translations interspersed. Where the design is unapparent, and the work fragmentary, much of the taste of a commentator is superseded; and where the hoar of extreme antiquity has hallowed the edifice, criticism is awed into silence.

Let us come into the company of the herd of poets, and, great and glorious spirits though they be, we shall breathe more freely, and judge less sparingly; but-there again, as sure as we look up, that grand old bust, blind and fillet-bound, is looking on us as we are writing; it is the concentration of human majesty, the type of the age of heroes; surely it has descended, with the poems, to bless our libraries with its venerable presence; and, be the critic's doubts what they may, that brow meditated, that mouth uttered, these ancient songs.

Reader, examine as thou wilt-judge as thou canst-convince as thou mayest,-but in thy heart of hearts' never call in question the identity or truth of THE IDEAL HOMER!

H

CHAPTER IV.

Book IX.

THE ODYSSEY.

He bade me tell it

Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances,

Of moving accidents by flood and field;

Of hair-breadth 'scapes i'th' imminent deadly breach;

Of being taken by the insolent foe,

And sold to slavery: of my redemption thence,

And portance in my travels' history;

Wherein of antres vast, and deserts wild,

Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven

It was my hint to speak, such was the process;

And of the Cannibals that each other eat,

The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads
Do grow beneath their shoulders.

THUS spoke Othello, and thus also Odysseus. We left him
reciting his history before the court of Alcinous. First, he
tells them, the wind bore him from Troy on the coast of the
Ciconians; where, by what right he does not say, (for piracy
and robbery were honourable in those days,) he destroyed a
city, and carried off the women and goods, having slain the
male inhabitants. He seems to have been cursed with very
injudicious companions: for after this exploit he cannot per-
suade them to set sail with their booty, but they will fain stay
there and enjoy it. This draws down the vengeance of the
neighbours; and he loses the first instalment of his friends, in
number six from each ship. He proceeds-

Thence sailed we, grieving in our inmost spirit,
Though safe ourselves, for loss of our dear comrades.
Nor did the ships depart, before in order

To each lost friend farewell had thrice been spoken.

Very beautiful is the next adventure, and very beautifully has it been enlarged upon by one who might be the greatest poet

of the coming age-Alfred Tennyson. We shall make no scruple of quoting largely from his admirable poem, the Lotoseaters; no translation of ours could equal the rich melody of the following stanzas:

'Courage,' he said, and pointed toward the land,
"This mountain wave will roll us shoreward soon.'
In the afternoon they came unto a land

In which it seemed always afternoon.

All round the coast the languid air did swoon,
Breathing like one that hath a weary dream.
Full faced above the valley stood the moon ;*
And, like a downward smoke, the slender stream
Along the cliff to fall, and pause, and fall did seem.

A land of streams-some like a downward smoke,
Slow dropping veils of thinnest lawn did go;
And some through wavering lights and shadows broke,
Rolling a slumberous sheet of foam below.

They saw the gleaming river's sea-ward flow
From the inner land: far off, three mountain tops,
Three thunder-cloven thrones of oldest snow,
Stood sunset-flush'd: and, dew'd with showery drops,
Upclomb the shadowy pine above the woven copse.

The charmed sunset lingered low adown

In the red West; through mountain clefts the dale
Was seen far inland, and the yellow down
Bordered with palm, and many a winding vale
And meadow, set with slender galingale ;—

A land where all things always seemed the same!
And round about the keel, with faces pale,
Dark faces pale against that rosy flame,
The mild-eyed melancholy Lotos-eaters came.

Branches they bore of that enchanted stem,
Laden with flowers and fruit, whereof they gave

To each; but whoso did receive of them,

And taste, to him the gushing of the wave

In the printed copy," About the valley burned the golden moon;" we much prefer

the line in the text, which was in the original MS.

Far far away did seem to mourn and rave
On alien shores; and if his fellow spake,
His voice was thin, as voices from the grave;
And deep asleep he seemed, yet all awake,
And music in his ears his beating heart did make.

They sat them down upon the yellow sand
Between the sun and moon upon the shore;
And sweet it was to dream of Father-land,
Of child, and wife, and slave; but evermore
Most weary seemed the sea, weary the oar,
Weary the wandering fields of barren foam.
Then some one said, 'We will return no more:'
And all at once they sang,' Our island home

Is far beyond the wave: we will no longer roam.'

The resolve however is broken, for Odysseus forces them into their ships, and binds them to their benches; ordering those who had not tasted the Lethean fruit to make all way. The burden of the adventures recurs after each with melancholy sound;

Thence we sailed further, grieving in our spirits.

And this time well they might, for their next sojourn is with a host who does not dine with them, but dines off themeven the well known Cyclops. Here is the description of them and their land:

Thence to the region of the haughty Cyclops
Came we, who trusting to their yearly produce
Sow not the land, nor plough; but without labour
Grow all things for them, wheat and plenteous barley,
And vines which bear them wine in swelling bunches,
Dew'd by the rain of heaven. No markets have they,
Nor full assemblies, nor the seats of justice;
But on the heads of lofty mountains dwell they,
In hollow caves; they make their laws and customs
Each for his own, and care not for another.
Before the harbour of the land, an island
Lies off, hard by, and wooded; here are running
Wild goats unnumbered; for no human footstep
Scares them, nor chase of hunter; on the mountain

They range at pleasure. There no folds nor shepherds
Are seen, nor tillage; for the Cyclops build not
Sea-passing ships, to wander to far regions;

Good is the island, and each fruit would render
In its due season: to the shore fair meadows
Reach down, soft, and well watered, fit for vineyards.
Smooth is the soil; deep crops would tire the reaper.
A well locked harbour is there, where no mooring
Is needed, nor to cast the steadying anchor,
But one may land, and wait the seaward breezes.
At the creek-head a spring of clearest water
Flows from a eave, edged round with wavy poplars.
Thither we sailed, as some kind Power directed,
In the dark night; nor could we see before us,
For a thick mist had closed around our vessel,
Nor did the moon shine out, but clouds concealed her.
None knew that land was near; nor did the breakers
Show their white foam, until our ships were stranded.

Then they refresh themselves, and in the morning obliging nymphs bring goats to them that they might eat. They look over into the land of the Cyclops, and see their dwellings smoking, and hear their voices and the bleating of their flocks. The next night past, Odysseus is stung by the traveller's gadfly, curiosity. He must go with his ship and his companions, leaving the rest in the island, and see these Cyclops. They set off—a black Monday for some of them! The first thing that greets their sight in the new land is a cave, high, and embowered with laurel: surrounded by sheep and goats lying about. All this was very pretty; but there lay also a man sleeping there, and what a man! if that could be called so, which was not like (says Odysseus) common men who eat bread and butter, but more resembled a shaggy top of some hill seen above others from afar.

the

Doubtless Odysseus had heard and sung many a song on power of wine.

• Punch cures the gout, the colic, and the phthysick,'

is not a modern strain alone. Bethinking himself of this and