the Greeks, for instance, there was a certain Teian, there was a
Lacedaemonian, a Cean, and countless others; there was even a woman, a
Lesbian, who wrote with such grace and such passion that the sweetness
of her song makes us forgive the impropriety of her words; among our
own poets there were Aedituus, Porcius, and Catulus, with countless
others. 'But they were not philosophers.' Will you then deny that
Solon was a serious man and a philosopher? Yet he is the author of
that most wanton verse:

_Longing for thy body and the kiss of thy sweet lips._

What is there so lascivious in all my verses compared with that one
line? I will say nothing of the writings of Diogenes the Cynic, of
Zeno the founder of Stoicism, and many other similar instances. Let me
recite my own verses afresh, that my opponents may realize that I am
not ashamed of them:

_Critias my treasure is and you,
Light of my life, Charinus, too
Hold in my love-tormented heart
Your own inalienable part.
Ah! doubt not! with redoubled spite
Though fire on fire consume me quite,
The flames ye kindle, boys divine,
I can endure, so ye be mine.
Only to each may I be dear
As your own selves are, and as near;
Grant only this and you shall be
Dear as mine own two eyes to me._

Now let me read you the others also which they read last as being the
most intemperate in expression.

_I lay these garlands, Critias sweet,
And this my song before thy feet;
Song to thyself I dedicate,
Wreaths to the Angel of thy fate.
The song I send to hymn the praise
Of this, the best of all glad days,
Whereon the circling seasons bring
The glory of thy fourteenth spring;
The garlands, that thy brows may shine
With splendour worthy spring's and thine,
That thou in boyhood's golden hours
Mayst deck the flower of life with flowers.
Wherefore for these bright blooms of spring
Thy springtide sweet surrendering,
The tribute of my love repay
And all my gifts with thine outweigh.
Surpass the twined garland's grace
With arms entwined in soft embrace;
The crimson of the rose eclipse
With kisses from thy rosy lips.
Or if thou wilt, be this my meed
And breathe thy soul into the reed;
Then shall my songs be shamed and mute
Before the music of thy flute._

10. These are the verses, Maximus, which they