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PART I.

FROM THE GREEK POETS.

15

15

HOMER.

[About 950 B. C.]

Or the life, age, and country of Homer, though much has been written, little or nothing is ascertained. The more probable belief seems to have been, that he was an Asiatic Greek, and lived about the middle of the ninth century before Christ. But, however doubtful his exact time or place of birth, not a question ever arose among the ancients as to the existence of the man, or as to his having been the sole author of the great works which immortalize his name. It was reserved for the vanity and scepticism of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries to affect a contrary opinion, and to contend, that Homer was not Homer, or that, instead of one, there had been twenty Homers.

Assuming that the art of writing was unknown in Greece and her colonies, at the supposed date of the Iliad and Odyssey, and thence arguing that so many thousand verses, as constitute those volumes, could never have been conceived or carried in the head of one man, these philologers arrived at the startling hypothesis or conclusion, that the Iliad and Odyssey were the works, not of a single mind, but of several distinct authors, collected by Pisistratus, and all pieced and quilted together, so as to form two great patchwork wholes!

whole argument,) was unknown at the supposed date of the Iliad and Odyssey? We know that it had long existed among other, and not far distant, nations; we know that it existed among the Egyptians, the Hebrews, and the Phoenicians; with the latter of whom, at least, the Greeks had enjoyed long and intimate communication, and with whose arts and artisans Homer himself seems to have been most familiar. But then "Writing, (rejoin these objectors,) if it did exist, existed in its rudest state, and was known only to a few." The same, too, might be said of the art during the times of Chaucer and Gower, yet who would argue from thence that those fathers of English poetry were ignorant of their letters?

Nothing is easier than to be on the negative side of a question. "If a man (says Dr. Johnson) were to deny that Canada was taken, you could not reduce him to an absurdity. He might support his denial by very plausible arguments." And an eminent scholar and logician of the present day, has carried out the Doctor's idea by an ingenious piece of humour, in which he argues that there never was such a man as Napoleon Bonaparte!

* Alphabetic letters, as we learn from profane history, were brought from Phoenicia into Greece about 1500 years B. C.; and we have the authority of Scripture for knowing that they existed among the Hebrews in the earliest time, and long before the age of Homer. See Exod. xxxii. 15, 16; Deut. xvii. 18; xxxi. 9, 19; 2 Sam. xi. 14; 1 Kings xxi. 9; 2 Kings v. 6. For Homer's acquaintance with the Phænicians, and with the arts of

Now, to say nothing of internal evidences to the contrary,-of coherence and symmetry of parts, of consistency of characters,-of unity of style, plot, interest, imagery, and thought,*-to say nothing of these and numberless other circumstances, (each in itself sufficient to stamp both Iliad and Odyssey as the product of one vast, original, and master mind)-leaving all these topics to others, I would only request the judicious and candid reader to inquire what" folded tablet," of which Bellerophon was made bearer evidence the anti-Homerian critics have adduced in support of their premises; what single, solitary proof, or even presumption, that the art of writing (for on that, and on that alone, rests their

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embroidery and sculpture, as practised by them, see II.

vi. 289, and xxiii. 740, &c. I have said nothing of that passage in the VI. Book, where Homer speaks of the

from Prætus to the king of Lycia, on account of the dif-
ference amongst critics as to the precise meaning of the
words Enμera λvype. I subjoin however, the lines them-
selves, leaving it to the common sense of the reader to
interpret them as he sees proper :

Πέμπε δέ μιν Λυκίηνδε, πόρεν δ' όγε σηματα λυγρά,
Γράψας ἐν πίνακι πτυκτῳ θυμοφθορα πολλα.

L. vi. v. 158.

To Lycia the devoted youth be sent,
With tablets seal'd, that told his dire intent.-Pope.

FROM THE ILIAD OF HOMER.

Book I.

CONTENTION OF ACHILLES AND AGAMEMNON.

In the war of Troy, the Greeks having sacked some of the neighbouring towns and taken two beautiful captives, Chryseïs and Briseïs, allotted the first to Agamemnon and the last to Achilles. Chryses, the father of Chryseïs, and a priest of Apollo, seeks to ransom his daughter, but being insolently refused by Agamemnon, entreats for vengeance from his god, who inflicts a pestilence on the Greeks. Achilles calls a council and encourages Chalcas to declare the cause of it, who attributes it to Agamemnon's treatment of Chryses. The king being obliged to send back his captive, enters into a furious contest with Achilles, and in his absolute authority as chief commander of the Greeks, seizes on Briseïs. Achilles, in discontent, withdraws himself and his troops from the Grecian army, and complains to his mother Thetis, who supplicates Jupiter to render Agamemnon sensible of the wrong done to her son by giving victory to the Trojans.

ACHILLES' wrath, to Greece the direful spring
Of woes unnumber'd, heavenly goddess sing!
That wrath which hurl'd to Pluto's gloomy reign
The souls of mighty chiefs untimely slain;
Whose limbs unburied on the naked shore,
Devouring dogs and hungry vultures tore;
Since great Achilles and Atrides strove.

Till time shall rifle every youthful grace,
And age dismiss her from my cold embrace,
In daily labours at the loom employ'd,
Or doom'd to deck the bed she once enjoy'd.
Hence, then, to Argos shall the maid retire,
Far from her native soil and weeping sire.

The trembling priest along the shore return'd,
And in the anguish of a father mourn'd.
Disconsolate, not daring to complain,
Silent he wander'd by the sounding main,
Till, safe at distance, to his god he prays,
The god who darts around the world his rays-
O Smintheus! sprung from fair Latona's line,
Thou guardian power of Cilla the divine,
Thou source of light whom Tenedos adores,
And whose bright presence gilds thy Chrysa's

shores

If e'er with wreaths I hung thy sacred fane,
Or fed the flames with fat of oxen slain,
God of the silver bow! thy shafts employ,
Avenge thy servant, and the Greeks destroy.
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 mov'd, his silver shafts resound.
Breathing revenge, a sudden night he spread,
And gloomy darkness roll'd around his head.

Such was the sov'reign doom, and such the will The fleet in view, he twang'd his deadly bow,

of Jove!

Declare, O Muse! in what ill-fated hour Sprung the fierce strife; from what offended power?

Latona's son a dire contagion spread,

And hissing fly the feather'd fates below.
On mules and dogs th' 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.

And heap'd the camp with mountains of the But ere the tenth revolving day was run

dead;

The king of men his reverend priest defied
And for the king's offence the people died.

For Chryses sought with costly gifts to gain
His captive daughter from the victor's chain.
Suppliant the venerable father stands,
Apollo's awful ensigns grace his hands:
By these he begs: and lowly bending down
Extends the sceptre and the laurel crown.
He sued to all, but chief implored for grace
The brother kings of Atreus' royal race.

Ye kings and warriors! may your vows be crown'd

And Troy's proud walls lie level with the ground.
May Jove restore you, when your toils are o'er,
Safe to the pleasures of your native shore.
But oh! relieve a wretched parent's pain
And give Chryseïs to these arms again:
If mercy fail, yet let my presents move,
And dread avenging Phœbus, son of Jove.

The Greeks in shouts their joint assent declare,
The priest to reverence, and release the fair.
Not so Atrides: he, with kingly pride,
Repuls'd the sacred sire, and thus replied:
Hence, on thy life, and fly these hostile plains,
Nor ask, presumptuous, what the king detains;
Hence, with thy laurel crown, and golden rod,
Nor trust too far those ensigns of thy god.
Mine is thy daughter, priest, and shall remain;
And prayers, and tears, and bribes, shall plead in
vain,

Inspir'd by Juno, Thetis' godlike son
Conven'd to council all the Grecian train;
For much the goddess mourn'd her heroes slain.
The assembly seated, rising o'er the rest,
Achilles thus the king of men address'd:
"Why leave we not the fatal Trojan shore
And measure back the seas we cross'd before?
The plague destroying whom the sword would

spare,

'Tis time to save the few remains of war.
But let some prophet or some sacred sage
Explore the cause of great Apollo's rage;
Or learn the wasteful vengeance to remove
By mystic dreams-for dreams descend from

Jove.

If broken vows this heavy curse has laid,
Let altars smoke, and hecatombs be paid:
So heaven, atoned, shall dying Greece restore,
And Phœbus dart his burning shafts no more.

He said, and sat: when Chalcas thus replied:
Chalcas the wise, the Grecian priest and guide-
That sacred seer, whose comprehensive view
The past, the present, and the future knew:
Uprising slow, the venerable sage
Thus spoke the prudence and the fears of age:

Beloved of Jove, Achilles! wouldst thou know Why angry Phoebus bends his fated bow? First give thy faith, and plight a prince's word Of sure protection by thy power and sword. For I must speak what wisdom would conceal, And truths invidious to the great, reveal.

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