And he lean'd, stretch'd out on his shield; but Phœbus rais'd him

straight;

Then had they lay'd on wounds with swords, in use of closer fight,
Unless the heralds, messengers of Gods and godlike men,

The one of Troy, the other Greece, had held betwixt them then
Imperial scepters; when the one (Idæus, grave and wise)
Said to them: Now no more my sonnes: the soveraigne of the skies
Doth love you both, both souldiers are all witness with good right:
But now night layes her mace on earth; 'tis good t' obey the night."

The most finished and highly poetical part in the translation of Pope, is the deservedly famous night-piece at the end of the eighth book. Pope has destroyed the simplicity of the original, but he has added a gorgeous splendour to it, which with some may be considered as an improvement; and the image of the light, glimmering on the walls of the city, is his own, and a very beautiful touch of picturesque description. Nothing, however, can be finer than the noble translation of Chapman, to which it will be seen Pope is much indebted.* "This speech all Trojans did applaud, who from their traces loos'd Their sweating horse, which severally with headstals they repos'd, And fasten'd by their chariots; when others brought from town Fat sheep and oxen instantly; bread, wine, and hewed down Huge store of wood; the winds transfer'd into the friendly sky Their supper's savour; to the which they sate delightfully And spent all night in open field, fires round about them shin'd As when about the silver moon, when air is free from wind,

And stars shine clear, to whose sweet beams, high prospects, and the brows

Of all steep hills and pinnacles, thrust up themselves for shows;
And even the lowly vallies joy to glitter in their sight,

When the unmeasur'd firmament bursts to disclose her light,

And all the signs in heaven are seen, that glad the shepherd's heart;
So many fires disclos'd their beams, made by the Trojan part
Before the face of Ilion, and her bright turrets show'd.

A thousand courts of guard kept fires; and every guard allow'd"
Fifty stout men, by whom their horse eat oats and hard white corn,
And all did wilfully expect the silver-throned morn."

"The troops exulting sat in order round, And beaming fires illumin'd all the ground.

Chapman.

* As an instance, the " shining vales" are not in the original, but

taken from Chapman's "vallies."

As when the moon, refulgent lamp of night!
O'er heaven's clear azure spreads her sacred light,
When not a breath disturbs the deep serene,
And not a cloud o'ercasts the solemn scene;
Around her throne the vivid planets roll,
And stars unnumber'd gild the glowing pole,
O'er the dark trees a yellower verdure shed,
And tip with silver ev'ry mountain's head;
Then shine the vales, the rocks in prospect rise,
A flood of glory bursts from all the skies:
The conscious swains, rejoicing in the sight,
Eye the blue vault, and bless the useful light.
So many flames before proud Ilion blaze,
And lighten glimm'ring Xanthus with their rays:
The long reflections of the distant fires
Gleam on the walls, and tremble on the spires.
A thousand piles the dusky horrors gild,
And shoot a shady lustre o'er the field.
Full fifty guards each flaming pile attend,

Whose umber'd arms, by fits, thick flashes send:
Loud neigh the coursers o'er their heaps of corn,
And ardent warriors wait the rising morn."

Pope.

We will now proceed to make a few selections from the Odyssey. Chapman here employs a different kind of metre from the fourteen-syllable lines of the Iliad. The metre of the Odyssey is like the heroic measure only, in its rhyme and its number of syllables. In all other respects, in the hands of Chapman, it has the freedom of blank verse. And in reading. it, as well as the Iliad, the reader must not depend for aid too much on the melody of the verse.

The first extract we shall make is the description of the metamorphoses of Proteus, which we think Chapman has delineated with much more nature and liveliness than his successor in the task; who, it must always be remembered, had Chapman ever open before him.

"But now I'le shew thee all the old God's slights;
He first will number, and take all the sights
Of those, his guards, that on the shore arrives.
When having view'd, and told them forth by fives,
He takes place in their midst, and then doth sleep,
Like to a shepherd 'midst his flock of sheep.
In his first sleep, call up your hardiest cheer
Vigor and violence, and hold him there,
In spite of all his strivings to be gone.
He then will turn himself to every one

Of all things that in earth creep and respire,
In water swim, or shine in heavenly fire.

Yet still hold you him firm; and much the more
Press him from passing. But when, as before,
(When sleep first bound his powers) his form ye see,
Then cease your force and the old hero free;
And then demand, which heaven-born it may be
That so afflicts you, hindering your retreat,
And free sea-passage to your native seat;
This said, she div'd into the wavy seas."

"With me repair; and from thy warrior-band
Three chosen chiefs of dauntless soul command:
Let their auxiliar force befriend the toil;
For strong the God, and perfected in guile.
Stretch'd on the shelly shore, he first surveys
The flouncing herd ascending from the seas;
Their number summ'd, repos'd in sleep profound
The scaly charge their guardian God surround:
So with his battening flocks the careful swain
Abides pavilion'd on the grassy plain.
With powers united, obstinately bold
Invade him, couch'd amid the scaly fold:
Instant he wears, elusive of the rape,
The mimic force of every savage shape;
Or glides with liquid lapse a murmuring stream,
Or, wrapt in flame, he glows at every limb.
Yet still retentive, with redoubled might,

Through each vain passive form constrain his flight
But, when, his native shape resum'd, he stands
Patient of conquest, and your cause demands;
The cause that urg'd the bold attempt declare,
And soothe the vanquish'd with a victor's prayer.
The bands relax'd, implore the seer to say
What godhead interdicts the watery way?
Who, straight propitious, in prophetic strain
Will teach you to repass
th' unmeasur'd main.

She ceas'd, and bounding from the shelfy shore,

Chapman.

Round the descending nymph the waves resounding roar."

Pope.

It is unnecessary for us to point out the original dramatic touches of the following extract from the second book of the Odyssey. Pallas has prevailed upon Telemachus to sail in search of his father. He returns from the assembly which he

had called to deliberate upon the measure, where he had been insulted by the suitors, to make preparations.

"This spake Jove's daughter, Pallas; whose voice heard,

No more Telemachus her charge deferr'd;

But hasted home, and, sad at heart, did see

Amidst his hall th' insulting wooers flea

Goats, and roast swine. 'Mongst whom Antinous

Careless (discovering in Telemachus

The grudge to see them) laugh'd; met, took his hand,
And said, High spoken! with the mind so mann'd;

Come, do as we do; put not up your spirits
With these low trifles; nor our loving merits
In gall of any hateful purpose steep;

But eat egregiously, and drink as deep.

The things thou think'st on, all, at full, shall be
By th' Achives thought on, and perform'd to thee:
Ship, and choice oars, that in a trise will land
Thy hasty feet on heav'nly Pylos' sand;

And at the fame of thy illustrious sire'

He answer'd: Men, whom pride doth so inspire,
Are no fit consorts for our humble guest;
Nor are constrain'd men merry at their feast.
Is't not enough that all this time ye have
Op't in your intrailes my chief goods a grave,
And, while I was a child, made me partake?"

From forth Antinous' hand. The rest, the day
Spent thro' the house with banquets, some with jests,
And some with railings, dignified their feasts.
To whom a jest-proud youth the wit began:
'Telemachus will kill us ev'ry man.
From Sparta, or the very Pylian sand,
He will raise aids to his impetuous hand.
O he affects it strangely! Or he means

To search Ephyras' fat shores; and from thence
Bring deathfull poisons, which amongst our bowls
Will make a gen'ral shipwracke of our souls.'
Another said, 'Alas! who knows but he,
Once gone, and erring like his sire at sea,
May perish like him, far from aid of friends?

And so he makes us work; for all the ends
Left of his goods here, we shall share; the house
Left to his mother, and her chosen spouse.'

Thus they while he a room ascended, high
And large, built by his father; where did lie
Gold and brass heap'd up; and in coffers were
Rich robes; great store of odorous oils; and there
Stood tuns of sweet old wines along the wall;
Neate and divine drink, kept to cheer withall
Ulysses old, if he return'd again

From labours fatal to him to sustaine

The doors of plank were; their close exquisite,
Kept with a double key; and day and night
A woman lock'd within; and that was she
Who all trust had for her sufficiency."

And sable shadowes slid through every streete,
When forth they launch'd; and soon abord did bring
All arms, and choice of every needfull thing

That fits a well-rigg'd ship. The goddess

*

*

*

Strait to the house she hasted; and sweet sleep
Pour'd on each wooer; which so laid in steep
Their drowsy temples, that each brow did nod,
As all were drinking, and each hand his load
(The cup) let fail. All start up and to bed;
Nor more would watch, when sleep so surfeited
Their leaden eyelids."

Chapman.

Compare the two following descriptions of Calypso's bower. It is possible, that many of our readers will not agree with us in this, and in other instances, in our entire preference of Chapman; but they cannot, we think, but feel some portion of pleasure in having two such pictures as these presented to them. One of them is at least nearly inaccessible to the common reader, from the extreme scarcity of the translation of Chapman.

"A sun-lime fire upon the hearth did flame;
The matter precious and divine the frame;
Of cedar cleft, and incense was the pile,
That breath'd an odour round about the isle.

Herself was seated in an inner room,

Whom sweetly sing he heard; and at her loom
About a curious web; whose yarn she threw
In, with a golden shuttle. A grove grew
In endless spring about her cavern round,
With odorous cypresse, pines and poplars crown'd,