Oration 36

I happened to be sojourning in Borysthenes in the summer, when I had sailed in after my exile, wishing to go, if I could, through the Scythians to the Getae, that I might observe what the affairs there were like. And so I was walking about toward the time when the market is full, beside the Hypanis. For the city has taken its name from the Borysthenes, because of the beauty and greatness of the river, but it lies near the Hypanis, both the present city and the one formerly so inhabited, not far above the so-called promontory of Hippolaus, on the opposite side.

This is a sharp and firm point of the land like a beak, about which the rivers meet. And from there on already they form a marsh as far as the sea for nearly two hundred stades; and the breadth there is not less than that of the rivers. And the greater part of it is shallow, and a calm forms in fair weather, steady as in a lake. But on the right a river appears, and those sailing in conjecture the depth from the current. Whence indeed it also flows out, through the strength of the stream; otherwise it would easily be blocked when the south wind blows strongly in against the mouth.

The rest is a marshy shore, thick with reed and trees. And many of the trees appear even in the midst of the marsh, so as to resemble masts, and ere now some of the more inexperienced went astray, taking them for boats. And here too is the abundance of the salt, whence the most of the barbarians get it, buying the salt, both of the Greeks and of the Scythians those who dwell on the Tauric Chersonese. And the rivers empty into the sea by the fort of Alector, which is said to belong to the wife of the king of the Sauromatae.

But the city of the Borysthenites is not in greatness up to its ancient repute, because of the continual captures and the wars. For, dwelling so long a time now in the midst of the barbarians, and these well-nigh the most warlike, it is ever warred upon, and has often been taken; and the last and greatest capture was not more than a hundred and fifty years ago. And the Getae took this too and the other cities on the left of the Pontus as far as Apollonia.

Whence indeed the affairs of the Greeks there became very lowly, some of the cities being no longer settled together, others meanly, and the most of the barbarians flowing together into them. For many captures have occurred in many parts of Greece, scattered as it is in many places. And the Borysthenites, having then been captured, settled again, with the Scythians willing it, I think, because of their needing the trade and the resort of the Greeks. For they ceased sailing in when the city was made desolate, having none of the same speech to receive them, nor did the Scythians think fit, nor know how, to furnish them a trading-post in the Greek manner.

And a sign of the desolation is the meanness of the buildings and the contraction of the city into a small compass. For it has been built up against a certain part of the ancient circuit, where some few towers remain, not in keeping with the greatness or the strength of the city. And the space between is filled in along that part with the houses not leaving any gaps. And a wall is laid alongside, very low and weak. And of the towers there are some far distant from the part now inhabited, so that one could not even conjecture they belonged to one city. These, then, are clear signs of the capture, and the fact that none of the statues in the temples remains sound, but all are mutilated, like those on the tombs.

As, then, I said, I happened to be walking before the city, and some of the Borysthenites came out to me from within, as they were wont; then Callistratus, on horseback, at first rode past us, driving up from outside, but going a little ahead got down, and handing his horse to his attendant, himself approached very decorously, having drawn his hand under his cloak. He was girt with a great sword of the cavalry kind, and wore trousers and the rest of the Scythian dress, and above on his shoulders a small black cloak, thin, as the Borysthenites are wont. They use also other clothing for the most part black, from a certain race of the Scythians, the Melanchlaeni — so named, it seems to me, by the Greeks on this account.

And Callistratus was about eighteen years old, very fair and tall, having much of the Ionian in his look. And he was said to be brave too in matters of war, and to have slain many of the Sauromatae and taken others captive. And he was zealous also about speeches and philosophy, so that he even desired to sail away with me. For all these things he was of good repute among the citizens, and not least from his beauty, and he had many lovers. For this has very much remained among them from the mother-city, the love of males; so that they run the risk of persuading some of the barbarians too, not for good, I think, but as those would receive such a thing, in barbarian fashion and not without insolence.

Knowing, then, that he was a lover of Homer, I straightway inquired about this. And well-nigh all the Borysthenites are zealous about the poet, perhaps because they are still warlike now, unless indeed it is also because of their goodwill toward Achilles; for they honour this man exceedingly, and have established a temple to him on the island called Achilles' island, and another in the city; so that they will not even hear of anyone else than Homer. And in other respects no longer clearly speaking Greek, through dwelling in the midst of the barbarians, nonetheless well-nigh all of them know the Iliad by heart.

I said, then, playfully to him: Which seems to you, Callistratus, the better poet, Homer or Phocylides? And he, laughing, said: But I, for my part, do not even know the other poet's name, nor, I think, does any of these. For we consider no other poet than Homer. But him well-nigh no one else is ignorant of. For of Homer alone their poets make mention in their poems, and otherwise too they are wont to recite him, but always whenever they are about to fight they exhort their own men, just as the verses of Tyrtaeus were recited in Lacedaemon. And these are all blind, and do not think it possible for anyone to become otherwise a poet.

This, I said, their poets have got from Homer as from an ophthalmia. But Phocylides you do not know, as you say; yet he has been of the very famous poets. As, then, whenever one of the merchants sails in to you not having come before, you do not straightway dishonour him, but first having tasted the wine, and if he bring some other cargo, having taken a sample, if it please you, you buy, but if not, you let it be; so, I said, of the poetry of Phocylides too it is possible for you to take a sample in brief. For he is not one of those who string together a long and continuous poem,

as your poet goes through one battle in succession in more than five thousand verses, but by twos and threes of verses his poetry both takes a beginning and an end. So that he even adds his name to each thought, as considering it serious and worth much, not as Homer nowhere in his poetry named himself.

Or does it not seem to you that Phocylides reasonably added to such a maxim and declaration this too: And this is of Phocylides: a small city dwelling in order upon a crag is stronger than senseless Nineveh. But are not these verses, for those who hear not carelessly, worth a whole Iliad and Odyssey? Or was it more profitable to you to hear about the leapings and rushings of Achilles, and his voice, that merely by uttering it he routed the Trojans — does this profit you more to learn thoroughly, than that the small city lying on a rough crag is stronger and more fortunate dwelling in order than a great one in a smooth and broad plain, if indeed it be inhabited disorderly and lawlessly by senseless men?

And he, not very gladly accepting it, said: O stranger, it is because we love you and respect you greatly; since otherwise none of the Borysthenites would have endured one saying such things against Homer and Achilles. For the one is our god, as you see, and the other is honoured well-nigh next after the gods. And I, wishing to soothe him, and at the same time to lead him to something useful, said: I beg you, according to Homer, to grant me pardon, "if anything ill has now been said." For at another time we shall praise Achilles and Homer in whatever they seem to us to speak rightly.

But the present matter would be the saying of Phocylides; for to me he seems to speak very nobly about the city. Consider it, he said, since you see all these too desiring to hear you and for this reason having flowed together hither to the river, although they are not very free from disturbance. For you know, doubtless, that yesterday the Scythians, driving up at midday, killed some of the scouts who were not attending, and have perhaps taken others alive; for we do not yet know, because their flight became longer for them, since they fled not toward the city.

And this was really so, and the gates had been shut and the war-signal had been raised on the wall. But nonetheless they were so fond of listening and Greek in character, that well-nigh all were present in arms, wishing to hear. And I, admiring their eagerness, said: Would you wish that we sit down, going somewhere in the city? For perhaps now not all hear alike while walking, but those behind have trouble and give trouble to those before them, hastening to come nearer.

As I said this, they all straightway rushed to the temple of Zeus, where they are wont to deliberate. And the eldest and the most notable and those in the offices sat round on benches; but the rest of the multitude stood by. For there was much open space before the temple. A philosopher would have been very pleased at the sight, that all were after the ancient manner, as Homer says of the Greeks, wearing long hair and having let their beards grow, and one only among them shaven, and him all reviled and hated. And it was said that he practised this for no other reason than flattering the Romans and displaying his friendship toward them; so that one might see in his case the shamefulness of the thing and in no way befitting men.

When there was quiet, I said that they seemed to me to do rightly, dwelling in an ancient and Greek city, in wishing to hear about a city. And first, I said, one must clearly know this very thing about which the discourse is; for thus you would at once also have perceived what sort of thing it is. For the many men, I said, know the very name and utter it of each thing, but are ignorant of the thing.

But the educated take care of this, that they shall know also the meaning of each thing of which they speak; for instance, the name of "man" all who speak Greek so utter, but if you ask one of them what this is — I mean what sort of thing and in what it is the same as nothing else — he could not say, but only point at himself or another, like the barbarians. But the experienced answers him who asks what man is, that he is a rational mortal animal. For to be this has befallen man alone and no other.

So, then, they say the city too is a multitude of men dwelling in the same place governed by law. It is now plain, then, that this appellation befits none of the so-called cities that are senseless and lawless. So neither would the poet have spoken of Nineveh as of a city, since it was senseless. For just as that is not a man to whom the rational is not present, so neither is that a city to which it has not fallen to be lawful. And it would never be lawful, being senseless and disorderly.

Perhaps, then, one might inquire whether, when the rulers and those in authority are prudent and wise, but the rest of the multitude is governed according to their judgment lawfully and temperately, one ought to call such a one temperate and lawful and truly a city, from those who govern it; as we should call a chorus musical, perhaps, the leader being musical, the rest following him and uttering nothing out of tune, or but little and indistinctly.

For a city good out of all good men no one knows ever to have arisen as mortal before, nor is it worth conceiving as ever going to be hereafter — save the city of the blessed gods in heaven, in no way unmoved nor idle, but vigorous and moving, the gods who lead and are first being without strife and defeat; for it is not lawful for gods either to strive or to be defeated, neither by one another, being friends, nor by others stronger, but to do their own works unhindered with all friendship ever common to all; the most conspicuous proceeding each by himself, not wandering otherwise a senseless wandering, but dancing a blessed dance with mind and the highest prudence; and the rest of the multitude being led by the common movement with one judgment and impulse of the whole heaven.

For this one constitution, or city if one must so call it, is purely happy — the communion of the gods with one another — even if one include also the whole rational, men being reckoned with the gods, as children are said to share in the city with men, being citizens by nature, not by thinking and doing the things of citizens nor by sharing in the law, being without understanding of it. But out of the others everywhere, well-nigh simply all erring and mean toward the highest straightness of the divine and blessed law and the right governance, nonetheless for the present we shall be well off for an example of the one more reasonably disposed compared with the one altogether corrupt, as among all the sick we compare the one faring most lightly with the one in the worst case.

I, then, was setting out in my discourse toward some such thing. But in the midst one of those present uttered into the open, who was the eldest of them and had the greatest dignity, and said very cautiously: By no means, stranger, consider it rustic or barbarian, that I have stood in your way while you were speaking in the midst. For among you it is not a custom because of the great abundance of words from philosophy and because it is possible to hear from many about everything one may desire; but among us it has appeared like some marvel, this coming of you to us.

For the rest, well-nigh, come hither Greeks in name, but in truth more barbarous than we, merchants and hucksters, bringing in mean rags and bad wine and taking out the things from us no better than these. But Achilles himself seems to have sent you hither to us from the island, and we both see you very gladly and very gladly hear whatever you may say. Yet we do not think this will be for any long time, nor do we wish it, but that, having fared well, you may return home as quickly as possible.

Now, then, since you have touched in your discourse on the divine governance, I myself have been marvellously winged, and I see all these eager for that discourse; for to us you seemed to have said all you said magnificently and not unworthily of the matter, and as we should most wish to hear. For of this more exact philosophy we are inexperienced, but lovers of Homer, as you know, and certain few of Plato; of whom you see I too am one, ever meeting with his works as far as I can; and yet it is perhaps strange that one who speaks barbarously should most of the citizens delight in and consort with the most Greek and wisest, just as if one well-nigh blind should turn away from all other light, but look up at the very sun.

So our affairs stand thus. But if you are willing to gratify us all, put off the discourse about the mortal city — if indeed the neighbours grant us leisure for tomorrow and there be no need to exercise against them, as is our wont for the most part; but about the divine, whether you please to call it a city or an ordering, tell where and how it stands, drawing as near as you can to Plato's freedom of expression, such indeed as you seemed to us just now to do. For if of nothing else, of the voice at least we understand through habit that it utters nothing small nor far from Homer.

And I was greatly pleased at the simplicity of the old man, and laughing said: O dear Hieroson, if you had bidden me yesterday, when the enemy had broken in upon you, take arms like Achilles and fight, the one thing I should have been persuaded to, trying to defend friendly men, but the other I think I could not have done, though greatly wishing it, to fight like Achilles. And now, of the things you bid, I will do the one, I will eagerly try to speak the discourse as I can by myself; but with men before me I shall not be willing to strive, neither with Plato nor with Homer. For not even to Eurytus, the poet says, did it profit that he strove against his betters. Yet of zeal, I said, we shall leave nothing out.

Having said this to him, I was nonetheless stirred and borne up in a manner, having recalled both Plato and Homer. The matter of the city, then, I said, one must so hear, as that our people do not directly declare the universe a city; for this would be contrary to the argument about the city, which, as I said, they defined as a system of men; and at the same time it was perhaps not fitting nor convincing, having properly said the universe is a living being, then to assert that it is a city;

for the same thing, both a city and a living being, no one, I think, would readily endure to suppose. But the present ordering, when the whole has been divided and parted into many forms of plants and of mortal and immortal animals, and besides of air and earth and water and fire, being nonetheless one by nature in all these and governed by one soul and power, they somehow liken to a city, because of the multitude of those who come into being and pass away in it, and besides the order and the good arrangement of the governance.

And this argument has been earnest, in brief, to fit the human race to the divine, and to comprehend in one principle all the rational, finding this alone the strong and indissoluble origin of fellowship and justice. For a city would on this account be so called, by Zeus, not having met with mean nor small leaders, nor torn apart and in faction all the time by tyrants and democracies and decarchies and oligarchies and certain other such infirmities, but adorned with the most temperate and best kingship, really ruled by a king according to law with all friendship and concord;

which indeed the wisest and eldest ruler and lawgiver ordains to all, mortals and immortals, the leader of the whole heaven and the master of all being, himself thus expounding and furnishing as an example his own governance of the happy and blessed condition; whom the divine poets, having learned from the Muses, hymn and at the same time name father of gods and men.

For the poetic race runs the risk, after all, of being not altogether wide of the sacred discourses, nor of uttering such things often off the mark; yet neither of having been purely initiated according to ordinance and law of those initiated, nor of knowing anything clear about the truth concerning the universe, so to speak; but it simply resembles those servants of the rites outside about the doors, who adorn the porches and the altars in the open and prepare the other such things, but never go inside. Whence indeed they name themselves servants of the Muses, not initiates nor any other august name.

So then, as I said, those who move about near some rite at the entrances are likely to perceive at least so much of what is within, either some single mystic word shouted out or fire appearing above; and to the poets sometimes — I mean the very ancient ones — a short voice from the Muses came, and somewhere some inspiration of the divine nature and of truth, like a gleam of fire shining from the unseen; which things Homer and Hesiod experienced from the Muses and were possessed by.

But those after them later, having brought their wisdom to stages and theatres, uninitiated themselves often brought forth to the uninitiated imperfect examples of the mysteries; and being admired by the many they attempted themselves to initiate the crowd, having really set up some uncovered Bacchic stages at certain tragic crossroads. But all these poets alike call the first and greatest god father, in sum, of the whole rational race, and indeed king too.

Persuaded by whom, men establish altars of Zeus the King, and indeed some do not shrink from addressing him as father in their prayers, as though there were some such origin and constitution of the universe. So that in this way they seem to me not even to shrink from declaring the whole universe the house of Zeus, if indeed he is father of those in it, and, by Zeus, a city too, as we likened it according to the greater principle.

For kingship would be more fittingly said of a city than of a house. For surely those who say that the one over the whole is king would not deny that the whole is ruled by a king, nor, having said it is ruled by a king, would they deny that it is governed as a state, nor that there is a kingly constitution of the whole. And again, granting a constitution, they would not turn aside from admitting either a city or something nearly resembling this, the thing governed.

This, then, is the discourse of the philosophers, declaring a good and humane fellowship of gods and men, giving a share of law and constitution not to the chance animals, but to those who have a part in reason and prudence, introducing one far better and more just than the Laconian legislation, by which it is not even possible for the Helots to become Spartans; whence indeed they continue plotting against Sparta.

But another story is sung, admired, in the secret rites by the men called Magi, who hymn this god as the perfect and first charioteer of the most perfect chariot. For the chariot of the Sun, they say, is newer compared with that, and visible to the many, since its course becomes evident. Whence it meets with common report, as it seems, from well-nigh the first of the poets who tell of risings and settings on each occasion, all alike expounding the horses being yoked and the Sun himself mounting the car.

But the strong and perfect chariot of Zeus no one of those here ever hymned worthily, neither Homer nor Hesiod, but Zoroaster and the children of the Magi sing it, having learned from him; whom the Persians say, through love of wisdom and justice, having withdrawn from the rest, lived by himself on a certain mountain; then the mountain caught fire, much fire having descended from above, and burned continually. The king, then, with the most notable of the Persians, came near, wishing to pray to the god; and the man came out of the fire unharmed, and appearing to them gracious bade them take courage and offer certain sacrifices, as the god had come to the place.

And afterward he consorted not with all, but with those best endowed by nature toward truth and able to understand the god, whom the Persians called Magi, knowing how to serve the divine — not as the Greeks, through ignorance of the name, so call charlatan men. And they do the rest according to sacred rules, and indeed rear for Zeus a chariot of Nisaean horses; and these are the fairest and greatest of those in Asia; but for the Sun a single horse.

And they expound the story not as our prophets of the Muses set forth each thing with much persuasion, but very arbitrarily. For there is, they say, one leading and charioteering of the universe, ever brought about by the highest experience and might, and this unceasing in the unceasing cycles of eternity. And the courses of the Sun and Moon, as I said, are motions of parts, whence they are seen by men more clearly. But of the motion and course of the universe the many understand not, but are ignorant of the greatness of this contest.

The thing after this I am ashamed to tell about the horses and the charioteering, how they say it in expounding, not greatly caring that the likeness should everywhere come out alike to them. For perhaps I should appear absurd, singing a barbarian song alongside Greek and graceful songs; yet I must venture. They say the first of the horses, on the outside, far surpasses in beauty and greatness and swiftness, since it runs round the outermost of the course, sacred to Zeus himself; and it is winged; and bright in colour, of the purest gleam; and in it the Sun and the Moon are seen as conspicuous signs, just as, I think, of these horses too there are signs, some crescent-shaped, others otherwise.

And these are seen by us in clusters, like strong sparks running about in the bright gleam of flame, but they have their own motion by themselves. And the other stars, appearing through that one and being all parts of it by nature, some are carried round with it, having this one motion, others run other courses. And these happen among men to have each its own name; but the rest are by multitudes in clusters, distributed into certain figures and forms.

The brightest, then, and most varied horse, dearest to Zeus himself, being thus somehow hymned by them, fittingly obtained first, as being first, sacrifices and honours; and the second after that, touching it and very near, named after Hera, well-reined and soft, but much inferior in might and speed. And in colour by its own nature black, but it is ever brightened, the part lit by the Sun; but the shaded part in the revolution takes again its own appearance of colour.

The third sacred to Poseidon, slower than the second. Of this the poets fable that an image came to be among men, it seems to me, which they call Pegasus, and they say that it loosed a spring in Corinth, cutting it with its hoof. And the fourth is, to liken it, the most absurd of all, firm and immovable, so far from being winged, named after Hestia. Yet they do not turn aside from the likeness, but say that this too has been yoked to the chariot, but remains in its place, biting an adamant bit.

And it presses against itself on all sides with its parts, and the two near it likewise incline toward it, simply falling upon and pushing it; but the outermost first is ever carried round the one that stands as round a turning-post. For the most part, then, they continue in peace and friendship unharmed by one another. But ere now sometimes, in length of time and many cycles, a strong gasping of the first, falling from above, as of a spirited one, heated the others, but more vehemently the last; and it scorched its mane, in which it most gloried, and the whole universe.

And the Greeks, remembering this experience once, they say, attribute it to Phaethon, not being able to blame the charioteering of Zeus, and not willing to censure the courses of the Sun. Therefore they say a younger charioteer, a mortal son of the Sun, having desired a grievous and disadvantageous sport for all mortals, having asked of his father to stand on the car, and being borne disorderly, scorched all animals and plants, and at last himself was destroyed, struck by a stronger fire.

And again, when after more years the colt sacred to the Nymphs and to Poseidon rises up, having striven and been disturbed beyond its wont, it floods with much sweat this same one, as being its yoke-fellow; it makes trial, then, of the destruction opposite to the former, storm-tossed with much water. And such one storm the Greeks relate, through their youth and weak memory, and they say Deucalion, who was then reigning over them, sufficed before the complete destruction.

And these things, rarely occurring, seem to men, through their own ruin, to come about not according to reason nor to share in the order of the universe, but it escapes them that they happen rightly and according to the judgment of him who saves and steers the whole. For it is like as when the charioteer of a chariot punishes one of the horses, pulling with the bit or touching with the goad; and it leaps and is disturbed, straightway being set into the needful state. This one strong charioteering, then, they speak of, the whole not being destroyed.

And again another of the motion and change of the four, changing into one another and exchanging their forms, until all come together into one nature, defeated by the stronger. Yet this motion too they dare to liken to charioteering and the driving of a chariot, needing a more absurd likeness; as if some juggler, having moulded horses out of wax, then, taking away and scraping from each, should add now to one, now to another, and at last, having spent all upon one of the four, should make one form out of all the material.

Yet such a thing is not, as in the case of soulless moulds, the craftsman working from outside and transposing the material, but the experience comes about of those very ones, as in a great and true contest striving for victory; and the victory and the crown come of necessity to the first and strongest in speed and might and the whole of virtue, whom we said at the beginning of our discourse to be the special horse of Zeus.

For this one, being the most valiant of all and by nature fiery, having quickly consumed the others, like, I think, in truth wax, in no long time — but seeming to us infinite by our own reckoning — and having taken into itself all the being of all, was seen far stronger and brighter than before, by no other of mortals or immortals, but itself by itself having become victorious in the greatest contest. And standing lofty and proud, rejoicing in the victory, it occupied as much room as possible and needed then a greater space through might and force.

Having come to this point of the discourse, they are abashed to name the same nature of the living being. For it is now at this time simply the soul of the charioteer and master, or rather the very thinking and leading part of it.

So indeed we too say, honouring and revering the greatest god by good deeds and well-omened words. For the mind alone being left and having filled an inconceivable place with itself, as poured out equally everywhere, nothing dense being left in it, but all rarity prevailing, when it becomes fairest, having taken the purest nature of unmixed gleam, straightway longed for the life from the beginning. Having taken love, then, of that charioteering and rule and concord of the three natures and of sun and moon and the other stars, and of all animals and plants simply, it set out to beget and distribute each thing and to fashion the universe now existing from the beginning, far stronger and brighter, as being newer.

And having flashed wholly, not a disorderly nor foul lightning, such as in winter often darts through the clouds when they are more violently driven, but pure and unmixed with anything dark, it changed easily along with the thought. And remembering Aphrodite and generation, it softened and relaxed itself, and having quenched much of the light, turns into a fiery air of gentle fire. And mingling then with Hera and sharing the most perfect bed, having rested it sends forth again all the seed of the universe. This the children of the wise hymn in unspeakable rites as the happy marriage of Hera and Zeus.

And having made the whole being moist, one seed of the universe, itself running about in this, as in the seed the breath that moulds and fashions, then indeed most resembling the constitution of the other animals, in so far as it might not absurdly be said to consist of soul and body, the rest it now easily moulds and shapes, having poured the being smooth and soft about itself and all readily yielding.

And having worked and perfected it, it declared from the beginning the universe now existing comely and inconceivably beautiful, far brighter than such as it is now seen. For doubtless all the other works of craftsmen too, new from the art and the hands, are at once better and more gleaming than that of the maker afterward. And of plants the newer are more flourishing than the old and wholly like shoots. And indeed the animals are graceful and pleasant to see after their birth, not only the fairest of them — colts and calves and puppies — but also the cubs of the wildest beasts.

For the nature of man is then infant and watery, like the imperfect green growth of Demeter, but having advanced to the measure of bloom and youth is a stronger and more conspicuous growth simply than any plant. And the whole heaven and universe, when first it was completed, adorned by the wisest and best art, just freed from the hands of the craftsman, bright and translucent and shining in all its parts, was an infant for no time nor weak according to the human and mortal weakness of nature, but young and at its prime straightway from the beginning.

When indeed its craftsman and father, seeing it, was in no way pleased — for this is a low experience among the low — but rejoiced and was delighted exceedingly, seated on Olympus, and his heart laughed for gladness, when he saw the gods all now come into being and present. And the form of the universe then — I mean the bloom and the beauty, it being ever inconceivably beautiful — no man could conceive and tell worthily, neither of those now nor of those before, save the Muses and Apollo in divine rhythm of pure and supreme harmony.

Whence indeed let us too now leave off, not having shrunk from raising the discourse so far as was possible for us. But if the form of the discourse turned out simply lofty and faint — as those clever about the birds say that the one that has gone very high up and hidden itself in the clouds makes the divination imperfect — it is not right to blame me, but the request of the Borysthenites, since they then bade me speak thus.