Greek literature was rather in the sere and yellow leaf, be
sure, when men thought of writing that sort of thing about it. But
still, he is an encyclopaedic man, and, moreover, a poet. He writes an
epic, "Aitia," in four books, on the causes of the myths, religious
ceremonies, and so forth--an ominous sign for the myths also, and the
belief in them; also a Hecate, Galataea, Glaucus--four epics, besides
comedies, tragedies, iambics, choriambics, elegies, hymns, epigrams
seventy-three--and of these last alone can we say that they are in any
degree readable; and they are courtly, far-fetched, neat, and that is
all. Six hymns remain, and a few fragments of the elegies: but the
most famous elegy, on Berenice's hair, is preserved to us only in a
Latin paraphrase of Catullus. It is curious, as the earliest instance
we have of genuinely ungenuine Court poetry, and of the complimentary
lie which does not even pretend to be true; the flattery which will not
take the trouble to prevent your seeing that it is laughing in your
face.
Berenice the queen, on Ptolemy's departure to the wars, vows her
beautiful tresses to her favourite goddess, as the price of her
husband's safe return; and duly pays her vow.
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