yond," proves only that Horace had grasped the current idea of Pindar's merits, and was acquainted with the Alexandrian classification of his poems. Horace's own poetry owes much to Greek lyrists of another school—to Alcæus, and Sappho, and Archilochus—but little or nothing to Pindar. And the rare occurrence and universal failure of any attempt to revive the forms of Pindaric poetry in Latin literature needs more explanation than is supplied by Horace's parallel between the imitator of Pindar and the rash Icarus "soaring on wings of wax." No risk of failure would have deterred the poets of Rome from imitating a really popular Greek classic. Homer's name stood higher with them than even Pindar's; but Homer was popular, and therefore he was imitated.
We need not wonder that then, as now, the fame of Pindar should have exceeded the popularity of his poetry. Whatever elements of permanent value that poetry may contain, it contains also, beyond question, much which could have little value for any but its original audience. In so far as it appealed to sentiments which were peculiar to its own age, and which succeeding ages were neither able nor desirous to revive, it diminished its power of interesting and attracting future readers. That kind of genius which consists in an intense perception of the spirit of its age, and in responding promptly to its demands, tends often actually to disqualify its possessor for posthumous popularity. And having found that Pindar possessed this kind of genius in an extraordinary degree, that he was able and willing to throw his
