His quiver o'er his ample shoulders threw;
His bow twang'd, and his arrows rattled as they flew.
Black as a stormy night, he ranged around
The tents, and compass'd the devoted ground.
Then with full force his deadly bow he bent,
And feather'd fates among the mules and sumpters sent,
The essay of rage ; on faithful dogs the next;
And last in human hearts his arrows fixed.
The god nine days the Greeks at rovers killed,
Nine days the camp with funeral fires was filled."

Apollo heard his injured suppliant's cry;
Down rush'd the vengeful warrior from the sky;
Across his breast the glittering bow he flung,
And at his back the well-stored quiver hung:
(His arrows rattled as he urged his flight.)
În clouds he flew, concealid from mortal sight,
Then took his stand the well-aim'd shaft to throw;
Fierce sprang the string, and twang'd the silver bow.
The dogs and mules his first keen arrows slew;
Amid the ranks, the next more fatal flew,
A deathful dart. The funeral piles around,
For ever blazed on the devoted ground.”


Thus Chryses pray'd, the favouring power attends,
And from Olympus' lofty top descends.
Bent was his bow, the Grecian hearts to wound,
Fierce as he moved his silver shafts resound.
Breathing revenge, a sudden night he spread,
And gloomy darkness roll'd around his head.
The fleet in view, he twang'd bis deadly bow,
And hissing, fly the feather'd fates below.
On mules and dogs, the infection first began,
And last, the vengeful arrows fix'd in man.
For nine long nights, through all the dusky air,
The pyres thick flaming, shot a dismal glare."


“ Such pray'r he made, and it was heard. The God,
Down from Olympus, with his radiant bow,
And his full quiver o'er his shoulder slung,
March'd in his anger; shaken as he moved,
His rattling arrows told of his approach.
Like night he came, and seated with the ships
In view, dispatched an arrow. Clang'd the cord,
Dread-sounding, bounding on the silver bow,
Mules first, and dogs, he struck, but aiming soon
Against the Greeks themselves, his bitter shafts
Smote them. The frequent piles blazed night and day.”


“ Thus Chryses pray'd : his pray'r Apollo heard,
And heavenly vengeance kindled at the word.
He from Olympus' brow, in fury bore
His bow and quiver's death-denouncing store.
The arrows, rattling round his viewless flight,
Clang'd, as the god descended, dark as night.
Then Phoebus stay'd, and from the fleet apart,
Launch'd on the host the inevitable dart;
And ever as he wing'd the shaft below,
Dire was the twanging of the silver bow.
Mules and swift dogs first fell, then far around
Man felt the god's immedicable wound.
Corse lay on corse, to fire succeeded fire,
As death unweary'd fed the funeral pyre."


Here again, old Chapman may be “ In clouds he few, concealed from morsaid, on the whole, to be excellent. tal sight," But Homer does not shew us Apollo is an absolute and manifest lie; for --that translator does--in the act of Homer saw him, and so do we, and enduing himself with his bow and quiver. We see from the first the

so did Tickel himself, unless he

were bat-blind, which he was not, “ heavenly archer," (these are Mr Milman's words,) equipped for re

but, on the contrary, bad a couple venge. “ His silver bow twang'd,"

of good sharp eyes in his head.

On Pope's translation it is not posis indeed wofully inadequate, and sible to bestow much praise. " hard-loosing hand," though rather expressive, and shewing that old “ Bent was his bow the Grecian hearts to Chapman may have been a toxopho

wound,lite as well as Ascham, nor yet un- is false and feeble. « Resound" Homeric, is not in the original, and should have been “ resounded,” we therefore gives offence to us who suspect; though such capricious belong to the King's Body-Guard. change of tense is, we know, a bad

Dryden sadly mistakes and mars trick, common among the poets of the majestic meaning of

Pope's school. "Εκλαγξαν δ' άρ' οισοί επ' ώμων χωομένοιο, " And gloomy darkness gather'd round Αυτο κινηθέντος:

his head,”

is idle tautology. “ Twang'd his “ His bow twang'd and his arrows rat- deadly bow,” not literal, where litetled as they flew !”

rality was demanded; and “feathered

fates” may be restored, without Pope This is an unlucky blunder-and being the poorer, to Dryden. it led him into another,

“ For nine long nights, through all the Then with full force his deadly bow he dusky air, bent!"

The pyres thick-flaming shot a dismal

glare,” As much as to say, we presume, that though before his “bow twang'd”

are very noble lines; but the

pyres it had not been bent with full force.

burned by day as well as night“ Glorious John" did not see that it

though by day they were doubtless had not before been bent at all.

not so visible. Homer left us to see Why should it, till he had taken

them of ourselves during both ; but his station apart from the ships?

since Pope bas grandly directed our “ Feather'd fates” are fine things

eyes to the night-imagery, we owe but not in the passage.

« The him gratitude. Greeks at rovers killed,is a piece

Cowper, on the whole, is good, of pedantic impertinence-which forcible; but owing to some rather archers will understand and for

commonish words, we fear, not which, could Homer have foreseen

sufficiently dignified for Apollo. it, he would have longed even in

“ Marched in his anger,” is raw-reHadesto have broken Dryden's head.

cruitish; though raw recruits are Tickel's translation is nearly a

often formidable fellows; and “ told total failure. Vengeful “ warrior," of his approach, is very prosaic. is somewhat impertinent.

After it, only think of Milton's “ far.

off his coming shone !" The attempt “ The well-aimed shafts to throw,”

at imitative harmony or discord in

the singular line about "dread-soundsuggests a suspicion that our friend ing bounding,” we confess we like was thinking of a “ stone bicker;"

- but liking is not loving, nor loving yet, strange to say, the next line is admiring, nor admiring astonishment, more truely Homeric than, perhaps, nor astonishment exultation. any other single line in any of the Sotheby is excellent—but not all other tranlations, and is almost per- with all these bell-rocks and beat

we hoped he might have been fect,

con lights—to shew him his path on “ Fierce sprung the string, and twang'd the waters. “ Kindled at the word,” the silver bow,"

is sudden and sharp, but quaint and incorrect. “ Then Phæbus stayed,” We ask you again, what effect does has the same merit and the same de- it produce in your imagination ? Not merit. We do not like the repetition surely that of night over the whole of “ dart” in “shaft.” “Immedicable sky-not utter concealment of the wound” and “inevitable dart,” have God in a darkness not appertaining a sameness of sound not satisfactory to himself, but in which he is inerely to our ears at the close of lines so enshrouded, as are the heavens and near each other—nor is there any earth? No, no, no, that cannot have thing answering to either epithet in been intended by Homer. But lloHomer,

mer, we think, in the inspiration of “ Dire was the twanging of the silver bow,' his religious awe, suddenly saw

Apollo, the very God of Light, chanis admirable in its almost literal sim- ging in the passion--the agony of plicity.

rage-intoan Apparition the reverse, “ Corse lay on corse, to fire succeeded the opposite, of his own lustrousness, fire,

-undergoing a dreadful TransfiguraAnd death unwearied fed the funeral tion. It was not as if Day became pyre,"

Night, but that the God of Day was are in themselves two strong lines- wrath-changed into the Night Godbut are they both equal in power and almost as if Apollo had become glory, to

Pluto. Milton must have understood

the image so, for he has transferred αιεί δε πυραι νεκύων καίοντο θαμειαί ; ;

it—not the change-but the image No.

itself, to his most dreadful personage, There is one half line in the ori. “ Black it stood as Night”-in the ginal of which we have yet said no- daylight, you know, and therefore thing—and which loses its identity was that Foul Blotch so terrible. in some of these translations, and Try then each translation separatescarcely preserves it in others. What ly, by this the test of truth, and effect does it produce on your ima- judge for yourself which is good, gination ?

which bad, and which indifferent. ο δ' ής νυκτί έoικώς:

We should like to hear your opi

nion. Old Chapman renders it-rightly so Meanwhile, before we proceed to far, for so far literally

another passage, only hear old Hob“Like the Night, he ranged the host.” bes, who, perhaps you may not know

it, translated the Iliau and the Odyssey. Dryden

“ His poetry, as well as Ogilvie's," " Black as a stormy night, he ranged (which we have never chanced to around

see,) says Pope truly, “ is too mean The tents."

for criticism." Pope

“ His prayer was granted by the Deity;

Who with his silver bow and arrows keen, Breathing revenge, a sudden night he Descended from Olympus silently, spread,

In likeness of the sable Night unseen." And gloomy darkness roll’d around bis

In this stealthiness there seems to us head,"

something meanly suspicious. True, which last line we have already that in scripture we read of death abused. Tickel, idiotically as coming like a thief in the night-but said

that was not said for the sake of subIn clouds he flew, conceald from mor.

limity, but to shew us how we are, in tal sight."

our imagined deepest home-felt secu

rity, unsafe from that murderous Cowper best of all, and perfectly, wretch Death, or Williams. But “ Like night he came;"

Homer being a heathen meant no

uncivil scorn of Apollo-whereas and Sotheby

Hobbes converts him into a crackso As the God descended, dark as night,"

“ His bow and quiver both behind him —which is not so good as Cowper,

hung, only because not literally. Homer. The arrows chink as often as he jogs!"



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We come now to that immortal parent effort, has kept up, throughquarrel

out all the furious injustice of these “ Betwixt Atrides, king of men, and

heroes to each other, such strong Thetis' godlike son;"

sympathy with both, that though

sometimes shaken, it is never broken; and are thankful to learn that we

and that,during the course of the quarourselves have never felt tempted, rel, though assuredly our hearts beat by a rash ambition, to dare to try faster and louder towards Achilles, to translate it. Never did Wrath they ever and anon go half over to so naturally, we may say rightfully, the side of Agamemnon ? He swore -speaking of chiefs who were any but to deprive his antagonist of that thing but Christian-flame up, from blessing of which himself was about a single spark into a roaring flame, to be, as he thought, robbed—the enwithin magnanimous hearts. Ere yet joyment of love and beauty. What he knew what Chryses was about to signifies right, or the observance or divulge as the cause of the Plague— violation of right, when disappointunless, indeed, he had a sort of pre- ment, which in the soul of a king is saging forethought, that it somehow equal to a subject's despair, has darkor other regarded the king-Achile ed conscience and corrupted will, and les, by promising the priest immu- seeks refuge in revenge ? And what nity from all punishment, placed signifies blood-thirsty heroism, that himself in the spirit and posture of has been exulting in victorious fields a foe to Agamemnon. That Atrides of death to the soul in which it has should have been smitten with sud- burned, when its sweetest meed is raden rage against the supplicant Fa- vished out of its embrace, the light of ther, we cannot wonder; for we soon woman's eyes, and the fragrance of have his own word for it, that Chry- woman's bosom, that had captivated ses was now as dear, that is, dearer

the conqueror, and bound him withto him than ever had been Clytem- in his night-tent, in divinest thralnestra in her golden and virgin days. dom, the slave of a slave ? Patriotism, Kings, heroic and unheroic, are sel- glory, fealty, are all overpowered by dom subjects to right reason; and, pride raging in the sense of degradain his towering passion with the tion, injustice, and wrong, done to it, slow-footed Chryses, his looks could openly beneath the sun, and before have been none of the sweetest to. all eyes; and down is flung the goldwards the swift-footed Achilles. studded sceptre on the earth, that the That fiercest of the fierce, took him clash may ratify the oath sworn to up at once, on his first tyrannical Jove, that never more shall the hand deviation from justice-thence in that swayed it draw the sword, stant revenge threatened not vain though the hero-slaughtering Hector ly by him whose will was law-the should drive Greece to her ships, and pride of unmatched power in one, Troy be triumphant over her flying conflicting with the more than pride sons. Is not this a Quarrel indeed of of the invincible valour of the other demigods, and who could have sung —the indignation of habitual dignity it but Homer? on this side, watching the character We cannot quote all the translaof the rage of natural passionateness tions of the progress of this Wrath on that—till each seemed equally the up to the intervention of Minerva, fount of the stormy light that redly and therefore we shall quote none of discoloured the countenances of both them—but go to the passage in which heroes—and king and prince shone the goddess reveals herself to the and shook alike in the perturbation goddess-born, and so far calms the of their savage spirits, the intolerant roar within his soul, as does a sudand untamed sons of headstrong and den lull for a while that of the sea. headlong nature.

Agamemnon has just said—as DryIs it not amazing to think of it, den makes him say, “Briseis shall be after we lay down this dramatic mine." scene, how Homer, without any ap

" Thetis' son at this stood vext, his heart
Bristled his boson, and two ways drew his discursive part,


If from his thigh bis sharp sword drawn, he should make room about
Atrides' person, slaughtering bim, or sit his anger out,
And curb his spirit. While these thoughts strived in his blood and mind,
And he his sword drew, down from heaven Athenia stoop'd, and shined
About his temples, being sent by the ivory-wristed queen,
Saturnia, who out of her heart had ever loving been,
And careful of the good of both. She stood behind, and took
Achilles by the yellow curls, and only gave her look
To him appearance; not a man of all the rest could see.
He turning back his eye, amaze shook every faculty ;
Yet straight he knew her by her eyes, so terrible they were
Sparkling with ardour".

“ At this the impatient hero sourly smiled ;
His heart impetuous in his bosom boil'd,
And, justled by two tides of equal sway,
Stood for a while suspended in his way.
Betwixt his reason and his rage untamed,
One whisper'd soft, and one aloud reclaim'd;
That only counsell’d to the safer side,
This to the sword his ready band apply'd.
Unpunish'd to support the affront was hard,
Nor easy was the attempt to force the guard.
But soon the thirst of vengeance fired his blood,
Half-shone his falchion, and half-sheath'd it stood.
In that nice moment, Pallas, from above,
Commission'd by the imperial wife of Jove,
Descended swift : (the white-arm’d queen was loath
The fight should follow, for she favour'd both:)
Just as in act he stood, in clouds enshrined,
Her hand she fasten'd on his hair behind ;
Then backward by his yellow curl she drew;
To him, and him alone, confess'd in view.
Tamed by superior force, he turn'd his eyes
Aghast at first, and stupid with surprise.”


“ Achilles heard, with grief and rage oppressid,
His heart swell’d high, and labour'd in his breast.
Distracting thoughts by turns his bosom rul'd,
Now fir'd by wratb, and now by reason cool'd :
That prompts his hand to draw the deadly sword,
Force thro’ the Greeks, and pierce their baughty lord :
This whispers soft, his vengeance to control,
And calm the rising tempest of his soul.
Just as in anguish of suspense he stay'd,
While half.unsheath'd appear'd the glittering blade,
Minerva swift descended from above,
Sent by the sister and the wife of Jove;
For both the princes claim'd her equal care.
Behind she stood, and by the golden hair
Achilles seiz'd; to him alone confess'd,
A sable cloud conceal'd her from the rest.
He sees, and sudden to the goddess cries,
Known by the flames that sparkle from her eyes.”

“He ended, and Achilles' bosom swell'd
With indignation ; raeking doubts ensu'd,
And sore perplex'd him, whether forcing wide
A passage through them, with his blade unsheath'd,
To lay Atrides breathless at his foot,
Or to command his stormy spirit down.
So doubted he, and undecided yet,
Stood drawing forth his falchion huge; when, lo!
Down sent by Juno, to whom both alike

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