Mind on Fire Institute
@joyfulwisdom.bsky.social
Dedicated to life-long continuing non-professional education (philosophy, history, literature from over 100 years ago).
Per Dante's advice, we are taking Virgil as our guide. Per Virgil's advice, we are following Theocritus...
www.mindonfireinstitute.com
Per Dante's advice, we are taking Virgil as our guide. Per Virgil's advice, we are following Theocritus...
www.mindonfireinstitute.com
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At The Mind on Fire Institute, we let old texts guide us through the great labyrinth of human thought. 🔥📖
Dante led us to Virgil. Virgil led us to Theocritus. Each step reveals new pathways. As we complete each leg of the journey, I’ll update this thread with the next.
Follow along ⬇️
Dante led us to Virgil. Virgil led us to Theocritus. Each step reveals new pathways. As we complete each leg of the journey, I’ll update this thread with the next.
Follow along ⬇️
That is the old fairy-tale forest!
June 9, 2025 at 3:07 PM
That is the old fairy-tale forest!
The day was departing, and the darkened air
released all creatures on the earth
from their labors; and I alone remained.
released all creatures on the earth
from their labors; and I alone remained.
May 17, 2025 at 1:44 AM
The day was departing, and the darkened air
released all creatures on the earth
from their labors; and I alone remained.
released all creatures on the earth
from their labors; and I alone remained.
One flame burns in the field,
where the wind may see it,
where goats and cicadas graze.
It sings, it dances,
and all who pass are warmed.
where the wind may see it,
where goats and cicadas graze.
It sings, it dances,
and all who pass are warmed.
April 3, 2025 at 3:34 AM
One flame burns in the field,
where the wind may see it,
where goats and cicadas graze.
It sings, it dances,
and all who pass are warmed.
where the wind may see it,
where goats and cicadas graze.
It sings, it dances,
and all who pass are warmed.
Theocritus' Idyll 17: "An Encomium of Ptolemy"
March 16, 2025 at 2:48 AM
Theocritus' Idyll 17: "An Encomium of Ptolemy"
AISCHINES. Good day to you, friend Thyonichos!
THYONICHOS. The same to Aischines !
AISCHINES. What an age since we met!
THYONICHOS. Why yes, an age. But what’s your trouble?
AISCHINES. I’m out of luck, Thyonichos.
THYONICHOS. The same to Aischines !
AISCHINES. What an age since we met!
THYONICHOS. Why yes, an age. But what’s your trouble?
AISCHINES. I’m out of luck, Thyonichos.
March 15, 2025 at 2:50 AM
AISCHINES. Good day to you, friend Thyonichos!
THYONICHOS. The same to Aischines !
AISCHINES. What an age since we met!
THYONICHOS. Why yes, an age. But what’s your trouble?
AISCHINES. I’m out of luck, Thyonichos.
THYONICHOS. The same to Aischines !
AISCHINES. What an age since we met!
THYONICHOS. Why yes, an age. But what’s your trouble?
AISCHINES. I’m out of luck, Thyonichos.
Idyll 11, "The Cyclops" by Theocritus
March 13, 2025 at 1:18 AM
Idyll 11, "The Cyclops" by Theocritus
Theocritus, Idyll #8:
Beautiful Daphnis, so 'tis told, herding his kine one day
Met with Menalkas, shepherding his flock on the high downs.
The hair of both was golden; young striplings were they both;
Both of them skilled at pipe-playing, at singing both were skilled.
Beautiful Daphnis, so 'tis told, herding his kine one day
Met with Menalkas, shepherding his flock on the high downs.
The hair of both was golden; young striplings were they both;
Both of them skilled at pipe-playing, at singing both were skilled.
March 13, 2025 at 12:14 AM
Theocritus, Idyll #8:
Beautiful Daphnis, so 'tis told, herding his kine one day
Met with Menalkas, shepherding his flock on the high downs.
The hair of both was golden; young striplings were they both;
Both of them skilled at pipe-playing, at singing both were skilled.
Beautiful Daphnis, so 'tis told, herding his kine one day
Met with Menalkas, shepherding his flock on the high downs.
The hair of both was golden; young striplings were they both;
Both of them skilled at pipe-playing, at singing both were skilled.
Idyll #7, by Theocritus: The Thalysia (Harvest Festival)
February 9, 2025 at 5:20 PM
Idyll #7, by Theocritus: The Thalysia (Harvest Festival)
Idyll #6, by Theocritus: The Bucolic Contest of Daphnis and Damoitas
February 9, 2025 at 1:37 AM
Idyll #6, by Theocritus: The Bucolic Contest of Daphnis and Damoitas
In Idyll 5 of The Bucolics, Komatas and Lacon engage in a witty back-and-forth—bickering over goats, pipes, and the whims of the Nymphs.
February 6, 2025 at 5:25 AM
In Idyll 5 of The Bucolics, Komatas and Lacon engage in a witty back-and-forth—bickering over goats, pipes, and the whims of the Nymphs.
Two herdsmen, Battus and Corydon, trade jests, laments, and gossip in a world of wandering cattle, thorny paths, and lost loves. Theocritus’ Idyll 4 captures the rhythm of rustic life—its humor, heartbreak, and longing for something just out of reach. #PastoralPoetry
February 3, 2025 at 2:56 PM
Two herdsmen, Battus and Corydon, trade jests, laments, and gossip in a world of wandering cattle, thorny paths, and lost loves. Theocritus’ Idyll 4 captures the rhythm of rustic life—its humor, heartbreak, and longing for something just out of reach. #PastoralPoetry
Love, longing, and lament—Theocritus' Idyll 3, "Festal Procession" (Kōmos), is a song of desperate devotion. A lovesick goatherd woos Amaryllis with gifts, pleas, and myths of passion, only to face cold indifference. Will he win her, or will the wolves take him first? #PastoralPoetry
February 2, 2025 at 5:38 PM
Love, longing, and lament—Theocritus' Idyll 3, "Festal Procession" (Kōmos), is a song of desperate devotion. A lovesick goatherd woos Amaryllis with gifts, pleas, and myths of passion, only to face cold indifference. Will he win her, or will the wolves take him first? #PastoralPoetry
The shift from love to magic is as old as poetry itself. First, she worships him. Then, she curses him. When love no longer obeys the lover’s will, only spells remain.
Does he have no other joy, and has he forgotten me?
Now I will offer sacrifice with these love charms:
if he still pains me, I swear by the Fates,
I will strike the gate of Hades.
For in my chest I hold wicked spells,
which I learned from an Assyrian stranger, my mistress.
Now I will offer sacrifice with these love charms:
if he still pains me, I swear by the Fates,
I will strike the gate of Hades.
For in my chest I hold wicked spells,
which I learned from an Assyrian stranger, my mistress.
February 2, 2025 at 5:19 PM
The shift from love to magic is as old as poetry itself. First, she worships him. Then, she curses him. When love no longer obeys the lover’s will, only spells remain.
In Theocritus, desire is not just longing—it is conquest, madness, destruction. Love makes the lover feel entitled to possession, and rejection only fuels the fire. Simaetha’s Delphis would burn the world to reach her door.
And I would have rested, even if I had only kissed
your lovely lips. But if you had driven me away,
if the door had been locked with its bolt,
then I would have come with axes and torches to reach you regardless.
Lady Selene, see from where my love has come.
your lovely lips. But if you had driven me away,
if the door had been locked with its bolt,
then I would have come with axes and torches to reach you regardless.
Lady Selene, see from where my love has come.
February 2, 2025 at 3:30 AM
In Theocritus, desire is not just longing—it is conquest, madness, destruction. Love makes the lover feel entitled to possession, and rejection only fuels the fire. Simaetha’s Delphis would burn the world to reach her door.
Love, in Theocritus, is not a gentle feeling—it is a sickness, a possession, a fire that burns through the body. To see is to suffer, to desire is to decay. The shepherds know: no one escapes love unscathed.
As I saw him, I went mad, my poor heart was struck,
and I withered away with longing. I did not think of the procession,
nor how I would return home again.
A fiery sickness shook me,
and I lay on my bed for ten days and ten nights.
Lady Selene, see from where my love has come.
and I withered away with longing. I did not think of the procession,
nor how I would return home again.
A fiery sickness shook me,
and I lay on my bed for ten days and ten nights.
Lady Selene, see from where my love has come.
February 1, 2025 at 3:06 PM
Love, in Theocritus, is not a gentle feeling—it is a sickness, a possession, a fire that burns through the body. To see is to suffer, to desire is to decay. The shepherds know: no one escapes love unscathed.
Reposted by Mind on Fire Institute
For poet John Dryden and later Jacobites, ‘Pan’ was code for the exiled Stuart King James II, as in ‘Song for a Lady’: ‘While Pan and fair Syrinx, are fled from our shore, / The Graces are banish’d, and Love is no more.’
🎨John Michael Wright (1668)
🎨John Michael Wright (1668)
January 31, 2025 at 6:51 PM
For poet John Dryden and later Jacobites, ‘Pan’ was code for the exiled Stuart King James II, as in ‘Song for a Lady’: ‘While Pan and fair Syrinx, are fled from our shore, / The Graces are banish’d, and Love is no more.’
🎨John Michael Wright (1668)
🎨John Michael Wright (1668)
Simaetha asserts her magical lineage—she is no mere woman scorned, but a sorceress on par with the greatest enchantresses of myth. Circe turned men into animals, Medea commanded love and death, and Perimede was said to subdue rivers and winds.
The spells I perform are no less powerful than those of Circe,
nor Medea, nor fair-haired Perimede.
Iynx, draw that man to my house.
nor Medea, nor fair-haired Perimede.
Iynx, draw that man to my house.
February 1, 2025 at 1:36 AM
Simaetha asserts her magical lineage—she is no mere woman scorned, but a sorceress on par with the greatest enchantresses of myth. Circe turned men into animals, Medea commanded love and death, and Perimede was said to subdue rivers and winds.
Love turns to obsession. Simaetha counts the days since Delphis last knocked on her door, while she prepares a spell to bind him to her. Magic begins where agency ends.
He has not come to me for twelve days,
nor does he know if I am dead or alive.
The unkind one has not even knocked at my door.
nor does he know if I am dead or alive.
The unkind one has not even knocked at my door.
January 31, 2025 at 6:23 PM
Love turns to obsession. Simaetha counts the days since Delphis last knocked on her door, while she prepares a spell to bind him to her. Magic begins where agency ends.
From the pastoral to the magical: Theocritus' Idyll 2 takes us into the world of Simaetha, a lovesick woman turning to witchcraft to win back her lost lover. Desire, spells, and the dark side of longing—we'll go through the full poem below. ⬇️
January 31, 2025 at 6:14 PM
From the pastoral to the magical: Theocritus' Idyll 2 takes us into the world of Simaetha, a lovesick woman turning to witchcraft to win back her lost lover. Desire, spells, and the dark side of longing—we'll go through the full poem below. ⬇️
At The Mind on Fire Institute, we let old texts guide us through the great labyrinth of human thought. 🔥📖
Dante led us to Virgil. Virgil led us to Theocritus. Each step reveals new pathways. As we complete each leg of the journey, I’ll update this thread with the next.
Follow along ⬇️
Dante led us to Virgil. Virgil led us to Theocritus. Each step reveals new pathways. As we complete each leg of the journey, I’ll update this thread with the next.
Follow along ⬇️
January 31, 2025 at 5:37 PM
At The Mind on Fire Institute, we let old texts guide us through the great labyrinth of human thought. 🔥📖
Dante led us to Virgil. Virgil led us to Theocritus. Each step reveals new pathways. As we complete each leg of the journey, I’ll update this thread with the next.
Follow along ⬇️
Dante led us to Virgil. Virgil led us to Theocritus. Each step reveals new pathways. As we complete each leg of the journey, I’ll update this thread with the next.
Follow along ⬇️
A song of sorrow and beauty, of Daphnis fading and the world weeping. The first Idyll of Theocritus—pastoral poetry at its most poignant. 🌿🎶⬇️
Theocritus’ Idyll 1 is where pastoral poetry begins—but beneath the shepherd’s song lies a world of grief, myth, and longing. As one shepherd plays his flute, another mourns the death of Daphnis, the lost poet-shepherd. A simple scene, yet as deep as the gods who listen.
January 31, 2025 at 5:30 PM
A song of sorrow and beauty, of Daphnis fading and the world weeping. The first Idyll of Theocritus—pastoral poetry at its most poignant. 🌿🎶⬇️
When love destroys, the world itself unravels. Theocritus gives us a shepherd’s apocalypse: violets bloom on brambles, the hunted become the hunters, and harmony dissolves into chaos. Daphnis' fall is nature’s undoing.
Cease, sweet Muses of the pastoral song,
Cease the song!
Let brambles now bear violets,
And thorns bloom with lovely narcissus:
Let all be reversed, and the pine bear pears.
Daphnis is dying: let the stag drag down the hounds,
Let screech-owls sing to the nightingales.
Cease the song!
Let brambles now bear violets,
And thorns bloom with lovely narcissus:
Let all be reversed, and the pine bear pears.
Daphnis is dying: let the stag drag down the hounds,
Let screech-owls sing to the nightingales.
January 31, 2025 at 5:28 PM
When love destroys, the world itself unravels. Theocritus gives us a shepherd’s apocalypse: violets bloom on brambles, the hunted become the hunters, and harmony dissolves into chaos. Daphnis' fall is nature’s undoing.
Daphnis doesn’t just die—he bids farewell to nature itself. His tragedy isn’t just personal; it’s the rupture of a world where man, beast, and river once lived in harmony. Theocritus gives us the fall of a pastoral hero.
Begin, sweet Muses of the pastoral song,
Begin the song!
O wolves, O jackals, O forest-roaming bears, farewell.
I, Daphnis, shall no longer roam the woods,
Nor the forests, nor the groves.
Farewell, Arethusa,
And you rivers that pour fair water through Thymbris.
Begin the song!
O wolves, O jackals, O forest-roaming bears, farewell.
I, Daphnis, shall no longer roam the woods,
Nor the forests, nor the groves.
Farewell, Arethusa,
And you rivers that pour fair water through Thymbris.
January 31, 2025 at 4:27 AM
Daphnis doesn’t just die—he bids farewell to nature itself. His tragedy isn’t just personal; it’s the rupture of a world where man, beast, and river once lived in harmony. Theocritus gives us the fall of a pastoral hero.
Love humbles even the proudest. Once a master of the fields, now Daphnis envies his own goats—for they love without torment. Theocritus reminds us: in nature, desire is simple. Only humans make it a tragedy.
Begin, sweet Muses of the pastoral song,
Begin the song!
She searches for you. Surely, you are too hopelessly in love!
Once you boasted as a herdsman; now you seem like a goatherd,
A goatherd who, seeing his goats mate,
Sighs because he is not himself a goat.
Begin the song!
She searches for you. Surely, you are too hopelessly in love!
Once you boasted as a herdsman; now you seem like a goatherd,
A goatherd who, seeing his goats mate,
Sighs because he is not himself a goat.
January 31, 2025 at 12:24 AM
Love humbles even the proudest. Once a master of the fields, now Daphnis envies his own goats—for they love without torment. Theocritus reminds us: in nature, desire is simple. Only humans make it a tragedy.
Theocritus reminds us: art must be shared while we live. A song unspoken, a poem unread—once we’re gone, they vanish too. Immortality belongs to what we pass on.
So gladly would I offer it to you,
if you will sing me the song I so long to hear.
No jesting do I offer. Come, my friend,
for such a song will not follow you to Hades,
where all is forgotten.”
if you will sing me the song I so long to hear.
No jesting do I offer. Come, my friend,
for such a song will not follow you to Hades,
where all is forgotten.”
January 30, 2025 at 10:14 PM
Theocritus reminds us: art must be shared while we live. A song unspoken, a poem unread—once we’re gone, they vanish too. Immortality belongs to what we pass on.