These important lines have not yet received an adequate discussion. Aphrodite has been told that her beloved Adonis is dying on the mountainside; she rushes to him in grief, letting down her hair and calling for him.

The last decades have shown that Nicander's Theriaca, a didactic hexameter poem of 958 lines on snakes, scorpions, spiders, and the proper treatment of the wounds they inflict, is a markedly more playful work than most readers thought. Rather than considering the poem as a vehicle of authentic learning, literary approaches to the nature of Nicander's strange poetic world have focussed on his eye for Alexandrian aesthetics, intertextuality, linguistic innovation, and awareness of the didactic tradition that started with Hesiod's Works (...) and Days, but also on his predilection for horror, voyeuristic sensationalism, and gory details. Although literary-minded readers have found it hard to disprove convincingly that Nicander may have had some professional knowledge of his subject matter, a glance at his arcane language is enough to convince any reader that the Theriaca cannot be concerned solely with its explicit subject. In this article I will make some additional observations on the way in which Nicander has turned the Theriaca into a work of literature, focussing on some of the choices that he has made with regard to his less than veracious depiction of snakes and animals. While Spatafora rightly points to Nicander's eye for detail when portraying floral beauty, I will argue that the poet's play with the topos of the locus amoenus has a darker side. Rather than creating an epic world of beauty, Nicander shows his talent for taking the reader along an unpleasant path of apprehension and negative feelings, portraying a choice selection of afflictions. Not only does he have many ways of giving his quasi-scientific account a markedly negative atmosphere, but his world may well be a deliberate reversal of that other well-known Hellenistic portrayal of the natural world, Theocritus' bucolics. (shrink)

Surprisingly little attention has been devoted to Musonius Rufus, a noted teacher and philosopher in first–century CE Rome, despite ample evidence for his impact in the period. This paper attempts to situate Musonius in relation to his philosophical predecessors in order to clarify both the contemporary status of the Stoic tradition and the value of engaging with the central figures of that school’s history. I make the case for seeing Cleanthes as a particularly prominent predecessor for Musonius and reaffirm the (...) importance of framing his philosophical commitments in the context of the Stoic tradition. On this latter point, I attempt to connect Musonius’ perspective on askesis and moral development with that of Posidonius (and Seneca). In doing so, I push back against the sometimes overly schematic intellectualism attributed to Stoic ethics generally. (shrink)

Scholars continue to make progress addressing the lacunae in our papyrological sources for Callimachus’ prologue to theAetia, both by lending additional support to old supplements and by discounting others or demonstrating their weaknesses. To the first category belongs the crucial verb at the end of line 5, where, in my view, Callimachus first characterizes the making of his poetry (Aet. 1–6):πολλάκι μοι Τελχῖνες ἐπιτρύζουσιν ἀοιδῇ,νήιδες οἳ Μούσης οὐκ ἐγένοντο φίλοι,εἵνεκε]ν οὐχ ἓν ἄεισμα διηνεκὲς ἢ βασιλ[η⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅]ας ἐν πολλαῖς ἤνυσα χιλιάσινἢ⋅⋅⋅⋅⋅]⋅ους ἥρωας, (...) ἔπος δ᾽ ἐπὶ τυτθὸν ἑλ[ίσσωπαῖς ἅτε, τῶν δ᾽ ἐτέων ἡ δεκὰς οὐκ ὀλίγη.Often the Telchines mutter at my poetry,being ignorant and no friends of the Muse,because I have not completed one continuous poemin many thousands … on kings and …… heroes, but I … my poem only a littlelike a child, though the decades of my years are not few. (shrink)

In Book 12 of Quintus Smyrnaeus’Posthomerica, the epic poet prepares to list the heroes who entered the Wooden Horse before the sack of Troy. Before he begins, he breaks off to ask for help :τούς μοι νῦν καθ᾽ ἕκαστον ἀνειρομένῳ σάφα Μοῦσαιἔσπεθ᾽, ὅσοι κατέβησαν ἔσω πολυχανδέος ἵππου·ὑμεῖς γὰρ πᾶσάν μοι ἐνὶ φρεσὶ θήκατ᾽ ἀοιδήν,πρίν μοι ἀμφὶ παρειὰ κατασκίδνασθαι ἴουλον,Σμύρνης ἐν δαπέδοισι περικλυτὰ μῆλα νέμοντι 310τρὶς τόσον Ἑρμοῦ ἄπωθεν, ὅσον βοόωντος ἀκοῦσαι,Ἀρτέμιδος περὶ νηὸν Ἐλευθερίῳ ἐνὶ κήπῳ,οὔρεΐ τ’ οὔτε λίην χθαμαλῷ οὔθ᾽ (...) ὑψόθι πολλῷ.Muses, I ask you to tell me precisely, one by one, the names of all who went inside the cavernous horse. For you were the ones who filled my mind with all song even before down was spread across my cheeks, when I was tending my renowned sheep in the land of Smyrna, three times as far as the shouting distance from the Hermus, near Artemis’ temple in the garden of Liberty, on a hill that is neither excessively high nor too low. (shrink)

In Theriaca 343–358, Nicander recounts a rather unusual myth. After Prometheus had stolen fire, Zeus was seeking the thief and, when men delivered Prometheus over to him, he gave them the gift of youth. Humans entrusted the ass to carry this load, but the ass was seized by thirst and sought the help of the snake, who demanded in return the thing he was carrying on his back. This is how the gift of youth given to men fell to the (...) serpent’s lot. Ever since, inevitable old age has weighed upon them, while the snakes cast off their old skin and gain a new one. Like any digression in Hellenistic epic poetry, this parable certainly is intended to entertain the reader, yet it must have a more serious function: by showing that it was only out of stupidity that men gave away their invaluable gift to the ass, Nicander asserts the great value of knowledge for life. Remarkably, it is precisely in this passage that the poet has inserted the acrostic of his name. The idea that his poetic work will ensure the survival of his name for future generations, directly expressed in the closing lines, is here conveyed with the greatest refinement. (shrink)