλὸν μ᾽ ε[
θρ]ιγκοῦ δ᾽ ἔνερθε καὶ πυλέων ὑποφ[
μ]ή τι μέγαιρε φίλη·
σχήσω γὰρ ἐς ποη[φόρους
κ]ήπους· τὸ δὴ νῦν γνῶθι. Νεοβούλη[ν
25 ἄ]λλος ἀνὴρ ἐχέτω.
αἰαῖ, πέπειρα, δὶς [τόση,
ἄν]θος δ᾽ ἀπερρύηκε παρθενήϊον
κ]αὶ χάρις ἣ πρὶν ἐπῆν·
κόρον γὰρ οὐκ[,
30 ...]ης δὲ μέτρ᾽ ἔφηνε μαινόλις γυνή.
ἐς] κόρακας ἄπεχε·
μὴ τοῦτ᾽ ἐφ ιταν[
ὅ]πως ἐγὼ γυναῖκα τ[ο]ιαύτην ἔχων
γεί]τοσι χάρμ᾽ ἔσομαι·
35 πολλὸν σὲ βούλο[μαι
σὺ] μὲν γὰρ οὔτ᾽ ἄπιστος οὔτε διπλόη,
ἡ δ]ὲ μάλ᾽ ὀξυτέρη,
102
πολλοὺς δὲ ποιεῖτα[ι φίλους.
δέ]δοιχ᾽ ὅπως μὴ τυφλὰ κἀλιτήμερα
40 σπ]ουδῆι ἐπειγόμενος
τὼς ὥσπερ ἡ κ[ύων τέκω.’
τοσ]αῦτ᾽ ἐφώνεον· παρθένον δ᾽ ἐν ἄνθε[σιν
τηλ]εθάεσσι λαβὼν
ἔκλινα. μαλθακῆι δ[έ μιν
45 χλαί]νηι καλύψας, αὐχέν᾽ ἀγκάληις ἔχω[ν,
...]ματι παυ[σ]αμένην
τὼς ὥστε νεβρ[
μαζ]ῶν τε χερσὶν ἠπίως ἐφηψάμην
...]ρέφηνε νέον
50 ἥβης ἐπήλυσιν χρόα
ἅπαν τ]ε σῶμα καλὸν ἀμφαφώμενος
...]ὸν ἀφῆκα μένος
ξανθῆς ἐπιψαύ[ων τριχός.
…holding off completely; and endure (I shall endure?)…likewise. But if

you are in a hurry and desire impels you, there is among us one who now
greatly longs for…, a lovely tender girl. In my opinion she has a faultless
form; make her your (loved on)’. Such were her words; and I replied:
‘Daughter of Amphimedo, of a noble and…woman, whom now the
mouldy earth covers, many are the delights the goddess offers young men
besides the sacred act; one of these will suffice. But at leisure, when it
becomes dark, you and I will deliberate on these matters with the help of a
god. I shall obey as you bid me; (you arouse in me?) a strong (desire?).
But, my dear, do not begrudge me (to go?) under the coping and the gates;
for I shall steer towards grassy gardens; be sure now of this. As for
Neoboule, let some other man have her. Ugh, she is overripe, twice your
age, and her girlhood’s flower has lost its bloom, as has the charm which
formerly was on it; for (her desire is?) insatiable, and the sex-mad woman
has revealed the full measure of her…To hell with her! (Let) no (one bid?)
this, that I have such a wife and become a laughing-stock to my
neighbours; I much prefer you, since you are neither untrustworthy nor
two-faced, but she is quite precipitous, and makes many her lovers. I am
afraid that if I press on in haste (I may be the parent) of blind and
103
premature offspring, just like the bitch’. So much I said; and I took the girl
and laid her down in blooming flowers. With a soft cloak I covered her,
holding her neck with my arm…as she ceased just like a fawn…and with
my hands I gently took hold of her breasts…she revealed her young flesh,
the approach of her prime, and touching all over her lovely body I let go
my…force, touching her blond (hair).
In lines 42-43 the man says that he laid the girl down in ‘blooming
flowers’ (ἐν ἄνθε[σιν τηλ]εθάεσσι). These flowers do not only
reflect the youthful beauty of the girl, as ἄνθος frequently stands
for youthful vitality and beauty in other early Greek poetry,276 but
also contrast with the loss of beauty of another woman, Neoboule,
proposed by the girl as a sexual alternative but described by the
man as one whose ‘girlhood’s flower has lost its bloom’ (ἄν]θος δ᾽
ἀπερρύηκε παρθενήϊον, 27) due to sexual lust (cf. lines 19-20 and
38). 277 Moreover, the emphatic mention of ‘blooming flowers’
implies that, despite the lack of a direct reference to a λειμών, these
are meadow flowers, which as pars pro toto set the scene.278 Some
scholars have argued that they represent a real space, i.e. Hera’s
276 See my discussion of Ibyc. 286 in 3.3.2.

277 Cp. Hes. fr. 132 (εἵνεκα μαχλοσύνης στυγερῆς τέρεν ὤλεσεν ἄνθος, ‘her
tender bloom was lost because of hateful lust’) and especially Archil. 188.1 (οὐκέθ’
ὁμῶς θάλλεις ἁπαλὸν χρόα· κάρφεται γὰρ ἤδη / ὄγμοις, 'no longer does your
skin have the tender bloom that it once had: for now your furrow is withered’; see
further Brown 1995). Commentators only point out the contrast between the
negative use of flower imagery about Neoboule in the man’s speech and its
positive use about her in the girl’s speech (καλὴ τέρεινα παρθένος, ‘lovely tender
maiden’, line 6); for the latter they note that in epic poetry τέρεινα is used of
plants, leaves or grass (Il. 13.180; Od. 9.449 and 12.357) and those surfaces that
share the same tactile qualities, such as tears and skin (Il. 3.142 and 4.237), while in
Archilochus’ fragment it is used of a female to express her tenderness (Degani-
Burzacchini 2005 (1977), ad loc.; Henderson 1976, 164-165; Miralles-Pòrtulas 1983,
134; Slings 1987b, ad loc.; Nicolosi 2007, ad loc.).
278 Cf. Merkelbach-West 1974, 102; Bremer 1975, 272-273; Henderson 1976, 163-164;
Stoessl 1976, 252; Degani-Burzacchini 2005 (1977), ad loc.; Slings 1987b, ad loc.;
Calame 1999 (1992), 166-167. This is known from the Homeric epics as the
‘principle of single property’ (e.g., Il. 4.1-4, where the mention of the golden floor
and cups evokes Zeus’ splendid palace on the Olympus; see further Andersson
1976, 34-35 and 48-49 and de Jong forthcoming b).
104
precinct at Paros.279 However, this interpretation is problematic for
two reasons: it is biographical, as it locates the scenery on the birth
island of Archilochus, and it assumes that the scenery in AP 7.351
(Dioscorides), in which the Lycambides speak of an encounter with
‘Archilochus’ in Hera’s great precinct (Ἥρης ἐν μεγάλωι τεμένει),
is necessarily the same as that in the Epode. I rather side with other
scholars, who consider the meadow flowers an imaginary space
with erotic associations connected to the ‘meadow of love’ motif, as
they set the scene for an erotic encounter between a girl and a
man.280 The opening lines could have contained a more detailed
description of the meadow, possibly describing the girl playing
and picking flowers before her encounter with the man,281 but this
cannot be stated with certainty, since they have been lost. As in
Anacreon 417, the ‘meadow of love’ has associations with seduction
instead of with abduction, as the man tries to seduce the girl in the
meadow: in lines 13-16 he says that one of the ‘many delights the
goddess offers young men, besides the sacred act’ (τ]έρψιές εἰσι
θεῆς πολλαὶ νέοισιν ἀνδ[ράσιν παρὲξ τὸ θεῖον χρῆμα), i.e.
sexual activities except full intercourse,282 will suffice; in lines 21-
24a he makes use of spatial metaphors about the female genitals to
279 See Treu 1976, 115-117; Degani 1977, 36-38; Gentili-Catenacci 2007, ad loc.;
Nicolosi 2007, ad loc.
280 Cf. Bremer 1975, 272-273; Slings 1987b, ad 42-43; Calame 1999 (1992), 166-167.
Other motifs suggested are the locus amoenus (Thesleff 1981, 42; Miralles-Pòrtulas
1986, 137; Peponi 1992, 101-103) and – what could be called – the ‘man meets girl
in an isolated place’ motif (Van Sickle 1975, 125; Henderson 1976, 163; Miralles-
Pòrtulas 1983, 143). As regards the former, the mention of meadow flowers is not
sufficient to speak of a locus amoenus: water and trees, too, are essential features,
and other elements like shade are often added (see further Schönbeck 1962 and
Haß 1998). As for the latter, essential to the motif, as is clear from the meeting of
Odysseus and Nausicaa in Od. 6, is that man and girl are strangers to each other
before they meet (cf. Od. 6.187, where Nausicaa addresses Odysseus as ξεῖν᾽). In
the Epode, however, there are several indications that the man knew the girl
before: he knows the name of her mother and that she has died (lines 10-12), and
he is familiar with the girl’s character (cf. line 36).
281 This was suggested by Merkelbach-West 1974, 102 and Henderson 1976, 163.
282 Cf. Hesychius’ gloss ἐξω τῆς μίξεως (Π 839) for παρὲξ τὸ θεῖον χρῆμα (see
also Degani 1977, 21; Burnett 1983, ad loc.; De Martino-Vox 1996, ad loc.; Nicolosi
2007, ad loc.).
105
express his desire for sexual contact by asking the girl not to
begrudge him to go ‘under the coping and the gates’ (θρ]ιγκοῦ δ᾽
ἔνερθε καὶ πυλέων ὑποφ[…),283 for he will steer ‘towards grassy
gardens’ (ἐς ποη[φόρους / κ]ήπους). 284 These attempts seem to
have succeeded, as in the end sexual activities between the man
and the girl take place in the meadow.
However, a sense of ambiguity remains concerning the type
of sexual activities and the manner in which they take place in the
meadow. The man renders the impression that the girl does not
resist his sexual advances (cf. the middle παυ[σ]αμένην in 46), that
he is gentle to her and that he is not violent (cf. μαλθακῆι in 44 and
ἠπίως in 48), 285 but the girl’s perspective is not offered.
Additionally, the man provides no details and clearly refers to only
one sexual action, ejaculation (cf. ...]ὸν ἀφῆκα μένος, ‘I let go
my…force’, line 52); 286 he does not provide more details, thus
leaving the end open.287 In this respect, the meadow scene aligns
283 The verb we miss at the end of line 21 must have expressed some sort of
movement under the coping and the gates. Several emendations have been
proposed (ὑποφ[θάνειν by West, ὑποφλ[ύσαι by Slings), but none have met
general approval. Therefore, I follow Gerber in printing only ὑποφ[.
284 For the metaphorical-erotic sense of the spatial references see the parallels
provided by Merkelbach-West 1974, 106 and Slings 1987b, ad loc.: for the gardens
cf. supra my discussion in 3.3.2; for the coping Ar. Th. 60; for the gates Ar. Lys. 1163
and AP 5.242. Commentators who believe that the scenery presents a real space,
i.e. Hera’s precinct in Paros, defend a literal interpretation of lines 21-24a, arguing
that the coping and the gates form part of the city walls, while the gardens are
those of Hera’s temenos in the city. However, if lines 21-24 were to be taken
literally, one would expect that movement to take place after the dialogue
between the man and the girl.
285 Cf. Calder 1978, 42. According to Slings 1987b, ad loc., παυ[σ]αμένην is ‘not a
sign of tenderness, but of taking possession, sexually’. However, this is only true
for the passive sense of παύομαι, not for the middle sense (cf. LSJ, s.v. παύω I.1:
‘Med. denotes willing, Pass. forced, cessation’).
286 See Gerber 2006 (1999), ad loc. and Carey 2009, 157. If the emendation λευκ]όν
(‘white’) by Merkelbach (followed by Degani, Page, Gentili-Catenacci and

Nicolosi) or θερμ[όν (‘hot’) by West for the beginning of line 52 were correct, the
reference to ejaculation would be even more obvious.
287 In this light, the abundant research conducted to precisely determine which
sexual actions the man refers to becomes futile - suggestions are, amongst others,
106
with the sexual references in the man’s speech of seduction: the
alternatives to full intercourse proposed in lines 13-16 are not
specified, and, in line with one of the functions of metaphors to
express (sexual) experiences in a vague and ambiguous manner,288
the spatial metaphors in lines 21-24a do not make clear which
female genitals and thus which sexual activities are referred to.289
Theognis 1249-1252
I now turn to the final two symbolic meadows which have erotic
associations other than those connected to the ‘meadow of love’
motif. I begin with Theognis 1249-1252, which offers a comparison
of a boy with a horse:
παῖ, σὺ μὲν αὔτως ἵππος· ἐπεὶ κριθῶν ἐκορέσθης,

1250 αὖθις ἐπὶ σταθμοὺς ἤλυθες ἡμετέρους
ἡνίοχόν τε ποθῶν ἀγαθὸν λειμῶνά τε καλὸν
κρήνην τε ψυχρὴν ἄλσεά τε σκιερά.
Boy, you are just like a horse: after you had got your fill of barley, you
came back to my stables, longing for your skilful rider, beautiful meadow,
cool spring and shady groves.
In lines 1251b-1252 a beautiful meadow, presumably including

plants and flowers which naturally grow in meadows and make
‘petting’ (Degani 1977, 22), masturbation (Rankin 1977, 71 and Calder 1979, 43)
and ejaculatio praecox (Miralles-Pòrtulas 1983, 133).
288 Fainsilber-Ortony 1987, Steen 1999, 501, Kövecses 2000, Knowles-Moon 2006,
127-129 (see further 1.2.2 for the functions of metaphors). Cf. also my discussion of
the erotic metaphor of city conquest in Thgn. 949-954 (2.3.2).
289 Commentators have tried to determine with which female genitals the spatial
metaphors in particular accord: as for the gardens, for instance, some think of the
mons Veneris (e.g., Slings 1987b, ad loc.), others of pubic hair (e.g., Merkelbach-West
1974, 106). The impossibility of precisely determining the referents derives from
the fact that metaphors are no mere substitutions (see further 1.2.2 and also Thgn.
1249-1252 infra).
107
them beautiful,290 is described as having a cool spring and shady
groves, both of which imply the presence of a burning sun. The
erotic symbolism of the meadow is evinced by the fact that it is
embedded in an image of a horse with its rider which is a
metaphor for the homoerotic, pederastic love between a young boy
(eromenos) and a more mature man (erastes). A similar image occurs
in another poem by Theognis (lines 1267-1270), which is worth
quoting in full:
παῖς τε καὶ ἵππος ὁμοῖον ἔχει νόον· οὔτε γὰρ ἵππος

ἡνίοχον κλαίει κείμενον ἐν κονίηι,
ἀλλὰ τὸν ὕστερον ἄνδρα φέρει κριθαῖσι κορεσθείς.
1270 ὣς δ’ αὔτως καὶ παῖς τὸν παρεόντα φίλει.
A boy and a horse have a similar mindset: a horse does not weep for his
rider291 lying in the dust, but carries the man who comes next, after it has
had its fill of barley. Just so, a boy, too, loves the man who is at hand.
In lines 1267-1270, too, a boy is compared to a horse, with an

explicit point of comparison: just as a horse does not care who his
rider is, a boy (eromenos) does not care who his lover (erastes) is, as
long as he has one. Both in 1267-1270 and 1249-1252 the
promiscuity of the eromenos is conveyed by the image of a horse
satiated with barley (κριθαῖσι κορεσθείς, 1269 -
κριθῶν ἐκορέσθης, 1249), which represents satisfaction from an
encounter with another lover.292 The difference from 1267-1270 is
290 Cp. the use of καλός of plants and flowers in early Greek poetry: e.g. Il. 2.307,
16.55, h. Ven. 266, Th. 216; Archil. 30.2; Thgn. 994.
291 Gerber translates ἡνίοχος in 1268 and 1251 with ‘charioteer’, which is the sense
the noun has in epic poetry (see LfgrE, s.v. ἡνίοχος). However, in Theognis’
poems the sense ‘rider’ is more likely for two reasons: there is no reference to a
chariot and the third and only other instance of the noun in the Theognidea (line
260) definitely has the sense ‘rider’ (cf. LSJ, s.v. ἡνίοχος 2b and Van Groningen
1966, ad loc.), as the ἡνίοχος is carried by a horse.
292 Cf. Vetta 1980, ad loc. Some scholars (Adrados 1981 (1956), ad loc.; Dover 1978,
59; Hupperts 2000, 46) argue that anal penetration is alluded to, assuming that
barley is a metaphor for semen (cp. Ar. Pax 965). However, I doubt whether the
108
that in 1249-1252 the horse (boy) ultimately comes back to his rider
(erastes), who offers a beautiful meadow, a cool spring and shady
groves. Based on the meaning of πόθος ‘desire’ and ἀγαθός
physically ‘skilful’ in other early Greek poetry,293 the erastes makes
it seem as if the eromenos returns because of his desire for the
former’s sexual skills and a ‘pleasant place’ to make love. In this
way, the meadow is presented as a symbolic space suggestive of
homoerotic encounters.
Sappho 2
Sappho 2 is a cletic hymn in which the goddess Aphrodite is

invoked to come to a sanctuary:294
δεῦρύ μ’ ἐκ Κρήτα̣ς ἐπ[ὶ τόνδ]ε ναῦον295

ἄγνον, ὄππ[αι τοι] χάριεν μὲν ἄλσος
μαλί[αν], βῶμοι δὲ τεθuμιάμε-
νοι [λι]βανώτωι.
metaphor should be interpreted so specifically, especially since metaphors, as

specialists acknowledge, are no mere substitutions of referents (see further 1.2.2
and my discussion of Archil. 196a supra). In this light, the metaphor rather seems
to render satisfaction by a sexual encounter in the form of satisfaction by eating
(see, in general, Allan-Burridge 2006, 190-197).
293 For ἀγαθός in the sense of physically ‘skilful’ cf. for epic poetry Il. 1.131, 13.284,
17.632, 19.155, 21.280, 24.53; for lyric poetry see Pi. I. 5.26, N. 10.51 O. 9.28, P. 8.100.
For πόθος in the sense of ‘desire’ in early Greek poetry cf. Op. 66; Sc. 41; Archil.
196.1 and 194.1; Pi. fr. 123.4; Sapph. 22.11, 94.23 and 102.2; Thgn. 1339.
294 The noun ναῦον is a conjecture for the reading ναυγον of the ostracon, on
which the fragment has been preserved, and has been accepted by all editors
(Page, Treu, Voigt, Campbell, Aloni). Another conjecture, ἔναυλον, has gained
less success (proposed by Pfeiffer and followed in Kirkwood 1974, 115 and Ferrari
2010 (2007), 152), because the noun would be redundant in light of the similar
ἄλσος in line 2.
295 Before this line, the ostracon has ρανοθενκατιου. Most editors and
commentators consider δεῦρυ the beginning of a new poem, because

ρανοθενκατιου is followed by a long blank space and for reasons of meter
probably belonged to a lost hexametric hymn. See further McEvilley 1972, 324-325,
Burnett 1983, 361, n86 and Ferrari 2010 (2007), 151.
109
5 ἐν δ’ ὔδωρ ψῦχρον κελάδει δι’ ὔσδων
μαλίνων, βρόδοισι δὲ παῖς ὀ χῶρος
ἐσκίαστ’, αἰθυσσομένων δὲ φύλλων
κῶμα κατέρρει.
ἐν δὲ λείμων ἰππόβοτος τέθαλεν

10 ἠρίνοισιν ἄνθεσιν, αἰ δ’ ἄηται
μέλλιχα πνέοισιν [
[ ]
ἔνθα δὴ σὺ . . . . έλοισα Κύπρι

χρυσίαισιν ἐν κυλίκεσσιν ἄβρως
15 ὀμμεμείχμενον θαλίαισι νέκταρ
οἰνοχόαισον
Hither to me from Crete to this hallowed sanctuary, where is your

graceful grove of apple-trees, and altars smoking with incense. Therein
cool water babbles through apple-branches, and the whole place is put
under shade by roses, and from the quivering leaves deep sleep streams
down. Therein too a meadow, grazed by horses, blossoms with spring
flowers, and the winds blow gently…There, Cypris, take…and pour
gracefully into golden cups nectar that is mingled with festivities.
At the sanctuary, there is a meadow grazed by horses and

blossoming with flowers near a grove of apple trees, altars and cool
water. Some scholars have argued that the poem represents a real
space, i.e. an actual cult place of Aphrodite in Lesbos.296 The cult
place is made up, first of all, by a grove of apple trees. Sanctuaries
often contained groves of trees, as these were considered sacred
spaces where the god or goddess would manifest himself or
296Page 1979 (1955), 40, Lardinois 1994, 78, n78 and 1996, 165, Ferrari 2010 (2007),
153-154. Di Benedetto 2006, 16 thinks of a cult place in Ortygia, based on the
description of a grove in Strabo 14.1.20, which is however not said to be dedicated
to Aphrodite.
110
herself. 297 The reason why apple trees are mentioned is because
apples were sacred to the goddess Aphrodite.298 Next, it contains
altars. The smoke of the frankincense seems to refer to the kindling
of fire on altars for ritual sacrifices. 299 Furthermore, horses are
grazing in the meadow. Sanctuaries typically consisted of grazing
areas for animals.300 In Sappho 2 horses are mentioned because these
animals were sacred to Aphrodite.301 Finally, the reference to cool
water accords with the fact that sanctuaries usually included
streams, fountains or springs, not only to supply water for the trees
and the animals (here, the apple trees and the horses), but also to
purify celebrants before they partake in the rituals.302
Other scholars think that the poem evokes an imaginary
space, particularly because of the mysterious bsence of human
beings from the sanctuary and because of the magical image of a
trance-like sleep that streams down from the leaves.303 Whether real
or imaginary, the scenery is endowed with erotic associations. This
is suggested by the flowers in the meadow.304 Flowers, especially
roses that are connected to Aphrodite, are associated with female
desire in Sappho’s poetry, as I pointed out in my discussion of
297 See Burkert 2000 (1977), 28, Birge 1982, especially 38-39 (on Aphrodite) and
Bonnechere 2007, with reference to Sappho 2; also noted by Schönbeck 1962, 79-80.
Cf. the grove of Aphrodite in Corinth, mentioned in Pi. fr. 122.18, and cp. the
meadow with a grove of poplar trees for Athena in Phaeacia in Od. 6.291-294.
298 Cf. Aphrodite’s cult epithet μήλεια and ancient testimonia in Artem. 1.73, Ov.
Met. 10.644-648 and Plut. Mor. 138d. Noted by Bowra 1961 (1936), 197, Schönbeck
1962, 79-80, Saake 1971, 91, Williamson 1995, 141-142 and Haß 1998, 54.
299 See further Burkert 2000 (1977), 87-88 and Pedley 2005, 60-62. Cp. the altar in
the sanctuary of Aphrodite in Paphos, mentioned in Od. 8.363 and h. Ven. 5.59.
300 See Burkert 2000 (1977), 86.
301 For the horses cf. Aphrodite’s cult epithet ἔφιππος (schol. Il. 2.820); see further
Bowra 1961 (1936), 197, Elliger 1975, 179 and Le Meur 1998, 36. This would mean
that the epithet is not so ornamental as many commentators believe (e.g., Bowra
1961 (1937), 232; Campbell 1982 (1967), ad loc.; Broger 1996, ad loc.); for my general
claim that epithets bear contextual relevance in archaic lyric poetry see my
introduction (1.1).
302 See Burkert 2000 (1977), 86, Cole 1988 and Pedly 2005, 77; also noted by
Heikkila 1992, 50. Cp. the spring in Athena’s grove with meadow in Od. 6.291-294.
303 Cf. above all McEvilley 1972, 331-333 and Williamson 1995, 141.
304 See especially Heikkilä 1992, 44-49, Calame 1999 (1992), 167-168 and 2007, 49.
111
Sappho 96.305 Spring flowers, too, are related to love or Aphrodite
in early Greek poetry: in Cypria 4.2 Aphrodite is garmented ‘in
spring flowers’ (ἐν ἄνθεσιν εἰαρινοῖσιν), and in Theognis 1275-
1276 love is said to rise, when the earth blooms ‘with spring
flowers’ (ἄνθεσιν εἰαρινοῖς).306 The erotic associations suggest that
the sanctuary with its meadow is presented as a symbolic space
characteristic of Aphrodite, the goddess of love. This manner of
presentation reinforces the cletic nature of the hymn, as it
stimulates the goddess’ visit to the sanctuary requested at the
beginning and end of the fragment.307
3.4. CONCLUSION
This chapter has shown two of the roles the countryside can play in
archaic Greek lyric. Firstly, as in the Iliad, a coastal plain with a
river has a role as battlefield setting. Focusing on the use of diction
shared with epic poetry (especially epithets) and the anachronical
order of the ‘lyric narratives’, I have suggested that a grim
atmosphere is created of the countryside falling victim to wanton
violence.
Secondly, fields, meadows and gardens acquire a symbolic-
erotic role that is less common in epic poetry. Fields are presented
as erotic metaphors for the female body or have erotic associations
with a ‘psychologising function’, as they mirror female desire: the
latter nuances the scholarly opinion that the countryside in general
305 See 3.3.1.

306 Cf. also Alc. 296b and Ibyc. 286 (discussed in 3.3.2) for the connection between
love and spring. Admittedly, ἠρίνοισιν is a conjecture, suggested by Vogliano, for
the ostracon reading τωττιτονριννοισ, but it has been accepted by most editors
(Page, Treu and Campbell, but not Voigt and Aloni, who put cruces). Some
scholars (Bagg 1964, 53-54; Burnett 1983, 266-267; Winkler 1996 (1981), 108; Snyder
1997, 18-19) have argued that the erotic symbolism is specifically metaphorical for
the female body: the flowers, for instance, would stand for the female genitals.
However, this reading is not supported by textual evidence and the relation
between the female body and the sanctuary would be hard to understand (see
further Jenkyns 1982, 30-32 and Tsomis 2001, 60, n79 for a refutation of this
reading).
307 See further my discussion in Heirman forthcoming.
112
mirrors all sorts of human feelings. 308 Gardens are metaphors for
female genitals or are associated with incipient sexuality. Meadows
have associations with seduction of girls by men (‘meadow of love’
motif), homoerotic love, or the goddess of love Aphrodite.
308 Treu 1955, 203-212; Elliger 1975, 176-202; Jenkyns 1998, 33-38; Le Meur 1998, 23
(in the wake of the claim by Parry 1957 and Segal 1963 that in archaic Greece man
felt closely connected to the countryside).
113
4. THE SEA
4.1. INTRODUCTION
To date the sea in archaic Greek lyric has been investigated only in
Albin Lesky’s Thalatta of 1947, in which he argued that it has
symbolic associations with danger. In this chapter I will build upon
his findings. In the first two sections I will show that the sea also
has a role of setting and frame in mythological narratives journeys
(4.2) as well as a role in similes (4.3). In the final section (4.4) I will
focus on the particular ways symbolic associations with danger are
conveyed in brief (sections of) poems about sea journeys, including
arrival and departure.
4.2. THE SEA AS SETTING AND FRAME IN

MYTHOLOGICAL JOURNEYS
My discussion of the role of the sea as setting, i.e. scenic backdrop,

and secondary frame, i.e. place close to that scenic backdrop, in
mythological narratives of sea journeys is based on analyses of two
voyages: that of the Argonauts in Pindar’s Pythian 4 and that of
Theseus in Bacchylides 17.309 These analyses will focus on the way
the presentation of the sea is affected by the temporal structure of
the narratives, i.e. by both their duration, which concerns the
relation between the narrated time and the narrating time about
the voyage, and frequency of the events recounted during the
journey.
309The role of the sea in other parts of Pindar’s Epinician Odes than the
mythological narratives has been amply investigated by Péron 1974 (followed in
Steiner 1986, 66-75). Péron has demonstrated that in these parts the sea especially
has a structuring role, by which actuality and myth are joined, an idea is
developed or another line of thought is passed on to. Additionally, the sea also
has a symbolic role, as it stands for poetic inspiration or changes in destiny.
115
4.2.1. Pindar Pythian 4: The Argonauts’ Sea Journey
Pythian 4 was written to commemorate the victory of King

Arcesilas IV of Cyrene, descendant of the city’s founder Battus, of
the chariot race in Delphi. As the end of the poem suggests, a
secondary aim of the Ode was perhaps to encourage the return of
the aristocrat Damophilus, who had plotted to depose Arcesilas
and had been exiled to Thebes, where he had known Pindar.310 The
bulk of the Ode consists of a long, mythological narrative about
Jason and the Argonauts.311 On the one hand, the narrative focuses
on a prophecy by Medea about a clod of earth, which the Argonaut
Euphamus had once received from a mysterious stranger on his
return with the other Argonauts and Medea from Colchis, but
which had been washed overboard. The clod betokens the return of
Euphamus’ descendants to North Africa seventeen generations
later, i.e. at the time of Battus. This serves to explain the
colonisation of Cyrene by the Battiads and to underscore their
descent from the Argonauts, which in turn legitimises their
dynasty in times of increasing power of the Cyrenian aristocracy.312
On the other hand, emphasis is put on the nostos, or homecoming,
of Euphamus’ descendants. This is to be brought in connection
with the final appeal of the Ode for return of the exiled
Damophilus.313
Little attention is paid to the sea journey of the Argonauts
in the mythological narrative. Their return journey is very briefly
310 For the exile of Damophilus see Σ P. 4.467, with Braswell 1988, 3-6 and 23-30,
and Giannini 1995, 103-109.
311 Pythian 4 is the first instance in Greek literature in which the myth is recounted
in detail. It is only briefly alluded to in epic poetry: see Il. 7.469; Od. 12.69-72; Th.
992-1002; Hes. frr. 63.263 and 154. For a comparison of the myth in Pindar with
other versions in ancient Greek literature and art I refer to Braswell 1988, 7-23.
312 For the historical-political context of Pythian 4 see Braswell 1998, 2-4; Giannini
1995, 160; Currie 2005, 254-256.

313 On the functions of the mythological narrative see especially Robbins 1975 and
Giannini 1979. On the theme of nostos see Crotty 1982, 117-119 and Segal 1986, 89-
93.
116
recounted (lines 251-259a), merely to mention their intercourse
with the Lemnian women, who gave birth to the ancestors of
Battus. 314 Their outward sea voyage to Colchis in search of the
Golden Fleece is narrated in more detail in lines 188-213:
ἐς δ᾽ Ἰαολκὸν ἐπεὶ κατέβα ναυτᾶν ἄωτος,

λέξατο πάντας ἐπαινήσας Ἰάσων. καί ῥά οἱ
190 μάντις ὀρνίχεσσι καὶ κλάροισι θεοπροπέων ἱεροῖς
Μόψος ἄμβασε στρατὸν· ἐπεὶ δ᾽ ἐμβόλου
κρέμασαν ἀγκύρας ὕπερθεν,
χρυσέαν χείρεσσι λαβὼν φιάλαν
ἀρχὸς ἐν πρύμναι πατέρ᾽ Οὐρανιδᾶν ἐγχεικέραυνον Ζῆνα
καὶ ὠκυπόρους
195 κυμάτων ῥιπὰς ἀνέμων τ᾽ ἐκάλει νύκτας τε καὶ πόντου
κελεύθους
ἄματά τ᾽ εὔφρονα καὶ φιλίαν νόστοιο μοῖραν.
ἐκ νεφέων δέ οἱ ἀντάυσε βροντᾶς αἴσιον
φθέγμα· λαμπραὶ δ᾽ ἦλθον ἀκτῖνες στεροπᾶς
ἀπορηγνύμεναι.
ἀμπνοὰν δ᾽ ἥρωες ἔστασαν θεοῦ σάμασιν
200 πιθόμενοι. κάρυξε δ᾽ αὐτοῖς
ἐμβαλεῖν κώπαισι τερασκόπος ἁδείας ἐνίπτων ἐλπίδας·
εἰρεσία δ᾽ ὑπεχώρησεν ταχειᾶν ἐκ παλαμᾶν ἄκορος.
σὺν Νότου δ᾽ αὔραις ἐπ᾽ Ἀξείνου στόμα πεμπόμενοι
ἤλυθον· ἔνθ᾽ ἁγνὸν Ποσειδάωνος ἕσσαντ᾽ εἰναλίου
τέμενος,
205 φοίνισσα δὲ Θρηϊκίων ἀγέλα ταύρων ὑπᾶρχεν
καὶ νεόκτιστον λίθων βωμοῖο θέναρ.
ἐς δὲ κίνδυνον βαθὺν ἱέμενοι δεσπόταν λίσσοντο ναῶν
συνδρόμων κινηθμὸν ἀμαιμάκετον
ἐκφυγεῖν πετρᾶν. δίδυμαι γὰρ ἔσαν ζωαί,
κυλινδέσκοντό τε κραιπνότεραι
210 ἢ βαρυγδούπων ἀνέμων στίχες· ἀλλ᾽ ἤδη τελευτὰν
κεῖνος
314 See further below and 3.3.1.
117
αὐταῖς
ἡμιθέων πλόος ἄγαγεν. ἐς Φᾶσιν δ᾽ ἔπειτεν
ἤλυθον· ἔνθα κελαινώπεσσι Κόλχοισιν βίαν
μεῖξαν Αἰήται παρ᾽ αὐτῶι (…)
After the pick of the sailors had come down to Iolcus, Jason praised and
mustered them all. Then the seer Mopsos, prophesying for them by means
of birds and sacred lots, gladly sent the host on board. And after they had
hung the anchors above the prow, the captain took a golden bowl in his
hands and, standing on the stern, called on Zeus, father of the Ouranides
and wielder of lightning, and on the rush of the winds and of the waves to
be swift-moving and the nights and paths of sea and days to be propitious
and on their homecoming to be favourable. And from the clouds answered
him an auspicious clap of thunder; and bright flashes of lightning came
bursting forth. The heroes took fresh courage, trusting the god’s signs.
The seer bade them to fall to the oars, as he announced cheerful
expectations; from under their swift hands the rowing proceeded
ceaselessly. Carried forth by the breezes of the South Wind they came to
the mouth of the Inhospitable Sea: there they established a sacred precinct
for Poseidon, (god) of the sea, and there was at hand a red herd of
Thracian bulls and a newly built, hollow stone altar. As they sped on to
grave danger they prayed to the lord of ships to escape from the raging
and irresistible movement of the clashing rocks. For the two of them were
alive, and would roll more swiftly than the ranks of loud-roaring winds;
but that voyage of the demigods finally put an end to them. Next they
came to Phasis: there they matched strength with the dark-faced Colchians
in the presence of Aietes himself (...)
In this passage the role of the sea alternates between that of setting
and secondary frame, the former before the Argonauts build a
precinct for Poseidon en route and, above all, when they pass
through the clashing rocks before arriving at Colchis, and the latter
when they find themselves on land before embarking on their
voyage and when they build that precinct. The role of the sea as
secondary frame is more elaborated upon than that as setting, in
other words more attention is paid to what happens on land before
118
and during the sea journey than to the voyage itself. This is evinced
by the temporal structure of the narrative, in particular the
duration:315 the sea journey is recounted in broad strokes and with
much speed, i.e. in an extreme form of summary. The journey from
Iolcus (cf. line 188) by the Thracian Chersonese (cf. the Thracian
bulls in 205)316 through the Black Sea (cf. ἐπ’ Ἀξείνου στόμα in 203)
is summarised by one single reference to the αὖραι, cool breezes
favourable for a sea journey,317 of the South Wind (Νότου) (203-
204a).318 After the passage through the Black Sea, the Argonauts
immediately reach the ending point of their journey: the river
Phasis in Colchis (ἐς Φᾶσιν δ᾽ ἔπειτεν / ἤλυθον, 211-212a).
The speed of the sea journey is further underscored by that
of the Argo, literally ‘the Swift’ (cf. θοᾶς Ἀργοῦς in line 25), due to
winds and rowing. A first indication is given in lines 194-195,
where Jason calls on the rush of the waves and the winds
(κυμάτων ῥιπὰς ἀνέμων) to be swift-moving (ὠκυπόρους). In
epic and other lyric poetry the noun ῥιπή refers to wind,319 but in
Pythian 4 to both wind and waves: the rush of the waves is to be
considered a result of that of the wind. Because the epithet that
accompanies ῥιπάς, ὠκυπόρους, is used of ships elsewhere in
early Greek poetry,320 the swift movement of the wind and waves
may refer to the speed with which the ship will sail to Colchis.321 A
second indication of the speed of the ship is provided in line 202,
where the rowing is said to proceed ceaselessly (ἄκορος) under the
swift hands (ταχειᾶν ἐκ παλαμᾶν) of the Argonauts. Because
315 The temporal structure of the entire mythological narrative has received much
scholarly attention: see especially Hurst 1983 (without a distinction between the
different narrative levels); de Jong 1991 and Nünlist 2007, 245-247 (in terms of
Gérard Genette’s threefold division in order, duration and frequency).
316 See Kirkwood 1982, ad loc. and Braswell 1988, ad loc.
317 Cf. especially Op. 670 and infra B. 17.6.
318 See Kirkwood 1982, ad loc.; Braswell 1988, ad loc.; Giannini 1995, ad loc. Contrast
this with Apollonius’ Argonautica, where the Argo’s route is charted with great
precision and detail, almost in the style of a scientific work of geography (cf.
Delage 1930; Meyer 2001; Clare 2002, 67; Klooster forthcoming).
319 Of Boreas in Il. 15.171 and 19.358, B. 5.46; of ἄνεμοι in Pi. N. 3.59 and P. 9.48.
320 E.g. Il. 1.421 and 488; h. Diosc. 7; Pi. P. 1.74.
321 Cf. Gildersleeve 1965 (1890), ad loc.
119
ships are regularly called swift in early Greek poetry,322 this image,
too, seems to refer to the speed of the ship, in that the continuously
rowing hands speed up the ship.
Only three scenes are mentioned in the summary of the sea
journey: the preparations before the sea journey, the founding of a
precinct for Poseidon and the passage through the Syndromoi en
route. This means that there are many ellipses, events passed over in
silence by the narrator, with which the narratees were probably
familiar from other lyric as well as epic poems. These include the
abandonment of Heracles at Aphetae (cf. Hes. fr. 154) and the
defeat of Amycus, king of the Bebryces, by Polydeuces (mentioned
by Stesichorus, according to Zenobius 5.1.44).323 The combination of
summary and ellipses is a typical feature of Pindar’s narratives,324
because they recount mythological stories in condensed, lyric poems:
presuming prior knowledge of the stories, the narrator includes
only the most relevant parts. This is particularly clear from the
return journey of the Argonauts, in which only one scene is
recounted: the intercourse of the Argonauts with the Lemnian
women who bear the ancestors of Battus (cf. lines 251-259a). The
narrator recounts this scene to legitimise the descent of the Battiads
from the Argonauts in order to strengthen the Battiad dynasty of
Arkesilas IV, to whom the Ode is dedicated.325 The question is why
the narrator selects these three scenes of the Argonauts’ outward
journey; in other words, how does the presentation of these scenes
reveal the narrator’s aim in recounting the outward journey of the
Argonauts?
To begin with the scene about the preparations for the sea
journey (lines 193-201), emphasis is put on the auspicious start of
the Argonauts’ expedition. After a prayer by the captain (ἀρχός)
Jason, thunder and lightning are sent as favourable signs from the
322 Mostly by the epithet θοός: for epic poetry see LfgrE, s.v. θοός; for lyric poetry
see Sol. 19.3, Thgn. 12, Pi. fr. 221.5, N. 7.28-29, O. 12.3-4, P. 5.87.
323 For the events omitted see Wilamowitz-Moellendorff 1922, 390; Burton 1962,
163-164; Duchemin 1967, 100.

324 Cf. Nünlist 2007, 237-239 and 244.
325 Cf. 3.3.1 for a discussion of the scene.
120
clouds, i.e. by Zeus, and are affirmed by the cheerful expectations
of the seer Mopsus. The auspicious thunder of Zeus before the sea
journey (βροντᾶς αἴσιον / φθέγμα, 197b-198a), which signals a
safe journey ahead, echoes that after Euphamus received a clod of
earth, which betokens the later colonisation of Cyrene by his
Battiad descendants (αἴσιον δ᾽ ἐπί οἱ Κρονίων Ζεὺς πατὴρ
ἔκλαγξε βροντάν, 23). This echo enables the narrator to connect
the start of the Argonauts’ expedition with the colonisation of
Cyrene and thus to show that both are divinely supported.326 This,
in turn, serves to strengthen the dynasty of the Battiad King
Arkesilas IV against the increasing power of the Cyrenian
aristocracy.
Turning to the actual sea journey of the Argonauts, a first
scene (lines 204-206) deals with the building of a precinct for
Poseidon (Ποσειδάωνος …εἰναλίου). Mention of a hollow (θέναρ)
altar, which contains the fire on which sacrificial animals were
burnt,327 and a red (φοίνισσα) herd of Thracian bulls hint that a
sacrifice accompanies the act of building. In light of the use of the
verb φοινίσσω and the epithets φοίνιος and φοινικόεις of the
same root, which refer to reddening with blood in early Greek
poetry,328 φοίνισσα may refer to the blood of the bulls as a result of
their slaughter by the Argonauts. Both the building and the
sacrifice are meant to please the sea god Poseidon, so that he may
grant a safe passage through the Black Sea, which the Argonauts
are about to enter.329 This reveals the danger of the Black Sea, as
does the reference to it as the ‘Inhospitable Sea’. While the epithet
ἄξεινος is used of an inhospitable person in epic poetry (Op. 715),
326 De Jong 1991, 209 has argued that the favourable omens before the Argonauts’
expedition are a sign of the divine support for the colonisation of Cyrene. I add to
this that the echo of line 23 reveals a more direct connection between the
Argonauts’ expedition and the colonisation of Cyrene.
327 See Braswell 1988, ad loc.
328 For φοινίσσω see, for example, B. 27.36 and 13.165 (with my discussion in 3.2).
For φοίνιος and φοινικόεις cf. Il. 23. 717; Od. 18.97; Sc. 194.
329 Cf. Kirkwood 1982, ad loc. and Braswell 1988, ad loc. on the building of the
precinct. Cp. the offering of bulls to Poseidon after a safe sea voyage in Od. 3.178-
179.
121
(Pindar) ἄξεινος and the euphemistic εὔξεινος (N. 4.49) denote the
Black Sea in archaic lyric poetry. 330 This referential difference
shows that in Pindar the Black Sea is personified as an
unwelcoming human who is hostile and dangerous to visitors.
The final scene of the sea journey describes the Argonauts
passing through the clashing rocks (συνδρόμων…πετρᾶν), the
Syndromoi,331 which are personified as twin brothers (δίδυμαι γὰρ
ἔσαν ζωαί), to whose life the Argonauts make an end (τελευτάν)
(lines 207-211a).332 The danger of their passage through the rocks
had already been emphasised by the narrator. Firstly, he said that
the Argonauts sped on to ‘grave danger’ (κίνδυνον βαθύν, line
207). Because of the frequent use of the epithet βαθύς about the sea
in early Greek poetry,333 one would expect it to be used with a sea
noun to express the deepness of the sea and, consequently, its
danger. Instead, its danger is explicitly referred to by the noun
κίνδυνον, while the epithet βαθύς stresses the intensity of the
danger. 334 Secondly, he said that the Argonauts prayed for
assistance to the ‘lord of the ships’ (δεσπόταν λίσσοντο ναῶν), i.e.
330 In tragic poetry ἄξε(ι)νος is used about the Black Sea, for instance, in E. Andr.
794 (of the Argonauts), IT 218, 253 and 341 (parallels noted in Braswell 1988, ad
loc.); for εὔξε(ι)νος cf. e.g. Hdt. 1.6.1. For personification see my introduction
(1.2.2) and, applied to the city, 2.3.1.
331 For the Syndromoi elsewhere in ancient Greek literature see E. IT 421; Theoc. Id.
13.22; A.R. 2.346. These rocks are also called Synormades (Simon. 546), Cyaneae
(Hdt. 4.85.1; S. Ant. 966) and, above all, Symplegades (E. Andr. 795; IT 241, 260, 355
and 1389; Med. 2). Cp. also the similar Planctae (on the return journey): Od. 12.59-
72; A.R. 4.786-788 and 924-964.
332 For δίδυμαι as twins see also line 178 (about the Argonauts Echion and Erytus)
and further in early Greek poetry: Il. 5.548, 6.26, 23.641; Pi. I. 8.17, N. 1.36 and 9.4,
O. 3.35, P. 9.86. For the use of the noun τελευτή about the end of a human life see
Il. 7.104=16.787; Sc. 357; Pi. O. 5.22 and fr. 127.1 (these parallels are noted in
Braswell 1988, ad loc.).
333 E.g. Il. 1. 532 and 13.44; Archil. 105 (discussed in 4.4.1); B. 17 (discussed in 4.2.2);
Pi. N. 4.36, P. 1.24, 3.76 and 5.88.

334 For the intensity of βαθύς cf. its meaning ‘profound’, frequently attested in
Pindar (see Slater, s.v. βαθύς 2a: e.g. O. 2. 54, 10.37 and 12.12). Braswell 1988, ad
loc. and Giannini 1995, ad loc. say that the epithet-noun combination κίνδυνον
βαθύν equals μέγας κίνδυνος, attested in Pi. O. 1.81. The difference, however, is
that μέγας expresses the vastness of the danger, while βαθύς denotes its intensity.
122
the sea god Poseidon, 335 to escape from the clashing rocks: this
demonstrates their fear of sailing through the Syndromoi.
The danger of their passage through the Syndromoi is
further stressed by the fact that the narrator presents the scene with
an emphasis on the movement of the clashing rocks. This is done,
first of all, by the epithet-noun combination κινηθμὸν
ἀμαιμάκετον. In epic poetry the epithet ἀμαιμάκετος, probably
derived from the verb μαιμάω with α-intensivum, means ‘raging’,
as suggested by its use about (the fire of) Chimaera, the sea and the
mast of a ship in a storm at sea.336 Bacchylides and Pindar seem to
give the epithet the meaning ‘irresistible’ by connecting it with
ἄμαχος: this is clear from its use about strife (νεῖκος), force (μένος)
and Zeus’ trident.337 In Pythian 4 both meanings seem to be at play,
insofar as the epithet stresses the raging movement of the clashing
rocks as well as their irresistibility, i.e. the impossibility of escaping
(ἐκφυγεῖν) from them. Further emphasis is put on the speed of the
rocks by the intensive verb form κυλινδέσκοντο, which indicates
the continuous rolling of the rocks, as well as by the epithet with
which the verb is used in alliteration, κραιπνότεραι. While in epic
poetry the epithet κραιπνός (‘swift’) is used of winds,338 in Pindar
it is used of rocks but compared to ‘the ranks of loud-roaring
winds’ (βαρυγδούπων ἀνέμων στίχες, line 210). The comparison
with winds might convey the frightening effect of the movement of
the rocks, as suggested by both the reference to the loud noise of
the winds by the epithet βαρύγδουπος and the military
335 Cf. the use of δεσπότας about Poseidon in Pi. I. 6.5.

336 Of (the fire of) Chimaera: Il. 6.179 and 16.329, Th. 319. Of the sea: Sc. 207. Of the
mast of a ship in a storm: Od. 14.311 (here ‘tossing’ rather than ‘raging’).
337 Of νεῖκος: B. 11.64; of μένος: Pi. P. 3.33; of Zeus’ trident: Pi. I. 8(7).35. For the
connection with ἄμαχος see Chantraine, s.v. ἀμαιμάκετος and Tichy 1983, 314-
315; for the meaning ‘irresistible’ in Pindar see Slater, s.v. ἀμαιμάκετος. LfgrE, s.v.
ἀμαιμάκετος gives as translations both ‘raging’ and ‘irresistible’ for epic poetry,
but the latter seems to be at play only in lyric poetry.
338 Od. 5.385 and 6.171; h. Ap. 408 (cf. Braswell 1988, ad loc.).
123
associations of the noun στίχες, which is often used about the
ranks of an army in early Greek poetry.339
The selection and manner of presentation of the last two
scenes reveal that the narrator highlights the danger of the
Argonauts’ sea journey. This might be to increase the glory of the
(expedition of the) Argonauts and, consequently, of their
descendants, the Battiad kings of Cyrene, including Arkesilas IV, to
whom the poem is dedicated.340 In this way, the scenes before and
during the sea journey are selected and presented by the narrator
to reinforce the position of the Battiad dynasty against the
increasing power of the Cyrenian aristocracy.
4.2.2. Bacchylides 17: Theseus’ Sea Journey
Κυανόπρωιρα μὲν ναῦς μενέκτυ[πον

Θησέα δὶς ἑπτ[ά] τ᾽ ἀγλαοὺς ἄγουσα
κούρους Ἰαόνω[ν
Κρητικὸν τάμνε[[ν]] πέλαγος·
5 τηλαυγέϊ γὰρ [ἐν] φάρεϊ
βορήϊαι πίτνο[ν] αὖραι
κλυτᾶς ἕκατι π[ο]λεμαίγιδος341 Ἀθάν[ας.
κνίσεν τε Μίνω<ϊ> κέαρ
ἱμεράμπυκος θεᾶς
10 Κύπριδος [α]ἰνὰ δῶρα·
χεῖρα δ᾽ οὐ[κέτι] παρθενικᾶς
ἄτερθ᾽ ἐράτυεν, θίγεν
δὲ λευκᾶν παρηΐδων.
βόασ’ Ἐρίβοια χαλκο-
339 For the use of στίχες about the ranks of soldiers see Il. 4.221, 231 and 330;
16.173; 20.362; Pi. N. 9.38. The military associations have been pointed out by
Gildersleeve 1968 (1890), ad loc., Duchemin 1967, ad loc. and Giannini 1995, ad loc.
340 De Jong 1991, 209 has argued that the outward journey is recounted to convey a
sense of glory. I would specifiy this by saying that it is the stress on the danger of
the sea journey in particular that increases the glory. For the greatness of a trial
reinforcing the greatness of glory see, e.g., Il. 10.305-312.
341 I read π[ο]λεμαίγιδος (Kenyon, Taccone, Jebb) instead of π[ε]λεμαίγιδος
(Maehler, Irigoin, Campbell); see further infra.
124
15 θώρα[κα Π]ανδίονος
ἔκγ[ο]νον· ἴδεν δὲ Θησεύς,
μέλαν δ᾽ ὑπ᾽ ὀφρύων
δίνα[σ]εν ὄμμα, καρδίαν τέ οἱ
σχέτλιον ἄμυξεν ἄλγος,
20 εἶρέν τε· ‘Διὸς υἱὲ φερτάτου,
ὅσιον οὐκέτι τεᾶν
ἔσω κυβερνᾶις φρενῶν
θυμ[όν]· ἴσχε μεγαλοῦχον ἥρως βίαν.
ὅ τι μ[ὲ]ν ἐκ θεῶν μοῖρα παγκρατὴς

25 ἄμμι κατένευσε καὶ Δίκας ῥέπει τά-
λαντον, πεπρωμέν[α]ν
αἶσαν [ἐ]κπλήσομεν, ὅτ[α]ν
ἔλθηι. [σ]ὺ δὲ βαρεῖαν κάτε-
χε μῆτιν. εἰ καί σε κεδνὰ
30 τέκεν λέχει Διὸς ὑπὸ κρόταφον Ἴδας
μιγεῖσα Φοίνικος ἐρα-
τώνυμος κόρα βροτῶν
φέρτατον, ἀλλὰ κἀμὲ
Πιτθ[έ]ος θυγάτηρ ἀφνεοῦ
35 πλαθεῖσα ποντίωι τέκεν
Ποσειδᾶνι, χρύσεόν
τέ οἱ δόσαν ἰόπλο-
κοι κάλυμμα Νηρηΐδες.
τῶ σε, πολέμαρχε Κνωσσίων,
40 κέλομαι πολύστονον
ἐρύκεν ὕβριν· οὐ γὰρ ἂν θέλοι-
μ᾽ ἀμβρότοι’ ἐραννὸν Ἀο[ῦς
ἰδεῖν φάος, ἐπεί τιν᾽ ἠϊθέ[ων
σὺ δαμάσειας ἀέκον-
45 τα. πρόσθε χειρῶν βίαν
δε[ί]ξομεν· τὰ δ᾽ ἐπιόντα δα[ίμων] κρινεῖ.’
τόσ᾽ εἶπεν ἀρέταιχμος ἥρως·
τ]άφον δὲ ναυβάται
φ]ωτὸς ὑπεράφανον
125
50 θ]άρσος. Ἁλίου τε γαμβρῶι χόλωσεν ἦτορ,
ὕφαινέ τε ποταινίαν
μῆτιν, εἶπέν τε· ‘μεγαλοσθενές
Ζεῦ πάτερ, ἄκουσον· εἴ πέρ με νύμ[φα
Φοίνισσα λευκώλενος σοὶ τέκεν,
55 νῦν πρόπεμπ᾽ ἀπ᾽ οὐρανοῦ θοάν
πυριέθειραν ἀστραπὰν
σᾶμ᾽ ἀρίγνωτον· εἰ
δὲ καὶ σὲ Τροιζηνία σεισίχθονι
φύτευσεν Αἴθρα Ποσει-
60 δᾶνι, τόνδε χρύσεον
χειρὸς ἀγλαὸν
ἔνεγκε κόσμον ἐκ βαθείας ἁλός,
δικὼν θράσει σῶμα πατρὸς ἐς δόμους.
εἴσεαι δ᾽ αἴ κ᾽ ἐμᾶς κλύηι
65 Κρόνιος εὐχᾶς
ἀναξιβρέντας ὁ πάντω[ν με]δ[έω]ν.’
κλύε δ᾽ ἄμεμπτον εὐχὰν μεγασθενὴ[ς

Ζεύς, ὑπέροχόν τε Μίνωι φύτευσε
τιμὰν φίλωι θέλων
70 παιδὶ πανδερκέα θέμεν,
ἄστραψέ θ᾽· ὁ δὲ θυμάρμενον
ἰδὼν τέρας χεῖρας πέτασσε
κλυτὰν ἐς αἰθέρα μενεπτόλεμος ἥρως,
εἶρέν τε· ‘Θησεῦ, τάδε μὲν <ἐ-
75 μὰ> βλέπεις σαφῆ Διὸς
δῶρα. σὺ δ᾽ ὄρνυ᾽ ἐς βα-
ρύβρομον πέλαγος· Κρονί[δας
δέ τοι πατὴρ ἄναξ τελεῖ
Ποσειδὰν ὑπέρτατον
80 κλέος χθόνα κατ᾽ εὔδενδρον.’
ὣς εἶπε· τῶι δ᾽ οὐ πάλιν
θυμὸς ἀνεκάμπτετ᾽, ἀλλ᾽ εὐ-
πάκτων ἐπ᾽ ἰκρίων
σταθεὶς ὄρουσε, πόντιόν τέ νιν
126
85 δέξατο θελημὸν ἄλσος.
τάφεν δὲ Διὸς υἱὸς ἔνδοθεν
κέαρ, κέλευσέ τε κατ᾽ οὖ-
ρον ἴσχε[[ι]]ν εὐδαίδαλον
νᾶα· Mοῖρα δ᾽ ἑτέραν ἐπόρσυν᾽ ὁδόν.
90 ἵετο δ᾽ ὠκύπομπον δόρυ· σόει

ν[[ε]]ιν βορεὰς ἐξόπι[[θε]]ν πνέουσ᾽ ἀήτα.
τρέσσαν δ᾽ Ἀθαναίων
ἠϊθέων <πᾶν> γένος, ἐπεὶ
ἥρως θόρεν πόντονδε, κα-
95 τὰ λειρίων τ᾽ ὀμμάτων δά-
κρυ χέον, βαρεῖαν ἐπιδέγμενοι ἀνάγκαν.
φέρον δὲ δελφῖνες ἐναλι-
ναιέται μέγαν θοῶς
Θησέα πατρὸς ἱππί-
100 ου δόμον· ἔμολεν τε θεῶν
μέγαρόν. τόθι κλυτὰς ἰδὼν ἔδει-
σε Νηρῆος ὀλβίου
κόρας· ἀπὸ γὰρ ἀγλα-
ῶν λάμπε γυίων σέλας
105 ὧιτε πυρός, ἀμφὶ χαίταις
δὲ χρυσεόπλοκοι
δίνηντο ταινίαι. χορῶι δ᾽ ἔτερ-
πον κέαρ ὑγροῖσι[[ν ἐν]] ποσ<σ>ίν.
εἶδέν τε πατρὸς ἄλοχον φίλαν
110 σεμνὰν βοῶπιν ἐρατοῖ-
σιν Ἀμφιτρίταν δόμοις·
ἅ νιν ἀμφέβαλεν ἀϊόνα πορφυρέαν,
κόμαισί τ᾽ ἐπέθηκεν οὔλαις

ἀμεμφέα πλόκον,
τόν ποτέ οἱ ἐν γάμωι
115 δῶκε δόλιος Ἀφροδίτα ῥόδοις ἐρεμνόν.
ἄπιστον ὅ τι δαίμονες
θέλωσιν οὐδὲν φρενοάραις βροτοῖς·
127
νᾶα παρὰ λεπτόπρυμνον φάνη. φεῦ,
120 οἵαισιν ἐν φροντίσι Κνώσιον
ἔσχασεν στραταγέταν, ἐπεὶ
μόλ᾽ ἀδίαντος ἐξ ἁλός
θαῦμα πάντεσσι, λάμ-
πε δ᾽ ἀμφὶ γυίοις θεῶν δῶρ᾽, ἀγλ<α>ό-
125 θρονοί τε κοῦραι σὺν εὐ-
θυμίαι νεοκτίτωι
ὠλόλυξαν, ἔ-
κλαγεν δὲ πόντος· ἠίθεοι δ᾽ ἐγγύθεν
νέοι παιάνιξαν ἐρατᾶι ὀπί.
130 Δάλιε, χοροῖσι Κηΐων
φρένα ἰανθεὶς
ὄπαζε θεόπομπον ἐσθλῶν τύχαν.
A dark-prowed ship, as it carried Theseus, steadfast in the battle din, and

the fourteen noble youths of the Ionians, was cleaving the Cretan Sea: for
northern breezes fell on the far-shining sail thanks to glorious Athena,
who holds the war-like aegis. But Minos’ heart was chafed by the dread
gifts of the Cyprian goddess with desire in her headband; and he could no
longer keep his hand off the girl, but touched her white cheeks. Eriboea
shouted for the descendant of Pandion with the bronze breastplate; and
Theseus saw it and rolled his eyes darkly under his brows, and cruel pain
tore his heart, and he spoke: 'Son of greatest Zeus, the spirit you steer
inside is no longer righteous: restrain your arrogant might, hero.
Whatever the all-powerful fate has assented to us from the gods and the
scales of Justice incline, we shall fulfil our destined lot, when it comes. As
for you, hold back from your stern scheme. Even if the dear, lovely-named
daughter of Phoenix bore you, greatest of mortals, after union in the bed of
Zeus beneath the brow of Ida, I, too, was born by the daughter of wealthy
Pittheus after she had coupled with the sea god Poseidon, and the violet-
haired Nereids gave her a golden veil. And so, warlord of the Cnossians, I
bid you to restrain your grievous insolence; for I would not wish to see the
lovely light of immortal Dawn, if you were to assault one of these youths.
Before that we will display the might of our hands; and what comes after
that a god will decide.’ So spoke the spear-valiant hero; and the seafarers
128
were astonished at the man’s overweening boldness. But the son-in-law of
Helios felt anger in his heart, and he wove a new plan, and spoke: ‘Mighty
father Zeus, hear me: if indeed the white-armed Phoenician girl bore me to
you, send from heaven now a swift, fire-tressed lightning flash, a
conspicuous sign; as for you, if Troezenian Aethra bore you to earth-
shaking Poseidon, fetch this splendid gold ornament of my hand from the
depths of the sea, boldly casting your body into your father’s home. And
you will learn whether my prayer is heard by the son of Cronus, lord of
the thunder and ruler of all.’ Mighty Zeus heard his blameless prayer, and
engendered an eminent honour for Minos, wishing it to be seen by all for
the sake of his dear son, and he flashed his lightning; and the hero,
steadfast in battle, saw the well-pleasing marvel, and stretched his hands
to the glorious sky and spoke: ‘Theseus, you see these clear gifts of mine by
Zeus. So for your part, plunge into the loud-grumbling sea; and your
father, son of Cronus, lord Poseidon, will grant you supreme glory over
the well-wooded earth.’ So he spoke; and Theseus’ spirit did not recoil, but
he took his stance on the well-built deck and leapt, and the precinct of the
sea accepted him willingly. And the son of Zeus was astonished in his
heart, and gave orders to keep the cunningly-made ship on course against
the wind; but Fate was preparing another course. The swift-moving ship
raced on; and the north wind, blowing astern, sped it along. And the
whole group of Athenian youths trembled, when the hero jumped into the
sea, and they shed tears from their lily-bright eyes, awaiting grievous
doom. But sea-dwelling dolphins were swiftly carrying great Theseus to
the house of the father of horses; and he reached the hall of the gods. There
he was awe-struck at the glorious daughters of blessed Nereus; for a gleam
as of fire shone from their splendid limbs, and gold-braided ribbons were
whirled round their hair. They were delighting their hearts by dancing
with liquid feet. And in that lovely house he saw the dear wife of his father,
august ox-eyed Amphitrite; she put a purple cloak about him, and set on
his curly hair a perfect wreath, dark with roses, which once guileful
Aphrodite had given her at her marriage. Nothing that the gods wish is
unbelievable to sensible mortals: Theseus appeared beside the slender-
sterned ship. Oh, in what thoughts did he halt the Cnossian commander,
when he came unwet from the sea, a marvel to all, and the gifts of the gods
shone on his limbs, and the splendid-throned girls cried out with new-
129
founded cheerfulness, and the sea resounded; nearby the youths raised a
paean with lovely voice. God of Delos, rejoice in your heart at the choirs of
the Ceans and grant a god-sent fortune of blessings.
Bacchylides 17 almost entirely consists of a mythological narrative

about the sea journey of Theseus to Crete with fourteen Ionian
youths and Minos on board a ship. 342 It is based on a dramatic
conflict between a protagonist (Theseus) and an antagonist (Minos)
with a chorus-like group of youths that results from the
antagonist’s sexual harassment of a girl called Eriboea. Theseus
responds to the girl’s cries for help by declaring that he is the son
of Poseidon and willing to resist even Minos, son of Zeus. After a
flash of lightning has been sent by Zeus as proof of Minos’ divine
paternity, Minos challenges Theseus to prove that he is the son of
Poseidon, asking him to retrieve a ring he throws into the sea.
Theseus dives into the sea and is carried by dolphins into
Poseidon’s underwater precinct, where he receives a cloak and a
garland from Amphitrite, with which he later reappears by the ship.
At the end of the poem, the youths’ shouts of joy at Theseus’
reappearance merge with the Cean chorus’ final prayer imploring
Apollo for blessings; in other words, the mythological narrative
fuses with the actual performance of the poem in the end.343
342 Most scholarly discussions have focused on comparing the Theseus myth in
Bacchylides 17 with ancient Greek iconography (see especially Wüst 1968;
Maehler 1991, 118-126 and 1997, 174-181; Athanassaki 2009, 299-327) and on the
question of genre: some believe that the poem is a dithyramb, as the
Alexandrinian classifiers of Bacchylides’ poetry thought (see Zimmermann 1992,
91-93, Villarrubia 1990, 31-32 and Calame 2009, 171-179), but most think it is a
paean (cf. Jebb 1905, 223; Käppel 1992, 177-181; Maehler 1997, 167-168 and 2004,
172-173; Schröder 2000; Rutherford 2001, 55), as suggested by the end of the Ode,
in which paeanic cries are uttered (cf. ὠλόλυξαν and παιάναξαν) and the god
Apollo (Δάλιε) is addressed.
343 Cf. Käppel 1992, 177; Zimmermann 1992, 85; Maehler 1997, 210; de Jong 2009b,
107. For the performance context of the poem I refer to Ieranò 1989, Maehler 1991,
16-17 and Fearn 2007, 247-256, who state that Bacchylides 17 was performed by a
Ceaen chorus during the Apollonia/Delia festival at Delos; see further the epilogue
to this thesis for the performance contexts of archaic Greek lyric poetry.
130
In the bulk of the narrative the sea provides the background
setting, against which the hostile actions and speeches of Theseus
and Minos take place (lines 1-96 and 119-129). This is made clear in
the beginning (lines 1-7) and in the course of the narrative (lines 90-
91): in both cases the backgrounded role of the sea is lexically
evinced by the use of imperfect tenses about the ship and the winds
at sea (τάμνε[[ν]] in 4, πίτνο[ν] in 6, ἵετο and σόει in 90), whereas
the foregrounded action on board is referred to by the predominant
use of aorist tenses in the rest of the narrative.344 In lines 1-7 the
narrative starts in medias res with an image of a ship cleaving the
Cretan Sea (Κρητικὸν τάμνε[[ν]] πέλαγος, line 4) that sets the
scene for the dramatic conflict between Theseus and Minos around
Eriboea (lines 8-89). By making use of the epithet Κρητικόν, the
narrator locates the ship and, consequently, the narrative in the
Cretan Sea, i.e. south of the Cycladic Islands and north of Crete.
The setting, however, is not static, for the epithet-noun
combination βορήϊαι… αὖραι (‘northern breezes’, line 6) makes
clear that the ship steadily moves southwards to Crete while the
conflict develops on board. The fact that αὖραι denote cool breezes
favourable for a sea journey in early Greek poetry345 indicates that
the trip initially proceeds successfully. These favourable breezes
are caused by Athena, probably because she takes on her role as
war goddess (cf., if the emendation is correct, π[ο]λεμαίγιδος
Ἀθάνας in line 7), protecting young martial heroes like Theseus.346
In lines 90-91 the reference to the racing of the ship sets the scene
for Theseus’ dive after Minos’ ring and the reactions of those on
board. 347 Again the steady southward movement of the ship is
conveyed by a reference to the northern wind (βορεάς…ἀήτα)
which speeds the ship along (σόει). The speed of the ship is further
344 E.g. κνίσεν in 8, βόασ’ in 14, ἴδεν in 16, δίνα[σ]εν in 18, ἄμυξεν in 19, ὄρουσε
in 84, δέξατο in 85, κέλευσε in 87, τρέσσαν in 92, φάνη in 119. On the use of the
tenses in the opening lines see Käppel 1992, 165-166; in general see Rijksbaron
2002 (1984), 11-14.
345 Cf. Pi. P. 4.203 in 4.2.1.
346 For Athena as protectress of the fleet see Käppel 1992, 165. Cf. also DNP, s.v.
Athena for her role of protecting young warriors, with the aegis as her weapon.
347 See further infra.
131
suggested by the use of the verb ἵετο (‘races on’) with the epithet-
noun combination ὠκύπομπον δορύ (‘swift-moving ship’).
After Theseus’ dive into the sea and before his reappearance
by the ship the sea provides the background setting to his
encounter with Amphitrite in Poseidon’s underwater precinct
(lines 97-118). This means that the sea has a role as setting for what
happens on it as well as deep inside of it. In both cases we are
dealing with scenes, tableaux presented in great detail. The
narration of one or more scenes of a myth in detail instead of larger
parts or the entire myth is a common feature of Bacchylides’ poetry
and serves as a means of dramatisation,348 which in this poem is
enhanced by the beginning in medias res, 349 the protagonist-
antagonist-chorus scheme (Theseus-Minos-Ionian youths) and the
prevalence of speeches over narration. While the scene on board
the ship mainly consists of character-text, i.e. speeches of Theseus
and Minos, that in the underwater precinct is one of complex
narrator-text, as it is recounted by the narrator but focalised by the
character Theseus. This is clear from the double use of the verb
ὁράω: εἶδέν in line 109 indicates his perception of Amphitrite and
ἰδών in 101 of the dancing Nereids. His perception of the
underwater scene is given a lovely, even erotic ambience that
contrasts with the hostile scene on board.350 This is evinced by the
epithet used of the underwater precinct, ἐρατοῖσιν (110-111), and
by the sensuous appearance of the Nereids, with their splendid
limbs and gold-braided ribbons in their hair (101-108). There are
two hints that the scene may be connected with marriage: Theseus
348 On this see Maehler 2004, 21 and 23; Nünlist 2007, 248 (e.g. B. 3 and 5).
349 For the frequent beginnings of Bacchylides’ poems in medias res as a means of
dramatisation cf. Maehler 2004, 21-22 (with references to B. 3, 15, 17 and 18).
350 For this contrast see Stern 1976, 40-45 and Pieper 1972, 400. Their supposition
that the second scene ironises the violent and excessive behaviour of Theseus and
Minos in the first scene has been refuted by Segal 1979, 25-26 and Scodel 1984, 137,
of whom the latter points out that ‘in order to see the first part ironically…we
must see Minos' initial advance to Eriboea as harmless, so that Theseus' response
is inappropriate’. That touching a girl’s cheek by a man other than her husband or
lover is considered inappropriate in archaic Greece has been demonstrated in
detail by Clark 2003.
132
receives a cloak and garland with roses which Aphrodite had given
Amphitrite for her wedding, 351 and he witnesses Nereids, who
perform an important role in wedding preparations. 352 This link
might be explained by a sequel of the story, in which Theseus later
marries Eriboea and fathers a child (cf. Pherec. FGrH 3F148 and Plu.
Thes. 29.1, who call her Phereboea): this would also explain why
Theseus stands up for Eriboea against Minos at the beginning of
the poem.
If we take a look at the changes in scenes from on board to
the underwater precinct and vice versa, we can see that Theseus’
dive and reappearance by the ship adds a vertical movement to the
dominant, horizontal progress of the ship. The change of scene
from above board to underwater is achieved by following a
character from one scene to another:353 in lines 97-101a the narrator
follows Theseus being carried by dolphins into Poseidon’s
precinct.354 That Poseidon himself is responsible for the dolphins’
aid is hinted at by the epithet ἱππίου, used with the noun πατρός
(‘father of horses’, Poseidon). The only other attestation of the
epithet with Poseidon in early Greek poetry is Archilochus 192
(cited by Plutarchus in De sollertia animalium 3.984-985), where
351 That Theseus receives a cloak and garland, without bringing back Minos’ ring,
has puzzled commentators. The explanations given are diverse: oversight or
inconsistency (Fränkel 1975 (1962), 453, n23 and Campbell 1982 (1967), ad loc.),
gifts destined for Ariadne (Scodel 1984, 138-143), more important gifts that
outstrip Minos (Maehler 1997, 183 and 2004, 177; Burnett 1985, 27 and 32;
Villarrubia 1990, 28-29; Käppel 1992, 172-173), gifts that point out a development
from a warlike conflict to an agonistic contest (Danek 2008, 80), gifts that reveal a
tension between male heroic epic and female genealogical poetry (287-291).
352 For the role of the Nereids in archaic Greek wedding preparations I refer to
Barringer 1995, 167-169.

353 For these and other techniques of scene change (in Homer), with references to
earlier literature on the topic, I refer to de Jong 2001, xii.

354 That already in antiquity dolphins were regarded as benevolent escorts is
proven by stories about dolphins saving Arion, Coeranus and Phalanthus from
drowning: cf. Jebb 1905, ad loc.; Gerber 1970, ad loc.; Villarrubia 1990, 25; Maehler
1997 and 2004, ad loc. Ancient Greek sources are Hdt. 1.23-24, Plu. Conv.Sept.Sap.
18, Luc. D.Mort. 8 on Arion; Archil. 94, Phylarch. FGrH 81F26, Ael. H.A. 8.3 and
Plu. Soll.Anim. 3.984-985 on Coeranus; Paus. 10.13.10 and perhaps Alc. 7 on
Phalanthus.
133
Poseidon Hippios is said to spare Coeranus from the wreck of his
penteconter. The use of the epithet in Archilochus and Bacchylides
can be explained in the sense that Poseidon, as god of horses and
the sea, aids human beings like Coeranus and Theseus by sending
them ‘horses of the sea’, dolphins, as benevolent escorts. 355 The
change in scene from the underwater precinct back to the ship is
more abrupt, as it is affected only by a gnome and the interjection
φεῦ (lines 117-119). The sudden change is meant to convey the
marvel (θαῦμα) of the dramatic climax of the narrative, which is
reinforced by the fact that Theseus reappears unwet (ἀδίαντος).
Turning from the duration of the mythological narrative to
the issue of frequency, we can see that one event is repeatedly
presented: Theseus’ dive. Firstly, the character Minos asks Theseus
twice to dive into the sea (lines 62-63 and 76-77). In both instances
the epithets Minos uses of the sea convey that he wishes to evoke a
sense of danger to dissuade Theseus from diving into the sea. In
line 62 he asks Theseus to fetch his ring ‘from the depths of the sea’
(ἐκ βαθείας ἁλός). In early Greek poetry the combination of the
noun ἅλς with the epithet βαθύς is always used of divinities (of
Iris in Il. 1.532, of Poseidon in Il. 13.44), easily leaping in or out of
the depths of the sea where they reside. Its use here in connection
with the mortal Theseus might suggest the difficulty of his
endeavour. In line 76-77 Minos asks Theseus to plunge into the
‘loud-grumbling sea’ (βαρύβρομον πέλαγος). The epithet
βαρύβρομος is attested only once in epic poetry, namely of dogs
(epica adespota fr. 19 West). Its use of the sea reveals that Minos
wishes to stress the hostility of the sea.356 Secondly, the narrator
355 The link with Archilochus 192 and the suggestion that the epithet bears
contextual relevance have been made by Janko 1980 (contra Jebb 1905, ad loc. and
Gerber 1970, ad loc., who consider it ornamental); see further 1.1 for my general
claim that epithets bear contextual relevance in archaic lyric poetry.
356 Cp. E. Hel. 1306 (βαρύβρομόν τε κῦμ᾽ ἅλιον, ‘loud-grumbling sea-wave’).
Pieper 1972, 403-40 claims that a sense of danger is expressed by the noun
πέλαγος, which would bear negative associations as a hostile force, just as in line
4, where the ship cuts its way through it to Crete, where victims will be sacrificed.
However, in 76-77 the danger is expressed by the epithet, while in 4 there is no
suggestion of or reference to sacrifice.
134
presents two complementary versions of Theseus’ dive. The one
recounted in line 94 is followed by a description of dolphins
carrying Theseus to the underwater precinct, 357 while the one
narrated in line 84 is followed by a brief statement that the
‘precinct of the sea accepted him willingly’ (πόντιόν τέ νιν /
δέξατο θελημὸν ἄλσος, 84b-85). Just like the narrator’s first
mention of Theseus’ dive, the second also seems to be linked with
Poseidon. This can be derived from the personification of the
precinct, indicated by referential differences of θελημόν and
δέξατο: while both are predominantly used of people in epic and
other lyric poetry,358 they refer to a sea precinct in Bacchylides 17.
The personification renders the impression that it is actually
Poseidon who willingly accepts Theseus, although he does not
explicitly figure in the story, and the epithet of the precinct,
πόντιος, which echoes its use about Poseidon in lines 35-36
(ποντίωι… Ποσειδᾶνι), reinforces this impression. Because the
verb δέχομαι is sometimes used of a father accepting a child as his
legitimate son in early Greek poetry (e.g. h. Pan 41 and Il. 23.89),
there might even be a hint that Poseidon accepts Theseus as his
rightful offspring. This would imply that lines 84b-85 serve as a
proof of Theseus’ divine parentage, claimed by Theseus in his
speech to Minos (lines 33b-63a), just as the lightning of Zeus was a
proof of Zeus’ divine fatherhood of Minos (cf. lines 64-73).359
The double narration of Theseus’ dive is linked to a
difference in focalisation by the characters. The narrator does not
357 See my discussion above.

358 For θελημός see Op. 118 about the people of the Golden Age, with the meaning
‘unforced’ instead of ‘willingly’ (for the latter cf. also Emp. B35.6). For the use of
δέχομαι of persons accepting someone else see LfgrE I4, s.v. δέχομαι for epic
poetry; for lyric poetry see Alc. 374 and 386, Semon. 7.49, Thgn. 1046 and for
Pindar see Slater, s.v. δέκομαι a.
359 My interpretation goes counter to the belief of most scholars (Wüst 1968, 531-
532; Scodel 1984, 138; Burnett 1985, 27; Van Oeveren 1999, 40-41) that Poseidon is
not present in the underwater precinct, because Theseus meets only Amphitrite,
an assumption which has even lead to the hypothesis of denial of Theseus’
identity as son of Poseidon (Walker 1995, 86).
135
comment on the action,360 but presents only the emotional reactions
of the characters. The first mention of his dive is focalised by Minos:
he is astonished (τάφεν) and tries to stop the ship in vain (lines 86-
91). His reaction points out his arrogance, believing that Theseus
would not dare to dive, and echoes the astonishment (τ]άφον, 48)
of the youths at Theseus’ ‘overweening boldness’ (ὑπεράφανον
θάρσος) in his speech to Minos. The second mention is focalised by
the youths: they tremble (τρέσσαν) and weep (δάκρυ χέον) from
fear when Theseus is about to jump into the sea (lines 92-96). Their
reaction reveals their sympathy with Theseus and the danger of
Theseus’ action. The emphasis on the emotional reactions of the
characters to this key event further strengthens the dramatisation
of the scenic narrative and stimulates the involvement of the
narratees.361
4.3. SEA SIMILES
In archaic Greek lyric there are two extended similes about the sea:
Bacchylides’ Epinician 13.124-132 and Semonides 7.37-40. These
similes will be analysed in comparison to Homeric sea similes, with
an eye on differences in manner of presentation of the sea and roles
of the similes. In Homeric similes, which appear mainly in the Iliad,
the sea is usually presented as furious. The role of sea similes is to
illustrate an event, i.e. the noise of the attack or retreat of a fighting
mass (e.g., Il. 2.207-210 and 394-397; 15.381-384), or emotions, i.e. the
confusion or fear felt by a mass or a hero (e.g. Il. 9.1-8; 14.16-22;
15.624-629).362
360 Generally speaking, the Bacchylidean narrator is more covert than the Pindaric
one: see Pfeijffer 2004, 217 and Cairns 2010, 47-48.

361 Cp. the stress on emotions elsewhere in the narrative: Minos’ heart is chafed by
the gifts of Aphrodite (κνίσεν, 8), Theseus feels pain at Minos’ harassment
(σχέτλιον…ἄλγος, 19), Minos is angered by Theseus’ speech (χολώσεν ἤτορ, 50),
etc. For the stress on emotions as a means to involve the narratees in Bacchylides’
poetry (e.g. also in B. 3) I refer to Carey 1999 and Maehler 2004, 20-21.
362 Cf. Fränkel 1999 (1921), 301-305; Coffey 1957, 124 and 130; Scott 1974, 62-66.
136
4.3.1. Bacchylides 13
οἳ πρὶν μὲν [.........]ν363

115 Ἰ]λίου θαητὸν ἄστυ
οὐ λεῖπον, ἀτυζόμενοι [δέ
πτᾶσσον ὀξεῖαν μάχα[ν,
εὖτ᾽ ἐν πεδίῳ κλονέω[ν
μαίνοιτ᾽ Ἀχιλλεύς,
120 λαοφόνον δόρυ σείων.
ἀλλ᾽ ὅτε δὴ πολέμοι[ο
λῆξεν ἰοστεφάνο[υ
Νηρῆιδος ἀτρόμητο[ς υἱός,
ὥστ’ ἐν κυανανθέï θ[υμὸν ἀνέρων
125 πόντωι Βορέας ὑπὸ κύ-
μασιν δαΐζει,
νυκτὸς ἀντάσας ἀνατε[λλομένας,
λῆξεν δὲ σὺν φαεσιμ[βρότωι
ἀοῖ,364 στόρεσεν δέ τε πό[ντον
130 οὐρία· Νότου δὲ κόλπ[ωσαν πνοᾶι
ἱστίον ἁρπαλέως <τ’> ἄ-
ελπτον ἐξί[κ]οντο χέ[ρσον·
ὣς Τρῶες, ἐπ[εὶ] κλύον [αἰ-
χματὰν Ἀχιλλέα
135 μίμνο[ντ᾽] ἐν κλισίασιν
εἵνεκ[ε]ν ξανθᾶς γυναικός,
Β]ρ[ι]σηΐδος ἱμερογυίου,
θεοῖσιν ἄντειναν χέρας,
φοιβὰν ἐσιδόντες ὑπαὶ
140 χειμῶνος αἴγλαν.
πασσυδίαι δὲ λιπόντες
τείχεα Λαομέδοντος
See the text in 3.2 for the reading in line 114.

363
Maehler, Campbell and Irigoin have Ἀοῖ, but I see no compelling reason why
364
dawn should be considered a personified goddess here (cp. its use in Il. 24.785).
137
ἐ]ς πεδίον κρατερὰν
ἄϊξαν ὑ[σ]μίναν φέροντες,
145 ὦρσάν τ[ε] φόβον Δαναοῖς.
Previously they would not leave the wondrous…city of Ilium, but in

bewilderment they cowered for fear of the keen fight, when Achilles was
furiously raging on the plain, brandishing his host-slaughtering spear.
But when the fearless son of the violet-crowned Nereid ceased from the
fight – as on a dark-blossoming sea Boreas rends men’s hearts under the
waves, coming face to face with them after night has risen up, but ceases
on the arrival of dawn which brings light to mortals, and a breeze levels
the sea; and the South Wind’s breaths belly out the sail, and gladly they
reach the unexpected dry land 365 – so when the Trojans heard that the
spearman Achilles was remaining in his tent on account of the blonde
woman, lovely-limbed Briseis, stretched up their hands to the gods, after
they had seen a bright light under the storm cloud. After having left
Laomedon’s walls with all speed they rushed into the plain, bringing
violent battle, and they roused fear in the Danaans.
Bacchylides 13 is an Epinician Ode dedicated to Pytheas, of a

distinguished Aeginetan family, after his victory of the pancration
during the Nemean games. In the Ode a mythological narrative is
recounted about the heroic fighting of the Aeacidae Ajax and
Achilles in the Trojan War (lines 100-167), which serves to glorify
the Aeginetans, who considered themselves descendants of
Aeacus.366 In the narrative a sea simile is inserted at a key moment
of the story, when Achilles retreats from the battlefield.
In the simile the sea is presented in two ways. Firstly, in
lines 124-127 it is presented in a state of storm at night (νυκτὸς
ἀντάσας, 127) due to the North Wind (Βορέας, 125).367 Storm is
365 The aorists λῆξεν, στόρεσεν and κόλπ[ωσαν are generally translated as
present tenses (cf. Maehler 1982 and Campbell 1992): see further infra for the
tenses.
366 For a more detailed discussion of the Ode and its mythological narrative I refer
to 3.2.
367 For Boreas as a storm wind cf. Od. 5.296; 9.67 and 81; 19.200; B. 5.46; Ibyc. 286.9;
Tyrt. 12.4.
138
hinted at by the hapax epithet used of the sea, κυανανθέï (‘dark-
blossoming’): the first element of the epithet, κυάνεος, seems to
express the darkness of the sea in the case of a storm,368 while the
blossoming of the sea indicated by the second element might be
symbolic of the heaving motion of rough waves because of
storm.369 Secondly, in lines 128-132 the sea is presented in a state of
calmness at dawn (σὺν φαεσιμ[βρότωι ἀοῖ, 128-129) because of the
South Wind (Νότου, 130).370 This is particularly clear from the verb
στόρεσεν, which does not only indicate that the sea surface levels
but also expresses the calming down of the sea.371 By presenting the
sea first as stormy and next as calm the Bacchylidean simile differs
from Homeric similes, in which the focus lies on one aspect of the
sea, i.e. either its calmness or, as is more often the case, its fury.372
The question, then, is whether the sea simile also differs
from epic poetry in its role. The simile begins by illustrating a
situation in the narrative before Achilles’ retreat, for the storm at sea
due to Boreas seems to remind of the rage of Achilles on the
battlefield (cf. lines 118-120). The connection between Boreas and
the rage of Achilles is reinforced if we bear in mind that Boreas is
paradigmatic for its violence in early Greek poetry. 373 The
beginning of the simile also illustrates the emotional effect of
Achilles’ rage on the Trojans, i.e. their fear (ἀτυζόμενοι / [δέ
πτᾶσσον, 116b-117a), by the mention that Boreas rends (δαΐζει) the
hearts of the sailors.
Next, the simile illustrates a narrative event: Achilles’ retreat.
This is clear from the echo of the verb λῆξεν, which is used about
Achilles (122) and Boreas (128): just as Achilles ceased from war, so
368 Cp. the use of κυάνεος about clouds (Od. 12.405=14.303) and darkness (Simon.
543.12) in the case of a storm at sea.
369 Jebb 1905, ad loc. and Cairns 2010, ad loc. Cp. the epithet πορφύρεος about the
sea, which expresses darkness of colour as well as heaving motion (see my

discussion of Semon. 1 in 4.4.1).
370 For Notus as a favourable wind in early Greek poetry see e.g. Th. 870; h. Ap.
408; Pi. P. 4.203.

371 Cf. Od. 3.158 and h. Diosc. 15 (parallels noted in Maehler 1982, ad loc.).
372 This difference has been noted by Dietel 1939, 155-157. Cp. Semon. 7 in 4.3.2.
373 Cf. Il. 9.5 and 23.229-230; Op. 553; Ibyc. 286.9; Simon. eleg. 6.2; Tyrt. 12.4.
139
does Boreas cease on the arrival of dawn. That the second half of
the simile illustrates an event instead of a situation in the narrative
is underscored by the tenses: in the first half present tenses are
used with a durative aspect, and in the second half aorist tenses
with a punctual aspect.374 The simile also illustrates the emotional
effect of Achilles’ retreat. In the simile emotions of joy of the sailors
are referred to, first of all, when they arrive at the unexpected dry
land (lines 131-132), by the adverb ἁρπαλέως (‘gladly’).375 These
emotions are also indicated more implicitly, when the North Wind
ceases and the sea calms down (lines 128-130), by the epithet of
dawn (ἀοῖ), φαεσιμ[βρότωι (‘which brings light to mortals’). It is
used ornamentally with dawn (Il. 24.785 and Thgn. 1183) elsewhere
in early Greek poetry, but in Bacchylides 13 it may acquire the
symbolic sense of joy and salvation of the noun φάος, from which
it is derived,376 as a result of the calming of the sea. The sailors’ joy
and salvation seem to illustrate the Trojans’ feelings about Achilles’
retreat, as a similar image of light from under the storm cloud
(ὑπαὶ / χειμῶνος αἴγλαν) that causes the Trojans to stretch out
their hands to the gods suggests (lines 138-140).377
374 See KG II.1.161, Ruijgh 1971, 258 and McKay 1988, 194-196 on the alternation
between present and aorist tenses in similes (durative versus punctual), with
examples of Homeric similes (Il. 3.23-28 and 17.389-393).
375 This is the meaning the adverb has in archaic Greek lyric: see Mimn. 12.8 and
Thgn. 1046; cf. also Jebb 1905, ad loc. and Maehler 1982, ad loc. Campbell 1992
translates with ‘eagerly’, but this is the meaning in epic poetry (Od. 6.250 en
14.110).
376 For epic poetry see Il. 6.6; 16.39 and 95; 20.95; 11.797; 15.741; 17.615; 18.102; Od.
16.23=17.41 (with discussion in Lossau 1994, 85-87). For lyric poetry see Alc. 34. 11
and Archil. 24.8 (with my discussion in 4.4.2), Pi. P. 3.75. Another interpretation of
the epithet has been suggested by Fearn 2007, 131: because the only time the
epithet is used in epic poetry is in the context of Hector’s funeral (Il. 24.785), Fearn
argues that in Bacchylides the epithet-noun combination foreshadows the fall of
Troy. However, I do not see what the function of a reference to the fall of Troy
would be at this point in the simile, especially since the narrator foreshadows the
fall of Troy at the end of the narrative (see lines 164-167, with my discussion in 3.2.2).
377 Cp. the symbolic sense of χειμών referring to calamity or troubles in ancient
Greek literature (e.g. Pr. 643 and 1015; see further LSJ, s.v. χειμών 2). My
interpretation of lines 139-140 differs from that of Fearn 2007, 135-136: based on
the use of αἴγλη about the (bronze of the) Greeks in the Iliad and about the victor
140
With its role of illustrating situations and events and their
consequent emotions in the narrative, the Bacchylidean simile
aligns with Homeric sea similes: in Il. 15.624-629, for instance, a
simile about the fall of a violent wave on a ship that causes sailors
to shudder in fear illustrates the attack of Hector and its
frightening effect on the Greeks.378 However, as the Iliadic example
shows, Homeric sea similes illustrate one set of emotions (usually
fear), because the focus lies on one aspect of the sea (usually its
fury),379 while the Bacchylidean simile illustrates fear as well as joy
because it stresses both the fury and calmness of the sea. Moreover,
the latter may still have another role. The fact that it focuses on the
retreat of Achilles and its emotional effects on the Trojans
underscores the hero’s importance in the Trojan War. If we are
aware that the Ode is dedicated to an Aegenitan victor, who
considered himself a descendant of the Aeacidae Ajax and Achilles,
the simile ultimately serves to reinforce the praise of the Ode’s
addressee.
4.3.2. Semonides 7
τὴν δ' ἐκ θαλάσσης, ἣ δύ' ἐν φρεσὶν νοεῖ.

τὴν μὲν γελᾶι τε καὶ γέγηθεν ἡμέρην·
ἐπαινέσει μιν ξεῖνος ἐν δόμοις ἰδών·
30 ‘οὐκ ἔστιν ἄλλη τῆσδε λωΐων γυνὴ
ἐν πᾶσιν ἀνθρώποισιν οὐδὲ καλλίων.’
τὴν δ' οὐκ ἀνεκτὸς οὐδ' ἐν ὀφθαλμοῖς ἰδεῖν
in Pindar’s Epinicians, he argues that these lines undermine Trojan hopes, raised
by the absence of Achilles, because of the appearance of the Greeks, and at the
same time reinforce the praise of the Aeginetan victor. Problematic, however, is
that Fearn denies the basic use of αἴγλη about the light of the sun (Od. 4.45 and
7.84), which just like φάος seems to convey a sense of joy and salvation.
378 The double illustrating role of the simile in Bacchylides 13 has briefly been
noted by Dietel 1939, 156; Maehler 1982, 254; Fearn 2007, 129; Cairns 2010, 309-310.
Of these, only Fearn and Cairns have pointed out that illustrating emotions is not
‘un-Homeric’, exemplifying their point with Il. 15.624-629.
379 Cf. also e.g. Il. 9.1-8.
141
οὔτ' ἆσσον ἐλθεῖν, ἀλλὰ μαίνεται τότε
ἄπλητον ὥσπερ ἀμφὶ τέκνοισιν κύων,
35 ἀμείλιχος δὲ πᾶσι κἀποθυμίη
ἐχθροῖσιν ἴσα καὶ φίλοισι γίνεται.
ὥσπερ θάλασσα πολλάκις μὲν ἀτρεμὴς
ἕστηκ', ἀπήμων, χάρμα ναύτηισιν μέγα,
θέρεος ἐν ὥρηι, πολλάκις δὲ μαίνεται
40 βαρυκτύποισι κύμασιν φορεομένη.
ταύτηι μάλιστ' ἔοικε τοιαύτη γυνὴ
ὀργήν· φυὴν δὲ πόντος ἀλλοίην ἔχει.
Another woman is from the sea, one with a twofold mind. One day she
sparkles and is happy; when a guest sees her in the house, he will praise
her: ‘no other woman is better than this among all mankind nor more
beautiful’. But another day she is unbearable even to look at in the eyes or
come close to; then she rages, unapproachable as a bitch around her pups,
and she becomes implacable and hateful to everyone, friends and enemies
alike. Just as the sea often stands calm, harmless, a great source of joy to
sailors, in the season of summer, but often rages moving along with the
loud-thundering waves. Such a woman resembles very much the sea in
temperament: the sea has a variable nature.
In Semonides 7 portrayals of women are modeled after animal

species, except for two women, who owe their origin to earth and
sea (lines 21-26 and 27-42). The sea-woman receives more attention
than all the other women: the speaker does not limit himself to a
portrayal of the female, but adds a simile about her model, i.e. the
sea, and explicitly compares them. From the comparison (lines 41-
42) it is clear that the feature that they have in common is variability
(φυὴν…ἀλλοίην). 380 That of the woman is evident from her
380 Although lines 41-42 have been variously emended and excised by some
because of their so-called ‘flatness’ (cf. Campbell 1982 (1967), ad loc.; Verdenius
1968, 141; Hordern 2002, 582), currently most scholars accept the lines as genuine.
Nonetheless, there remains a problem as regards the meaning of ἀλλοίην. The
adjective does not really mean ‘variable’, but rather ‘of another sort or kind,
different’ (LSJ, s.v. ἀλλοῖος; noted by Renehan 1974, 4, Lloyd-Jones 1975, ad loc.
and Hordern 2002, 582). For the former meaning, the adjective needs to be
142
‘twofold mind’ (δύ' ἐν φρεσὶν νοεῖ, 27), which explains why she
can be joyful and outstanding (28-31, τὴν μὲν… ἡμέρην…) as well
as a hostile fury (32-36, τὴν δ'…). That of the sea is clear from the
juxtaposition of an image of a calm and harmless sea (37-39a) with
a raging sea (39b-40) in a simile, which aims to characterise the
woman’s variability. Both in the presentation of the sea and the
role of the sea simile, Semonides 7 differs from Homeric similes: in
the latter the focus lies on one aspect of the sea, usually its fury,381
and the characterising role is at play only in similes about people
(especially the series of ‘parents-children’ similes about Achilles
and Patroclus) or animals (especially lions).382 The characterising
role of the Semonidean simile is further clarified by an analysis of
the diction about the sea in comparison to epic and other lyric
poetry, specifically in relation to the portrayal of the woman.
The positive part of the simile begins with an emphasis on
the static and calm state of the sea through the perfect tense of the
verb ἵστημι, ἕστηκ', and the epithet ἀτρεμής. The use of both
words reveals referential differences from epic and other lyric
poetry: ἀτρεμής (‘calm’) sometimes refers to objects (e.g. eyelids in
Od. 19.212) but above all to people who are standing, sitting or
sleeping;383 ἵστημι, in its intransitive sense, is sometimes used of
objects capable of standing upright (e.g. a building in Pi. N. 5.2, a
wave in Il. 21.313), but mostly of people and animals.384 The use of
these words, which predominantly refer to people, to describe the
sea in Semonides 7 perhaps suggests the calmness of the woman,
combined with ἄλλοτε – as in line 11, where it expresses the temperament of the
vixen-woman (ὀργὴν δ' ἄλλοτ' ἀλλοίην ἔχει). The latter meaning, however,
could hardly be at play here, for from what would the sea-woman be different?
Therefore, even though the adjective is not used with ἄλλοτ’, it is still best to
interpret it in the sense of ‘variable’.
381 Cf. Marg 1967 (1938), 18. Cp. also B. 13 in 4.3.1.
382 For the characterising role of Homeric similes I refer to Coffey 1957, 128-132
and Moulton 1977, 88-116.

383 Cf. Il. 2.200, 13.280 and 438, 14.352; Od. 13.92; B. 5.6-7, of men’s φρένα. Cf. also
my discussion of Thgn. 39-52 in 2.3.1.

384 See LfgrE, s.v. ἵστημι for epic poetry. For lyric poetry see Slater, s.v. ἱστᾶμι 2
(Pindar); Sapph. 154.2; Sol. 5.5; Thgn. 911; Tyrt. 11.38, 12.12 and 19.13.
143
although it is not explicitly mentioned in the corresponding
positive part of her portrayal.
Next, the calm sea is called ἀπήμων. In epic and other lyric
poetry the epithet, in its active sense ‘harmless’, is used about all
sorts of things (e.g. winds and laws), but only once about the sea,
i.e. in Opera 670, where advice is given about the right time to sail.
In the Opera the epithet is combined with the noun πόντος, which
refers to the open, navigable sea and fits well its context, while in
Semonides 7 it is used with θάλασσα, which denotes the sea in
general and is aptly chosen in a simile about the sea as a general
model of a woman.385 The harmlessness of the sea implies that of
the woman, whose harmfulness is explicitly referred to in the
negative part of her portrayal (lines 32-36) by the epithets ἀνεκτός
(‘unbearable’), ἄπλητον (‘unapproachable’), ἀμείλιχος
(‘relentless’) and ἀποθυμίη (‘hateful’).
The positive part ends with the mention that the sea is ‘a
great source of joy to sailors’ (χάρμα ναύτηισιν μέγα, 38b). In epic
and other lyric poetry the noun χάρμα is used of people, usually to
say that one person has become a source of joy to another.386 The
use of the noun about the sea in Semonides 7 reveals an instance of
personification, more particularly of ‘pathetic fallacy’, as the sea is
endowed with human feelings. 387 This reinforces the connection
with the sea-woman, whose joyfulness is referred to in the
corresponding positive part of her portrayal (γελᾶι τε καὶ γέγηθεν
ἡμέρην, line 28).
The negative part of the simile conveys an image of a raging
(μαίνεται) sea moving along (φορεομένη)388 with loud-thundering
385 For the meaning of θάλασσα and πόντος in early Greek poetry I refer to Lesky
1947, 10-14.
386 For epic poetry see Il. 3.51, 6.82, 10.193, 14.325, 17.636, 23.342, 24.706; h. Ascl.
16.4; Hes. fr. 193.19. For lyric poetry see B. 10.13; Pi. N. 7.88, O. 2.99 and 7.44, P.
1.59 and 9.64; Thgn. 692.
387 For ‘pathetic fallacy’ and other subtypes of personification see my introduction
(1.2.2) and 2.3.1 (on the city).

388 Most commentators (Verdenius 1968, ad loc.; Lloyd-Jones 1975, ad loc.; Gerber
2006 (1999), ad loc.) consider the participle φορεομένη passive, accompanied by a

dative of agent, and interpret the phrase as ‘being borne along by the loud-
144
waves (βαρυκτύποισι κύμασιν). That the rage of the sea
characterises that of the woman is clear from the echo of the verb
μαίνεται, which is also used in the corresponding negative part of
her portrayal (line 33). While line 33 aligns with the predominant
use of μαίνομαι about people in epic and other lyric poetry,389 line
39 is in keeping with exceptional usages about objects (a spear in Il.
8.111 and 16.75, fire in Il. 15.606). The latter are best considered
instances of personification, particularly of ‘activisation’, insofar as
human rage is projected on something inanimate. The connection
between the rage of the sea and that of the woman is reinforced by
another instance of activisation, namely the use of the epithet
βαρυκτύποισι: whereas the epithet always refers to the loud
thunder of a god in epic and other lyric poetry (mostly Zeus,
sometimes Poseidon), 390 it is used of the waves of the sea in
Semonides 7. These and other referential differences, especially
those that reveal instances of personification, ultimately reinforce
the characterising role of the sea simile.
thundering waves’. To defend their interpretation, they refer to E. Hec. 29, where
the ghost of Polydorus is ‘carried along by the frequent rise and fall of the waves’
(πολλοῖς διαύλοις κυμάτων φορούμενος). The passive makes perfect sense in
Euripides, but there it is said of a person, not of the sea. That in Semonides the sea
would be carried along by its own waves would be rather strange, for in that case
agens and patiens would be the same. Another reason why interpreting the
participle as passive is unattractive is that the sea is presented as a highly active,
raging force in the simile. Therefore, it is better to consider φορεομένη a middle,
with a dative of instrument, and interpret the phrase as ‘moving along with the
loud-thundering waves’ (cf. Fränkel 1975 (1962), 236-237). The middle form is best
to be considered a ‘spontaneous process middle’ (Allan 2003, 42-45), which
denotes a changing state of the subject without direct initiation by an external
agent.
389 Cf. LfgrE, s.v. μαίνομαι for epic poetry (in Il. 16.244-245 it denotes the hands of
Hector, which I consider a pars pro toto for Hector). For lyric poetry see B. 13.85; Pi.
P. 2.26; Thgn 313 and 1053.
390 Cf. Campbell 1982 (1967), ad loc. and Lloyd-Jones 1975, ad loc. The epithet is
used of Zeus in: Th. 388; Op. 79; Sc. 318; h. Cer. 3, 334, 441, 460; Semon. 1.1. It is
used of Poseidon in Th. 818; Pi. N. 4.87, O. 1.72 and Pae. 4.41.
145
4.4. THE SEA AS SYMBOL OF DANGER
Several decades ago Albin Lesky391 pointed out that the sea has
symbolic associations with danger in archaic Greek lyric, on the
basis of what is ‘largely a catalogue of references to the sea’. 392
Based on more in-depth analyses, I will confirm that danger is
evoked in these types of sea poems: poems in which one or more
moments during a sea journey are evoked by a speaker or narrator
and poems about the departure and arrival of a sea voyage
(propemptika and prosphonetika). Moreover, I will focus on the ways
in which danger is evoked: particular attention will be paid to the
use of the diction about the sea that is shared with epic poetry,
especially the sea epithets.
4.4.1. During the Sea Journey
The first type of sea poems describe one or more moments during a
sea journey. This can be done, first of all, by a speaker who
generally refers to sailors at sea in poems about man’s hopes to
achieve wealth.
A first example is Semonides 1.15-17a:
15 οἳ δ' ἐν θαλάσσηι λαίλαπι κλονεόμενοι

καὶ κύμασιν πολλοῖσι πορφυρῆς ἁλὸς
θνήσκουσιν, εὖτ' ἂν μὴ δυνήσωνται ζόειν.
Others die at sea tossed about by a gale and many waves of the dark and
heaving sea, whenever they are unable to gain a livelihood (on land).
In lines 11-19 the speaker catalogues people’s hopes for prosperity,

thwarted by old age, disease or death. In these cases, death is the
result of war and suicide (13b-14 and 18-19) or a storm at sea (15-
Lesky 1947, 188-214.

391
See Westlake 1949, 118 in his review of Lesky’s chapter on the sea in archaic
392
Greek lyric.
146
17), presumably when sailors have turned to fishing or
commercially exporting goods because they were unable to gain a
livelihood on land (cf. 17b).393 The sea scene is presented with much
diction shared with epic poetry: 394 the noun-verb combination
λαίλαπι κλονεόμενοι and the epithet-noun combination
πορφυρῆς ἁλός.
To begin with the former, the noun λαίλαψ denotes a
furious storm, as point of comparison with raging warriors on the
battlefield (Iliad), or as an actual storm at sea (Odyssey), in epic
poetry.395 In some cases the fury is reinforced by its use with the
active participles τύπτων (‘smiting’) or θύων (‘raging’). 396 In
Semonides 1 λαίλαψ is combined with a middle participle with
passive meaning of the quasi-synonomous verb κλονέω (‘toss’), by
which an image is evoked of sailors as passive victims of a furious
storm.
As for the latter, the combination of the epithet πορφύρεος
with the noun ἅλς appears only once in epic poetry: in Il. 16.391
the loud-roaring flow of rivers into the sea (ἐς δ᾽ ἅλα πορφυρέην)
is compared to the load-roaring rush of Trojan horses. Some
scholars have argued that the epithet refers to the dark blue colours
of the sea in Iliad 16, supposing that πορφύρεος is derived from the
noun πόρφυρα, which refers to the purple fish and the purple dye
393 Two different interpretations have been given of line 17b: while Campbell (1982
(1967), ad loc.) and initially Gerber (1970, ad loc.) translate with ‘whenever they do
not have the strength to live’, most scholars (Babut 1977, 77; Gerber 1984, 131 and
2006 (1999), ad loc.; Pellizer-Tedeschi 1990, ad loc.) have ‘whenever they are unable
to gain a livelihood (on land)’. Although both are possible, the latter is more
likely, because it parallels the choice for suicide as an answer to the problems of
gaining a livelihood on land (lines 18-19): some turn to seafaring and risk their
lives at sea, others see no other way than committing suicide (cf. also Sol. 13,
discussed below, Thgn. 179-180 and Op. 646-647 for seafaring as a means to escape
poverty).
394 This has been noted by Campbell 1982 (1967), ad loc.; Fowler 1987, 46; De
Martino-Vox 1996, ad loc.

395 Iliad: 4.278; 11.306 and 747; 12.375; 17.57. Odyssey: 9.68; 12.314, 400, 408 and 426;
24.42.
396 Cf. Il. 11.306, and Od. 12.408 and 426 respectively.
147
obtained from it. 397 Others have contended that it denotes the
heaving motion of the sea, assuming that πορφύρεος is derived
from the verb πορφύρω (‘heave’), used of the sea in Il. 14.16.398
Both meanings, however, could be at play at the same time.399 A
first indication is provided by schol. D on the verb πορφύρω in Il.
14.16 μελαίνηι, ταράσσηι (‘growing dark, becoming agitated’).
The scholiast explains the connection between darkness and
agitated motion by considering the former a result of the latter:
εἴωθεν δέ, ὅταν ἀρχὴν λαμβάνηι κινήματος ἡ θάλασσα,
μελανίζειν (‘as a rule, the sea becomes dark, when it starts to
move’). Another indication is given in the only Greek treatise on
colour terminology we possess, ps-Aristotle’s Περὶ Χρωμάτων
(972a22), where πορφυροειδής, an epithet derived from
πορφύρεος, is used of the sea:400 ὅταν τὰ κύματα μετεωριζόμενα
κατὰ τὴν ἔγκλισιν σκιασθῆι (‘when the waves, as they heave, are
overshadowed in their inclination’). Again, the darkness of the sea
is considered a result of its heaving motion, but the explanation is
different: πρὸς γὰρ ταύτης κλισμὸν ασθενεῖς αἱ τοῦ ἡλίου αὐγαὶ
προσβάλλουσι (‘for against the sloping line of the inclination
[ταύτης, referring back to τὴν ἔγκλισιν] the rays of the sun cut in
weakly’). In Semonides 1, too, darkness and heaving motion could
be at play simultaneously, but the latter meaning seems to
predominate.401 This is clear from the adjective-noun combination
κύμασιν πολλοῖσι, on which πορφυρῆς ἁλός depends, for it
emphatically indicates many waves that seem to be caused by the
heaving motion of the sea. Thus, the word groups λαίλαπι
397 See Schultz 1972 (1904), 45-51 and Gipper 1964, 53-56.
398 Cf., for example, Platnauer 1921, 159; Dürbeck 1977, 130; Stulz 1990, 154-167.
For a state of the art see LfgrE, s.v. πορφύρεος.
399 Cp. the verb καλχαίνω: ‘make dark and troublous like a stormy sea’ (LSJ, s.v.),
often of emotions (e.g. in S. Ant. 20 and E. Heracl. 40).

400 The epithet πορφυροειδής is used of the sea in tragic poetry: see A. Supp. 529
and E. Tr. 124.

401 See Campbell 1982 (1967), ad loc. and Stulz 1990, 170-171. Cp. the other
instances of the epithet-noun combination in archaic Greek lyric (Alc. 45.2, Alcm.
89.5, Anacr. 347.18, Simon. 571, Thgn. 1036), where the sense of ‘heaving’ also
seems to dominate (see further Stulz 1990, 172-180).
148
κλονεόμενοι and πορφυρῆς ἁλός create an image of a furious sea
of which sailors have become passive victims and which even leads
to the death of the sailors (cf. the emphatic θνήσκουσιν in
enjambment in 17a).
A second example of a speaker referring to sailors at sea in a poem

about man’s hopes for wealth is Solon 13.43b-46:
σπεύδει δ’ ἄλλοθεν ἄλλος· ὁ μὲν κατὰ πόντον ἀλᾶται

ἐν νηυσὶν χρήιζων οἴκαδε κέρδος ἄγειν
45 ἰχθυόεντ’ ἀνέμοισι φορεόμενος ἀργαλέοισιν,
φειδωλὴν ψυχῆς οὐδεμίαν θέμενος.
Everyone has a different pursuit: one roams over the fish-filled sea in ships,
longing to bring home profit; carried along by cruel winds, he has no
consideration for his life.
In a catalogue of professions offered in lines 43-62 a shift is

noticeable from man’s hopes to achieve wealth (seafaring,
ploughing the land, hand working, composing poetry) to vain
hopes for success (prophesying, curing people). Just like in
Semonides 1, seafaring is referred to as one of man’s hopes to
achieve wealth.402 While it is not clear in Semonides whether the
sea scene is about commercial trade or fishing, the former seems to
be at play in Solon, as is hinted at by οἴκαδε κέρδος ἄγειν in 44b.403
In Solon’s poem, too, the sea scene has much diction shared with
epic poetry. 404 This is especially evident in line 45, where the
diction is similar to that about storms faced by Agamemnon and
Odysseus near Cape Malea, told in Odyssey 4 and 9. In Od. 4.515b-
516, a gale carried Agamemnon over the fish-filled sea (θύελλα /
402 For the link between both poems (in general) see Bowra 1960 (1938), 95-97;
Nestle 1972 (1942), 208; Fränkel 1975 (1962), 235; West 1974, 32.
403 Cf. Maurach 1983, 23; Mülke 2002, ad loc.; Noussia-Fantuzzi 2010, 278. Cp. the
use of οἴκαδε κέρδος about trade over sea in Op. 632, and ἄγειν for loading
goods, e.g,. in Il. 9.72, Od. 10.35 and 14.296.
404 Contrast this to the sparing use of diction shared with epic poetry in Solon’s
other poetry: see Campbell 1982 (1967), 232 and Mülke 2002, 17-18.
149
φέρεν πόντον ἐπ’ ἰχθυόεντα) as he approached Cape Malea. In
Od. 9. 82-83a, Odysseus says that he was carried for nine days over
the fish-filled sea by dire winds (ἔνθεν δ’ ἐννῆμαρ φερόμην
ὀλοοῖς ἀνέμοισιν / πόντον ἐπ’ ἰχθυόεντα), as he was rounding
Cape Malea.
A first point of comparison between both Odyssean
passages and Solon’s poem is the use of the epithet-noun
combination πόντον…ἰχθυόεντα. Because of the association of the
epithet with threat at sea and the frequent references to fish
devouring corpses in early Greek poetry, the epithet might signal
the threat of death at sea.405 The contextual relevance of the epithet
seems to be highlighted in Solon’s poem by its emphatic position in
enjambment two lines after the noun with which it is combined.
Next, in Od. 9.82 the noun ἀνέμοισιν is combined with the epithet
ὀλοοῖς, and in Solon with the quasi-synonymous ἀργαλέοισιν.406
That the winds are called ‘cruel’ is because they bring sailors
storms and, consequently, are a source of danger and suffering for
them.407 Finally, the verb φέρω is used about sailors at sea in the
Odyssean passages, while its intensive form φορέω is chosen in
Solon’s poem. In epic poetry (the Odyssey only) φορέω is used only
in the active form about winds carrying sailors along at sea (Od.
6.171 and 12.68). In Solon φορέω is used in the middle form with
passive meaning about a sailor being carried along by winds,408 so
405 For the association of the epithet with threat at sea see Mülke 2002, ad loc. and
Noussia-Fantuzzi 2010, ad loc. For epic poetry see LfgrE, s.v. ἰχθυόεις ‘notion of
threat to man present in some passages’: Il. 19.378, Od. 3.177, 4.381, 470 and 516,
5.420, 10.458, 23.317. Examples of references to the devouring of corpses by fishes
are Od. 14.135, 15.480, 24.291.
406 For the former cf. also Od. 14.313; for the latter see also, although in the
accusative or genitive case, Il. 13.795; Od. 11.400 and 407; h. Bacch. 7.24; h. Diosc.
33.14.
407 My interpretation of the epithet differs from the common opinion (e.g., Treu
1955, 271 and Noussia-Fantuzzi 2010, ad loc.) that the epithet is used ornamentally
in Solon 13. For my general claim that epithets have contextual relevance in
archaic lyric poetry see my introductory chapter (1.1).
408 Cf. also infra my discussion of Alc. 208 and see Semon. 7 in 4.3.2.
150
that an image is created of a sailor as a passive victim of winds at
sea.409
The differences in use of diction in comparison with the
storm scenes in the Odyssey reveal that even more emphasis is put
on the danger of the storm in Solon’s poem. 410 Its danger is so
important that it endangers the life of the sailor, for in line 46 he is
said to have no consideration for his life (φειδωλὴν ψυχῆς
οὐδεμίαν θέμενος) because of his desire for kerdos.
I now pass on to poems in which an image of a ship in a storm

serves as an extended metaphor for a particular group or the whole
polis in danger because of certain socio-political upheavals (Alcaeus
208 and 6, Theognis 667-682). 411 The choice of this metaphor
becomes understandable if we take into account that one of the
functions of metaphors is that of ‘cognitive elucidation’, i.e.
presenting a situation or an event in a new light to deepen the
recipient’s awareness of it.412 Applied to the ship metaphors under
discussion, this means that the speaker in Alcaeus or Theognis
wishes to present the socio-political upheavals in a different way to
make his fellow aristocrats more aware of the danger involved for
them.413 However, this does not imply that the message is conveyed
in a straightforward manner, as the use of metaphors implies a
409 Cp. Thgn. 667-682 infra and Semon. 1 supra.

410 Mülke 2002, ad loc. and Noussia-Fantuzzi 2010, ad loc. argue that a sense of
danger is evoked through a reminiscence of Op. 618-694, which relates the danger
of trade over sea, but the only lexical echo is οἴκαδε κέρδος (Op. 632 and Sol.
13.44).
411 Elsewhere in archaic Greek lyric, there are very brief references to the ‘ship of
state’, however without mention of the sea, namely in Pindar’s Pythian Odes (1.86;
4.272-274; 10.71); for a discussion I refer to Péron 1973, 110-115. In ancient Greek
literature the metaphor is especially popular in tragic poetry (Aeschylus’ Septem:
cf. van Nes 1963, 71-92) and Plato’s Republic (book 6: see Keyt 2006). The most
famous example in Latin literature is Horace’s Ode 1.14.
412 For cognitive elucidation see my introduction; cf. also my discussion of political
city metaphors in 2.3.2.

413 See also Gentili-Catenacci 2007, 174.
151
sense of indirectness:414 in Theognis’ poem the ship metaphor is
called an enigma that contains a hidden message for the aristocrats
(ταῦτά μοι ἠινίχθω κεκρυμμένα τοῖς ἀγαθοῖσιν, line 681). The
riddling nature of metaphors could be connected with the context
of the symposium, in which poems like those of Theognis and
Alcaeus were probably performed:415 it could well have stimulated
a popular sympotic form of competitive entertainment, that of
εἰκάζειν (‘guessing’), as the symposiasts might have been
encouraged to guess at the meaning of the metaphors.416
In my discussions of the ship metaphors I start by briefly
commenting on the metaphorical-political content, before focusing
on the storm itself. I begin my discussion with Alcaeus 208:
ἀσυν<ν>έτημμι τὼν ἀνέμων στάσιν·

τὸ μὲν γὰρ ἔνθεν κῦμα κυλίνδεται,
τὸ δ’ ἔνθεν, ἄμμες δ’ ὂν τὸ μέσσον
νᾶϊ φορήμ<μ>εθα σὺν μελαίναι
5 χείμωνι μόχθεντες μεγάλωι μάλα.

πὲρ μὲν γὰρ ἄντλος ἰστοπέδαν ἔχει,
λαῖφος δὲ πὰν ζάδηλον ἤδη,
καὶ λάκιδες μέγαλαι κὰτ αὖτο,
414 See my introduction (1.2.2) and also my discussion of erotic city metaphors
(2.3.2). In this way, the specific, historical-political message for the original
audiences is impossible to retrace by us, moderns. Nevertheless, influenced by
Heraclitus’ reading of the poems, scholars often read the ship metaphors in
Theognis and, above all, Alcaeus as historical reflections of the rise of particular
tyrants in the aristocratic societies of archaic Megara and Mytilene (see Page 1975
(1955), 179-196; Kirkwood 1974, 78-80; Rösler 1980, 126-148; Gentili 1984 and 1988
(1985), 197-215).
415 For the performance of the Theognidea and Alcaeus in the symposium see
Levine 1985 and Rösler 1980 respectively. See further the epilogue to this thesis for
the performance contexts of archaic lyric poetry.
416 See also my discussion of Thgn. 949-954 in 2.3.2.
152
χάλαισι δ’ ἄγκονναι,417 τὰ δ’ ὀή[ï]α
10 [ ]
.[…].[ -]
τοι πόδες ἀμφότεροι μένο[ισιν
ἐ<ν> βιμβλίδεσσι· τοῦτό με καὶ σ[άοι

μόνον· τὰ δ’ ἄχματ’ ἐκπεπ[.].άχμενα
15 ..]μεν.[.]ρηντ’ ἕπερθα. τὼν[…].
]ενοισ.[
]νεπαγ[
]πανδ[
]βολη[
I fail to understand the direction of the winds: one wave rolls in from this
side, another from that, and we in the middle are carried along with our
black ship, much distressed in the great storm. The bilge water covers the
masthold; all the sail lets the light through now, and there are great rents
in it; the halyards are loosening; the rudders…my feet both stay
(entangled) in the ropes: this alone (saves) me; the cargo…(is carried off)
above…
The poem seems to express civil discord in the polis. This is hinted
at in the opening line by the noun στάσις, which is used of civil
strife elsewhere in archaic Greek lyric.418 The rest of the fragment
conveys the dangerous consequences for Alcaeus’ hetaeria and/or
417 Gerber follows the reading of the codd. ἄγκυρ<ρ>αι (cf. also Voigt), but the
loosening of anchors does not seem to make sense. I follow the conjecture
ἄγκονναι (‘halyards’), adopted in Page; see further infra for a discussion.
418 Cf. Alc. 130; Sol. 4.19; Thgn. 51 (1082) and 781. The fragment is usually read as
an allusion to the rise of the tyrant Myrsilus, based on Heraclitus’ interpretation

(All. 5: Μύρσιλος γὰρ ὁ δηλούμενός ἐστι καὶ τυραννικὴ κατὰ Μυτιληναίων
ἐγειρομένη σύστασις, ‘it is Myrsilus who is indicated and tyrannical conspiracy
roused against the Mytileneans’): Bowra 1961 (1936), 154; Campbell 1982 (1967), ad
loc.; Rösler 1980, 139-140; Burnett 1983, ad loc.; Gentili 1984, 1988 (1985), 204 and
Gentili-Catenacci 2007, 174; Porro 1996, ad loc.; De Martino-Vox 1996, ad loc.;
Liberman 1999, ad loc. Although Heraclitus would have known the whole poem
and not only the fragmentary remains we have at our disposal, I am reluctant to
read the ship metaphors as historical documents for reasons mentioned above.
153
the polis 419 by the image of a ‘ship’ in a ‘great storm’
(χείμωνι…μεγάλωι, line 5).
In the first stanza the speaker’s gaze is directed to the storm
raging around him. At the end of the stanza the speaker renders
the sailors’ lack of control in the storm by using φορήμ<μ>εθα: just
as in Solon 13 discussed above, a middle form with passive meaning
of the verb φορέω evinces that the sailors have become passive
victims of a storm, lacking control over their ship. The danger it
poses is multiplied by the position in which the sailors find
themselves, namely in the middle (τὸ μέσσον, 3) of the sea, far
from land: not only is there no shore nearby, but the sea is also the
wildest in the middle (cp. Od. 5.132=7.250, where a storm in the
midst of the sea causes the death of Odysseus’ comrades).
From the second stanza onwards the speaker shifts his
attention from the storm to the state in which the ship finds itself
due to the storm. A first consequence of the storm is the bilge water
(ἄντλος, 6) that covers the masthold of the ship: the water which
entered the ship has risen so high that it is about to wash over the
ship. A second consequence is the appearance of rents in the sails
that let the light through (lines 7-8): no longer able to use them, the
sailors fail to steer a steady course. This demonstrates their lack of
control, which was indicated in the first stanza, and accords with
another consequence of the storm, namely the loosening of the
halyards (line 9), i.e. the ropes which reach from the deck to the top
of the mast and down again and which are used to raise the sails.420
The danger of the storm and its consequences, as perceived
by the speaker, are linked to the emotions he and his shipmates
experience, as the greatness of the storm has caused equally great
distress for the sailors (μόχθεντες...μάλα, line 5). These emotions
419 No consensus exists whether in this fragment (as well as in fragment 6) the ship
stands for Alcaeus’ hetaeria (Adrados 1955, 210; van Nes 1963, 72-74; Péron 1973,
107-108; Rösler 1980, 119; Lentini 2001, 160; Cucchiarelli 2004, 195-201) or for the
entire polis (Lesky 1947, 195; Fränkel 1975 (1962), 190, n4; Gentili 1988 (1985), 213
and Gentili-Catenacci 2007, 173). Perhaps the dilemma is false, as danger for the
group also implies danger for the polis (cf. Kirkwood 1974, 77), at least from the
perspective of the group.
420 Cf. Casson 1971, 262.
154
might be connected to the way the ship is depicted, i.e. as a dark
ship (νᾶï…σὺν μελαίναι). In epic poetry the epithet μέλας, when
used of a ship, has a pictorial sense, as it refers to the pitch with
which the ship is daubed. This is different from its use in archaic
lyric poetry. In the only other instance of the epithet-noun
combination in archaic Greek lyric, the end of Alcaeus’ Hymn to the
Dioscuri (34), Castor and Pollux are said to rescue men from death,
leaping on peaks of ships, bringing light to the dark ship in the
night of trouble (ἀργαλέαι δ’ ἐν νύκτι φ[άος φέ]ροντες / νᾶï
μ[ε]λαίναι, lines 11-12). Here the epithet seems to have a symbolic
sense in a context in which darkness and distress are set against
light and salvation.421 A similar sense might be at play in Alcaeus
208 as well, as the darkness of the ship might be associated with
the distress of the sailors.
A second ship metaphor is presented in Alcaeus 6:
τόδ’ αὖτε κῦμα τὼ π[ρ]οτέρ[ω 'νέμω422

στείχει, παρέξει δ’ ἄμμι πόνον πόλυν
ἄντλην, ἐπεὶ κε νᾶος ἔμβαι
].όμεθ’ ἐ[
5 ]..[..].[
[ ]
φαρξώμεθ’ ὡς ὤκιστα [τοίχοις,
ἐς δ’ ἔχυρον λίμενα δρό[μωμεν·
καὶ μή τιν’ ὄκνος μόλθ[ακος ἀμμέων

10 λάβη· πρόδηλον γὰρ μέγ’ [ἀέθλιον.
μνάσθητε τὼ πάροιθε μ[όχθω·
421 For a discussion of the epithet in Alc. 34 see Broger 1996, ad loc.; for the epithet
in epic poetry cf. LfgrE, s.v. μέλας. For a similar contrast between darkness and
light in terms of an opposition between trouble and salvation see Archil. 24 infra
(4.4.2).
422 Campbell puts the reading adopted in most codd., προτέρω νέμω (ABG),
between cruces, because it does not seem to make sense. I follow Voigt in her
interpretation προτέρω 'νέμω, i.e. προτέρω ἀνέμω.
155
νῦν τις ἄνηρ δόκιμος γε[νέσθω.
καὶ μὴ καταισχύνωμεν [ἀνανδρίαι

ἔσλοις τόκηας γᾶς ὔπα κε[ιμένοις
15 ..]τᾶνδ[
τὰν πο[423
This wave in turn comes by the previous wind, and it will give us much
trouble to bail out, when it enters the ship’s…Let us strengthen (the
ship’s sides) as quickly as possible, and let us race into a secure harbour;
and let cowardly fear not seize any of us: for a great (ordeal) stands clear
before us. Remember the previous (hardship): now let every man show
himself trustworthy. And let us not disgrace (by cowardice) our noble
fathers lying beneath the earth, who…
The poem seems to express the imminent rise of tyranny in the polis,
as is hinted at in the first stanza by the image of the coming of a
‘wave’ that will give the ‘sailors’ much trouble to bail out. It is
particularly clear if we are aware that the verb about the coming of
a ‘wave’, στείχει, is used of people in early Greek poetry and if we
connect this with the fact that tyranny is mentioned later in the
fragment (μοναρχίαν, line 27).424 In the following stanzas, then, the
speaker exhorts his companions to take action by making use of
several imperatives and adhortative subjunctives.
Just as in fragment 208, the image of bilge water entering in
the ship points at the threatening danger of a sinking ship. The
choice of the tenses, however, reveals that the situation is not as
423 The fragment continues another fifteen lines, but the remains are too scattered
to allow discussion.
424 For the use of στείχω about persons cf. LfgrE, s.v. for epic poetry; for lyric
poetry cf. B. 9.17, 18.36, Pi. N. 1.25 and 65, 9.20, Sapph. 27.8 and 30.7. Most scholars
(van Nes 1963, 73; Campbell 1982 (1967), ad loc.; Martin 1972, 53; Rösler 1980, 130-
131; Gentili 1988 (1985), 205; Porro 1996, ad loc.; Liberman 1999, ad loc.) connect this
fragment, just like fragment 208, with the tyrant Myrsilus, based on text-external
grounds, i.e. Heraclitus’ interpretation of the poem and a comment in the lower
margin of the fragment which has the name Myrsilus. For reasons mentioned
earlier, I am again hesitant to follow a specifically historical reading.
156
pressing: whereas in fragment 208 only present tenses are used to
stress the urgency of the situation, in fragment 6 the combination of
the present στείχει with the future παρέξει reveals that the trouble
(πόνον) will take place only in the (near) future. This means that
the sailors still have some (limited) time to overcome the storm and
explains why the speaker is able to urge the sailors to strengthen
the ship and race into a secure harbour (ἔχυρον λίμενα) in the
following stanza. By making use of the epithet ἔχυρον the speaker
stresses the safety of the harbour as a point of contrast with the
danger of the sea.425
The sense of danger, perceived by the speaker, is again
connected to the emotions of himself and his fellow companions. In
this case the speaker mentions emotions they should not have, for
in lines 9-10 he uses a third person imperative to exhort his
companions that cowardly fear (ὄκνος μόλθ[ακος)426 should not
seize any of them. By making use of the epithet μόλθακος the
speaker negatively qualifies emotions of fear: anyone who is
frightened in the presence of a storm is a coward.
A final ship metaphor occurs in Theognis 667-682:427
εἰ μὲν χρήματ’ ἔχοιμι, Σιμωνίδη, οἷά περ ἤδη
425 For the harbour as a place of safety, set against the danger of the sea, cf. also Sc.
207. Burnett 1983, ad loc. believes that the harbour stands for the gathering of the
hetaeria in the symposium. However, this interpretation only holds if the ship
stands for the hetaeria and not for the polis (cf. supra). Moreover, based on the
opinion of metaphor specialists that metaphors do not function as mere
substitutions of referents (see 1.2.2), I doubt whether the metaphor should be
decoded that specifically.
426 The supplement μόλθ[ακος has generally been accepted by editors (e.g. Voigt
and Campbell).
427 Based on the addressee Simonides, who is also addressed in another
Theognidean poem (lines 467-496) that has been ascribed to Euenus by Aristotle
(Metaph. 4.5.1015a28), many scholars assert that the author of the poem is Euenus
(Adrados 1981 (1956), ad loc.; Van Groningen 1966, ad loc.; Ferrari 1989, ad loc.). In
this respect, it is important to restate (cf. 2.3.1) that the Corpus Theognideum is an
anthology of archaic and classical Greek elegy which has only much later been
ascribed to Theognis.
157
οὐκ ἂν ἀνιώιμην τοῖς ἀγαθοῖσι συνών.
νῦν δέ με γινώσκοντα παρέρχεται, εἰμὶ δ’ ἄφωνος
670 χρημοσύνηι, πολλῶν γνοὺς ἓν428 ἄμεινον ἔτι,
οὕνεκα νῦν φερόμεσθα καθ’ ἱστία λευκὰ βαλόντες
Μηλίου ἐκ πόντου νύκτα διὰ δνοφερήν,
ἀντλεῖν δ’ οὐκ ἐθέλουσιν, ὑπερβάλλει δὲ θάλασσα
ἀμφοτέρων τοίχων. ἦ μάλα τις χαλεπῶς
675 σώιζεται, οἷ’ ἕρδουσι· κυβερνήτην μὲν ἔπαυσαν
ἐσθλόν, ὅτις φυλακὴν εἶχεν ἐπισταμένως·
χρήματα δ’ ἁρπάζουσι βίηι, κόσμος δ’ ἀπόλωλεν,
δασμὸς δ’ οὐκέτ’ ἴσος γίνεται ἐς τὸ μέσον·
φορτηγοὶ δ’ ἄρχουσι, κακοὶ δ’ ἀγαθῶν καθύπερθεν.
680 δειμαίνω, μή πως ναῦν κατὰ κῦμα πίηι.
ταῦτά μοι ἠινίχθω κεκρυμμένα τοῖς ἀγαθοῖσιν·
γινώσκοι δ’ ἄν τις καὶ κακός, ἂν σοφὸς ἦι.429
If I had wealth, Simonides, I would not feel distressed as I now feel in the
company of the noble. But now I am aware that it passes me by, and I am
voiceless because of need, although I know one thing still better than many,
that we are now being carried along with white sails lowered beyond the
Melian sea through the dark night, and they refuse to bail, but the sea is
washing over both sides. In very truth, anyone has much difficulty saving
oneself, because they are doing such things: they have deposed the noble
helmsman who skillfully kept watch; they seize possessions by force,
discipline is lost, and no longer is there an equal distribution in the
common interest; the merchands rule, and the base are above the noble. I
am afraid that perhaps a wave will swallow the ship. Let these be my
428 Gerber follows the reading of the manuscript (O) γνοὺς ἄν, but ἄν with a
participle is possible only in the case of an accusative plus participle (see Rijksbaron
2002 (1984), 119, n4). I adopt Van Groningen’s conjecture γνοὺς ἕν (other editors,
e.g. Hudson-Williams and Carrière, opt for γνοὺς περ, which is paleographically
less likely).
429 I follow the conjecture κακός, accepted by most editors (e.g. West and Ferrari,
but not Young and Gerber), for κακόν. With κακόν the meaning would be ‘but
anyone, if he is wise, can recognise even the calamity (of the situation)’, but in that
case the use of καί with κακόν is not understandable.
158
riddling words with hidden meaning for the noble; but even a base man, if
he is wise, can recognise (their meaning).
In this poem the metaphorical nature of the ship image is made

manifest in the final two lines, where the poem is said to be a riddle
for the aristocrats.430 The socio-political overtones of the metaphor
are brought to the foreground in the second part of the metaphor,
i.e. the situation on board the ‘ship’ (lines 675-679). The speaker,
who is in the company of the noble (cf. τοῖς ἀγαθοῖσι συνών in
668), i.e. his fellow aristocrats, 431 is distressed, because his
companions have made an end to the orderly rule of the
‘helmsman’ (κυβερνήτης), probably some sort of tyrant.432 This has
provoked chaos and injustice on the ‘ship’, i.e. in the polis, and has
enabled the ‘merchants’ (φορτηγοί), presumably the nouveaux
riches, to gain power.433 The image of a ‘ship’ in a ‘storm’ in the first
part of the metaphor (lines 671-674) is then a husteron proteron, as it
is the result of the shift in power narrated in the second part. The
speaker chooses for this reversed order to make the socio-political
content only gradually clear and to begin the metaphor with an
emphasis on the danger of the present situation.
430 Cf. supra for a discussion of the end of Theognis’ poem.

431 The adjective ἀγαθός predominantly refers to aristocrats in the Theognidea: see
lines 43, 57, 111, 148, 188, 190, 315, 319, 372, 398, 436, 438, 525, 614, 792, 797, 893,
1097, 1111, 1162c.
432 Cp. the use of the noun εὐθυντήρ, which has associations with steering a ship
(cf. A. Supp. 717, and the verb ἰθύνω in Il. 23.317 and Od. 11.10), and is used about
a tyrant in another Theognidean poem (Thgn. 40), which similarly to 667-682
adopts a positive stance towards tyranny and complains about the chaos and
injustice caused by fellow aristocrats. This interpretation, which I owe to André
Lardinois, goes counter to the common opinion (e.g., Van Groningen 1966, ad loc.
and Ferrari 1989, ad loc.) that considers the κυβερνήτης to represent the
aristocrats. The problems with this opinion are that the aristocrats are already
represented by the ‘noble men’ who accompany the speaker and that it is
implausible that one helmsman would represent a group of aristocrats.
433 See Van Groningen 1966, ad φορτηγοί: ‘il fait allusion aux marchands enrichis
[cf. e.g. Simon. XL.3] qui, dans les villes, supplantent l’ancienne aristocratie
terrienne’.
159
First of all, in lines 671-672 the sailors are said to be carried
along with white sails lowered beyond the Melian Sea through the
dark night. The sailors’ lack of control in the storm is indicated by
the fact that the sails are lowered as well as by the middle form
with passive meaning φερόμεσθα. In epic poetry (the Odyssey only),
the verb is mostly used in an active form about winds and waves
carrying sailors at sea (e.g., Od. 5.111 and 330, 10.26), but here its
middle form with passive meaning about sailors being carried along
at sea (in the Odyssey only in 9.82) depicts the sailors as passive
victims of a storm, lacking control over their ship.434 The sense of
danger it affects is reinforced by the time of sailing, i.e. the dark
night which makes it impossible for the sailors to view what is
happening, as well as by the place of sailing, namely out of the
Melian Sea. If one sails out of the sea to the west round the
Cycladic island Melos, one approaches Cape Malea at the south-
east coast of the Peloponnese. That the sea around this promontory
is notoriously treacherous and difficult to navigate, with its high
cliffs and powerful storms, is clear from the nostoi of several Greek
heroes, mentioned in the Odyssey (3.286-90, Menelaus; 4.514-518,
Agamemnon; 9.79-81, Odysseus; 19.186-187, Odysseus in a lying
tale).435
Next, in lines 673-674a sailors refuse to bail out the ship,
even though the sea is washing over both sides. Just as in Alcaeus’
fragments, the image of bilge water in a ship points at the danger
of sinking. The situation is extremely urgent in this poem, for the
water is threatening to the sailors’ lives (cf. lines 674b-675a). That
the dangerous situation is intensified by the sailors’ unwillingness
to bail out the water makes the image harsher, since they represent
the aristocratic companions, to whom the metaphor is directed (cf.
line 681).
Finally, the end of the metaphor (680) returns to the
opening part on the storm with another reference to the imminent
danger, by drawing on the image of a ship about to be swallowed
by a wave. At this point, the danger of the sea, perceived by the
434 Cp. φορέω supra in Alc. 208 and Sol. 13.

435 See de Jong 2001, ad 4.514. Cf. also DNP, s.v. Malea.
160
speaker, is connected to emotions of fear he experiences (δειμαίνω).
In contrast to Alcaeus’ fragments, the speaker’s emotions are not
shared by his companions. In this way, the speaker distances
himself from the other aristocrats: by criticising their behaviour
and offering an instructive metaphorical image, he hopes that they
will become aware of the gravity of the situation for which they are
held responsible (cf. lines 681-682).
I now proceed to poems with an even more manifest connection

between danger at sea and feelings of fear. A first one is
Archilochus 105:
Γλαῦχ᾽, ὅρα· βαθὺς γὰρ ἤδη κύμασιν ταράσσεται

πόντος, ἀμφὶ δ᾽ ἄκρα Γυρέων ὀρθὸν ἵσταται νέφος,
σῆμα χειμῶνος· κιχάνει δ᾽ ἐξ ἀελπτίης φόβος.
Look, Glaucus: the deep sea is now being disturbed by the waves, and a
cloud stands straight round about the heights of Gyrae, a sign of storm;
from the unexpected comes fear.
In these lines a sense of danger is created by the perception of a

storm (χειμῶνος) when it is about to take place.. 436 That the
position from which the imminent storm is being perceived seems
to be the ship rather than the coast is suggested by the contrast
between the deep sea beneath and the clouds round about the
heights of Gyrae above.437 The contrast also enhances the sense of
436 Most scholars (Bowra 1940, 127; Campbell 1982 (1967), 150; Clay 1982, 201;
Gentili 1988 (1985), 213-214; De Martino-Vox 1996, ad loc.) read the poem as an
allegory for impending war, in the wake of Heraclitus, who cites these lines (All.
5.2). However, nothing in the lines we possess refers to war. It could be that the
rest of the poem dealt with war, but this is not certain at all (for these and other
objections to an allegorical reading see Dietel 1939, 72-73 and Elliger 1975, 168-
169).
437 The contextual significance of the epithet βαθύς, evinced by the contrast
between the deep sea and the heights of Gyrae, refutes the belief of Harvey 1957,
219 that the epithet is merely ornamental here. Already the fact that noun and
epithet are separated from each other hints at contextual significance. See further
161
danger, as is particularly clear from the reference to Gyrae. Rather
than referring to a real, geographical location, Gyrae is a place
symbolic of danger at sea, as is known, for example, from the story
of Ajax Oileus/Lesser Ajax, mentioned in the Odyssey (4.500-511).438
The story goes that Poseidon threw Ajax against the rocks of Gyrae,
but then saved him from the waves. Afterwards, Ajax
sacrilegiously boasted that he had escaped death at sea, despite the
gods’ will. Poseidon got angry and split up the rocks of Gyrae with
his trident: consequently, part of the rocks fell down and crushed
Ajax. As the end of the poem evinces, the sense of danger is
connected to emotions of fear (φόβος).
The ‘ship of state’ poems as well as Archilochus 105 show that the
symbolic associations of the sea with danger have a psychologising
function, as they are connected with the emotions of the human
subjects. 439 The psychologising function is still more thoroughly
worked out in a fragment by Simonides (543), of which we miss at
least one strophe.440 In this fragment the person who finds himself
at sea is a mythological, female character, as the fragment tells part
of the story of Danaë. She was shut up in a tower by her father
because of a prophecy that his grandson would murder him. Zeus
my introductory chapter (1.1) for the contextual significance of epithets in archaic

lyric poetry.
438 Cf. Clay 1982, 203. Many scholars, however, have tried (in vain) to
geographically locate them. While Bowra 1940, 128-129 first suggested the south
east of Euboea, based on the mention in the Nostoi that the shipwreck of Ajax took
place off the promontory of Caphereus in Euboea, other suggestions made are
Cycladic islands, such as Myconos or Delos, where the alleged grave of Ajax was
situated (Apollod. 6.5 and Lyc. Alex. 400-407), and Tenos, based on a gloss of
Hesychius who names Γύρας a mountain in Tenos (for Tenos see, for instance,
Sandbach 1942; Adrados 1981 (1956), ad loc.; Campbell 1982 (1967), ad loc.; Gerber
1970, ad loc.; De Martino-Vox 1996, ad loc.). Most of these Cycladic islands
suggested are supported by a letter of Cicero (Ad Atticum 5.12.1), in which he
locates the ἄκρα Γυρέων in the neighbourhood of Delos, as well as by a
biographical reading, insofar as they are visible from Paros, the birth island of
Archilochus (but see Tsagarakis 1977 for problems with biographical readings of
iambic poetry).
439 For the psychologising function of space see 1.2.2 (and 3.3.1 on fields).
440 See further Hutchinson 2001, 306 and 308-309; Poltera 2008, 406.
162
himself fell in love with her, came to her in the form of a shower of
gold and made her pregnant. When her father heard that she had
given birth to a son, called Perseus, he put mother and child to sea
in a chest. At this point of the story, the fragment begins:
Ὅτε λάρνακι
ἐν δαιδαλέαι
ἄνεμός τέ μιν πνέων
κινηθεῖσά τε λίμνα δείματι
5 ἔρειπεν, οὔκ ἀδιάντοισι παρειαῖς
ἀμφί τε Περσέι βάλλε φίλαν χέρα
εἶπέν τ’· `ὦ τέκος, οἷον ἔχω πόνον·
σὺ δ’ ἀωτεῖς, γαλαθηνῶι
δ’ ἤτορι κνοώσσεις
10 ἐν ἀτερπέι δούρατι χαλκεογόμφωι
νυκτὶ <τ’ ἀ>λαμπέι
κυανέωι τε δνόφωι σταλείς.
ἄχναν δ’ ὕπερθε τεᾶν κομᾶν
βαθεῖαν παριόντος
15 κύματος οὐκ ἀλέγεις, οὐδ’ ἀνέμου
φθόγγον, πορφυρέαι
κείμενος ἐν χλανίδι, πρόσωπον καλόν.
εἰ δέ τοι δεινὸν τό γε δεινὸν ἦν,
καί κεν ἐμῶν ῥημάτων
20 λεπτὸν ὑπεῖχες οὖας.
κέλομαι <δ’>, εὗδε βρέφος,

εὑδέτω δὲ πόντος, εὑδέτω <δ’> ἄμετρον κακόν.
μεταβουλία δέ τις φανείη,
Ζεῦ πάτερ, ἐκ σέο·
25 ὅττι δὲ θαρσαλέον ἔπος εὔχομαι
ἢ νόσφι δίκας,
σύγγνωθί μοι.
163
…When in the cunningly-carved chest the blowing wind and the agitated
sea prostrated her in fear, with streaming cheeks she put her loving arm
about Perseus and said: ‘My child, what suffering is mine! But you sleep,
and with babyish heart slumber in the dismal boat with its brazen bolts,
sent forth in an unlit night and the dark murk. You pay no attention to
the deep spray above your hair, as the wave passes by, nor to the sound of
the wind, lying in your purple blanket, a lovely face. If this danger were a
danger to you, why, you would turn your tiny ear to my words. Sleep, my
baby, I urge you, and let the sea sleep, let the immense trouble sleep. May
some change appear from you, father Zeus: if anything in my prayer is
audacious or unjust, pardon me.’
The fragment opens with an image of the sea in a state of storm: the
wind is blowing (ἄνεμος…πνέων) and the sea is agitated
(κινθηθεῖσα τε λίμνα). 441 The stormy state of the sea is
immediately connected to the emotions of Danaë, for the agitated
sea is said to prostrate her in fear (δείματι / ἔρειπεν). The shift
after the opening scene from narrator-text about Danaë to
character-text (direct speech) by Danaë herself adrift at sea not only
enhances the sense of danger of the sea, as it is perceived directly
through her eyes, but also neatly links it to her emotions of fear.442
This is immediately clear from Danaë’s opening words, which
exclaim the suffering (πόνον) she undergoes. The use of the first
person singular ἔχω reveals that it is Danaë alone who is suffering,
whereas her infant child, whom she addresses, sleeps and does not
pay attention to what happens around him (cf. lines 8-9).443 In this
way, Danaë’s utterance to Perseus that the latter is sent forth ‘in an
unlit night’ (νυκτί <τ’ ἀ>λαμπέι, 11) and ‘dark murk’ (κυανέωι τε
441 According to Rosenmeyer 1991, 16, the participle κινθηθεῖσα points at Danaë’s
emotional disturbance. There are, however, two problems with this hypothesis: the
participle is not used about Danaë and the meaning of the verb Rosenmeyer
suggests is not attested in early Greek poetry (cf. LSJ, s.v. κινέω 2: from Plato
onwards).
442 Cf. Copley 1937, 208; Lesky 1947, 203-204; Treu 1955, 304; Hurwitt 1981, 196;
Burnett 1985, 13-14; Rosenmeyer 1991, 15 and 18; Hutchinson 2001, 307.
443 The contrast has briefly been noted before, for instance, by Fränkel 1975 (1962),
316; Rosenmeyer 1991, 15; Poltera 2008, 507.
164
δνόφωι, 12) conveys the distress of the person who makes the
utterance, rather than that to whom it is directed.444 The contrast
between the emotions of Danaë and the carelessness of Perseus is
further elaborated in the rest of Danae’s speech.
Firstly, in lines 13-16 Danaë speaks to Perseus about the
high spray above his hair (ἄχναν δ’ ὕπερθε τεᾶν κομᾶν /
βαθεῖαν), as the wave passes by, and the sound of the wind. In
epic and other lyric poetry the epithet βαθύς is combined with ἅλς
and πόντος with the meaning ‘deep sea’, 445 but in Simonides’
fragment with ἄχνα in the sense of ‘high spray’, as the noun is
used ‘nur speziell von der hoch spitzenden Gischt, die sich
beim…starken Sturm bildet’. 446 The danger of the movement is,
however, only apparent to Danaë, for Perseus does not pay
attention to it (οὐκ ἀλέγεις in line 15).
Secondly, in line 18 the double use of δεινόν about the sea
by Danaë stresses its danger.447 Although the use of the particle τοι
makes clear that the utterance is directed to Perseus, the unreal
present expressed by the imperfect ἦν in the conditional clause
(εἰ)448 shows that Perseus does not actually perceive the danger. All
this is to be ascribed only to the person who makes the utterance:
Danaë.
Finally, in line 22 the repetitive use of the imperative
εὐδέτω with πόντος and ἄμετρον κακόν indicates that the sea
444 Cp. the associations of δνόφος with grief because of death in A. Ch. 52; for
associations of darkness with distress in archaic Greek lyric see also Archil. 24
(ζόφος, discussed in 4.4.2) and 130.1b-2 (μέλας), Alc. 34.11-12 (μέλας, discussed
supra).
445 For its use with ἅλς see my discussion of B. 17.62 in 4.2.2. For πόντος cf. Archil.
105; Thgn. 10 and 511; Pi. N. 4.36, P. 1.24 and 3.76.

446 LfgrE, s.v. ἄχνη: cf. Il. 4.426 and 11.307; Od. 5.403 and 12.238; in lyric poetry it is
attested only in this fragment. The noun ἄχναν is, in fact, an emendation by Page,
accepted amongst others by Campbell, for the codd. readings αὐλέαν (PV) and
αὐλαίαν (M). Another emendation suggested is ἅλμαν (‘salt sea’, cf. e.g. Poltera),
but this one seems less likely, for spray of the sea is more easy to imagine being
above the head of the child than the (salt) sea itself.
447 For the use of δεινός about the sea in early Greek poetry cf. Od. 3.322; see also
its use about death at sea in Op. 687 and 691.

448 Cf. Degani-Burzacchini 2005 (1977), ad loc.
165
causes immense trouble to Danaë. To calm the sea she turns the
lullaby she is singing to her child (line 21), who has already fallen
asleep, into a lullaby to the sea. The use of the verb εὔδω (‘sleep’)
about the sea reveals an instance of personification. While the verb
is mostly used about people in early Greek poetry, its use about the
sea aligns with exceptional instances about nature (of winds in Il.
5.524; of mountains, valleys and earth in Alcm. 89).449 These cases
are to be considered instances of personification, particularly of
‘activisation’, by which inanimate nature is endowed with physical
life.450 In Simonides’ fragment the personification of the sea does
not only dramatise the danger of the situation, but also underscores
the pathos of the futility of Danaë’s attempt to communicate with
the sea.451
4.4.2. Before and After the Sea Journey
A second type of sea poems is about departure and arrival of a sea

voyage. I begin with the former, on the basis of a brief
Theognidean poem: 691-692.
Χαίρων, εὖ τελέσειας ὁδὸν μεγάλου διὰ πόντου,

καί σε Ποσειδάων χάρμα φίλοις ἀγάγοι.
449 For the predominant use of the verb about persons see LfgrE, s.v. εὔδω for epic
poetry; for lyric poetry see Pi. O. 13.67 and P. 1.6, Sol. 37.3, Thgn. 469 and 1045.
450 For ‘activisation’ and other subtypes of personification see 1.2.2 (and my
discussion of city personification in 2.3.1).

451 For personification as a means of dramatisation see Biddle 1991, 187 and
Yatromanolakis 1991, 37ff.: see further 1.2.2 (in general) and 2.3.1 (on city
personification); the problems of communication for Danaë in this fragment are
the subject of Rosenmeyer 1991. Scholars (Bowra 1961 (1936), 336-339; Fränkel
1975 (1962), 315-316; Burnett 1985, 13-14; Rosenmeyer 1991, 13-14) have argued
that the prayer to Zeus in lines 23-27 reveals a shift from fear to faith in Zeus’
power of salvation. However, there are no indications that Zeus will save Danaë
and Perseus, for the optative φανείη shows that μεταβουλία remains only a wish.
Moreover, one has to distinguish between the limited knowledge of the character
(Danaë) at this point in the story and the broader foreknowledge of the narratees:
in contrast to the narratees, Danaë is not aware that she will eventually be saved.
166
Chaeron, may you safely complete your voyage (rejoicing) over the vast
sea, and may Poseidon bring you as a source of joy to your friends.
The poem is a propemptikon, a speech of a friend with a wish for a

safe journey to a departing voyager.452 It is based on a word play.
The initial Χαίρων may function both as a vocative of a person’s
name, the addressee of the poem, and as a participle of the verb
χαίρω with the meaning ‘rejoicing’,453 which would reveal a neat
connection with the consequent joy (χάρμα) to his friends. 454
Moreover, it may also remind of the imperative form χαῖρε, ‘fare-
well’, a standard saying at leave-taking.455
The safety of the sea voyage wished for is stressed not only
by the adverb εὖ, but also by the reference to Poseidon, who is
asked to secure a safe journey because he is the protector of
seafarers (cp. the Hymn to Poseidon). This shows that the sea is
considered a potential source of danger and fear, which is further
evinced by the way the sea is described: that the ‘vast sea’
(μεγάλου...πόντου) bears associations with fear is demonstrated
by the story of Menelaus’ return, mentioned in Odyssey 3 (lines 321-
322), where the quasi-synonomous epithet-noun combination
πέλαγος μέγα is called vast and fearful (μέγα τε δεινόν τε).456
452 That Thgn. 691-692 is a propemptikon has been noted by Van Groningen 1966, ad
loc.; West 1974, 16; Ferrari 1989, ad loc. For a discussion of the propemptikon in
Greek and Latin literature I refer to Cairns 1972, 7-16.
453 Scholars have argued that Χαίρων is either a participle (Van Groningen 1966, ad
loc. and Ferrari 1989, ad loc.) or a vocative (West 1974, 158 and Gerber 2006 (1999),
ad loc.), but they do not take the possibility into account that both meanings could
be at play at the same time. That Theognis likes word plays is proven by other
poems: cp., for instance, the play with χαλεπῶς in 520; see also my discussion of
the erotic city metaphors in 2.3.2 and supra the ship metaphors for verbal games in
the symposium.
454 For the latter cp. Sappho 5, where ‘Sappho’ prays to the Nereids for a safe
arrival of her brother, so that he may become a joy to his friends (καὶ φίλοισ]ι
ϝοῖσι χάραν γένεσθαι).
455 Cf. e.g. Od. 5.205, 8.461 and 13.59; see further LSJ, s.v. χαίρω III.2.
456 Cf. also infra my discussion of Archil. 24.
167
I now turn to poems about arrival of a sea voyage. These form part
of the prosphonetika, in which a traveller who has safely arrived is
welcomed back by a friend. In epic poetry sea prosphonetika are
attested in the Odyssey: Telemachus is welcomed back by Eumaius
(Od. 16.11-67) and Penelope (17.28-60) after his journey to Pylos
and Sparta, and Odysseus after his long nostos by Telemachus
(16.197-234), Penelope (23.205-350) and Laertes (24.345-412). In
Odyssean and other ancient Greek prosphonetika the danger of the
sea journey is evoked by references to divine assistance throughout
the voyage, the dangers and sufferings undergone by the voyager,
and the sufferings of the friend during the voyager’s absence
and/or joy because of his return. 457 A good example of a sea
prosphonetikon in archaic Greek lyric is Archilochus 24:458
]νηῒ σὺν σ[μ]ικρῆι μέγαν

πόντον περήσ]ας ἦλθες ἐκ Γορτυνίης
]σ ουτιτ γεπεστάθη[[ν]]
]καὶ τόδ᾽ ἁρπαλ[ί]ζομ[αι]
5 κρ]ηγύης ἀφίκ[
]λμοισιν εξ[. . . . . . .].ς
]χειρα καὶ π[αρ]εστ[ά]θης
]ουσας· φ[ο]ρτίων δέ μοι μέ[λ]ει
ἥκιστα, ].ος εἰτ᾽ ἀπώλετο
10 ]ν ἐστι μηχανή
457 For these and other features of the prosphonetikon, with references to the Odyssey
and other ancient Greek and Latin literature, followed by a discussion of Theoc.
Id. 12, I refer to Cairns 1972, 18-31.
458 That this fragment is a prosphonetikon has been noted by Burnett 1983, 45, n34
and Slings 1987, ad loc.; another sea prosphonetikon in archaic Greek lyric is
Theognis 511-522, but this poem deals more with the theme of poverty (of seafarer
and welcomer) than with the sea journey itself. Although some editors (Laserre-
Bonnard, Treu, Tarditi) treat fragments 23 and 24 as one poem, because no
paragraphus is visible, I follow the dominant opinion (Lobel, Peek, Adrados, West,
Slings, Gerber) that considers them separate poems because there is a difference in
subject matter: in fragment 23 a man holds a speech of defense to a woman (see
further 2.3.2), while fragment 24 is about the return of a sailor after a sea voyage.
168
δ᾽ ἄν ἄλ]λον οὔτιν᾽ εὑροίμην ἐγώ
εἰ σ]ὲ κῦμ᾽ ἁλὸς κατέκλυσεν
ἢ ].ν χερσὶν αἰχμητέων ὕπο
ἥ]βην ἀγλ[α]ὴν ἀπ[ώ]λεσ[α]ς.
15 νῦν δ᾽ ]θεῖ καί σε θε[ὸς ἐρ]ρύσατο
].[.]. κἀμὲ μουνωθέντ᾽ ἰδ. .
]ν, ἐν ζόφωι δὲ κείμενο<ς>
αὖτις] ἐ[ς] φά[ος κ]ατεστάθην.
…(after having crossed) the vast (sea) in a small ship you arrived from
Gortyn…I am glad of this…you came on a good (?)…(held over you?) his
hand and you got here…I am (not at all) concerned about the
cargo…whether it was lost (or)…I could not find another…(if?) a wave
of the sea had washed you over (or)…at the hands of spearmen…you had
lost the splendid prime of your youth. (But as it is)…and a god saved
you…and me left alone…lying in the darkness I am restored to the light of
the sun.
A first indication of the dangers of the voyage is the contrast

between the vastness of the sea (μέγαν πόντον) 459 and the
smallness of the ship (νηῒ σὺν σ[μ]ικρῆι)460 in lines 1-2 – a contrast
which is reinforced by the fact that σ[μ]ικρῆι and μέγαν stand next
to each other: we know from Op. 643-645 that a small ship is
beautiful, but a large one better in the case of a storm, and from Od.
321-322 that a ‘vast sea’ (πέλαγος μέγα) is vast and fearful (μέγα
τε δεινόν τε).461
Secondly, in line 2 the danger of the voyage is underscored
by the place from which the voyager has come from: the Cretan
Gortyn. That Gortyn has symbolic associations with danger can be
derived from the story of Menelaus’ journey from Troy to Sparta,
459 Although we do not possess the noun with which the epithet μέγαν is
combined, Adrados’ supplement πόντον has been accepted by most editors

(West, Slings, Bossi and Gerber): cp. Od. 6.272, 9.129 and 24.118, Pi. P. 3.76.
460 Cf. Slings 1987, ad loc.
461 For the latter see also supra my discussion of Thgn. 691-692.
169
told by Nestor in Od. 3.292-297: 462 when Menelaus’ fleet
approached Gortyn, it was driven to the rocks because of a storm,
but fortunately the sailors managed to save themselves.
Next, the possible dangers and sufferings during the
voyage are alluded to in lines 8-14. Lines 8-12 seem to express the
danger of a potential shipwreck, which may involve the loss of
cargo and, more importantly, the death of the sea voyager. Lines
12-14 seem to allude to possible death at the hands of spearmen
(12-14), presumably pirates or barbarous tribes on coasts.463 If the
emendation θε[ὸς ἐρ]ρύσατο in line 15 is correct, the welcomer
ascribes the seafarer’s success in overcoming these dangers and
sufferings to divine assistance.464
Finally, the end of the poem conveys the past sufferings and
present joy of the welcoming friend (lines 17-18): the claim that he
was lying in the darkness but is now restored to the light of the sun
symbolises his emotional development from distress because of the
absence of his friend to salvation and joy because of his return.465
As a final example of the prosphonetikon I turn to an elegiac poem

by Archilochus (13):
462 Only Slings 1987, ad loc. has noted the parallel, pointing out that the area
around Gortyn is ‘one of the riskiest parts of the seas sailed by the Greeks’. Other
scholars (West 1974, 120; Burnett 1983, ad loc.; Gerber 2006 (1999), ad loc.) simply
note that Gortyn is the Cretan Gortyn.
463 See Slings 1987, ad loc.
464 The emendation was suggested by Lobel and has been accepted by most editors
(Tarditi, West, Slings, Bossi and Gerber). There might be yet another reference to
divine assistance: in line 7 ]χειρα might have formed part of a phrase in which a
god is said to hold his hand over the sea voyager (cf. West 1974, 120, Bossi 1990, ad
loc. and Gerber 2006 (1999), ad loc.). However, due to the fragmentary state of the
poem this cannot be stated with certainity.
465 Cp. Od. 16.23 and 17.41, where Telemachus is said to be a source of joy (φάος)
to Eumaius and Penelope because of his return. For a similar contrast between
darkness and light in terms of distress versus salvation and joy cf. Alc. 34.11
discussed above. For darkness and its associations with distress elsewhere in early
Greek poetry see further Simon. 543.12 discussed above. For light (φάος) as a
metaphor for salvation and joy see further my discussion of B. 13.128-129 in 4.3.1.
170
κήδεα μὲν στονόεντα, Περίκλεες, οὔτε τις ἀστῶν
μεμφόμενος θαλίηις τέρψεται οὐδὲ πόλις·
τοίους γὰρ κατὰ κῦμα πολυφλοίσβοιο θαλάσσης
ἔκλυσεν, οἰδαλέους δ᾽ ἀμφ᾽ ὀδύνηις ἔχομεν
5 πνεύμονας.466 ἀλλὰ θεοὶ γὰρ ἀνηκέστοισι κακοῖσιν,
ὦ φίλ᾽, ἐπὶ κρατερὴν τλημοσύνην ἔθεσαν
φάρμακον. ἄλλοτε ἄλλος ἔχει τόδε· νῦν μὲν ἐς ἡμέας
ἐτράπεθ᾽͵ αἱματόεν δ᾽ ἕλκος ἀναστένομεν͵
ἐξαῦτις δ᾽ ἑτέρους ἐπαμείψεται. ἀλλὰ τάχιστα
10 τλῆτε, γυναικεῖον πένθος ἀπωσάμενοι.
Our grievous woes, Pericles, no citizen will blame, when delighting in

festivities, nor even the city: for such important men did a wave of the
load-roaring sea wash over, and we have lungs swollen because of grief.
But, my friend, for incurable woes the gods have set powerful endurance
as an antidote. This woe comes to different people at different times; now
it has turned upon us, and we bewail a bloody wound, but later it will
pass to others. Come, endure with all haste, thrusting aside womanly
mourning.
This elegiac poem is a mixture of consolation and exhortation to

endurance after the drowning of important men (cf. τοίους in
enjambment in 3a). The poem can be read as a reversal of the
prosphonetikon, insofar as it substitutes a safe and happy arrival
after a sea voyage by death that causes grief. The death of the
sailors is referred to by an image of a ‘wave of the loud-roaring sea’
(κῦμα πολυφλοίσβοιο θαλάσσης) that washes over
(κατά...ἔκλυσεν) the sailors.
The use of the expression κῦμα πολυφλοίσβοιο θαλάσσης
may link the death of the sailors to consequent emotions of grief of
the citizens. In epic poetry the expression is used five times, twice
in a simile. In Il. 2.209 the noisy return of the Greeks to their ships
is compared to the thundering of a ‘wave of the loud-roaring sea’,
466 The codd. read ἀμφ’ ὀδύνηι ἴσχομεν (S) and ἴσχομεν ἀμφ’ ὀδύνηι (Par. 1958),
but the correction ἀμφ᾽ ὀδύνηις ἔχομεν has been generally accepted (e.g. by West
and Gerber).
171
and in 13.798 the attacking Trojans are compared to winds which
cause surging ‘waves of the loud-roaring sea’.467 In these similes the
expression seems to mirror the noisy actions of Greek and Trojan
warriors in the narrative. In Archilochus 13 it could also have a
mirroring function, in that the loud noise of the sea might mirror
the citizens’ γυναικεῖον πένθος (‘womanly mourning’, line 10), an
extreme and loud form of lamentation.468
The connection between death and consequent emotions of
grief is made more explicit in lines 4b-5a, where the lungs of the
living citizens are said to be swollen because of grief (οἰδαλέους δ᾽
ἀμφ᾽ ὀδύνηις ἔχομεν / πνεύμονας). On the basis of the previous
reference to death at sea, one would rather expect the lungs of the
sailors to be swollen from exposure to water.469 Through the use of
the verb οἰδάνω about the lungs of the living, swollen from
weeping, a smooth transition is established from the death of the
sailors at sea to the consequent grief of the people in the polis,
which facilitates the transition in the poem from the sea scene to
the exhortation to endurance.470
467 The other three epic instances are: Il. 6.347, where Helen wishes that, on the day
of her birth, a ‘wave of the loud-roaring sea’ had swept her away, so that all the
misery of the Trojan War had been avoided; Cypr. fr. 9.8, where Nemesis,
adopting the form of a fish, flees over a ‘wave of the loud-roaring sea’ to escape
from Zeus; h. Ven. 6.4, where the birth of Aphrodite is referred to by the mention
that the western wind carried her in soft foam over a ‘wave of the loud-roaring
sea’.
468 Contra the opinion that the epithet πολυφλοίσβοιος is here ornamental (Lesky
1947, 192-194; Harvey 1957, 216; Page 1963, 126; Adkins 1985, 43); see my
introduction (1.1) for my general claim that epithets have contextual significance
in archaic lyric poetry. In the case of its use with θίς, the epithet-noun
combination πολυφλοίσβοιο θαλάσσης also seems to have a mirroring function:
in 3.2.3 I argued that it mirrors emotional agitation of persons who are feeling sad
on the shore (in epic poetry) or chaotic retreat (in the ‘new Archilochus’).
469 This has been pointed out by Burnett 1983, 47-48; Adkins 1985, 39 and 44.
470 Thus, the transition is earlier prepared than by ἀλλά (5) alone – contrary to
what commentators believe (Van Groningen 1958, 139; Campbell 1982 (1967), ad
loc.; Gerber 1970, ad loc.; De Martino-Vox 1996, ad loc.).
172
4.5. CONCLUSION
This chapter has revealed three of the roles the sea can play in
archaic Greek lyric. Firstly, in mythological narratives about sea
journeys the sea has a role as setting, i.e. scenic backdrop, and
secondary frame, i.e. place close to the setting, and is subordinated
to the action and speeches in the narrative. In this respect, archaic
Greek lyric aligns with the Odyssey, in particular the part about
Odysseus’ wanderings before his arrival on Ithaca (books 5-13).
There, the sea is the setting when Odysseus is sailing and the
secondary frame when he is on land (e.g. on the island of
Polyphemus or the Lotophagi), subordinated to the plot of his
adventures. In my discussion I focused on the way the temporal
structure of the narratives, i.e. the duration and frequency, affects
the presentation of the sea journey. In Pindar’s Pythian 4 the
summarised narrative is presented by the narrator with an emphasis
on the danger of the journey, in order to glorify the Argonauts and
their Battiad descendants; in Bacchylides 17 the characters’
emotional reactions to the repeated key event of the scenic narrative
dramatise the narrative and stimulate the involvement of the
narratees.
Secondly, in similes the sea is presented both as calm and
stormy. This is unlike Homeric similes, where the focus lies on one
aspect of the sea, usually its fury. The roles of the sea similes are
not only to illustrate situations and events and their consequent
emotions, as in epic poetry, but also to characterise a person or
reinforce the praise of someone.
Finally and most importantly, in other, brief (sections of)
poems about sea voyages, including arrival (prosphonetika) and
departure (propemptika), the sea has a symbolic role, as it is
associated with danger. 471 My discussion built on Albin Lesky’s
observation that the sea is a symbol of danger in archaic Greek lyric.
471In Pindar’s Pythian 4, too, emphasis is put on the danger of the sea, but in that
case the role of the sea as setting and frame still predominates over that as symbol.
In this respect, the distinction between setting and symbol is one of gradation
according to the dominant role.
173
Based on more in-depth analyses, I demonstrated that in many
poems the danger is reinforced by the diction about the sea,
epithets in particular. Moreover, I pointed out that the symbolic
associations with danger have a ‘psychologising function’, as they
are connected to emotions, especially of fear, by the sea voyager (in
poems about the sea journey itself) or his friend (in propemptika and
prosphonetika).
174
5. CONCLUSION
The study of city, countryside and sea has shown that, generally
speaking, space can perform two roles in archaic Greek lyric. These
roles are not mutually exclusive: the distinction is one of gradation
according to the dominant role. The first role is that of setting, i.e.
the scenic backdrop against which the action takes place, and frame,
i.e. a place close to the action (secondary frame) or distant from it
(distant frame). This is the case in narratives related to the Trojan
saga for cities like those of Troy and Mysia and their coastal plains
with rivers as well as for the sea in narratives about the journeys of
Theseus and the Argonauts. In this respect, archaic Greek lyric
aligns with epic poetry, where the primary role of space is to set
the scene of the narrative and space is mentioned only when
relevant to the action.
The second role is that of symbol. Space can also be symbolic
in epic poetry: for example, spatial marks on the Trojan battlefield
such as the oak tree near the Scaean gate are associated with
security for the Trojans in the Iliad, while the rugged mountains
and caves on the island of the Cyclopes is associated with
primitiveness in the Odyssey (9.106-115).
An important outcome of my study is that there is a marked
difference between epic and lyric poetry: in the former the role of
setting or frame tends to prevail, but in the latter that of symbol.
The symbolic role of space in archaic Greek lyric is twofold. Firstly,
contemporary cities (ἄστυ and πόλις) take the form of metaphor,
when the capture of a city stands for an erotic ‘conquest’ or the
downfall of a political system, and personification, when the city is
presented as a human being suffering from chaos and injustice.
While the personification serves to dramatise and persuade, the
metaphors establish ‘cognitive elucidation’ or indirectly express
sexual experiences. Secondly, the countryside is predominantly an
erotic symbol: fields are metaphors for the female body or have
erotic associations which mirror female desire; gardens are
metaphorical for female genitals or are associated with incipient
sexuality; meadows have associations with seduction of girls by
175
men (‘meadow of love’ motif), homoerotic associations or
associations with Aphrodite, the goddess of love. Finally, the sea is
a symbol of danger, which has a ‘psychologising function’, as it is
connected to emotions of fear.
This study has demonstrated that specific roles of space and
uses of diction correspond. If space performs the role of setting or
frame, much of the diction is shared with epic poetry (especially
epithets). The main differences between the diction in epic and
lyric poetry are lexical, i.e. the combinations of nouns and epithets
and the formation of an epithet differs, and semantic, i.e. epithets
have other meanings. Where space has a symbolic role, the rare
instances of diction shared with epic poetry have referential
differences, particularly in instances of (city) personification. In
each case, the use of diction shared with epic poetry has important,
contextual effects: it either reinforces symbolic associations (of the
sea with danger) or adds grim overtones to settings and frames (of
the city and the countryside), in the latter often in combination
with the anachronical order of a ‘lyric narrative’. In light of the fact
that these effects are created by the use of epithets, this thesis has
demonstrated their important contextual relevance, which had
already been pointed out for some individual lyric poets (Alcaeus,
Sappho and Bacchylides).
176
EPILOGUE: THE SYMBOLISM OF SPACE AND THE
SYMPOSIUM
My necessarily tentative attempt to answer the question why space

primarily has a symbolic role in archaic Greek lyric takes its cue
from the performance context of archaic Greek lyric. In this way, I
eventually connect the ‘spatial turn’ in literary studies with the
‘performative turn’ in archaic lyric scholarship.472 During the last
few decades scholars have stressed the importance of the
performance of archaic Greek lyric, especially the impact on the
texts themselves of being performed orally for a variety of
audiences. Even though the contexts in which lyric poems were
performed are still subject to much debate due to the meagre
evidence about them, a kind of agreement among the majority of
scholars seems to become apparent; on this agreement I base the
following summary. A detailed argumentation or discussion of the
evidence falls outside the scope of this thesis, but this summary
refers to the poets and poems in question.
Generally speaking, scholars distinguish between (semi-)
public and private performance contexts. 473 The first type
encompasses semi-public performances at large-scale banquets at
the courts of tyrants and kings or the houses of wealthy families as
well as public performances for the entire civic community at open-
air festivals. The semi-public performances probably apply to
encomia such as Ibycus’ Ode to Polycrates (fragment 282), performed
at a banquet at the court of the tyrant Polycrates of Samos.474 The
public performances are likely to be the case for historical and
mythological elegies like the ‘new Archilochus’, performed in
competitions at public festivals, and for the paean (or dithyramb)
472 Cf. Budelmann 2009, 15. Gentili 1988 (1985, especially Ch. 1 and 3) and 1984
were the first to draw attention to issues of performance. Cf. later especially Bowie
1986; Krummen 1990; Stehle 1997; Kowalzig 2007; Athanassaki 2009.
473 See, for instance, Herington 1984, 32-39; Gentili 1988 (1985), 20 and 115; Gerber
1997, 4-5; Maehler 1997, 1-2 and 2004, 1-2; Kurke 2000; Carey 2009, 33-38.
474 For the (semi-)public performance of Ibycus 282 see, e.g., Maehler 1982, 3;
Gentili 1988 (1985), 127 and Gentili-Catenacci 2007, 261; Cingano 2003, 40;
Bonnano 2004, 78 and 92.
177
of Bacchylides 17, performed during the cultic Apollonia/Delia
festival in Delos.475 The performance contexts of the Epinician Odes
of Bacchylides and Pindar would have varied from semi-public at
large-scale banquets at the houses of aristocratic families or the
courts of victorious tyrants and kings (Pindar Pythian 4, performed
at the court of King Arkesilas IV of Cyrene) to public performances
at the sites of the athletic festivals or at a sanctuary in the victor’s
hometown during a cultic festival (Bacchylides 13).476
The second type concerns private performances for small
audiences at symposia in private houses. This is most likely the
case for iambic and short elegiac lyric (Archilochus, Semonides,
Solon, Theognidea),477 as well as for the political, drinking, erotic and
other poetry by Alcaeus, Anacreon, Ibycus (except for his encomia)
and Simonides (except for his encomia and long elegies).478 Apart
from her epithalamia, which were most likely publicly performed
for large audiences during wedding ceremonies, Sappho’s poetry
was probably performed within her private circle in a female
variant of the symposium.479
475 For long elegies see Bowie 1986, 27-34 and Aloni-Ianucci 2007, 74-85; for the
‘new Archilochus’ in particular cf. Nicolosi 2007, 282, Bowie 2010, 83, Lulli 2011,
104-105. For the performance of Bacchylides 17 at the Apollonia/Delia see Ieranò
1989, Maehler 1991, 16-17 and Fearn 2007, 247-256.
476 See Neumann-Hartmann 2007 and 2009 for the most recent and detailed study
of the performance contexts of epinicia, with references to earlier literature on the

topic. For the performance of Pythian 4 at the court of Arkesilas see, e.g., Giannini
1979, 35 and 38; Neumann-Hartman 2007, 71-73; Burnett 2008, 104. For
Bacchylides 13 performed at a sanctuary of the victor’s hometown (cf. lines 67-75)
see Gelzer 1985, 97; Fearn 2007, 115-120; Neumann-Hartmann 2007, 100; McDevitt
2009, 84-85; Cairns 2010, 37 and 135-136; Nagy 2011, 201.
477 For the sympotic performance of iambus and short elegy see the seminal article
by Bowie 1986 (refuting the suggestions of other, public performance contexts

suggested in West 1974, 10-13 and 32-37, of which we have no evidence),
followed, among others, by Aloni-Ianucci 2007, 69-74.
478 For Ibycus’ poetry see especially Stehle 1997, 250-251, Cingano 2003, 40 and
Gentili-Catenacci 2007, 261. For Alcaeus’ poetry see Rösler 1980. For Anacreon see
recently Kantzios 2005b and Budelmann 2009b.
479 See especially Stigers 1981; Burnett 1983, 209; Parker 1993, 341-346; Stehle 1997,
262-278 (on the basis of frequent references to banquets and female companions in
Sappho’s poetry). Based on supposed analogies with Alcman’s partheneia, Calame
178
The distinction between (semi-)public and private
performance contexts of lyric poems corresponds to a difference in
the roles of space in these poems: in poems which were probably
(semi-)publicly performed, the dominant role of space is that of
setting or frame (Pindar Pythian 4, Bacchylides 13 and 17, the ‘new
Archilochus’, Ibycus 282), whereas it has a symbolic role in poems
which were most likely privately performed in symposia (the other
poems discussed). I wish to explore further the latter connection, as
this epilogue addresses the question why space is predominantly
symbolic in archaic Greek lyric. In my chapter on the city, I
suggested that some of the erotic city metaphors could be linked
with the popular sympotic play of guessing (εἰκάζειν). In what
follows I wish to demonstrate that the erotic symbolism of the
countryside and the symbolism of danger of the sea can also be
connected to performance in the context of the symposium.480
As regards the erotic symbolism of the countryside, I first
need to stress two basic features of the symposium.481 Firstly, the
symposium was an erotic space, where erotic games, such as the
kottabos were played, i.e. the flinging of wine lees at targets while
calling the name of the beloved and receiving a kiss of the beloved
one if met with success, and where symposiasts were involved in
all sorts of erotic activities. Secondly, the symposium constituted a
micro-universe with its own norms of entertainment and its own
rituals and drinking codes that were meant to reinforce the
1977, 114-117, Lardinois 1994 and 1996 and Ferrari 2003 and 2010 (2007), Preface
and passim) have suggested that Sappho’s poetry was performed for a larger
audience than that of her circle, but this suggestion has been refuted by Parker
1993, 325-331 and Stehle 1997, 270, n36, who haved pointed out the differences
between Alcman and Sparta on the one hand and Sappho and Lesbos on the other.
480 See also (in Dutch) Heirman 2012.
481 The symposium in archaic Greece has been amply discussed: among the most
important contributions are Fehr 1971; Dentzer 1982; papers collected in Vetta
1983; Lissarrague 1987; papers in Murray 1990; Ford 2002, 25-90; Hobden
forthcoming; Wecowski forthcoming. Besides vase paintings, sources of archaic
Greek symposia are lyric poems, such as Crit. 1 and 6, Dion. Chalc. 3, Ion eleg. 27,
Sol. 38, Thgn. 467-496 and, above all, Xenoph. 1.
179
cohesion of the social group.482 If we combine these two features,
we can say that the symposium had its own erotic mores which
revealed a high degree of sexual permissiveness. This might
explain why, as Eva Stehle 483 has observed (in connection with
Anacreon 417 and Ibycus 286), lyric poetry performed in symposia
often depicts erotic activities other than those related to marriage
or the begetting of children, i.e. beyond communal interests of the
polis. If we relate this to my observation that these erotic activities
are envisaged in the countryside, we may say that erotic activities
beyond communal interests are projected on a space outside the
polis, i.e. on fields, meadows and gardens.
As for the symbolism of danger of the sea, it is noteworthy
that in ancient Greek literature, including archaic Greek lyric, an
image of a ship at sea was sometimes metaphorical for the
sympotic group (see, e.g., Pindar fr. 124a and Dionysius Chalcus fr.
5). As Sean Corner argues,484 the metaphor served to reinforce the
internal cohesion of the group, whose gathering and drinking
together is represented as a collective ‘sea journey’. Sometimes the
metaphor is playful, namely when the drunkenness of the
sympotic group is represented as a shipwreck (see Choerilus fr. 9
and the story of Timaeus 566F149, told in Athenaeus 2.37b-d). This
also applies to archaic Greek vase paintings that connect sympotic
drinking with sailing at sea: for instance, the sixth century Exekias-
vase (München 2044) depicts Dionysus reclining on board ship as if
on a couch at the symposium, with dolphins beneath him and
grape-vines around the ship’s mast above him, and a sixth-century
Attic black-figure olpe (Boston 03.783) shows the kottabos game
being played on a ship with a Silen, a woman holding a phiale and a
young boy standing as an oinochoos on board, and with dolphins
482 For the symposium as a micro-universe see, e.g., Murray 1983, 198; Rossi 1983;
Pellizer 1991 (1987); Kurke 2000, 66. Cf. especially Pellizer 1991 (1987), 5: ‘uno
spazio culturale limitato, nel quale le norme sociali che regolano la vita pubblica
della comunità civica più ampia possone anche venire trascurate o trasgredite’.
483 Stehle 1997, 250-257.
484 See Corner 2010. Slater 1976 and Davies 1978, especially 76-77, on the other
hand, interpret the image in terms of an escape of the sympotic group from
everyday life.
180
below.485 In other cases the metaphor of the sympotic group as a
ship at sea is politically charged, as is clear from its use in sympotic
lyric poems of Alcaeus and Theognis: here the image of a ship in a
storm at sea stands for the internal cohesion of the aristocratic,
sympotic group being threatened by socio-political upheavals such
as the rise of tyrants. 486 The metaphor may shed light on the
frequent attestion of sea poems with an emphasis on danger in
sympotic lyric poems: by imagining itself as a group of sailors at
sea, facing danger on their journey, the sympotic group attempts to
strengthen its internal cohesion in opposition to external forces that
threaten it.487
With my cautious and necessarily tentative attempts to
connect the symbolism of space in archaic Greek lyric with the
performance context of the symposium I hope to have
demonstrated that modern literary studies and concepts like space
may shed new light on ancient literature, but that these need to be
embedded in the particular cultural-historical context of the corpus
studied. While literary theory tends to become more and more
aware of the importance of cultural-historical contexts in the wake
485 On the vase paintings see, e.g., Davies 1978, 74 and 80, Lissarrague 1987, 104-
118. Cp. also the use of wine-cups in the symposium which had the shape and
name of small boats: e.g. ἄκατος (Antipho fr. 4; Theopomp. Com. 3); κάνθαρος
(Phryn. Com. 15, Amips. 2, Axionic. 7); ναῦς (Nicostr. fr. 10); ὁλκάς (Pherecr. fr.
143); τριήρης (Antipho fr. 224.4).
486 See my discussion of Alcaeus 6 and 208 and Theognis 667-682 in 4.4.1.
487 My suggestion goes counter to the hypothesis of Lesky 1947, 188-214 that the
danger of the sea reflects the fear of poets, of whom many were islanders (e.g.,
Archilochus of Paros, Semonides of Amorgos, Alcaeus of Lesbos), that they or
their relatives would suffer misfortune at sea. The problem with this hypothesis is
that lyric poems do not necessarily or directly render the poet’s own emotions or
thoughts (cf., e.g., Tsagarakis 1977, Schneider 1993, Gerber 1997, 6-8, Budelmann
2009, 16-17; see also the papers in Slings 1993). Moreover, it is weakened by the
acknowledgment that archaic Greece witnessed a remarkable progress in
technological innovations in shipping, as faster and safer ships were produced,
which enabled Greeks to sail over the Mediterranean Sea and build up
commercial contacts with east and west (see further Morris 2000, 259 and
Dougherty 2001, 5).
181
of the contextual turn, 488 there is a growing danger that literary
studies of archaic Greek lyric will become undervalued as a result
of the current focus on performance. This can be derived from a
poignant comment in David Fearn’s introduction to one of the
most recent books on archaic lyric poetry: ‘rather ironically
contextualization can often lead to under-engagement with the
poetry itself [with the example of Hornblower-Morgan 2007 in a
footnote]. Accordingly, we need somehow to preserve a delicate
balance between appreciations of literature as literature, and
appreciations of the place of that literature in broader debates…’.489
488 See especially Shen 2006 and Nünning 2009, with further references (on
narratology).
489 Fearn 2011, 9.
182
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INDEX OF PASSAGES
Alcaeus Pindar
6, 155-57 Olympian 9, 96
130b, 30 Pythian 4, 86-87, 116-24
208, 152-55 Pythian 6, 87-88
Anacreon Sappho
346, 92-95 2, 109-12
417, 100-101 96, 88-92
Archilochus Semonides
13, 168-70 1, 146-49
23, 67-70 7, 141-45
24, 168-70 Simonides
105, 161-62 543, 162-66
196a, 33, 96, 101-107 Solon
P.Oxy.LXIX4708('new 4, 56-62
Archilochus'), 40-46, 80- 13, 149-51
86 Theognis
Bacchylides 39-52, 56-62
13, 76-86, 137-141 233-234, 63-65
17, 124-36 235-236, 65-66
Ibycus 581-582, 87
282, 46-55 667-682, 157-61
286, 96-99 691-692, 166-67
949-954, 70-72
1249-1252, 107-109
217
SUMMARY
During recent decades the interest in space in the humanities

increased to the extent that we can speak of a ‘spatial turn’. Space
has become foregrounded particularly in literary studies, both
ancient and modern, as the proliferation of books devoted to space
in a particular genre or author demonstrates. A number of ongoing
projects also attests that, and this thesis on space in archaic Greek
lyric (seventh till fifth century BC) is part of one focusing on space
in ancient Greek literature led by Irene de Jong (Studies in Ancient
Greek Narrative 3). While much scholarship concentrates on the
actual spaces in which archaic lyric poems were performed, this
thesis investigated the literary representation of space within the
lyric poems. In particular, it considered three types of space,
namely city, countryside and sea, because they are the most
recurrent types.
The first chapter of this thesis consisted of a theoretical
framework of space, based on two research questions. The first was
of a linguistic nature and regarded the use of spatial diction in
comparison to epic poetry: how does the use of this diction
(especially epithets) differ on a lexical, referential and semantic
level, and what are the effects of its difference? The second and
more essential research question was literary and concerned the
roles of space, again compared to epic poetry. A theoretical model
for it was developed on the basis of narratology, phenomenology
and metaphor theory. The first role of space as setting and frame,
dominant in the Homeric epics, was related to the temporal
structure of narratives, i.e. their chronological or anachronical
order, the duration of the narrated time in relation to the narrating
time and the frequency of the events recounted. The second role
was symbolic: space has either symbolic associations, acquiring a
psychologising function to mirror human emotions or forming part
of a literary motif, or a symbolic form, i.e. as metaphor or
personification.
219
The theoretical model was applied to microanalyses of 33
lyric poems about the city, countryside and sea in the next three
chapters. The second chapter concentrated on the city. The first role
as setting and frame was explored for mythological cities like those
of Mysia and Troy (the ‘new Archilochus’ and Ibycus 282). A grim
effect was established by the use of diction shared with epic poetry,
sometimes in combination with the anachronical order of a ‘lyric
narrative’. The second role as symbol was at play for contemporary
cities: either they were personified in times of the rise of tyrants as
a means of dramatisation and persuasion (Solon 4 and Theognis 39-
52), or their capture was metaphorical for the downfall of a
political system (Theognis 233-236) or for an erotic ‘conquest’
Archilochus 23, Theognis 949-954).
The subject of the third chapter was the countryside.
Coastal plains with rivers in Mysia and Troy had a primary role as
setting (the ‘new Archilochus’ and Bacchylides 13). Again a grim
effect was recognised in the use of diction shared with epic poetry,
in combination with the anachronical order of the ‘lyric narratives’.
The second, more dominant role of erotic symbol was found to be
relevant to fields, meadows and gardens. Fields were either
metaphors for female bodies in a sexual context (Pindar Pythian 4
and Theognis 581-528) or had erotic associations which reflected
female desire (Anacreon 346<1> and Sappho 96). Gardens were
metaphorical for female genitals (Archilochus’ Cologne Epode) or
associated with incipient sexuality (Ibycus 286). Meadows were
associated with seduction of girls by men (Anacreon 417 and
Archilochus’ Cologne Epode), homoerotic love (Theognis 1249-1252)
or the goddess of love Aphrodite (Sappho 2).
The fourth chapter investigated the sea. The first role as
setting and frame was observed in mythological narratives of the
sea journeys of Theseus and the Argonauts (Bacchylides 17 and
Pindar Pythian 4). An examination of the temporal structure of the
narratives revealed that the scenic presentation, along with the
repetition of the most important events, established a dramatic
effect in Bacchylides, while the summary with a few scenes
emphasising the danger of the journey served as a means of
220
heroisation. The second role was observed in similes (Bacchylides
13 and Semonides 7): the presentation of the sea as both furious
and calm not only illustrated narrative events and emotions, as in
Homeric sea similes, but also served as a means of characterisation
or praise of people. The third and most significant role was that of
symbol of danger, which was reinforced by the use of diction
shared with epic poetry and which reflected of emotions of fear
(Archilochus 13, 24 and 105, Semonides 1, Simonides 543, Solon 13,
Theognis 691-692); in some cases the danger of storm at sea was
metaphorical for socio-political upheavals (Alcaeus 6 and 208,
Theognis 667-682).
Research on the city, countryside and sea has thus shown
that space especially has a symbolic role in archaic Greek lyric. In
this respect, archaic Greek lyric has proven to differ from epic
poetry, where the role of setting or frame prevails. In the epilogue,
I cautiously suggested that the symbolism of space could be
connected to the performance context of the symposium of the lyric
poems, connecting the ‘spatial turn’ in literary studies to the
‘performative turn’ in lyric scholarship. The riddling use of some of
the erotic city metaphors, for example, was linked to the play of
guessing in the symposium. On the basis of the wide-spread
metaphor of the symposium as a ship at sea in ancient Greek
literature and vase paintings, I suggested that poems about the
danger of the sea, most notably those embedded in socio-political
ship metaphors, strengthened the internal cohesion of the sympotic
group. Based on the acknowledgements that the symposium
showed a high degree of erotic permissiveness, the fact that lyric
poems often locate all kinds of erotic activities in the countryside
was interpreted as a a projection of eroticism that goes beyond the
communal norms of the polis on a space outside of the polis.
221
SAMENVATTING
De laatste decennia is de interesse voor ruimte in de humane

wetenschappen zo sterk toegenomen dat men van een ‘spatial turn’
kan spreken. Vooral in literaire analyses, zowel klassieke als
moderne, is ruimte sterk op de voorgrond getreden, zoals het grote
aantal studies over ruimte in een bepaald genre of auteur aantoont.
Dit blijkt ook uit een aantal huidige projecten zoals een onder
leiding van Irene de Jong over ruimte in de Oudgriekse literatuur
(Studies in Ancient Greek Narrative 3). Dit proefschrift maakte deel
uit van dit project en richtte zich op ruimte in de archaïsche
Griekse lyriek (7e-5e eeuw v.C.). Terwijl huidig onderzoek vooral
aandacht besteedt aan de reële ruimtes waarin archaïsche lyrische
gedichten werden opgevoerd, belichtte dit proefschrift de literaire
voorstelling van ruimte in de lyrische gedichten. Daarbij werd
toegespitst op drie types van ruimte, namelijk stad, ‘countryside’
(*onvertaalbaar) en zee, omdat deze prominent zijn binnen de
archaïsche Griekse lyriek.
In het eerste hoofdstuk werd op basis van twee
onderzoeksvragen een theoretisch model over ruimte opgebouwd.
De eerste onderzoeksvraag was van linguïstische aard en betrof het
gebruik van ruimtelijke dictie in vergelijking met epiek: hoe
verschilt het gebruik van deze dictie (voornamelijk epitheta) op
lexicaal, referentieel en semantisch vlak, en wat zijn de effecten van
dat verschil? De tweede, essentiëlere onderzoeksvraag was van
literaire aard en betrof de rol van ruimte, opnieuw in vergelijking
met epiek. Hiervoor werd een theoretisch model opgebouwd op
basis van narratologie, fenomenologie en metafoortheorie. De
eerste rol van ruimte als setting en frame, dominant in de
Homerische epen, werd gerelateerd aan de temporele structuur
van narratieven, d.w.z. de chronologische of anachronische
volgorde, de duur van de vertelde tijd in relatie tot de verteltijd en
de frequentie van de vertelde gebeurtenissen. De tweede rol van
ruimte was symbolisch: ruimte had ofwel symbolische associaties,
die een psychologische functie konden verwerven als
weerspiegeling van menselijke emoties of deel uitmaakten van een
223
literair motief, ofwel een symbolische vorm, d.w.z. als metafoor of
personificatie.
Het theoretische model werd in de volgende drie
hoofdstukken toegepast door middel van microanalyses van 33
lyrische gedichten over stad, ‘countryside’ en zee. In het tweede
hoofdstuk werd de stad onderzocht. De eerste rol als setting en
frame bleek het geval te zijn voor mythologische steden als Mysië
en Troje (‘nieuwe Archilochus’ en Ibycus 282). Het gebruik van
gedeelde dictie met epiek, soms in combinatie met de
anachronische volgorde van een ‘lyrisch narratief’, bleek vooral
voor een bitter effect te zorgen. De tweede rol als symbool was van
toepassing op contemporaine steden: ofwel werden steden in tijden
van opkomst van tirannie gepersonifieerd om de situatie te
dramatiseren en toehoorders te overtuigen de situatie te
veranderen (Solon 4 en Theognis 39-52), ofwel werd hun val
metaforisch voor de ondergang van een politiek bestel (Theognis
233-236) of voor een erotische ‘verovering’ (Archilochus 23,
Theognis 949-954).
Het onderwerp van het derde hoofdstuk was ‘the
countryside’. Kustvlaktes met rivieren in Mysië en Troje bleken
vooral een rol als setting te hebben (‘nieuwe Archilochus’ en
Bacchylides 13). Opnieuw werd een bitter effect gecreëerd door het
gebruik van een gedeelde dictie met epiek, in combinatie met de
anachronische volgorde van de ‘lyrische narratieven’. De tweede,
dominantere rol als erotisch symbool viel op te maken uit de
voorstelling van velden, weiden en tuinen. Velden bleken hetzij
metaforisch te zijn voor het vrouwelijke lichaam in een seksuele
context (Pindarus’ Vierde Pythische Ode en Theognis 581-582), hetzij
erotische associaties te bezitten die het erotische verlangen van
vrouwen weerspiegelden (Anacreon 346<1> en Sappho 96). Tuinen
waren metaforisch voor vrouwelijke genitaliën (Archilochus’ Keulse
Epode) of werden geassocieerd met beginnende seksualiteit (Ibycus
286). Weiden hadden associaties met verleiding van meisjes door
mannen (Anacreon 417 en Archilochus’ Keulse Epode), homo-
erotische liefde (Theognis 1249-1252) of de liefdesgodin Aphrodite
(Sappho 2).
224
In het vierde hoofdstuk werd de zee onderzocht. De eerste
rol als setting en frame werd vastgesteld bij mythologische
narratieven over de zeereizen van Theseus en de Argonauten
(Bacchylides 17 en Pindarus’ Vierde Pythische Ode). Onderzoek naar
de temporele structuur van de narratieven wees uit dat de
scenische presentatie, met herhaling van de belangrijkste
gebeurtenissen, een dramatisch effect teweegbracht in Bacchylides,
terwijl de samenvatting met enkele scènes die nadruk legden op
het gevaar van de zeereis diende ter heroïsering. De tweede rol van
de zee werd waargenomen in vergelijkingen (Bacchylides 13 en
Semonides 7): de voorstelling van de zee als furieus en kalm
illustreerde niet enkel gebeurtenissen en emoties, zoals bij
Homerische zeevergelijkingen, maar diende ook ter karakterisering
of lof van personen. De derde, belangrijkste rol was die van
symbool van gevaar, die versterkt werd door het gebruik van
gedeelde dictie met epiek en die emoties als vrees weerspiegelde
(Archilochus 13, 24 en 105, Semonides 1, Simonides 543, Solon 13,
Theognis 691-692); in sommige gevallen maakte gevaar van storm
op zee deel uit van een metafoor over sociaal-politieke problemen
(Alcaeus 6 en 208, Theognis 667-682).
Onderzoek naar stad, ‘countryside’ en zee heeft dus
uitgewezen dat ruimte vooral een symbolische rol heeft in de
archaïsche Griekse lyriek. Op dit punt blijkt de archaïsche lyriek
sterk te verschillen van het epos, waarin de rol van setting of frame
domineert. In de epiloog werd voorzichtig gesuggereerd dat de
symboliek van ruimte in verband gebracht kon worden met de
opvoeringscontext van het symposium van de lyrische gedichten,
waarbij de ‘spatial turn’ in literaire studies werd gekoppeld aan de
‘performative turn’ in studies van archaïsche Griekse lyriek. Het
enigmatische gebruik van sommige erotische stadsmetaforen,
bijvoorbeeld, werd verbonden met raadselspelletjes in het
symposium. Op basis van de metafoor van het symposium als
schip op zee in Oudgriekse literatuur en vaasafbeeldingen, werd
geopperd dat gedichten met de nadruk op het gevaar van de zee,
in het bijzonder degene die ingebed waren in een sociaal-politieke
metafoor, de interne cohesie van de symposiumgroep versterkten.
225
Op grond van de vaststelling dat het symposium een sterke
erotische permissiviteit vertoonde, werd het feit dat lyrische
gedichten allerlei erotische activiteiten vaak in ‘the countryside’
situeren geïnterpreteerd als een projectie van erotiek die verder
gaat dan de gemeenschappelijke normen van de polis op een ruimte
buiten de polis.
226
STELLINGEN
Behorende bij het proefschrift ‘Space in Archaic Greek Lyric:
City, Countryside and Sea’, Jo Heirman
1) Ruimte heeft in de archaïsche Griekse lyriek (7e-5e E v.C.) vooral een symbolische
waarde: de val van de stad is een politieke of erotische metafoor, het platteland is een
erotisch symbool en de zee een symbool van gevaar.
2) De symbolische rol van ruimte kan in verband worden gebracht met de
opvoeringscontext van het symposium: stadsmetaforiek met raadselspelletjes, erotiek
in de natuur met een projectie van mores anders dan die van de polis, gevaar op zee
met het versterken van interne groepscohesie.
3) Ondanks de belangrijke contextuele inzichten die tot dusver geleverd zijn, dreigt de
eenzijdige focus op performance de poëtische waarde van de lyrische gedichten naar
de achtergrond te dringen.
4) ‘Wie zich met Sappho bezig houdt streeft naar een gewetensvolle interpretatie van
haar poëzie, maar een onvolledig gedicht interpreteren is eigenlijk een vorm van
hybris. Toch maken wij ons noodgedwongen daaraan schuldig. Het alternatief zou
immers zijn dat we zwegen over de poëzie van Sappho (en Alcaeus) en dat lijkt ook
niet de oplossing. Maar we moeten wel voorzichtig zijn, en vooral bescheiden’.
(Marietje van Erp Taalman Kip, ‘Problemen rond Sappho’s poëzie’, Hermeneus 58
(1986), p. 176).
5) πολλὰ γὰρ πολλᾷ λέλεκται· νεαρὰ δ᾽ ἐξευρόντα δόμεν βασάνῳ / ἐς ἔλεγχον, ἅπας
κίνδυνος, ‘Veel is al gezegd op veel manieren. Iets nieuws bedenken en de scherpe
toets van kritiek doorstaan is één groot risico.’ (Pindarus, Achtste Nemeïsche Ode,
verzen 20-21, vertaling Patrick Lateur).
6) ‘[It is] my awareness that there is no one method, no one theory, that could ever
suffice for comprehending the totality of any piece of Greek literature, or of any
literature. This is no excuse, however, for being hostile to theory, a stance that is
perennially fashionable among Classicists’. (Greogory Nagy, Pindar’s Homer: The
Lyric Possession of an Epic Past, Baltimore 1990, p. 9).
7) ‘La naissance du lecteur doit se payer de la mort de l’Auteur’. (Roland Barthes, ‘La
mort de l’auteur’, in Le Bruissement de la langue, Paris 1984, p. 69).
8) Zowel de wetenschappelijke vorming als het onderlinge contact van klassieke
promovendi wordt op een prijzenswaardige manier gestimuleerd door de
onderzoeksschool OIKOS.
9) ‘Het Belgisch-Nederlands is net zo goed een variëteit van het Nederlands als het
Nederlands dat in Nederland wordt gebruikt...Ik geef toe, het zal misschien even
wennen zijn voor vele Nederlanders: zij blijken niet langer het Nederlands, maar een
variëteit van het Nederlands te spreken.’ (Johan de Caluwe, professor Nederlandse
Taalkunde aan de Universiteit Gent, op taalschrift.org)

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UvA Dissertation Space in

Space in Archaic Greek Lyric: City, Countryside and Sea Jo Heirman

Jo Heirman was educated at Ghent University (Belgium), where he obtained

ISBN 978 90 5629 700 8

© J. Heirman / Vossiuspers UvA – Amsterdam University Press,

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright

ter verkrijging van de graad van doctor

Jo Gaby Marc Heirman

Promotor: Prof. dr. I.J.F. de Jong

Overige leden: Prof. dr. K. Demoen

Faculteit der Geesteswetenschappen

TEXTS AND TRANSLATIONS

In principle I use the Loeb editions. When I adopt a different

DNP H. Cancik - H. Schneider - M. Lanfester (eds.), Der

LfgrE B. Snell - H.J. Mette (eds.), Lexikon des

KG R. Kühner - B. Gerth, Ausführliche Grammatik der

LSJ H.G. Liddell - R. Scott - H. Stuart Jones - R.

SAGN 1 I.J.F. de Jong - R. Nünlist - A. Bowie (eds.), Narrators,

SAGN 2 I.J.F. de Jong - R. Nünlist (eds.), Time in Ancient Greek

SAGN 3 I.J.F. de Jong (ed.), Space in Ancient Greek Literature.

Standard abbreviations as found in LSJ apply for ancient authors

‘L’espace ! Voici peu d’années, ce terme n’évoquait rien d’autre

2009; Warf-Arias 2009.

5 Genette 1969, 43.

in these subdivisions, especially between monodic and choral lyric, I refer to

1. A THEORETICAL FRAMEWORK OF SPACE

1.1. THE DICTION OF SPACE: ITS USE AND EFFECT

My first research question is linguistic and concerns the lyric

13 Cf. Lexicon des frühgriechischen Epos.

particularised are: metrically equivalent epithets, determinative epithets, epithets

29 Le Meur 1998, 23-24.

1.2. THE ROLES OF SPACE

My second, more central research question is literary and regards

30 Bergson 1956, 28.

33 De Jong 2007, 14; see also Grethlein-Rengakos 2009, 3.

While...narratology at the beginning of the twenty-first century

Recently, however, in the wake of the ‘transgeneric’ turn in

34 See also Heirman 2011b for my model of space.

41 Lardinois 2006, 26.

unfortunately, most are lost: see recently Lulli 2011.

1.2.1. Space as Setting and Frame

According to many narratologists, the basic role of space is that of

forthcoming b (Iliad and Odyssey).

52 Ronen 1986, 429.

53 See de Jong 2001, ad loc. for a discussion of this passage as an instance of a

1.2.2. Space as Symbol

A first type of the symbolic role of space is when space, as Herman

56 Meyer 1975 (1963); Hoffmann 1978.

general); Reinhardt 1988 (on Theocritus).

the opposition between city and countryside in antiquity I refer to Rosen-Sluiter

43-49 and Klooster forthcoming.

Symbolic Form: Metaphor and Personification

and Leezenberg 2001, 69-148.

θρ]ιγκοῦ δ᾽ ἔνερθε καὶ πυλέων ὑποφ[