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• * * I * !• ^ J

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GIFT OF

Dr, Horace Ivle

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THE AFTER-SCHOOL SERIES.

PEEPARATORY

GEEEK COUESE

II ENGLISH.

\^^II,I,IAM CLEAVER ^WIlbKiasrSiCilSl'

NEW YORK:
PHILLIPS & HUNT.

CINCajNN ATI :

>ArALDEN db STOWK.

1882.

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New York.

• SIFT OF

r VbUCATION DEPT.

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CONTENTS.

Page
I.

Our Aim 3

II.
The Land 7

III.
The People 9

XV.
Their Writings 16

V.
The Start « 21

VI.
First Books in Greek... 29

VII.
The Greek Reader 35

VIII.
Xenophon's Anabasis 59

IX.
Homer's Iliad and Odysset • • 124

A Glance Backward and Forward 255

924247

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PREFACE

The chapter following, entitled " Our Aim," has left very
little requiring to be said in a preface.

The usage of the schools has generally given Latin chron-
ological precedence of Greek in a course of classical train-
ing. There is some reason to doubt whether this customary
order is best. At any rate, we here have reversed it, choos-
ing to commence with the Greek. Whatever considerations
may favor the traditional order, for the case of the learner
who aims at mastery of the languages themselves, as well as
at acquaintance with the literatures of the languages, there
is, perhaps, no serious consideration looking in the same
direction, for the case of the student who aims only at know-
ing of Latin and Greek what maybe learned through English
alone.

The next book of the series herewith begun, will be the
counterpart of this, that is, it will seek to do for Latin what
this has sought to do for Greek.

The present writer has now to acknowledge that the idea
of these volumes did not originate with him. That merit,
and in his opinion the merit is great, belongs to the Rev. John
H. Vincent, D.D. To the same dear and honored friend of
the writer should be ascribed a large share of whatever
excellence may be judged to have been achieved in the
execution of the design. Dr. Vincent has counseled and
encouraged from the beginning, with equal sagacity, kind-
ness, and good cheer. It is the joint and several hearty
hope — the writer named on the title-page ventures thus to
speak on the double behalf — of the two authors, that their
work may prove good enough to lead to better.

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PEEPAEATOET

GREEK COURSE IN ENGLISH.

OUR AIM.

This volume belongs to a series of books, four in number,
now in course of preparation, and soon successively to ap-
pear. The primary design of the series is to enable persons
prevented from accomplishing a course of school and college
training in Latin and Greek, to enjoy an advantage as nearly
as possible equivalent, through the medium of their native
tongue.

It is believed that there is among us a considerable com-
munity of enterprising and inquisitive minds who will joy-
fully and gratefully welcome the proffer of facilities for secur-
ing the object thus proposed. Some of these minds will be
found, dispersed here and there, often in quarters where it
would be least suspected, throughout the country, among
the young men and the young women bound by their cir-
cumstances to the active and laborious employments of farm-
ing, of the mechanic arts, of business, of housewifery, and
of all the various handicrafts by which material subsistence
is procured. But there must, moreover, be fathers and
mothers not a few, themselves without college training, and
even ignorant of the elements of Latin and Greek, who would
be glad to keep, as it were, within hearing and speaking dis-
tance of their children, while these go forward in a path of

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Preparatory Greek Course in English,

edlication- fri wfeifeli.rt was forbidden to their own feet to

" Of ^^r*dits*bel"»r^Yig.to this class there will, no doubt, be'
some to whom it will be unexpected good news to hear that,
without any insufferably tedious and impossible labor on their
part, it can be made practicable for them to keep up a some-
what intelligent sympathy with the young folks of their
homes, at every stage of their progress, from the first lesson
in Latin or Greek to the end of their college career. Two
highly valuable practical benefits will result to parents whose
spirit of enterprise may prompt them actually to realize this
desirable possibility. One benefit will be the hold retained
and strengthened thereby upon the respect of their children,
with the accompanying continued and enhanced ability to
influence them for their good. Another benefit will be the
widening of their own mental horizon, and the addition in
number and in variety to their stock of ideas. In short,
parents, enjoying, as of course they will, the advantage over
their children, of a maturer age and a larger experience, may
in many cases not unwarrantably hope to reap, upon the
whole, as rich a harvest of intellectual profit, from the com-
paratively imperfect course of study which they pursue in
English, as do the boys and girls, in the preparatory school
and in college, from their more leisurely and better guided
classical education.

It may justly be added that intelligent and thoughtful par-
ents may thus qualify themselves to supplement the school
and college training of their children, in one highly important
particular where that training is practioally almost certain
in some degree to fail. The reading of Greek and Latin
authors in the class-room is necessarily done in such a slow
and piecemeal fashion, that students seldom get a whole,
comprehensive, proportionate view of the works which in
their required course of study they translate. To many and
many a college graduate, the perusal of Livy, of Xenophon,

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Preparatory Greek Course in English.

of Virgil, of Homer, of Cicero, of Plato, in a good transla-
tion, would be not very different from forming acquaintance-
ship with authors previously unknown. Parents who famil-
iarize themselves with the series of volumes to which this
volume belongs, will have it in their power to obviate, partly
at least, a result so unfortunate, in the case of their children.
For, with all modesty, we cherish the ambition to make many
of our readers more effectively conversant, not certainly than
college graduates, any of them, might be, but than college
graduates, most of them, actually are, with the books repre-
sented — that is, with the' Greek and Latin books usually set
down to be read into^ but not through^ during the two stages,
preparatory and final, of full college education, as in America,
at least, such education is understood.

No blame is meant thus to be imputed to college instruct-
ors, who, having in this country the double office to fulfill, of
professors and of tutors, to considerable numbers at once of
students assembled in classes, could not reasonably be ex-
pected to do more than they do in the way of properly in-
troducing their pupils to the treasures of Greek and Latin
letters. We shall be truly grateful if we succeed in produc-
ing a quaternion of books that teachers themselves in pre-
paratory schools and in colleges will have confidence in
recomniending to the supplementary reading and use of their
pupils. It would be pleasant to feel that while helping schol-
ars we were also in some degree lightening the labors of
teachers. Our books, at least, shall not be such that lax and
lazy students can conveniently convert them into " ponies,"
as the term of school slang is, for riding luxuriously where
they should foot it laboriously.

If the writer may fairly reason from his own case to that of
other college graduates, he is warranted in assuring his breth-
ren that time spent by them in an easy and rapid review,
made with the aid of some such books as these will seek to
be, of their undergraduate Latin and Greek, will prove to

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Preparatory Greek Course in English.

have been time not disagreeably and not unprofitably spent.
In short, this series of vohimes, if respectably well prepared,
should find a wide and various audience.

Readers not college-bred that are wise enough to wish for*
such facilities as it is our primary purpose here to supply,
will also be wise enough to know, without being told, that the
attempt would be hopeless to enable them to gain quite all
that school and college students can gain, except upon con-
dition of their going through substantially the same long and
laborious process as that which those students are expected
to accomplish.

It now n^ed hardly be added, that no one could regret
such a result more than would the present writer, if an unin-
tended and unanticipated influence of this series of books
should be to make any person esteem a full course of liberal
education in school and college less desirable or less impor-
tant than that person esteemed it before. It is confidently
hoped that, on the contrary, our undertaking will only still
further spread and stimulate the zeal for culture which happily
is already so vivid and so rife among us. Let everybody that
can, go to college, and go through college. We labor here
primarily for those who cannot. If what we do helps also
others than these, so much the better. But that good, gladly
welcomed, will yet be only by the way.

The specific object of the present particular volume, the
initial one of the series, is to put into the hands of readers
the means of accomplishing, as far as this can be done in
English, the same course of study in Greek as that prescrXed
for those who are preparing to enter college. We liiay
style the volume the Preparatory Greek Course in
English.

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R JV A-t^ E. A H >^n^-V'

Extent of territory is not chiefly what makes the great- ,
ness of a great people. Of this England is a signal exam-
ple in the modern world. But of this Greece is a still more
signal example in the ancient. There is something stimulat-
ing, to the degree of exhilaration, in the contrast between the
petty spread of Grecian territory and the wide and enduring
diffusion of Grecian fame.

L(>ok at the map. You there see that four degrees of
latitude include the whole of Greece. Two hundred and
fifty miles by one hundred and eighty gives you its utmost
area. Greece was less than half the size of the State of New
York. This small region was divided up into separate states,
the largest of them not so large as some single counties to
be found in the State of Texas, and the smallest not larger
than one of our ordinary townships. Attica, with the fa-
mous city of Athens for capital, was but about twice as large
as the county of Westchester, in the State of New York.

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/., '^

8 Preparatory Greek Course in English,

Greece is in about the same latitude as the State of
Virginia.
^ The points chiefly to be noted about the geography of

Greece are the following :

1. Greece is cut up by mountain ranges intersecting each
other into numerous separate districts, among which there

was at first little mutual intercourse. This physical feature
of the country it was that gave rise to so many independent
states in Greece. The political map was due to the geo-
graphical map.

2. Greece is bounded by a greater length of sea-coast, in pro-
portion to its area, than any other region in Europe. This is

/ partly because of its being in one portion almost an island,
and partly because of the number and depth of the bays and
inlets that elsewhere indent its shores.

3. The mountainous configuration of the surface, together
< with the omnipresent contiguity of the sea, gives to Greece,

in its different parts and different altitudes, a singular variety
1 of climate, from the rigor of extreme northern latitudes,
to the softness of Southern Italy.

4. The atmosphere has a quality of surpassing purity, light-
ly ness, elasticity, and, at the same time, a capacity of impress-
\ ing exquisite effects of color on the natural scenery, whether

mountain or sea.

5. The natural scenery is "beautiful exceedingly," full of
/ perpetual feast to the eye, and, through the eye, to the taste
' and the imagination.

n 6. The limestone foundations of the mountains afford inex-

haustible quarries of the finest marble, inviting to the hand
^ * of the sculptor or the architect.

7. The valleys are, or rather were in ancient times, rich in
\ yields of wheat, barley, oil, and wine.

8. The range of mountains forming the upper or northern
boundary of Greece guards the whole peninsula below from
access by land on the part of enemies — the famous pass cf

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Thermopylae, on the eastern coast between the mountains
and the sea, being the only practicable path of approach,
and that being barely wide enough for a single wagon.

9. The everywhere contiguous sea, with its everywhere
neighboring islands, was a constant temptation to the mari-
time adventurous spirit of the Greeks.

10. The situation of Greece as to the Mediterranean Sea, in
ancient times the only ocean traversed by the commerce of
the world, was highly favorable to the enrichment of its peo-
ple through trade, and to their enlightenment through the
exchange and diffusion of ideas.

III.
THE PEOPLE.

The Greeks are one of the three most famous peoples in
the world. The Jews, the Greeks, the Romans, are the three.
It is noteworthy of them, all alike, that their seats of resi-
dence were territorially very small. Rome, in fact, was just
a city.

Of the three, the Greeks were the most remarkable, by far,
for the variety and versatility of their genius. No other
nation has ever existed that could turn its hand to so many
different things, and succeed in them all so well. There
were never any better soldiers ; never any better sailors ; never
any better colonizers and traders; never any better sculptors,
painters, architects ; never any better orators, poets, historians,
critics, rhetoricians, philosophers, mathematicians; never any
better leaders, statesmen, diplomatists; never any better
gymnasts, any better gentlemen, any better wits, than you
will find among the ancient Greeks ; and certainly, in pro-
portion to the number of the whole people, never so many
eminent, in the various ways thus indicated. Now if we add
that the boast of Voltaire for the French is, the name being

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lo Preparatory Greek Course in English,

changed, yet more true for the Greeks, that when God wished
an idea to make the circuit of the world, he kindled it first
in the heart of a Frenchman, we assuredly, having made tins
just attribution of a marvelous communicative power to the
Greek character, need say nothing more to awaken the read-
er's interest to know what can be told in a word or two, of
the origin and history of the Greek people.

The Greeks, by the way, did not call themselves Greeks,
as also Greece was not the name by which they called their
country. These are names that we take from the language
of the Romans. Hel-le'nes was the name by which the
Greeks spoke of themselves, and Hellas was their name for
the land in which they lived. The Greeks came to be great
colonizers, and wherever they went they carried with them
the name of the parent country. Hellas was thus an elastic
and movable appellation, advancing or retreating, step by
step, with the advance or retreat of Hellenic emigration.
The case was somewhat like that of the fiction by which we
call a ship sailing under the American flag, a part of the soil
of America, in whatever water of the world the ship may at
the moment be floating.

Of the origin of the Greeks we have no authentic account.
There is tradition in great plenty, but for sound historical
guesses and conjectures on this point we mainly dismiss
tradition, to rely on hints supplied in archaeology, that is,
study of ancient remains, and in comparative philology, that
is, study of one language in comparison with others. Putting-
together this and that, those learned and sagacious in such
matters come to the conclusion that the ancient Greeks were
Ar'yan, or Indo-European, or Indo-Germanic in race, sprung
from ancestors called Pe-las'gi-ans. The Romans, or rather
the aboriginal Italians, had the same ancestry. Pelasgian is
an ethnological rather than a geographical term, that is, it
names a people rather than a region. The same is true of
the terms Aryan, Indo-European, and Indo-Germanic, three

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different words of like meaning, coined to express the idea of
a community of blood and language, embracing a stock of
population spread^ from India, or at least from ^sia, over a
great part of Europe, especially Germany. Aryan is the
latest coinage, and the most approved, perhaps as being the
vaguest and most elastic.

But the Greeks were, no doubt, a composite race, and to
make them up the Pelasgians, the earliest tenants of the
Greek soil, were mixed with an element of population prob-
ably from Asia Minor. The Phoenicians, at least, taught the
Greeks letters, and gave them their own alphabet. Whether
from mere pride or not, the Athenians, in their prime, were
fond of claiming that they were themselves exceptionally
pure Pelasgian in blood. " The claims of long descent " are
not exclusively a modern refinement.

When trustworthy history began, several tribes or families
of Greeks found themselves occupying certain portions of
the country, and bearing certain distinctive names. The
Homeric story of Troy belongs to a date anterior to this ;
that is, it belongs to the period of the Pelasgians, a race
whose vestiges still remain in the ruins of a gigantic archi-
tecture, notably at My-ce'nae, called from its massiveness,
Cy-clo-pe'an. Schliemann, (Shlee'man) — his autobiography,
prefixed to " Ilios," his last publication, reads ^^— j
like a romance ; get a glance at it if you can — JE]
the great archaeological explorer of Greek HI'IIJ
and Trojan remains, has, within a year or
two, made some most interesting discoveries
at Mycense. When trustworthy history, as
we were saying, began, there were three
chief divisions of the Hel-len'ic stock, the
Do'ri-ans, the -^-o'li-ans, and the I-o'ni-ans.
The Dorians were a hardy and warlike race, ^ . , .

. . Done, Ionic, and Conn-

who, m process of time, overran nearly thian Columns.
all the lower part of Greece, called Pel'o-pon-ne'sus. Arca-

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12 Preparatory Greek Course i?i English,

dia, the Switzerland of Greece, always enjoyed exemp-
tion from Dorian sway. Sparta was the great representative
of the Dori^an family, as Athens was of the Ionian. The
^olians occupied Thessaly and Bce-o'ti-a, with Thebes
(Theebs) for their representative city. Certain colonies still
kept the ^olian name after Dorian and Ionian had usurped
the whole of Greece proper.

The truth is, there is no unity in the history of Greece
until you reach the time when the common menace of Per-
sian invasion and conquest taught the different Grecian
states the necessity of peace and harmony among themselves.
Before this, and always, one blood, one language, one relig-

— ' f ion, and a national character at bottom the same, had tended

' to draw the Greeks together. But these ties were never

practically strong enough to resist the divisive force of local
jealousies and selfish personal ambitions. The sad fact is,
that the ancient Greeks, brilliant and fascinating people as
they were, spent ages of time in fighting and destroying one
another. The petty size of the states made patriotism in
many instances a very intense passion. But, on the other
hand, it is also to be acknowledged that Greek history fur-
nishes examples as illustrious as ever existed of self-seeking,
adventurous, and mercenary traitorhood.

Sparta was not a city of savages, for the Spartans cultivated
poetry and music of a certain severe type. But for any thing
that the Spartans did beyond this, in the way of attention
to the arts of civilized life, we might call them savages.
They made a pride of despising not only luxury, but refine-

^ ment. Century after century, Sparta was little else than a

per" inent military camp. It had no art, no architecture,
no letters, no homes. Infants not deemed sound and strong
were put to death. At the age of seven the boys were taken
from their parents to be brought up in public by the state.
Spartan women grew to be men in spirit rather than women.
These manners produced a stern sort of virtue that we can-

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not but admire. But except for some examples, like the
example of Leonidas, and, besides these, for a few immortal^
laconisms of speech, what is the world richer for ages upon
ages of Spartan history ?

Much more variously attractive and admirable we find the
genius and achievement of Athens, well called " the eye of
Greece." These two states, the Athenian and the Spartan,
the one or the other, in general led in Grecian affairs.

Thebes, however, took her turn at headship in Greece, if
not quite alone at any time, at least in honorable alliance
and partnership with Athens. Theban renown is illustrated
with the resplendent names of Pin'dar in poetry, and of Epam-
inon'das and Pelop'idas in patriotism and war.

Corinth was, by the felicity of her situation, the leading
commercial city of Greece. The proverbial timidity of the
spirit of trade perhaps it was that prevented Corinth from
ever disputing with Sparta or with Athens the honor of lead-
ership in general Hellenic affairs. But Corinth was a splen-
did capital of wealth and culture ; it is necessary also to add,
a full and festering center of moral corruption.

Eph'esus, in Asia Minor, was as much a Grecian city as
was Athens, in Attica. So was Mi-l6'tus. Hellas contained
them all, with many more cities that we cannot stay even to
mention.

It was in Asia Minor that the first hostile collision took
place between Persia and Hellas. Persia subjected the
Greek cities there to her empire, and some of these revolted.
The Persian invasion of Greece followed, magnificently
repulsed, first by the Athenians under Milti'ades, at Mara-
thon, and afterward, on renewal, stayed for a moment again
by the immortal resistance of Leon'idas, with his Spartan
three hundred, at Thermop'ylae, to be finally turned back in
irretrievable disaster to the invaders, at Sal'amis. When, at
last, the Persians were decisively driven from their purpose
of subjugating Greece, Athens entered upon the period of

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Preparatory Greek Course in English. 15

her culmination under Per'icles in splendor and power. The
age of Pericles is a proverb of prosperity and glory.

But dissensions and wars succeeded. Sparta envied
Athens her supremacy, though she did not emulate the gen-
erous arts and achievements by which that supremacy was
won. Mutual rivalry and strife prepared divided Greece to
fall, despite the patriot eloquence and statesmanship of De-
mos'thenes, an easy prey to Macedonian Philip and Alex-
ander. .

Greece, however, had always her way of subduing her
conquerors. That subtle, penetrating, and subsidizing
, element in Greek character, which we have already noted,
enabled Greece with her ideas and her spirit to vanquish
unawares the very nations that overcame her with their
arms. In a true and deep sense, ancient Greece never
was conquered. It was Greece in Alexander that rolled
back forever from Europe the threatening inundation of
Asia. And Greece triumphed even over Rome, after Rome
had annexed Greece to her empire. Greece triumphs yet in
a dominion still maintained of genius and taste over the
realms of letters and of arts.

Such, imperfectly described, was the people over the ex-
panse of whose literature we are here to skim lightly and
swiftly, taking dips as we go, like swallows flying above the
surface of a lake, broad, pellucid, and deep.

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1 6 Preparatory Greek Course in English,

IV.
THEIR WRITINGS.

Of all that the Greeks did in the world, nothing remains to
us, recognizably in the form given it by their cunning brain and
hand, save perhaps a few coins, a few noble architectural ruins,
a few inimitable, though mutilated, antique pieces of sculpt-
ure, and, last and chief, some masterpieces of literary com-
position. Good literature is, perhaps, on the whole, the most
enduring of all the products of human activity. Dead, we
call the languages of Greece and Rome, and it is the fashion
now to ridicule the idea of devoting so much time in our
schools and colleges to the study of dead Greek and Latin.
The "new education," so called, lauds the study of science
above the study of the ancient classics — the study of nature,
that is to say, above the study of man. But is not man at
least a part of nature ? And is not language the noblest out-
ward attribute of man ? Science includes, for instance, what
used to be called natural history. The devotees of this
branch of scientific inquiry think it a not unworthy employ-
ment of time to spend years, or perhaps a life, in observing
and discussing the habits of some single species of the lower
animals. It might very well happen that an ichthyologist
would reckon it a good account to render of himself if, as
the result of investigations covering years of his life, he is
able to present to the world at last an approximately exhaust-
ive enumeration, description, classification, of the various
fossil and extinct species of fishes that may be found, in faint
traces of their prehistoric existence, among the stratified
rocks of the planet.

We are far from wishing to disparage the value of such
scientific explorations. By all means let us learn the most
we can, of whatever there is to be known. But surely man
himself also is one, and a not insignificant one, among ani-

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mals, and it is science — why not ? — to study man in the monu-
ments that he has left behind him from the distant ages of
his life and activity on the earth. The languages in which
the ruling races of mankind did their speaking and their
writing, generation after generation, the literatures which em-
balmed for all future time the thought, the feeling, the fancy,
and the recorded actions of those myriad millions of the fore-
most of our fellow-men — surely, say we, these languages and
these literatures are worthy of the attention from us that they
have commanded, and that they command, if it be only on
the score of their being a part of science itself. Is not man,
even as just an interesting animal, an object of study at
least equal in importance to fishes ? And shall we not con-
tinue, as lovers of science, if no longer as classical linguists,
to teach our children how the world's gray fathers spoke and
wrote, and what they thought, felt, fancied? and this, al-
though their languages be now dead, if languages can indeed
be dead that live in literatures which are immortal.

The literature of Greece is remarkable equally for its mat-
ter and for its form. The Greek mind was curious, bold,
enterprising, sagacious, acute, subtle; if it loved light too
well to be distinctively deep, as we say, yet it loved light so
well as almost always, at least, to be clear; it was extremely
hospitable and penetrable to ideas; it was agile, graceful,
gay, open to sensuous impression, passionately fond of beauty ;
as it was gifted with a sense divine of measure, proportion,
and harmony, so, too, it was instinctively enamored of the
perfect in whatever it attempted, and it was capable of great
patience ; it was exquisite in taste and judgment, while, by
necessary complement and contrast, it was electrically alive
to every thing grotesque or ridiculous. These qualities of the
Greek mind impressed themselves, as the seal impresses it-
self upon the wax, upon Greek literature. There never has
been, anywhere else in the world, so much writing approach-
ing so nearly to ideal perfection in form as among the Greeks.

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1 8 Preparatory Greek Course in English,

For the j)urposes of study in style there is nothing else equal
to Greek literature. The French genius and literature are,
perhaps, in modern civilization, likest at this point to those
of the Greeks. The Greeks, however, enjoyed one immensfi
advantage over the French. The Greek language far sur-
passed the French as an instrument of expression.

But the ancient Greeks did their work under limitations.
They were pagans. They had not the light of the sun to see
by. They groped for truth, and they missed it oftener than
they found it. This, at least, was the case in their philoso-
phy, mental and moral. So that you will look in vain for the
substance of valuable thought, throughout the greater part,
for instance, of Pla'to's entrancing pages. It is the form of
expression, it is the ineffably light, exercised, infallible play
of reason, of taste, and of fancy, not, alas, the solid gold of
truth, that rewards you in reading and studying Plato.

Soc'rates, Plato's master, a man second, perhaps, in interest
to no figure whatever in Hellenic history, never wrote a word
that has survived. But he was the cause of some of the no-
blest writing in classical Greek literature. He was the most
practical and fruitful of all the Greek philosophers. Still,
even Socrates, with his unrivaled common sense, (he brought
philosophy down from the clouds to walk among men on the
ground,) indulged, if we may trust our best accounts of him,
not seldom, in sorry futilities of barren refinement and
quibble.

In the Greek poetry, too, we have to forgive at the same
time that we admire. Inwoven with all the tissue of the verse
there is so much idolatry and mythology, and so much senti-
ment born of these, which we either cannot understand at all,
or, understanding, have to reject with reprobation, or what,
for the matter of aesthetic enjoyment, is almost worse, with
pity and contempt — in short, there is such a wide mar-
gin of allowance to be made for differences of standards be-
tween them and us, differences in which we cannot but feel

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Preparatory Greek Course in English. t<)

our own superiority to them, that we are compelled to force
our judgment somewhat, or wait to acquire a taste not natural
to us, before we can say from our hearts that we thoroughly
relish the Greeks in their poetry. But what a testimony it is
to the genius of this people that, though ^hat we have now
said is true, the names of Ho'mer, of He'siod, of Pindar, of
Sappho, (Saf'fo,) of ^s'chylus, and Soph'ocles, and Eurip'-
ides, of sweet-flowing Theoc'ritus, are yet such charms to our
imaginations ! Alien to us as, in so many ways, these poets
were, they were men, they were men of genius, and we cannot
wholly escape their thrall.

In history we find less to check our admiration of the
Greeks. Herod'otus fascinates us with his artfully artless,
simple, fluent, wonder-loving, yet truth-telling narrative;
Thucyd'ides puts us willing pupils to school to learn from
him how philosophical history should be written ; and Xen'o-
phon contents and delights us with picturesque journals of
march and fight, irreproachably well conceived and com-
posed — all without our needing to lose much from our pleas-
ure, or to abate much from our applause, for any reason of
difference between the ancient and the modern, the heathen
and the Christian. The heathenism of the Greeks was too
humane, or the Christianity of Christians is too far from per-
fect, to make the contrast of tone and treatment between
Thucydides and Macaulay very painfully broad and striking.

In eloquence, and in the literature of rhetoric, of taste, and
of criticism, that is, the literature concerning literature, we
not merely have not to make allowance for the Greeks in ad-
miring them, but we have without reserve to acknowledge
their supremacy. Demosthenes is a synonym for eloquence,
and what critic or rhetorician is not a grateful learner at the
feet of Aristotle, or, to make a long skip forward in time, of
Longi'nus ?

The golden age of Greek literature, as of Greek art and
Greek arms, was the age of Pericles. But there was in

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Demosthenes a fit of splendid revival from later decline, and
the decline that afterward proceeded again was splendid and
gradual and long. Chrys'ostom, in an early Christian age, who
still wielded at will that " fierce democratic " that used to mus-
ter by thousands Xo hear and to applaud with tumultuary
cheers their favorite preacher, in the basilicas of Antioch
and Constantinople, was no unworthy successor, in a lineage
of eloquence that included the names of Pericles, Isoc'rates,
and Demosthenes. The newspapers of yesterday and to-day.
contain literary tidings from modern Greece that seem to
foretoken close at hand a signal renascence of Greek litera-
ture among the proudest monuments of its ancient glory, and
on the very spot of its origin.

With thus much premised, in the way of general prepara-
tion and incentive, let us now push forward, confident that
our aim is worthy, to make our start in learning what, with
such necessarily swift touch and go, we may, first, of the be-
ginnings in Greek scholarship, and then of Greek letters
themselves by description and specimen.

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Preparatory Greek Course in English. 21

THE START.

We should heartily advise every reader having it in mind
to fulfill the object sought to be subserved in this book to
begin boldly by mastering the Greek alphabet. This is no
Very difficult task. The characters have many of them a con-
siderable resemblance to the corresponding characters in
English. Half an hour's brave and serious attention devoted
daily to the matter for a week would certainly, in most cases,
without help from a teacher, be amply sufficient. First learn
the names of the letters in their order. Amuse yourself, at
odd intervals, by going over the list, until it becomes as
familiar as your A, B, C. Then give your attention to the
characters themselves ; first the small letters, and afterward
the capitals, carefully noting their shape, and calling them
by their names. If you will learn to print the letters, a much
easier matter than you might suppose, it will be of great ad-
vantage. Then learn the power or sound of each letter, and
give yourself a little practice in pronouncing them in combi-
nation ; that is, in syllables and words. You can in no other
way so well overcome the sense of strangeness and outland-
ishness instinctive with one whose eye rests in utter ignorance
on a printed page of Greek.

A word or two here on Greek pronunciation. Nobody
knows with certainty exactly how the ancient Greeks pro-
nounced their language. The modern Greeks, speaking the
same language as their forefathers, with less change in it
than that which differences the English of Tennyson from
the English of Chaucer, are themselves not wiser on this
point than are our western scholars. The general rule
has been for scholars to pronounce the Greek somewhat
according to the analogy of their own vernacular. The
resulting pronunciation has, of course, in each case been what

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22 Preparatory Greek Course in English,

Demosthenes, hearing it, would have felt to be barbarous, and,
in all the cases taken together, a confusion of tongues to the
ear like what happened at Babel. Recently the attempt has
been macfe in some quarters to introduce uniformity at least,
even if it should be uniformity in error, by securing the com-
mon adoption of the pronunciation prevalent in Greece at
the present day. This pronunciation is called the Roraa'ic
or Modern Greek method. The currency of this method is
as yet but partial. It differs quite sharply at many points
from any one of the methods previously in vogue in this
country.

It will thus be seen that Greek pronunciation is much a
matter of fashion ; fashion varying wnth the country and with
the time. To parents, for example, we would say ; If, in
sounding some Greek diphthong, you should happen to hit
upon a particular pronunciation that your children, at school
or in college, think curious, do not suffer yourselves to be
unduly abashed in their presence. Tell them that there are
more ways than one of pronouncing Greek, and that your
way, for aught, you know, may be as nearly correct as theirs.
For instance, the Greek word ukovg)^ (akouo,) meaning to
hear, was in your fathers' time given, in its second syllable,
the sound of ou in sound. More lately, the diphthong has
been pronounced like ou in youth. Ask them how to pro-
nounce the English word ** acoustics." They will, no doubt,
promptly reply *'acoostics." You will then have the oppor-
tunity of correcting a mistake — a mistake very common even
among those whose cultivation ought to prevent their com-
mitting it. Tell them that the true pronunciation is " a^ows-
tics," and that this preserves a record of the sound formerly
given by English scholars to the Greek word from which it
is derived. If you wish still further to amuse and instruct
your children, tell them that the pronunciation ** cowcumber"
for cucumber, at which they perhaps have sometimes smiled,
hearing it from the mouth of a gentleman of the olden time.

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Preparatory Greek Course in English, 23

was once the well-authorized sound of that word in the use
of the most cultivated English society.

All this has been said in order to give parents especially a
sense of freedom and ease in a matter in which they will nat-
urally feel a degree of modest embarrassment. Of course,
the best way will be for them to examine what is said on
Greek pronunciation in the elementary text-books which
their children are using. In addition, they may quick-wit-
tedly catch the pronunciation employed by their children, as
these have learned it under the instruction of their teachers.
And, by the way, an excellent plan it will be for parents to
begin at once the practice of taking up the text-books of
their children, and letting the latter from day to day rehearse
to them the lessons assigned for recitation at school. They
will thus at once confer Jiipon their children the benefit of a
little additional drill on the lesson of the day, and apply an
auxiliary stimulus inciting them to master the task more
thoroughly. Moreover, this expedient will be to parents a
practical, effective, and easy method of acquiring them*
selves proficiency in the elements of Greek. We would ear-
nestly exhort parents, even at some occasional sacrifice of a
present convenience, to pursue this method without a single
day's intermission. You will be both gratified and surprised
to find what progress you make, and with what agreeable
facility. Especially will it be desirable that you should thus
familiarize yourselves with the various "paradigms," so-called,
(and do not let your children pronounce this word " para-
dimeSy* as some careless teachers permit themselves, and so,
of course, their pupils, to do,) which necessarily form a very
important feature of every beginning-book, whatever it is, in
Greek. Paradigms, literally, examples, is the technical term
used in grammars to name the examples given of inflections
for nouns, adjectives, and verbs, arranged in convenient tab-
ular form for learning by heart. Hearing your children go
over and over again these paradigms, will do much toward

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24 Preparatory Greek Course in English,

making the sound of Greek words familiar to your ears, and
introducing you insensibly to the genius and idiom of the
Greek language. Your children, besides, will appreciate the
really valuable service you will thus render them in checking
or prompting their memories, as they assiduously undertake
to make themselves masters of the paradigms. Upon our
readers in general, not only parents, but others, we would
urge it as a further advantage, to increase the motive for the
study on their part of a little Greek grammar, where this is
possible, that they will thus be acquiring a more thorough
knowledge of the English language. There are thousands
of English words made so directly from Greek originals that
you will now be able to trace the process of derivation for
yourselves. Take the word alphabet, for example. That,
you will observe, is formed by simply joining the names of
the first two letters of the Greek alphabet, (aA<^tt, jQ^ra,) the
last letter of the second name being cut off, or elided. The
names of various societies, secret and other, of which the
parents among our readers will probably begin to hear much,
in the conversation of their young academical or collegiate
students, are merely initial letters joined together, generally
perhaps in triplets, of some Greek words, adopted by the
several fraternities as constituting what is deemed by them
an appropriate and learned-sounding sentiment or motto.
The sciences are nearly all of them named from Greek. If
any new discovery is made, in science or in art, the discov-
erer is pretty certain to seek out some Greek word or words
from which to coin for it an English name. Telegraph is so
called from two Greek words, the first of which signifies at a
distance^ or afar^ and the second to write. To telegraph,
therefore, is simply to write at a distance. The still more
recent word telephone is similarly compounded, the second
component in this case being a Greek terra signifying sound.
If now you will form the habit whenever you consult your
English dictionary, (unabridged,) which we hope you will

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Preparatory Greek Course in English, 25

constantly do, of observing the etymology therein supplied of
the word whose definition you require, you will in so doing
be at the same time extending your knowledge of English,
and in a great many cases be making up for yourselves a
useful little vocabulary of Greek. Not seldom parents will
in such ways as these be able to acquire available informa-
tion not possessed by their children, and perhaps not com-
municated to them by their teachers, which may supplement
their school acquisitions with additions which they will be
proud to credit to their parents.

The preparation which it may now be assumed that, in ac-
cordance with these suggestions, some, at least, of our readers
will have made toward fitting themselves for the prosecution
of their Greek course of study in English, will be sufficient
to .qualify them in considerable part for consulting Greek
lexicons to ascertain the meanings of words. In consider-
able part, we say, not wholly — for the reason that of course
in general only the single principal form of any given word
is set down in its order in the lexicon. Words subject to
inflection, that is, to changes in form to express modified
meanings, will not always be readily found in the lexicon.
In fact, at this point lies one of the chief difficulties that
perplex the progress of the beginner in Greek.

It would be very pleasant, if we could do so, to communi-
cate to those of our friends who are parents some secret of
method by which they might hope to qualify themselves for
rendering their children occasional needed assistance ii\
determining what is the original form of an inflected word to
be sought in the lexicon. But this we cannot conscientiously
pretend to be able to do. Thus much however, at least, you
parents may, some of you, profitably undertake to accom-
plish. You may urge, upon the pupil, on every occasion of
such perplexity confronting him in his course, the importance
of absolutely mastering his grammar in its department of
etymology, and then besides. that, and equally indispensable,

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26 Preparatory Greek Course in. English,

of applying, with thoughtful recollection and exercise of judg-
ment, the principles of word-building that he will have
learned in his grammatical study. You may ask him such
questions as these : " Is the word that you want a verb ? "
(A verb it will probably be.) '* If so, what do you suppose is
the root of the verb } '* He may very likely reply, " That is
precisely what I cannot imagine." " Suppose, then," you will
say to him in reply, " Suppose, then, instead of trying to ////-
aginey you go to work and try to reason it out, according to
rule and principle. What changes in form may the root of a
verb undergo through inflection .^ Can it take on a letter oi
letters at the beginning as prefix 1 If so, what letter or let-
ters.^ May some letters in the root itself be changed, one
for another } What letters may be so changed, and for what ? "
Questions like these you may safely and wisely ask, with-
out pretending for a moment to any knowledge except such
knowledge of a merely general nature as the questions
themselves necessarily imply. The result may not improba-
bly be that you will detect some point of ignorance, or of
forgetfulness, as to his grammar, on the part of the pupil.
Such being the case, you will naturally send the learner to
his grammar for the purpose of refreshing his memory. In
three cases out of four the pupil thus catechized and thus
remitted to his own resources in his text-book will be
able to solve his problem for himself, greatly to his satisfac-
tion, and to his real improvement as well. The intelligent
parent may often thus become, in a certain important sense,
the teacher of more than he knows himself.

A suggestion to parents, of general application, may here
be made as to the proper manner of using all the text-books,
of whatever sort they may be, that will come into the hands
of their children. Almost always there will be found mat-
ter of an explanatory nature, in preface, in introduction, in
preliminary discourse, in "excursus," (as classical editors
have a way of learnedly calling the little illustrative essay or

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Preparatory Greek Course in English. 27

monograph on some point which they sometimes think it
worth while to insert,) in appendix, in tables of contents, in
index, and in notes, perhaps in biographical, geographical,
or archaeological notices. Such portions of their books pu-
pils will very naturally neglect to examine, with the impor-
tant exception of the notes, by eminence so called, which
immediately help them to resolve the difficulties of transla-
tion. These latter helps, by the way, they will often improp-
erly use. Nothing is more important than that learners
should steadily refuse to get their lessons in a merely extem-
porary, hand-to-raouth fashion. Insist with your children
that the "notes" shall be used by them, if used at all, with
exercise of their best intelligence and reason. This is a
point at which the intervention of the parent, wisely offered,
may be very useful to the pupil. In general, the incidental
supplementary matter belonging to text-books, such" as we
have already indicated, should be subjected by parents to an
intelligent, painstaking scrutiny for the collecting of hints
bearing on the subjects treated, that will naturally escape the
attention of pupils bent on preparing each day that day's
appointed task. Sometimes the pupils themselves may use-
fully be encouraged to make these examinations along with
you, or after you, under your guidance. At all events, by
such broad, comprehensive surveys of text-books as we have
thus indicated, you may count with confidence on arriving
at knowledge which you will, for your own sakes, be very
glad to have reached, and with which you will be enabled
to direct your children to their profit. What led us here to
these general considerations was the use recommended to be
majfe by our readers of the Greek lexicon. Having learned
to read Greek words, you parents will at once be able,
with an advantage in some respects over younger minds, to
judge how lexicons may be most fruitfully studied. Much
time is lost by beginners in Latin and Greek through lack of
good judgment on their part in consulting their dictionaries.

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28 Preparatory Greek Course in English,

At all hazards, let no reader, parent or other, stand in awe of
a lexicon because it happens to be a lexicon in Greek. Look
at it. Handle it. Get used to it. Make a tool of it, and
so become qualified, if you are a parent, to teach your chil-
dren how best to employ it themselves.

We shall be chagrined, indeed, if what we have thus said
by way of encouragement and cheer to our readers should
have the contrary effect of depressing their spirits and damp-
ing their zeal. You may all of you do much, in fact do the
most, of what is contemplated in this volume and the volume
to follow, without knowing a Greek letter, when you see it,
still more, without meddling with Greek grammar or dic-
tionary. Only do not be deterred from attack on the out-
posts of Greek scholarship by any exaggerated notion of
their formidable character. They may frown and bristle to
your imagination, but they are very easily mastered. Dash
in on them, and make them your own. Some readers, we
are sure, will do this and be glad that we have prompted
them to it. Let the others, with crests not lowered a hair,
go on, and still get the main advantage, if they prefer to do
so, on their own easier terms.

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Preparatory Greek Course in English, 29

VI.
FIRST BOOKS IN GREEK.

This is going to be a dull chapter, which those may skip
who have no special reason to be interested in the subject
indicated in the title. Those, however, who may wish, either
for their own sake or for the sake of others, to know how
best the beginning is to be made of a practical acquaintance
with Greek, will find here some useful information.

For the convenience of such readers as may choose to fol-
low the suggestion previously offered in favor of acquiring
knowledge enough of Greek letters and words to be able to
read aloud a phrase of the language at sight, we give, in an
Appendix, a page or two which we borrow from Harkness's
" First Greek Book," a text-book for beginners in Greek, of
which we shall presently have something further to say.

There may be some among our friends who will wish to
have the means of going a little further than the pages re-
ferred to will enable them to go, in the direction of mastering
the Greek language. Parents wishing this will, of course,
most naturally take for the purpose the books prescribed at
school for the use of their children. But all readers,. parents
and others, and whatever may be their particular individual
desire as to practical proficiency in the language, will find it
not amiss to know something concerning the names, the
authorship, the characteristic features, and the comparative
merits, of different first books in Greek. These, as any body
might guess, exist in indefinite number and variety.

The old-fashioned way was to make the tyro get his Greek
grammar by heart, and this without much preference of one
part over another as superior in present usefulness for his
aim. This is changed now. What is called the Ollendorff
method, devised at first for facilitating the study of modern
languages, has more lately been applied in various modifica-
2»

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3© Preparatory Greek Course in English,

tions to both Latin and Greek. Perhaps the earliest book
(it is yet one of the simplest, clearest, and best, besides being,
beyond all its rivals, a really interesting volume) to adopt
this modern method was the "Greek Ollendorff," so-called,
of Dr. Kendrick. If you do not object to accumulating a
few additional books, by all means, whatever other manual
you use, supply yourselves besides with this volume. You
will be led by it almost imperceptibly, and without any very
costly effort on your part, into some really effective knowl-
edge of Greek. Kendrick's ** Greek Ollendorff" is complete
within itself. You need no other book whatever accompany-
ing it to make it available for your use. Some first books in
Greek stand in such relation to certain grammars as to be,
without these, nearly or quite useless. Such is not the case
with Kendrick's " Greek Ollendorff."

Several leading seats of classical education have to a con-
siderable extent become the parents or patrons of their own
peculiar set of Greek and Latin text-books. There is thus a
series of such text-books more specifically adapted to suit
the necessities of students aiming, for example, at Harvard
University; while students, again, aiming at Yale College,
will supply themselves with a somewhat different apparatus
of preparatory manuals. The central book in each series is
perhaps the Grammar, Latin or Greek. The notes and refer*
ences of the other books of the set will send learners natur-
ally to the grammar belonging to that set. Goodwin's Greek
grammar represents Harvard ; Hadley's Greek grammar rep-
resents Yale. Thrifty editors or compilers sometimes adopt
the plan of referring the student to both of these excellent
grammars. There are text-books that make their references
to Crosby's or to Sophocles's Greek grammar, either one a
good manual.

Another influence, hardly second in strength to great col-
leges, in determining practically what text-books shall be
used, is found in great publishing houses. Publishers like

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Preparatory Greek Course in English, 31

Harper & Brothers, or Appleton & Co., have resources for
securing the introduction and adoption of their text-books,
which virtually control the choice of many schools. This
devolves upon such publijjiers a serious responsibility. It is
but just to say that the respjonsibility is one generally met by
them in a conscientious and enlightened spirit, for which the
cause of classical learning has reason to be thankful. The
house of Ginn, Heath & Co., has made an almost exclusive
specialty of text-books for schools and colleges'. They pub-
lish many admirable text-books. The imprint of any such
house may usually be regarded by our readers as a guarantee
of excellence, at least in point of sound scholarship, for any
book that bears it.

Dr. William Smith has a book prepared in parts, the parts
being published separately in neat form, bearing the title of
"Initia Graeca.** Dr. Smith is an English scholar, author,
editor, and compiler. In these various capacities he has pro-
duced a prodigious number of books, chiefly devoted to edu-
cation. These in general are held in high estimation for
scholarship. The "Initia Graeca " is combined grammar and
reader. The Ollendorff idea, that is, the idea of exercises
interspersed throughout to illustrate the grammatical princi-*
pies laid down, presides over this volume. It is well printed,
but the type is somewhat smaller than to long-used eyes will
be found grateful. There is, perhaps, something of an En-
glish character impressed upon the book. This would natur-
ally be the case, as it was originally prepared for English
students.

Prof. Harkness's text-books, of which the number is con-
siderable, enjoy a good reputation, which, in our opinion,
they deserve. He has a " First Greek Book," so entitled,
which in a general way resembles Kendrick's " Greek Ollen-
dorff." l^rof. Harkness's book differs, howeverj from that, in
adding some interesting pages of reading matter selected from
various sources, together with a vocabulary. Thife last feature,

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32 Preparatory Greek Course in English,

the vocabulary, the ** Greek Ollendorff" unfortunately lacks,
having, however, partial lists of words with definitions, dis-
tributed through its pages. Harkness's " First Greek Book,"
like the " Greek Ollendorff," is complete in itself. Still, Prof.
Harkness gives, as Dr. Kendrick <foes not, references to sev-
eral Greek grammars.

" Greek for Beginners " is the title of an English book
which Mr. Coy, instructor in Phillips Academy, (Andover,)
has edited and improved, adapting it for use in connection
with Hadley's Greek grammar. It is an excellent manual.

Whiton's " First Lessons in Greek " is a good book. This
also is to be used in connection with Hadley's Greek gram-
mar. It belongs to the Yale system of text-books.

A most invitingly clear and well-spaced page, in good-sized
type, makes a favorable impression upon you as you open
White's " First Lessons in Greek." This belongs to the Har-
vard cycle of text-books. It presupposes the grammar, and
is, therefore, not quite so useful to readers such as we are here
chiefly addressing. The preface, however, contains some
hints about Greek that will prove enlightening to the merely
English student. * The references are, of course, to Goodwin's
• Greek grammar. Parallel references to a new forthcoming
edition of Hadley's grammar are promised.

Leighton's " Greek Lessons " pursues the same general
course as do now all the other beginning books in Greek. A
peculiar feature of this little book is the inclusion of some
specimen Harvard examination papers. These will serve to
show in part to readers what kind of acquirements are ex-
pected at Harvard from the student in Greek. Here, also,
under the form of English to be rendered into Greek, are
several considerable passages literally translated from Xeno-
phon's "Anabasis."

Of Greek grammars, that of Hadley, that of Goodwin,
that of Crosby, and that of Sophocles are, perhaps, the best.
The reader who examines, as it is wise to do, the prefaces of

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Preparatory Greek Course in Eni^lish. 33

these manuals will not fail to observe the debt that all alike
acknowledge to German sources of Greek learning. Curtius
(pronounced Koort'se-oos) is the most recent of the great
German authorities in Greek grammar. Kiihner (pronounced
nearly Keener,) is now a little antiquated, as, somewhat more
so, is also Buttman, (Boot'man) each a great name in his day.

Of the literary contents of first books in Greek we say
nothing here," but refer our friends to the following chapter,
which will give all the needed information, since the first
books, as far as they have literary contents, merely anticipate
the Greek Readers.

We simply add that this little sketch of First Books in
Greek is designed to be suggestive, but by no means
exhaustive. Other manuals than those named may be found
perhaps equally valuable ; and we should of course feel in
duty bound considerably to extend our list of publishing
houses, if our purpose were to include all those whose issues
of Greek text-books for beginners are worthy of confidence.
We have exemplified merely, not enumerated.

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,1.:' ,i:

1 \

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Preparatory Greek Course in English,

VII.

THE GREEK READER.

Following the introductory books, whatever these may
be, with which pupils break ground in the field of Greek
study, there will now come something in the nature of Read-
ers, so-called. Greek Readers are made up of selections
from literature of an easy and simple order, taken chiefly (of
late, not wholly) from books written in the Attic dialect:
that is, the dialect of Greek spoken in Attica, of which
Athens was the capital. In literature, Athens was to Greece
what Paris is, and always has been, to France. Milton has
in his " Paradise Regained " a singularly beautiful passage,
descriptive of Athens in her imperial supremacy of intellect ;

** On the yEgean shore a city stands,
Built nobly ; pure the air, and light the soil ;
Athens, the eye of Greece, mother of arts
And eloquence, native to famous wits
Or hospitable, in her sweet recess.

TBMPLB OF NIKB APTBROS.

City or suburban, studious walks and shades.
See there the olive grove of Academe,
Plato's retirement, where the Attic bird
Trills her thick-warbled notes the summer long ;
There flowery hill Hymettus, with the sound

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Of bees* industrious murmur, oft invites

To studious musing; there Ilissus rolls

His whispering stream : within the walls then view

The schools of ancient sages ; his, who bred

Great Alexander to subdue the world,

=^E?^r,'2 ^^^V^ ^^^^^

THE ACROPOLIS RESTORED.

Lyceum there, and painted Stoa next :

There shalt thou hear and learn the secret power

Of harmony, in tones and numbers hit

By voice or hand ; and various-measured verse,

i?£olian charms and Dorian lyric odes,

And his who gave them breath, but higher sung,

Blind Melesigenes, thence Homer called,

Whose poem Phoebus challenged for his own :

THE PROFYL^A OF THE ACROPOLIS.

Thence what the lofty grave tragedians taught
In chorus or iambic, teachers best
Of moral prudence, with delight received
In brief sententious precepts, while they treat

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Of fate, and chance, and change in human life,
High actions and high passions best describing :
Thence to the famous orators repair,
Those ancient, whose resistless eloquence
Wielded at will that fierce democratic,
Shook the arsenal, and fulmined over Greece

PARTHENON.

To Macedon and Artaxerxes* throne :
To sage Philosophy next lend thine ear.
From heaven descended to the lo\«^roof *d house
Of Socrates ; see there his tenement.
Whom well-inspired the oracle pronounced
Wisest of men, from whose mouth issued forth
Mellifluous streams, that water'd all the schools
Of Academics old and new, with those
Surnamed Peripatetics, and the sect
Epicurean, and the Stoic severe."

Our mention of a dialect will make it proper enough that
we say a word or two here on the subject of those differences

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of speech, termed dialects, with which, in the course of your
subsequent study, you must necessarily become more or less
acquainted. There were three chief dialects of the Greek lan-
guage, created in part by differences of age, and in part by
differences of country. Homer was a figure in Greek litera-
ture so important and commanding, alike from his historic
position at the beginning of known Greek literary development,
and from the recognized rank of his poetry in the hierarchy of
genius, that he is by some grammarians given the honor of
being, as it were, the proprietor of a dialect of his own. That
is to say, the diction in which he writes is sometimes called
indifferently the Homeric, or the Epic, dialect. Prevailingly,
this Homeric dialect is what is more strictly called Ionic,
although the Doric element and the ^olic contribute each
some share. You may safely consider that the differences
which distinguish these dialects one from another, lie chiefly
in the sound of the vowels, the vowe's being always and
everywhere the most variable element of human speech.
The Ionic dialect, exemplified in Homer and in Herodotus,
is characterized by fluent sweetness to the ear. The Doric
is of a broader, harsher sound, in consonance with that sense
of the word Doric, in which you often see it used to denote
simjilicity, plainness, bareness. The Attic dialect is the
neatest, most cultivated, and most elegant of all the varieties
of Greek speech. In this dialect the greatest works in Greek
literature were most of them composed. The -^olic dialect
has no separate extant Representative in Greek literature.

The selections which compose our Greek Readers vary
with the taste and judgment of the compiler. Generally there
will be found some fables, anecdotes of illustrious men, wise
and witty sayings excerpted from the surviving memorabilia
of leading spirits among the wisest and wittiest race of all the
ancient world, fragments of history, of geography, of mythol-
ogy, etc., etc. The compilation can hardly fail to be a very
interesting book to read.

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. We take up at hazard one of these Greek Readers, and
give a few specimens of its contents. First, we find a num-
ber of the fables commonly attributed to ^sop. -^sop was
born, uncertain where, about 620 B.C. He was, when young,
brought to Athens, and there sold as a slave. He was event-
ually freed by his master. From his high repute as a writer,
he was invited by Crce'sus, the rich king of Lydia, to reside
at his court. .^sop*s end was tragic, for while acting in the
capacity of embassador for Croesus he was convicted of sac-
rilege at Delphi, and thrown headlong from a precipice in
punishment. None of his writings survive. His fables he
perhaps never wrote, but delivered them orally on different
occasions. The fables that go under his name are mainly
the collection of a monk of the 14th century, who, it has been
said, without evidence and against probability described
^sop'as ugly and deformed, so fixing for centuries the un-
founded conventional idea of the fabulist's personal appear-
ance. Such, at least, until lately, has been the general opin-
ion concerning the authorship of this foolish and falsifying
biography of -^sop. Now, however, the good monk, Planu'-
des, is apparently relieved of the imputation, -^sop's fables,
so-called, are no doubt part of them in some real sense the
production of their reputed author. The traditions of fables
so ingenious, and of such contemporary fame, would natur-
ally, however they might be modified in the process, be pre-
served.

We give a few specimens of the fables pretty literally trans-
lated. Our readers will, of course, among them recognize
some old. acquaintances.

I The Wolf.
A wolf, seeing some shepherds eating a sheep in a tent, came near

and said, " What an uproar there would be if / were doing this ! "

2. The Lioness.
A lioness, laughed at by a fox for giving birth to but one offspring,
said, *' One, but a lion."

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3. The Gnat and the Ox.
A gnat seated himself on the horn of an ox, and commenced buzzing.
He said, however, to the ox, ** If I weigli heavily on your neck, I will
go away." The ox said, " Neither did I know it when you came, nor
if you stay shall I care."

4. The Fox and the Grapes.
A fox, seeing some ripe grapes hanging above him, tried to get them
to eat. But having tried long in vain, he said, assuaging his vexation,
"They are still sour."

5. The Kid and the Wolf.
A kid standing on the top of a house, as he saw a wolf passing by,
began to revile and deride him. But the wolf said, **You silly creature,
it is not you that revile me, but the place."

6. The Woman and the Hen.
A certain widow had a hen that every day laid her an egg. But think-
ing that if she should give the hen more barley she would lay twice a
day, she took this course. The hen, however, becoming fat, could not
lay even once a day.

The anecdotes are culled from various sources, Plutarch,
the biographer, furnishing his full share. There are, how-
ever, some few extant ancient collections of ana, upon which
compilers can draw to eke out their variety of such interest-
ing material. We supply a number of characteristic speci-
mens.

Di-og'[oj]en-es, the famous cynic philosopher of the time of
Alexander the Great, is credited with several very bright
sayings, generally caustic, sometimes perhaps affectedly so,
in their humor.

To one remarking that to live was an evil, "Not to live, but to live
evilly," Diogenes responded.

Pessimism, our readers may see, is by no means a modern
whim. Perhaps the refutation of Diogenes need hardly be
improved upon.

Carrying about a lighted lamp in broad noon, " I am looking," he
said, "for a man."

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Plato having defined man to be a biped without wings, and he being
in great repute as a philosopher, Diogenes plucked a rooster and carried
him to Plato's school with the remark, '* Here is Plato's man."

A worthless fellow having put the inscription over his door, " Let
nothing base enter here," ** The master of the house, then," said Diog-
enes, "where will he enter?"

Plato was broadly contrasted with Dfogenes, as in his
philosophy, so also in his habits and character.
Diogenes lived barefooted, half naked, and filthy,
in a tub, while Plato loved sumptuous^ clothing
and fare. It is told of the two that Diogenes
once set his broad dirty sole on the folds of
Plato's rich outer garment, saying, " Thus I
trample on the pride of Plato." " And with plato.
greater pride," instantly retorted the latter. Of Plato we
give only the. following additional anecdote. There is
hardly any thing related of Plato that presents him to us
in a nobler or more striking light :

Plato, being angry once with a slave, said to Xen-oc'ra-tes standing
by, " Do you take this fellow and flog him ; for I am angry."

We do not know what the occasion was. Perhaps Plato
had no right to be angry at all. But next to having self-con-
trol enough not to be angry, is having self-control enough
not to punish in anger. We are not to understand that Plato
actually wanted Xenocrates to inflict a flogging, but only
that he took that way of restraining and explaining himself.

Kuman slavery was an omnipresent circumstance in an-
cient society. It appears again, with its odious barbarism of
the lash, in the following anecdote of Zeno, the founder of
the Stoic philosophy, or philosophy of the porch, so called
from the place in which the philosophy was originally taught.
To get the point of the poor slave's witty plea, as well as of
Zeno's instantaneous rejoinder, you must remember that one
of the great Stoic doctrines was that of fate, or necessity.

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Zeno was flogging a slave for stealing. *• It was foreordained," whim-
pered the slave, '* that I should steal." *'And that you should have
your hide taken off you," added the philosopher.

To a chatterbox, Zeno said: ** We have two ears and one mouth, that
we may hear much and talk little."

Solon, the Athenian lawgiver, and one of the seven so-
styled wise 'men of Greece, condensed, with Attic wit. tha
whole pathos of irreparable bereavement into his answer to
the commonplace consoler of his grief:

Solon, having lost a son, was weeping. One saying to him that weep-
ing would do no good, '* For that very reason," he replied, ** I weep."

There survives a striking tradition of an interview between
Alexander the Great and Diogenes, in which the king asked
the philosopher what favor he could do him. ** Get out oi
my sunshine," growled the surly cynic with admirably sus-
tained character. This passage between the two men gives
point to the following anecdote :

Alexander having had a conversation with Diogenes, was so struck
with the man's way of life and his personal character, that he used often
afterward, recalling him, to remark : " If I were not Alexander, I would
be Diogenes."

With that class of people who aped Alexander's wryneck, to
be in the fashion, this egotistic praise bestowed by Alexander
on Diogenes should have given the tub philosopher a good lift.

Philip of Macedon, Alexander's father, either really had
the wit to say good things, or else the luck to have some one
able and willing to impute good things to him as the author.

Philip used to say that an army of deers with a lion commanding, was
better than an army of lions with a deer commanding.

Philip congratulated the Athenians on being able to find ten generals
every year to put in command ; as for himself, he in many years had nev-
er been able to find more than one general, Par-me'ni-o.

Philip being asked whom he loved most and whom he hated most,
•* Those who are about to betray me I love most, and those who have
already betrayed me I hate most," was the reply.

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The misanthropic reply, this, of a tyrant, reminding one of
the saying of Louis XIV. — was it not ? — of France, who, on
occasion of giving some coveted office to a single applicant
out of a hundred, remarked : ** There, I have made ninety-
nine men hostile to me, and one man — xz/^grateful."

With a few laconisms, so good that they are already famil-
iar, but likewise so good that, though familiar, they will bear
repetition, let us close this tempting collection of anecdotes ;
for there is much to follow after the present chapter, from
which it would be wrong to detain our readers.

Some one remarking that the arrows of
the barbarians flew so thick as to darken the
sun, " So much the better," said Le-on'i-
das, "we shall fight them, then, in the ^^Sf\ AlW^Ml"
shade."

Wishing immediately to attack the enemy,
he sent word to his soldiers to make their
breakfast, as about to make their supper in
Hades.

Gor'go, a Lacedaemonian [or Spartan] wom-
an, wife of Leonidas, presenting to her son,
about to engage in a military expedition, a greek warrior.

^ shield, said : ** Either [bring] this, or [be brought] on this."

A Spartan woman to her son lamed in battle, and chagrined about it,
said : ' ' Do not grieve, my child, for with every step you take you will
be reminded of your own valor.**

Remember that the Ce-phis'sus was the river associated
with Athens, as the Eu-ro'tas was with Sparta, and enjoy the
grim advantage that the Spartan got over the boasting Athe-
nian, in the following encounter :

A certain Athenian saying to An-tal'ci-das, " Well, we have many a
time driven you Spartans back from the Cephissus." ** But we Spartans
never," retorted Antalcidas, *' drove you Athenians back from the Eu-
rotas."

Lucian (not to be confounded with Lucan, a very different
genius, and a Roman) belongs to a late age of Greek litera-

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. •■

ture, being of the second century after Christ. He was a
Syrian by birth, but he acquired a singular mastery of pure
Attic, in which dialect he wrote voluminously. His " Dia-
logues of the Dead '* furnish some of the most lively matter
that goes into the ordinary Greek Reader. These famous
dialogues have been the original of several justly admired
imitations. Or, if Lord Lyttleton's, F^nelon's, and Walter
Savage Lander's similar productions are not to be called
imitations, it may at least be said that the idea of them was
suggested to their respective authors by Lucian's ingenious
and audacious initiative.

Lucian was nothing if not lively. He had a merry, if not
a mocking, vein in his character, and this appears very
strongly in what he wrote. He lived in a time when the
idolatries of the Roman Empire were in somewhat the same
effete and moribund conditioa to which in Luther's time her
abuses and corruptions had apparently reduced the Roman
Catholic Church. Lucian exercised his wit in ridiculing
paganism, as Erasmus exercised his wit in ridiculing monkery.
Or, again, Lucian v/as to Greek and Roman polytheism what
Voltaire was to the Christian Church ; the Christian Church,
that is to* say, as, very naturally from his circumstances. Vol-**
taire misunderstood the Christian Church. No system of
faith and worship open to be so laughed at could possibly
long stand to be so laughed at, as Lucian made the whole
world laugh at the religion of Olympus. There is not now
enough of respectable absurdity left to that obsolete idolatry
to make Lucian's raillery at its expense as richly enjoyable
to us as the deathless wit of the raillery entitles it to be.

The following extract, which we take from the volume de-
voted to Lucian, in Lippincott's reprint of the ** Ancient
Classics for English Readers," belongs in a piece entitled,
" Jupiter in Heroics.'* The falcon flew at the highest quarry.
The ostensible motive of the piece is Jupiter's concern at the
decay of reverence among men for the Olympian divinities.

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He advises with his daughter Minerva about the expediency
of calling a council of the gods. Minerva suggests that per-
haps the ignoring policy is the best in the premises. How-
ever, the upshot is that Mercury is to summon the gods.
Our extract does not enter into the discussion of the merits
of the question, but confines itself to the amusing prelimina-
ries of the occasion :

Mercury, O yes, O yes ! the gods are to come to council immediately !
No delay— all to be present — come, come ! upon urgent affairs of state.

Jupiter, What ! do you summon them in that bald, inartificial, pro-
saic fashion, Mercury — and on a business of such high importance ?

Mer, Why, how would you have it done, then ?

Jup, How would I have it done ? I say, proclamation should be
made in dignified style — in verse of some kind, and with a sort of poet-
ical grandeur. They would be more likely to come.

Mer, Possibly. But that's the business of your epic poets and rhapso-
dists — I'm not at all poetical myself. I should infallibly spoil the job,
by putting in a foot too much or a foot too little, and only get myself
laughed at for my bungling poetry. I hear even Apollo himself ridi-
culed for some of his poetical oracles — though in his case obscurity covers
a multitude of sins. Those who consult him have so much to do to make
out his meaning that they haven't much leisure to criticise his verse.

Jup. Well, but. Mercury, mix up a little Homer in your summons —
the form, you know, in which he used to call us together ; you surely
remember it.

Mer, Not very readily or clearly. However, I'll try :

** Now, all ye female gods and all ye male,
And allfye streams within old Ocean's pale,
And all ye nymphs, at Jove's high summons, come,
All ye who eat the sacred hecatomb !
Who sit and sniff the holy steam, come all.
Great names, and small names, and no names at all."

Jup. Well done, Mercury ! a most admirable proclamation. Here
they are all coming already. Now take and seat them, each in the order
of their dignity — according to their material or their workmanship ; the
golden ones in the first seats, the silver next to them ; then in succession
those of ivory, brass, and stone — and of these, let the works of Phidias,
and Alcam'enes, and My'ron, and Euphra'nor, and such-like artists, take
3

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precedence ; but let the rude and inartistic figures be pushed into some
comer or other, just to fill up tne meeting — and let them hold their
tongues.

Mer, So be it ; they shall be seated according to their degree. But it
may be as well for me to understand — supposing one be of gold, weigh-
ing ever so many talents, but not well executed, and altogether common
and badly finished, is he to sit above the brazen statues of Myron and
Polycli'tus, or the marble of Phidias and Alcamenes ? Or must I count
the art as more worthy than the material ?

Jup, It ought to be so, certainly ; but we must give the gold the pref-
erence, all the same.

Mer, I understand. You would have me class them according to
wealth, not according to merit or excellence. Now, then, you that are
made of gold, here — in the first seats. ( Turning to Jupiter.) It seems
to me, your majesty, that the first places will be filled up entirely with
barbarians. You see what the Greeks are — very graceful and beautiful,
and of admirable workmanship, but of marble or brass, all of them, or
even the most valuable, of ivory, with just a little gold to give them color
and brightness ; while their interior is of wood, with probably a whole
commonwealth of mice established inside them. Whereas that Bendis,
and Anu'bis, and At'this there, and Men, are of solid gold, and really of
enormous value.

Neptune y {coming fonvard.) And is this fair. Mercury, that this dog-
faced monster from Egypt should sit above me — me — Neptune?

Mer, That's the rule. Because, my friend Earth-shaker, Lysip'pus
made you of brass, and consequently poor — the Corinthians having no
gold at that time ; whereas that is the most valuable of all metals. You
must make up your mind, therefore, to make room for him, and not be
vexed about it ; a god with a great gold nose like that must needs take
precedence.

{Enter Venus.) — Ven.^ {coaxingly to Mercury,) Now, then. Mercury
dear, take and put me in a good place, please ; I'm golden, you know.

Mer, Not at all, so far as I can see. Unless I'm very blind, you're
cut out of white marble — from Pentel'icus, I think — and it pleased Praxi'.
teles to make a Venus of you, and hand you over to the people of
Cnidus.

Ven. But I can produce a most unimpeachable witness — Homer him-
self. He continually calls me " golden Venus " all through his poems.

Mer, Yes; and the same authority calls Apollo "rich in gold" and
** wealthy ;" but you can see him sitting down there among the ordinary
gods. He was stripped of his golden crown, you see, by the thieves.

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and they even stole the strings of his lyre. So you may think yourself
well off that I don't put you down quite among the crowd.

(Enter the Colossus ^/Rhodes) [Rodz]. — Col. Now, who will venture
to dispute precedence with me — me, who am the sun, and of such a size to
boot ? If it had not been that the good people of Rhodes determined to
construct me of extraordinary dimensions, they could have made sixteen
golden gods for the same price. Therefore I must be ranked higher, by
the rule of proportion. Besides, look at the art and the workmanship,
so correct, though on such an immense scale.

Mer. What's to be done, Jupiter? It's a very hard question forme to
decide. If I look at his material, he's only brass ; but if I calculate
how many talents' weight of brass he has in him, he's worth the most
money of them all.

yup, (testily.) What the deuce does he want here at all — dwarfing all
the rest of us into insignificance, as he does, and blocking up the meet-
ing besides? (Aloud to Colossus.) Hark ye, good cousin of Rhodes,
though you may be worth more than all these golden gods, how can
you possibly take the highest seat, unless they all get up and you sit
down by yourself? Why, one of your thighs would take up all the seats
in the Pnyx ! You'd better stand up, if you please, and you can stoop
your head a little toward the company.

Mer. Here's another difficulty, again. Here are two, both of brass,
and of the same workmanship, both from the hands of Lysippus, and,
more than all, equal in point of birth, both being sons of Jupiter-
Bacchus, here, and Hercules. Which of them is to sit first ? They're
quarreling over it, as you see.

Jup. We're wasting time, Mercury, when we ought to have begfun
business long ago. So let them sit down anyhow now, as they please.
We will have another meeting hereafter about this question, and then I
shall know better what regulations to make about precedence.

Mer. But, good heavens ! what a row they all make, shouting that
perpetual cry, as they do, " Divide, 'vide, 'vide the victims ! " ** Where's
the nectar? where's the nectar?" ** The ambrosia's all out! the am-
brosia's all out!" "Where are the hecatombs? where are the heca-
tombs ? " '* Give us our share ! *'

yup. Bid them hold their tongues, do, Mercury, that they may hear
the object of the meeting, and let such nonsense alone.

Mer. But they don't all understand Greek, and I am no such univers-
al linguist as to make proclamation in Scythian, and Persian, and
Thracian, and Celtic. It will be best, I suppose; to make a motion with
my hand for them to be silent

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Jup, Verywdl— do.

Mer, See, they're all as dumb Jis philosophers, Now*s your time to
speak. Do you see ? they're all looking at you, waiting to hear what
you're going to say.

Jup, {clearing his throat,) Well, as you're my own son, Mercur}', I
don't mind telling you how I feel. You know how self-possessed and
how eloquent I always am at public meetings ?

Mer. I know I trembled whenever I heard you speak, especially when
you used to threaten all that about wrenching up earth and sea from
their foundations, you know, gods and all, and dangling that golden
chain.

Jup, {interrupting him.) But now, my son— I can't tell whether it*s
the importance of the subject, or the vastness of the assembly (there are
a tremendous lot of gods here, you see) — my ideas seem all in a whirl,
and a sort of trembling has come over me, and my tongue seems as
though it were tied. And the most unlucky thing of all is, I've forgot-
ten the opening paragraph of my speech, which I had all ready prepared
beforehand, that my exordium might be as attractive as possible.

Mer. Well, my good sir, you are in a bad way. They all mistrust your
silence, and fancy they are to hear something very terrible, and that this
is what makes you hesitate,

yup. Suppose, Mercury, I were to rhapsodize a little — that introduc-
tion, you know, out of Homer?

Mer, Which?

yup. (declaiming) —
" Now, hear my words, ye gods and she-gods all — "

Mer. No — ^heaven forbid ! you've given us enough of that stuff al-
ready. No — pray let that hackneyed style alone. Rather give them a
bit out of one of the Philippics of Demosthenes — ^any one you please ;
you can alter and adapt it a little. That's the plan most of our modem
orators adopt.

The preceding extract from Lucian must answer here for
exemplification of that author's quality and method. His
" Dialogues of the Dead " are highly interesting, conceived
and executed in much the same bantering spirit. We greatly
wish we could find room for further citations. But there is
so much beyond, forewarning us of space to be demanded,
that we must perforce forbear. Whether any true earnest-
ness of moral purpose underlay Lucian's exquisite, though

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rollicking, mockery, is a point not easy t# decide. It is
gravely to be feared that he was but a voice of a skeptical
age, irreverent toward Olympianism, not because Olympian-
ism was a lie, but because it was capable of being made to
appear a ridiculous lie. Alas, must we say, then 1 alas, poor
Lucian ! For light had in his time come into the world, and
he lived within the shining of it.

Passing by the bits of natural history, such as natural his-
tory was to the Greeks, anecdotical and marvelous, rather
than philosophical and scientific, passing by too the fragments
of mythology, together with all the rest of the miscellaneous
matter that goes to make up the spice and variety of a good
Greek Reader, let us recover ourselves from the sadness of
our concluding reflection about poor laughing Lucian, by in-
troducing here a few drolleries which must be anonymous,
and so forward to our next chapter, a long one, but not too
long, our readers will certainly say, for it deals with Xeno-
phon's "Anabasis."

The following humors will serve to show how old some
jests still current are. Irish bulls are famous, but what better
Irish bulls are there than some of these from Greece.? And
these, who knows.'* may be importations to Greece from
Egypt.

We adopt, with slight change, a translation that comes to
hand, stiffly literal, but scholarly enough, however bare of
elegance :

A simpleton, wishing. to swim, was nearly strangled in the attempt.
He swore, therefore, "he would not touch the water again before he
had learned to swim."

A simpleton, wishing to teach his horse not to eat much, gave him no
food. And when the horse died with hunger he said, *' I have sustained
a great loss, for when he learned not to eat, then he died.*'

A simpleton, learning that a raven would live two hundred years,
bought a raven and fed it, by way of an experiment

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A simpleton, slfepwrecking in a storm, while the passengers all were
grasping some utensil to save themselves, seized one of the anchors.

One of two brothers having died, a simpleton met the living one, and
asked him, " Did you die, or your brother? "

A simpleton's child died, and seeing so great a multitude of people
assemble, he said, ** I am ashamed to carry so small a child before so
great an assembly."

A friend wrote to a simpleton, who was in Greece, to purchase him
some books. But he neglected it; and when, after a while, he was
visited by his friend, he said, *'The letter, which you sent me respect-
ing the books, I did not receive."

Will our readers forgive us if we almost break a promise
and interpose one more delay in proceeding to the next chap-
ter, with also one more change in mood, this time back again
" from lively to severe .^ " We cannot deny ourselves the
pleasure of giving our friends a taste of Xenophon such as he
appears in one of the best of his books, not the "Anab'asis."
Greek Readers often embrace extracts from Xenophon's
Mem'orahil'ia of Socrates. Let us, accordingly, with this for
our justifying reason, introduce here a few specimen pages of
that highly interesting work. The work relates
to Socrates. It was designed by Xenophon to
vindicate his master's memory from the odium of
guilt on those charges under which he had suffered
the penalty of death — that is, the charges of im-
piety and of corrupting influence exerted on the
Athenian youth. The plan of the work is, largely, to relate
what Socrates did actually teach.

Here, first, are some notes of a conversation in which pagan
Socrates, arguing for the existence and the benevolent charac-
ter of God, in large part anticipates the famous elaborate
treatise of Christian Paley on " Natural Theology." Let it be
noted, also, how Socrates, in his allusion to the influence of
the physical conformation of man on his general condition
and his ability to do things, says, in essence, all that the

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materialistic French philosopher, Helvetius, made so much of
in seeking to establish his dismal theory that we human beings
are dust and nothing more. With aim and with effect far
other than those of Helvetius, our own American Webster,
too, consciously or unconsciously, was following Socrates
when, in an address before a mechanics' society, he once
enlarged so lucidly and strikingly on the idea of man's de-
pending on his handz.% a necessary instrument for the carrying
out of his conceptions, and thus for his progress in civiliza-
tion. Such quickening suggestions from the Greek philos-
opher's brain make it easier to understand why it is that,
without having ever written a line himself, Socrates should
yet have exercised so much teaching power in his time, and
have left behind him so illustrious, imperishably illustrious, a
name. With no further introduction, we give our first extract
from Xenophon's Memorabilia :

But if any suppose that Socrates, as some write and speak of him on
conjecture, was excellently qualified to exhort men to virtue, but in-
capable of leading them forward in it, let them consider not only what he
said in refutation, by questioning, of those who thought that they knew
every thing, (refutations intended to check the progress of those disput-
ants,) but what he used to say in his daily intercourse with his associates,
and then form an opinion whether he was capable of making those who
conversed with him better. I will first mention what I myself once
heard him advance in a dialogue with Aristode'mus, surnamed The Little,
concerning the gods ; for, having heard that Aristodemus neither sacri-
ficed to the gods nor prayed to them, nor attended to auguries, but ridi-
culed those who regarded such matters, he said to him : '* Tell me,
Aristodemus, do you admire any men for their genius?" "I do," re-
plied he. •' Tell us their names, then," said Socrates. '^In epic poetry
I most admire Homer, in dithyrambic Melanip'pides, in tragedy Soph'o-
cles, in statuary Polycli'tus, in painting Zeux'is." ** And whether do
those who form images without sense or motion, or those who form ani-
mals endowed with sense and vital energy, appear to you the more wor-
thy of admiration?" "Those who form animals, by Jupiter, for they
are not produced by chance, but by understanding." "And regarding
tilings of which it is uncertain for what purpose they exist, and those
evidently existing for some useful purpose, which of the two would you

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say were the productions of chance, and which of intelligence?"
'• Doubtless those which exist for some useful purpose must be the pro-
ductions of intelligence." *' Does not he, then," proceeded Socrates,
** who made men at first, appear to you to have given them, for some
useful purpose, those parts by which they perceive different objects, the
eyes to see what is to be seen, the ears to hear what is to be heard ?
What would be the use of smells, if no nostrils had been assigned us?
What perception would there have been of sweet and sour, and of all
that is pleasant to the mouth, if a tongue had not been formed in it lo
have a sense of them ? In addition to these things, does it not seem to
you like the work of forethought, to guard the eye, since it is tender,
with eye-lids, like doors, which, when it is necessary to use the sight, are set
open, but in sleep are closed ! To make the eyelashes grow as a screen,
that winds may not injure it? To make a coping on the parts above
the eyes with the eye-brows, that the perspiration from the head may
not annoy them? To provide that the ears may receive all kind of
sounds, yet never be obstructed? And that the front tfeeth in all ani-
mals may be adapted to cut, and the back teeth to receive food from
them and grind it ? To place the mouth, through which animals take
in what they desire, near the eyes and the nose? And since what passes
off from the stomach is offensive, to turn the channels of it away, and re-
move them as far as possible from the senses ? — can you doubt whether
such a disposition of things, made thus apparently with intention, is the
result of chance or of intelligence ? " •** No, indeed," replied Aristodemus,
**but to one who looks at those matters in this light, they appear like
the work of some wise maker who studied the welfare of animals."
" And to have engendered in them a love of having offspring, and in
mothers a desire to rear their progeny, and to have implanted in the
young that are reared a desire of life, and the greatest dread of death ? "
"Assuredly these appear to be the contrivances of some one who de-
signed that animals should continue to exist."

" And do you think that you yourself have any portion of intelli-
gence?" "Question me, at least, and I will answer." "And can you
suppose that nothing intelligent exists anywhere else ? When you know
that you have in your body but a small portion of the earth which is vast,
and a small portion of the water which is vast, and that your frame is
constituted for you to receive only a small portioti of each of other things
that are vast, do you think that you have seized for yourself, by some
extraordinary good fortune, intelligence alone which exists nowhere else,
.nd that this assemblage of vast bodies, countless in number, is maintained
in order by something void of reason?" "By Jupiter, I can hardly

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suppose that there is any ruling intelligence among that assemblage of
bodies, for I do not see the directors, as I see the agent of things which
are done here." " Nor do you see your own soul, which is the director
of your body ; so that, by like reasoning, you may say that you yourself
do nothing with understanding, but every thing by chance."

** However, Socrates," said Aristodemus, *' I do not despise the gods,
but consider them as too exalted 'to need my attention." *' But," said
Socrates, ** the more exalted they are, while they deign to attend to you,
the more ought you to honor them." "Be assured," replied Aristode-
mus, " that if I believed the gods took any thought for men, I would not
neglect them." " Do you not, then, believe that the gods take thought
for men ? the gods who, in the first place, have made man alone, of all
animals, upright, (which uprightness enables him to look forward to a
greater distance, and to contemplate better what is above, and renders
those parts less liable to injury in which the gods have placed the eyes,
and ears, and mouth ;) and, in the next place, have given to other ani-
mals only feet, which merely give them the capacity of walking, while to
men they have added hands, which execute most of those things tlirough
which we are better off than they. And though all animals have tongues,
they have made that of man alone of such a nature, as by touching
sometimes one part of the mouth, and sometimes another, to express
articulate sounds, and to signify every thing that we wish to communicate
one to another. Nor did it satisfy the gods to take care of the body
merely, but, what is most important of all, they implanted in him the soul,
his most excellent part. For what other animal has a soul to under-
stand, first of all, that the gods, who have arranged such a vast andmoble
order of things, exist ? What other species of animal, besides man, offers
worship to the gods ? What other animal has a mind better fitted than
that of man, to guard against hunger or thirst, or cold or heat, or to
relieve disease, or to acquire strength by exercise, or to labor to obtain
knowledge ; or more capable of remembering whatever it has heard, or
seen, or learned ? Is it not clearly evident.to you that in comparison with
other animals, men live like gods, excelling them by nature both in body
and mind? For an animal having the body of an ox, and the under-
standing of a man, would be unable to execute what it might meditate ;
and animals which have hands, but are without reason, have no advan-
tage* over others; and do you, who share both these excellent endow-
ments, think that the gods take no thought for you? What then must
they do before you will think that they tike thought for you? " **-! will
think so," observed Aristodemus, " when they send me, as you say that
they send to you, monitors to show what I ought, and what I ought not,
3»

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to do." " But when they send admonitions to the Athenians on consult-
ing them by divination, do you not think that they admonish you also ?
Or, when they give warnings to the Greeks by sending portents, or when
they give them to the whole human race, do they except you alone from
the whole and utterly neglect you ? Do you suppose, too, that the gods
would have engendered a persuasion in men that they are able to benefit
or injure them, unless they were really able to do so, and that men, if they
had been thus perpetually deluded, would not have become sensible of the
delusion ? Do you not see that the oldest and wisest of human com-
munities, the oldest and wisest cities and nations, are the most respectful
to the gods, and that the wisest age of man is the most observant of their
worship ? Consider also, my good youth," continued Socrates, ** that
your mind, existing within your body, directs your body as it pleases ; and
it becomes you, therefore, to believe that the intelligence pervading all
things directs all things as may be agreeable to it, and not to think that
while your eye can extend its sight over many furlongs, that of the di-
vinity is unable to see all things at once, or that while your mind can
think of things here or things in Egypt or Sicily, the mind of the deity is
incapable of regarding every thing at the same time. If, however, as
you discover by paying court to men those who are willing to pay court
to you in return, and by doing favors to men those who are willing to
return your favors, and as by asking counsel of men you discover who
are wise, you should in like manner make trial of the gods by offering
worship to them, whether they will advise you concerning matters hid-
den from man ; you will then find that the divinity is of such power, and
of ^such a nature, as to see all things and hear all things at once, to
be present everywhere, and to have a care for all things at the same
time."

By delivering such sentiments, Socrates seems to me to have led his
associates to refrain from what was impious, or unjust, or dishonorable,
not merely when they were seen by men, but when they were in solitude,
since they would conceive that nothing that they did would escape the
knowledge of the gods.

The *'*' Memorabilia " of Xenophon is such a treasury of inter-
esting matter, that it is hard to refrain from incorporating
here more than a just proportion of its contents. It is almt)st
equally hard to choose our extracts, amid the embarrassment
of riches that on every hand dazzles and perplexes the mind.
On the whole, perhaps the dialogue which Xenophon reports

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as having taken place between Socrates and his son, on the
subject of filial obligation toward the mother, will serve the
various purposes of the present undertaking, as well as any
thing we could select.

The fame of Socrates has associated the name of Xan-
. thip'pe with his own, in a very unenviable renown, as perhaps
the most celebrated scold in the world. We cannot but sus-
pect that poor dear Xanthippe suffers unjustly in this regard.
She had a shiftless husband ; so Socrates must have seemed
to her, notable housewife as we hope she was, he spending
most of his time in lounging about the streets of Athens, with
a train of pupils trooping after him, and bringing home at
night nothing to stop the mouths of his hungry children.
For our part, we do not wonder if Xanthippe deemed it her
bounden duty to rate Socrates roundly for his thriftless ways.
She was, beyond doubt, sorely put to it, to keep the pot boil-
ing. This, to be sure, is constructed history; for all we
know is, that Socrates neglected his trade, which was that of
a statuary, and devoted himself to teaching without pay.
And we know, too, that he was poor. Who can question that
Xanthippe felt herself responsible for feeding the philosopher
who was feeding the world }

However all this may be, the following conversation of
Socrates with his son shows plainly enough that, in theory
at least, the supposably ill-providing husband of Xanthippe
was sound as to the duty of the child to the mother. Only
let us be careful how we attribute magnanimity to Socrates
for being thus loyal to a termagant wife. Wait we until we
hear Xanthippe's side of the case.

The chief characteristic trait of the method of Socrates in
teaching was his art in asking questions. This is well exem-
plified in the present conversation :

Having learned one day that Lam'pro-cles, the eldest of his sons, had
exhibited anger against his mother : ** Tell me, my son," said he, ** do
you know that certain persons are called ungrateful?" "Certainly,"

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replied the youth. "And do you understand how it is they act that
men give them this appellation ?" "I do," said Lamprocles, *'for it is
those that have received a kindness, and that do not make a return
when they are able to make one, whom they call ungrateful" ** They
then appear to you to class the ungrateful with the unjust ? " *' I think
so." '* And have you ever considered whether, as it is thought unjust
to make slaves of our friends, but just to make slaves of our enemies,
so it is unjust to be ungrateful toward our friends, but just to be so to-
ward our enemies ? " ** I certainly have," answered Lamprocles, ** and
from whomsoever a man receives a favor, whether friend or enemy, and
does not endeavor to make a return for it, he is, in my opmion, unjust."

** If such, then, be the case," pursued Socrates, ** ingratitude must be
manifest injustice." Lamprocles expressed his assent. *' The greater
benefits, therefore, a person has received, and makes no return, the more
unjust he must be." He assented to this position also. " Whom, then,"
asked Socrates, " can we find receiving greater benefits from any persons
than children receive from their parents? Children, whom their parents
have brought from non-existence into existence, to view so many beauti-
ful objects, and to share in so many blessings, as the gods grant to men ;
blessings which appear to us so inestimable that w^e shrink in the high-
est degree from relinquishing them ; and governments have made death
the penalty for the most heinous crimes in the supposition that they
could not suppress injustice by the terror of any greater evil. The man
maintains his wife and provides for his children whatever he thinks will
conduce fo their support, in as great abundance as he can ; while the
woman receives and bears the burden, oppressing and endangering her
life, and imparting a portion of the nutriment with which she herself is
supported ; and at length, after bearing it the full time and bringing it
forthwith geat pain, she suckles and cherishes it, though she has re-
ceived no previous benefit from it ; nor does the infant know by whom
it is tended, nor is it able to signify what it wants, but she, conjecturing
what will nourish and please it, tries to satisfy his calls, and feeds it for
a long time both night and day, submitting to the trouble, and not know-
ing what return she will receive for it. Nor does it satisfy the parents
merely to feed their offspring, but as soon as the children appear capable
of learning any thing they teach them whatever they know that may be
of use for their conduct in life ; and whatever they consider another
more capable of communicating than themselves, they send their sons
to him at their own expense, and take care to adopt every course that
their children may be as much improved as possible."

Upon this the young man said, **But even if she has done all this,

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and many times more than this, no one, assuredly, could endure her ill-
humor.'* *• And which do you think,'* asked Socrates, "more difficult
to be endured, the ill-humor of a wild beast or that of a mother?" " I
think," replied Lamprocles, *' that of a mother, at least of such a mother
as mine is." " Has she evei^ then, inflicted any hurt upon you by biting
or kicking you, as many have often suffered from wild beasts?" No;
but, by Jupiter, she says such things as no one would endure to hear,
for the value of all that he possesses." "And do you reflect," returned
Socrates, ** how' much grievous trouble you have given her by your
peevishness by voice and by action, in the day and in the night, and
how much anxiety you have caused her when you were ill ? " '* But I
have never said or done any thing to her," replied Lamprocles, "at
which she could feel ashamed." " Do you think it, then," inquired
Socrates, *' a more difficult thing for you to listen to what she says, than
for actors to listen when they utter the bitterest reproaches against one
another in tragedies ? " ** But actors, I imagine, endure such reproaches
easily, because they do not think that, of the speakers, the one who utters
reproaches utters them with intent to do harm, or that the one who
utters threats, utters them with any evil purpose."* **Yet you are dis-
pleased at your mother, although you well know that whatever she says,
she not only says nothing with intent to do you harm, but that she wishes
you more good than any other human being. Or do you suppose that
your mother meditates evil toward you?" ** No, indeed," said Lamp-
rocles, *• that I do not imagine." *' Do you then say that this mother,"
rejoined Socrates, "who is so benevolent to you, who, when you are
ill takes care of you to the utmost of her power, that you may recover
your health, and that you may want nothing that is necessary for you,
and who, besides, entreats the gods for many blessings on your head,
and pays vows for you, is a harsh mother? For my part, I think that
if you cannot endure such a mother, you cannot endure any thing that is
good. But tell me,'* continued he, "whether you think that you ought
to pay respect to any other human being, or whether you are resolved
to try to please nobody, and to follow or obey neither a general nor any
other commander?" **No, indeed," replied Lamprocles, **I have
formed no such resolutions." "Are you tlien willing,'* inquired Socra-
tes, "to cultivate the good-will of your neighbor, that he may kindle a
fire for you when you want it, or aid you in obtaining some good, or
if you happen to meet with any misfortune, may assist ^ou with willing
and ready help ? ** "I am,'* replied he. *' Or would it make no differ-
ence," rejoined Socrates, ** whether a fellow-traveler, or fellow-voyager,
or any other person that you met with, should be your friend or enemy ?

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Or do you think that you ought to cultivate their good will?" "I
think that I ought,*' replied Lamprocles. *' You are then prepared,"
returned Socrates, "to pay attention to such persons; and do you think
that you ought to pay no respect to your mother, who loves you more
than any one else ? Do you not know that the state takes no account
of any other species of ingratitude, nor allows any action at law for it,
overlooking such as receive a favor and make no return for it, but
that if a person does not pay due regard to his parents, it imposes a
punishment on him, rejects his services, and does not allow him to hold
the archonship, considering that such a person cannot piously perform
the sacrifices offered for the country, or discharge any other duty with
propriety and justice. Indeed, if any one does not keep up the sepulchers
of his dead parents, the state inquires into it in the examination of can-
didates for office. You, therefore, my son, if you are wise, will entreat
the gods to pardon you if you have been wanting in respect toward
your mother, lest, regarding you'as an ungrateful person, they should be
disinclined to do you good ; and you will have regard, also, to the opin-
ion of men, lest, observing you to be neglectful of your parents, they
should all condemn you, and you should then be found destitute of
friends ; for if men surmise that you are ungrateful toward your parents,
no one will believe that if he" does you a kindness he will meet with
gratitude in return.

It now only remains to say that Greek Readers sometimes
edit the text of their extracts from the authors who furnish
their matter. It is not unlikely to happen that a given pas-
sage of Greek, from whatever author extracted, will contain
expressions here and there such as a strict Christian moral
or aesthetic judgment would prefer to expunge. This has
been the case with several of the passages herein presented.
Our present note of the fact must stand for a hint of that
quality in pagan literature, which only exemplification could
adequately represent. But exemplification here would not
be advisable. The influence of Christianity has been a
singularly penetrating and pervasive power, to modify the
taste, even w4iere it has not been permitted to renovate the
conscience, of mankind.

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VIII.

XENOPHON'S ANABASIS.

INTRODUCTORY.

The book usually adopted in sequel to the Reader, for
giving students their Greek preparation to enter college, is
Xenophon's " A-nab'a-sis." This is a bit of
history possessing no very serious importance
in itself alone, yet highly interesting, first, as
a specimen of literary art, and second, as
strikingly illustrative of the Greek spirit and
character.

Anabasis is a Greek word meaning literally
** a march upward," that is, from the sea. It
may well enough be represented ty the En-
glish word, made from Latin, "expedition."
The book is an account of an expedition
undertaken by a considerable body of
Greeks into Central Asia, for the purpose,
on the part of their employer, Cyrus, brother to the Per-
sian king, of supporting, in connection with an army of
Oriental soldiers, his rival pretensions to the Persian throne.
The real destination of this expeditionary Greek force was
concealed by Cyrus from all but one of his Greek generals,
under the pretext of a different and less formidable object.
When the two Persian brothers, king and pretender, finally
met in the collision of arms, Cyrus was slain. This event,
of course, at once ended the expedition, or anabasis proper.
The Greeks now had it for their sole business to secure their
own safety in withdrawing homeward from the enemy's
country.

But where the real anabasis ends, there the highest inter-
est of the book, misnamed " Anabasis," begins. For the main

CLIO, MUSB OF HIS-
TORY.

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interest of the " Anabasis," as a narrative, lies rather in the
retreat than in the advance. The reader follows, in a de-
lightfully life-like and simple story, the fortunes of a force of
somewhat more than ten thousand Greek mercenary soldiers,
starting, with no resource but their arms, their skill, and their
valor, from a point many hundreds of miles distant, and suc-
cessfully making their way home through a region formidable
to the adventurers, alike from its natural features and from
its hostile populations.

The whole matter of the famous advance and retreat of
the ten thousand derives grave secondary importance from
the fact that it resulted in revealing to Greece the essential
weakness and vulnerablenessof the imposing Persian Empire.
The indirect historiral consequences were thus very mo-
mentous, of what was in itself a mere episode of history.
Many considerations, therefore, conspire to render Xeno-
phon's "Anabasis" a work^worthy of the attention that in all
ages since it was written it has received.

Xenophon, the author, was born about 431 B. C, being
thus not far from contemporary with the He-
brew prophet Malachi. He was one of the pu-
pils of Socrates, who, though on doubtful au-
thority, is said to have borne him off on his
shoulders from a field of battle, in which, hav-
ing been wounded, the young Athenian knight
XENOPHON. had fallen helpless from his horse. Xenophon
joined the expedition of Cyrus as one adventuring on his own
private account, he having at first no regular official relation
with the army of the Greeks. Soon after the death of Cyrus
at the battle of Cunax'a, five principal commanders of the
Greeks having been treacherously put to death by the Per-
sian general Tis'sa-pher'nes, Xenophon's presence of mind
and practical wisdom, called out by the crisis in which the
Greeks found themselves involved, immediately gave him a
kind of leadership in the retreat, which he maintained until

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a prosperous issue was reached on the shores of Greece.
Xenophon's opportunities were accordingly the best that could
possibly be enjoyed, for knowing the facts which he un-
dertook to relate. His own part in the transactions is given,
not entirely without betrayal of self-consciousness, but on the
whole with admirably well-bred modesty ; and you cannot
resist the impression that the writer who writes so well, ac-
quitted himself well also as a man of affairs. Xenophon was
not, to be sure, a very great man, but it is not quite easy to
see what good ground Macaulay could allege for suspecting,
as he says he does, that he had " rather a weak head." Weak-
nesses he had, no doubt, and weaknesses they were of the
head ; for instance, he was superstitious, being a believer in
dreams. He suffers, too, in comparison with Plato, as re-
porter of Socrates; but this simply means that he was not a
philosopher. He was, instead, a shrewd and enterprising
practical man of affairs. At all events, ** a rather weak head "
would hardly have been the qualification for the masterly
conduct that Xenophon achieved, of the long, eventful, and
on the whole remarkably prosperous, retreat of that high-
spirited, independent, almost iftutinous horde of ten thousand
mercenary Greek soldiers. More just and probable is the
estimate which Grote, the great historian of Greece, indicates
of Xenophon, as " one in whom a full measure of soldierly
strength and courage was combined with the education of an
Athenian, a democrat, and a philosopher."

Xenophon retired in later life to a landed estate where,
in the enjoyment of comfortable, if not elegant, leisure, he
devoted himself to literary pursuits. He is supposed to
have lived to ninety years of age. Diogenes Laer'tius has
an interesting, though not wholly trustworthy, biography of
Xenophon. Our readeis should be advised that the skep-
tical spirit of literary criticism has not left the genuineness
of the "Anabasis " unassailed. It has been gravely argued
that Xenophon was not its real author. The Bible, it will be

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seen, is far from being the only sufferer at iconoclastic
critical hands.

Xenophon's fame, notwithstanding his creditable part in
this expedition, is that of an author rather than that of a
soldier. Among his other chief works is the " Cy'ro-pae-
di'a," purporting to be an account of Cyrus, surnamed the
Elder, or the Great, the founder of the Persian Empire.
" Cyropaedia " is another misnomer. It means literally the
education of Cyrus. The book is really much more than an
account of its subject's earlier years. It is, however,
rather a romance than a history. Xenophon in it seems to aim
at giving a description of the ideal civil society or state. It
is written in the spirit of praise to despotism, as contrasted
with democracy. This may seem singular in an Athenian,
as was Xenophon ; but the fact is, Xenophon was but an in-
different patriot — for, having in the course of his quest of
fortune attached himself to the Spartan monarchy, he came
once openly to bear arms against his native country. It is
possible to suppose that in the "Cyropaedia " Xenophon meant
to stimulate his countrymen by the ideal representation of
manners better than their own. Such was probably the
patriotic purpose of Tac'itus in his '*Germania." We should
thus relieve Xenophon's reputation somewhat. But the simple
truth is that Greek patriotism has, through the eloquent com-
monplaces of orators, come to be popularly over-conceived.

Another important work of Xenophon's, known under the
title of Memorabiliay has already been named. The '""'Mem-'
orabilia^' ("Things worthy to be remembered or recorded")
is a record of the sayings of Socrates. This work, from
which quotations were given in the last chapter, is especially
aimed to defend Xenophon's master against the accusation
of impiety and of evil influence exerted upon the Athenian
youth. There are several other works from Xenophon's pen,
with mention, however, of which it is hardly worth while
here to trouble the reader.

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The "Anabasis " is divided into books, seven in number, each
book being also divided into chapters. For convenience of
reference, it has been further divided by editors into para-
graphs or sections, somewhat on the principle of the verses
of Scripture. The numeration of these sections commences
afresh with every chapter.

The story of the "Anabasis " is capable of being summarily
presented within very small compass. It is in large part an
itinerary, that is, a journal of halts and marches. Such a
recital would, of course, be tedious, but for the incidents, of
disturbance within, of attack from without, of forays for
food, of encounter with strange peoples, of observation of
strange wajrife and habits, and for interspersed notices per-
taining XoikiQ fauna and the flora of the regions traversed.
There ^te some highly entertaining passages reporting the
speeches of various personages, made on occasion perhaps of
a popular tendency developing itself to resist the plans of the
generals, and there are some very good characterizations of
men that figured conspicuously in the expedition. The whole
narrative is enlivened with the Greek spirit, now and again dis-
porting itself in those plays of wit for which it is remarkable.

The reader will not get on well in following the story of
the "Anabasis," without frequent references to the accompa-
nying map, illustrating both the route of the advance and the
different route of the retreat. The present will be a good
opportunity to parents for impressing upon their children
the value, indeed the indispensable necessity, of geography
to history. Pupils ought to be able to draw for themselves
an outline map of the paths followed by the Greeks. With-
out adequate geographical and topographical knowledge, on
his part, such as is thus recommended for acquirement, the
student of the "Anabasis '* will feel himself involved from be-
ginning to end in one inextricable maze of endless wander-
ing and confusion. With it, he will find the work of trans-
lation comparatively easy and pleasant.

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Our plan in this volume will be, to condense the story
which Xenophon tells in detail, introducing, however, here
and there, extracts in full of the translated text of the Greek,
such as may serve at once to quicken the zest of the reader, ^
and exhibit to his apprehension the matter and manner of
the original work. In the course of doing this, we shall,
upon occasion seeming to make it necessary or desirable, add
to the information conveyed by Xenophon himself explana-
tory statements of facts derived from other sources, and
even reflections of our own, that may perhaps promise to be
suggestive to our readers. The portions of our text that are
taken bodily and without change directly from the pages of
Xenophon, will always be distinctly credited to the author.
The translation which we use in making our literal extracts
is that of Rev. J. S. Watson, published in Bohn's '* Library,"
and reprinted in this country by Harper & Brothers.

First Book.

Cyrus the Younger, so called to distinguish him from
Cyrus the Great, which latter is the subject of the ** Cyropae-
dia," was accused to his brother Ar'tax-erx'es, the reigning
monarch of Persia, of plotting against his throne. Cyrus
was put under arrest, but at the intercession of his mother,
with whom he seems to have been a favorite son, he was re-
leased and allowed to return to the province of which he had
been made by his father subordinate governor, (or satrap, to
transfer, as the Greek too does, the Persian term.) Hereupon
Cyrus showed his gratitude by secretly levying an army,
composed in part of Greek mercenaries, to wage open war
against his brother. He made Sardis, near the coast of the
Grecian Archipelago, the starting-point of his long and ad-
venturous expedition. Sardis is the city of that name
mentioned in the book of Revelation. It was the capital
of Lydia, and Cyrus had it as the seat of government for his
satrapy. Sardis was even at this time, 401 B.C., an ancient

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city. When the great Cyrus attached Lydia to his empire,
Croesus, the Lydian king (that proverb of wealth, " Rich as
Croesus " ) met his final overthrow. Croesus had once asked
Solon if he did not think him the happiest of men. The
rich king was vexed at the answer he received, that no man
could be called happy until he died. Subsequently, about to
be burned to death, Croesus is said to have cried out, ** O
Solon, Solon ! " This outcry, exciting the curiosity, and on
explanation, the compassion, of the magnanimous conqueror,
was, if we may believe Herodotus, the means of saving the
unhappy monarch's life. So much for the historic associa-
tions of Sardis.

Setting out in the spring of the year 401 B. C, Cyrus ad-
vanced through Lydia, into Phrygia. He made a halt of seven
days at Colos'sse, an important city. The reader of Scripture
will identify this place as that in which, some four hundred
years afterward, a Christian Church was founded, addressed
by the apostle Paul in one of his epistles. Here, as at other
points along his route, Cyrus received additions to his
force.

The reader will, perhaps, be ready to raise with himself the
questions, first. How should there have been this number of
Greek soldiers of fortune prepared to enter into a distant
foreign service ? and, second, How should a subordinate gov-
ernor in the Persian state have been able to muster them for
the purpose of a rebellion and usurpation like that which
Cyrus proposed } To these questions it may be briefly an-
swered : On the one hand the states of Greece, especially
perhaps the Athenian state, were always fond of colonizing.
There was an almost continuous line of Greek colonies
stretched along the neighboring shores of Asia Minor. To
these colonies resorted, in considerable numbers, such stren-
uous and enterprising citizens of the parent states as, having
exposed themselves to the displeasure of the people, had
been brought under sentence of exile. At this particular

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time, a war having just closed that had made Athens subject
to Sparta, the internal condition of Greece was such as to
render the number of unemployed soldiers unusually great.
The restless, overflowing energy of Greek life thus furnished
both leaders and troops in abundant supply for engaging in
whatever service might seem to them to promise fame or for-
tune to their efforts. Any Greek, with qualifications for
leadership, might easily muster a following of soldiers, with
which he could sell himself, almost at his own price, to king
or conqueror, the exigencies of whose condition might require
such mercenary aid. This, on the one hand, and on the other,
the Persian Empire, though widely extended in territory, was
in reality weak — so weak, indeed, that the central cohesive
force of eminent administrative genius in the sovereign being
at any moment withdrawn, the component parts of the im-
mense aggregation seemed always ready at the first strong
and bold hostile stroke to fall asunder. It was easy enough
for Cyrus to pretend, as he did pretend, occasions for using
fresh levies of troops in expeditions offensive or defensive in
the neighborhood of his own proper province.

Nothing could more strikingly illustrate the disorganized
and moribund condition of the Persian power, together with
the weakness of the then reigning king, than a singular state-
ment made by Xenophon. Xenophon says that Artaxerxes
was prevented from suspecting Cyrus of plotting against him-
self by the supposition which he indulged, that Cyrus was
raising troops for war with Tis'sa-pher'nes. This Tissapher-
nes was the Persian governor of certain parts near the satrapy
of Cyrus. He it was who preferred the original accusation
against Cyrus of pretending to the throne of his brother.
The king, Xenophon says — an astonishing statement — was
not at all concerned at this strife between two of his subor-
dinate governors ! These circumstances rendered it possible
for Cyrus to proceed considerable lengths in the course of
his undertaking without encountering opposition from his

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brother, too easily contenting himself, a thousand miles or
more away, in his palace at Babylon.

The next considerable halt was at Ce-lse'nae, another im-
portant Phrygian city. Here Cyrus stayed a month, receiving
further accessions to his force. In a park, (the Greek word
is " paradise," derived from an ancient Semitic root, the same
word as that used by our Lord on the cross, in his promise to
the repentant robber, and subsequently in the book of Reve-
lation, to represent in figure the happy state of heaven,) in a
park at Celaenae, kept by Cyrus in connection with a palace
of his there, the collected Greek forces were reviewed and
numbered. They amounted to 13,000 in all.

At a place called the Plain of Ca-ys'trus, (Ka-is'trus,) some
seven days' march in advance, two noteworthy circumstances
occurred. Cyrus was beset in his tent by applications from
his soldiers for arrearages of pay. He owed them three
months* wages. The prince was seriously embarrassed in his
feeling, for he was free enough with money when he had
money in possession. The manner in which Cyrus was re-
lieved, and through Cyrus the soldiers, was singular and even
mysterious. It was, perhaps, not without scandal. The
Queen of Cilic'ia, a country lying beyond him in his purposed
way toward Babylon, paid Cyrus a visit at this place, and,
according to report, made him a large present of money.
Cyrus in consequence paid his soldiers out of hand for four
months. The Cilician queen remained with Cyrus nearly
three weeks, through halt and march.

At one place Cyrus amused his royal companion with a re-
view of his troops, both Greek and Barbarian. Possibly the
prince had also a purpose, not disclosed, of inspiring her and
the troops in her escort with a wholesome awe of the martial
character of his Greek mercenaries. The Greeks seem at
any rate to have entered into the parade in a spirit of some
national contempt for the Barbarians, relieved and commend-
ed by their characteristic vivacity and humor. At one point

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the rank and file of the Greeks struck of their own accord
into a run, with arms presented, as if to attack the tents of
the Persians. The Barbarians (to the Greek, by the way, all
foreigners were barbarians) fled in a panic, the Cilician queen
among them, while the Greeks marched laughing up to the
tents. Cyrus was well pleased with the omen of this incident.
The advance proceeded through Lyca-o'ni-a, which country
he permitted his soldiers to ravage. Such license was, per-
haps, a necessity to keep his mercenaries contented to follow
him. It is now a good while ago, but this permission to pil-
lage, of course, meant untold misery, of which the Watcher
in the Heavens took account, to the suffering inhabitants.

A capital point in the strategy of the upward march was
now at hand. The range of mountains which intersected
Cyrus's line of advance through Cilicia had one, and had but
one, practicable pass for a force of such numbers. This was
the famous pass of the Cilician Gates, so-called, a way so long
and so narrow that a handful of men could successfully dis-
pute it against an army, however large. Cyrus seems, how-
ever, to have had his plan for securing the right of way. He
detached, under the leadership of Me'non, a capable Greek
commander, a considerable force of troops, ostensibly to es-
cort the Cilician queen on hejr return to her husband. This
convoy took a direct short course across the mountains to
Tarsus, the Cilician capital, thus turning, as it were, the Cili-
cian Gates, through which Cyrus desired to conduct his main
body. The Cilician king, Sy-en'ne-sis, made a show of resist-
ance to Cyrus from the heights commanding the pass, but
hearing that Tarsus was threatened by the incursion of Me-
non he abandoned his position, and permitted the advance to
be made. Under some pretext, Tarsus was plundered by
the soldiers, and Syennesis got rid of his guest only by an
exchange of presents with him, in which Cyrus received
money enough to support his army for a time, and Syennesis

some keepsakes as a souvenir of the visit!
4

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The Greeks now suspect that Cyrus is marching against
his brother, the king, and make difficulties about proceeding.
Cle-ar'chus, however, one of their leaders, a bold and clever
man, exiled from Sparta, overcomes their reluctance, and
they agree to go on, Cyrus assuring them, with ready men-
dacity, that his expedition has a different aim.

The mention of Tarsus will remind every reader that here,
four hundred years later, the Apostle Paul was born. Tarsus,
even at this time, was an important commercial city, of origin
so ancient as to be almost prehistoric. Paul's reading of
Xenophon's "Anabasis ** was, perhaps, enlivened to him 'in his
boyhood by local traditions, still surviving, of events so im-
portant and so disastrous to his native city.

Before dismissing this incident of discontent on the part
of the Greeks, amounting almost to mutiny, occurring at
Tarsus, we must give our readers, in Xenophon's own words,
an account of the expedients adopted by Clearchus to secure
their advance. The story well illustrates at once the levity
and independence of the Greek spirit in general, and the un-
scrupulous audacity and resourcefulness of the Lacedaemonian
exile, Clearchus. When the high hand would not serve this
bold, this able, this ill-fated soldier of fortune, he was ready
with the arts of the actor and of the orator :

Clearchus, first of all, endeavored to compel his soldiers to proceed ;
but, as soon as he began to advance^ they pelted hiiti iind his baggage-
cattle with stones. Clearchus, indeed, on this occasion, had a narrow
escape of being stoned to death. At length, when he saw that he should
not be able to proceed by force, he called a meeting of his soldiers ; and
at first, standing before them, he continued for some time to shed tears,
while they, looking oh, were struck with wonder, and remained silent
He then addressed them to this effect :

"Wonder not, soldiers, that I feel distressed at the present occur-
rences ; for Cyrus engaged himself to me by ties of hospitality, and hon-
ored me, when I was an exile from my country, both with other marks
of esteem, and by presenting me with ten thousand darics. On receiv-
ing this money, I did not treasure it up for my own use, or squander it

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in luxury, but spent it upon you. First of all, I made war upon the
Thracians, and, in the cause of Greece, and with your assistance, took
vengeance upon them by expelling them from the Cher'so-ne'sus, when
they would have taken the country from its Grecian colonists. When
Cyrus summoned me, I set out to join him, taking you with me, that if
he had need of my aid, I might do him service in return for the benefits
that I had received from him. But since you are unwilling to accom-
pany him on this expedition, I am under the obligation, either, by desert-
ing you, to preserve the friendship of Cyrus, or, by proving false to him,
to adhere to you. Whether I shall do right, I do not know ; but I shall
give you the preference, and will undergo with you whatever may be
necessary. Nor shall any one ever say that, after leading Greeks into a
country of Barbarians, I deserted the Greeks, and adopted, in prefer-
ence, the friendship of the Barbarians.

" Since, however, you decline to obey me, or to follow me, I will go
with you, and submit to whatever may be destined for us. For I look
upon you to be at once my country, my friends, and my fellow-soldiers,
and consider that with you I shall be respected, wherever I may be : but
that, if separated from you, I shall be unable either to afford assistance
to a friend, or to avenge myself upon an enemy. Feel assured, there-
fore, that I am resolved to accompany you wherever you go."

Thus he spoke : and the soldiers, as well those under his own com-
mand as the others, on hearing these assurances, applauded him for say-
ing that he would not march against the king ; and more than two thou-
sand of the troops of Xe'nias and Pa'sion, taking with them their arras
and baggage, went and encamped under Clearchus.

Cyrus, perplexed and grieved at these occurrences, sent for Clearchus ;
*lrho, however, would not go, but sending a messenger to Cyrus without
the knowledge of the soldiers, bade him be of good courage, as these
matters would be arranged to his satisfaction. He also desired Cyrus
to send for him again, but, when Cyrus had done so, he again declined
to go. Afterward, having assembled his own soldiers, and thgse who
had recently gone over to him, and any of the rest that wished to be
present, he spoke to the following eflfect :

" It is evident, soldiers, that the situation of Cyrus with regard to us
is the same as ours with regard to him ; for we are no longer his soldiers,
since we refuse to follow him, nor is he any longer our paymaster. Tliat
he considers himself wronged by us, however, I am well aware ; so that,
even when he sends for me, I am unwilling to go to him, principally
from feeling shame, because I am conscious of having been in all respects
false to him ; and in addition, from being afraid that, when he has me

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in his power, he may take vengeance on me. for the matters in which he
conceives that he has been injured. This, therefore, seems to me to be
no time for us to sleep, or to neglect our own safety ; but, on the con-
trary, to consider what we must do under these circumstances. As long
as we remain here, it seems necessary to consider how we may best re-
main with safety ; or, if we determine upon going at once, how we may
depart with the greatest security, and how we may obtain provisions ;
for without these the general and the private soldier are alike inefficient.
Cyrus is indeed a most valuable friend to those to whom he is a friend,
but a most violent enemy to those to whom he is an enemy. He has
forces, too, both infantry and cavalry, as well as a naval power, as we all
alike see and know ; for we seem to me to be encamped at no great dis-
. tance from him. It is therefore full time to say whatever anyone thinks
to be best." Having spoken thus, he made a pause.

Upon this, several rose to speak ; some, of their own accord, to ex-
press what they thought ; others, previously instructed by Clearchus, to
point out what difficulty there would be either in remaining or depart-
ing, without the consent of Cyrus. One of these, pretending to be eager
to proceed with all possible haste to Greece, propo§ed that they should
choose other commanders without delay, if Clearchus were unwilling to
conduct them back ; that they should purchase provisions, as there was
a market in the Barbarian camp, and pack up their baggage ; that they
should go to Cyrus, and ask him to furnish them with ships, in which
they might sail home ; and, if he should not grant them, that they should
beg of him a guide, to conduct them back through such parts of the
country as were friendly toward them. But if he would not even allow
them a guide, that they should, without delay, form themselves in war-
like order, and send a detachment to take possession of the heights, in
order that neither Cyrus nor the Cilicians ("of whom," said he, **we
have many prisoners, and much money that we have taken ") may be the
first to occupy them. Such were the suggestions that he offered ; but
after him Clearchus spoke as follows :

** Let no one of you mention me as likely to undertake this command ;
for I see many reasons why I ought not to do so ; but be assured, that
whatever person you may elect, I shall pay the greatest possible defer-
ence to him, that you may see that I know how to obey as well as any
other man."

After him another arose, who pointed out the folly of him who advised
them to ask for ships, just as if Cyrus were not about to sail back, and
who showed, too, how foolish it would be to request a guide of the very
person "whose plans," said he, "we are frustrating. And," he added,

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•'* if we should trust the guide that Cyrus mij;ht assign us, what will hin-
der Cyrus from giving orders to occupy the heights before we reach
them? For my own part, I should be reluctant to embark in any vessel
that he might grant us, lest. he should send us and the galleys to the bot-
tom together ; I should also be afraid to follow any guide that he may
appoint, lest he should conduct us into places from whence there would
be no means of escape ; and I had rather, if I depart without the con-
sent of Cyrus, depart without his knowledge ; but this is impossible. I
say, then, that such proposals are absurdities ; and my advice is, that
certain persons, such as are fit for the task, should accompany Clearchus
to Cynis, and ask him in what service he wishes to employ us ; and if
the undertaking be similar to that in which he before employed foreign
troops, that we too should follow him, and not appear more cowardly
than those who previously went up with him. But if the present design
seem greater and more difficult, and more perilous than the former, that
they should ask, in that case, either to induce us to accompany him by
persuasion, or, yielding himself to our persuasions, to give us a passage to
a friendly country; for thus, if we accompany him, we shall accompany him
as friends and zealous supporters, and if we leave him, we shall depart
in safety ; that they then report to us what answer he makes to this ap-
plication ; and that we, having heard his reply, take measures in accord-
ance with it."

These suggestions were approved ; and, having chosen certain persons,
they sent them with Clearchus to ask Cyrus the questions agreed upon
by the army. Cyrus answered that he had heard that A-broc'o-mas, an
enemy of his, was on the banks of the Euphrates, twelve days' march
distant ; and it was against him, he said, that he wished to march ; and
if Abrocomas should be there, he said that he longed to take due venge-
ance on him ; but if he should retreat, " we will consider there," he
added, " how to proceed."

The delegates, having heard this answer, reported it to the soldiers,
who had still a suspicion that he was leading them against the king, but
nevertheless resolved to dfccompany him. They then asked for an in-
crease of pay, and Cyrus promised to give them all half as much again
as they received before, that is to say, instead of a daric, three half-darics
a month for every soldier. But no one heard there, at least publicly,
that he was leading them against the king.

Five days' farther march brings the army of Cyrus to
the last city in Cilicia, a large and wealthy seaport town,
Issi. Here Cyrus was joined by his fleet. The prosperous

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fortunes of Cyrus attracted a defection of Greek mercenaries,
to the number of 400, from his enemy, Abrocomas, to join
the expedition against the king. These met him at Issi.
Another day's march, and the army are at the Gates of
Cilicia and Syria. These were two fortresses, on the side
toward Cilicia guarded by Syennesis, on the side toward
Syria, by a garrison of the king's. This second critical point
of the advance presented a difficulty which could be over-
come only by the assistance of the fleet. The fleet could
land troops at points both on this side and on that of the
fortresses, and, attacking the garrisons in guard, secure a
passage for the army. To Cyrus's surprise, however, his
march was not opposed. Abrocomas, his enemy, instead of
making, as Cyrus expected, a stand against him, retreated to
join the king, having with him a reported force, of 300,000
men. The first halt made at a sea-coast city of Syria was
marked by an incident of apparently less favorable augury,
which, however, either the good fortune or the skill of Cyrus
enabled him to turn to useful account. It will bring out a
trait in Cyrus's character, as well as illustrate once more the
mercurial and sympathetic spirit of the Greeks, if we give
the incident in full. We do so in Xenophon's own words :

Xenias the Arcadian captain, and Pasion the Megare'an, embarking
in a vessel, and putting on board their most valuable effects, sailed
away ; being actuated, as most thought, by motives of jealousy, because
Cyrus had allowed Clearchus to retain under his command their soldiers,
who had seceded to Clearchus in the expectation of returning to Greece,
and not of marching against the king. Upon their disappearance, a
rumor pervaded the army that Cyrus would pursue them with ships of
war ; and some wished that they might be taken, as having acted per-
fidiously ; while others pitied their fate if they should be caught.

But Cyrus, cairing together the captains, said to them, " Xenias and
Pasion have left us : but let them be well assured that they have not fled
clandestinely ; for I know which way they are gone ; nor have they es-
caped beyond my reach ; for I have triremes that would overtake their
vessel. But, by the gods, I shall certainly not pursue them ; nor shall

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any one say that as long as a man remains with me, I make use of his
services, but that, when he desires to leave me, I seize and ill-treat his
peraon, and despoil him of his property. But let them go, with the con-
sciousness that they have acted a worse part toward us than we toward
them. I have, indeed, their children and wives under guard at Tral'les ;
but not even of them shall they be deprived, but shall receive them
back in consideration of their former service to me." Thus Cyrus spoke ;
and the Greeks, even such as had been previously disinclined to the ex-
pedition, when they heard of the noble conduct of Cyrus, accompanied
him with greater pleasure and alacrity.

Twelve days* march from this point advances the ex-
peditionary force to the river Euphrates, at the site of a
large city named Thap'sa-cus. Here the army staid five
days, and here Cyrus openly told the Greek captains that he
was marching to Babylon against the Great King. He de-
sired them to make the disclosure to their men. They did
so. The men felt, or feigned, much displeasure, and de-
manded a liberal donative. Lavish gifts Cyrus was the last
man to refuse the promise of, and the soldiers were promptly
made rich with prospective and conditional wealth. The
majority were prevailed upon to adhere to Cyrus. The self-
ish thrift and cunning of the leading Greek soldiers of for-
tune are well exhibited in the conduct of Menon on the
present occasion. This conduct is thus related by Xeno-
phon :

Before it was certain what the other soldiers would do, whether they
would accompany Cyrus or not, Menon assembled his own troops apart
from the rest, and spoke as follows :

*' If you will follow my advice, soldiers, you will, without incurring
either danger or toil, make yourselves honored by Cyrus beyond the rest
of the army. What, then, would I have you do ? Cyrus is at this mo-
ment urgent with the Greeks to accompany him against the king ; I
therefore suggest that, before it is known how the other Greeks will an-
swer Cyrus, you should cross over the river Euphrates. For if they
should determine upon accompanying him, you will appear to have been
the cause of it, by being the first to pass the river ; and to you, as being
most forward with your services, Cyrus will feel and repay the obliga-
tion, as no one knows how to do better than himself. But if the others

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should determine not to go with him, we shall all of us return back
again ; but you, as having alone complied with his wishes, and as being
most worthy of his confidence, he will employ in garrison duty and posts
of authority ; and whatever else you may ask of him, I feel assured that,
as the friends of Cyrus, you will obtain it."

On hearing these proposals, they at once complied with them, and
crossed the river before tlie others had given their answer. And when
Cyrus perceived that they had crossed, he was much pleased, and dis-
patched Glus to Menon's troops with this message : " I applaud your
conduct, my friends ; and it shall be my care that you may applaud me ;
«r think me no longer Cyrus." The soldiers, in consequence, being
filled with great expectations, prayed that he might succeed ; and to
Menon Cyrus was said to have sent most magnificent presents. After
these transactions, he passed the river, and all the rest of the army fol-
lowed him.

The remainder of Cyrus's advance lay along the river
Euphrates, on its left bank — that is to say, the army had the
river on its right, and were marching in a south-easterly
direction toward Babylon. Through a region, called by
Xenophon Arabia, their march was for five days across a
desert, which Xenophon thus describes :

In this region the ground was entirely a plain, level as the sea. It
was covered with wormwood, and whatever other kinds of shrub or reed
grew on it were all odoriferous as perfumes. But there were no trees.
There were wild animals, however, of various kinds ; the most numer-
ous were wild asses ; there were also many ostriches, as well as bustards
and antelopes ; and these animals the horsemen of the army sometimes
hunted. The wild asses, when any one pursued them, would start for-
ward a considerable distance, and then stand still ; (for they ran much
more swiftly than the horse;) and again, when the horse approached,
they did the same ; and it was impossible to catch them, unless the
horsemen, stationing themselves at intervals, kept up the pursuit with a
succession of horses. The flesh of those that were taken resembled
venison, but was more tender. An ostrich no one succeeded in catching ;
and those horsemen who hunted that bird soon desisted from the pur-
suit ; for it far outstripped them in its flight, using its feet for running,
and its wings, raising them like a sail. The bustards might be taken
if a person started them suddenly ; for they fly but a short distance, like
partridges, and soon tire. Their flesh is very delicious.

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They then reach a rivery where they find a large deserted
city. Here they stay three days and collect provisions.
They were about to encounter a march of extremely for-
midable character. They were to traverse a region destitute
of every means of subsistence. Many of their beasts of
burden, during those thirteen dreary days, perished from sheer
famine. Food also failed the soldiers, except that among
the sutlers of Cyrus's Barbarian force, flour of barley or of
wheat might be bought at exorbitant prices. The soldiers,
accordingly, lived exclusively upon flesh. Xenophon relates
an incident of this desert march illustrative of the individual
character of Cyrus, and of the discipline which he was able
to maintain among his Persian followers, accustomed to
Oriental ideas of courtier devotion. He says :

On one occasion, when a narrow and muddy road presented itself,
almost impassable for the wagons, Cyrus halted on the spot with the
most distinguished and wealthy of his train, and ordered Glus and Pi-
gres, with a detachment of the Barbarian forces, to assist in extricating
the wagons. But as they appeared to him to do this too tardily, he or-
dered, as if in anger, the noblest Persians of his suite to assist in ex-
pediting the carriages. Then might be seen a specimen of their ready
obedience ; for, throwing off their purple cloaks, in the place where each
happened to be standing, they rushed forward, as one would run in a
race for victory, down an extremely steep declivity, having on those rich
vests which they wear, and embroidered trowsers, some too with chains
about their necks and bracelets on their wrists, and, leaping with these
equipments straight into the mud, brought the wagons up quicker than
any one would have imagined.

On the whole, Cyrus evidently used the greatest speed throughout the
march, and made no delay, except where he halted in order to obtain a
supply of provisions, or for some other necessary purpose ; thinking
that the quicker he went, the more unprepared he should find the king
when he engaged him.

Still another incident, exhibiting the difficulties with which

Cyrus had to contend in maintaining harmony of action

among the mutually jealous and high-spirited leaders of the

Greeks, with their notions of personal independence, is, in
4*

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the words of Xenophon, as follows. This incident, too, be-
longs to the period of the desert march, the exigencies of
which seem to have brought out the latent selfishness com-
mon to human nature :

The soldiers of Menon and those of Clearchus falling into a dispute
about something, Clearchus, judging a soldier of Menon's to be in the
wrong, inflicted stripes upon him, and the man, coming to the quarters
of his own tYoops, told his comrades what had occurred, who, when they
heard it, showed great displeasure and resentment toward Clearchus.
On the same day, Clearchus, after going to the place where the river
was crossed, and inspecting the market there, was returning on horse-
back to his tent through Menon*s camp, with a few attendants. Cyrus
had not yet arrived, but was still on his way thither. One of Menon's
soldiers, who was employed in cleaving wood, when he saw Clearchus
riding through the camp, threw his ax at him, but missed his aim ; another
then threw a stone at him, and another, and afterward several, a great
uproar ensuing. Clearchus sought refuge in his own camp, and imme-
diately called his men to arms, ordering his heavy-armed troops to remain
on the spot, resting their shields against their knees, while he himself,
with the Thracians and the horsemen that were in his camp, to the num-
ber of more than forty, (and most of these were Thracians,) bore down
toward the troops of Menon, so that they and Menon himself were struck
with terror, and made a general rush to their arms ; while some stood
still, not knowing how to act under the circumstances. Proxenus hap-
pened then to be coming up behind the rest, with a body of heavy-armed
men following him, and immediately led his troops into the middle space
between them both, and drew them up under arms, begging Clearchus
to desist from what he was doing. But Clearchus was indignant, be-
cause, when he had narrowly escaped stoning, Proxenus spoke mildly
of the treatment that he had received ; he accordingly desired him to
stand out from between them.

At this juncture Cyrus came up, and inquired into the affair. He then
instantly took his javelms in his hand, and rode, with such of his confi-
dential officers as were with him, into the midst of the Greeks, and ad-
dressed them thus : ** Clearchus and Proxenus, and you other Greeks who
are here present, you know not what you are doing. For if you engage
in any contention with one another, be assured that this very day I shall
be cut off, and you also not long after me ; since, if our affairs go ill, all
these Barbarians whom you see before you will prove more dangerous
enemies to us than even those who are with the king." Clearchus. on

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hearing these remonstrances, recovered his self-possession ; and both
parties, desisting from the strife, deposited their arms in their respective
encampments.

The army now had need of harmonious counsels. They
were rapidly approaching the forces of the king. They found
the country wasted before them, as they advanced. This was
the work of a hostile cavalry detachment, conjectured, from
the tracks observed, to number about 2,000. But Cyrus, be-
sides dissensions to be composed among the Greeks, had his
path of ambition plante<l with thorns through treachery arising
among his own Persian adherents. According to the style of
history-writing fashionable in Xenophon's time, our author
dramatizes his work by introducing dialogues and speeches,
as if reported word for word on the spot. Perhaps the form
of what follows (given in Xenophon's own language) is uncon-
sciously made by the narrator in some measure Greek ; but
the spirit of it is essentially and unmistakably Oriental and
despotic. Still, let our readers observe with what skill of
adjustment Cyrus adapts himself to the supposed different,
more liberal ideas of the Greek leaders, whom it was for his
present interest to consult and conciliate. Something of the
Greek spirit had perhaps really penetrated the nature of this
remarkable young prince, to qualify the effect of his Oriental
blood and breeding. He was now but little more than twenty
years of age. If he had conquered, it is not too much to
surmise that the course of subsequent history might have
been permanently changed. Asia might have conquered
Greece, instead of being conquered by Greece ; but, in that
case, the irrepressible Greek spirit must still seriously have
modified the force to which it ostensibly succumbed :

And here Orontes, a Persian, by birth connected with the kint^, and
reckoned one of the ablest of the Persians in the field, turned traitor to
Cyrus ; with whom, indeed, he had previously been at strife, but had
been reconciled to him. He now told Cyrus that if he would give him
a thousand horse, he would either cut off, by lying in ambush, the body

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of cavalry that were burning all before them, or would take the greater
number of them prisoners, and hinder them from consuming every-thing
in their way, and prevent them from ever informing the king that they
had seen the army of Cyrus. Cyrus, when he heard his proposal, thought
it advantageous ; and desired him to take a certain number of men from
each of the different commanders.

Orontes, thinking that he had secured the cavalry, wrote a letter to
the king, saying that he would come to him with as many horse as he
could obtain ; and he desired him to give directions to his own cavalry
to receive him as a friend. There were also in the letter expressions
reminding the king of his former friendship and fidelity to him. This
letter he gave to a man, upon whom, as he believed, he could depend,
but who, when he received it, carried it to Cyrus. Cyrus, after Reading
the letter, caused Orontes to be arrested, and summoned to his own tent
seven of the most distinguished Persians of his staff, and desired the
•Greek generals to bring up a body of heavy-armed men, who should ar-
range themselves under arms around his tent. They did as he desired,
and brought with them about three thousand heavy-armed soldiers.
Clearchus he called in to assist at the council, as that officer appeared,
both to himself and to the rest, to be held most in honor among the
Greeks. Afterward, when Clearchus left the council, he related to his
friends how the trial of Orontes was conducted, for there was no injunc-
tion of secresy. He said that Cyrus thus opened the proceedings :

** I have solicited your attendance, my friends, in order that, on con-
sultmg with you, I may do, with regard to Orontes here before you,
whatever may be thought just before gods and. men. In the first place,
then, my father appointed him to be subject to me. And when after-
ward, by the command, as he himself states, of my brother, he engaged
in war against me, having possession of the citadel of Sardis, I, too, took
up arms against him, and made him resolve to desist from war with me ;
and then I received from him, and gave him in return, the right-hand
of friendship. And since that occurrence," he continued, "is there any
thing in which I have wronged you?" Orontes replied that there was
not. Cyrus again asked him, " And did you not then subsequently,
when, as you own yourself, you had received no injury from me, go over
to the Mysians, and do all the mischief in your power to my territories ?"
Orontes answered in the affirmative. *' And did you not then," contin-
ued Cyrus, " when you had thus again proved your strength, come to the
altar of Diana, and say that you repented, and, prevailing upon me by
entreaties, give me, and receive from me in return, pledges of mutual
faith?" This, too, Orontes acknowledged. "What injury, then,"

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continued Cyrus, "have you received from me, that you are now, for the
third time, discovered in traitorous designs against me?" Qrontes say-
ing that he had received no injury from him, Cyrus asked him, "You
confess, then, that you have acted unjustly toward me ? " "I am neces-
sitated to confess it," replied Orontes. Cyrus then again inquired,
"And would you yet become an enemy to my brother, and a faithful
friend to me?" Orontes answered, "Though I should become so, O
Cyrus, I should no longer appear so to you." On this Cyrus said to
those present, "Such are this man's deeds, and such his confessions.
And now, do you first, O Clearchus, declare your opinion, whatever
seems right to you." Clearchus spoke thus : " I advise that this man be
put out of the way with all dispatch ; that so it may be no longer neces-
sary to be on our guard against him, but that we may have leisure, as
far as he is concerned, to benefit those who are willing to be our friends."
In this opinion, Clearchus said, the rest concurred. Afterward, by the
direction of Cyrus, all of them, even those related to the prisoner, rising
from their seats, took Orontes by the girdle, in token that he was to suf-
fer death ; when those to whom directions had been given, led him away.
And when those saw him pass, who had previously been used to bow be-
fore him, they bowed before him as usual, though they knew that he was
being led to execution.

After he had been conducted into the tent of Artapa'tas, the most con-
fidential of Cyrus's scepter-bearers, no one from that time ever beheld
Orontes either living or dead, nor could any one say, from certain knowl-
edge, in what manner he died. Various conjectures were made ; but no
burial-place of him was ever seen.

After the tragical episode of Orontes's end, Cyrus con-
tinued his march through Babylonia. At the end of the
third day, the encounter of the king's forces seemed so im-
minent that Cyrus reviewed his whole army and arranged an
order of battle. This review took place at midnight. An
extraordinary spectacle, to us it seems, for the placid moon
to look down upon from her far-off watch-tower in the sky.
But we do not know that the moon was shining. Perhaps
torches and blazing bonfires furnished the necessary light.
The plan concerted was for Clearchus to command the right
wing, Menon the left, while Cyrus himself should lead the
Barbarian force in person. When day dawned, some de-

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serters came from the Great King with intelligence respecting
the royal army, Cyrus held a council of war with the Greek
commanders, at the close of which he exhorted them cheer-
fully and earnestly, and promised, if successful, to make
them, in return for their loyalty and valor, the envy of
Greece. Inspirited with these assurances, the Greek com-
manders were full of confidence and courage. The numbers
of the Greeks were found to be but little short of 13,000
men. The Barbarian troops numbered 100,000. Cyrus had
about twenty chariots armed with scythes. The king im-
mensely outnumbered the pretender. He was said to have
1,200,000 men, and scythed chariots to the number of 200.
A body-guard in addition of 6,000 horsemen were drawn up
in front of the king. The absence of Abrocomas, who did
not come up until five days after the battle, reduced by one
quarter the numbers actually engaged on the king's side.

During one day, after the midnight review, Cyrus marched in
battle array, expecting a collision with the king. His reason
for this expectation was the fact that he found his march in-
terrupted by a deep and broad trench, at right angles to the
river Euphrates, and extending from the river as far as the
wall of Media. A space, however, of about twenty feet was
left between the end of this trench and the bank of the
Euphrates. Through this space the army, narrowing their
line of march, advanced to meet the king.

It seems singular that the passage of Cyrus should not
have been disputed, but perhaps it was a part of the king's
plan thus to throw Cyrus off his guard. Such at any rate
was the result. For the army, left very much to the impulses
of the individual soldiers, proceeded in loose array and, thus
disorganized, after an interval of two days, suddenly en-
countered the king. The vast multitude of the king's force
approached silently with slow and uniform step. Cyrus
riding by with his interpreter called out to Clearchus to aim
at the enemy's center, as there would be found the king.

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But Clearchus, with all his boldness, was too prudent a man
to leave his right unguarded by the river. He simply told
Cyrus he would take care that all should go well. Clear-
chus's prudence on the present occasion was, it is probable,
fatally ill-timed, both for himself and for the prince. It
seems altogether likely that had he done as Cyrus directed,
the event of the day would have been reversed. The sequel
seems to show that Cyrus was a better judge than Clearchus
as to what risks might safely be taken, in reliance upon the
superiority of Greek over Barbarian. During the impressively
gradual and noiseless mutual approach of the two opposing
lines of battle, Xenophon makes his first personal appear-
ance challenging the notice of the reader. Cyrus was riding
between the two lines, when Xenophon, for no reason in the
world that appears, except to attract the particular attention
of the prince, rides out to meet him, and inquires whether he
has any commands. Xenophon takes pains to inform us
that Cyrus stopped his horse and told him, bidding him tell
the rest, that the sacrifices and the appearances of the vic-
tims were favorable — a very important communication, which
Cyrus, being no doubt himself an orthodox fire-worshiper,
may be conceived to have had some humor in manufacturing
out of whole cloth on the spot, at once to please Xenophon's
vanity, and to satisfy the superstition of the Greeks. At
the same moment, Cyrus heard a murmur of voices running
through the ranks. He asked what it meant. On being
told that it was the watch-word, he asked further what the
watch-word was. " Jupiter the Preserver and Victory," was
Xenophon's reply. With prompt wit, " I accept it as a good
omen," Cyrus said.

The first onset was from the Greeks. They broke the still-
ness with a shout, and actually ran to the attack. The Bar-
barians, panic-stricken, fled before them. The scythed char-
iots of the enemy, abandoned by their drivers, made indis-
criminate havoc among the two forces. The Greeks, however,

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with great facility,
opened their ranks to
let them pass, and
the remarkable fact is
recorded by Xjno-
phon that, with the

GREEK AND PERSIAN COS-TbaTAIJts! "^ dOUbtful eXCCptiOH of

one man, reported to have been hit with an arrow, no
Greek received any material injury in this battle. Cyrus
noted with exultation the success of the Greeks; but,
though already saluted as king by the eager worshipers of
the rising sun about him, with great presence of mind he
refused to join in the pursuit of the conquered. Keeping
his body-guard of 600 cavalry in close order around him, he
bent his attention on the proceedings of the king. The
king, owing to his enormous preponderance over Cyrus in
numbers, was, while holding the center of his own army, act-
ually beyond the extreme left of Cyrus's. Artaxerxes, ac-
cordingly, encountering no opposition in his front, began to
wheel round as if with the purpose of inclosing his adver-
saries. Not unnaturally, Cyrus now thought that the victo-
rious Greeks, ardently engaged in pursuit, were in danger of
being attacked in the rear. Under this apprehension, he
charges, with his 600 horse, directly on his brother. The
6,000 of the king broke and fled, whereupon Cyrus's 600 be-
came dispersed in the ardor of headlong pursuit. Thus left
almost alone, Cyrus caught sight of the king. Exclaiming,
" I see the man," he rushed with such impetuosity upon his
brother, that his weapon pierced the armor of Artaxerxes,
and wounded him in the breast. But this fratricidal attack
had an issue that Providence appointed, not Cyrus; for
Cyrus, in the very act of striking his brother, was himself
violently struck with a javelin under the eye and slain.

Xenophon devotes a chapter to a careful portraiture of
the character of Cyrus. This chapter, in order that our

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readers may get the insight which Xenophon, both con-
sciously and unconsciously, here furnishes us moderns the
means of obtaining, into the standards and ideals of excel-
lence that were prevalent in the ancient world of enlightened
paganism, we give nearly in full :

Whenever any one did him a kindness or an injury he showed himself
anxious to go beyond him in those respects ; and some used to mention a
wish of his, that *' he desired to Hve Ioi>g enough to outdo both those who
had done him good, and those who had done him ill, in the requital that
he should make." Accordingly to him alone of the men of our days were
so great a number of people desirous of committing the disposal of their
property, their cities, and their own persons.

Yet no one could with truth say this of him, that he suffered the criminal
or unjust to deride his authority ; for he of all men inflicted punishment
most unsparingly ; and there were often to be seen, along the most fre-
quented roads, men deprived of their feet, or hands, or eyes ; so that in
Cyrus's dominions it was possible for any one, Greek or Barbarian, who
did no wrong, to travel without fear whithersoever he pleased, and having
with him whatever might suit his convenience.

To those who showed ability for war it is acknowledged that he paid
distinguished honor. His first war was with the Pisidians and Mysians ;
and, marching in person into these countries, he made those whom he saw
voluntarily hazarding their lives in his service governors over the terri-
tory that he subdued, and distinguished them with rewards in other ways.
So that the brave appeared to be the most fortunate of men, while the
cowardly were deemed fit only to be their slaves. There were, therefore,
great numbers of persons who voluntarily exposed themselves to danger,
wherever they thought that Cyrus would become aware of their exertions.

With regard to justice, if any appeared to him inclined to display that
virtue, he made a point of making such men richer than those who sought
to profit by injustice. Accordingly, while in many other respects his
affairs were administered judiciously, he likewise possessed an army worthy
of the name. For it was not for money that generals and captains came
from foreign lands to enter into his service, but because they were persua-
ded that to serve Cyrus well would be more profitable than any amonnt
of monthly pay.

Besides, if any one executed his orders in a superior manner, he never
suffered his diligence to go unrewarded ; consequently, in every under-
taking, the best qualified officers were said to be ready to assist him.

If he noticed any one that was a skillful manager, with strict regard to

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justice, stocking the land of which he had the direction, and securing in-
come from it, he would never take any thing from such a person, but was
ever ready to give him something in addition ; so that men labored with
cheerfulness, acquired property with confidence, and made no conceal-
ment from Cyrus of what each possessed ; for he did not appear to envy
those who amassed riches openly, but to endeavor to bring into use the
wealth of those who concealed it.

Whatever friends he made, and felt to be well-disposed to him, and con-
sidered to be capable of assisting him in any thing that he might wish to
accomplish, he is acknowledged by all to have been most successful in at-
taching them to him.

For, on the very same account on which he thought that he himself
had need of friends, namely, that he might have co-operators in his under-
takings, did he endeavor to prove an efficient assistant to his friends in
whatever he perceived any of them desirous of effecting.

He received, for many reasons, more presents than perhaps any other
single individual ; and these he outdid every one else in distributing
among his friends, having a view to the character of each, and to what he
perceived eacli most needed. Whatever presents any one sent him of ar-
ticles of personal ornament, whether for warlike accouterment, or merely
for dress, concerning these, they said, he used to remark, that he could not
decorate his own person with them all, but that he thought friends well
equipped were the greatest ornament a man could have. That he should
outdo his friends, indeed, in conferring great benefits, is not at all wonder-
ful, since he was so much more able ; but that he should surpass his
friends in kind attentions and anxious desire to oblige, appears to me far
more worthy of admiration. Frequently, when he had wine served him
of a peculiarly fine flavor, he would send half-emptied flagons of it to
some of his friends, with a messege to this effect : *' Cyrus has not for
some time met with pleasanter wine than this ; and he has therefore sent
some of it to you, and begs you will drink it to-day with those whom you
love best." He would often, too, send geese partly eaten, and the halves
of loaves, and other such things, desiring the bearer to say, in presenting
them, •' Cyrus has been delighted with these, and therefore wishes you also
to taste of them."

Wherever provender was scarce, but he himself, from having many at-
tendants, and from the care which he took, was able to procure some, he
would send it about, and desire his friends to give that provender to the
horses that carried them, so that hungry steeds might not carry his friends.
Whenever he rode out, and many were likely to see him, he would call to
him his friends, and hold earnest conversation with them, that he might

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show whom he held in honor ; so that, from what I have heard, I should
think that no one was ever beloved by a greater number of persons, either
Greeks or Barbarians. Of this fact the following is a proof; that no one
deserted to the king from Cyrus, though only a subject (except that Orontes
attempted to do so ; but he soon found the pers(jn whom he believed
faithful to him, more a friend to Cyrus than to himself,) while many came
over to Cyrus from the king, after they became enemies to each other ;
and these, too, men who were greatly beloved by the king ; for they felt
persuaded that if they proved themselves brave soldiers under Cyrus, they
would obtain from him more adequate rewards for their services than
from the king.

What occurred also at the time of his death is a great proof, as well
that he himself was a man of merit, as that he could accurately distinguish
such as were trustworthy, well-disposed, and constant in their attach-
ment. For when he was killed, all his friends and the partakers of his
table who were with him fell fighting in his defense, except Ariseus, who
had been posted in command of the cavalry on the left ; and, when he
learned that Cyrus had fallen in the battle, he took to flight, with all the
troops which he had under his command.

At sunset of the day of battle, the victorious and pursuing
Greeks halted on the spot where they at the moment found
themselves for an interval of rest. After deliberation,
wondering that they heard nothing from Cyrus, of whose
death they did not know, they finally returned in the even-
ing to their camp. Artaxerxes had been before them there,
and they found their baggage plundered. In consequence,
they were most of them obliged to go without supper to
rest, as they had also fought without dinner.

Second Book.

At break of day, while the generals were considering to-
gether what course to pursue, a messenger arrived who told
them that Cyrus was dead. Resourceful Clearchus suggested
that the army of Cyrus seat A-ri-se'us, the lieutenant of that
prince, on the Persian throne. " To those who conquer it
belongs also to rule," said the stalwart Spartan, which, in
modern political parlance, may be rendered, " To the victors

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belong the spoils." . A message to this effect being dispatched
to Ariaeus,the troops proceeded to get themselves a meal,
which they did by slaughtering their oxen and asses, and
cooking the flesji over fires made from arrows and shields
deposited by the Barbarians on the field of battle. About
the middle of the forenoon a message from the king, couched
in true Oriental terms of despotic arrogance, invited the
Greeks to come to the royal palace unarmed and sue for
mercy. The Greeks heard the heralds with apprehension ;
but Clearchus, seldom unequal to the occasion, spiritedly said
that it was not for conquerors to give up their arms. There
is something about Clearchus that captivates the interest of
the reader. The impending tragedy of his fate lends a kind
of pathos to the few incidents illustrating his character that
still remain. Resourceful as he was, he had to deal with a
man whose duplicity, as being that of an Oriental, was an
overmatch for the not too scrupulous "Sagacity of the Greek.
The wily Tissaphernes was soon to have Clearchus in his
toils.

Pha-li'nus, a plausible Greek in the service of Artaxerxes,
was one of the present embassy from the king. After the
companions of Clearchus had, in that general's temporary
absence on the matter of a sacrifice at the moment in prog-
ress, expressed their views of the situation to Phalinus, Pha-
linus turned to Clearchus, coming back, and said — but the
passage-at-arms of witty reticence in which these two Greeks,
Phalinus and Clearchus, now engaged, is too good to be re-
ported otherwise than in the full text of Xenophon*s narra-
tion. The reader will be reminded of the words often quoted
and misquoted, " When Greek meets Greek, then comes the
tug of war," an expression as true when the war is of wit as
when it is of arms. The correct form of the quotation, by
the way, is, " When Greek joined Greek, then was the tug of
war; " the reference being, not to collision, but to alliance, of
Greek with Greek:

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" Your companions, O Clearchus, give each a different answer ; and
now tell us what you have to say." Clearchus then said, *' I was glad
to see you, O Phalinus, and so, I dare say, were all the rest of us ; for
you are a Greek, as we also are ; and, being so many in number as you
see, and placed in such circumstances, we would advise with you how
we should act with regard to the message that you bring. Give us then,
I entreat you by the gods, such advice as seems to you most honorable
and advantageous, and such as "will bring you honor in time to come, when
it is related that Phalinus, being once sent from the king to require the
Greeks to deliver up their arms, gave them, when they consulted him,
such and such counsel ; for you know that whatever counsel you do
give, will necessarily be reported in Greece."

Clearchus craftily threw out this suggestion, with the desire that the
very person who came as an envoy from the king should advise them
not to deliver up their arms, in order that the Greeks might be led to
conceive better hopes. But Phalinus, adroitly evading the appeal, spoke,
contrary to his expectation, as follows : "If, out of ten thousand hopeful
chances, you have any single one of saving yourselves by continuing in arms
against the king, I advise you not to deliver up your arms ; but if you
have not a single hope of safety in opposing the king's pleasure, I ad-
vise you to save yourselves in the only way in which it is possible.**
Clearchus rejoined : " Such, then, is your advice ; but on our part re-
turn this answer, that we are of opinion that, if we are to be friends
with the king, we shall be more valuable friends if we retain our arms,
than if we surrender them to another ; but that if we must make war
against him, we should make war better if we retain our arms than if
we give them up to another." Phalinus said, **This answer, then, we
will report ; but the king desired us also to inform you, that while you
remain in this place a truce is to be considered as existing between him
and you ; but, if you advance or retreat, there is to be war. Give us,
therefore, your answer on this point also ; whether you will remain here
and a truce to exist, or whether I shall announce from you that there is
war." Clearchus replied, *' Report, therefore, on this point also, that
our resolution is the same as that of the king." "And what is that?"
said Phalinus. Clearchus replied, " If we stay here, a truce ; but if we
retreat or advance, war." Phalinus again asked him, "Is it a truce or
war that I shall report?** Clearchus again made the same answer:
" A truce if we stay, and if we retreat or advance, war." But of what
he intended to do he gave no intimation.

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The Greeks go to Ariseus and form, with solemn sacrifice
of a bull, a wolf, a boar, and a ram, a treaty of alliance with
him for their return to Greece. The Greeks dipped a sword,
and the Barbarians a lance, into the blood, in token of the
covenant. During the night, after the first day's march, a
panic fell upon the Greeks in their encampment, which Cle-
archus allayed with the following clever device : He had a
remarkably clear-voiced herald proclaim throughout the
camp that whoever would give information of the man that
turned the ass loose among the arms (the arms were piled in
front of the men's quarters) should receive a talent of silver
in reward. The panic-stricken troops either attributed the
noise that disturbed them to the harmless and ridiculous
cause implied in this proclamation, or else, with responsive
humor, entered into the spirit of Clearchus's pleasantry, and
settled themselves to rest.

At sunrise, heralds arrived from the king. The king's forces
had had their turn of panic before, and this embassy was
probably a result. What the king proposed was a truce.
Clearchus coolly bade tell the king's heralds to wait till he
should be at leisure. The interval he spent in arranging his
army in the most impressive order possible, and, having heard
the heralds report the king's proposal, said : " Tell the king
we must fight first, for we have not breakfasted; and the
Greeks will not hear of a truce from any man that does not
first give them a breakfast." The heralds departing soon
returned bringing a favorable answer. The generals deliber-
ated apart, and Clearchus said: "We will make the truce;
I, however, will not say so at once, but wait till the mes-
sengers become concerned lest we say no to the proposal.
And yet," added the prudeiit diplomatist, " I suspect a simi-
lar concern may be conceived by oiir own soldiers." The
truce, with these crafty artifices of precaution, was concluded,
and the soldiers proceeded on their way to villages designated
by the Persians for the obtaining of provisions.

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After an interval of tl>ree days, Tissaphernes, with a nu-
merous train, presented himself in person to the Greeks.
This arch-artificer of fraud plausibly represented that he had,
with much solicitation, induced the king to think favorably
of permitting him to conduct his dear friends, the Greeks,
back to Greece, The same journey would return Tissapher-
nes to his satrapy. Clearchus, for the Greeks, replied in a
spirit of assent, and Tissaphernes withdrew, agreeing to report
the final answer of the king. The Greeks now took their turn
of anxiety, for there was no Tissaphernes until the third day
of waiting. Then, however, Tissaphernes ratified a friendly
compact with the Greeks. This done, Tissaphernes said, " I
now go back to the king; but, after necessary arrangements
made, expect me here again, prepared to take you home."

Twenty days passed — days of suspense for the Greeks.
This time, as Di'o-do'rus Sic'u-lus relates, was occupied by
Tissaphernes in visiting Artaxerxes at Babylon, and there
receiving, in reward for his fidelity, the hand of the king's
daughter, together with the added province of which Cyrus
had been satrap. Mutual mistrust arose between the Greeks
on the one hand, and their formidable Persian escort on the
other. This sentiment, on the part of the Greeks, was by no
means diminished after the return of Tissaphernes. So dis-
agreeable and dangerous a state of things filled Clearchus
with apprehension. He resolved to make a bold, and per-
haps frank, attempt to establish better relations. He accord-
ingly dispatched a messenger to Tissaphernes, requesting an
interview with that personage. Tissaphernes promptly bade
Clearchus come. If Clearchus had now got to the end of his
duplicity, Tissaphernes was but at the beginning of his. The
two met, and made their plausible speeches to each other.
Tissaphernes then induced Clearchus to spend the night in
his quarters, and made him his own guest at supper. The
overreached and outwitted Clearchus returned next day to
the camp of the Greeks with the evident air of one on the

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best terms with Tissaphernes. What the Persian proposed
was, that Clearchus, with his fellow-commanders, should
come to his quarters, and there be told the names of the
false informants that had fomented the distrust between the
two armies. Clearchus, it seems, supposed that Menon wa's
the man. Menon and Clearchus were both of them intrigu-
ing, each to supplant the other in influence with the Greeks,
and so to secure the chief interest with Tissaphernes. The
story of the Anabasis, as a whole, with all its reliefs of wit,
of humor, of bravery, of generosity, is a sad tale of human
selfishness, cupidity, cruelty, Clearchus, with some diffi-
culty, got four generals, with twenty captains, to accompany
him back to Tissaphernes. On arriving, the generals were
invited to enter the tent of Tissaphernes, but the captains
were kept in waiting at the door. Soon after, at a given
signal, the persons of the generals were seized, and the cap-
tains were massacred outright. About two hundred unarmed
soldiers, who, led probably by curiosity, had followed their
commanders, were set upon by a body of Barbarian cavalry,
who killed every Greek, slave or freeman, that they met.

The situation of the Greeks was now perilous in the ex-
treme. To Ariaeus, however, calling upon them to surrender
their arms, they answer with grieved and angry defiance.
Ariaeus represented that Clearchus was put to death for
treachery. Proxenus and Menon, he said, who had de-
nounced his treachery, were held in great honor. Xenophon
once more makes a personal appearance in his narrative, as-
suming spokesmanship, soon to become leadership, on behalf
of the Greeks. " If Clearchus," said he, in substance, " was a
perjured truce-breaker, he deserved his punishment. But
let us have Proxenus and Menon back. They, it seems, are
friends to you, and they are our generals. They will advise
what is best both for you and for us." The Barbarians talked
among themselves, but finally retired without replying to
Xenophon.

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Xenophon pauses at this point in his narrative to portray,
in a whole chapter devoted to the purpose, the characters of
the five generals Uhat were seized and finally put to death.
The chapter is too well written, and too valuable as afford-
ing insight into the current and accepted moral and social
ideas of the ancient Greeks not to be inserted in full. It
would be hard to find, in any literature, delineations of char-
acter more self-evidently to the life than these :

The generals who were thus made prisoners were taken up t6 the
king, and put to death by being beheaded.

One of them, Clearchus, by the general consent of all who were ac-
quainted with him, appears to have been a man well qualified for war,
and extremely fond of military enterprise. For as long as the Lacedae-
monians were at war with the Athenians, he remained in the service of
his country ; but when the peace took place, having induced his gov-
ernment to believe that the Thracians were committing ravages on the
Greeks, and having gained his point, as well as he could, with the
Eph'ori, he sailed from home to make war upon the Thracians that lie
above the Chersone'sus and Perin'thus. But when the Ephori, after he
was gone, having for some reason changed their mind, took measures to
oblige him to turn back from the Isthmus, he then no longer paid obedi-
ence to their commands, but sailed away to the Hel'les-pont, and was
in consequence condemned to death, for disobedience, by the chief mag-
istrates at Sparta. Being then an exile, he went to Cyrus ; and by what
methods he conciliated the favor of Cyrus has been told in another
place. Cyrus presented him with ten thousand darics ; and he, on re-
ceiving that sum, did not give himself up to idleness, but having col-
lected an army with the money, made war upon the Thracians, and con-
quered them in battle, and from that time plundered and laid waste
their country, and contiYiued this warfare till Cyrus had need of his
army, when he went to him, for the purpose of again making war in
concert with him.

These seem to me to have been the proceedings of one fond of war,
who, when he might have lived in peace without disgrace or loss, chose
war in preference ; when he might have spent his time in idleness, vol-
untarily underwent toil for the sake of military adventure ; and when he
might have enjoyed riches in security, chose rather, by engaging in war-
fare, to diminish their amount. He was, indeed, led by inclination to
spend his money in war, as he might have spent it in pursuits of gallaO"
5

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try, or any other ple&sure ; to such a degree was he fond of war. He
appears also to have been qualified for military undertakings, as he
liked perilous adventuie, was ready to march day and night against the
enemy, and was possessed of great presence of mind in circumstances of
difficulty, as those who were with him on all such occasions were univer-
sally ready to acknowledge.

For commanding troops he was said to be qualified in as great a
degree as wts consistent with his temper ; for he was excelled by no one
in ability to contrive how an army might have provisions, and to pro-
cure them ; and he was equally fitted to impress on all around him the
necessity of obeying Clearchus. This he effected by severity ; for he
was of & stem countenance and harsh voice ; and he always punished
violently, and sometimes in anger, so that he occasionally repented of
what he had done. He punished, too, on principle, for he thought that
there could be no efficiency»in an army undisciplined by chastisement
He is also reported to have said that a soldier ought to fear his com-
mander more than the enemy, if he would either keep guard well, or
abstain from doing injury to friends, or maich without hesitation against
foes. In circumstances of danger, accordingly, the soldiers were willing
to obey him implicitly, and wished for no other leader ; for they said
that the sternness in his countenance then assumed an appearance of
cheerfulness, and that what was severe in it seemed undauntedness
against the enemy ; so that it appeared indicative of safety, and not of
austerity. But when they were out of danger, and were at liberty to
betake themselves to other chiefs, they deserted him in great numbers ;
for he had nothing attractive in him, but was always forbidding and re-
pulsive, so that the soldiers felt toward him as boys toward their master.
Hence it was that he never had anyone who followed him out of friend-
ship and attachment to his person ; though such as followed him from
being appointed to the service by their country, or from being compelled
by want or other necessity, he found extremely submissive to him.
And when they began under his command to gain victories over the
enemy, there were many important circumstances that concurred to ren-
der his troops excellent soldiers ; for their perfect confidence against the
enemy had its effect, and their dread of punishment from him rendered
them strictly observant of discipline. Such was his character as a com-
mander. But he was said to have been by no means willing to be com-
manded by others. When he was put to death he was about fifty years
of age.

Prox'enus the Boeotian, from his earliest youth, felt a desire to become
a man capable of great undertakings; and through this desire paid

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Gorgias of Leon'tium for instruction. When he had passed some time
with him, and thought himself capable of command, and, if honored
with the friendship of the great, of making no inadequate return for
their favors, he proceeded to take a part in this enterprise with Cyrus ;
and expected to acquire in it- a great name, extensive influence, and
abundant wealth. But, though he earnestly wished for these things, he
at the same time plainly showed that he was unwilling to acquire any
of them by injustice, but that he thought he ought to obtain them by
just and honorable means, or otherwise not at all.

He was, indeed, able to command orderly and well-disposed men, but
incapable of inspiring ordinary soldiers with either respect or fear for
him ; he stood even more in awe of those under his command than they
of him ; and evidently showed that he was more afraid of being dis-
liked by his soldiers than his soldiers of being disobedient to him. He
thought it sufficient both for being, and appearing, capable of command,
to praise him who did well, and withhold his praise from the offender.
Such, therefore, of his followers, as were of honorable and virtuous
character, were much attached to him, but the unprincipled formed de-
signs upon him, as a man easy to manage. He was about thirty years
old when he was put to death.

As for Menon the Thessalian, he ever manifested an excessive desire
for riches, being desirous of command that he might receive greater pay,
and desirous of honors that he might obtain greater perquisites ; and he
wished to be well with those in power, in order that when he did wrong
he might not suffer punishment. To accomplish what he desired, he
thought that the shortest road lay through perjury, falsehood, and de-
ceit ; while sincerity and truth he regarded as no better than folly. He
evidently had no affection for any man ; and as for those to whom he
professed to be a friend, he was unmistakably plotting mischief against
them. He never ridiculed an enemy, but always used to talk with his
associates as if ridiculing all of them. He formed no designs on the
property of his enemies (for he thought it difficult to take what belonged
to such as were on their guard against him), but looked upon himself as
the only person sensible how very easy it was to invade the unguarded
property of friends.

Those whom he saw given to peijury and injustice he feared as men
well armed ; but sought to practice on those who were pious and observ-
ant of truth as imbeciles. As another might take a pride in religion
and truth and justice, so Menon took a pride in being able to deceive,
in devising falsehoods, in sneering at friends ; and thought the man who
was guileless was to be regarded as deficient in knowledge of the world.

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He believed that he must conciliate those in whose friendship he wished
to stand first, by calumniating such as already held the chief place in
their favor. The soldiers he tried to render obedient to him by being
an accomplice in their dishonesty. He expected to be honored and
courted, by showing that he had the power and the will to inflict the
greatest injuries. When any one deserted him, he spoke of it as a favor
on his own part that, while he made use of his services, he did not work
his destruction.

As to such parts of his history as are little known, I might, if I were to
speak of them, say something untrue of him ; but those which every one
knows, are these. While yet in the prime of youth he obtained, at the
hands of Ar'is-tip'pus, the command of his corps of mercenaries. He was
also, in his prime, most intimate with Ariseus, though a Barbarian, as
Ariaeus delighted in beautiful youths. He himself, too, while yet a
beardless youth, made a favorite of Thar'y-pas, who had arrived at man-
hood.

When his fellow-officers were put to death because they had served
with Cyrus against the king, he, though he had done the same, was not
put to death with them ; but after the death of the other generals, he
died under a punishment inflicted by the king, not like Clearchus and
the other commanders, who were beheaded, (which appears to be the '
speediest kind of death ;) but after living a year in torture, like a male-
factor, he is said at length to have met his end.

A'gi-as the Arcadian, and Soc'ra-tes the Achaean, were also put to death.
These no one ever derided as wanting courage in, battle, or blamed for
their conduct toward their friends. They were both about five and
thirty years of age.

Third Book.

Xenophon, good literary artist as he was, recapitulates in
a sentence what had already been narrated, and proceeds to
draw a striking picture of the present deplorable condition
of the Greeks. Here is the picture in his own words :

After the generals were made prisoners, and such of the captains and
soldiers as had accompanied them were put to death, the Greeks were
in great perplexity, reflecting that they were not far from the king's res-
idence ; that there were around them, on all sides, many hostile nations
and cities ; that no one would any longer secure them opportunities of
purchasing provisions ; that they were distant from Greece not less than
ten thousand stadia ; that there was no one to guide them on the way ;

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that impassable rivers would intercept them in the midst of their course ;
that the Barbarians who had gone up with Cyrus had deserted them ;
and that they were left utterly alone, having no cavalry to support them,
so that it was certain, even if they defeated their enemies, that they
would not kill a man of them, and that, if they were defeated, none of
themselves would be left alive. Reflecting, I say, on these circum-
stances, and being disheartened at them, few of them tasted food for
that evening, few kindled fires, and many did not come to the place of
arms during that night, but lay down to rest where they severally hap-
pened to be, unable to sleep for sorrow and longing for their country,
their parents, their wives and children, whom they never expected to see
again. In this state of mind they all went to their resting-places.

Xenophon himself is next sketched by his own hand into
his work, an interesting incident being retrospectively given
of his relation to Socrates as one taking a pupil's advice
from the sage respecting the propriety of his joining the ex-
pedition of Cyrus. Xenophon, during that night of discom-
fort and anxiety, dreamed a dream upon which he puts a
twofold interpretation of his own. The upshot of it was,
that upon awaking he arose and called together the cap-
tains that Proxenus, his special friend in the expedition, had
commanded. He makes these captains a sensible speech,
and intimates that if he should be chosen their leader, he,
despite his youth, is not the man to refuse to serve. All
assented except a Boeotian. Xenophon fell afoul of this un-
happy dissentient, and got him contumeliously expelled from
his captaincy. The next step wag to call a general meeting
of all the surviving officers of the different bodies of the
Greeks. The meeting thus called took place about mid-
night. To the assembled officers Xenophon made an address
full of brave counsel, which the complacent historian is will-
ing to admit won him much credit. What he advised was,
that new commanders be chosen to take the place of those
lost. This was done, Xenophon himself being put in the
place of Proxenus, his friend. Day now was just breaking,
and the rank and file of the Greeks were called together, and

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stoutly harangued by three men in succession. Xenophon
was the last of the three, and made the longest speech. At
least, his speech is longest as reported, which may be due to
the' historian's livelier interest and better memory as to this
particular speech. He lets his reader understand that he
dressed himself for the occasion as handsomely as he could.
He had, near the commencement of his harangue, chanced
to conclude a sentence with the words, " We have, with the
help of the gods, many fair hopes of safety." At this instant
somebody sneezed, whereupon the soldiers hearing it, with
one impulse, paid their adoration to the god. It was an
omen from Jupiter the Preserver, as Xenophon said. Xeno-
phon (who it seems was more than willing to have a remark
of his sneezed at) made the most of this circumstance, inter-
rupting his speech to have the soldiers vote a vow of sacrifice,
to be made in the first friendly country they should reach.
All raised their hands, made their vow, and sang the paean.
On the whole, Xenophon managed the affair exceedingly
well. An order of march proposed by him was agreed upon,
and their several duties designated to all the commanders.

One of Xenophon's heroic proposals was to burn every
thing that they could possibly spare on the homeward march.
Their tents and their wagons were to be converted to ashes.
This, of course, was to disencumber themselves as much as
possible, alike that they might choose their paths more freely,
proceed more rapidly, and be'better prepared to fight. They
immediately made the necessary bonfire, and having dis-
tributed among themselves the baggage, as far as it seemed
absolutely necessary that this should be retained, they com-
mitted the rest to the flames. Having made this somewhat
melancholy sacrifice, they went to breakfast.

While they were at this meal, up rode Mith'ri-da'tes,
a neighboring Persian satrap, accompanied by thirty horse.
Requesting the generals to come within hearing, he asked
*^ know what their present plan might be, at the same

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time suggesting that he was disposed to join them in their
march, if their plan seemed to him well chosen. The
generals consulted together, and returned for answer that
their plan was, if unmolested, to go home, doing as little
injury as possible to the country through which they passed,
but to fight their best, if opposition was offered them.
Mithridates then tried to show them that they could not
get on at all without the king's consent. No more than
this was necessary to convince the wary Greeks that the
mission of Mithridates was a treacherous one. He was, in
fact, observed to have with him a follower of Tissaphernes,
supposably to insure his fidelity. The generals accordingly
took a resolution that there should be no communication
with the enemy by heralds; which meant war to the knife.
The wisdom of this resolution seemed approved by a circum-
stance that occurred about this time in connection with a
visit paid the Greeks by Persian heralds. One Ni-car'chus,
an Arcadian, deserted in the night with about twenty men.
After the incident of this interview with Mithridates, they
resumed their march, first crossing a river, and then proceed-
ing in regular array, with their beasts of burden and the
camp-followers in the center. They had not gone far before
Mithridates made his appearance again. This time he brings
about two hundred horsemen, and about four hundred archers
and slingers. He came up as if in a friendly manner, but
when within suitable distance suddenly some of his men let
fly a volley of stones and arrows at the Greeks, wounding a
few of their number. It turned out that the Persian archers
could shoot farther than the Cretans, while, too, the Persian
slingers were beyond the reach of the Greeks that threw
javelins. Xenophon, commanding the rear, was excessively
annoyed. Bravely, but unwisely, he undertook to pursue the
harassing foe. Being without cavalry, and the Persians hav-
ing a considerable start, he wearied his men without effecting
any thing whatever. The whole day was passed in the tor-

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ment of this ineffectual fight. The Greeks made very little
distance, but arrived at the villages, their proposed destina-
tion, in the evening. Here they were much depressed, and
with reason. Xenophon candidly confesses that he was
blamed by his fellow-generals for his conduct during the
day. He owned to them that he was wrong, but he made
some practical suggestions which went far toward repairing
his mistake. He told his comrades that two things were
necessary to their safety. They must have slingers, and they
must have horsemen. A force of about fifty horsemen was
extemporized by mounting that number of soldiers on horses
released from baggage for the purpose, and a company of
slingers volunteered to the number of about two hundred.
They made an earlier start than usual the next morning, and
accordingly had passed a ravine, in which they would have
fought at disadvantage had they been attacked there, before
Mithridates appeared once more, having this time a force
increased to one thousand horse, and about four thousand
archers and slingers. This satrap had, from his success on
the previous day, conceived great hopes of what he would
now be able to accomplish in attacking the Greeks. His
men had, however, no sooner begun to discharge their weap-
ons, than at the sound of a trumpet the newly organized com-
panies of the Greeks rushed out to repel the enemy. The
Barbarians fled, but not without losing several of their foot,
who were killed, and about eighteen of their horse, who were
made prisoners. The Greeks suffered no further molestation
during the day. At night they reached the river Tigris,
where they found a large deserted city, called by Xenophon
Laris'sa, identified, with some probability, as the Resen of
Scripture. The region is that of the ancient Nineveh, a city
which had already then disappeared. Larissa was formerly
a city of the Medes. It was finally wrested from them by the
Persians in the general overthrow of the Median empire.
The Greeks marched a day or two farther, when who should

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^ * T-rr.

make his appearance but Tissaphe rites', r^ddi "A .nunierc^us
army ? Tissaphernes showed no di^x^osijion td pat^bMHS^f^at .
personal risk, or even to endanger Hie-fbfGfe^-^At a^pieidit^^""
safe distance he set his slingers and archers at work. But as
soon as the Rhodian slingers, on the part of the Greeks, and
their mounted bowmen, began their practice in reply, no
weapon failing to hit its man in the serried masses of the foe,
the Persians beat a hasty retreat. They still followed, but
they no longer harassed, the Greeks. In the villages where
the Greeks encamped that night, they found plenty of pro-
visions, but whether they left plenty on going away, we have
no word from the poor villagers to inform us. Tissaphernes
dogged them on their march the day after, hurling missiles
at them from a distance.

The Greeks found that a better marching order for their
force might be formed. Instead of marching in a square, as
heretofore, they now organize a movable body of six hun-
dred men, drilled to occupy the c'enter when the way was
wide enough for marching in a square, and to fall behind
lengthening the rear* when, in crossing a bridge, for instance,
or going through a defile, they were obliged to narrow their
line. This plan was found to work well. They advanced
in this order four days, when on the fifth they observed .with
pleasure that their road would lead them among high hills,
presenting difficulties for the movement of the enemy's
cavalry. But when, having crossed the summit of the first
hill, they were descending to climb the second, behold the
enemy behind and above them. Barbarian slingers and
archers, and men with darts, rained weapons on the Greeks
below, the wretched Persian troops themselves being, in ac-
cordance with their customary discipline, lashed to their
work by their overseers. The same thing occurred as the
Greeks passed the second hill. They suffered so much that
they resorted to a laborious, but effectual expedient for re-
lief. The hills they were crossing were spurs or offsets ifrom
6*

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a mt)&ntaki '"Still -hJigheV. A detachment of soldiers were sent
, m^ .tjie:inoin5 tains .-Ffom this height they commanded the
'•Pefsians^d-prewfffed their farther pursuit. Thus toiling
and suffering, they reached the villages at which they aimed
for encampment. There were many wounded, and eight
surgeons were appointed to care for these. The surgeons
thus appointed were very likely not professionally trained
men, but simply soldiers experienced in the treatment of
wounds. They rested three days to nurse the wounded and
to recruit the wearied. They found a store of provisions
which had been collected for the satrap of the country.

On the fourth day, they again took up their march, Tissa-
phernes still persistently following them. The Greeks soon
learned that their best way was to stop, and at once encamp,
after Tissaphernes came near, since from their encampment
they could sally out with advantage to attack him, whereas
marching and fighting at the same time, embarrassed as they
were with their wounded, they found nearly impracticable.
The Persians, with, wholesome awe of their enormously out-
numbered Greek enemy, always retired some six miles to
make their encampment for the night. Observing this cau-
tious habit of the Barbarians, the Greeks toward evening one
day broke up their own encampment as soon the Persians
began to retire for the night, and made a march of six miles
in advance, thus interposing a distance of twelve miles be-
tween themselves and their enemy. This prevented the
Persians from reappearing on the next day or on the day
following, but on the day after, the Barbarians, having made
a night march, were descried occupying a high point com-
manding the way by which the Greeks must pass. Here was
a difificulty indeed. The leader of the advance called up
Xenophon from the rear and pointed out to him the situa-
tion of affairs. Those men must be dislodged, they both
agreed, and Xenophon now noticed that there was a way
leading from their present position, by which they might gain

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a sirnimii siill more commanding than that occupied by the
enemy. The two generals mutually offered, each to the
other, the privilege of moving up to take possession of the
height. Xenophon said that he was himself the younger and
he would go. The Persians saw what the Greeks were
aiming at, and immediately en both sides there began a
masterful scramble for the summit. The Greeks below
shouted to cheer the climbers, and the troops of Tissaphernes
answered cheer with cheer. Xenophon on horseback ex-
horted his men, but So-ter'i»des, a man whose name Xeno-
phon, perhaps maliciously, preserves, cried out, " But,
Xenophon, you ride, and I have to carry my shield afoot."
Xenophon at once leaped from his horse, pushed Soterides
from the ranks, took his shield from him, and marched on
with it as fast as he could. But the rest of the soldiers tor-
mented Soterides till he gladly took back his shield and re-
sumed his place in the march. The Greeks beat the Bar-
barians in the race, arriving first at the summit.

The Barbarians upon this took to flight. The van of the
Greeks went safely down into the plain and encamped in a
village well stored with supplies. Some of the Greeks dis-
persed themselves hither and thither to forage. But at
evening the enemy suddenly appeared in the plain and cut
off a number of the foragers. The inhabitants, it seems,
had been making all haste to get their cattle transported to
the farther side of the river, where they would be safe from
the marauding Greeks. It is but incidentally that we get
glimpses of the sufferings inflicted upon the non-combatant
population inhabiting the countries along the line of this
famous retreat. While the parties sent out to succor the in-
terrupted Greek foragers, were returning to their camp,
Xenophon having now accomplished his more laborious de-
scent from the mountain, observing that Tissaphernes with
his force was attempting to fire the villages, took occasion
very spiritedly and wittily to draw from the circumstance an

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omen of encouragement for the soldiers, who had been de-
jected in view of what the enemy were doing. " Greeks,"
said he, " the Barbarians confess that we have beaten, for they
are burning the country as being no longer their own, but
ours." To Chi-ris'o-phus, however, the leader of the van, he
said, "This burning must be stopped." "Na)%" said Chi-
risophus, " rather let us go to burning too; our enemies then
will sooner stop." The case was serious, for on one side of
their way were lofty mountains, and on the other, the river
Tigris, so deep that their spears sank below the surface of
the water, when they tried to sound it with them. A Rho-
dian proposed a plan for crossing the river. The generals
pronounced the plan ingenious but impracticable. The plan
in brief was to float a bridge by means of inflated skins
taken from the animals in their possession. The course
finally adopted was to make a short stage of retreat, having
first set fire to the villages thus abandoned. The effect was
to set the enemy to wondering what could now be the pur-
pose of the Greeks. Having encamped, the Greek soldiers
as usual busied themselves in getting food, while a council
of war was held by the officers. From prisoners in their
possession they learned that toward the north was a way
leading to the hill country of the Carduchians. These mount-
aineers the prisoners represented to be very warlike, and not
subject to the Persian king. A royal army, they said, 120,000
strong, had once invaded the territory, and there perished to
a man. This way, notwithstanding its doubly formidable
character, it was decided to pursue. A strong inducement
was that, the Carduchian country once safely passed, they
would, the prisoners assured them, reach Armenia, described
as an extensive region of much wealth, beyond which the way
was open for them to go wherever they pleased. They made
a sacrifice with reference to their resolution, and directed
the soldiers to have their baggage packed ready for a sudden
start on summons, and then, having supped, to go to rest

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Fourth Book.
What occurred in the expedition up the country to the time of the
battle, and what took place after the battle during the truce which the
king and the Greeks that went up w^ith Cyrus concluded, and what hos-
tilities were committed against the Greeks after the king and Tissapher-
nes had violated the truce, and while the Persian army was pursuing
them, have been related in the preceding part of the narrative.

The foregoing is, in Xenophon's own language, his reca-
pitulation of the history so far narrated. Each book of the
seven, with the curious exception of the sixth, Xenophon be-
gins thus with a brief summary, in much the same words
every time, of all that has preceded. Breaking up the encamp-
ment, to which, retracing for a short distance their steps,
they had withdrawn, they arrive at a spot where it seems
best to the generals, as there was no longer passage between
the banks of the river and the beetling mountains by its side,
to begin thejlr march into the country of the Cardu'chians.
This change of direction had to be made with the utmost
celerity and secrecy. Long enough before light to allow
them time for crossing the plain unseen, they rise and reach
by break of day the point for beginning their ascent. The
whole of that day was occupied in passing the summit of the
mountains and descending into the villages which they found
embosomed in the winding recesses that lay beyond. The
Carduchians, on this sudden incursion of unbidden guests,
quit their dwellings and flee with their wives and children to
the surrounding hills. Provisions abounded, and the Greeks,
with their customary frankness, helped themselves. They
made it a point of honor not to steal the brazen utensils with
which the houses were amply supplied. Their attempts to
get into communication with the involuntary hosts that had
so incontinently put themselves out to accommodate them,
were unsuccessful. The long and laggard rear of the Greeks,
overtaken by darkness, were attacked by some of the Cardu-
chians. A few were killed and wounded. That night the

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different dispersed companies of the homeless Carduchian viU
lagers, lighted signal fires about them on the hills, by means
of which they were able to keep up some mutual communi-
cation. At daybreak, the Greek officers made up thei»-
minds that the march of their force must be still further dis-
encumbered. They made proclamation that only the indis-
pensable beasts of burden should be retained, and that all
the recently captured prisoners (Xenophon calls them slaves)
in the army should be dismissed. After breakfast, the gen-
erals gave personal attention to the carrying out of this reso-
lution. They stationed themselves at a narrow part of the
road, and took away from the soldiers whatever any might be
retaining in contravention of the orders. Xenophon hints,
however, that the generals winked now and then when a sol-
dier showed himself unwilling to part with a handsome youth
or a pretty woman in his possession. The following day a great
storm fell upon them, but lack of provisions forbade their
stopping. The enemy too, annoyed them. The head of
the army made great speed, the reason for which the rear,
compelled to fight as they marched, could not guess until
they reached their place of encampment. Then it appeared
tVat ahead of them was a hill occupied by hostile soldiers,
who from that position could successfully dispute the way.
The hastened advance of the van had been for the purpose,
not accomplished, of getting the start of the enemy in seizing
this height. The guides said there was no other road.
Xenophon told Chirisophus that he had captured two pris-
o'.iers that day, taking great pains to do so for the purpose
of securing some native guides. The two prisoners were
brought forward and asked whether they knew of any road
other than that which was held by the hostile mountaineers.
One prisoner, in the face of many threats, said he knew of
no other, and was put to death in the sight of his comrade.
The surviving prisoner was willing to tell, not only that there
was another road, but also why his fellow had denied any

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knowledge of such. He said by this other road was a
height which it was necessary to be beforehand with the
enemy in securing. Volunteers were called for to risk
themselves in this important and dangerous service. Xeno-
phon preserves the names of several men, no doubt leaders,
that eagerly offered to go. It was afternoon when this de-
tachment, having first eaten, set forward. The guide was
bound, and so put into their hands. The party numbered
about two thousand. They started in a pouring rain. To
divert the attention of the enemy, Xenophon, with the rear
guard, marched in the direction of the pass toward which
they had previously been aiming. But they encoulatered
formidable opposition. The Barbarians rolled down immense
bowlders together with a multitude of smaller stones, which,
bounding hither and thither from rock to rock in their de-
scent, made it impossible even to approach the pass. This
method of obstruction the enemy continued, as the Greeks
judged by the noise, the livelong night. Meantime the party
with the guide, making a circuit, surprised a guard of the
enemy sitting round a fire, whom having killed or dispersed,
they remained on the spot, supposing that this was the sum-
mit. They mistook ; the true place was yet above them.
The next day an irregular march and fight proceeded without
intermission, but with fortune, on the whole, in favor of the
Greeks. The two Greek forces finally effected a junction,
and night found them in comfortable quarters, abundantly
supplied with provisions. They had experienced great dis-
tress during the day, attended with some loss of life. An
arrangement was here made with the enemy allowing the
Greeks to recover their dead on condition of releasing the
prisoner that had guided them. Their next day's march
was accordingly without a guide. They suffered great an-
noyance from the Barbarians, whose archers used very long
bows, discharging arrows of size to be used by the Greeks
for javelins. The following day they reached the river Cen-

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tri'tes, the boundary between the Cardiichian territory and
Armenia. They were glad after their seven days' experience
of mountains and mountaineers, to see a stretch of level
country before them. With many recollections of dangers
and difficulties past, they rested here with delight, amid
redounding plenty. At daybreak, however, they could see
across the liver a hpstile force of cavalry, and behind these,
on higher ground, a body on foot, evidently prepared to dis-
pute their way. On trial of the ford, the water was found
to rise above their breasts, while the bed of the stream was
rough with large and slippery stones. There was nothing
for itj)ut to encamp and consider what they should do. To
increase their perplexity, the place of their previous night's
encampment swarmed with Carduchian foes. The Greeks
were in despair. A day of inaction passed, but that night
an opportune dream of Xenophon's came to the rescue. He
dreamed that he was fettered, but that his fetters fell off, of
their own accord. Very early in the morning the pleased
Xenophon went straight to Chirisophus, and told that Spar-
tan his dream. Chirisophus shared Xenophon's pleasure.
All the generals joined in offering sacrifice, with the happiest
results. The officers took courage enough to issue orders
for the troops to eat their breakfast. While Xenophon was
breakfasting, two young fellows came running up to make
an important communication. Xenophon stops to explain
how accessible and affable he kept himself at air times, how-
ever employed. The youths told him that while gathering
sticks for their fire they saw across the river an old man, a
woman, and some girls, secreting among the rocks what ap-
peared to be bags of clothing. The enterprising rogues were
tempted to cross. Much to their surprise, they got over by
wading, not being wet higher up than the middle. Having
appropriated the clothes, they came triumphantly back again.
Xenophon instantly made a libation, and then conducted the
youths to Chirisophus, who, on hearing their story, performed

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a like act of piety. This whole incident of their homeward
march had evidently great interest for Xenophon. He re-
ports it with circumstance. The issue was that the Greeks
got across without suffering serious harm. The cavalry and
the foot that had been observed guarding the passage of the
river were amused with a shrewd feint on Xenophon *s part
of crossing at that point ; but when they saw Chirisophus
with his troops safely landed on their side, they fled in ap-
parent fear of having their way of escape cut off.

The Greeks were now in Armenia. They made a long
march — of necessity, as near the river there were no villages
in consequence of the threatening neighborhood of the war-
like Carduchians. Excellent campaigners, however, as they
were, they found sumptuous quarters in a village which con-
tained a palace for the satrap Oron'tes. From this point they
marched in a circuit to pass round the sources of the river
Tigris. In five days they came to a stream, the river Tel'e-
bras, of which it is noteworthy that Xenophon, contrary to
his custom, shared by all the ancient pagan writers, of indif-
ference to natural scenery, speaks of as beautiful. Here Tir-i-
ba'zus, a Persian governor on intimate terms with the king,
comes up with a body of horsemen, and through an interpret-
er invites the Greek commanders to an interview. The
result was that a treaty was concluded, the conditions of
which were that the Greeks should not be molested provided
they refrained from burning houses, and restricted them-
selves to taking what provisions they wanted. Tiribazus
seemed intent on seeing this arrangement carried out in good
faith, for he followed the Greeks with his troops. Thus
watched, the army proceeded three days, when, with their
usual luck or good management, they came to a palace,
probably belonging to Tiribazus, amid a cluster of villages,
well stored with supplies. There was a great snow-fall that
night, and in the morning it was thought that they might
safely disperse sufficiently to take quarters in the neighbor-

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ing villages. The great depth of snow seemed an adequate
protection from attack. We will let Xenophon tell in his
own words how comfortable this arrangement was, and how
uncomfortably it was broken up.

Here they found all kinds of excellent provisions, cattle, corn, old
wines of great fragrance, dried grapes, and vegetables of all kinds.
Some of the soldiers, however, who had strolled away from the camp,
brought word that they had caught sight of an army, and that many
fires had been visible during the night. The generals thought it unsafe,
therefore, for the troops to quarter apart, and resolved to bring the
whole army together again. They accordingly assembled, for it seemed
to be clearing up. But as they were passing the night here, there fell a
vast quantity of snow, so that it covered both the arms and the men as
they lay on the ground. The snow cramped the baggage-cattle, and they
were very reluctant to rise ; for, as they lay, the snow that had fallen
upon them served to keep them warm, when it had not dropped off.
But when Xenophon was hardy enough to rise without his outer gar-
ment, and to cleave wood, some one else then rose, and, taking the wood
from him, cleft it himself. Soon after the rest got up, and lighted fires
and anointed themselves : for abundance of ointment was found there,
made of hog's lard, sesamum, bitter almonds, and turpentine, which they
used instead of oil. Of the same materials also an odoriferous unguent
was found. After this it was resolved to quarter again throughout the
villages, under shelter ; and the soldiers went off with great shouting
and delight to the cottages and provisions. Those who had set fire to
the houses, when they quitted them before, paid the penalty of having
to encamp uncomfortably in the open air.

A shrewd and intrepid leader was dispatched with a detail
of men to get exact information as to the position and move-
ments of the enemy. A prisoner was taken, who said that
Tiribazus was intending to possess himself of a certain nar-
row defile, through which the road lay in advance of the
Greeks. Making a guide of their captive, the army push on
and wrest the place from their foe. They return, however,
to their camp for the night. It is noted by Xenophon that
couches with silver feet were found in the tent of Tiribazus.
Drinking-cups also were there. Among the prisoners were

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some who declared themselves bakers and cup-bearers. Alto-
gether, the Asiatics carried their luxuries along with them in
camp and march.

The Greeks were up and off early next morning. They got
to the pass where Tiribazus meant to stop them, and were be-
yond it before he came up. He in fact probably did not follow
them at all. The Greeks have taken final farewell of their
Persian foes. But foes far worse than the Persians are in wait
to give them welcome. However, they march three or four
days farther without molestation, and cross by fording the river
Euphrates. It is now December, and a dismal plunge they
find it into ice-cold water reaching up to their middle. Be-
yond the Euphrates they press on three days through deep
snow, facing, the third day, a terrible north wind that be-
numbed their limbs. They sacrificed to the wind, and every
body noted that the wind manifestly went down. Six feet deep
lay the snow through which they floundered. If the soldiers,
animated as they were with the eager wish to get to their
homes, suffered in this dreadful experience, try to conceive the
sensations of the slaves and prisoners forced on against their
will. We read, without surprise, that the beasts of burden
and the slaves perished in great numbers. The two classes
are mentioned in this order by Xenophon, who thinks it
worth while to be exact about the soldiers, stating that of
these thirty succumbed to the horrors of that march. That
march was not yet done. The whole of the next day the
forlorn struggle with the elements continued. That day,
Xenophon, bringing up the rear, kept finding men fallen ex-
hausted by the way. The poor fellows had a name for the
disease. But, as food was the medicine administered with
good results, it is probable that starvation was added to the
terrors of the snow and the cold. And through all this pro-
tracted march in snow of such depth, the Greeks wore on
stockingless feet either sandals, or only shoes that they could
themselves make out of the raw hides of slain beasts. But a

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chance of rest was at hand. If this chance had been one
day's march farther off than it was, perhaps we should never
have had the history that we are reading. How much his-
tory is unwritten of human suffering ! And God saw it all !

Just at nightfall the vanguard came up so suddenly, and so
unannounced, to a village, that they surprised some women
and girls getting water at a spring outside the rampart. To
the women's question who they were, the interpreter replied
in Persian with prompt prevarication, that they were people
going from the king to the satrap. The satrap, the women
said, was about a parasang off. However, the party of the
Greeks went with the water-carriers to the head man of the
village, and at this place Chirisophus, with as many troops
as could get through, encamped. The rest passed the night
amid the snow without food and without fire. We will let
Xenophon tell the story of that night, and of the relief that
followed, in his own graphic words :

Some of the enemy, too, who had collected themselves into a body,
pursued our rear, and seized any of the baggage-cattle that were unable
to proceed, fighting with one another for the possession of them. Such
of the soldiers, also, as had lost their sight from the effects of the snow,
or had had their toes mortified by the cold, were left behind. It was
found to be a relief to the eyes against the snow, if the soldiers kept
something black before them on the march, and to the feet, if they kept
constantly in motion, and allowed themselves no rest, and if they took ofl
their shoes in the night ; but as to such as slept with their shoes on, the
straps worked into their feet, and the soles were frozen about them ; for
when their old shoes had failed then?, shoes of raw hides had been made
by the men themselves from the newly-skinned oxen. From such un-
avoidable sufferings, some of the soldiers were left behind, who, seeing
a piece of ground of a black appearance, from the snow having disap-
peared there, conjectured that it must have melted ; and it had in fact
melted in the spot from the effect of a fountain, which was sending up
vapor in a woody hollow close at hand. Turning aside thither, they sat
down and refused to proceed further. Xenophon, who was with the
rear-guard, as soon as he heard this, tried to prevail on them by every
art and means not to be left behind, telling them, at the same time, that

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the enemy were collected, and pursuing them in great numbers. At
last he grew angry ; and they told him to kill them, as they were quite
unable to go forward. He then thought it the best course to strike a
terror, if possible, into the enemy that were behind, lest they should fall
upon the exhausted soldiers. It was now dark, and the enemy were ad-
vancing with a great noise, quarreling about the booty that they had
taken, when such of the rear-guard as were not disabled, started up, and
. rushed toward them, while the tired men, shouting 2s ^ loud as they
could, clashed their spears against their shields. The enemy, struck
with alarm, threw themselves among the snow into the hollow, and no
one of them afterward made themselves heard from any quarter.

Xenophon, and those with him, telling the sick men that a party
should come to their relief next day, proceeded on their march, but
before they had gone four stadia, they found other soldiers resting by the
way in the snow, and covered up with it, no guard being stationed over
them. They roused them up, but they said that the head of the army
was not moving forward. Xenophon, going past them, and sending on
some of the ablest of the peltasts, ordered them to ascertain what it was
that hindered their progress. They brought word that the whole army
was in that manner taking rest. Xenophon and his men, therefore,
stationing such a guard as they could, took up their quarters there with-
out fire or supper. When it was near day, he sent the youngest of his
men to the sick, telling them to rouse them and oblige them to proceed.
At this juncture Chirisophus sent some of his. people from the village
to see how the rear were faring. The young men were rejoiced to see
them, and gave them the sick to conduct to the camp, while they them-
selves went forward, and, before they had gone twenty stadia, found
themselves at the village in which Chirisophus was quartered. "When
they came together, it was thought safe enough to lodge the troops up
and down in the villages. Chirisophus accordingly remained where he
was, and the other officers, appropriating by lot the several villages that
they had in sight, went to their respective quarters with their men.

Here Polyc'ra-tes, an Athenian captain, requested leave of absence,
and, taking with him the most active of his men, and hastening to the
village to which Xenophon had been allotted, surprised all the villagers,
and their head man, in their houses, together with seventeen colts that
were bred as a tribute for the king, and the head mail's daughter, who
had been but nine days married ; her husband was gone out to hunt
hares, and was not found in any of the villages. Their houses were
underground, the entrance like the mouth of a well, but spacious below ;
there were passages dug into them for the cattle, but the people de-

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sccnded by ladders. Tn the houses were goats, sheep, cows, and fowls,
with their young ; all the cattle were kept on fodder within the walls.
There was also wheat, barley, leguminous vegetables and barley-wine,
in large bowls ; the grains of barley floated in it even with the brims of
the vessels, and reeds also lay in it, some larger and some smaller, with-
out joints ; and these, when any one was thirsty, he was to take in his
mouth and suck. The liquor was very strong, unless one mixed water
with it, and a very pleasant drink to those accustomed to it.

Xenophon made the chief man of his village sup with him, and told
him to be of good courage, assuring him that he should not be deprived
of his children, and that they would not go away without filling his
llouse with provisions in return for what they took, if he would but
prove himself the author of some service to the army till they should
reach another tribe. This he promised, and, to show his good-wil!,
pointed out where some wine was buried. This night, therefore, the
soldiers rested in their several quarters in the midst of great abundance,
setting a guard over the chief, and keeping his children at the same time
under their eye. The following day Xenophon took the head man and
went with him to Chirisophus, and wherever he passed by a village, he
turned aside to visit those who were quartered in it, and found them in
all parts feasting and enjoying themselves ; nor would they anywhere let
them go till they had set refreshments before them ; and they placed every
where upon the same table, lamb, kid, pork, veal, and fowl, with plenty
of bread both of wheat and barley. Whenever any person, to pay a com-
pliment, wished to drink to another, he took him to the large bowl, where
he had to stoop down and drink, sucking like an ox.. The chief they
allowed to take whatever he pleased, but he accepted nothing from
them ; where he found any of his relatives, however, he took them with
him.

When they came to Chirisophus, they found his men also feasting in
their quarters, crowned with wreaths made of hay, and Armenian boys,
in their barbarian dresses, waiting upon them, to whom they made signs
what they were to do as if they had been deaf and dumb. When
Chirisophus and Xenophon had saluted one another, they both asked
the chief man, through the interpreter, who spoke the Persian language,
what country it was. He replied that it was Armenia. They then
asked him for whom the horses were bred ; and he said that they were a
tribute for the king, and added that the neighboring country was that
of Chal'y-bes, and told them in what direction the road lay. Xenophon
then went away, conducting the chief back to his family, giving him the
horse that he had taken, which was rather old, to fatten and offer in

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sacrifice, (for he had heard that it had been consecrated to the sun,) be-
ing afraid, indeed, that it might die, as it had been injured by the
journey. He then took some of the young horses, and gave one of
them to each of the other generals and captains. The horses in this
country were smaller than those of Persia, but far more spirited. The
chief instructed the men to tie little bags round the feet of the horses,
and other cattle, when they drove them through the snow, for without
such bags they sunk up to their bellies.

Nothing could more strikingly set forth the lively mer-
curial temperament of the Greeks than the readiness with
which they elastically rallied, from the dreadful depression
of their long previous march, to the festive humors and
epicurean pleasure-taking of their stay in that Armenian
underground village. By the way,, travelers tell us that to
this day the Armenians of that region build their houses
underground* Soon after the Greeks set forward from this
place of rest and refection, Xenophon and Chirisophus are
in good spirits enough to engage in a little highly charac-
teristic mutual chaffing and raillery, which our readers would
certainly wish not to have lost. Xenophon the Athenian
has spoken to Chirisophus the Spartan, about the expe-
diency of stealing a march on their enemy :

** But why should I speak doubtfully about stealing? For I hear that
you Lacedaemonians, O Chirisophus, such of you at least as are of the
better class, practice stealing from your boyhood, and it is not a dis-
grace, but an honor, to steal whatever the law does not forbid ; while,
in order that you may steal with the utmost dexterity, and strive to es-
cape discovery, it is appointed by law that, if you are caught stealing,
you are scourged. It is now high time for you, therefore, to give
proof of your education, and to take care that we may not receive many
stripes." " But I hear that you Athenians also," rejoined Chirisophus,
" are very clever at stealing th6 public money, though great danger
threatens him that steals it ; and that your best men steal it most, if in-
deed your best men are thought worthy to be your magistrates ; so that
it is time for you likewise to give proof of your education."

Our readers will remember the story of the Spartan boy
who, rather than be laughed at as a clumsy thief, let a stolen

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fox, concealed under his apron, make a meal on his vitals.
And so too peculation in public office is not exclusively a
modern and an American foible ! The result of the move-
ment to steal a march was favorable. Once again the Greeks'
disposed themselves comfortably in villages stored with ex-
cellent provisions, raised and gathered by other hands than
their own.

From this place of encampment, four days* march in ad-
vance brought them to the country of the Ta-o'chi-ans. Here
they were likely to fail of supplies. The Taochians laid up
their provisions in almost impregnable strongholds among
the mountains. Coming to one such place, in which were
huddled together men, >yomen, and children, with a great
number of cattle, Chirisophus attacked it. One company
after another successively tired themselves out in the as-
sault, until finally Xenophon arrived. Come in good time,
said Chirisophus; we must take this place or starve. The
enemy's defensive method of warfare was formidable. They
kept up a continuous discharge of stones rolling down a cliff,
under which any approach must be made^ Xenophon pro-
posed an ingenious plan, which was carried out with spirit,
to make the enemy exhaust their supply of such ammunition.
A number of men (Xenophon names them for honor) draw the
enemy's discharge of stones, by making feints of advance
and then immediately sheltering themselves behind a tree.
The whole army stood watching the adventurers, and so
eager an emulation was excited, that not many minutes
passed before two of the Greeks ran, with successful audacity,
the dangerous gauntlet, and forced their way into the strong-
hold. A panic, a madness, a wild suicidal despair, seized the
occupants. Mothers flung their children over the precipice,
jumping themselves after them. The men followed the
dreadful example. One greedy Greek caught hold of a rich
garment worn by a man about to cast himself down, hoping
to make prize of it. But the frenzy of suicide proved

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stronger than the passion for gain. The Greek with the
Barbarian was dashed down the rocks, and there they both
miserably perished. Very few survived to be made prisoners,
but the booty of animals captuied was great.

The next seven days of advance was through a country
whose inhabitants were worse- to encounter than any the
Greeks had yet met. The army were obliged to sustain in-
cessant harrying attacks in the rear, and for provisions they
were shut up to subsist on the cattle seized from the wretched
Taochians. The territory of the Scythi'ni lay next. Here
nothing seems to have disturbed the march. After four
days' travel over a level stretch of country, they come to a
halt, for rest and the collecting of supplies. Four days
further on they find a large town called Gym'ni-as. From
this place the governor of the region is fain to give the
Greeks a guide. He can send them across a district with
whose people he is at war. The Ten Thousand go pillaging,
burning, and laying waste, exhorted thereto by the guide,
whose service to them they seem but too willing thus to re-
pay. This guide made them a promise in starting that must
greatly have inspirited the host. He said that on pain of
death if he failed, he would in five days bring them to a point
from which they could catch sight of the sea, (the Euxine or
Black Sea.) What this meant to the Greeks, we cannot
easily comprehend. They had all to a man been as accus-
tomed to the sparkle of the sea as are the Swiss to the cold
gleam of the summits of their Alps. Few things were so
dreadful to a Greek, as to go inland out of reach and out of
sight of the sea. The guide's promise was almost too much
to be believed. However on they go, till the fifth day. The
story of what then occurred is told with such exquisite sim-
plicity, half of nature, half of art, by Xenophon, that it would
be unpardonable not to give our readers this memorable
passage, in the historian's own language, which it is a pity
even to have to translate :

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On the fifth day they came to the mountain ; and the name of it was
The'ches. When the men who were in the front had mounted the
height, and looked down upon the sea, a great sliout proceeded from
them ; and Xenophon and the rear-guard, on hearing it, thought that
some new enemies were assailing the front, for in the rear, too, the peo-
ple from the country that they had burned were following them, and
the rear-guard, by placing an ambuscade, had killed some, and taken
others prisoners, and had captured about twenty shields made of raw
ox-hides with the hair on. But as the noise still increased, and drew
nearer, and those who came up from time to time kept running at full
speed to join those who were continually shouting, the cries becoming
louder as the men became more numerous, it appeared to Xenophon that
it must be something of very great moment. Mounting his horse, there-
fore, and taking with him Lyc'ius and the cavalry, he hastened forward
to give aid, when presently they heard the soldiers shouting, '* The sea,
the seal " and cheering on one another. They then all began to run,
the rear-guard as well as the rest, and the baggage-cattle and horses
were put to their speed ; and when they had all arrived at the top,. the
men embraced one another, and their generals and captains, with tears
in their eyes. Suddenly, whoever it was that suggested it, the soldiers
brought stones, and raised a large mound, on which they laid a number
of raw ox-hides, staves, and shields taken from the enemy. The shields
the guide himself hacked in pieces, and exhorted the rest to do the
same. Soon after, the Greeks sent away the guide, giving him presents
from the common stocky a horse, a .silver dup, a Persian robe, and ten
darics ; but he showed most desire fdr the tings on their fingers, and ob-
tained many of them from the soldiers. Having then pointed out to
them a village where they might take up their quarters, and the road
by which they were to proceed to the Macro'nes, when the evening came
on he departed, pursuing his way during the night*

The country of the Macrones was tiext to be traversed.
And now occurs an incident forming one of the most grate-
ful reliefs of all that diversify this checkered story. As the
Greeks were preparing to cross the boundary river into the
country of the Macrones, in the face of foes on the farther
side ready to offer fierce opposition, forth stepped from the
ranks a soldier, who said to Xenophon, " I have been a slave
at Athens, but I believe this is my native country, and I
should like to speak to my people." The happy result was

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that a mutual compact was at once struck between the two
parties, and the Greeks, through the next three days of their
march, found friends to help them, instead of foes to fight
them.

In the country of the Colchians, (a name which our read-
ers will associate with the famous quest of the Golden Fleece
at Colchis by the Argonauts,) lying next, the Greeks had
trouble, which, however, they came out of with the usual
good fortune that attended their skill and their valor. They
here met with one mischance, curious enough to be given in
Xenophon's description unchanged:

The number of bee-hives was extraordinary, and all the soldiers that
ate of the combs lost their senses, vomited, and were affected with pull-
ing, and none of them were able to stand upright ; such as had eaten a
little were like men greatly intoxicated, and such as had eaten much
were like madmen, and some like persons at the point of death. They
lay upon the ground in consequence in great numbers, as if there had
been a defeat ; and there was general dejection. The next day no one
of them was found dead ; and they recovered their senses about the same
hour that they had lost them on the preceding day ; and on the third
and fourth days they got up as if after having taken physic.

Two days more bring the Greeks to the sea. They reach
it at Treb'i-zond, (Tra-pe'zus,) a Greek city settled in the
territory of the Colchians. The citizens, inspired, perhaps,
equally by generous sympathy for their countrymen, and by
wholesome awe of such an organized array of veteran sol-
diers with appetite well whetted for plunder, entertain them
hospitably. The Greeks here perform the vows of sacrifice
made in their extremity. They also extemporize some games
which Xenophon describes in the true Greek spirit :

When the sacrifice was ended, they gave the hides to Dracon'tius, and
desired him to conduct them to the place where he had made the course.
Dracontius, pointing to the place where they were standing, said, ** This
hill is an excellent place for running, in whatever direction the men may
wish." *' But how will they be able," said they, " to wrestle on ground
so rough and bushy? " ** He that falls," said he, "will suffer the more."

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Boys, most of them from among the prisoners, contended in the short
course, and in the long course above sixty Cretans ran ; while others
were matched in wrestling, boxing, and the pancratium. It was a fine
sight ; for many entered the lists, and as their friends were spectators,
there was great emulation. Horses also ran ; and they had to gallop
down the steep, and, turning round in the sea, to cbme up again to the
altar. In the descent many rolled down ; but in the ascent, against the
exceedingly steep ground, the horses could scarcely get up at a walking
pace. There was consequently great shouting and laughter and cheer-
ing from the people.

Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh Books.

The remaining three books must be condensed under hy-
draulic pressure. The task of thus expressing the sweet juice
of the author's own personality, together with that of circum-
stance and detail, out of Xenophon's delectable narrative, in
order to present our readers with the desiccated result —
this unwelcome task we save ourselves, by giving here instead
the excellent abstract furnished in Smith's "History of
Greece." This is a book of some just pretensions to orig-
inality, though mainly a recast of Grote's more detailed and
voluminous work. It is written in a better style than is that
scholarly, enlightened, and philosophical, but prolix, and
somewhat tedious history. Grote incorporates without much
abridgment the whole Anabasis of Xenophon into his text.
Besides these two books, there is an admirable volume on
Xenophon in Lippincott's "Ancient Classics for English
Readers." Let all see this who can. Fyffe's "Primer of
Greek History " also is good. So, too, is the better analyzed
primer of Dr. Vincent. But here is the concluding portion
of the Anabasis, according to Dr. Smith, short, and as sweet
as with such shortness consists :

" The most difficult part of the return of the Ten Thou-
sand was now accomplished, but much still remained to be
done. The sight of the sea awakened in the army a univer-
sal desire to prosecute the remainder of their journey on

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that element. * Comrades/ exclaimed a Thurian soldier, *I
am weary of packing up, of marching and running, of shoul-
dering arms and falling into line, of standing sentinel and
fighting. For my part, I should like to get rid of all these
labors, and go home by sea the rest of the way, so that I
might arrive in Greece outstretched and asleep, like Ulysses
of old.' The shouts of applause which greeted this address
showed that the Thurian had touched the right chord ; and
when Chirisophus, one of the principal officers, offered to
proceed to Byzantium, and endeavor to procure transports
for the conveyance of the army, his proposal was joyfully
accepted. •

" Meanwhile, the Ten Thousand were employed in maraud-
ing expeditions, and in collecting all the vessels possible, in
case Chirisophus should fail in obtaining the requisite sup-
ply. That officer delayed to return ; provisions grew scarce,
and the army found itself compelled to evacuate Trap-
ezus. Vessels enough had been collected to transport the
women, the sick, and the baggage to Cer'asus, whither the
army proceeded by land. Here they remained ten days,
during which they were mustered and reviewed, when it was
found that the number of hoplites still amounted to eighty-
six hundred, and with peltasts, bowmen, etc., made a total of
more than ten thousand men.

** From Cerasus they pursued their journey to Co-ty-o'ra,
through the territories of the Mosynoe'ci and Chalybes. They
were obliged to fight their way through the former of these
people, capturing and plundering the wooden towers in which
they dwelt, and from which they derived their name. At
Cotyora they waited in vain for Chirisophus and the trans-
ports. Many difficulties still stood in the way of their re-
turn. The inhabitants of Sin-o'pe represented to them that a
march through Paph-la-go'nia was impracticable, and the
means of a passage by sea were not at hand. After remaining
forty-five days at Cotyora a sufficient number of vessel* was

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collected to convey the army to Sinope. A passage of twenty-
four hours brought them to that town, where they were hos-
pitably received and lodged in the neighboring sea-port of
Ar'me-ne. Here they were joined by Chirisophus, who, how-
ever, brought with him only a single trireme. From Sinope
the army proceeded to Her-a-cle'a, and from thence to Col'pe,
where Chirisophus died. From Calpe they marched across
Bithyn'ia to Chrysop'olis, a town immediately opposite to
Byzantium, where they spent a week in realizing the booty
which they had brought with them.

" The satrap Pharnaba'zus was desirous that the Greeks
should evacuate Asia Minor ; and, at his instance, Anaxib'ius,
the Lacedaemonian admiral on the station, induced them to
cross over by promising to provide them with pay when they
should have reached the other side-. But instead of fulfilling
his agreement, Anaxibius ordered them, after their arrival at
Byzantium, to proceed to the Thracian Cher'son-ese, where
the Lacedaemonian harmost Cy-nis'cus, would find them pay ;
and during this long march of 150 miles they were directed
to support themselves by plundering the Thracian villages.
Preparatory to the march they were ordered to muster out-
side the walls of Byzantium. But the Greeks, irritated by
the deception which had been practiced on them, and which,
through want of caution on the part of Anaxibius, became
known to them before they had all quitted the town, pre-
vented the gates from being closed, and rushed in infuriated
masses back into the city, uttering loud threats and bent on
plunder and havoc. The lives and property of the citizens
were at their mercy, for at the first alarm Anaxibius had re-
tired with his troops into the citadel, while the afifrighted in-
habitants were either barricading their houses, or flying to
the ships for refuge. In this conjuncture Xenophon felt that
the destruction of a city like Byzantium would draw down
upon the army the vengeance not merely of the Lacedae-
monians, but of all Greece. With great presence of mind,

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and under color of aiding their designs, he caused the sol-
diers to form in an open square called the Thracian, and by
a well-timed speech diverted them from their designs.

** Shortly afterward the army entered into the service of
Sea'thes, a Thracian prince, who was anxious to recover his
sovereignty over three revolted tribes. But after they had
accomplished this object, Seuthes neglected to provide the
pay which he had stipulated, or to fulfill the magnificent
promises which he had made to Xenophon personally, of
giving him his daughter in marriage, and putting him in pos-
session of the town of Bi-san'the.

"The arm)', now reduced to 6,000, was thus again thrown
into difficulties, when it entered on the last phase of its
checkered career by engaging to serve the Lacedaemonians
in a war which they had just declared against the satraps
Tissaphernes and Pharnabazus. Xenophon accordingly con-
ducted his comrades to Per'gamus, in Mysia, where a consid-
erable booty fell into their hands by the capture of a castle
not far from that place. Xenophon was allowed to select
the choicest lots from the booty thus acquired, as a tribute
of gratitude and admiration for the services which he had
rendered. .

" Shortly after this adventure, in the spring of B. C. 334^,
•Thim'bron, the Lacedaemonian commander, arrived at Per-
gamus, and the remainder of the Ten Thousand Greeks be-
came incorporated with his army. Xenophon now returned
to Athens, where he must have arrived shortly after the ex-
ecuticm of his master, Socrates. Disgusted, probably by that
event, he rejoined his old comrades in Asia, and subsequently
returned to Greece along with A-ges-i-la'us, as we have already
related."

So we take farewell of Xenophon *s Anabasis. The fore-
going condensation, from Dr. Smith's History, is well done ;
but our readers may judge what they would have lost had
t^e whole work been disposed of in this summary manner.

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IX.

HOMER.

I. — The Iliad; ii. — The Odyssey.

After Xenophon's Anabasis, it is usual for the prepara-
toiy student to take up next in order the Iliad of Homer.
Sometimes it is the Od'yss-ey instead of the Iliad.

Homer's Iliad is, as every body knows, one of
the masterpieces of human genius. It is, indeed,
beyond dispute the most famous among poems.
The literature that has accumulated in all lan-
guages about it makes its pre-eminence permanent
,and secure. It is hardly possible to imagine any
HOMKR. mutations in human affairs that can dislodge the
Iliad of Homer from its position as the leading poem of the
world.

This is here said without any implication intended as to
the right of the Iliad to occupy the position. In literature,
as in other spheres, often it is might that makes right. Pos-
session is nine points in the law. And possession, in Homer's
case, establishes his title to his fame. The title will never
be successfully disputed. Any challenge of the fame serves
but to confirm the fame. For the fame consists largely in
the literature of discussion, of criticism, of translation, of an-
notation, of allusion, and even of sheer skepticism, that has
been built up, and still continues to be built up, scarce less
actively now than ever, about this remarkable name. The
fact that Greek is virtually a dead language — virtually, we
say, for the Greek language nominally lives -iStill, in the
mouths of the people of Greece, and virtually dead, we call
it, nevertheless, since as yet, though there are omens which
we have already alluded to, of imminent change, no great
productions of the human mind get themselves uttered in it

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— the very fact that the speech of Homer is a dead speech,
helps make Homer's fame immortal, and immortally first
among poems in presumptive rank of genius. The world can
never grow any farther away from the Iliad than it is to-day.
Our readers will be glad to come into some closer acquaint-
ance with this great monument of the human mind.

Everybody will have heard the noise of the wrangle that
has been made, especially of late, concerning the authorship
of the Iliad, and concerning the reality of the existence of
the man that we know by the name of Homer. Whether, in
fact, the Iliad is properly to be regarded as one poem, whether
it may not better be considered a collection of different pieces,
strung together in a kind of mechanical cohtinuity, not con-
stituting any true organic unity, whether such a personage as
Homer ever actually lived, and whether, if he did, he ever
composed the Iliad — these are some of the startling, the stag-
gering questions that have been not only seriously, but almost
acrimoniously, debated by recent scholars. We shall not at
this stage trouble our readers with any thing beyond the
present allusion to this redoubtable controversy. The one
fact that stands, and stands foursquare to all the winds that
blow, is the Iliad itself. Here is the Iliad, whoever wrote it,
and whatever it is. Let us go at once about our task of com-
prehending it as well as we can.

The Iliad is so entitled from the word Ilium, which is th«

alternative name of Troy. The title is not a perfectly happy

one, but no matter for that. It is the title. Nobody will

ever succeed in substituting another. We could not call the

poem the Troad, if we wanted to, for that word is already

appropriated for the country or region of Asia Minor in

which Ilium, 'or Troy, was situated. Since the poet's own

opening lines give for the subject of the poem the wrath of

Achilles, [A-kil'les,] we might have as our title. The Achil-

lead, or, likening the word in form to the name of Virgil's

epic. The ^ne'id, The Achilleid.
6*

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The siege of Troy is sometimes said to be the subject of
the Iliad. This, however, is not exactly the case. Not the
siege — the siege occupied ten years — but an episode of the
siege, namely, the wrath, or miff, we might fitly, if disrespect-
fully, call it, of Achilles, is the real subject. The time cov-
ered by the poem is short, less than two months. The action
belongs to the last year of the siege, but the end of the siege,
the downfall of Troy, does not come within the plan of the
poem.

What occasioned the siege was the rape of Helen. Helen
was the lovely wife and queen of Men-e-la'us, a Grecian king.
Young prince Paris, son of Priam, king of Troy, was visiting
Menelaus, and he abused his privilege of guestship by seduc-
ing his host's wife to elope with him to Troy. Adding a
peculiar baseness to his perfidy, Paris bore off considerable
treasure, along with the lady. All Greece made common
cause with outraged Menelaus. Having first spent years in
preparation for war, and then made solemn requisition
through embassy, in vain, for the return both of the beauty
and the booty, the confederate kings mustered their forces,
and sailed across to the plain of Troy to besiege the city.
Ten years almost, the weary siege had prolonged itself, and
now, upon an occasion that well brings out the fiercely ani-
mal appetites which animated the leading combatants, Achil-
les gets angry and sulks in his tent, his fellow chieftains
meantime trying their fortune in fight without him. The
occasion is the arbitrary interference of Agamemnon, the
commander-in-chief of the confederate Greeks, to deprive
Achilles of a female captive Bri-se'is, and usurp her to himself.
It being conceded that either marauder had a right to the
lady, Achilles seems to have been indignant with reason.

Such is the occasion of the famous wrath of Achilles. And
the wrath of Achilles is the subject of the most renowned of
poems. One cannot help feeling a little revolt at the un-
worthiness of the theme. The sentiment of such a revolt

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Milton does not hesitate, in his large, free, lordly way, to ex-
press, in a passage of Paradise Lost. He is letting slip a bit
of his autobiography — with that lofty egotism of his, whose
very audacity vindicates it, to the admiring and sympathetic
reader. Milton admits his reader to his confidence about
his own meditation and choice of a subject for the exercise
of his poetical genius. Of the theme finally chosen by him,
he says :

Sad task ! yet argument
Not less but more heroic than' the wrath
Of stem Achilles on his foe pursued
Thrice fugitive about Troy wall.

The whole passage would interest our readers. It is to be
found in the opening of the ninth book.

Our preamble has now been sufficient, and we begin at
once with the poem itself — premising, however, yet this one
thing more, that the preparatory course includes usually but
about two books of the twenty-four of which the poem con-
sists. The college curriculum generally resumes the poem,
though it is, of course, never read entire in the class-room.
We here advise our readers that the final issue of the Trojan
affair, in the poem and beyond it, is as follows : The Greeks
suffer cruelly under Achilles's withdrawal from the fight, until
in sheer patriotic shame, Pa-tro'clus, the close friend of Achil-
les, is, with that moody warrior's approval, self-incited to go
into battle wearing the Achillean armor. Patroclus does
wonders, but is slain. Achilles, stung with resentment and
remorse, now returns to the field, encounters Hector, the re-
doubtable Trojan champion, slays him, and is at length him-
self slain with an arrow from the bow of Paris hitting him in
the heel, where alone he was vulnerable. The chieftains
make their way, with many chances, back toward Greece,
some of them, however, perishing in the voyage. The ad-
ventures of one of their chieftains, Ulysses, or Odysseus, to
keep the Greek, non-Latinized name, form the subject of the

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Odyssey. As has been intimated, the Iliad itself closes be-
fore the fall of Troy, with the death and funeral rites of
Hector.

The opening lines of the poem have been much admired
for the simplicity, the beauty, and the melody with which
they set forth the poet's theme. Here they are, first, in a
translation of our own, which, though metrical, is strictly,
very strictly, faithful to the Greek — and then in various other
metrical versions from famous hands, which our readers may
like to compare one with another, in order the more intelli-
gently to judge of the freedom with which poetical translators
treat their original :

The anger, goddess, sing of Peleus' son
Achilles, — anger dire, that on the Greeks
Brought myriad woes, and many mighty souls
Too soon of heroes unto Hades sent.
And gave themselves a ravin to the dogs
And to all birds of prey — howbeit the will
Of Zeus fulfilled itself — even from the time
That first they two, AtrideS, king of men,
And high Achilles, wrangling fell apart.

First, our readers shall see for comparison the work of
George Chapman, (1557-1634,) worthy to be reckoned the
great pioneer of English Homeric translation in verse. Chap-
man's Homer is written in fourteen-syllabled lines, which,
after the writer gets fairly under way, become full of freedom
and fire. It was on occasion of reading this English Homer
that Keats composed his celebrated sonnet, despite its faults
one of the finest sonnets in the language, as follows :

ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER.

Much have I travel'd in the realms of gold,

And many goodly states and kingdoms seen ;

Round many western islands have I been
Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.
Oft of one wide expanse had I been told

That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne :

Yet did I never breathe its pure serene
Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold :

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Then felt I like some watcher of the skies

When a new planet swims into his ken ;
Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes

He stared at the Pacific — and all his men
Looked at each other with a wild surmise —

Silent, upon a peak in Darien.

And now for Chapman :

Achilles' baneful wrath resound, O Goddess, that imposed
Infinite sorrows on the Greeks, and many a brave soul los'd
From breasts heroic ; sent them far to that invisible cave
, That no light comforts ; and their limbs to dogs and vultures gave ;
To all which Jove's will gave effect ; from whom first strife begun
Betwixt Atrides, king of men, and Thetis' godlike son.

Here are Pope's swinging heroics, with an Alexandrine to

boot at the end, representing four words in Homer :

Achilles* wrath, to Greece the direful spring

Of woes unnumber'd, heavenly goddess, sing !

That wrath which hurled 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,

Such was the sovereign doom, and such the will of Jove I

Mr. Bryant translates as follows :

O Goddess ! sing the wrath of Peleus' son,
Achilles ; sing the deadly wrath that brought
Woes numberless upon the Greeks, and swept
To Hades many a valiant soul, and gave
.Their limbs a prey to dogs and birds of air, —
For so had Jove appointed, — from the time
When the two chiefs, Atrides, king of men.
And great Achilles, parted first as foes.

For the sake of the comparison, we subjoin Cowper's ren-
dering, and Derby's. Of Derby's version, as a whole, it may
be said that it does very well for a nobleman — very well. It
is the gold of poetry in the lead of rhetoric. The metal is
not quite so precious, it is true, but then the hammering is
really very faithful and good.
Cowper:

Achilles sing, O Goddess ! PeleUs* son ;

His wrath pernicious, who ten thousand woes

Caused to Achaia's host, sent many a soul

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Illustrious into Ades premature,
And Heroes gave (so stood the will of Jove)
To dogs and to all ravening fowls a prey,
When fierce dispute had separated once
The noble chief Achilles from the son
Of Atreus, Agamemnon, King of men.

Derby :

Of Peleus' son, Achilles, sing, O Muse,

The vengeance, deep and deadly ; whence to Greece

Unnumbered ills arose ; which many a soul

Of mighty warriors to the viewless shades

Untimely sent ; they on the battle plain

Unburied lay, a prey to rav'ning dogs.

And carrion birds ; fulfilling thus the plan

Devised of Jove, since first in wordy war

The mighty Agamemnon, King of men,

Confronted stood by Peleus' godlike son.

The savage, and savagely low, moral standard of the poem
is fitly indicated in the opening verses of it. With what force,
conventional influences work to conform one's tastes and
one's opinions, can hardly in any other way be more vividly
conceived, than through thinking of the gentle, amiable.
Christian poet Cowper, author of the well-known lines —

I would not enter on my list of friends,

Though graced with polished manners and fine sense,

Yet wanting sensibility, the man

Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm,

than through thinking, we say, of this tender-hearted, culti-
vated Christian spending months and years of his blameless,
melancholy life in the work of translating Homer. It is but
fair to Cowper's memory that note be taken here of the re-
coil, both moral and aesthetic, that he felt at times from the
work in which, as an escape from his preying sadness, he
found himself, almost without his own will, involved. The
following is an extract from one of his letters written while
the task was in progress :

" You wish to hear from me at any interval of epic frenzy.
An interval presents itself, but whether calm or not is per-
haps doubtful. Is it possible for a man to be calm who for

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three weeks past has been perpetually occupied in slaughter;
letting out one man's bowels, smiting another through the
gullet, transfixing the liver of another, and lodging an arrow
in a fourth? Read the thirteenth book of the Iliad, and you
will find such amusing incidents as these the subject of it, the
sole subject. In order to interest myself in it, and to catch
the spirit of it, I had need discard all humanity. It is a woe-
ful work ; and were the best poet in the world to give us at
this day such a list of killed and wounded, he would not es-
cape universal censure, to the praise of a more enlightened
age be it spoken. I have waded through much blood, and
through much more I must wade before I shall have finished.
I determine, in the meantime, to account it all very sublime,
and for two reasons : first, because all the learned think so ;
and, secondly, because I am to translate it. But were I an
indifferent bystander, perhaps I should venture to wish that
Homer had applied his wonderful powers to a less disgusting
subject; he has in the Odyssey, and I long to get at it."

Homeric translation is a work that, notwithstanding such
considerations, has, chiefly for conventional reasons, proved
singularly attractive to men of letters and accomplishments.
It would occupy no little space to give only the names of the
English-speaking men of letters who, in whole or in part,
have executed translations of Homer. To characterize and
discriminate their performances, would need a separate vol-
ume. To illustrate the characterizations, with sufficiently
copious specimen passages, would ask a small library. Mr.
Matthew Arnold has written a whole essay, and a long one,
on the subject of translating Homer.

It would be out of place for us in a book like this, even
were we so disposed, as we are not, to attempt any thing like
a destructive or depreciating criticism of Homer. But it
will entertain perhaps, and perhaps stimulate, our readers, if
we transfer to these pages a statement of the case against
Homer, once made by the present writer, rather as a kind of

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playful exercise of mind, than as an expression of serious
opinion. It was entitled, "A Perverse View of Homer."
And here, in part, it is:

"All the wrong-headed literary Hibernian that is latent
and potential in even the best-born and best-bred idolater
of scholastic tradition among us, will be in imminent peril of
getting roused, if this lavish outlay of Homeric devotion
goes many degrees further. It gives one's equanimity, one's
appreciative bi:lance, a dangerous tilt to survey the import-
ing booksellers' Homeric shelves — the perpetual Chapman,
Pope, Cowper, of course. But besides, there are Professor
Blackie's three portly and scholarly and sensible tomes, and
Newman, and Worsley, and Norgate — ipsissimus Norgate;
not to mention Derby and Gladstone and Matthew Arnold —
all fresh from the press of a single nation, and all sacred to
the same imposing convention of acquired and scholastic
taste.

** We keep, we flatter ourselves, a tolerably well-regulated
mind in general, and we shall not deny that our own pre-
vailing mood is one of sympathy with the contagious Ho-
meric enthusiasm. But then, the perverse humor, too, wants
its expression. It was but a little while ago that, with a
genuine gush of admiring sentiment for Homer, we under-
took to read him to a friend of ours — a cultivated man of
liberal tastes, but without special Greek culture. The cir-
cumstances were all favorable, for it was a radiant summer
morning, and our friend and we sat together on a vine-clad
porch, fronting a magnificent landscape. We began with a
presage of victory swelling our breast. Byrant's * Iliad * was
sparkling in its * green radiance,' fresh from the binder's
hands. But our friend honestly questioned whether such
poetry was poetry to the unsophisticated modern mind ; ad-
mitted that he did not enjoy it ; peremptorily challenged us to
discharge ourselves of the influence of our Greek, and own up
that our own natural taste was like his— in short, suddenly, with

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a few backward strokes of the disenchanting wand, quite trans-
lated us from the right feeling with which we began, into the
perverse mood with which we are now writing, and which
emboldens us to set down the following paragraphs.

" How far is admiration of Homer, with us English-speak-
ers, natural and genuine, and how far is it either an artificial
taste, or absolutely an affectation ? This might be deter-
mined partly by the census. Why not 1 Let our census-
takers be instructed to inquire in each family of the land,
not how many members of each like Homer, nor how many
copies of Homer each possesses j but how many members have
read Homer, in whole or in part, and in how large part.
Then let deduction be fairly made for those who have read
Homer purely as task-work in school, and the result would
approximately show how well grounded is the assumption
that Homer is still a popular poet. We have a curious skep-
ticism about the matter. We suspect that, Homer being a
kind of common ground for men of college culture, removed,
like all the ancient classics, beyond the possible access of
envy or of jealousy or of rivalry ; being, moreover, magnet-
ized to the modern imagination with that strange influence
which haunts the shadows of antiquity; and, still further,
and perhaps most influential of all, being saturated to the
Greek student with the delightful memories and associations
of his boyhood at school, sweet without the bitter, as recalled
in afterlife — the truth, we suspect, is that Homer is indebted
more than he, simple Ionic soul, not .once * dreaming of
things to come,' ever had any idea of being, to the combina-
tion of such purely casual influences for the apparently re-
markable range and reach of his fame.

"A consummate story-teller — let his audience be Greeks
and Pagans — with exhaustless resources of memory and in-
vention; an incomparable melodist, with a certain innate
buoyancy toward poetry ; a master delineator of life and nat-
ure, with a happy knack of divining similitudes — all this

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Homer may cheerfully enough be acknowledged to be. But
when you rank him with the sacred few greatest poets that
the world has seen, {qucere,) do you not, unawares, oppress
him with the burthen of an honor unto which he was not
born ? "

For association and contrast with the foregoing sportive
bit of literary iconoclasm, the reader may be pleased to see
a very different passage of writing, a passage from the pen of
one of the noblest severely moral and didactic essayists in
our language. John Foster, in his profoundly thoughtful
and wholesomely suggestive essay, entitled, "The Aversion
of Men of Taste for Evangelical Religion," assigns as one
reason for that hostile sentiment, operative in the case of the
majority of cultivated men, the influence of early education
in schools where it is presumable that so large a share of
the most impressible period of youth was devoted to the
ancient classic authors with their pagan ideas of morals and
religion. Read Foster's solemnly eloquent words, and* con-
sider how much it is incumbent on parents and teachers to
do, to counteract the insensible insidious influence of such
an immersion and saturation of the young mind and con-
science and heart, in an atmosphere of thought and repre-
sentation so alien and hostile to the spirit of Christianity.

Foster :

" Among the poets, I shall notice only the two or three pre-
eminent ones of the Epic class. Homer, you know, is the
favorite of the whole civilized world ; and it is many centu-
ries since there needed one additional word of homage to the
prodigious genius displayed in the Iliad. The object of in-
quiry is, what kind of predisposition will be formed toward
Christianity in a young and animated spirit, that learns to
glow with enthusiasm at the scenes created by the poet, and
to indulge an ardent wish, which that enthusiasm will proba-
bly awaken, for the possibility of emulating some of the prin-
cipal characters? Let this susceptible youth, after having

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mingled and burned in imagination among heroes, whose
valor and anger flame like Vesuvius, who wade in blood,
trample on dying foes, and hurl defiance against earth and
heaven; let him be led into the company of Jesus Christ and
his disciples, as displayed by the evangelists, with whose nar-
rative, I will suppose, he is but slightly acquainted before.
What must he, what can he, do with his feelings in this trans-
ition ? He will fmd himself flung as far as * from the center
to the utmost pole ;' and one of these two opposite exhibi-
tions of character will inevitably excite his aversion. Which
of them is that likely to be, if he is become thoroughly pos-
sessed with the Homeric passions.?

" Or if, reversing the order, you will suppose a person to
have first become profoundly interested by the New Testa-
ment, and to have acquired the spirit of the Saviour of the
world, while studying the evangelical history, with what sen-
timents will he come forth from conversing with heavenly
mildness, weeping benevolence, sacred purity, and the elo-
quence of divine wisdom, to enter into a scene of such ac-
tions and characters, and to hear such maxims of merit and
glory, as those of Homer.? He would be still more confound-
ed by the transition, had it been possible for him to have en-
tirely escaped that deep depravation of feeling which can
think of crimes and miseries with little emotion, and which
we have all acquired from viewing the prominent portion of
the world's history as composed of scarcely any thing else.
He would find the mightiest strain of poetry employed to
represent ferocious courage as the greatest of virtues, and
those who do not possess it as worthy of their fate, to be
trodden in the dust. He will be taught, at least it will not
be the faiHt of the poet if he be not taught, to forgive a heroic
spirit for finding the sweetest luxury in insulting dying
pangs, and imagining the tears and despair of distant rela-
tions. He will be incessantly called upon to worship revenge,
the real divinity of the Iliad, in comparison of which the

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Thunderer of Clympus is but a subaltern pretender to power.
He will be taught that the most glorious and enviable life is
that to which the greatest number of other lives are made a
sacrifice ; and that it is noble in a hero to prefer even a short
life, attended by this felicity, to a long one which should per-
mit a longer life also to others. The terrible Achilles, a
being whom if he had really existed, it had been worth a
temj)orary league of the tribes, then called nations, to reduce
to the quietness of a dungeon or a tomb, is rendered inter-
esting even amidst the horrors of revenge and destruction,
by the intensity of his affection for his friend, by the melan-
choly with which he appears in the funeral scene of that
friend, by one momentary instance of compassion, and by his
solemn references to his own impending and inevitable doom.
A reader who has even passed beyond the juvenile ardor of
life, feels himself interested, in a manner that excites at in-
tervals his own surprise, in the fate of this fell exterminator ;
and he wonders, and he wishes to doubt, whether the moral
that he is learning be, after all, exactly no other than that the
grandest employment of a great spirit is the destruction of
human creatures, so long as revenge, ambition, or even ca-
price, may choose to regard them under an artificial distinc-
tion, and call them enemies. But this, my dear friend, is the
real and effective moral of the Iliad, after all that critics have
so gravely written about lessons of union, or any other subor-
dinate moral instructions, which they discover, or imagine in
the work. Who but critics ever thought or cared about any
such drowsy lessons } Whatever is the chief and grand im-
pression made by the whole work on the ardent minds which
are most susceptible of the influence of poetry, that shows the
real moral ; and Alexander, and Charles XII., through the
medium of * Macedonia's madman,' correctly received the

genuine inspiration

" If it were not too strange a "supposition that the most
characteristic parts of the Iliad had been read in the

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presence and hearing of our Lord, and by a person ani-
mated by a fervid sympathy with the work — do you not in-
stantly imagine him expressing the most emphatical condem-
nation ? Would not the reader have been made to know
that in the spirit of that book he could never become a dis-
ciple and a friend of the Messiah ? But then if he believed
this declaration,- and were serious enough to care about be-
ing a disciple and friend of the Messiah, would he not have
deemed himself extremely unfortunate to have been seduced
through the pleasures of taste and imagination, into habits of
feeling which rendered it impossible, till their predominance
should be destroyed, for him to receive the only true religion
and the only Redeemer of the world? To show hoiv im-
possible it would be, I wish I may be pardoned for making
another strange, and indeed a most monstrous supposition,
namely, that Achilles, Diomede, Ulysses, and Ajax had
been real persons, living in the time of our Lord, and had
become his disciples ; and yet, (excepting the mere exchange
of notions of mythology for Christian opinions,) had retained
entire the state of mind with which their poet has exhibited
them. It is instantly perceived that Satan, Beelzebub, and
Moloch might as consistently have been retained in heaven.
..." Yet the work of Homer is, notwithstanding, the book
which Christian poets have translated, which Christian di-
vines have edited and commented on with pride, at which
Christian ladies have been delighted to see their sons kindle
into rapture, and which forms an essential part of the course
of a liberal education over all those countries on which the
Gospel shines. And who can tell how much that passion
for war which, from the universality of its prevalence, might
seem inseparable from the nature of man, may have been,
in the civilized world, re-enforced by the enthusiastic admira-
tion with which young men have read Homer and similar
poets, whose genius transforms what is, and ought always to
appear, "purely horrid to an aspect of grandeur."

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We have kept our readers away from the Iliad perhaps
too long. But we have been saying things that we thought
needful to say, and we said them when they were naturally
suggested, a rule of introduction for ideas generally better,
in the prosecution of such purposes as our own in the pres-
ent work, than any rule more formal and precise. What the
reader thus far has seen of the Iliad itself, is simply the
poet's introduction, or statement of his theme. That theme is
the anger of Achilles. It is not the siege of Troy. It is not
the sack of the city. It is simply the wrath of great Achilles.
It is a very curious circumstance, such being the real state of
the case, that critics should universally, almost or quite, have
assumed that Homer's example fixed the law of the epic re-
quiring the epic to begin with a plunge in medias res^ that is,
into the midst of the action to be presented. This, in poinJ
of fact, is Virgil's method, and after Virgil, Milton's. But
Homer really does nothing of the sort. On the contrary,
having first merely announced the subject of his poem.
Homer, instead of taking the famous plunge into the midst
of things, goes back a little way, not afterward, but in the
very outset, and relates, with some retrospective glimpses,
the occasion of that wrath of which he is to sing. The mis-
take of critics has apparently arisen from their unconsciously
forgetting what Homer proposes to do, and substituting in
their minds, for the strictly limited theme that Homer really
treats, that larger subject which, except as it were incidental-
ly, he does not treat at all, namely, the siege of Troy. In
the same way, probably, is to be accounted for the error in
naming the poem " Iliad." *' Iliad," as we have seen, the
,poem is not.

The occasion of the resentment of Achilles is, as has been
said, the arbitrary and despotic taking away from him by
Agamemnon of a highly prized female captive. Agamemnon
had been incited to this piece of injustice by the necessity
laid upon him of giving up a captive of his own on the claim

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of her father, priest of Apollo. Agamemnon would at the
same time both make his own loss good, and let Achilles feel
the hand of his power. The overbearing Agamemnon had
been brought to the point of surrendering the priest's daugh-
ter, through the visiting of a fearful plague upon the army,
declared by Calchas, the soothsayer, to be the result of the
outrage done to a priest of Apollo. The descent of the
avenging divinity Apollo on behalf of his priest to inflict the
pestilence upon the Greeks, is described in lines which are
among the most famous in the Iliad. We give them in the
translation of Bryant, whose version we shall chiefly use in
proceeding with this account of the Iliad. We use Bryant's
version not only because it is as good as any, or better, but
because it is American. Bryant's preface to his translation
is well worthy to be examined carefully by every reader of
ours that may have access to it. It is a noble, manly, Chris-
tian piece of writing.

The present writer has elsewhere remarked upon the con-
trast existing at many points between Homer and Bryant, as
follows :

" Mr. Bryant; as an interpreter of Homer, had the disqual-
ification of being intensely contrasted with him in the quality
of his genius, and, so far as we can judge, in the quality of
his personal character. Homer lived in a world full of Greek
life and light and laughter and song. * Milk ' was * white '
and * blood ' was * red,* and neither the meanest nor the high-
est flower that blows ever gave him a thought that was too
deep for a lucky compound adjective to express. He was
not proud and self-conscious in the vocation of his genius.
He was well content to be a minstrel. He did not aspire to
be a poet. He had capacity for it, but no ambition. He was
sometimes a poet. But it was always, as it were, in his own
despite. He was generally quite satisfied to be the accepted
ballad-wright of petty princes — the minstrel-laureate of their
savage tricks and brutal brawls. Brawn and muscle, trap-

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pings and steeds, spears and shields, tilts and tourneys, were
the sufficient matter of his song. To set these forth in brave
style, he made the sacred aspects of nature and the august
solemnities of religion, such as religion was to him, menial
and servile. He describes the multitudinous march of serried
waves advancing to deliver their * surging charges * against a
rocky coast — but it is without a thought of the awful sublim-
ity of the scene. He desires only to make his picture life-like.
The forming battle-line of the Greeks, filing forward to the
war, resembles it. At another time the flight and clangor of
cranes answer his purpose of lively narration as well, to de-
scribe the movement of an army to battle. Nothing is too
great and nothing is too mean to be contraband of his use, if
it will only render the particular matter in hand a shade
more real to the apprehension of his volatile auditor. In
short. Homer lacks dignity, and consequently lacks the sense
which proportions the respect that is due to the graduated
hierarchies of the universe of persons and of things. How
different in all these respects Bryant is from Homer, no one
familiar with Bryant's poetry needs to be told. Grave, sedate,
meditative, dignified — Bryant is a poet in the highest sense
of the highest vocation to which nature can ever anoint a
man. It shows a quality in him not to have been guessed
from his previous performance, that he should be able to
stoop so gracefully, as in this translation he does, from his
height of moral elevation above the plane of Homer. We
do not think he does stoop all the way down. Homer is
raised unconsciously a few degrees to meet him."

The foregoing remarks seemed a desirable hint in ad-
vance to readers, for the guidance of their judgment in
justly appreciating Homer, and the work of his translator as
well.

Here are the promised lines descriptive of Apollo's de-
scent :

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Bryant :

Down he came»
Down from the summit of the Olympian mount,
Wrathful in heart ; his shoulders bore the bow
And hollow quiver ; there the arrows rang
Upon the shoulders of the angry god,
As on he moved. He came, as comes the night,
And, seated from the ships aloof, sent forth
An arrow ; terrible was heard the clang
Of that resplendent bow.

Cowper :

The God
Down from Olympus with his radiant bow
And his full quiver o'er his shoulder slung
Marched in his anger ; shaken as he moved
His rattling arrows told of his approach.
Gloomy he came as night ; sat from the ships
Apart, and sent an arrow. Clang'd the cord
Dread-sounding, bounding on the silver bow.

Cowper has a foot-note apologizing for the last line, the
singularity of which, he says, is the result of his attempt ".to
produce an English line, if possible, somewhat resembling in
its effect the famous original one." Those of our readers
who learn to pronounce Greek may like to judge for them-
selves of Cowper's success. Here, then, is the Greek line :
Ltivri 6e KXayyrj yiver' upyvpioto piolo,

Cowper's " Gloomy he came as night," commencing a line,
was, perhaps, inspired by Milton's " Gloomy as night,'* simi-
larly placed in the magnificent description (" Paradise Lost,"
Book VI) of the Divine Son's advance to overthrow the em-
battled rebel angels; as also, not improbably, Milton's image
and phrase were themselves derived from Homer. The pas-
sage in Milton is worth being set in comparison with the
passage in Homer; the vaunted Homeric sublimity may thus
be rated by the reader more nearly at its true relative value :

So spake the Son ; and into terror changed
His countenance, too severe to be beheld.
And full of wrath bent on his enemies.
At once the Four spread out their starry wings
With dreadful shade contiguous, and the orbs

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Of his fierce chariot rolled, as wjlh the sound
Of torrent floods, or of a numerous host.
He on his impious foes, right onward drove.
Gloomy as night ; under his burning wheels
The steadfast empyrean shook throughout,
All but the throne itself of God.

If this writing of ours were indeed what perhaps some of
our readers, not unnaturally, we confess, may be beginning
to fear that it is, an essay on Homer, instead of what we beg
to reassure our friends it really is going to be, a presentation
of the matter of the Iliad accompanied with specimen cita-
tions — if, we say, this were what it is not, we should wish, by-
all means, to go on and compare the respective sequels of
the two passages thus brought together from Homer and
froni Milton. This we hope our readers will do for them-
selves. But we, for our part, stay our hand, and push on
with the story of our poem.

In view of the wide-wasting pestilence, visited by Apollo
on their encampment, a council of the Greeks is called by
Achilles, to whom Calchas, the soothsayer, declares that the
daughter of Apollo's priest must be restored to her father.
This angers Agamemnon, who takes his reprisal, as has been
said, upon Achilles. The two chieftains engage in a war of
words, far more full of rancor than of dignity. Achilles
finally swears a great oath, that, in resentment of Agamem-
non's wrong to him, he, for his part, will fight no more in a
quarrel that never was his own.

We felt like passing thus, in the merciful silence of mere
allusion, the unworthy wordy jangle of Agamemnon and
Achilles. It is by no means an inspiring strain of poetry or
sentiment. But, on the whole, our readers might justly con-
sider themselves entitled to see Homer in his lower moods,
as well as in his higher, and we will accordingly let the two
great representative Greek chieftains have it out between
them in these pages.

Messrs. HoughtoQf MifBin & Co./ of Boston, who publish

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Bryant's Homer, have kindly consented to let us make the
free use we here do of that important copyright publication.
However, for the double purpose of not trenching too far
upon their liberality, and of affording our readers a full appe-
tizing taste of that variety whereof Cowper speaks in a line
of his so much more crowded with truth than with poetry,
Variety's the very spice of life,

we decide to have Achilles and Agamemnon rate each other
in iPope's translation instead of in Bryant's. Pope is, per-
haps, a more gifted, as well as a more practiced, termagant in
verse than is Bryant. Our readers will lose nothing of spirit,
whatever they may lose of literal adherence to Homer, by
this temporary change of handling from Bryant to Pope, a
change, however, which they cannot but feel to be very great.
Agamemnon first vents his humor on Calchas for declaring
that he, Agamemnon, must give up Chryseis, whom, (incited,
let us hope, to over-ttatement, by the vexation of the mo-
ment,) the mighty monarch openly acknowledges he values
more than his lawful wife, and then demands some indem-
nity for the loss of his prize. Upon this Achilles speaks :

"Insatiate king!'* (Achilles thus replies.)

** Fond of the pow'r, but fonder of the prize !

Wouldst thou the Greeks their lawful prey should yield,

The due reward of many a well-fought field ?

The sf)oils of cities razed, and warriors slain,

We share with justice, as with toil we gain:

But to resume whate'er thy avarice craves,

(That trick of tyrants,) may be borne by slaves —

Yet if our chief for plunder only fight,

The spoils of Ilion shall thy loss requite,

Whene'er, by Jove's decree, our conqu'ring pow'rs

Shall humble to the dust her lofty tow*rs."

Then thus the king : ** Shall I my prize resign
With tame content, and thou possess'd of thine ?
Great as thou art, and like a god in fight,
Think not to rob me of a soldier's right.
At thy demand shall I restore the maid?
First let the just equivalent be paid.
Such as a king might ask ; and let it be
A treasure worthy her, and worthy me.

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Or grant me this, or with a monarch's claim
This hand shall seize some oth^jr captive dame.
The mighty Ajax shall his prize resign,
Ulysses' spoils, or e'en thy own, be mine ;
The man who suffers, loudly may complain ;
And rage he may, but he shall rage in vain.
But this when time requires. It now remains
We launch a bark to plow the watery plains.
And waft the sacrifice to Chrysa's shores,
With chosen pilots, and with lab'ring oars.
Soon shall the fair the sable ship ascend,
And some deputed prince the charge attend.
This Greta's king, or Ajax shall fulfill.
Or wise Ulysses see performed our will ;
Or, if our royal pleasure shall ordain,
Achilles' self conduct her o'er the main ;
Let fierce Achilles, dreadful in his rage,
The god propitiate, and the pest assuage."
At this, Pelides, frowning stern, replied :
" O tyrant, arm'd with insolence and pride !
Inglorious slave to interest, ever joined
With fraud, unworthy of a royal mind !
What gen'rous Greek, obedient to thy word,
Shall form an ambush, or shall lift the sword?
What cause have I to war at thy decree ?
The distant Trojans never injured me :
To Phthia's realms no hostile troops they led,
Safe in her vales my warlike coursers fed ;
Far hence removed, the hoarse-resounding main*
And walls of rock, secure my native reign.
Whose fruitful soil luxuriant harvests grace.
Rich in her fruits, and in her martial race.
Hither we sail'd, a voluntary throng,
T' avenge a private, not a public wrong :
What else to Troy th* assembled nations draws.
But thine, ungrateful, and thy brother's cause ?
Is this the pay our blood and toils deserve.
Disgraced and injured by the man we serve ?
And dar'st thou threat to snatch my prize away,
Due to the deeds of many a dreadful day ?
A prize as small, O tyrant ! matched with thine,
As thy own actions if compared to mine.
Thine in each conquest is the wealthy prey,
Though mine the sweat and danger of the day.
Some trivial present to my ships I bear.
Or barren praises pay the wounds of war.
But know, proud monarch, I'm thy slave no more ;
My fleet shall waft me to Thessalia's shore.
Left by Achilles on the Trojan plain,
What spoils, what conquests, shall Atrides gain?**

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To this the king : " Fly, mighty warrior, fly ;
Thy aid we need not, and thy threats defy.
There want not chiefs in such a cause to fight.
And Jove himself shall guard a monarch's right.
Of all the kings (the gods' distinguished care)
To pow'r superior none such hatred bear :
Strife and debate thy restless soul employ,
And wars and horrors are thy savage joy.
If thou hast strength, 'twas Ileav'n that strength bestow'd,
For know, vain man ! thy valor is from God.
Haste, launch thy vessels, fly with speed away ;
Rule thy own realms with arbitrary sway:
I heed thee not, but prize at equal rate,
Thy short-lived friendship, and thy groundless Late.
Go. threat thy earth-born Myrmidons ; —

(Pope's use of the word " Myrmidons " in this line has
given rise to a sense of the term in English which it never
bore in Greek. " Myrmidons " was no epithet of reproach.
It was, in fact, simply the proper name of the people over
whom Achilles ruled* as king. *' Earth-born " is Pope's ad-
jective here, not Homer's. It probably makes oh modern
readers the impression of opprobrium implied, somewhat as
if it were, "base-born ;" whereas, to the ancient Greek, it
conveyed the compliment of a lineage imputed that went
back to immemorial antiquity. Pope has, in effect, to the
English mind misunderstanding him, curiously perverted his
original. But enough of parenthesis.)

Go threat thy earth-born Myrmidons ; but here

*Tis mine to threaten, prince, and thine to fear.

Know, if the god the beauteous dame demand.

My bark shall waft her to her native land ;

But then prepare, imperious prince ! prepare.

Fierce as thou art, to yield thy captive fair:

E'en in thy tent I'll seize the blooming prize.

Thy loved Briseis, with the radiant eyes.

Hence shah thou prove my might, and curse the hour,

Tliou stood'st a rival of imperial pow'r ;

And hence to all our host it shall be known,

That kings are subject to the gods alone."

Achilles heard, with grief and rage opprest.
His heart swell'd high and labor'd in his breast.
Distracting thoughts by turns his bosom ruled.
Now fired by wrath, and now by reason cool'd :

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That prompts his hand to draw the deadly sword,

Force through the Greeks, and pierce their haughty 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,

\Vhile 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 seized ; —

The to us somewhat singular way that Pallas took of call-
ing Achilles's attention, namely, plucking him from behind
by a lock of his hair, may serve to explain what very likely
has puzzled some of our readers in the first and, perhaps, the
most beautiful, of Mrs. Browning's "Sonnets from the Portu-
guese," a series, so called by her in modest concealment of
their really autobiographical character. The representation,

A mystic Shape did move
Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair,

seems, unless you understand the classic allusion implied, a
mar to the otherwise perfect finish of the sonnet. And Mrs.
Browning, noble genius as she is, does not gratify us with
perfection of put ward form in her verse so often that we can
afford to lose a single instance for want of knowing fully
what she means. A somewhat similar classicism is Milton's
in his ** Lycidas,"

Phoebus replied, and touched my trembling ears.

We resume the text of Homer :

to him alone confest ;
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;)

** Descends Minerva, in her guardian care,
A heav'nly witness of the wrongs I bear
From At reus' son ? Then let those eyes that view
The daring crime, behold the vengeance too."

'* Forbear ! " (the progeny of Jove replies.)
•* To calm thy fury I forsake the skies :

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Let great Achilles, to the gods resign*d.

To reason yield the empire o'er his mind.

By awful Juno this command is giv'n ;

The king and you are both the care of heaven.

The force of keen reproaches let him feel,

But sheath, obedient, thy revenging steel.

For I pronounce (and trust a heav'nly powV)

Thy injured honor has its fated hour.

When the proud monarch shall thy arms implore.

And bribe thy friendship with a boundless store.

Then let revenge no longer bear the sway.

Command thy passions, and the gods obey."

To her Pelides: " With regardful ear,
*Tis just, O goddess ! I thy dictates hear :
Hard as it is, my vengeance I suppress :
Those who revere the gods, the gods will bless."
He said, observant of the blue-eyed maid;
•Then in the sheath returned the shining blade.
The goddess swift to high Olympus flies.
And joins the sacred senate of the skies.

Nor yet the rage his boiling breast forsook.
Which thus redoubling on Atrides broke:
**0 monster ! mixed of insolence and fear, '
Thou dog in forehead, but in heart a deer !
When wert tliou known in ambushM fights to dare»
Or nobly face the horrid front of war?
'Tis ours, the chance of fighting fields to try,
Thine to look on, and bid the valiant die.
So much 'tis safer through the camp to go,
And rob a subject, than despoil a foe.
Scourge of thy people, violent and base'!
Sent in Jove's anger on a slavish race.
Who, lost to sense of generous freedom past.
Are tamed to wrongs, or this had been thy last.
Now by this sacred scepter hear me swear.
Which nevermore shall leaves or blossoms bear,
Which severed from the trunk (as I from thee)
On the bare mountain left its parent tree ;
This scepter, formed by tempered steel to prove
An ensign of the delegates of Jove,
From whom the power of laws and justice springs,
(Tremendous oath ! inviolate to kings :)
By this I swear, when bleeding Greece again.
Shall call Achilles, she shall call in vain.
When flushed with slaughter. Hector comes to spread
The purpled shore with mountains of the dead.
Then shalt thou mourn th' affront thy madness gave.
Forced to deplore, when impotent to save :
Then rage in bitterness of soul, to know
This act has made the bravest Greek, thy foe."

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He spoke ; and furious hurl'd against the ground
His scepter starred with golden studs around,
Then sternly silent sat. With like disdain,
The raging king return 'd his frowns again.

Nestor, a very aged chieftain from Pylos, intervenes at
this point, vainly endeavoring to reconcile the two wranglers.
Nestor is a striking figure in the Iliad. We give, returning
to Bryant for the purpose, Homer's lines descriptive of Nes-
tor, and then Nestor's well-meaning, garrulous, somewhat
egotistic address. Readers will not fail to notice how exactly
in character for an old man is what -Nestor is represented
as saying :

But now uprose
Nestor, the master of persuasive speech,
The clear-toned Pylian orator, whose tongue
Dropped words more sweet than honey. He had seen
Two generations that grew up and lived
With him on sacred Pylos pass away,
And now he ruled the third. With prudent words
He thus addressed the assembly of the chiefs :

•* Ye gods ! what new misfortunes threaten Greece !
How Priam would exult and Priam's sons.
And how would all the Trojan race rejoice,
W^ere they to know how furiously ye strive, —
Ye who in council and in fight surpass
The other Greeks. Now hearken to my words,—
Ye who are younger than myself — for I
Have lived with braver men than you, and yet
They held me not in light esteem. Such men
. I never saw, nor shall I see again, —
Men like Pirithoiis and like Druas, lord
Of nations, Cseneus and Evadius,
And the great Polypheme, and Theseus, son
Of Aegeus, likest to the immortal Gods.
Strongest of all the earth-born race were they.
And with the strongest of their time they fought,
With Centaurs, the wild dwellers of the hills,
And fearfully destroyed them. With these men
Did I hold converse, coming to their camp
From Pylos in a distant land. They sent
To bid me join the war, and by their side
I fought my best, but no man living now
On the wide earth would dare to fight with them.
Great as they were, they listened to my words
And took my counsel. Hearken also ye.
And let my words persuade you for the best

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Thou, powerful as thou art, take not from him
The maiden ; suffer him to keep the prize
Decreed him by the sons of Greece ; and thou,
Pelides, strive no longer with the king.
Since never yet did Jove to sceptered prince
Grant eminence and honor like to his.
♦ Atrides, calm thine anger. It is I

Who now implore thee to lay by thy wrath
Against Achilles, who, in this fierce war,
Is the great bulwark of the Grecian host."

Agamemnon fulfills his threat of taking away Briseis from
Achilles, Achilles sulkily submitting. But the spoiled man-
grown boy in his distress betakes himself to his
mother, the sea-goddess Thetis. She comes to
Achilles at his call, and soothes him, mother-
like. She engages to visit Olympus, and see
what can be done with Jupiter for him.

Jupiter we say, but Zeus is the Greek word.^/
The Latin names of the personages common to achilles.
the Roman with the Greek mythology, have generally pre-
vailed in English use. Greek scholars, some of them, insist
that the divinities, supposed generally to be the same in the
Greek and the Roman mythology, are really different. Sev-
eral Hellenic scholars, notably Grote, have sought to restore
the Greek names. The attempt, if it succeeds, will succeed
slowly against great odds. We prefer, upon the whole, to
follow here the established English usage. Still, in our own
metrical translations, few in number, of Homeric verse, we,
as will be observed, by exception adhere to Homer's own
terms. Our readers will thus see something of the difference
in effect produced — for Bryant, on his part, conservatively
retains the naturalized Latin forms in his translation. The
difference will be still further observable when we take up
the Odyssey. For the translator whose work we shall use in
presenting that far more interesting and far sweeter poem,
has chosen with Grote to go back to the Greek names for

the Homeric personages.

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Thetis prevailed with Jupiter to promise that he would
have the Trojans get the better of the Greeks as long as her
son Achilles chose to stay angry. The passage descriptive
of the accustomed nod with which Jupiter sealed his promise
is a celebrated one. Here is a closely literal translati^jji :

Zeus spake, and with his dark brows gave the nod :

The ambrosial locks therewith streamed from the king's

Immortal head ; Olympus great it shook.

These two, thus having counseled, parted ; she

Leapt thereupon into the deep sea-brine

From bright Olympus— to his dwelling Zeus.

The gods together all rose from their seats

Before their sire, nor any durst abide

Him coming, but they all to meet him stood.

So he there sat him down upon his throne ;

Kor seeing him was Here not aware

jupiTBR. That with him had deliberated plans

The daughter of the Ancient of the sea,
Thetis of silver foot: With cutting words,
S^aightway the son of Kronos, Zeus, she hailed.

Bryant translates as follows :

As thus he spake, the son of Saturn gave

The nod with his dark bi-bws. The ambrosial curls

Upon the Sovereign One's immortal head

Were shaken, and with them the mighty mount

Olympus trembled. Then they parted, she

Plunging from bright Olympus to the deep.

And Jove retuining to his palace home ;

Where all the gods, uprising from their thrones.

At sight of the Great Father, waited not

For his approach, but met him as he came.

And now upon his throne the Godhead took
His seat, but Juno knew — for she had seen —
That Thetis of the silver feet, and child
Of the gray Ancient of the Deep, had held
Close council with lier consort. Therefore she
Bespake the son of Saturn harshly, thus —

We, for our part, long accustomed to assume as of course
that this "nod " of Zeus or Jupiter must have been impress-
ive, even sublime, now make the confession that we have,
upon experiment, been unable to realize in our imagination
the gesture actually rendered, without feeling some effect of

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the ridiculous. We wonder if Homer was a humorist, much
misunderstood, in his representation.

We are ashamed to say that Juno hereupon gave Jupiter a
severe lecture. Jupiter put himself upon his dignity — such
dignity as was Jupiter's, it allowed him to bandy words with
his brilliant but shrewish wife-=-and threatened to flog her
outright if she did not hold her tongue. Juno bit her lips in
repressed rage, which Vulcan, her lame son, sought not in
vain to soothe. He turned cup-bearer for the occasion to
the gods, and amused them all with his grotesque airs as a
waiter. This passage, too, is famous. Literally translated^
it reads as follows :

He spake ; the goddess, white-armed Here, smiled ;
And smiling she accepted with her hand
The goblet from her son. But he from right
To left to all the other gods poured out
Sweet nectar, drawing from tife mixing-bowl ;
An inextinguishable laughter then was rousecC
Among the blessed gods, when they beheld
Hephaestus brisking through the palace halls.

So all day long unto the setting sun
They feasted then, nor of an equal feast
Failed the desire in aught, not of the harp
Exceeding beautiful which Phoebus held,
Or of the Muses who with beautiful voice
Alternate, sang responsive each to each.
But when the sun's resplendent light was set
Desiring to lie down they homeward went,
Each where for each the far-renowned lame
Hephaestus built a house with cunning skill.
The Olympian Flasher of the Lightning, Zeus,
Went to his couch where erst he wont to lie
When sweet sleep came on him ; ascending there
He slept, and Here, golden-throned, beside.

Bryant translates :

He spake, and Juno, the white-shouldered, smiled,
And smiling look the cup her son had brought ;
And next he poured to all the other gods
Sweet nectar from the jar, beginning first
With those at the right hand. As they beheld
Lame Vulcan laboring o*er the palace floor.
An inextinguishable laughter broke
From all the blessed gods. So feasted they

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All day till sunset. From that equal feast
None stood aloof, nor from the pleasant sound
Of harp, which Phoebus touched , nor from the voice
Of Muses singing sweetly in their turn.

But when the sun's all-glorious light was down,
Each to his sleeping-place betook himself;
For Vulcan, the lame god, with marvelous art.
Had framed for each the chamber of his rest.

And Jupiter, the Olympian Thunderer, •
Went also to his couch, where *t was his wont,
When slumber overtook him, to recline.
And there, beside him, slept the white-armed queen
Juno, the mistress of the golden throne.

So closes the first book of the Iliad. The next book re-
counts how Jupiter sends a deceiving dream to Agamemnon
to induce that chieftain to make a vain assault on the Tro-
jans. Agamemnon calls the Greeks to council, and, to try
their spirit, proposes a return to Greece. To his confusion,
the Greeks incontinently agree, and rush tumultuously to
their ships. Ulysses comes to the rescue, and saves the
cause. Aristocrat as he was, he made a distinction. The
leaders and the men of mark he addressed courteously, and
used with them the art of moral suasion. The rank and file
he took in hand to chastise -with great and literal blows of
his staff or scepter. One in particular of the latter class got
an exemplary punishment. This unhappy wight, by name
Thersi'tes, is described as an ill-looking person, who had
some conceit of being smart with his tongue. Stalwart Ulys-
ses, eloquent though he could be when he chose, disdained
to waste words on this plebeian, but reduced Thersites by the
strict physical argument — to the infinite amusement of the
mercurial Greeks, whose love of humor overbore their popu-
lar sympathy, and (re-enforced,''perhaps,by an instinct of awe
toward the kingly office) made them readily side with the
stronger. The book closes with a catalogue of the Greek
forces assembled. This last detail, dry enough to the modern
reader, was very important to the interest of the poem with
the Greek audiences that used to hear it recited by the roam-

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ing bard. A poem could hardly contain too much personal
allusion, when the mention of a name was going to flatter
somewhere a local or a family pride, among hearers whose
gratification would make the fortune of the minstrel and his
lay. Milton has imitated the Homeric catalogue of the
Greeks, in his roll-call of the fallen angels, named by him
after the various idol gods of the East.

The machinery of the Iliad, that is, the introduction of
supernatural agencies into the action of the poem, is, to us who
read in the light of present views, a feature fatal to any gen-
uine interest in the story. Just when the plot promises to
be a little complicated and stimulating to curiosity, one finds
it immensely provoking, to have an impertinent strolling
divinity from Olympus or from Neptune's realm come in and
solve at once any difficulty, with an interference to which the
idea of natural probability sets no limits. Dreams and
prodigies and divine interventions thus hopelessly spoiling
the Iliad for us as a story, we may still read the poem with
the interest of an enlightened wonder willing to know what
absurdities were humbly taken for granted as true, by the
wisest and wittiest race of all pagan antiquity. If any body
says, "Yes, but the Bible, but Christianity — is not Christianity
as full as is Olympianism, of visions and miracles and divine
interventions.? Where is the difference?" we reply, Well,
one difference at least is here : Christianity has come to
something and Olympianism has come to nothing.

The second book has no fighting in it. The most note-
worthy thing it contains is perhaps the episode about Ther-
sites. Of this we need present to our readers in the poet's
own words only the description which he gives of that poor
fellow's personal appearance. Bryant does not render this
passage with quite the sympathetic humor that Cowper has
succeeded in transfusing into his corresponding lines. We
give Cowper's version (in part) as a parallel for Bryant's.
But first our own strictly literal rendering :

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The rest sat down, and in the seats were quelled.
Thersites only still kept clamoring on,
Licentious-tongued ; who many a shameless phrase
Knew in his mind, hap-hazard, lawlessly
To brawl with kings — whate'er might seem to him
To be droll for the Greeks. The ugliest man
That came. to Ilium ; bandy-legged he was,
Lame in one foot ; and his bent shoulders twain
Hugged o'er his chest together, while above
Peaked of head was he, and thereupon
A thin- worn plush of flossy hair adhered.

Bryant :

All others took their seats and kept their place ;
Thersites only, clamorous of tongue,
Kept brawling. He, with many insolent words,
Was wont to seek unseemly strife with kings,
Uttering whate'er it seemed to him might move
The Greeks to laughter. Of the multitude
Who came to Ilium, none so base as he, —
Squint-eyed, with one lame foot, and on his back
A lump, and shoulders curving toward the chest ;
His head was sharp, and over it the hairs
Were thinly scattered.

Cowper :

Cross-eyed he was, and, halting, moved on legs
Ill-paired ; his gibbous shoulders o'er his breast
Contracted, pinched it ; to a peak his head
Was molded sharp, and sprinkled thin with hair
Of starveling length, flimsy and soft as down.

The third book is tantalizing.
It introduces a duel between Paris
the thief, and Menelaus the husband,
of Helen. The reader rejoices in
the justice of settling the whole
miserable business, by wager of bat-
tle between the two men chiefly
concerned, especially as there is a
comfortable feeling inspired that ef-
PARis. feminate Paris will now get his de-

serts at the hands of manful Menelaus. But at the crisis of
the duel, presto, in steps Venus and whi$ks Paris off to his bed-

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chamber in the palace of Priam. You feel cheated of your
satisfaction, nearly as much as Menelaus did of his.

Homer is famous for his similes. Our readers must see of
these a good number of specimens. Two occur at the
opening of the present book. Bryant renders them into
beautiful English blank verse as follows :

Now when both armies were arrayed for war,
Each with its chiefs, the Trojan host moved on
With shouts and clang of arms, as when the cry
Of cranes is in the air, that, flying south
From winter and its mighty breadth of rain,
Wing their way over ocean, and at dawn
Bring fearful battle to the pigmy race,
Bloodshed and death. But silently the Greeks
W^nt forward, breathing valor, mindful still
To aid each other in the coming fray.

As when the south wind shrouds a mountain top
In vapors that awake the shepherd's fears, —
A surer covert for the thief than night, —
And round him one can only see as far
As one can hurl a stone, — such was the cloud
Of dust that from the warriors* trampling feet
Rose round their rapid march and filled the air.

There is, in this book, a charmingly conceived scene be-
tween Priam and his lovely daughter-in-law, Helen, in which
the poet, with excellent art, makes Helen point out to the
aged prince, from the city wall on which they stand together,
the various illustrious Greek chiefs to be recognized from
their elevated point of prospect. Helen, for all her fault,
wins on the reader by her appearance in this scene. She
seems sufficiently conscious of her guilty past, and expresses
deep remorse. Priam, on his side, is tender and magnan-
imous, clearing her and accusing fate. Those of our readers
familiar with Tennyson will recall that stanza in his " Dream
of Fair Women," in which Helen, not named, is introduced
as saying :

** I would the white, cold, heavy-plunging foam,
Whirled by the wind, had rolled me deep below,
Then when I left my home."

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These lines were perhaps suggested by the following verses,

put into Helen's mouth by Homer as now addressed to

Priam :

Dear second father, whom at once
I fear and honor, would that cruel Death
Had overtaken me before I left,
To wander with thy son, my marriage bed.

There is, however, farther on in the Iliad, a much closer
parallel to Tennyson's lines. This occurs in the sixth book,
in a conversation between the brother-in-law. Hector, and
Helen. Poor Helen takes with Hector the same attitude of
lowliness and self-reproach that she assumes here with
Priam. We may anticipate enough to introduce the lines at
this point. Helen says to Hector :

Would that some violent blast when I was bom
Had whirled me to tlie mountain wilds, or waves
Of the hoarse sea, that they might swallow me.
Ere deeds like these were done !

The stanzas descriptive of Helen's beauty, that precede
the verses quoted above, in the " Dream of Fair Women,"
are of a memory-haunting, charm-like quality. Readers
that happen not as yet to know them, will greatly enjoy be-
coming acquainted with them in their Tennyson.

Priam sees first a Greek hero whom he describes as

Gallant and tall. True there are taller men,
But of such noble form and dignity
I never saw : in truth a kingly man.

He learns from Helen that this

Is the wide-ruling Agamemnon, son
Of Atreus, and is both a gracious king
And a most dreaded warrior. He was once
Brother-in-law to me, if I may speak —
Lost as I am to shame — of such a tie.

Homer says aged Priam replied to this, first by
AGAMBMNON. bendiug on Helen a look of reassuring admiration,
and next by contributing a bit of old man's reminiscence,

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which, good as it is in the poet's telling, our readers can
spare. He then espies Ulysses and asks who it is.

That is Ulysses, man of many arts,

Son of Laertes, reared in Ithaca,

That rugged isle, and skilled in every form

Of shrewd device and action wisely planned.

Old An-t^-nor, the Nestor he of Troy, here
has a reminiscence of his own to put in, which,
as our readers are to get further acquainted ulysses.

with Ulysses in the Odyssey, they will like to see :

This Ulysses once
Came on an embassy, concerning thee,
To Troy with Menelaus, great in war;
And I received them as my guests, and they
Were lodged within my palace, and I learned
The temper and the qualities of both.
When both were standing 'mid the men of Troy,
I marked that Menelaus's broad chest
Made him the more conspicuous, but when both
Were seated, greater was the dignity
Seen in Ulysses. When they both addressed
Tlia council, Menelaus briefly spake
In pleasing tones, though with few words, — as one
Not given to loose and wandering speech, — although
The younger. When the wise Ulysses rose,
He stood with eyes cast down, and fixed on earth,
And neither swayed his scepter to the right
Nor to the left, but held it motionless.
Like one unused to public speech. He seemed
An idiot out of humor. But when forth
He sent from his full lungs his jnighty voice
And words came like a fall of winter snow,
No mortal then would dare to strive with him
For mastery in speech. We less admired
The aspect of Ulysses than his words.

Our readers should study in collation Tennyson's poem
"Ulysses," of which, however, we may have more to say by
and by, when we deal with the Odyssey.

Beholding Ajax then the aged king
Asked yet again : Who is that other chief
Of the Achains, tall, and large of limb, —
Taller and broader-chested than the rest?

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■ J ■ ■ ■■ .. I-

Helen satisfies his curiosity, and adds that she could tell
the names of the other chiefs among the Greeks. Two,
however, she misses. These were Castor and Pollux, twin
brothers of her own. Helen wonders at not seeing them,
and asks self-reproachingly.

Shun they to fight among the valiant ones

Of Greece, because of my reproach and shame ?

Homer, with frugal explanation, pathetically says :

She spake ; but they already lay in earth
In Lacedaemon, their dear native land.

Further conversation is prevented by the 'bustle of im-
mediate preparation for the combat between Paris (called
Alexander) and Menelaus. As has been noted, the combat
has but a disappointing interest for readers not believers in
Olympianism. Laughing Venus intervenes, and, true to her
character, contrives an assignation between her old admirer
Paris — Paris, remember, had accorded to Venus the palm of
beauty, in the famous competition among the goddesses for
that honor ; read Tennyson's poem " -^none," for a noble
modern and modernizing treatment of the subject (i^none
was Paris's deserted lover) — between Pans and Helen in their
apartment at home. The absurd machinery aside, this in-
glorious event of the duel well sets forth the soft voluptuous
personal character of the Trojan carpet-knight. Chris-
tianized taste forbids a full reproduction here of the sequel,
as Homer describes it. And so ends the third book — with a
most unwarlike interlude affording an effective foil to the
blood and fury of what is to follow.

Our readers are students, and they will remember that we
are not here undertaking to represent Homer in full, but only
to represent him in such part as he occupies place in the
usual course of preparation for entrance to college. How-
ever, we are going to be a little more liberal than our strict
undertaking would call upon us to be. We are going to run

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through the whole of Homer with our readers, making great
strides, with occasional great skips, as we go. We have al-
ready accomplished as much as is generally required of the
college matriculate. Homer is however resumed in the
college course itself, for about one term of study. We shall
find the college course in Greek so burdened with books for
representation, as to be well-nigh impracticable for manage-
ment within the compass of a single volume like the present.
To do that well-nigh impracticable thing is, however, the task
we set to ourselves. We accordingly adopt the expedient of
anticipating a little and getting Homer off our hands in this
first volume. Our readers must not expect a connected ac-
count of all the incidents that crowd the pages of Homer.
We shall simply give choice or remarkable passages, with so
much narrative only as may serve to show their setting in
the text of the Iliad.

The Iliad was to the Greek a great world, in which might
be found a verse or a passage appropriate to almost every
occasion of life. The teeming invention of the poet over-
whelms his reader with such a profusion of incident, of
dialogue, of description, of simile, of detail in every kind,
that the plot of the poem as a whole is almost lost in the
general effect. Only at last does the great figure of Achilles
loom, amid the confusion and broil, in proportions heroic
enough to lord it over the whole field of the action— some-
what as, to the still distant spectator approaching Cologne,
appears the mass of the famous cathedral to do, over the en-
tire aggregate of all the city besides. Perhaps it was the art
of the poet, to build every thing else for the sake of having
something worthy to be dwarfed by Achilles with the con-
trast of his mighty valor and emprise. If there is any
unity to the plot other than this, it has not, so far as the
present writer knows, been discovered. First Achilles gets
angry. Then he sulks in his tent till the Greeks have their
fill of trying to do without him. Battle, council, stratagem,

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dialogue, plot on the plains of Troy, counter-plot on Olym-
pus — these, whirled about and mixed in a vast vortex, occupy
the interval of days before Achilles reappears upon the scene.
There are twenty-four books of the Iliad, and up to within
eight books of the end, the action proceeds without further
participation in it than has been indicated above, on the part
of Achilles. The development of the plot is not meantime
forwarded at all, except as the necessity of Achilles to the
success of the Greeks is exhibited. Achilles comes back,
and, through eight books on to the catastrophe, Achilles is
the Iliad. There is nothing that does not yield itself to the
wind of such commotion as that fierce warrior raises about
him wherever he goes.

We do not in the least mean that the poem stands still all
this time. The farthest from it possible. It moves inces-
santly, but it does not get on. It is full of incident, indeed,
and incident, too, that, barring the distressing imminency,
never absent, of Olympian intervention, may interest the read-
er. The case, however, let it be noticed, is such that we
here are left at our liberty to select passages from the poem,
quite unembarrassed by apprehension of endangering, through
omission, our reader's perfect understanding of the story.

The fourth book shall supply us another simile, one of the
most nobly conceived and, most nobly expressed of all that
occur in the Iliad. Homer is describing the advance of the
Achaians to battle. He likens it to the multitudinous as-
sault of ocean on a precipitous shore. We first present a
literal, almost word-for-word translation:

As when upon a many-echoing shore,
Billow fast following billow of the sea
Is roused beneath the thronging western wind,
Upon the deep at first it towers its height,
And next, shattered against the continent, booms
Mightily, and round the crags its curling crest
Uprears, and spouts its spray of brine afar.
So ranks fast following ranks of Danaans then
Ceaselessly on and on thronged to the war.

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Bryant :

As when the oce.in-billows, surge on surge,
Are pushed along to the resounding shore
Before the western wind, and first a wave
Uplifts itself, and then against the land
Dashes and roars, and round the headland peaks
Tosses on high and spouts its spray afar,
So moved the serrfed phalanxes of Greece
To battle, rank succeeding rank. . . .

We have a mind to take our readers a little into confidence
about this matter of Homeric translation. We can perhaps
best do so by treating a particular instance. The foregoing
example will be as good as any for our purpose.

Homer uses compound adjectives with a freedom in which
the genius of our language hardly allows us to imitate him.
The shore here is ** many-echoing.'* That coinage at least
brings us as near to the Greek as we can get in the English.
The conservative severity of Bryant's taste in diction per-
haps made him abstain from neologism and so say " resound-
ing." Homer's word is "billow," not "billows." He does
not repeat the word, much less say, first, " billows," then,
" wave on wave." He says simply " billow," but follows it
with a graphic adjective, for which we have no single
equivalent word in our language. This adjective implies
that the billow is following fast and hard upon another billow
in advance. In our literal translation, we seek to reproduce
the Homeric effect by an assemblage of words whose sound
will sort with the sense, while they also exactly render the
original. We say "billow fast following billow." Homer
has in this passage the same verb in two different forms of
it, once in the first member, and again in the second mem-
ber, of his simile. The effect is to bring out strikingly tne
correspondence of the two members. The west wind urges
the billows — the Greeks are urged, they urge themselves.
This symmetry and balance of expression, we imitate, by
using the word " throng," first as an active transitive verb,
and then as a verb active intransitive. We say, " the throng-

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ing western wind," and we say, the Danaans "thronged to the
war." " Danaans," by the way, is Homer's word here, not
Greeks — Greeks, as has been said, the Greeks never called
themselves. Homer does not proceed by saying, " and first
a wave." He keeps to his one " billow fast following billow "
originally introduced, and that billow, not lost sight of, it is
which " at first comes to its height." This bi'llow does not
" dash " in Homer. It is dashed or shivered — and roars in
consequence, or, better, delivers a sound like a great groan
— a boom. The original word is onomatopoetic, that is, has
a sound answering to the sense. " Roar," too, is onomato-
poetic, but that word is not similarly onomatoyjoetic. The
chief elements of the onomatopoetic effect in the Greek
word, are the sounds of b and m, less metallic and ringing
than the r*s in roars. " Boom," with its duller muffled sound,
reproduces the effect — perhaps by a richer vowel quality even
improves it. It is not against the land simply, but against
the land conceived of as the whole mainland or continent,
that the billow is broken. This enhances the majesty of the
image, and justifies Homer's adverb ** greatly " or " mightily."
Homer is realistic and minute enough to say "spray of
brine " — so naming the sea, as we do, by its saltness — if, and
there can be little doubt of it, such be the etymology of that,
word for sea which he here uses. Finally, Homer employs
again that same pregnant adjective to describe the advancing
ranks of Danaans, which he had before employed to describe
the '^ h'iWo'N fast following billow."

On the whole, suitable study of Homer's work in the
present passage would convince any thoughtful reader that
the diviner and composer of that simile must have been a
poet very near to nature and the heart of truth — in so far,
that is to say, as he was disposed to try his hand at all.

We shall not repeat our experiment of such minute infor-
mation about the niceties of Homeric translation. Our read-
ers will now be somewhat better able to appreciate how

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many varying degrees of approach to perfection there may
be among various excellent renderings of Homer. Bryant's
version of this passage is noble. It is good enough, that is,
faithful enough. The merit of the English versification we
do not extol, because it needs no extolling. It is transcend-
ent. To produce a metrical translation of the whole poem,
marked throughout by the painful accuracy which we have
ourselves attempted in these few verses, would cost a life-
time, rather than five years of an old age like the beautiful
old age of Bryant. It is worth noting that in his first edition,
Bryant said " file succeeding file," but changed it in a subse-
quent edition to " rank succeeding rank." This was on the
suggestion of a periodical reviewer of his work. The circum-
stance well illustrates the amenableness to correction, charac-
teristic of an elevated mind conscious enough of its strength
not to be afraid of disparaging itself by accepting suggestion.

Book fifth introduces ^-ne'as, the Trojan hero of Virgil's
poem, the ^Eneid. Because our readers are to cultivate this
personage's acquaintance in studying that, the great epic of
the Romans, they will naturally like to see something of
what Homer has to say about him. They will at the same
time have an opportunity, such as ought completely to satisfy
them, of tasting the revolting details of mutual human
butchery, with which Homer regaled the refined savages, or
savage people of refinement, for whom he made his poem.

A general battle is raging in which Greek Di'o-med per-
forms prodigies of strength and valoR He has a companion,
now no matter whom, that says to him,

• *' There comes i^neas, glorying that he sprang
From the large-souled Anchises, — borne to him
By Venus. Mount we now our car and leave
The ground, nor in thy fury rush along
The van of battle, lest thou lose thy life."

Perish the thought ! somewhat long-windedly exclaims in
•ubstance the valiant Diomed. He has so much confidence

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of getting the better not only of ^neas but of Pan'darus, too,
-^neas's companion, that he gives particular directions to his
friend about making prize of -^neas's chariot-horses, whose
pedigree he has leisure to give with great particularity while
the encounter is preparing. Those horses were of stock
presented by Jove himself to Troy, in exchange for Ganymede,
the Trojan youth whom the monarch of Olympus snatched
off to be cup-bearer to the gods. The hostile chariots are
within speaking distance of each other, and the opposing
pairs of combatants bluster and swagger in words while they
begin to fight. Pandarus hits Diomed and gloats prema-
turely over having wounded him. Diomed assures him of
his mistake and says he perceives that one of his two foes
will have to " pour out his blood to glut the god of war."

He spake, and cast his spear. Minerva kept

The weapon faithful to its aim. It struck

The nose, and near the eye ; then passing on

Betwixt the teeth, the unrelenting edge

Cleft at its root the tongue ; the point came out

Beneath the chin. The warrior from his car

Fell headlong ; his bright armor, fairly wrought,

Clashed round him as he fell ; his fiery steeds

Started aside with fright ; his breath and strength

Were gone at once, ^neas, with his shield

And his long spear, leaped down to guard the slain,

That the Achaians might not drag him thence.

There, lion-like, confiding in his strength,

He stalked around the corpse, and over it

Held his round shield and lance, prepared to slay

Whoever came, and shouting terribly.

Tydides raised a stone, — a mighty weight,
Such as no two men living now could lift ;
But he, alone, could swing it round with ease.
With this he smote i^neas on the hip,
Where the thigh joins its socket. By the blow
He brake the socket and the tendons twain,
And tore the skin with the rough, jagged stone.
The hero fell upon his knees, but stayed
His fall with his strong palm upon the ground ;
And o'er his eyes a shadow came like night.

Then had the king of men, ^neas, died,
But for Jove's daughter, Venus, who perceived
His danger instantly, — his mother, she

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Who bore him to Anchises when he kept

His beeves, a herdsman. Round her son she cast

Her white arms, spreading over him in folds

Her shining robe, to be a fence against

The weapons of the foe, lest some Greek knight

Should at his bosom aim the steel to take

His life. And thus the goddess bore away

From that fierce conflict her beloved son.

Nor did the son o^ Capaneus forget
The bidding of the warlike Diomed,
But halted his firm- footed steeds apart
From the great tumult, with the long reins stretched
And fastened to the chariot. Next, he sprang
To seize the horses with fairflowing manes,
That drew the chariot of ^Eneas. These
He drave away, far from the Trojan host,
To the well-greaved Achaians, giving them
In charge, to lead them to the hollow ships,
To his beloved, friend Deipylus,
Whom he of all his comrades honored most,
As likest to himself in years and mind.
And then he climbed his car and took the reins,
And, swiftly drawn by his firm-footed steeds.
Followed Tydides, who with cruel steel
Sought Venus, knowing her unapt for war.
And all unlike the goddesses who guide
The battles of mankind, as Pallas does,
Or as Bellona, ravager of towns.
O'ertaking her at last, with long pursuit.
Amid the throng of warring men, the son
Of warlike Tydeus aimed at her his spe^r,
And wounded in her hand the delicate one
With its sharp point. It pierced the ambrosial robe,
Wrought for her by the graces, at the spot
Where the palm joins the wrist, and broke the skin.
And drew immortal blood, — the ichor, — such
As from the blessed gods may flow ; for they
Eat not the wheaten loaf, nor drink dark wine ;
And therefore they are bloodless, and are called
Immortal. At the stroke the goddess shrieked.
And dropped her son. Apollo in his arms
Received and in a dark cloud rescued him,
Lest any of the Grecian knights should aim
A weapon at his breast to take his life.
Meantime the brave Tydides cried aloud ; —
" Leave wars and battle, goddess. Is it not
Enough that thou delude weak womankind ?
Yet, if thou ever shouldst return, to bear
A part in battle, thou shalt have good cause
To start with fear, when war is only named."

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He spake ; and she departed, wild with pain,

For grievously she suffered. Instantly

Fleet-footed Iris took her by the hand

And led her from the place, her heart oppressed

With anguish and her fair cheek deathly pale.

She found the fiery Mars, who had withdrawn

From that day's combat to the left, and sat,

His spear and his swift coursers hid from sight.

In darkness. At his feet she fell, and prayed

Her brother fervently, that he would lend

His steeds that stood in trappings wrought of gold :—

" Dear brother, aid me ; let me have thy steeds
To bear me to the Olympian mount, the home
Of gods, for grievously the wound I bear
Afflicts me. 'Twas a mortal gave the wound, —
Tydides, who would even fight with Jove."

She spake ; and Mars resigned to her his steeds
With trappings of bright gold. She climbed the car,
Still grieving, and, beside her, Iris took
Her seat, and caught the reins and plied the lash.
On flew the coursers, on, with willing speed.
And soon were at the mansion of the gods
On high Olympus. There the active-limbed.
Fleet Iris stayed them, loosed them from the car,
And fed them with ambrosial food.

Venus, of course, like any mortal child, makes straight to
her mother, Di-o'ne. Dione caresses her, and having learned
how she came by her hurt, goes off into a soothing account
of like mishaps that in time past have befallen other of the
gods. She further promises Venus that Diomed shall rue his
rashness, going, quite in the spirit of earthly Homeric per-
sonages, forward to a time in the future when Diomed's wife
shall wake the servants of her house to wail their master
dead. We have, by way of contrast to the comico-tragic of
this scene between Venus and her mother, a little Olympian
pleasantry from Juno and Pallas, at Venus*s expense. With
these strokes of change in mood. Homer shows his art, which
is dramatic as much as epic-:— if not more. Not improbably,
Milton was unconsciously influenced by the example of Ho-
mer to introduce these touches of sarcastic humor into his
Paradise Lost, which critics have perhaps too absolutely
condemned.

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She spake, and wiped the ichor from the hand
Of* Venus ; at her touch the hand was healed
And the pain left it. Meantime, Pallas stood.
With Juno, looking on, both teasing Jove
With words of sarcasm. Blue-eyed Pallas thus
Addressed the god : " O Father Jupiter,
Wilt thou be angry at the word I speak? —
As Venus, wheedling some Achaian dame
To join the host she loves, the sons of Troy,
Caressed the fair, arrayed in gay attire,
A golden buckle scratched her tender hand."
As thus she spake, the Father of the gods
And mortals, calling golden Venus near,
Said, with a smile : ** Nay, daughter, not for thee
Are tasks of war ; be gentle marriage rites
Thy care ; the labors of the battle-field
Pertain to Pallas and the fiery Mars."

Thus with each other talked the gocls, while still
The great in battle, Diomed, pursued
iEneas, though he knew that Phoet>us stretched
His arm to guard the warrior. Small regard
Had he for the great god, and much he longed
To strike iEneas down and bear away
The glorious arms he wore ; and thrice he rushed
To slay the Trojan, thrice Apollo smote
Upon his glittering shield. But when he made
The fourth assault, as if he were a god.
The archer of the skies, Apollo, thus
With menacing words rebuked him : '* Diomed,
Beware ; desist, nor think to make thyself
The equal of a god. The deathless race *
Of gods is not as those who walk the earth."

He spake ; the son of Tydeus, shrinking back,
Gave way before the anger of the god
Who s^nds Uis shafts afar. Then Phoebus bore
iEneas from the tumult to the height
Of sacred Pergamus, where stands his fane ;
And there Latona and the archer-queen,
Diana, in the temple's deep recess,
Tended him and brought back his glorious strength.

Apollo frames an image of ^neas for Greeks and Trojans
to fight around, under the illusion that it is really that doughty
knight himself. While this by-play, half puppet, and half
human, is going on, Apollo exhorts Mars to stir up the spirit
of the Trojans, which that fiery divinity does with great effect.
Meantime, presto, ^neas, in his own literal person, re-ap-

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pears on the field, renewed in strength after his wound. On
the side of the Greeks —

The Ajaces and Ulysses and the son
Of Tydeus roused the Achaians to the fight
For of the strength and clamor of the foe
They felt no fear, but calmly stood, to bide
The assault ; as stand in air the quiet clouds
Which Saturn's son upon the mountain tops
Piles in still volumes when the north wind sleeps.
And every ruder breath of blustering air
That drives the gathered vapors through the*sky.
Thus calmly waited they the Trojan host,
Nor thought of flight.

Our readers there have one of the finest of Homer's sim-
iles, finely rendered by Bryant. Remember, it is repose, not
strength, that the comparison sets forth. The soft and fluid
substance of the massy clouds at rest, furnishes no image of
force, but it furnishes a perfect image of calm. The simile
which we subjoin follows in the text after the interval of some
thirty-five lines, not here given.

As two young lions, nourished by their dam
Amid the thickets of some mighty wood,
Seizing the beeves and fattened sheep, lay waste
The stables, till at length themselves are slain
By trenchant weapons in the shepherd's hand.
So by the weapons of ^neas died
These twain ; they fell as lofty fir-trees fall.

The foregoing simile to us modern readers seems brutal in
sentiment, as it literally is in terms. We give it, however,
for it illustrates not only the brutal thing described, but the
brutal spirit too of the describer — yes, and not less the
equally brutal spirit of those for whom the description was
made. We use all freedom in imputing brutality, why should
we not } but let us duly consider that the brutality imputed
is the brutality of paganism in general, rather than that of
these pagans in particular. Christianity was a great de-
liverance — it is well not to forget how great.

We skip some space filled with sickening horrors of fight.

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and begin again at the point at which Hector, raised by the
art of the poet to godlike proportions of courage and power,
is brought face to face with Diomed, who hitherto has had it
all very much his own way. Homer has glorified Diamed
for the sake of glorifying Hector, as now he glorifies Hector
for the sake of glorifying to the height that Achilles, by
whom in due time Hector will be vanquished. Hector must
have looked formidable indeed, for

Him when the valiant Diomed beheld,
He trembled ; and, as one who, journeying
Along a way he knows not, having crossed
A place of drear extent, before him sees
A river rushing swiftly toward the deep,
And all its tossing current white with foam,
And stops and turns, and measures back his way.
So then did Diomed withdraw, and spake :

but we are not going to reproduce Diomed's speech.

Suffice it to say that Hector carried all before him. Juno

saw and took it to her heart. She enlisted Pallas on her

side, and they two, with their own hands, harnessed the

steeds of Jove to the chariot, and started from heaven, by

way of Olympus, for the field of conflict. The description

of this action and this equipage is very brilliant in Homer,

and it is very brilliantly translated by Bryant. But we must

begin with the start itself of the goddesses on their ethereal

drive :

Juno swung the lash
And swiftly urged the steeds. Before their way.
On sounding hinges, of their own accord,
Flew wide the gates of heaven, which evermore
The Hours are watching, — they who keep the mount
Olympus, and the mighty heaven, with power
To open or to close their cloudy veil.
Thus through the gates they drave the obedient steeds.
And found Saturnius, where he sat apart
From other gods*, upon the loftiest height
Of many-peaked Olympus.

Our readers will recognize here the original of some of
Milton's conceptions in his Paradise Lost. The pagan poet.

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throughout this entire passage, one of the most splendid in
the Iliad, appears to no mean advantage in comparison with
the Christian. If Milton surpasses Homer, it is after all not
so i»uch Milton himself, as it is Milton's place in history.
Homer had no Bible, and he lived before Christ. Besides,
Homer was first and Milton was second.

Jupiter on Olympus gave the goddesses leave to go as they
wished. Juno lost no time :

With the scourgje she lashed the steeds.
And not unwillingly they flew between
Earth and the starry heaven. As much of space
As one who gazes on the dark blue deep
Sees from the headland summit where he sits —
Such space the coursers of immortal breed
Cleared at each bound they made with sounding hoofs;
And when they came to Ilium and its streams,
W' here Simois and Scamander's channels meet,
The white-armed goddess Juno stayed their speed,
And loosed them from the yoke, and covered them
With darkness. Simois ministered, meanwhile,
The ambrosial pasturage on which they fed.

Arrived among the Greeks, Pallas moves about, and with
eloquence pitched in various keys, the key of sarcasm being
one, and a marked one, rouses their spirit for renewed battle.
Diomed answers so much to her mind, that she confesses out-
right her admiration and approval of his character. She
bids him make for no less a personage than the god Mars
himself, whom we are pleased to note that she speaks of in
terms of just detestation, though she thus speaks rather for
the reason that he now fights on the wrong side, than that he
loves so well to fight, on whatever side. Pallas, we say, bids
Diomed boldly engage great Mars. She will stand by him
and see him safely through. Mars hurls the first spear, but
Pallas parries the blow :

The valiant Diomed
Made with his brazen spear the next assault.
And Pallas guided it to strike the waist
Where girded by the baldric. In that part

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She wounded Mars, and tore the shining skin,

And drew the weapon back. The furious god

Uttered a cry as of nine thousand men.

Or of ten thousand rushing to the fight.

The Greeks and Trojans stood aghast with fear,

To hear that terrible ciy of him whose thirst

Of bloodshed never is appeased by blood.

As M'hen, in time of heat, the air is filled
With a black shadow from the gathering clouds,
And the strong-blowing wind, so furious Mars
Appeared to Diomed, as in a cloud
He rose to the broad heaven and to the home
Of gods on high Olympus. Near to Jove
He took his seat in bitter grief, and showed
The immortal blood still dropping from his wound,
And thus, with winged words, complaining said :

Mars gets little comfort, from Jove, who sets him down
much as he deserves. However, the Olympian father tells
his physician to heal the wound. The sequel is thus de-
scribed ;

As when the juice
Of figs is mingled with white milk and stirred,
The liquid gathers into clots while yet
It whirls with the swift motion, so was healed
The wound of violent Mars. Then Hebe bathed
The god, and robed him richly, and he took
His seat, delighted, by Saturnian Jove.
Now, having forced the curse of nations, Mars,
To pause from slaughter, Argive Juno came.
With Pallas, her invincible ally, •
Back to the mansion of imperial Jove.

The fifth book ends here. It is idle to deny that, grant
Homer his absurd machinery, we have in the foregoing an
incomparably spirited narrative, an incomparably lofty and
sustained flight of poetry. Nothing can exceed, or certainly
nothing yet ever -has exceeded, the freedom, the power, the
ease, the grace, with which this earliest of all uninspired poets
t!iat we know, moves here through the shifting scenes of his
story — with which, the facility unchanged, he rises or sinks,
according as his action proceeds in heaven or on earth.
Homer's sublimity, in fact, is so ideal, that it is almost lost and
forgotten in the lightness and the grace with which its

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highest flights are accomplished. We have been bold to dis-
parage ; let us be just to applaud.

The sixth book continues the contest. The meddling
gods, however, have withdrawn from the field. The pages
reek with blood. It is a little relief of unexpected pathetic
sentiment, to come upon lines like these following, in the
midst of disgusting description of carnage. Diomed has
met the son of Hippolochus, and, with much braggadocio,
challenged him to combat and doomed him to death. He
stays, however, to ask who it is that he is about to have the
satisfaction of killing. The son of Hippolochus replies, but
we shall give only the melancholy reflection with which his
reply begins. For this brief bit of sentiment, peculiarly
charming in Homer as here relieved so artistically against a
bloody ground of kaleidoscopic massacre, w^e shall use the
translation of Cowper. We know from Cowper's corre-
spondence that he had a special admiration of the passage —
he quotes it (with apology) in the original Greek, to his
correspondent, and remarks upon it thus, " Beautiful as well
for the aff'ecting nature of the observation as for the justness
of the comparison and the incomparable simplicity of the
expression." Now we almost feel that so much introduction
will have prepared our readeis only for disappointment in
seeing the lines themselves. Undoubtedly the lines do de-
rive much of their effectiveness from the setting in which
they occur. But at any rate here they are, in Cowper's
rendering, better for this once than Bryant's :

Why asks brave Diomed of my descent ?

For, as the leaves, such is the race of man.

The wind shakes down the leaves, the budding grove

Soon teems with others, and in spring they grow.

So pass mankind. One generation meets

Its destined period, and a new succeeds.

More tinklingly, in his fatally facile heroic rhyme, Pope
renders :

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Like leaves on trees the race of man is found,

Now green in youth, now withering on the ground ;

Another race the following spring supplies,

They fall successive, and successive rise :

So generations in their course decay,

So flourish these, when those have passed away.

No one can dispute the merit of Pope's Homer as a marvel
of literary workmanship. Bentley, however, an English
scholar of Pope's time, a scholar, too, unsurpassed in the
annals of modern scholarship, expressed the general opinion
of competent authorities as to Pope's fidelity to the Greek,
when he bluntly said to the translator himself, " It is a pretty
poem, Mr. Pope, but you must not call it Homer." In
comparison with this celebrated sentence of Bentley's on
' Pope's work, put the following expression of John Foster's,
written by him in his early manhood, while therefore the in-
fluence of Pope's literary school was naturally still strong
upon him, that influence being not yet counterworked in the
public mind, as afterward it was to be, by Thomson first, then
by Cowper, and finally by Wordsworth. Foster writes to a
friend, in 1791 : "Perhaps you have seen Cowper 's Homer.
I still cannot but wish that he had been diff*erently employed.
On reading a few passages I thought. This may possibly
be Homer himself, but, if it is. Pope is a greater poet than
Homer."

The foregoing lines from Homer, by the way, must call to
every reader's mind, Isaiah's " We all do fade as a leaf, and our
iniquities, like the wind, have taken us away." Isaiah's com-
parison is, however, not quite the same as Homer's. Homer's
is larger, less obvious, more elaborate. There is more imag-
ination in it. Isaiah was intent on a. moral aim. He was a
prophet. Homer was only a poet. It is sentiment on the part
of the Greek. It js practical earnestness on the part of the
Hebrew. The two contrasted passages well illustrate the
difference between what Mr. Matthew Arnold calls Hebraism
on the one hand, and what he calls Hellenism on the other.

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It is the antithesis of ethics and sesthetics, of religion and
taste.

The son of Hippolochus, Glaucus is his name, most obli-
gingly enters upon a circumstantial account of his extraction,
in the course of which it becomes apparent that these two
threatening foes are ancestrally allied to each other as mutual
guests, or guest-friends. The upshot is as delightful as it is
sudden and unlooked for. " Let us exchange our arms," ex-
claims the truculent Diomed, effusively,

That even these may see that thou and I
Regard each other as ancestral guests.

It seems that Glaucus's armor was of gold, while Diomed's
was of baser brass or bronze; but we will trust that there
was no sordid motive of thrift, to alloy the bluff cordiality of
the Greek in his proposal of exchange.

Hector, the chief Trojan hero, had retired within the city-
walls to visit his mother the que'en, Priam's consort, for the
purpose of engaging her, together with the Venerable matrons
of Troy, to make supplications and offerings and vows to
Minerva on behalf of the beleaguered town. The meeting of
the mother and her son is tenderly and beautifully described.
Hector confronts Paris, and chides him sharply. There is,
too, a meeting of Hector with Helen, in which the heroic
brother-in-law bears himself with knightly tenderness toward
the self-condemning woman. But what has chiefly impressed
itself upon the imagination and the heart of Homer's admir-
ers is the famous passage descriptive of the parting of Hector
and Andromache his wife, bringing with her their little child,

Hectorides, his infant darling boy,
Beautiful as a star,

as Cowper translates with picturesque felicity. (Our readers
will, perhaps, by this time have observed that the ending i-des^
added to a man's name, has the meaning son of the man so
named.) We give the passage, as usual, in Bryant's translation;

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The father on his child
Looked with a silent smile. Andromache
Pressed to his side meanwhile, and, all in tears,
Clung to his hand, and, thus beginning, said :

" Too brave ! thy valor yet will cause thy death.
Thou hast no pity on thy tender child,
Nor me, unhappy one, who soon must be
Thy widow. All the Greeks will rush on thee
■ To take thy life. A happier lot were mine,
If I must lose thee, to go down to earth,
For I shall have no hope when thou art gone, —
Nothing but sorrow. Father have I none.
And no dear mother. Great Achilles slew
My father when he sacked the populous town
Of the Cilicians, — Theb^ with high gates.
*Twas there he smote Eetion, yet forebore
To make his arms a spoil ; he dared not that.
But burned the dead with his bright armor on.
And raised a mound above him. Mountain nymphs.
Daughters of ./Egis-bearing Jupiter,
Came to the spot and planted it with elms.
Seven brothers had I in my father's house.
And all went down to Hades in one day.
Achilles the swift-footed slew them all
Among their slow-paced bullocks and white sheep.
My mother, princess on the woody slopes
Of Placdf, with his spoils he bore away.
And only for large ransom gave her back.
But her Diana, archer queen, struck down
Within her father's palace. Hector, thou
Art father and dear mother now to me.
And brother and my youthful spouse besides.
In pity keep within the fortress here.
Nor make thy child an orphan, nor thy wife
A widow. Post thine army near the place
Of the wild fig-tree, where the city-walls
Are low and may be scaled. Thrice in the war
The boldest of the foe have tried the spot, —
The Adjaces and the famed Idomeneus,
The two chiefs bom to Atreus, and the brave
Tydides, whether counseled by some seer.
Or prompted to the attempt by their own minds."
Then answered Hector, great in war : ** All this
I bear in mind, dear wife ; but I should stand
Ashamed before the men and long-robed dames
Of Troy, were I to keep aloof and shun
The conflict coward-like. Not thus my heart
Prompts me, for greatly have I learned to dare
And strike among the foremost sons of Troy,
Upholding my great father's fame and mine ;

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Yet well in my undoubting mind I know
The day shall come in which our sacred Troy,
And Priam, and the people over whom
Spear-bearing Priam rules, shall perish all.
But not the sorrows of the Trojan race,
Nor those of Hecuba herself, nor those
Of royal Priam, nor the woes that wait
My brothers many and brave, — who all at last,
Slain by the pitiless foe, shall lie in dust,—
Grieve me so much as thine, when some mailed Greek
Shall lead thee weeping hence, and take from thee
Thy day of freedom. Thou in Argos then
Shalt, at another's bidding, ply the loom.
And from the fountain of Messeis draw
Water, or from the Hypereian spring.
Constrained unwilling by thy cruel lot.
And then shall some one say who sees thee weep,
* This M'as the wife of Hector, most renowned
Of the horse-taming Trojans, when they fought
Around their city.' So shall some one say.
And thou shalt grieve the more, lamenting him
Who haply might have kept afar the day
Of thy captivity. O, let the earth
Be heaped above my head in death before
I hear thy cries as thou art borne away ! **
So speaking, mighty Hector stretched his arms
To take the boy : the boy shrank crying Ifack
• To his fair nurse's bosom, scared to see
His father helmeted in glittering brass.
And eying with affright the horse-hair plume
That grimly nodded from the lofty crest.
At this both parents in their fondness laughed ;
And hastily the mighty Hector took
The helmet from his brow and laid it down
Gleaming upon the ground, and, having kissed
His darling son, and tossed him up in play.
Prayed thus to Jove and all the gods of heaven :

So speaking, to the arms of his dear spouse
He gave the boy ; she on her fragrant breast
Received him, weeping as she smiled. The chief
Beheld, and, moved with tender pity, smoothed
Her forehead gently with his hand, and said :

Once more, and now for almost the last time, we give our
readers a chance to compare handlings of the same passage
by different translators. We confine ourselves to the latter
part of the foregoing extract. First, here is our own very

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carefully literal version. Of this, as of our other fragments
of translation here presented, if Bentley, reversing his com-
ment to Pope, could say, "Very poor poetry, my dear sir,"
he would be obliged, at least, also to admit, "but it does
translate Homer :"

So having said, resplendent Hector reached
To lake his child. But backward he, the child.
Toward the fair-girdled nurse's bosom drew,
Crying, abashed at the dear father's looks.
And frightened by his mail ; he saw the crest
Of horse-hair from the summit of the helm
Terribly waving, eying it ; outright
Both the dear father and queen mother laughed.
Straight from his head resplendent Hector took
The helm, and placed it glittering on the ground.
When he besides had kissed his darling son
And tossed him in his hands, alike to Zeus
And to the other gods praying, he spoke :

So having said, he gave into the hands

Of the dear wife the boy ; she, tearfully

Smiling, to her sweet bosom took him then.

Regarding her the husband pitied her ;

Both with his hand he soothed her, and he spoke :

Pope rhymes it freely thus ; on the whole, in his case we
insert the omitted prayer — Mr. Pope has made of it so char-
acteristically pretty a bit of rhetorical verse, though assuredly
you could not call it Homer :

Thus having spoke, the illustrious chief of Troy
Stretched his fond arms to clasp the lovely boy,
The babe clung crying to his nurse's breast.
Scared at the dazzling helm and nodding crest.
With secret pleasure each fond parent smiled,
And Hector hasted to relieve his child.
The glitt'ring terrors from his brows unbound.
And placed the beaming helmet on the ground.
Then kissed the child, and liftmg high in air,
Thus to the gods preferred a father's prayer :
" O thou ! whose glory fills the ethereal throne.
And all ye deathless powers ! protect my son 1
Grant him, like me, to purchase just renown,
To guard the Trojans, to defend the crown.
Against his country's foes the war to wage.
And rise the Hector of the future age !

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So when triumphant from successful toils,
Of heroes slain he bears the reeking spoils,
"Whole hosts may hail him with deserved acclaim.
And say, this chief transcends his father's fame ;
While pleased amidst the general shouts of Troy,
His mother's conscious heart o'erflows with joy.
He spoke, and fondly gazing on her charms.
Restored the pleasing burden to her arms ;
Soft on her fragrant breast the babe she laid.
Hushed to repose, and with a smile surveyed.
The troubled pleasure soon chastised by fear,
She mingled with the smile a tender tear.
The softened chief with kind compassion viewed.
And dried the falling drops, and thus pursued. .

Of the same passage, we are able to lay before our readers
a translation from the hand of Mrs. Browning, who was no
less a scholar than a woman of genius. She is close to
Homer in spirit, but she jars her metres violently :

Thus Hector spake, and stretched his arms to his child.

Against the nurse's breast, with childly cry.

The boy clung back, and shunned his father's fice,

And feared the glittering brass and waving hair

Of the high helmet, nodding horror down.

The father smiled, the mother could not choose

But smile too. Then he lifted from his brow

The helm, and set it on the ground to shine :

Then, kissed his dear child — raised him with both arms,

And thus invoked Zeus and the general gods :

With which prayer, to his wife's extended arms
He gave the child ; and she received him straight
To her bosom's fragrance — smiling up her tears.
Hector gazed on her till his soul was moved ;
Then softly touched her with his hand and spake.

Mrs. Browning modestly styles her version a paraphrase,
but it is really a pretty close rendering. A few remarks on
the preceding passage, with the various forms given it by
the translators quoted*from, will perhaps not be amiss. Our
readers will not forget that they are students, engaged in
trying to come as near to Homer in English as they would
enjoy facilities for doing if they were reading him in his own
Ionic Greek at school or in college. From a volume by the

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present writer, entitled, " A Free Lance in the Field of Life
and Letters,** which includes, with other essays, one on Mr.
Bryant's Iliad, we transfer the brief notes that it seems de-
sirable here to supply to our readers. The bits of original
translation given in these pages are transferred from the same
book:

"Mr. Bryant does not hesitate, when it will serve his
verse, to exchange an - epithet. Indeed, he justifies the
practice in his preface. Here he substitutes 'mighty,'
as descriptive of Hector, for * brilliant* or 'resplend-
ent' — an Homeric adjective which seems to be strictly
physical, not at all moral, in its reference. Hector is some-
times spoken of as Marge,' like the other heroes of the
Iliad. The word * mighty ' vaguely implies something dif-
ferent from great size — imports into the expression a moral
quality not present in the Greek. We are disposed to admit
Mr. Bryant's principle ; but the most characteristic feature
of Hector's personal appearance is not his size — it is his
sheeny look. One epithet descriptive of this Mr. Bryant himself
translates with inimitable felicity — * Hector of the beamy
helm.* Hector always thus enters the field of tournament as
a phenomenon of glittering exterior. Something, therefore,
no doubt is lost to the authentic effect by this particular ex-
change of adjectives. * The lofty crest * should be * the top of
the crest ' or helm. Mr. Bryant has the courage to translate
* laughed,' where some translators have felt it incumbent
upon them to soften to * smiled.' But Mr. Bryant supplies
*in their fondness' as a kind of justifying interpretation of
the parental levity under the circumstances. The fact is,
that Homer not only says * laughed,' with perfect equanimity,
but strengthens the strong word by an adverb-r-e«. This
intensive, in fact, is the original poet's apology for what
might superficially seem an unseasonable surrender to gayety
on the part of Hector and Andromache at that fateful mo-
ment. The pent emotion of the two loving hearts found

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simultaneous excuse in a common occasion for letting itself
out. It was translated, on the way to expression, according
to a wont of high-wrought emotion, into an apparently con-
trary language. Instead of weeping, it laughed — a consum-
mate touch of nature in Homer that so many good poets
ought not to have overlooked. Another trifling point where-
in Homer's translators departing from Homer depart also
from nature, is in making Hector toss his boy up in his
'arms' instead of his * hands.' The great Hector was a
warrior and not a nurse. His hands were large enough and
strong enough to toss his infant son. It would not be man-
like to have done it with his arms. Bryant escapes the
mistake — perhaps by not rendering the word."

Ajax among the Greeks takes
the honors of the seventh book.
A huge tall man, of gigantic
strength, and any amount of ani-
mal courage. Conceive him wield-
ing and hurling avast stone at his
antagonist in battle, and you have
Ajax as he appears in Homer —
a tremendous catapult, brawn dis-
pensing with brain. A knightly
fellow nevertheless, made such by
his immeasurable courage. He
fights Hector in single combat, chosen by lot thus to respond
to the Trojan champion's challenge. Both heroes do
mightily, but night closes down on a drawn battle between
them. After trying their best, each to perforate the other
with a spear, and then, in default of that, each to crush the
other with* a missile mass of rock, they exchange compli-
ments and souvenirs, and get them back, the twain, severally
to their own. It is a gallant story, of its own sort — a very
poor sort. You are reminded of Scott's " Lady of the Lake "
— but the later is the better, morally — ^** saner" even, if Mr.

AJAX.

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Matthew Arnold will let us say it, who thinks that Greek
and Roman literature is sufficiently saner than our modern,
to be a good cure, if well studied. Antenor, on the Trojan
side, is for surrendering Helen. Paris will not hear a word
of it His stolen booty, however, he will restore, and, gen-
erous soul, add to it of his private wealth. The Greeks
spurn the offer, but the two hosts under truce take care of
their dead. The visage of war now relents and actually is
wet with tears. Thank Homer for letting his warriors weep !
Well, they weep selfishly not so very seldom, but here are
gracious human tears of remorse over the slain. The Greeks,
for their part, drowned their sorrows that night in feast and
wine — Jove meantime thundering ominously. The revelers
were awe-struck. They spilled from their cups in pious
libation to the Thunderer and so — continued to drink.

The eighth book gives us another session of the Olympian
gods in council. Jupiter forbids to his subordinate divinities
further meddling in the fight. He balances his scales in the
heavens, to exhibit the fortune that he has decreed for the
combatants. The Trojan scale goes up, which, contrary to
what would be our notion of fitness in the matter, indicates
that Troy was to gain. Milton, imitating Homer, reverses,
however, the indication, in that celebrated passage of the
Paradise Lost. Our readers will recall the passage, but they
will too thank us for saving them the trouble to look it up
in their Milton. Satan has invaded Eden to tempt Adam
and Eve. He is there found and confronted by Gabriel,
Satan prepares for fight, but " the Eternal "

Hung forth in heaven his golden scales, yet seen
Betwixt Astirea and the Scorpion sign,
Wherein all things created first he weigh'd.
The pendulous round earth with balanced air
In counterpoise ; now ponders all events,
Battels, and realms : in these he put two weights,
The sequel each of parting and of fight :
The latter quick upflew and kick'd the beam.

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This Gabriel saw and said to Satan,

** Look up,
And read thy lot in yon celestial sign,
Where thou art weigh'd, and shown how light, how weak.
If thou resist. The Fiend looked up, and knew
His mounted scale aloft : nor more ; but fled
Murmuring, and with him fled the shades of night."

One is not to regard Milton as in these things borrowing
from Homer, much less plagiarizing from him. The true state
of the case rather is that, by long unchallenged convention
among scholars and men of taste, it had already in Milton's
time come to be considered an elegancy in any modern poem,
to contain allusion, accommodation, adaptation, — whatever
form might happen, of recognition paid to the fame and
genius of Homer. One deeply versed ia Homer is at fre-
quent intervals, in reading Milton especially, but not a few
other English poets likewise, conscious of a separate pleas-
ure, derived from association with the verse of the Greek.
An Homeric turn even of expression will, to the properly
cultivated sense, communicate a certain indefinable gratifica-
tion. We are not saying that this is admirable, or that it is
not foolish. We are only saying that this is the fact. For
our own part, we confess that we are ourselves too guilty in
the matter, to be suitable judges as to whether the weakness
is purely a weakness or not. Pure weakness or not, it is one
of the traits of the classical scholar, and our readers have a
right to be made aware of it as such. They can then culti-
vate it, or eschew it, for themselves, as they please.

We shall content ourselves with giving for specimen from
the eighth book the celebrated closing lines. These have an
added interest for poetry-lovers, from the fact that Words-
worth made Pope's brilliantly false rendering of them text
and illustration of some remarks, in his famous preface, con-
cerning the poetic art and concerning poetic appreciation,
which have exerted no little beneficent influence on subse-

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quent taste and subsequent production in poetry. Besides
this, Tennyson, not improbably moved thereto by Words-
worth's hint, has made the lines in question the subject of
experiment of his own in Homeric translation. The present
writer will not soon forget the choice emphasis of tone and
look, with which he heard Mr. Bryant once, in reply to in-
quiry, pronounce his simple commendation, " Very fine," on
this Tennysonian fragment. Bryant's own admirable render-
ing was already at the time before the public. We must
show our readers what Wordsworth had to say of Pope's
rendering. But first, of course, Pope's rendering itself, which
we put after Bryant's, between that and Tennyson's. This
sandwiching contrast will enable our readers to relish still
better the intrinsically piquant flavor of Wordsworth's criti-
cism. Those who know Wordsworth only as the placid poet
of contemplation, will be surprised to see what pungent
prose he could write upon occasion.

Bryant :

So, high in hope, they sat the whole night through
In warlike lines, and many watch-fires blazed.
As when in heaven the stars look brightly forth
Round the clear-shining moon, while not a breeze
Stirs in the depths of air, and all the stars
Are seen, and gladness fills the shepherd's heart.
So many fires in sight of Ilium blazed,
Lit by the sons of Troy, between the ships
And eddying Xanthus : on the plain there shone
A thousand ; fifty warriors by each fire
Sat in its Wglit. Their steeds beside the cars —
Champing their oats and their white barley — stood,
And waited for the golden morn to rise.

Pope :

The troops exulting sat in order round,
And beaming fires ilium in'd all the ground.
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 unnumbered gild the glowing pole,

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' ' ' ' ' ♦

O'er the dark trees a yellower verdure shed,
And tip with silver every mountain's head ;
Then shine the vales, tlie 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 glimmering 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 com.
And ardent warriors wait the rising mom.

Tennyson .

And these all night upon the bridge of war
Sat glorying ; many a fire before them blazed :
As when in heaven the stars about the moon
Look beautiful, when all ihe winds are laid.
And every height comes out, and jutting peak
And valley, and the immeasurable heavens
Break open to their highest, and all the stars
Shine, and the shepherd gladdens in his heart :
So many a fire between the ships and stream
Of Xanthus blazed before the towers of Troy,
A thousand on the plain ; and close by each
Sat fifty in tlie blaze of burning fire ;
And champing golden grain, the horses stood
Hard by their chariots, waiting for the dawn.

The closely observant reader will note that Tennyson's
version contains two lines, " And every height comes out,"
etc., which have no equivalent in Bryant's. This difference
is due to a difference in text. Bryant, in making his omis-
sion, follows the best authority. We now quote Wordsworth's
stricture on Pope's paraphrase :

" To what a low state knowledge of the most obvious and
important phenomena had sunk, is evident from the style in
which Dryden has executed a description of night in one of
his tragedies, and Pope his translation of the celebrated
moonlight scene in the Iliad. A blind man, in the habit of
attending accurately to descriptions casually dropped from

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the lips of those around him, might easily depict these ap-
pearances with more truth. Dryden's lines are vague, bom-
bastic, senseless; those of Pope, though he had Homer to
guide him, are throughout false and contradictory. The
verses of Dryden, once highly celebrated, are forgotten ;
those of Pope still retain their hold upon public estimation
— nay, there is not a passage of descriptive poetry, which at
this day finds so many and such ardent admirers. Strange
to think of an enthusiast, as -may have been the case with
thousands, reciting those verses under the cope of a moon-
light sky, without having his raptures in the least disturbed
by a suspicion of their absurdity ! "

By this time, we imagine some of our readers, a little be-
wildered by so much that is not Homer, but only about Ho-
mer, and not very directly about Homer at that, asking
themselves, and wishing they could ask us, Why not go
right forward, giving us just the poem itself, without all this
interruption of comment, allusion, and incidental remark ?
A question we admit which fairly deserved to be answered.

Our answer will resemble somewhat the famous pleadings
in the well-invented case of the potash kettle, which its
owner found to be cracked and good-for-nothing, on getting
it back, after having lent it to a neighbor. The lender
brought suit against the borrower, and the borrower defended
by the following remarkably exhaustive line of pleadings.
First, he never borrowed the kettle ; second, it was cracked
when he got it ; third, it was whole when he carried it home.
The different specifications might not be very consistent one
with another ; but nobody could deny that, if each should be
independently established, there would be made out a highly
satisfactory defense. So, our two points in reply to the con-
jectured question of our readers, may not exactly agree
together, but, no matter for that, they will both of them work
famously to our purpose, each one by itself.

In the first place, then, let it once more be recollected

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that what we seek, in the present series of volumes, is to
make as good as we can to our readers their presumed lack
of school and college training in Latin and Greek literature.
Very well; the instruction of the class-room always supplies
more or less of collateral information, like what we here
give our readers, in elucidation and illustration of the text
that is studied. The best teachers are those who do this the
most liberally, provided always that they do it also the most
wisely. Our first head of satisfaction to our readers ac-
cordingly is, that we do here what classical teachers do, in
school and in college.

Our second head shall boldly march an3 fight, independ-
ent of its leader — for we now claim that we do here what
classical teachers ought indeed to do, but in fact often do
not. The failure, where failure occurs, is due to various
causes, which we will not try to enumerate. A distinguished
friend of the present writer said once to him, on being
shown an elegantly written review of Bryant's Iliad from no
less scholarly a hJnd than that of the late Professor Hadley,
" There now, I am indignant." " Why? Isn't it good enough
to suit you } '* ** Good enough ! Yes, indeed ; it is too good."
" Well, what is the matter, then ? " " Why, this is the matter.
I was Professor Hadley 's pupil in Homer at Yale College,
and for all that he taught me in the class-room, I should
never have dreamed that he considered Homer's Iliad any-,
thing but so much Greek, to be ground out very fine with
grammar and dictionary. As for its being literature, and be-
ing poetry — Professor Hadley never led me to guess that Ae
knew the Iliad in any such relation. And here this noble
review shows me how fine and true his literary appreciation
of Homer really was. I am indignant."

Now we, of course, are far from assuming that our friend,
distinguished as he is, did his teacher Justice. Perhaps, in
fact, Professor Hadley taught more than his to-be-distin-
guished pupil learned. However the merits of that case may

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stand, we, at all events^ should be sorry to have nny of our
friendly pupils find just reason hereafter to accuse us, their
very zealous instructor, of neglecting to treat Homer for
them somewhat largely, of neglecting to point out in a variety
of ways his relation to literature in general.

What we have now said, and said at the risk of falling un-
der an application of the neat French proverb, Qui s' excuse
s'accuse^ [he who offers an excuse, brings himself under ac-
cusation,] has a prospective, as well as a retrospective, ref-
erence. For just here, having in a few separate instances,
led our readers to note a little the niceties of Homeric trans-
lation, and having put before them, for the purpose, several
renderings by different hands of the same passages, to serve
to them as means of independent comparison, and so of in-
telligent judgment, we wish further to say a word or two, in
a more general way, of Homeric versification, and of the con-
ditions that make up the problem of transferring him out of
his original Greek into an alien language.

Technically described. Homer's verse is dact)^lic hexame-
ter; that is, the standard, the characteristic, foot is the dac-
tyl, and of the feet there are six in each line. A dactyl is a
foot of three syllables, of which the first is long, and the other
two are short. The name comes from the Greek word for fin-
ger, daktulos, ((Jd/CTvAof .) (The v is changed to_>' when a Greek
word is transliterated into English.) The finger has three
joints, of which the first, that nearest the wrist, is long, and
the others are short. Hence the name dactyl for the foot.
Now, the English ear is not trained to note nicely different
lengths of sound in syllables. We go by accent, not by quan-
tity, in our versification. Still, it is true that the melody of
English verse does depend greatly on quantity. Of that
point, however, it would be out of place here to speak, further
than just thus to note the fact. The main, universally rec-
ognized law of English versification is, accent instead of
quantity. Quantity, by the way, means not number of letters,

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but length or continuance of sound. Number of letters, of
course, makes, in part, length of sound in syllables. Thus,
strength is a longer sound than eh^ made longer by its having
seven consonant letters (oi five, if we call the digraphs, ng
and M, letters) to be supported by the single vowel sound /,
the same in both words.

This broad difference, of accent against quantity, between
Greek verse and English, makes one of the chief technical
difficulties in translating into English verse from Greek. We
have in English verse what we call dactyls ; that is, words, or
successions of syllables not in the same word, in which one
accented syllable is followed by two others not accented.
The word quantity itself is a very good English dactyl. It
happens, too, that in this case the length of sound in quan is
about equal to that in both the other syllables taken together.
Try pronouncing the word over and over, and you will prob-
ably decide that you occupy about as much time in saying
quan^ with its accent, as you occupy in saying ^tity. Such is
the law in Greek or Latin prosody, two short syllables are
equivalent in quantity to one long.

Very well; you know now what the Greek dactyl is, and
you might suppose that you could begin at once to scan Ho-
mer's verse, without more ado. But you would immediately
encounter difficulties. The lines wculd refuse, to divide
themselves off, of their own accord, into feet, of three sylla-
bles each, regularly succeeding one another, six feet to a line.
The number of syllables would be found to vary from one
line to another, after a fashion extremely puzzling to the un-
initiated. This variation is due to several causes. One cause
is, that the dactylic hexameter always contains an uncertain
number of feet, called spondees — an uncertain number, but
invariably at least one, the last. The foot next to the last
must be a dactyl. (There are exceptions even to this nearly
universal law.) Beyond these two fixed things, namely, that
the last foot must be a spondee, and the next to the last a

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Preparatory Greek Course in English, 189

dactyl, there is almost nothing for you to depend upon, in
scanning dactylic hexameter. We say almost nothing, but
of course we mean only that you cannot be sure whether any
given foot of the first four will turn out to be a dactyl or a
spondee. One or the other of these two, either dactyl or
spondee, every foot of dactylic hexameter must necessarily
be. Comfort yourselves with that. But which, dactyl or
spondee? this is the perpetually recurring question.

" Spondee — what, pray, is that.^ " we hear you ask. Why, to
be sure. Well, a spondee is a foot of two syllables only, but
these two syllables are both long, which makes the spondee
equivalent to the dactyl in quantity. The spondee might
accordingly take the place of the dactyl throughout the line,
and the Kne would have the same measure, or meter, to use
the technical term, as if the feet were all dactyls. But there
must be at least one dactyl in the line, or the line loses its
peculiar character, ceases to be dactylic. (In those extremely
rare cases of dactylic hexameter, in which even the fifth* foot
is a spondee, the line is called a spondaic line.)

The merely English-reading student may understand how
this can be, that is, how one foot of a certain kind in a line,
can impress its own peculiar character upon that line, by
considering the case of anapaestic verse in English. Take
Bryant's '* Song of the Stars." That begins :

This is anapaestic verse ; that is, verse made up of feet, three
syllables long, accented on the last. But notice, when you
reach the last foot of the first of the foregoing lines, you have
in that two syllables only. This last foot, accented on the
second of its two syllables, is called an iambus. The iambus
may replace the anapaest anywhere in the line, without the
line's losing its anapaestic character, provided only there re-
main still one anapaest iu the line. The second of the

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two lines above has two iambuses. A following line reads :
" And orbs | of beau | ty and spheres | of flame." This has
iambuses throughout, with one exception, -ty and spheres^
which one anapaestic exception, however, determines the
line to be anapaestic. More regular, of course, is the verse
that is uniformly anapaestic, like Byron's " Destruction of
Sennacherib." But it is easy to feel how the presence
of one anapaest in a line controls the movement of that
line, makes the line anapaestic. Just so one dactyl saves
the dactylic character of an hexameter in which it has
place.

Perhaps the best way for our readers to get the true effect
of dactylic hexameter, is to read some specimens of the verse
in English. Longfellow's Evangeline is a classic poem
written in dactylic hexameter. Dactylic hexameter is not
an easy form of versification in English. We have in our
language very few natural spondees, with which the dactylic
monotony of the movement can be interrupted and diver-
sified. There are a few spondaic words, chiefly compounds,
such as seaside^ horseback^ greenwood^ turnstile^ well, we
do not strike naturally upon a very poetical vocabulary of
them, but these examples will answer the purpose of illustra-
tion. Good luck, or much art, may often make spondees by
bringing together two monosyllables of mutually equivalent
full weight or length. We just now did this ourselves, half
unconsciously, when we wrote, " good luck," " much art,"
spondaic combinations both. But to go *<Tn making good
dactyls, and good spondees, and good permutations of the
two, line after line, throughout a long poem, in English, is
no light task. The very critical insist that it never yet has
been, that in fact it cannot be, done. But to do it, and at
the same time translate Homer correctly and poetically —
hoc opusy hie labor esty which is Virgil for saying, " That is an
undertaking for _you, that a toil." Several attempts have
been made to render the Iliad into English dactylic hex-

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ameter. But no such translation has yet proved very
popular. In the German language, on the contrary, to pro-
duce dactylic hexameter is comparatively easy. The best
version of Homer existing in any modern language isj per-
haps, that of the German Voss, done in dactylic hexameter.
Here were scholarship, taste, genius, art, patience, working
together in a remarkable felicity of assemblage in one man,
and he a man whose vernacular, the German, takes as kindly
to the dactylic hexameter, almost as kindly, as do the Greek
and Latin themselves.

Mr. Collins, in his series of " Ancient Classics for English
Readers,'* published by Lippincott & Co., gives, in the
volume on Homer's Iliad, four hexameters by Mr. Landor,
translating the passage descriptive of the debarkation of
Ulysses, arrived with Chryseis about to be restored to her
father the priest of Apollo. The translator follows his
original in beginning every line with '''out : "

Out were the anchors cast, and the ropes made fast to the steerage ;
Out did tlie sailors leap on the foaming beach of the ocean ;
Out was the hecatomb led for the skillful marksman Apollo,
Out Chryseis arose from the ship that sped through the waters.

Let our readers try scanning these lines, highly praised
by Mr. Collins as translation, and impliedly as versification ;
they will perceive how far from ideally perfect, fairly cred-
itable English hexameter may be. In the first line, after
" Out were the," which does very well as a dactyl, you have
to make " anchors " a spondee. In the second line, " sailors "
has similarly to be lengthened in its second syllable, "foam-
ing," also. " Skillful " in the third line has to be read as a
spondee. " Marksman " comes near being a natural spondee,
but that has to go with the A- following, to compose a
dactyl. In the last line, " ship that," in which " that " ought
to be very light and short, has, however, to be humored into
a spondee. ** Sped through " would be a good spondee, but
it must needs attach the following " the," and with that

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make a poor dactyl. These imperfections are not specifica-
tions of fault found with Mr. Landor's hexameters. They
are merely instances to show the difficulty of producing
dactylic hexameter in English. Even in Greek, perhaps
our readers are able by this time to bear it, even in Greek
we say, the poet has to enjoy the freedom of putting a
trochee (foot of two syllables, first long, second short) at the
end of his hexameter, and calling that foot a spondee.

We have by no means indicated all the embarrassments
that attend the scanning of Homer. The grammars may be
consulted for the list of these, and for the several solutions
of them all. Practically, however, the embarrassments all
of them yield readily to bold and persistent experiment.
Learn once to scan but a few lines, and the secret of the
movement will of its own accord imperceptibly communicate
itself to you, without your learning all the technical rules.
If any of our kind readers have felt this explanation about
scanning to be a little hard and dry and scholastic, let them
consider that part of the necessary work of preparatory stu-
dents in Greek and Latin, is to learn the structure of the
verse that they translate. We could have made our expla-
nation seem easier, by giving more copious illustrations.
But to do that would have taken too much space, and we
have given all the illustrations that are really needed. If all
is not plain to you, when you have carefully read what pre-
cedes, try reading it again, and then perhaps even once more.
You will, we trust, see that the illustrations supplied are suffi-
cient, when sufficiently attended to.

Now we wonder whether we have so managed this some-
what long digression, as to have got our readers to follow
continuously with us on to the present point. Tell us, have
you not skipped at all ? Bravo, and now permit us to tell
you why we did not do, as some of the more thoughtful of
you have possibly been surprised that we did not, namely,
put all such discursive matter to one side by itself, for in-

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stance, in an introduction, or in an appendix. The simple
reason is, *that, whatever we have thus thought fit to say we
wanted you to read, the whole of it; and read it we were
pretty sure you would not, unless it took its place in the
text, as if it had a right there, as indeed, trust us, dear friends,
it has. Perhaps you have not read it, as it is, but almost
certainly you would not have read it, if we had hidden it
away in an appendix, or, again, if we had thrust it into your
faces to begin with, in an introduction. We chose the time
when we hoped you might have become sufficiently interested
in such a matter, to be carried without disgust through a
little tedium of detail. Have we hit the happy moment?
We hope so, and now, behold, for this volume at least, we
have done with digression. We must apply hydraulic con-
densation once more, and finish the Iliad with much-in-little
dispatch.

A formal embassy is sent to Achilles, with munificent in-
ducements offered to tempt him back to the fight. To
appease his indignant wrath, Agamemnon makes the most
humiliating concessions, in vain. Achilles, in the loftiest,
courtliest manner, disdains to be entreated. Patroclus, his
warm friend, begs to borrow the armor of Achilles, and go
in his stead. He goes and is slain. Achilles rouses to a
frenzy of grief and rage. He chafes that he must wait for a
new suit of panoply which his mother, Thetis, gets the armorer
god, Vulcan, to forge for him over night. This panoply,
when finished, is a miracle of dint-proof mail. The chief
splendor is the shield, which Homer exhausts all his art to
describe. From Pope's translation of this long passage,
Webster, with very happy adaptation to his use, quoted the
closing lines, in the peroration to his famous Seventh of
March speech, likening to that shield of Achilles the em-
pire of the Union of these States, then by the admission
of California, just broadened out to stretch from sea to
sea:

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. — . — ____^ — ■ '■»

Now the broad shield complete the artist crowned
With his last hand and poured the ocean round ; •
In living silver seemed the waves to roll
And beat the buckler's verge, and bound the whole.

This whole celebrated description, as translated with un-
surpassed beauty and brilliancy by our American Bryant, we
give for our farewell extract from the Iliad. Poets, also when
they are only translating, have their moods of special felicity,
and this is translator Bryant in one of the very highest of
such moods with him — the present writer would not feel that
he needed it, but he once, in fact, received from Bryant him-
self the assurance that this was the case :

And first he forged the huge and massive shield.
Divinely wrought in every part, — its edge
Clasped with a triple border, white and bright.
A silver belt hung from it, and its folds
"Were five ; a crowd of figures on its disk
Were fashioned by the artist's passing skill.
For here he placed the earth and heaven, and here
The great deep and the never-resting sun
And the full moon, and here he set the stars
That shine in the round heaven, — the Pleiades,
The Hyades, Orion in his strength.
And the Bear near him, called by some the Wain,
That, wheeling, keeps Orion still in sight,
Yet bathes not in the waters of the sea.

There placed he two fair cities full of men.
In one were marriages and feasts ; they led
The brides with flaming torches from their bowers,
Along the streets, with many a nuptial song.
There the young dancers whirled, and flutes and lyres
Gave forth their sounds, and women at the doors
Stood and admired. Meanwhile a multitude
Was in the forum, where a strife went on, —
Two men contending for a fine, the price
Of one who had been slain. Before the crowd
One claimed that he had paid the fine, and one
Denied that aught had been received, and both
Called for the sentence which should end the strife.
The people clamored for both sides, for both
Had eager friends ; the heralds held the crowd
In check ; the elders, upon polished stones,
Sat in a sacred circle. Each one took,
In turn, a herald's scepter in his hand.
And, rising, gave his sentence. In the midst

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Two talents lay in gold, to be the meed

Of him whose juster judgment should p!^evail.

Around the other city sat two hosts
In shining armor, bent to lay it waste,
Unless the dwellers would divide their wealth, —
All that their pleasant homes contained, — and yield
The assailants half. As yet the citizens
Had not complied, but secretly had planned
An ambush. Their beloved wives meanwhile,
And their young children, stood and watched the walls.
With aged men among them, while the youths
Marched on, with Mars and Pallas at their head,
Both Wrought in gold, with golden garments on,
Stately and large in form, and over all
Conspicuous, in bright armor, as became
The gods : the rest were of an humbler size.
And when they reached the spot where they should lie
In ambush, by a river's side, a plate
For watering herds, they sat them down, all armed
In shining brass. Apart from all the rest
They placed two sentries, on the watch to spy
The approach of sheep and hornM kine. Soon came
The herds in sight ; two shepherds walked with them.
Who, all unweeting of the evil nigh.
Solaced their task with music from their reeds.
The warriors saw and rushed on them, and took
And drave away large prey of beeves, and flocks
Of fair white sheep, whose keepers they had slain.
When the besiegers in their council heard
The sound of tumult at the watering-place,
They sprang upon their nimble-footed steeds.
And overtook the pillagers. Both bands
Arrayed their ranks and fought beside the stream.
And smote each other. There did Discord rage.
And Tumult, and the great Destroyer, Fate.
One wounded warrior she had seized alive,
And one unwounded yet, and through the field
Dragged by the foot' another, dead. Her robe
Was reddened o'er the shoulders with the blood
From human veins. Like living men they ranged
The battle-field, and dragged by turns the slain.

There too he sculptured a broad fallow field
Of soft rich mould, thrice plowed, and over which
Walked many a plowman, guiding to and iro
His steers, and when on their return they reached
The border of the field the master came
To meet them, placing in the hands of each
A goblet of rich wine. Then turned they back
Along the furrows, diligent to reach
Their distant end. All dark behind the plow

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The ridges lay, a marvel to the sight,
Like real furrows, though engraved in gold.

There, too, the artist placed a field which lay
Deep in ripe wheat. With sickles in their hands
The laborers reaped it. Here the handfuls fell
Upon the ground ; there binders tied them fast
With bands, and made them sheaves. Three binders went
Close to the reapers, and behind them boys,
Bringing the gathered handfuls in their arms,
Ministered to the binders. Staff in hand,-
The master stood among them by the side
Of the ranged sheaves and silently rejoiced,
• Meanwhile the servants underneath an oak
Prepared a feast apart ; they sacrificed
A falling ox and dressed it, while the maids
Were kneading for the reapers the white meal.

A vineyard also on the shield he graved,
Beautiful, all of gold, and heavily
Laden with grapes. Black were the clusters all ;
The vines were stayed on rows of silver stakes.
He drew a blue trench round it, and a hedge
Of tin. One only path there was l)y w hich
The vintagers could go to gather grapes.
Young maids and striplings of a tender age
Bore the sweet fruit in baskets. Midst them all,
A youth from his shrill harp drew pleasant sounds.
And sang with soft voice to the murmuring strings.
They danced around him, beating with quick feet
The ground, and sang and shouted joyously.

And there the artist wrought a herd of beeves,
High-horned, and sculptured all in gold and tin.
They issued lowing from their stalls to seek
Their pasture, by a murmuring stream, that ran
Rapidly through its reeds. Four herdsmen, graved
In gold, were with the beeves, and nine fleet dogs
Followed. Two lions, seizing on a bull
Among the foremost cattle, dragged him off
Fearfully bellowing ; hounds and herdsmen rushed
To rescue him. The lions tore their prey,
And lapped the entrails and the crimson blood.
Vainly the shepherds pressed around and urged
Their dogs, that shrank from fastening with their teeth
Upon the lions, but stood near and bayed.

There also did illustrious Vulcan grave
A fair, broad pasture, in a pleasant glade.
Full of white sheep, and stalls, and cottages,
And many a shepherd's fold with sheltering rod

And there illustrious Vulcan also wrought
A dance, — a maze like that which Daedalus
In the broad realm of Gnossus once contrived

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For fair-haired Ariadne. Blooming youths
And lovely virgins, tripping to light airs,
Held fast each other's wrists. The maidens wore
Fine linen robes : the youths had tunics on
Lustrous as oil, and woven daintily.

The maids wore wreaths of flowers ; the young men swords
Of gold in silver belts. They bounded now
In a swift circle, — as a potter whirls
With both his hands a wheel to try its speed.
Sitting before it, — then again they crossed
Each other, darting to their former place.
A multitude around that joyous dance
Gathered, and were amused, while from the crowd
Two tumblers raised their song, and flung themselves
About among the band that trod the dance.
Last on the border of that glorious shield,
He graved in all its strength the ocean-stream.

The story of the end is soon told. Panoplied from Vul-
can's forge, Achilles rages through the field of fight, killing
retail and wholesale, until every living Trojan but Hector
is driven within the city walls. Hector is smitten with
panic, and flees before his foe three times about the circuit
of the walls, watched, with violently contrasted emotions, by
his countrymen on the one. hand, and by the hostile Greeks
on the other. Achilles at last kills him, but not before he
has turned to bay, with courage recovered in vain. The
ignoble victor, with gratuitous indignity to the dead, ties the
corpse to his chariot, and, driving furiously, drags it head
downward in the dust. This is after the mean-spirited
Greeks have come up, and, each one with several malice,
gashed the lifeless body with numerous additional wounds.
It is a dreadful story. We withhold from our readers further
detail of its horrors. The worst we have spared them.

At the suit of poor Priam, aged father to Hector, the savage
Achilles does relent at last to let the dishonored body be car-
ried off to Troy. The poem closes with the funeral of Hector.

The latter part of the poem, thus rapidly summarized, is

very fine in its own horrible way. There are reliefs too of

exquisite pathos interspersed throughout.
9*

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Let not any one feel disappointed of his due, that we
thus hastily dismiss the Iliad from our hands. The fact is,
that we have already given our readers opportunity of seeing
much more of the poem than the college matriculate, nay,
than the college graduate, will ordinarily have seen in the
course of his regular class-room work. Talk with an en-,
lightened graduate of college about Homer's Iliad, you
reader that have gone with tolerable heed over these pages
thus far, and see if you need feel very much ashamed of the
degree of intelligence on the subject that you have attained.
Still, you may wisely be modest and moderate, for the college-
bred man, at least if he is an exceptionally well-educated
representative of his class, will have gained, through his dis-
tinctive linguistic study, some valuable information, as also
some valuable discipline of mind, that you must consent
necessarily to have foregone.

Should any of our more inquisitive readers have a curiosity
to see scholarship brought to^ bear, in popularized and
available illustration of the Iliad, they will do well to possess
themselves of Anthon's edition of the Greek text, published
by Harper & Brothers. Anthon, as editor of text-books, has
been severely, perhaps not always unjustly, criticised by
some, but it is his meet praise that he did contrive to make
his books at once entertaining and enlightening to whoso
would use them properly.

Gladstone has a primer on Homer in a series issued in
this country by Appleton & Co. — a very interesting mono-
graph, especially its authorship being considered. This
primer is designed to meet the wants of those who read
English only, and have no concern for Greek scholarship.
Lippincott & Co/s volume on the Iliad in " Ancient Classics,'*
is very good. Bryant's translation of the entire poem is a
book that almost any reader with leisure for so long a task
of reading would be sure to enjoy.

It is curious now to recall that we do not know, even

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within half a millennium, when Homer lived. We do not
know where he was born. We do not know his name.
Homer we call him, but Homer very likely is a name for the
man's vocation, rather than for the lAan. It is much as if
we said. The Poet. So the Greeks often did name Homer,
"the poet." To them he was the poet by eminence.

But this name, of whose bearer we know so little, what a
power it has been,- what a power it yet is, in the world of
letters ! We could go on now from this point and write a
volume about Homer's literary influence ; but, after mention-
ing that there are certain shorter pieces which go under the
name of Homeric Hymns, though probably not of Homeric
authorship, and that there are in ancient Greek one or two
amusing burlesque parodies of Homer, (of which the Battle
of the Frogs and Mice is the best known,) we proceed to
present in brief the Odyssey to our readers. For this pur-
pose, admonished by the narrowing limits of our room, we
for a moment lay aside the pen' to take up the scissors.
Charles Lamb, the English essayist of amiable fame, once
undertook to tell the story of the Odyssey in short. We
should like to incorporate here entire that gentle genius's
abstract and rendering of the poem. Our readers too might
be more than willing to have the means of guessing how dif-
ferently they would have fared, if their present guide in this
Homeric path had been able to lead them through the Iliad,
as well as through the Odyssey, by disappearing himself, hav-
ing only handed them over to the conduct of Charles Lamb.
To be entirelv frank, however, we are bound in conscience to
say that Lamb's handling of the Odyssey, though certainly
respectable, seems to us to lack the charm that it might have
been expected to derive from his rare and beautiful literary
quality. It reads like the hack work of a book-maker, rather
than like the free and joyous exercise of one writing from an
inward impulse that urged him to communicate his thought.
Hawthorne would have done Lamb's task better than Lamb.

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But we must be briefer than using Lamb would suffer us
to be. So we cut a page or two out of Prof. Jebb's " Primer
of Greek Literature " — this for the plot and story of the poem
— and' then with specimen extracts, too few, in versified
translation, reluctantly cry, ^^Claudiie jam rivos" (Virgilian
Latin for "There now, that will do,") and shut down the
gates on our flowing and urgent stream. But let not our
readers fail to impress themselves deeply with the spirit, nay
even with the form, of Tennyson's " Lotos-eaters," and his
•* Ulysses." Those exquisite poems are Homer, reaching
out so far his hand of power to lay it on the genius of our
times. Here is Prof. Jebb's reduction of the Odyssey;
twenty-four books of Greek dactylic hexameter, think of it,
in a little page or two of English prose :

" The Odyssey means the Poem of 0-dys'seus^ (or, as the
Romans called him, U-lys'ses,) who was the king of the island
of Ith'a-ca, and the cleverest of all the Greek princes who
fought against Troy. When Troy was taken, Odysseus and
his followers sailed for Ithaca. But on their way they were
driven to the land of the Cy-clo'pes, a savage race of one-eyed
giants; and here Odysseus put out the eye of the Cyclops
Pol'y-pbe'mus, after that monster had eaten six of the hero's
comrades. Now Po-sei'don, the god of the sea, was the father
of Polyphemus, and Poseidon, in revenge, doomed Odysseus
to wander far and wide over the sea to strange lands. When
the Odyssey begins, it is ten years since the fall of Troy, and
Odysseus is still far away from home in the island of O-gyg'i-a^
at the center of the sea. For seven years the nymph Ca-lyp'so,
('concealment,') who loves him, has detained him there
against his will. Meanwhile his wife, Pen-el'o-pe, in Ithaca,
has been courted by more than a hundred suitors, lawless,
violent men, who feast riotously in the house of Odysseus, as
if it were their own. She tried to gain time by pretending
that she wished to finish a fine winding-sheet, which she was
weaving, before she made her choice ; and every night she

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took down what she had woven by day. But when she had
done thus for three years, the suitors found out the trick,
and became more urgent than ever. And now Telemachus,
the son of Odysseus, is urged by the friendly goddess Athene
to go in search of his father to Pylos, in the Peloponnesus,
where he is entertained by king Nestor, and then to Sparta,
where he is the guest of king Menelaus.

" Here our story goes back to Odysseus. The god Hermes
tells Calypso from Zeus that she must let him go, and she
obeys. Odysseus sails from her island on a sort of raft which
he has made for himself. His old enemy, the sea-god
Poseidon, presently espies him, and wrecks his raft ; but a
sea-goddess, Ino, gives him a magic scarf which buoys him
up, and he comes safe to the island of the Phae-a'ci-ans, a rich
and happy people near to the gods and famous as seamen,
whose orchards bear fruit all the year round. The king
Al-cin'o-us entertains Odysseus, who relates all his strange ad-
ventures; how (before he came to Calypso's isle) he and his
companions visited the isle of the enchantress Cir'ce, who
changed the others into swine, while he himself was saved
by a charmed herb called moly^ and persuaded her to restore
his friends to the human form ; how they passed by the shore
of the sweet-singing Sirens, and between Scylla and Charyb'-
dis ; and how at last all his comrades perished because they
had slain the sacred oxen of the sun-god.

" Then a Phaeacian crew take Odysseus back to Ithaca in
a ship. His faithful swineherd Eu-mae'us does not know
him, for A-the'ne has disguised him as an old beggar-man ;
but his old dog, Argus, knows his master, who has been twenty
years away ; he wags his tail and drops his ears as the beggar-
man comes near, and dies. Meanwhile Telemachus comes
back from his search. Athene reveals his father to him,
and father and son arrange a plan of vengeance on the suitors.
Odysseus, still disguised, has an audience of Penelope, pre-
tending to bring news of her husband, but narrowly escapes

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being discovered through his old nurse, Eu'ry-cle'a, recognizing
a scar as she is washing his feet. Penelope, inspired by
Athene, now says that she will wed that suitor who can send
an arrow from the bow of the hero Eu'ry-tus — an heirloom
in the house — through the helve-holes of twelve pole-axes
put one behind another in the hall. Not one of the suitors
can even string the bow. But the disguised Odysseus bends
it easily, and sends an arrow clean through the holes. This
is the signal for the slaughter of the suitors. Odysseus
showers his arrows on them, and finally, helped by Telema-
chus and two trusty servants, slays them all. Now at last he
reveals himself to his wife, and tells her the story of his
journeys. The twenty-fourth book tells how the god Hermes
led the shades of the suitors beneath the earth ; how Odys-
seus in Ithaca was made known to his father La-er'tes; how
he overcame the kinsfolk of the suitors who sought to avenge
them ; and how he was reconciled to his people."

Such, in Professor Jebb*s abstract, is the story of the
Odyssey. With the omission of the incidents in detail, and
with the absence of the charm of Homer's manner, the
fascination is, we feel, pretty well exorcised out of the plot.
We must try to make up as well as we can to our readers
their unavoidable loss, by relating some of the most memo-
rable of the episodes of Ulysses's wanderings, giving them
these in full by means of a translation. What translation
shall we use 7

We have, of course, our choice among many different trans-
lations of the Odyssey. George Chapman rendered the
poem, in his free and dashing style. Pope, with that fatal
facility of his in rhymed heroics, reeled off, in paraphrase of
the Odyssey, an endless succession of elegantly turned
couplets, full of exquisite felicity in phrase, full of spirit too,
only not the Greek's spirit, full in fact of every merit, except
the merit of truth to nature and fidelity to Homer. Cowper
followed Pope in translating the Odyssey, as he had followed

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him in translating the Iliad. Blank verse was his medium.
It is a pity that in translating Homer, Cowper suffered him-
self to be corrupted from the admirable simplicity and
modulated smoothness of verse that characterize his work in
the "Task," to an almost barbarous imitation of Milton's
manneristic pomp of Latinized diction and inverted con-
struction. The result is, two laboriously and meritoriously
poor, unreadable poems. Mr. Philip Stanhope Worsley, in
1 86 1, performed a feat in translation of the Odyssey which,
but that he actually did perform it, we should certainly have
pronounced to be impossible. He produced a long poem in
the Spenserian stanza, which is at the same time a fine poem
in English, and a decidedly successful presentation of the
Odyssey. Many a trace indeed that Cowper would yield, of
the Homeric in form, the classical scholar misses in Worsley —
hardly, however, any trace that, be he man of taste as well
as classical scholar, he misses with regret. With sufficiently
numerous reminders throughout, of Homeric words and
phrases, Mr. Worsley 's idiom is still mainly the idiom of En-
glish, not of Greek. But the Homeric spirit is transfused
with scholarly sense and conscientious fidelity. One notices,
no doubt, something introduced of archaism in English dic-
tion, which adulterates the effect a little from perfect purity
of normal modern impression. But there is an onward move-
ment so strong and urgent, that you do not feel the flow of
narrative to be interrupted by the transition from stanza to
stanza, and you are conscious all the time of being involved
in an ambient atmosphere of real poetry. In truth, there is,
perhaps, at this point detected the vice of too much virtue.
That is, Mr. Worsley is not always willing to be tame when
his original is tame, and to be humbly realistic when his
original is so. For instance,«nf Homer gives the area of a
garden as four acres, Mr. Worsley will perhaps avoid that
arithmetical statement and leave it to his reader's imagina-
tion to estimate the acreage. Of course avoidances like this

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on .Mr. Worsley's part, if they were frequent, as they are not,
would prevent him from representing fully the spirit, as they
would likewise from representing the form, of Homer. But
occasions for abatement of praise are few indeed, and you
are fairly forced to acknowledge that Mr. Worsley has
achieved a splendid feat of poetry and translation.

Mr. Worsley, who, by the way, is an Englishman, of Ox-
ford, in the preface to his first volume, discussing the question,
what form of English versification is best for translation of
Homer, remarks that Cowper's experiment and failure seem
to have proved blank verse uiifit for the purpose. Ten years
later, Mr, Bryant was to demonstrate that Mr. Worsley*s con-
clusion was false, however valid his premise. For Mr. Bryant
certainly produced a readable rendering of the Odyssey, (as
well as of the Iliad,) and he produced it in blank verse. One
would like well to know what judgment so accomplished a
scholar and poet as Mr. Worsley, by the token of his own
work, has shown himself to be, would pronounce upon Mr.
Bryant's success. For our own part, comparing Cowper and
Worsley and Bryant, we find that Cowper is the most consci-
entiously faithful to Homer, that Worsley is the most poetical
and ideal, while Bryant is the most smoothly idiomatic and
intelligible. In Cowper, you are often offended with a quasi-
Miltonic stiffness; in Worsley, you are a little taxed to follow
the sense through the always skillfully managed, but some-
times unavoidably complex, involution of the verse ; while in
Bryant you find yourself now and then confessing that, with
all its merit, the translation is just a trifle tame.

On the whole, we decide to start off with an extract from
Worsley. Almost all our readers have at some time — they
need not acknowledge it aloud, but they will have to admit
it to themselves — have at some time made their modest ex-
periments in writing poetry. Poetry ! no ! do you exclaim ?
Well, verse then, or rhyme, to make the necessary concession
to your modesty. Few, however, we may suppose, have ever

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tried their hand at writing in the Spenserian stanza. Those

who have done this know how difficult a form of versification

it is. Take the following stanza, chosen at random, from

Mr. Worsley's work. Ulysses describes a certain voyage of

his:

All the day long the silvery foam we clave,
Wind iu the well-stretched canvas following free,
Till the sun stooped beneath the western wave.
And darkness veiled the spaces of the sea.
Then to the limitary land came we
Of the sea-river, streaming deep, where dwell,
Shrouded in mist and gloom continually,
That people, from sweet light secluded well.
The dark Cimmerian tribe, who skirt the realms of helL

There, read that over two or three times to get the move-
ment of it. Of course, you read it aloud. All poetry should
be read aloud. Now observe the order of the rhyming. The
first line with third; the second with fourth, fifrh, and sev-
enth ; the sixth with eighth and ninth. The ninth and last
is an Alexandrine ; that is, a line of t\velve syllables, or six
feet, to round the stanza at the close. It is no light task of
the poetic art to make such a stanza. Coleridge has a char-
acteristic sentence, on what he calls the " wonderfulness of
prose." The wonderfulness of poetry is all that, and much,
very much, more, to boot. Consider now that Mr. Worsley's
task was not to produce one stanza, but hundreds on hun-
dreds of them, and that these together must constitute a con-
tinuous poem, through which a stream of narrative shall flow
unchecked from beginning to end. However, not to make
the feat too remarkable, let it be granted that, the mind once
habituated to express itself in this, (as would be the case in
any other measure,) the movement becomes constantly easier,
until there is approach to unconscious spontaneity in it. At
any rate, here, what care we, readers and author, for Mr.
Worsley's achievement } Our business is with Homer's Odys-
sey, and not with the difficulties of English versification.
Most true ; but we shall enjoy Homer all the more, and un-

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derstand him all the better, if we pay some heed to a few
technical points belonging to the way which Homer's trans-
lator has chosen for presenting him to us. Moreover, those
who have thought it worth their while to become readers of
such a book as this, will be very willing to take on, as they
go forward, a little knowledge and culture that they did not
exactly anticipate, so these be fairly germane and proper to
the work immediately in hand. To love poetry is already
culture of a very fine and high grade. To love poetry wisely,
you need to know it well. Count not the time lost that you
spend in dwelling on choice lines and stanzas of verse.
Brood over poetry with long fondness and delight. There
is comfort in it, and blessing, for heart as well as mind.

The Spenserian stanza is so named as having received
its first, or first chief, currency in English from Edmund
Spenser's adoption of it for his great poem of the "Faery
Queen." Spenser found it in the Italian language. It was a
happy invention, a happy naturalization. Thomson, he of
"The Seasons," wrote his "Castle of Indolence" in this
stanza. Beattie's " Minstrel " is in verse of the same form.
But the great late writer to wreak himself upon expression
in this stately stanza is Lord Byron. Read " Childe Harold,"
especially the last two cantos of it, if you want to feel the i
Spenserian stanza in its power as well as in its beauty. Mr.
Worsley too himself exhibits a marvelous mastery of this
verse. We only ask our readers, if at first they find it a little
difficult to read and follow in its rhythm and its sense, to per-
severe, till they get the key to it. We assure them that they
will not be disappointed at last. Mr. Worsley *s translation
is a really remarkable reconcilement of flowing narrative
with harmonious numbers, idiomatic phrase, grace of expres-
sion, real poetical atmosphere, and scholarly closeness to the
original.

Our readers are not so very much mistaken, if they shall
already have divined that we are likely to give them Worsley,

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for the most part, in citation from the Odyssey. We pay our
friends a compliment in doing this. For Biryant, we well
know, would be somewhat easier to understand at sight, es-
pecially since his style has by this time become in a degree
familiar. But Worsley, in taxing them more, will perhaps
reward them better. At any rate, we choose Worsley, with
much confident hope that our readers will approve our choice.
We are sure, at least, that Worsley's Odyssey is not harder to
follow, in hearing it when read aloud, than is Scott's " Lady
of the Lake," for example, or his "Marmion." Only get a
little used to the new movement and style.

To begin, we do as epic poets are traditionally said to do,
we plunge into the midst of things. Ulysses, returning from
Troy, and escaped now from his seven years' captivity in the
isle of his unloved lover, the nymph Calypso, has been wrecked
once more, and cast this time on the coast of the country of
the Phae-a'ci-ans. He is all alone, and in wretched plight
indeed, stripped of his very clothes. But his goddess-friend
Athene, or Pallas-Athene, (or Minerva — the reader must now
familiarize himself with the Greek names of personages in-
stead of the Latin, as Worsley employs the former, in accord-
ance with modern, more scholarly taste,) has a plan for him.
She is going to raise him up a patroness, in the person of no
less a lady than the daughter of the Phaeacian king. Nau-
sic'a-a is the maiden's name. Her father is Al-cin'o-us, syno-
nym for luxury and state. After a fashion familiar to Olym-
pian divinities, Pallas's plan proceeds by deceit. She as-
sumes the appearance of an intimate friend of Nausicaa's,
and invites that princess out on a sort of picnic excursion,
that strikes one as a bit odd for the daughter of a king, a very
wealthy, luxurious king at that. Nausicaa is prompted by
Pallas to get a turn-out from her indulgent father, summon a
train of attendant virgins, go forth to a rural river-side, and
there do a job of long-neglected clothes-washing. She will
naturally choose the very spot where forlorn Ulysses lies in

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a deep sleep, recovering from the fatigue and the pain of his
long wrestle with the sea. Thus much is enough for making
every thing plain in what here follows, from the sixth book
and the seventh of Worsley's translation of the Odyssey. We
begin with the stanza describing Pallas's visit to the chamber
of Nausicaa, paid for the purpose of rousing her to make the
necessary excursion to the river :

Near to the princess two handmaidens slept,
Loved by the Graces, a right beauteous pair,
Couched on each side the gleaming doors. Thence swept
Athene, fleet as unsubstantial air,
And by the pillow of the virgin fair
i'aused, like the child of ship-famed Dymas seen,
Lqual in age, and her companion dear.
Such seemed the goddess both in form and mien,
And with these words addressed the daughter of the queen :

" Nausicaa, wherefore did thy mother bear
Child so forgetful ? This long while doth rest
Like lumber in the house much raiment fair.
Soon must thou wed and be thyself well drest,
And find thy bridegroom raiment of the best.
These are the things whence good repute is bom,
And praises that make glad a parent's breast.
Come, Jet us both go washing with the mom.
So shalt thou soon have clothes becoming to be worn.

Know, thy virginity is not for long,
Whom the Phseacian chiefs already woo,
Lords of the land whence thou thyself art sprung.
Soon as the shining Dawn comes forth anew,
For wain and mules thy noble father sue.
Which to the place of washing shall convey
Girdles and robes and rugs of splendid hue.
This for thyself were better than essay
Thither to walk — the place is distant a long way.*'

Forthwith, her rede delivered, the Stem-eyed
Did to the mansions of Olympus go.
There, as they tell, the gods securely bide
In regions where the rough winds never blow,
Unvisited by mist or rain or snow,
Veiled in a volant ether, ample, clear.
Swept by the silver light's perpetual flow ;
Wherein the happy gods from year to year
Quaff pleasure. To those bowers Athene made repair.

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Scarce had she gone when bright- throned Morning came ;
And, rising from her couch magnificent.
Fair-robed Nausicaa wondered at the dream,
And through the wide house to her parents went
Forthwith, her matter to make evident.
One by the hearth sat, with her maids around.
And on the skeins of yarn, sea-purpled, spent
Her morning toil. Him to the council bound,
Called by the lordly chiefs, just issuing forth she found.

Standing beside him, fondly thus she spake :
** Dear father, could you lend a wagon tall,
Fair-wheeled and well-equipped, that I may take
Robes to the stream and wash them? for they all
Lie lustreless, defiled within our hall.
Thee most of all beseemeth in our state,
When the Phaeacian chiefs their councils call,
Clothed in clean garments to attend debate.
Moreover five dear sons live here within thy gate,

** Two having wives, three in youth's flower unwed,
"Who in the choral dances would appear
In clothes new-washed — this care is mine." So said
Nausicaa, shamed to hint in her sire's ear
Her marriage-hour. But he the fact saw clear,
And answered : " Loan of mules will I concede,
Or if aught else, dear child, thy heart may cheer.
Go — a tall wain, the servants for thy need,
Fair- wheeled, with upper framework shall equip with speed.**

Forthwith the servants to his word obey,
And for her use the rolling wain prepare,
And yoke the mules with all the speed they may.
Soon from her chamber the bright raiment fair
Forth to the lustrous wain Nausicaa bare.
And in a roomy chest her mother stored
All kind of delicate food and viands rare.
And eke sweet wine did plenteously afford.
Which in a well-sewn goatskin for their use she poured.

Such needments she purveyed with eager toil.
Till now the virgin-princess clomb the wain
Fair-shining, and a golden cruise of oil
Into her hands her mother gave right fain,
Her to anoint and her attendant train.
She then the reins took and the scourge did ply.
Onward the mules loud-clattering trouled amain.
As each his restless fellow would outvie,
And robes and princess bore and all her company.

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So u hen they came to the fair-flowing river,
^Vl^ch feeds gotxl lavatories all the year,.
Filled to cleanse all sullied robes soever,
They from the wain the mules unharnessed there.
And chased them, free to crop their juicy fare
By the swift river, on the margcnt green ;
Then to the waters dark the vestments bare,
And in the stream-Blled trenches stamped them clean.
Urging the welcome toil with emulation keen.

Which having washed and cleansed they spread before
The sunbeams, on the beach, where most did lie
Thick pebbles, by the sea-wave washed ashore.
So having left them in the heat to dry
They to the bath went down, and by and by,
Rubbed wiih rich oil, their mid-day meal essay.
Couched on green turf, the river rolling nigh ;
And thence, unveiling, they rise up to play,
While the white-armed Nausicaa leads the choral lay.

Such as adown the Erymanthian hill.
Or tall Taygetus, with arrows keen
Moves the fair Artemis, on chase to kill
Boars and the flying deer — ^around their queen.
Daughters of Zeus, the rural nymphs, are seen
At pastime; (gladdening sight hath Leto there;)
She by the face and forehead towers, I ween.
Right easy to be known, but all are fair —
80 did that virgin pure amid her train appear.

But when she thought to yoke the mules and fold
The raiment, then Athene cast to wake
Odysseus, that the maid he might behold
Ere she returned, and following in her wake
To the Phaeacian town her guidance take.
Just then by a false aim she flung the ball
Far in the swirling river : the maidens brake
Into a long loud scream, whose echoing call
Odysseus roused. He sitting thus debated all:

" Ay me ! what mortal souls inhabit here ?
Despiteful, wild, unjust ? — or love they well
The stranger, and the immortal gods revere ?
Surely but now the female cry did swell
Of virgin nymphs who in the mountains dwell,
Or haunt the cradles whence the rivers flow.
Or green slope of the fountain-trickling dell —
Am I with men that human language know ?
Come, I will soon explore what cheer these coasts bestow.**

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The situation from this point becomes, quite innocently
so, a little equivocal. The ancient taste was more tolerant
than is the modern, of nudities in life as well as in aft. In
art, indeed, we Christians have full easily learned to let stark
nakedness confront us, while we stare at it with well-schooled
faces blankly unashamed. Poetry is art, but somehow poetry
is, with us, on this point, happily more sensitive as yet than
are sculpture and painting; and only Walt Whitman, and
Mr. Swinburne, and Oscar Wilde, and such, show us flesh-
tints ruddy-veined with lusty blood, in their verse. Homer
is, after the ethics of his- age, not impure ; is, that is to
say, as clean at heart as Shakspeare, for example. And, of
course, Mr. Worsley veils the too great frankness of his
original with much delicacy. Still, we may as well omit some
stanzas now, and simply say that Odysseus, (so henceforward
for a while we will call our old friend Ulysses,) having got
himself 'fairly bathed, is clad from Nausicaa's supply of
raiment, river-washed and sun-dried, and is besides invested
with a peculiar air, (aura, we feel like calling it,) of nobleness,
at the gift of his invaluable friend Pallas-Athene. The next
following stanza depicts this supernatural effect. He-phaes'tus
is a Greek alias, under which our readers must recognize
their former acquaintance Vulcan : v

As when some artist, fired with plastic thought,
Silver doth overlay with liquid gold,
One by Hephaestus and Athene taught
Fair-shining forms, instinct with love, to mold,
She thus his shoulders did with grace enfold
An^ glorious head. Then silent by the main
He, clothed in beauty, glistering to behold,
Sat — whom the princess marked with wonder fain,
And thus admiring spake amid the bright-haired train :

** White-armed attendants, hear and I will speak.

Not wholly hated by the gods, I trow,

This man to the Phaeacian race doth seek.

To me he seemed a little while ago

Strange, formless, and uncouth, who now doth show

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Like to the gods who in Olympus dwell.
Fain would I in our isle such husband know,
Or that to linger here might please him well !
But come, set food and drink his famine-pangs to quell.**

She ended, and they hearing straight obey.
And by divine much-toiled Odysseus set
Good sustenance, his hunger to allay,
And wine. He ravenously drank and ate —
Foodless long time, nor had his lips been wet
Save with the sea. White-armed Nausicaa fair
Folded each tunic, robe, and coverlet.
And stowed them in the wain and yoked the pair
Of mules hard-hooved and thus bespake Odysseus there :

** Stranger, bestir thyself to seek the town,
That to my father's mansion I may lead
Thee following, there to meet the flower and crown
Of the Phaeacian people. But take heed,
(Not senseless dost thou seem in word or deed,)
While 'mid the fields and works of men we go,
After the mules, in the wain's track, to speed.
Girt with this virgin company, and lo !
I will myself drive first, and all the road will show.

*' When we tne city reach — a castled crown
Of wall encircles it from end to end.
And a fair haven, on each side the town,
Framed with fine entrance doth our barks defend,
Which, where the terrace by the shore doth wend.
Line the long coast ; to all and each large space.
Docks, and deep shelter, doth that haven lend ;
There, paved with marble, our great market-place
Doth with its arms Poseidon's beauteous fane embrace,

" All instruments mariiie they fashion there.
Cordage and canvas and the tapering oar ;
Since not for bow nor quiver do they care.
But masts and well-poised ships and naval store.
Wherewith the foam-white ocean they explore
Rejoicing. There I fear for my good name.
For in the land dwell babblers evermore.
Proud, supercilious, who might work me shame
Hereafter with sharp tongues of cavil and quick blame*

" Haply would ask some losel, meeting me,
* Where did she find this stranger tall and Ijrave ?
Who is it ? He then will her husband be —
Perchance some far-off foreigner — ^whom the wave
(For none dwell near us) on our island drave.

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Or have her long prayers made a god come down,
Whom all her life she shall for husband have ?
Wisely she sought him, for she spurns our town,
Though wooed by many a chief of high worth and renown/

** So will they speak this slander to my shame ;
Yea, if another maid the like display,
Her I myself should be the first to blame.
If in the public streets she should essay
To mix with men before her marriage-day.
Against her father's and her mother's will.
Now, stranger, well remember what I say.
So may'st thou haply in good haste fulfill
Thy journey, with safe conduct, by my father's will :—

*' Hard by the roadside an illustritt^s grove,
Athene's, all of poplar, thou shalt find.
Through it a streaming rivulet doth rove.
And the rich meadow-lands around it wind.
There the estate lies, to my sire assigned.
There his fat vineyards from the town so far
As a man's shout may travel. There reclined,
Tarry such while, and thy approach debar.
Till we belike within my father's mansion are.

*' Then to the town Phseacian, and inquire
(Plain is the house, a child might be thy guide)
Where dwells Alcinous, my large-hearted sire.
Not like the houses reared on every side
Stands that wherein Alcinous doth abide.
But easy to be known. But when the wall
And court inclose thee, with an eager stride
Move through the noble spaces of the hall.
And with firm eye seek out my mother first of alL

*' She in the firelight near the hearth doth twine,
Sitting, the purpled yam ; her maids are seen
Behind her ; there my sire, enthroned, his wine
Quaffs like a god ; both on the pillar lean ;
Him passing urge thy supplication keen
My mother's knees enclasping. If but she
Think kindness in her heart, good hope, I ween.
Remains, however far thy bourne may be,
That country, friends, and home thou yet shalt live to see."

She ended, and the mules with glittering lash

Plied, who soon leave the river in their rear.

Onward continuously their swift feet flash.

She like an understanding charioteer

Scourged them with judgment, And their course did steer

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So to precede Odysseus and the rest.
And the sun fell, and they the grove came near.
There on the earth sat down with anxious breast
Odysseus, and in prayer the child of Zeus addressed :

" Virgin, whose eyelids slumber not nor sleep.
Hear, child of Zeus ! who in the time forepast
Heardest me not, when in the ruinous deep
Poseidon whirled me with his angry blast •

Let me find pity in this land at last ! "
So prayed he, and Athene heard ; but she
Not yet revealed herself in form ; so vast
Loomed in her eyes her uncle's fierce decree
Against divine Odysseus, ere his land he see.

There the much-loiled divine Odysseus prayed.
She onward passed to the Phaeacian town,
Drawn by the mules. But when the royal maid
Came to her father's halls of high renown,
She by the porch drew rein. Thither came down
Her brothers, circling her, a lucid ring ;
They of Phaeacian youth the flower and crown,
Like gods to look at. Soon unharnessing
The mules, into the house the raiment clean they bring.

She to her chamber straight ascended. There
Eurymedusa old, the chamber-dame,
Kindled the fire — who o'er the ocean-mere
Borne in swift ships from land Apeira came,
Thenceforth assigned by right of regal claim
To king Alcinous, like a god revered
In his own land, the first in name and fame.
She in the halls white-armed Nausicaa reared.
And now the fire lit well, and sweet repast prepared.

Twas then Odysseus toward the city bent
His steps. Athene, in her friendly care.
Rolled a thick mist around him as he went.
Lest of the citizens some scomer there
Should meet him, and assail with gibe and stare,
And urge rude question of his name and place.
Just at the entrance of the city fair
Pallas-Athene met him face to face.
Pitcher in hand, and like a girl in years and grace.

Near him she stood, and he inquired anon :

** Would you, dear child, vouchsafe to be my guide

To king Alcinous* palace ? I, undone

With perils, and in sore affliction tried.

Come hither, over seas exceeding widc^

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From a far land ; nor know I how to make
One friend among the folk that here reside,
Who might show mercy for a stranger's sake."
Whom the stem-eyed Athene answering thus betake :

" Father, the house thou seekest I well know,
For the king dwelleth near my blameless sire.
Hist, not a word ! — and I the way will show.
Bend not thine eyes on any, nor aught inquire.
The people brook not strangers, nor aspire
To love the outlandish guest. Their trust is still
In the swift ships wherewith the deep they tire ;
Th^re hath Poseidon lent them wondrous skill,
Fleet as a wing their barks, or thought flashed from the will."

This spoken, toward the mansion of the king
Pallas-Athene with quick steps did fare.
He in the track divine still following.
Nor the ship-famed Phaeacians were aware
Of stranger in their mid streets pacing there.
For so Athene, bright-haired goddess dread,
Appointed to befall, who always bare
Good-will within her breast toward him she led.
She round his stately form a mist divine now shed.

Much did Odysseus, as he passed, admire
The smooth wide havens, and the glorious fleet
Wherewith those mariners the great deep tire.
Yea, and the spaces where their heroes meet.
And the long lofty wondrous walls, complete
With bastion fair and towery palisade.
All these he viewed, till at the last his feet
She at the king's illustrious mansion stayed.
Him then in words bespake the stem-eyed goddess-maid :

" This is the palace which you bade me show.
Here the Zeus-nurtured princes sit reclined
Feasting ; now enter, and all fear forego,
Since it is always on the bold in mind,
Strange though his stock, that fortune shines most kind.
Our lady queen (Arete is her name)
Sitting within the halls you first will find.
Sprung from a line of parentage, the same
With that, wherefrom the king himself, Alcinous, came.

• ** First to Poseidon Periboia bare
Nausithous — ^she of brave Eurymedon
The youngest, and of women far most fair.
Her father once high sovereignty did own
O'er the proud race of Giants, and had sown

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Storms of red min through the land, nor yet
Died in their crime the infatuate crowd alone ;
He also fell ; but her Poseidon met,
Loved, and Phseacian king Nausithous did beget

•* And he Rhexenor and Alcinous. Lo !
The first new-wed, within his halls serene,
Shot by Apollo with his silver bow,
Died, and one child, a daughter, left, I ween.
Arete, whom Alcinous made his queen,
And loved and honored, as no wives elsewhere.
Such as in these days on the earth are seen.
Find honor ; yea, like reverence she doth bear *
From children, house, and people as her rightful share.

** Oft as she walks along the stately street.
Her all the people like a goddess hail
Beholding, and with salutations greet,
Since of a noble mind she doth not fail.
Yea, where she list good kindness to eiitail,
Even of men the quarrels to unbind
Not seldom her well-tempered words avail.
Good hope then hast thou, so the queen be kind,
Thy high-roofed house and friends and fatherland to find."

So the stern-eyed Athene spake to him.
Then leaving Scheria, lovely isle, anon.
The broad and barren ocean-fields did skim,
And moving o'er the plain of Marathon
And through the streets of Athens, wide-wayed town.
Entered Erectheus' well-built house at last.
Odysseus to Alcinous' halls paced on.
And in his breast his stormy heart beat fast.
He pausing ere his feet the brazen threshold passed.

For, like the sun's fire or the moon's, a light
Far streaming through the high-roofed house did pass
From the long basement to the topmost heigtt.
There on each side ran walls of flaming brass.
Zoned on the summit with a blue bright mass
Of cornice ; and the doors were framed of gold ;
Where, underneath, the brazen floor doth glass
Silver pilasters, which with grace uphold
Lintel of silver framed ; the ring was burnished gold«

And dogs on each side of the doors there stand.
Silver and gold, the which in ancient day
Hephaestus wrought with cunning brain and hand,
And set for sentinels to hold the way.
Death cannot tame them, nor the years decay.

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And from the shining threshold thrones were set,
Skirting the walls in lustrous long array,
On to the far room where the women met,
With many a rich robe strewn and woven coverlet.

There the Phaeacian chieftains eat and drink,
While golden youths on pedestals upbear
Each in his outstretched hand a lighted link,
Which nightly on the royal feast doth flare.
And in the house are fifty handmaids fair ;
Some in the mill the yellow corn grind small,
Some fly the looms, and shuttles twirl, which there
Flash like the quivering leaves of aspen tall ;
And from the close-spun weft, the trickling oil will fall.

For as Phaeacian men surpass in skill
All mortals that in earth's wide kingdoms dwell
Through the waste ocean, whereso'er they will,
The cleaving keel obedient to impel —
So far their women at the loom excel ;
Since all brave handiwork and mental grace
Pallas-Athene gave them to know well.
Outside the courtyard stretched a planted space
Of orchard, and a fence environed all the place.

There in full prime the orchard-trees grow tall,
Sweet fig, pomegranate, apple fruited fair.
Pear and the healthful olive. Each and all
Both summer droughts and chills of winter spare ;
All the year round they flourish. Some the air
Of zephyr warms to life, some doth mature.
Apple grows old on apple, pear on pear.
Fig follows fig, vintage doth vintage lure.
Thus the rich revolution doth for aye endure.

With well- sunned floor for drying, there is seen
The vineyard. Here the grapes they cull, there tread.
Here falls the blossom from the clusters green ;
There the first blushings by the suns are shed.
Last, flowers forever fadeless — bed by bed ;
Two streams ; one waters the whole garden fair ;
One through the courtyard near the house is led.
Whereto with pitchers all the folk repair.
All these the god-sent gifts to king Alcinous were.

Standing, Odysseus gazed his fill, then passed
The entrance, and behold ! the chieftains pour
Wine. to the keen-eyed Argus-slayer, the last
Ere they retire for sleep. He onward bore,
Wrapt in Athene's mist, and paused before

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Arete and Alcinous. There the queen
He clasping by the knees crouched on the floor ;
Then the mist melted, which did ere while screen
His form, and all stood breathless when the man was seen.

He suppliant spake : " Arete, at thy knees,
Before thy husband and thy guests, I bow,
Child of divine Rhexenor ! O to these
May Heaven grant glory in their lifetime now,
And children after them with wealth endow,
Heirs of the office which the people gave !
But ye kind issue to my prayers allow !
Ship to convey me to my home I crave.
Who, friendless many a year, grieve sore by land and wave."

There he made end, and on the hearthstone sate
Amid the ashes, by the fire ; but all
Silent and stirless in their places wait,
And a wide lull pervades the festival ;
Till at the last among them in the hall
Spake hero Echeneiis ; eldest he
Of the Phaeacian chiefs, and therewithal
Gifted with words and grave authority —
He now, their firm well-wisher, spake advisingly :

** Alcinous, this is neither fair nor just
That suppliant stranger on thy hearthstone sit.
Low in the embers and defiled with dust.
All wait thy word, expecting what is fit.
Come, to a silver throne our guest admit.
Then from the heralds mingled wine demand.
That to the Thunderer we may offer it,
Who by the awful suppliant still doth stand.
And let the house-dame bring what food she finds at hand,"

When the divine strength of Alcinous heard.
He rose and took the stranger's hand anon,
Hand of Odysseus proved in deed and word,
And made him rest upon a glittering throne,
Displacing brave Laodamas his son.
Who always sat there, at his father's side,
His best-beloved ; and of the handmaids one
From golden urn, well-chased and beautified.
Over a silver basin poured the lustral tide,

And spread before him the well-polished board
Whereon the staid house-dame provision set,
Whate'er of best the palace might afford.
So the divine Odysseus drank and ate ;
Nor did the king Alcinous ought forget,

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But turned him to the herald, and thus spake :^
** Wine mix for all, Pontonous ! Resteth yet ^
That we to Thunderer Zeus libations make.
Who still waits near at hand for awful suppliant's sake."

So he the wine mixed, and to each did bear.-
When they had poured and drank, Alcinous said :
" Hear me, Phaeacian chiefs, while I declare
The meaning of my mind. Hence now to bed ;
And, with more elders hither summoned,
To-morrow we our guest will entertain
Here in the halls, and sacrifices spread
Before the gods, and convoy o'er the main
Remember, that at last forgetting grief and pain,

Hence to his native land, however far,
Safe in our guidance he may sail the sea
Rejoicing, and no danger may debar,
Nor midway onset of calamity.
His foot from landing. There high Destiny
Must rule her own, whose thought can no one scan.
And he must bear the doom and the decree
Which at his hour of birth the dark Fates span,
When first his motjierknew that she had borne a man.

** But if that he descended from the skies.
Immortal offspring of immortal race.
Then to the gods some other scheme devise.
For oft the gods here meet us face to face,
Oft use our glorious hecatombs to grace.
And sitting feast, as we ourselves, at will ;
Yea, if one find them in a lonely place.
No mask they wear ; for we are near them still,
Like the Cyclopean race and Giants rude of skill. **

But wary- wise Odysseus made reply :
** Alcinous, far be such a thought from me !
Not one like those who hold the realms on high
In form or feature dost thou chance to see.
But mortal, as on earth poor mortals be.
Yea, most my case may I with theirs compare.
Whom most ye know bowed down with misery.
'Twere all too long the vast sum to declare
Of sorrow, pain, and toil, the gods have made me bear.

** But let me feed in peace, though sore distrest.

Nothing more shameless is than Appetite,

Who still, whatever anguish load our breast.

Makes us remember in our own despite

Both food and drink. Thus I, thrice wretched wight,

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Ca|ry of inward grief surpassing store,
YeT she constrains me with superior might,
Wipes clean away the memory-written score.
And takes whate'er I give, and taking cravelh more.

"Ye with the morning in these halls convene,
And lend safe escort o'er the barren main ;
Yea, let life Itave me, when I once have seen
My land, my servants, and my home again ! '*
He ended, and they all assent, right fain,
To lend whate'er the stranger may require,
For that his word with fate accordeth plain.
So having poured, and drunk their heart's desire,
All to their several chambers for the night retire.

Then was divine Odysseus left behind ;
But god-like King Alcinous in the hall
Siill with Arete near his guest reclined ;
And the attendants, at their master's call,
Each means, each remnant, of the fesiival
Clear with quick hands ; and then the queen began.
Whose eyes on that familiar raiment fall
The which herself and her own women span.
She, turning, in winged words did thus accost the man :

" Stranger, this question will I first essay —
Who and whence art thou ? and of whom didst crave
These garments? for methought I heard thee say
Thou camest hither wandering o'er the wave?"
Then said the wary-wise Odysseus brave :
•* Hard is it, queen, in sequence due to show
My griefs ; so many the celestials gave ;
But this one matter, this one tale of woe,
I will to-night set forth which thou art fain to know.

•* Far in the deep sea lies an island fair,
Ogygia named. A bright-haired goddess dread.
Daughter of Atlas, doth inhabit there,
Wily Calypso, aye unvisited
Alike by god and man. Me fate hath led
Lone to that hearth o'erwhelmed with anguish dire ;
For in the middle ocean's wine-dark bed
Zeus, as I wandered, the Olympian Sire,
From heaven my swift ship clave in sunder with white fire.

*' There all the rest of my companions died.

But I for nine days ever onward sweep.

Whirled by the waters, on a keel astride,

Till the tenth night spread blackening o'er the deep.

Then from this nymph did I salvation reap,

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Who took me to herself and cared for me,
Yea, thought to hold me in her island-keep,
Blest with an ageless immortality ;
Nathless the inward heart could not persuaded be.

" Seven years I tarrying stained with many a tear
Vestments immortal by Calypso lent ;
But when came on the eighth revolving year,
Whether it were that Zeus a message sent
Or that Calypso changed her own intent,
Homeward she bade me o'er the seas repair.
So on a well-compacted bark I went ;
She corn and wine gave, and apparel fair,
And in my lee made stream a soft sweet harmless air.

" Ten days and seven my gentle course I keep ;
But on the eighteenth, for the first time seen,
Loomed shadowy elevation in the deep.
Your earth — right glad was then my heart, I ween.
Ah ! wretched ! yet remained exceeding teen !
Since dark Poseidon a long swerveless blast
Launched on my ship, now furrowing wide ravine ;
Now through the deep upheaving mountains vast,
Till to the bark J groaning failed to cling at last.

** Her the wild storms break up ; but I swam through
The great sea-gorge, till near to this your land
Whirled by the waters and the wind I drew.
Then had the waves on your ungentle strand,
Rock-fenced, where vainly I had striven to stand.
Dashed me ; but I with the retiring flood
Swam backward ; and at last a spot to land.
Found, smooth of rocks, and overhung with wood,
Even at the river's mouth, wind-sheltered, calm, aud good.

** There did I throw myself, recovering heart,
And in that stound ambrosial night came on.
I from the rain-fed river moved apart.
And, of the woodland chambers choosing one»
Piled the dead leaves about my lair anon.
God sent a measureless rest my soul to steep,
While in the leaves I lay, with toil foredone,
Night^moming, noon, until the day was deep.
When thrsun fell mine eyes looked up from their sweet sleep.

"And soon the handmaids of thy daughter find
With her, like goddess in their midst, at play.
Then spake I suppliant ; nor of prudent mind
Failed she at all ; yea, hardly one would say
That youth these matters could so nicely weigh.
10*

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Always ihe young lack wisdom ; but she sent
Hoth com and wine my cravings to allay,
And washed me in the river, and garments lent.
Herein the truth I tell, albeit with anguish spent."

Him them Alcinous answering thus addressed:
" Stranger, my daughter was not all so wise,
Who brought you not at once to be our guest,
When to her first you prayed in suppliant guise.**
To whom the sage Odysseus straight replies :
•* Blame not for me thy faultless child ; indeed
She pressed me ; but my soul did aye advise
Me of thy royal anger to take heed,
For we, the sons of men, were ever a jealous breed."

To whom Alcinous : •* Stranger, no such heart,
To fume at nothing, in my breast I bear.
Rather, I ween, let justice hold her part
Yet, Father Zeus, Athene, Phoebus, hear !
Would of my child thou wert the husband dear ;
Such as I see thee, and with heart like mine !
House, wealth, and lands, so thou but tarry here,
I promise ; yet shall none by force incline
Thy purpose ; nor to such Zeus lend his will divine !

'* But the supreme fulfillment of thy way.
Whereby the end of travail thou may'st reap,
Know that until to-morrow I delay.
Thou all the while shalt lie subdued with sleep,
And they shall smite the levels of the deep
Till thou thy home and all dear things regain,
When thine eyes hail the land for which they weep ;
Aye, though it be much harder to attain
Than is Euboia's isle, the farthest in the main,

*• As those among us who have seen declare,
Who once the gold-haired Rhadamanthus led
Over the watery wold, to visit there
Tityus the child of earth. Right well they sped ;
Yea, without toil their course was finished.
And on the self-same day their home- return.
My excellence in ships is lightly read.
Ere long thine own experience shall discern
How well my oarsmen bold the foam-white dfeep can chum.*'

Thus he his lordly purpose did declare.

And on much-toiled divine Odysseus came

Sweet stirrings at the heart, who straight with prayer

Answered, and spake a word, and named a name :

'* Zeus father 1 O that he make good the same !

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Grant that Alcinous by his promise stand !
So by this deed his everlasting fame
Shall walk the plenteous earth from land to land,
And I shall sail in safety to my native strand."

But when their mutual converse now was o'er,
The white-armed queen her maidens bade prepare
A couch beneath the echoing corridor,
And thereon spread the crimson carpets fair,
Then the wide coverlets of richness rare,
And to arrange the blankets warm and white,
Wherein who sleepeth straight forgets his care.
They then each holding in her hand a light.
From the great hall pass forth and spread the robes aright.

Then standing near Odjrsseus thus they spake :
" Now is thy couch well- furnished, stranger-guest ;
Haste, to refreshful sleep thyself betake. '
Glad sounded in his ears their sweet request.
There he, divine one, late so sore distrest,
Slept all night long by griefs unvisited,
Stretched loosely on the carven couch at rest.
Alcinous to his far-off chamber sped,
And there his lady wife made ready and shared his bed.

Well, our readers have had the opportunity to take one
deep drink from the fountain of Homer through the conduit
of Mr. Worsley's version. We hope they have enjoyed it. They
have already seen how different the Odyssey is from the
Iliad, in tone and spirit. For the difference which they
cannot but have felt, is not the difference between Bryant
and Worsley. It is the difference between Homer and Ho-
mer. Not that part of the contrast is not to be attributed to
the different handlings of two different translators. But the
Odyssey is really in itself very broadly contrasted with the
Iliad.^ Some say that the Odyssey bears internal evidence
of being written by an older man than he that wrote the
Iliad. Of that we are by no means sure. Some say that
the Iliad is a poem of war, while the Odyssey is a poem of
rest. Rest is hardly the word that we should ourselves be
willing to adopt as giving the key-note to the Odyssey. In
truth it is a little puzzling to choose two, single contrasted

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words, for discriminating the two contrasted spirits. Achilles,
the hero of the Iliad, is incarnate valor, revenge, and war;
Ulysses, the hero of the Odyssey, is the impersonation of
fortitude, craft, and adventure. Valor, on the one hand,
fortitude on the other, are, perhaps, the two contrasted spirits,
as nearly as two words can severally express them. In the
Iliad, everything is dared; in the Odyssey, everything is en-
dured. Tragedy overcasts the sky of the Iliad, and the
sunset of its day is somber. In the Odyssey, there is be-
trayed more willingness, on the part of the author, to satisfy
his audience with a happy catastrophe. There is surfeit, to
be sure, of suffering in the Odyssey, but all's well that ends
well, and on the whole the Odyssey ends well. Those ex-
traordinary suitors of Penelope meet condign punishment,
and Ulysses comes triumphantly by his own. This is, no
doubt, a somewhat unsatisfactory account of the difference
between the Iliad and the Odyssey. Let our readers provide
for themselves a better. Meantime, address we ourselves
to the task of further supplying them with the means of
doing this.

Alcinous is a name that those of our readers will already
have become familiar with, who are in the habft of reading
poetry such as Milton's or Tennyson's, frequent with clas-
sical allusion. The rich Fhasacian king has furnished
theme of illustration to many a poet dealing in luxurious de-
scription. Those same Phaeacians, by the way, were inhabit-
ants of an island called by Homer Sche'ri-a [Ske'ri-a]
identified with probability as Cor-cy'ra, now Corfu. The
gardens of Alcinous are twice alluded to by Milton, in de-
scribing the garden of Eden — both times only as one among
several examples of profuse luxuriance and beauty. Milton's
genius was well served by his learning, and he could lavish
freely from his store of far allusion, without any fear of im-
poverishing himself. In the fifth book of his " Paradise Lost,"
he says that once^to entertain an expected angel guest from

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heaven, Eve sought and found about her there in the garden

of Eden,

Whatever earth, all-bearing mother, yields
In India East or West, or middle shore,
In Pontus or the Punic coast, or where
Alcinous reigned.

Again in book ninth :

Spot more delicious than those gardens feigned
Or of revived Adonis, or renowned
Alcinous, host of old Laertes* son ;
Or that, not mystic, where the sapient king
Held dalliance with his fair Egyptian spouse.

The imagination of -poets has always delighted to linger
in the dream of blessed islands where everything ever is
good and fair. But Homer in this was beforehand with all
the rest.

The courtly hospitality of the Phaeacians, exercised to-
ward Ulysses, puts that sage . and hero on his very hand-
somest behavior. There is a signal exception, presently to
be noted, but for the most part his characteristic craft ap-
pears only in well-turned compliments to his host, and to
his host's friends, all of them.

A banquet was served in the palace halls next day, at
which Ulysses listened to the Phaeacian bard De-mod'o-cus,
while that prototype of all the tuinstrels of all the poets since
Homer, chanted some very moving lays of the siege of Troy.
Ulysses was melted to tears, tears, however, which he managed
to hide from all eyes save those of Alcinous the king. With
a royal delicacy, worthy of Louis XIV. of France, Alcinous
proposed that Demodocus cease singing, for athletic games
to be celebrated. In the progress of these games, one grace-
less braggart, excited by victory over all competitors, chaffed
Ulysses as sordidly unwilling and unskilled to try athletic
sports. This young fellow made a capital mistake. Odysseus
took fire, and bragged beyond the braggart. Moreover, he
made good his boasts, covering himself with fresh glory in

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the eyes of his entertainers by his feats of strength and
skill. From such games as Odysseus easily beat them in,
the good-natured Phaeacians turned to choral dancing, per-
formed to the music of Demodocus once more chanting his
minstrel lays with accompaniment of lyre. We shall not
dare follow this blind old bard in his chief matter of song
chosen for the present occasion. Suffice it to say, that it
concerned the gods and goddesses in some of their gallant
misbehavior. The entertainment was of a mixed character,
for while Demodocus was playing and chanting, the dance,
we are to suppose, proceeded all the time. Alcinous, master
as he was in the art of luxury, had provided a climax. He
had two sons of his called out to exhibit their princely
agility and grace in dancing. With the dancing proper was
joined a pretty dexterity in the alternate tossing and catching
of a ball. But let a stanza of Mr. Worsley tell us about it :

One leaning backward, to the shadowy sky
The ball up-hurled ; the other with light bound
Easily caught it in his hand on high.
Or ever his quivering feet regained the ground.
This practice done, they weave the dance renowned
O'er the boon earth, with many a sinuous sweep
And glimmering interchange. The youths stand round
And chime and measure for the dancers keep
While still the great foot-pulse sounds regular and deep.

Was it not the poetry of motion } And has not Mr.
Worsley rendered it fitly in his stanza .> And shall we
wonder that Odysseus hereon was ready with a compliment,
so pleasing to his royal host, that it brought the "wary-
wise " framer of it great prize of presents then and there
bestowed ?

The company adjourn to a feast, at which, as is specially
noted, bard Demodocus is singled out for high honor.
Odysseus takes the liberty of sending by the herald a choice
bit of roast pork, which somehow seems a much finer dainty
when it is described as " a choice portion from the chine of

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white-toothed boar, with fat enfolded all " — Odysseus, we
say, makes himself enough at home to send such a tidbit as
this, by the herald, to Demodocus, accompanying the atten-
tion with an elaborate compliment delivered in his own
proper voice to the minstrel on his minstrelsy. Demodocus
thus flattered is fain to gratify Odysseus with a strain, sug-
gested by that sage himself, about the famous Trojan Wooden
Horse. As our readers are to hear something further about
this wooden horse, when they come to study Virgil's -^neid,
we will let Demodocus prepare them for that, by reciting his
story in their hearing now :

Then did the god the minstrel's heart inspire,
And he the strings swept, and took up the lay
Where the Achaians to their camp set fire,
And in the war-ships seem to sail away ;
While in the Horse their chiefs in armed array
Lurk with renowned Odysseus on the steep
Of Ilion — by the Trojans drawn that day
Clean past the bulwarks of their central keep. —
Tliese round the great bulk urge deliberation deep.

Three ways their counsel tended — to break through
The hollow timber with the ruthless steel, .
Or down the rocks to hurl it out of view,
Or leave it hallowed, wrath divine to heal ;
Which thing by destiny their doom did seal —
For, so the Fates enacted, they must fall
When through their gates the wooden Horse they wheel.
Whence, from dark lair should Argive heroes all
Burst to wreak murderous bale on Trojans great and smalL

Anon he sang how issuing from the lair
With sword and fire the guardless town they smite,
While each on several way the chieftains fare ;
How to Deiphobus at dead of night
Odysseus came, like Ares fierce in fight,
With Menelaus, and did aye ensue
Conquest not bloodless by Athene's might.
All this he sang. Odysseus, melted through.
Sat listening while the tears his pale-worn cheek bedew.

Whatever was the purpose of Odysseus in making demand
of this particular theme from Demodocus, whether to hear

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his own achievements chanted, or to enjoy once more the
luxury of woe in melancholy remembrance, the effect, as has
been seen, was to dissolve the soft-hearted hero in tears again.
Alcinous marked his weeping and checked the bard's perform-
ance. This time the king thought it better courtesy to
make open recognition of the tears of Odysseus. He does
so, and begs to know who by name their stranger guest may
be. He further desires from Odysseus an account of his
adventures and experiences.

We shrewdly suspect that Alcinous could not have pleased
Ulysses better. At any rate, Ulysses hereupon tells a long
tale of what he has seen and suffered. • From this narrative
we purpose to furnish our readers with such extracts as we
guess will interest them most.

First, here is a delicious bit of invention and description
about the Lotus-eaters. Our readers will be glad to see it,
not only for its own beauty, but for its association with one
of Tennyson's very finest minor poems. The ** Lotus-eaters,**
of that master of verse in many moods, is, of course, a re-
flection — to our own mind a reflection that, in charm to the
imagination, gains upon its original — of the present luscious
passage from the Odyssey. You do not need to locate this
experience of Ulysses and his men anywhere, either in time
or in space. Let it remain to you as vague as here it
appears :

But, on the afternoon of the tenth day.
We reached, borne downward with an easy helm,
Land of the floweiy food, the Lotus-eating realm.

Anon we step forth on the dear mainland,
And draw fresh water from the springs, and there.
Seated at ease along the silent strand.
Not far from the swift ships, our meal prepare.
Soon having tasted of the welcome fare,
I with the herald brave companions twain
Sent to explore what manner of men they were,
Who, on the green earth, couched beside the mam.
Seemed ever with sweet food their lips to entertain.

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Who> when they came on the delightful place

Where those sat feeding by the barren wave,

There mingled with the Lotus-eating race ;

Who nought of niin for our comrades brave

Dreamed in their minds, but of the Lotus gave ;

And whoso tasted of their flowery meat

Cared not with tidings to return, but clave

Fast to that tribe, for ever fain to eat.
Reckless of home-return, the tender Lotus sweet.
«

These sorely weeping by main strength we bore

Back to the hollow ships with all our speed,

And thrust them bound with cords upon the floor,

Under the benches ; then the rest I lead

On board and bid them to the work give heed,

Lest others, eating of the Lotus, yearn

Always to linger in that land, and feed.

Careless forever of the home-return :
Then, bending to their oars, the foaming deep they spurn.

Did ever our readers read verse that seemed more instinct
than is Mr. Worsley's with the spirit of spontaneous rhythm?
And his translation, it is satisfactory to feel, is no less
liberally true to Homer, than it is freely obedient to the
laws of music in movement and meter. The whole work is
a marvel of genius and scholarship. We wish the accom-
plished author were still within the reach of our praise. Mr.
Worsley died in 1866 — not, however, before he had put the
Iliad the greater part of it also into si^iilar verse.

We skip now some of the narratives of Ulysses, among
them the episode of his adventure in the island of the
Cyclops. This last, our readers will learn all they will wish
to about — for it is a gross, disgusting story — when they come
to study Virgil, who takes up the incident out of Homer, and
treats it as fully as it deserves. The story of Circe has been
moralized so much, both in prose and verse, that we must
give that to our readers, in the form in which it first took its
hold upon the imagination of mankind. Everybody has
heard of Circe. Does everybody know that Circe is Homer's
present to the world of fancy ? Or, if Homer did not invent
Circe, he at least first introduced that eminent lady so as to

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give her the universal renown which she enjoys. Read
Milton's " Coraus " in connection with this extract. Our
own American Hawthorne, in his Tanglewood Tales, has a
charming version of the legend of Circe. Read that too.
You will find the theme, in Hawthorne's treatment of it,
invested with a new charm that could have been given it
only by a great and truly original invagination.

The voyagers, Ulysses and his crew, have touched, with-
out knowing where, on Circe's isle. A scouting party are
sent out to explore :

Soon at her vestibule they pause, and hear
A voice of singing from a lovely place,
Where Circe weaves her great web year by year,
So shining, slender, and instinct with grace.
As weave the daughters of immortal race.
Then said Polites, nearest, first in worth
Of all my friends : * Hark ! through the echoing space
Floats a sweet music, charming air and earth !
Call ! for some goddess bright or woman gave it birth.'

Thus spake he, and they lifted up their voice
And called her. She the brilliant doors anon
Unfolding, bade them in her halls rejoice ;
Who entered in not knowing, save alone
Eurylochus, misdoubting fraud. Full soon
Benches and chairs in fair array she set,
And mixing meal and honey, poured thereon
Strong Pramnian wine, and with the food they ate
Beat up her baleful drugs, to make them quite forget

Their country. They receiving drank, unwise.
Forthwith she smote them with her wand divine,
And drave them out, and shut them close in stys.
Where they the head, voice, form, and hair of swine
Took, but the heart stayed sane, as ere the wine
Confused them ; they thus to their lairs retreat ;
She food, whereon the brutish herd might dine,
Furnished, mast, acorns, their familiar meat,
Such as earth-groveling swine are ever wont to eat.

Eurylochus went back alone and forlorn to tell Ulysses
and the rest the dismal story of what had befallen his com-
rades. Ulysses shall take up the tale again in his own words :

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Forthwith my silver-hilted sword I take,

Arrows and bow, and bid him go before ;

But he with both hands clasped my knees, and spake

Accents of winged words, bewailing sore :

* Force me not, hero, to that hated door !
Drag me not hence to perish ! for I know
Thou and thy comrades will return no more.
Rather with these right quickly let us go.

And save our suuls through flight, and shun the evil woe/

But I : * Eurylochus, abide thou here
Fast by the hollow ship, and drink and eat ;
But I will hence. Necessity severe
Constrains me. Thus I passing turned my feet
On through the glens for the divine retreat
Of Circe ; and a youth in form and mold,
Fair as when tender manhood seems most sweet,
Beautiful Hermes, with the wand of gold,
Met me alone, and there my hand in his did fold.

* Whither,' he said, * wouldst thou thy steps incline,
Ah ! hapless, all unweeting of thy way ?

Thy friends lie huddling in their stys like swine ;
And these wouldst thou deliver ? I tell thee nay —
Except I help thee, thou with them shalt stay.
Come, take this talisman to Circe's hall,
For I will save thee from thine ills this day.
Nor leave like ruin on thy life to fall,
Since her pernicious wiles I now will tell thee all.

* Drink will she mix, and in thy food will charm
Drugs, but in vain, because I give thee now
This antidote beyond her power of harm.

When she shall smite thee with her wand, do thott
Draw thy sharp sword, and fierce design avow
To slay her. She will bid thee to her bed,
P' earing thy lifted arm and threatening brow.
Nor those refuse, that so her heart be led
To loose thy luckless friends, and on thee kindness shed.

* But by the grand oath of immortals blest
First bind her, ere thou yield, that she no wrong
Scheme for thy ruin in her secret breast,

Lest, naked and unmanned, thou linger long
Pent in vile durance with her swinish throng.
Therewith the root he tore up from the ground,
Black, with a milk-white flower, in heavenly tongue
Called Moly, and its nature did expound —
Hard to be dug by men ; in gods all power is found«

«%.

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Then to the far Olympus Hermes went,
Sheer through the woodland isle ; but I repaired
Onward to Circe's halls magnificent,
And with a heaving heart the danger dared.
Soon to the sliining vestibule I fared.
And lifted up my voice and loudly called.
Then came she forth, dread goddess, gleaming-haired.
And, bright gates of her mansion marbled- walled
Unfolding, bade me in, heart-pained yet unappalled.

So to a silver-studded carven chair
My steps she led, and made me rest thereon ;
Under my feet there lay a foot-stool fair ;
And in a goblet of pure gold anon.
Mixing a philter, like that former one,
She the pernicious poison did instill,
Then gave me, and I drank — but change came none.
Lest with her mystic wand, intending ill.
She smote me, and thus spake, her dread charm to fulflfll ;

** Now to the stye, and with thy comrades sleep !"
But my sharp steel unsheathing from my thigh.
On the enchantress, as in rage, I leap,
Araied, with the flash of murder in mine eye.
She, screaming, clasped my knees, in dread to die —
*• Who then art thou ? " she cried : *' Where is thy place,
Thy parents, who these philters canst defy ?
Never before did lips of mortal race
Drink of this cup, and still retain their former grace."

The sequel is quickly told. Ulysses proved himself full
match in craft for the enchantress. First getting her fast
bound by the great oath, he secured himself against bestial
transformation, and then, we grieve to say it, deliberately
yielded to her seduction and became her paramour. He and
his companions all stayed a whole year as guests of Circe.
Home-sick at last, they got away — Ulysses, at Circe's sugges-
tion, sailing first of all to visit Hades, for the purpose of
consulting the shade of the seer Ti-re'si-as about the future.
This episode we here omit, reserving it for presentation
through VirgiTs version and adaptation, in our next volume.
The fine stanza first herein quoted from Mr. Worsley, as a
specimen of his verse, described the prosperous voyage Circe
gave her parting guests bound on this expedition. The

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whole long story of the visit to Hades is very nobly conceived,
and it is answerably well executed, by Homer. We are sorry
not to present it here. But our just limits forbid. It is a
mine of material for the popular mythology of pagan Greece
and Rome, and a treasury of resource to orators and poets
for telling allusion and illustration. Reading Homer's
Odyssey is a better way of becoming familiar with Greek and
Roman mythology, than is poring over a classical dictionary.
The difference is like that between studying botany in a living
flower-garden, and studying it from an herbarium.

The Sirens — as to Homer's account of these, we must do
for ourselves what Ulysses did for his sailors, in guard against
the sweet bewitching song of those evil creatures themselves,
we must "cram our ears with wool and so pace by." (So
Tennyson puts it, but wax, instead of wool, was the true
Homeric material.) In fact, make we now a long leap for-
ward to near the end of the poem. The story has passed the
rapids, taken the great plunge of the dreadful catastrophe,
and is comparatively placid once more — that is to say, the in-
solent suitors have been slain in the palace-halls, and the way
is clear for Ulysses to reveal himself in his true identity to
his wife Penelope, and to his father La-er'tes.

" But the catastrophe itself, the bloodily multitudinous re-
venge wreaked by Ulysses and his son on the suitors of
Penelope — this," cry out our readers, " are we to hear noth-
ing of this ? " Well, we have insisted somewhat, we, the
author, with our readers ; it is but fair now to let our readers
take their turn of insisting with us. Enough, dear friends ;
you shall even have your way this time, and sup your fill of
the horrors of a scene which we fain had weakly suffered to
lie veiled in darkness. And on the whole our readers are
entitled to know what sort of plots in blood were demanded
by the taste of hearers, and obediently supplied by the genius
of minstrels, in the pagan world that was and that is not, "the
glory that was Greece and the grandeur that was Rome."

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It is part of the peculiar method of Homer, that he feels
sufficiently at leisure always, himself, and always sufficiently
secure of finding his audience at leisure, to tell the same
occurrence over a second, or, it may chance, even a third
time, if the humor happens to take him. Thus we have our
choice to present here the long, full, first detail of the death
of the suitors furnished in the direct narrative ; or to present
the shorter, more condensed account, subsequently given in
Hades, by the shades of the murdered men themselves, to the
shade of Agamemnon there encountering and accosting
them. We assume that our readers would prefer the former,
and, all complaisance, as, turn and turn about, we here are
bound to be, the former we will give them. But, remember,
friends, that you will have to wait proportionally longer, for
what is lovelier and sweeter far, the self-disclosure of Ulysses
to his wife and his father. We agree, however, y(>u will en-
joy those idylls all the more, when you come to them, for
the contrast and relief you will experience, having steeped
your soul so long in the steam and reek of human slaughter
— slaughter going on, not in the free air, and on the battle-
field, but within household walls, and by the banquet-board.

Penelope, inspired by Pallas, contrived a test for her suitors.
They were to try bending the great bow of Ulysses, and with
it sending an arrow through the helve-holes of twelve axes
arranged in a row. Not a suitor of them all could even bend
the bow. Ulysses, in mean garb, has watched the trial, and
when all have failed, obtains the privilege of seeing what he
can do. It goes without saying that he accomplishes the
proposed feat. He then recommends that the banquet be
renewed. This is done, and it is in full mid-feast that the
action bescins which is described in the following stanzas,
comprising the greater part of the twenty-second book. We
ought to add that the suitors, now about to be horribly slain,
have deserved their doom, otherwise than by unseasonably
and unreasonably importunate suitorship, by various acts of

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wickedness plotted, and of insolence perpetrated, against the
house of Ulysses :

Stript of his rags then leapt the godlike king
On ihe great threshold, in his hand the bow
And quiver, filled with arrows of mortal sting.
These with a rattle he rained down below,
Loose at his feet, and spake among them so :
** See, at the last our matchless bout is o'er.
Now for another mark, that I may know
If I can hit what none' hath hit before.
And if Apollo hear me in the prayers I pour."

Thus did he speak, and aimed a bitter dart
Against Antinous. He the beauteous cup,
Twin-eared and golden, carved with curious art,
Was lifting in his hands and tilting up
Close to his red lips, the sweet wine to sup,
And in his mind of murder held no care.
Who could believe, 'mid feast and flowing cup, -
One of a crowd, though he far mightier were,
Would for a guest black fate and evil death prepare ?

Him with an arrow in his throat the king
Shot. Through his delicate neck the barb made way.
He, falling backward, made the pavement ring.
Down clanged the cup, and where it clanged it lay.
And, ere a man could wonder or gainsay,
Blood from the nostrils the wide floor imbrued.
He in a moment wildly kicked away
The table with both feet, and spilt the food,
And all the place with bread and broken flesh was strewed*

And now, behold, the suitors a dire clang
Stirred in the palace, when they marked him falL
And from the benches and the chairs they sprang,
Pale and aghast within the shadowy hall,
Peering about in terror from wall to walL
Nor, as they looked, could they discern within
Spear, sword, nor shield, nor any arms at all.
Scared, as from sleep, and with a troublous din.
They to divine Odysseus wrathful words begin :

" Stranger, not well thou doest to aim at men.
These are thy last lists ; thou shalt surely die.
See, by thy hand the bravest of our men,
Flower of all Ithaca, doth murdered lie.
Thy bones the vultures shall pick by and by."

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But each held back, averring that he slew
By chance the man. How fatal and how nigh
Death's snares were set, they foolish never knew !
Whom the king sternly eyed, and to the godless crew :

** Dogs, ye denied that I should e*er come back
From Troia's people to my native land.
Long in your pride my house ye rend and wrack,
* Yea, and ye force the women with violent hand.
And my wife claim, while I on earth yet stand,
Nor fear the gods who rule in the wide sky,
Nor lest a mortal on the earth demand
Your price of guilt — and ye are like to die !
Round you Death's fatal toils inextricably lie."

He ceased, and all were taken with pale fear.
Peering about in terror, if they might flee
Black doom and ruin and destruction sheer.
Then spake Eurymachus, and only he :
** If thou the Ithacan Odysseus be.
Now home returning to thy native land,
Well hast thou spoken : for I know that we
Oft in thy town and fields with violent hand,
And here within thy mansion, have much evil planned.

** But now behold he lieth dead, the cause
Of all our crime, Antinous. He alone
Urged us to drink and revel and break the laws-
He in his heart, it is a thing well known.
Caring far less to make thy wife his own
Than for a scheme, which Zeus doth bring to nought
That here the king's line might be overthrown ;
Yea, for thy child a secret snare he wrought.
And for himself in Jthaca the kingdom sought.

** Now hath he fallen by the doom of Fate.
But spare thy people, who in after day
Swear in this country on thy will to wait.
And in thy palace the whole price to pay
Of all things drunk and eaten, and to lay
Each one before thy feet fines worth a score
Of oxen, brass, and gold, whale *er we may.
Till thy heart warms to view the countless store.
Reason enough thou hast to feel enraged before."

Him wise Odysseus sternly eyed, and spake :
** Eurymachus, though ye the whole restore,
And all your own wealth and your fathers' take»
And the earth ransack till ye add much more.
Never these hands shall the dire work ^ive o*er

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Ere your flown pride is to the full repaid.
Choose now to fight, or if ye list explore
Some by-way, if escape may yet be made.
But, as I think, Death's toils no longer ye evade."

Then quailed their knees and heart, and thus again
Eurymachus spake forth : ** O friends, the man
Will not give over till we all are slain.
Quick draw your knives, and pile up as ye can
Tables to cover us. It were best we ran
All in close volley against him, firm to try
And thrust liim by the strength of all our clan
Down from the doors, and stir a public cry.
Then quickly his last arrow will the man let fly."

Then he his knife drew, and with terrible cry
Sprang toward the king ; wlio, aiming at the breast.
Hard by the nipple, let the arrow fly ;
And in his liver the keen barb found rest.

• Dropt from his hand the knife. He with prone chest
Fell like a ruin, and threw down the meat
And the rich wine-cup. His tall forehead's crest
Knocked on the earth, he rattling with both feet

The throne, and on his eyes the darkling death-rain beat

Then rushed Amphinomus onward with drawn knife,
To thrust Odysseus from the doors, but lo !
First with the spear Telemachus reft his life.
And 'twixt the shoulders made the iron go
Clean through the lungs ; and with a clang the foe
Knocked with his forehead on the earth. Back pressed
Telemachus, the long spear leaving so,
Lest, from the wound when he the spear would wrest.
One cut him down unwares, or stab him breast to breast

Now therefore running to his sire came he.
And in winged words: "O father, I will seek
Helm, shield, and two spears both for thee and me
And these our helpers, lest we prove too weak.
Not without arms can we our vengeance wreak."
And wary-wise Odysseus made reply :
** Pause not a moment : if thou tarry and speak.
Soon will the river of our darts run dry.
Quick, lest the men dislodge me — ^all alone am I."

Thus spake he, and Telemachus obeyed,
And to the chamber went where the arms lay.
He from the armory four shields conveyed.
Eight spears, four helms of brass in plumed array,
And to his father quickly bent his way.
11

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He first the armor round his flesh put on ;
Also the servants to his word obey,
And the spears lift, and shield and helmet don,
And by the brave Odysseus take their stand anon.

But the brave king, while yet his shafts availed,
This one and that kept piercing in the hall.
Still the men dropped. But when the arrows failed,
Then he the bow leaned on the shining wall.
And on his shoulders took the targe withal.
Four-hided, vast, and on his valiant head
Laced the firm helmet with its streamy fall
Of horsehair and ihe white plume dancing dread ;
And two strong spears he lifted, each with steely head.

Now in the wall a narrow postern lay.
Which from the comer of the threshold-floor
Gave, through fair valves, upon a secret way.
And the king bade the swineherd keep this door
Standing on watch : there was no pass-way more.
And thither Agelaus turned his eye.
And to his comrades a fierce counsel bore :
** Friends, why not pass the wicket, and stir a cry?
Then quickly his last arrow shall the man let fly."

Melanthius, herdsman of the goats, replied :
•* O Zeus-bom Agelaus, it may not be.
Yon gates stand direly near, close at the side.
And the lane's mouth is narrow, and you may see

That one strong man might hold it easily. ^

But come now, quickly will I hence and bring

Arms to your service from the armory. I

For, as I think, Telemachus and the king ^

Stowed not the arms elsewhere, but there laid every thing.

Thus having said, Melanthius quickly went, 1

Up the long staircase stealing, to the place.

Twelve shields, twelve helmets, and twelve spears he hent '

And to the suitors brought them down apace. j

Then was Odysseus in an evil ease, ,

And quailed in knees and heart, as they put on '

Their armor, and long spears before his face |

Waved : for he saw that a great work was done.
And quickly in winged words he spake unto his son :

" Not all, Telemachus, goes well with us.

Some one against us moveth evil war,

Either a woman or Melanthius."

But he : " The rest, O father, blameless are.

But that I left the chambet-door ajar ,

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Mine is the fault ; they had the better scout.
Haste, good Eumaeus, and the chamber bar,
And if a woman be at work find out,
Or Dolius' son Melauthius, whom I shrewdly doubt"

Thus they conferred, and lo, Melanthius passed
Back to the chamber, the fair arms to bring.
And on the man quick glance the swine-herd cast,
And, as he stood near, whispered to the king :
*• Son of Laertes, hearken ! for the thing
Comes true — once more that dark thief prowls away.
Say, shall I kill him if I can, or bring
The varlet Jiither, for all crimes to pay
Which he within thy house hath planned this many a day ?*'

And wary- wise Odysseus answering said;
** I and Telemachus will hold at bay
All the proud foes, though burning to make head ;
But ye twain to the chamber take your way ;
Jhere backward twist, as tightly as ye may,
His hands and feet, then cast him on the floor
Bound, a rope draw beneath his arms, and weigh
And hoist him to the beam, and lock the door —
There to feel bitter things long time ere life be o'er."

So spake he, and they heard him and obeyed.
And all unseen they stole upon him there.
While in the far recess deep search he made ;
They twain on each side by the door-posts were.
He cariying in one hand a helmet fair
Came ; in the other a broad buckler lay,
Which in his youth divine Laertes bare.
Now battered and burnt up with long decay.
And the old loops hung limp, their dry seams dropt away.

And lo, the twain rushed forward and him drew
Back to the chamber by his hair, and cast
Sore groaning to the ground, and backward threw
His hands and feet, and linked them direly fast
With knots of spirit-piercing cord, and passed
Under his limbs a stout rope, as the king
Commanded, and by main strength at the last
Hoised him aloft, beneath the beam to swing—
Whom, with sharp words, £umaeuS| thou didst jeer and sting:

" Now, O Melanthius, if I err not quite,
Where thou recliriest thou art like to be,
Brisk and alert, through all the livelong night,
Wrapt in a soft couch as is good for thee.
Nor shall the morning, when from out the sea

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She comes up charioted, with golden throne,
Escape thine eyes ere well awake are we,
While for the suitors thou art driving down
Choice fatlings from the herd, and prime goats not their own.**

Thus bound they leave him, and then swiftly win
Back to Odysseus. Breathing might, they fouf
Stood by the threshold, and the rest within,
So many and brave. And near them at the door
Came one who Mentor's voice and likeness bore.
Glad spake Odysseus : *' Shield us from the foe.
Brave Mentor ! I was thy twin friend of yore."
Thus spake he, nor Athene failed to know.
And Agelaus then, Damastor's son, spake so :

•* Mentor, be thou not fooled to take their part !
Else are we minded, when our foes we slay.
Thee to kill also for thine evil heart ;
Yea, with thine own head thou the price shalt pay.
When with the sword we take your power away,
All that within doors and without is thine *

We will make even as this man's, I say.
Nor son nor daughter nor thy wife divine
Shall linger in the land, nor any of thy line."

He ended, and Athene raged the more,
And in fierce accents to the king she spake :
" Not such thine arm, Odysseus, as of yore,
When for the nobly-born fair Helen's sake
Nine years by Troia thou didst war partake,
And in the dread siege many men subdue.
And by shrewd wit 3ie towers of Priam break.
How with house, wealth, and all sweet things in view,
Tumest thou back from blood, nor can'st the work go through ?

" But come, beloved, and stand near me thus,
And 'mid the fierce throng shalt thou soon behold
In what way Mentor, child of Alkimus,
Pays back the kindness of his friends fourfold."
She spake, nor yet full tide of victory rolled
Before tl\em, but Odysseus and his son
Proved yet a little, lest their blood were cold.
She, to the roof-beam taking flight anon.
There like a swallow sat, and from above looked on.

And Agelaus then, Damastor's son,
Urged on the rest, with bold Eurynomus
Hot for the battle, and Amphimedon.
And the brave strength of Demoptolemu8»
Peisander, aud the wailike Polybus,

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These of the suitors who yet lived and fought
Were far the bravest and most glorious ;
But many others the fleet shafts had brought
To bale. And Agelaus a fierce counsel taught :

" Friends, soon that madman shall yield up the ghost.
Seei they are left beside the doors alone,
And gone is Mentor M^ith an empty boast.
Now therefore, suitors, hurl not all in one
Your spears against them, but let six come on
And first in order at our foe take aim,
If haply Zeus vouchsafe that we strike down
Odysseus, and acquire a noble name,
Since all the rest count nothing, if that man we tame.**

So they stood forth and hurled, but none the more
TJirived, for Athene sent their javelins wide.
One hit the pillar, and one hit the door,
And one fell heavy on the wall aside.
Then to his friends divine'Odysseus cried :
" Come, let us also hurl our spears, nor miss
Yon crowd of suitors, who, by Heaven ! have tried
Now to their past crimes to add even this.
And make the barb-tipt iron in our life-blood hiss."

He spake, and all then, firming well their eye.
Aimed the long spears ; and Demoptolemus
Low by the javelin of the King did lie ;
Euryades fell by Telemachus ;
And by the swine-herd's steel died Elatus ;
The herdsman of the kine Peisander slew.
These with their teeth the bloody ground bit thus ;
And, while the suitors far apart withdrew.
Straight rushed the four, and tugged their weapons forth anew.

And lo, the suitors their sharp spears once more
Hurled ; but Athene sent the most part wide.
One hit the pillar, and one hit the door,
And one fell heavy on the wall aside.
Natheless Amphimedon with blood just dyed
Skin of the wrist of brave Odysseus' son.
Ctesippus, hurling o'er the tough bull's hide.
Wrote on the swine-herd's shoulder — so passed on
The dart, and flew beyond him, and to earth fell down.

Then did Odysseus and his friends renew
Their hurling, and among the crowd shot thus —
Stormer of towers, the brave Odysseus, slew
Eurydamas ; and young Telemachus
Amphimedon ; the swine-herd, Polybus.

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The herdsman hit Ctesippus in the breast,
And cried : ** No longer vaunt and fleer at us,
But let the gods speak, who are far the best.
This for the foot thou gavest to the suppliant guest.**

Also in close fight with his spear the king
Tore Agelaus; the young prince his spear
Drave through Leiocritus. He ruining
Clanged with his forehead. And Athene there
Waved her man-murdering aegis in the air.
Then, scared in spirit, through the hall they fled,
As when the gadfly, in the spring of the year,
When the days lengthen, 'mid the kine makes head.
And stings them into fury where at peace they fed.

And as when eagles, curven-beaked and strong,
Fly from the hills and the fleet birds assail ;
These in the low plain flit and cower along,
Pounced on with fuiy, nor can flight avail
Nor courage, while good sport the fowlers hail-
So 'mid the suitors hovering evermore,
Turning about they smite them, and deal bale.
Direly the heads crashed, and a hideous roar
Sounded for ever, and still the bubbling earth ran gore.

Then did Leiodes clasp Odysseus' knees
And in winged words his supplication make :
" Spare me, O king, nor let my suit displease !
Since never to the women I did nor spake
Evil, but strove the lawless ways to break
Of these proud men ; but they regarded not,
And for their folly a fit doom partake.
I, the mere altar-priest, now share their lot,
Though clean of guilt — so soon are benefits forgot."

Him wise Odysseus sternly eyed, and said :
** Priest of their altar if thou boast to be,
Then for my death thou must have often prayed,
And that my sweet return I might not see.
And that my dear wife should bear sons to thee—
Die ! " Thus he answered, and the sword did take,
Dropt by Daraastor's child when slain was he.
Shore tljrough the mid neck, and the neck-bones brake;
And the head rolled beneath him, while the mouth yet spake.

But yet the minstrel Phemius shunned black Fate,
Who by compulsion to the suitors sang.
Mute he stood, lingering by the postern gate,
And there the shrill lyre from his hands let hang.
And his soul mused if it were best he sprang

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Forth from the house, and to the altar clave
Of court-guard Zeus, to shun the dire death-pang,
Where often from old time fat thighs they gave,
Or to rush forth, and mercy at the king's knees crave.

And in his soul it seemed more gainful so —
To pass forth from his place, and at the knees
Fall, and wild hands of supplication throw,
Crouching before the lord Laertiades.
First he lays down the lyre, where space he sees
Betwixt the bowl and silver-studded throne,
Then rushes forth, and to Odysseus* knees
Clings with a sore clasp, crouched on the cold stone.
There sadly in winged wordshe maketh su])pliant moan :

** Spare me, Odysseus, lest a time come when
Fall on thine own heart sorrow, if thou kill
Me, the self-taught, who sing to gods and men.
Not man, but God, did my sweet voice instill,
Thee too with songs can I divinely thrill.

let me live ! Telemachus can say
How not desiring, and with no good will,

1 came to sing amid their feasts ; but they,

Far mightier and far more, compelled me to obey."

He ceased ; and the divine Telemachus
Heard the man's suppliant anguish, and came near,
And in winged words addressed his father thus :
" Hold, and the guiltless wound not, but revere.
Also the herald Medon hold we clear.
Who the good cause did never once forget.
But loved me from a child this many a year —
If nor Philoetius nor the swine-herd yet
Have slain him, nor thee raging through the house he met."

Him the wise Medon heard, where 'neath a throne,
Wrapt in a raw buU's-hide, he crouching lay,
Black Fate avoiding. Forth he leapt anon,
Cast off the hide, and by his knees did pray
Telemachus : '* Behold me, friend, and stay
Thine arm, and tell thy father to forbear.
Lest me, exulting in his strength, he slay.
And angered for these men, who naught did spare ;
Who for thyself, his child, had no regard nor care."

On whom the wise Odysseus smiled and said :
*' Cheer up. and live, for thou hast heard his will,
This to know ever, and thy friends persuade —
How 'tis far better to do good than ill.
But now go forth and in &e court sit still.

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Clear of the blood, beyond the doors, ye two,
And leave me in the house while I fulfill
The remnant of the work I have to do."
They to the altar went, and crouching quailed anew.

Meanwhile the king pried busily to and fro,
Lest one alive yet lurk, avoiding bale.
And all he found in bloody dust laid low,
Strewn, like dumb fishes on the sandy graile,
Whom from the hoary deep the fishes hale
In many. windowed net. They on dry land,
Sick for the sea, gasp dying ; nor doth fail
Fierce noon to kill them on the burning sand —
Thus lay the slain men heaped by his victorious hand.

Surely no verse more spirited and more shocking, more
picturesque and more hideous, than the foregoing, was ever
composed. The translation is beyond praise. It is more than
admirable, it is magnificent. Our readers need not feel that
they lose anything in enjoyment of literary beauty and power
by not knowing this passage of the Odyssey in Greek. Mr.
Worsley's version is an adequate representation of his original.
It is not only all that could be expected in a translation — it
is all that can be desired. Indeed, it may be said to tran-
scend desire, for it creates a standard higher than one's
previous ideal.

But truly splendid as is the poetry, alike in Homer and in
Worsley, what shall we think of the moral, or even of the
aesthetic, state of a highly civilized people that could tolerate
such perfectly crude savagery in their national epics? Let
us not entertain the question, but hasten forward to the relief
that follows.

Ulysses has still to make himself known to Penelope and
to Laertes. These pleasing tasks the much-experienced
warrior and sage addresses himself to accomplish in his own
characteristic way. Homer, with consummate art, arranges
a preliminary meeting between Ulysses and Penelope, in
which the long-tried and suspicious-grown true wife refuses
to recognize her husband, until she shall have had the

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assurance of certain marks "readily discerned," she says,
" betwixt us, secret signs, which no one else hath learned."
Ulysses magnanimously indulges her incredulous caution,
and meantime plans with Telemachus his son (who has al-
ready received him with full trust for father) a scheme to
delay public discovery of the manifold murder that has been
committed in the massacre of the suitors, and so of averting
from themselves the vengeance likely to be visited from the
suitors* kindred. He causes the palace first to be purified,
and then to resound as with festival music. The result is
what he anticipated. The people outside say among them-
selves, A wedding in the palace ! Some suitor has won his
widow-bride at last ! The rest Homer shall tell us himself,
with Mr. Worsley for clear-voiced herald and interpreter :

Thus spake they, knowing not the things that were.
Meanwhile the staid housedame Eurynome
Washed in his own house and anointed fair
Divine Odysseus. From the bath came he,
In tunic and rich robe clad beauteously.
And on his form new grace Athene shed,
And ampler made him, and more lai^e to see.
Curled like the hyacinth divinely spread
The full locks, clustering dark, around his glorious head.

As when some artist, fired with plastic thought.
Silver doth overlay with liquid gold.
One by Hephaestus and Athene taught
Fair-shining forms, instinct with love, to mold.
She thus the king's head did with grace enfold
And the fair shoulders. Like a god in mien
He, clothed in beauty, glistering to behold,
Came and reclined where he before had been.
And, on the pillar leaning, thus addressed the queen :

•* Lady, the gods that in Olympus dwell
Have, beyond female women, given to thee
Heart as of flint, which none can soften well.
Lives not a wife who could endure, save thee,
Her lord to slight, who roaming earth and sea
Comes to his own land in the twentieth year.
Haste, Eurycleia, and go spread for me
• Some couch, that I may sleep, but not with her^
For, as it seems, her breast than steel is more severe.**
II*

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But him the wise Penelope addressed :
*' Friend, neither I exalt nor rate thee low,
Nor marvel overaiuch ; but in my breast
Too well thy features and thy form I know.
Such as from Ithaca long years ago
Thee to a far land the fleet bark conveyed.
But go, nurse, and his own choice bed bestow
Outside the bridal chamber which he made,
And rugs and fleeces pile, that he be warmly laid."

Thus she spake, proving him. He, direly stirred,
Quick to his loyal wife made answer there :
*' Wife, thou hast spoken a soul-piercing word,
Tell me what hand hath set my couch elsewhere.
Yea, for a skilled man very hard it were.
Save a god helped him, who can all things do.
Lives not a mortal, though life's flower he bear,
Could stir it. For with that bed's growth there grew
A wondrous sign, my work ; none else that secret knew.

** For in the court an olive stem there grew.
Stout as a column, and thick leaves it bore.
Round it a chamber, built with stones, I threw,
And with a tight roof firmly spanned it o'er.
And by the threshold hung the well-framed door ;
Then cut the olive hair, and smooth and round
Planed to a basement on the chamber floor
The wide trunk, like a bedpost in the ground,
And with a wimble pierced it, for the core was sound.

" So, thence beginning, I the bed did mold
Shapely and perfect, and the whole inlaid
With ivory and silver and rich gold ;
And, well stretched out, a leathern work I made.
Shining with purple. I have now displayed
This sign, this marvel ; nor at all I know
Whether my couch in the old place hath stayed.
Or some one could elsewhere my work bestow.
When first he had cut through the olive stump below.

He ended, and were loosed her knees and heart,
When she the tokens of her husband knew.
Then from her eyelids the quick tears did start.
And she ran to him from her place, and threw
Her arms about his neck, and a warm dew
Of kisses poured upon him, and thus spake :
" Frown not, Odysseus ; thou art wise and true !
But God gave sorrow, and hath grudged to make
Our path to old age sweet, nor willed us to partake

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•* Youth's joys together. Yet forgive me this.
Nor hate me that when first I saw thy brow
I fell not on thy neck, and gave no kiss.
Nor wept in thy dear arms as I weep now.
For in my breast a bitter fear did bow
My soul, and I lived shuddering day by day,
Lest a strange man come hither, and avow
False things, and steal my spirit, and bewray
My love ; such guile men scheme, to lead the pure astray.

" For neither Argive Helen, seed divine,
Had with a strange man mingled in love's chain,
If she had known that heroes of high line
Should to Achaia lead her home again.
But the god stamped her with a grievous stain.
Stirring her soul to dare a shameful wrong ;
Nor of set mind she pondered the dark skein
Of sorrow, fated to befall ere long,
When first came even to us our load of anguish strong.

"But now, since clearly thou unfoldest this.
The secret of our couch, which none hath read.
Save only thee and me and Actoris,
Whom my sire gave me, when I first was wed,
To guard the chamber of our bridal-bed —
Now I believe against mine own belief."
She ending a desire of weeping bred
Within him, and in tears the noble chief
Clasped his true wife, exulting in their glorious grie£

"Sweet as to swimmers the dry land appears,
Whose bark Poseidon in the angry sea
Strikes with a tempest, and in pieces tears.
And a few swimmers from the white deep flee.
Crusted with salt foam, and with tremulous knee
Spring to the shore exulting ; even so
Sweet was her husband to Penelope,
Nor from his neck could she at all let go
Her while arms, nor forbid her thickening tears to flow.

And now the rosy-fingered Dawn had found
Them weeping, but Athene a new scheme
Planned, and the long night held within her bonnd.
Nor from the rolling river of Ocean's stream
Suffered the golden-throned Dawn to beam,
Or yoke the horses that bear light to men,
Lampus and Phaethon, her fiery team.
Who draw the chariot of the Dawn. And then
Answered the wise Odysseus to his wife again :

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"Wife, the end is not yet, but there abide
Hard labors and extreme which I must bear
For thus to me in Hades prophesied
Soul of Tiresias, the Theban seer.
In that day when I sought death's kingdom drear.
My friend's return inquiring and my own.
But come with me to bed, that we may cheer
With sleep and love our souls, ere night be flown."
Whereto the wise Penelope replied anon : *

** Spread shalt thy couch be, whensoever thou will
Thine is the house ; for to thy native land
The gods have led thee through long years of ill,
And thy feet suffer on our hearth to stand.
But now the labor which thou hast in hand
Tell me, which God hath made thy lips avow ;
For the time comes when all that fate hath planned
Shall not be hidden — ^it were no worse now
To learn what yet must happen, though I know not how."

And quickly to his dear wife answered he :
" Why urge me to unfold, to thine own pain,
This fortune ? it is sad even for me.
Take up an oar he bade me, and again
Roam through the countries, hill and valley and plain,
Till at the last I light upon a race
Which eat not salt, nor know the rolling main.
Nor vermeil ships, whose sails from place to place
Waft them like wings, nor oars that sweep the marble face

*• Of ocean. And this notable clear sign
He told, not easy to escape my care :
When that a man shall meet me in my line
Of travel, and accost me, and declare
On my illustrious shoulder that I bear
A winnowing-van, he bade me plant mine oar
In that same spot, and sacrifices fair,
A ram, a bull, and a swnne-mounting boar.
Slay to Poseiden, monarch of the waters hoar :

" Then return home, and sacred hecatombs
To the immortal gods in order due,
To all and each that dwell beneath the domes
Of heaven, present ; and lastly shall ensue
My calm death, wafted from the billows blue,
And I shall fall in a serene old age,
Painless and ripe, with nothing left to do^
While a blest people at the gates engage
My sovereign care. Such future his true lips presage.**

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And answer made the wise Penelope :
** If for old age the gods annul thy curse,
Hope is, though late, that thou shalt yet be free
From all thy sorrows." Thus did they converse.
Meantime, above, Eurynome and the nurse
Make up the bed with raiment soft and fair,
Under the blazing torchlight ; and the nurse,
When they had spread the couch with studious care,
Back to the house, for sleep, right quickly made repair.

There she, divine of women, told him all
Her suffering that she bore from day to day,
While the fell suitors slew within the hall
Beeves and fat sheep, and drained the wine away.
Also Odysseus to his wife did say
All the dread strife which on his foes he won,
And the sad labor on himself that lay ;
She ever with enjoyment listening on ;
Nor to her eyes came sleep, until the tale was done.

First told he of the Cicons tamed, and then
How through the main to the rich land they- drew
Where dreams the tribe of Lotus-eating men ;
And how no pity the dire Cyclops knew.
But his guests ate, and paid for whom he slew ;
And how to ^olus he came, who well
Dismissed him ; but not yet was he to view
His country ; for from heaven the tempest fell.
And whirled him back, deep groaning o*er the sea's dark swell.

Of the wide-gated Laestrygonian town
He spake, where they destroyed his friends and fleet.
Whence in the black ship he escaped alone ;
Of Circe's wondrous wiles, and how his feet
Trod the dark realm of Hades, to entreat
Soul of Tiresias the Theban seer.
What time he sailed in well-manned bark complete
Past the divine sea river, and saw there
His dead friends, and the mother who hii^ nursed and bare.

And how he heard, what none but he might tell,
Strain of the Sirens o'er the marbly mere.
And reached the Wandering Rocks, Charybdis fell,
And the dread Scylla, of whose doom ran clear
No sailors yet that bom of women were ;
And how his comrades the Sun's kine had slain,
And thunderer Zeus with flaming bolt clave sheer
The swift bark, and cut off" in the wild main
All, all alike ; he only his own soul did gain.

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How, tossed by waves, he reached Ogygia's isle^
On the tenth day delivered from the deep.
And found the nymph Calypso, who long while
Nursed him in hollow caves, his love to reap.
Who for his dear wife could but mourn and weep ;
And how she promised with her lips that he
There should remain within her island-keep
Blest with an ageless immortality,
But in his breast the soul would not persuaded be.

And how sore labored at the last he won
The land of the' divine Phaeacian race,
Who like a god him honored, and sent on
Rich with all gifts of much exceeding grace.
Brass, gold, and raiment, to his native place.
On shipboard. This was the last word he spoke.
Ere the sweet slumber, rushing down apace.
Loosened his limbs, and the tired senses took.
And from his mind each care and sad remembrance shook.

Now if one has not, in the preceding passage, what fully
entitles Homer to be considered the deep master, that he
always has been held to be, in the lore of the human heart,
we should not know where, within the wide bounds of his
verse, to seek the justification of this great poet's universal
and traditional fame for such wisdom. If any thing that we
have heretofore said or suggested, might seem to imply too
faint appreciation, on our part, of the Greek poet's merit,
witness, we now subscribe our loyal recantation, in the pres-
ence of the exquisite, the noble poetry above given — wherewith
take we reluctant leave of the Odyssey and of Homer. Or
will our readers yet have the scene between Ulysses and his
father ? As they please. It is not long, it is fine, if perhaps
less fine than the scene between the husband and the wife ;
and here it is ; but first let it be noted as we pass, that the
ancient taste was less exacting than is the modern, of regular
culmination in power and effect growing quite on to the very
end of oration or poem. And it is perhaps truer art not to
close your work with a note struck at the extreme high pitch
of your compass. At all events. Homer in the Odyssey holds
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evidently being under no apprehension of committing a cap-
ital offense in anti-climax against the pampered literary appe-
tite of readers. But here, -as we said, is the scene between
son Ulysses and sire Laertes:

Thus he his aged father, all alone,
Found in the well-placed garden, with sad mien
Weeding around a plant, and stooping down.
Patched rags unseemly on his form were seen ;
And greaves upon his legs, now wasted lean.
Lest the thorns tear him ; on each hand a glove
Working he wore, against the brambles keen.
And on his locks a goat-skin helm above,
Feeding the long deep sorrow of a father's Jove.

Whom, when divine Odysseus heeded there,
Worn with old age, with many griefs oppressed,
Standing unseen behind a well-grown pear.
He shed tears, and debated which were best,
Whether to fall upon his father's breast
And the whole story of his fate make clear,
How from affliction, toil, and wide unrest,
Safe he returned home in the twentieth year,
Or first with words inquire, till all the truth appear.

And in his mind it seemed more gainful so,
First with soul-piercing words to prove him there.
The old man in his orchard, stooping low,
Round the plant weeded ; and his son came near
And spake : " Old man, thou art not slack to rear
Thy fruit-trees, nor a fool in husbandry.
Lives not a plant, fig, olive, vine, or pear.
But thou with art hast trained it tenderly.
Nor in thy garden-beds a drooping flower I see.

" But now another thing will I declare,
Nor thou, I pray, feel anger in thy breast.
Thyself art husbanded with no good care.
But marred with mean old age, and foully drest.
*Tis not for sloth thy master leaves thee prest
With leanness and contempt ; nor, as I ween.
Aught slavish, and unworthy of the best.
Or in thy form or stature, may be seen,
But like a king thou seemest in thy face and mein.

'* Like one thou seemest who should bathe and eat
And lie down softly — 'tis an old man's due.
But now this tidings would I fain entreat,
Who owns thy service, and this garden who ?

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And tell me also this, and tell me true ;
Is the land Ithaca, as one now^ said
That met me ? who methinks scant manners knew,
Nor stayed to hear me, nor my question read,
Nor of my guest-friend told me, if alive or dead.

** For I will tell thee what I haVe to say ;
Therefore observe, and to my tale give ear.
At home, in my dear country, on a day
A guest I entertained ; and none more dear
Of strangers ever to my house came near.
That man from Ithaca did claim his race,
Sprung from a line whovse rumor all men hear,
And to Laertes his own birth did trace,
Even the glorious son of lord Arkeisias.

•* Whom with fond heart I cherished as I could,
And for a token of my courtesy
Gave talents seven of gold, well-wrought and good,
A bowl of silver, flowered, and fair to see,
Twelve single cloaks, twelve robes of tapestry,
Twelve costly tunics, and twelve mantles fair ;
And women, beautiful exceedingly,
Whom he himself chose, in his train to bear,
I gave him, four in all, who skilled in house-craft werej

And to his son with tears the old man spake :
** Friend, 'tis the land thou seekest ; but abide
Fierce men therein, who dire confusion make.
And for the gifts which thou didst then provide.
Vain were they all, and like himself have died.
Were he in Ithaca alive this day.
Large in requital were the gifts supplied.
And much sweet kindness would he haste to pay.
Such was the custom still, whoever came this way.

" But come now, tell me this, and show me plain,
How many seasons have now passed and gone
Since thou thy hapless friend didst entertain.
Whose life so miserably the Fates have spun,
Thy friend, and, if I dream not, once my son ?
Who from his own hath perished faraway,
Reft of his country, and no grave hath won ;
But torn by fishes in the deep he lay,
Or to wild beasts and birds on land became a prey.

** Nor were his mother and his sire decreed
To shroud him for the burning, nor lament
Their own dear child, the offspring of our seed ;
No, nor the wife so goodly eminent

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In reason, riches, and a pure intent,
Penelope herselfv Oie dirge did cry
Over her dear lord on the couch, nor bent
To press the cold lip and the lightless eye.
And the last rite fulfill, the meed of those that die.

•' But tell me truly, for I fain would know,
Whence be thy parents, and thy country where,
And where the bark, that o'er the wide sea-flow
Thee with thy comrades to our island bare ?
Or to some trader didst thou pay thy fare,
Who set thee on our shore, and went his way ? **
And answering spake the wise Odysseus there :
" Now the whole story thou dost bid me say,
I will to thee set forth in order, as I may.

*• From Alybas I come, there lies my home,
Child of Apheidas, Polypemon's son,
And I am named Eperitus. I roam
By the god's blast unwillingly sent on
From Sicily ; my bark hath moorings won
Beyond the city. Since he left our strand,
Even Odysseus, four full years are gone.
Good birds of omen flocked on his right hand.
When, with a glad farewell, he gladly left the land.

**And still within our heart expected we
To mix in friendship, and fair gifts bestow.
Vain promise, each on other. " Thus spake he ;
And on his father the black cloud of woe
Came, and with both hands he began to throw
Foul dust adown his white locks, groaning deep.
- And his son trembled, and fierce breath did blow,
And, as the pulsing nostrils quiver and leap.
Sprang to his sire, and spake, and kissed him, fain to weep.

" I only am that man, my father dear,
I only whom thou seekest : I at last
Come to mine own land in the twentieth year.
But cease thy groaning, and let tears be cast
Far from thine eyes, for the old grief hath passed.
No word of sorrow from thy lips let fall.
For I will speak (and there is need of haste :)
Now have I slain those suitors in the hall ;
God made their own fierce deeds recoil upon them alL**

Then said Laertes, " If thou art indeed
Odysseus, my own child, returned from far.
Show me a sign which I may clearly read."
He answered : ** First consider well this scar.

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'■ ' ' ' ^

Dug, where the deep glens of Parnassus are,
By the boar's tusk, when I had gone to see
Autolycus my grandsiie, ere the war.
Thence to bring back what he had vowed to me.
When to our house he came, fair largess and rich fee.

•* Here the trees also, which with kindly speech
Thou gav'st me, when a child I followed thee
All through the orchard, and made suit for each.
Thou, 'raid the long rows passing, tree by tree.
Their name and nature didst explain to me.
Ten apples, forty fig-trees, pears thirteen
Thou gavest, adding, when fit time should be.
Fifty fair rows of vines, with corn between.
Where, by the ripe hours laden, the full grapes are seen.*

Then were the old man's heart and knees unstrung.
When he the tokens of his dear son knew ;
And round his neck with feeble arms he clung ;
Whom to his breast divine Odysseus drew
Fainting and pale. But when the wonted hue
Came to his lips, and he revived again,
He answering spake : " O Zeus, if it be true
That the proud suitors their full guerdon gain.
Surely in far Olympus ye, the gods, yet reign I "

There is a threatening sequel to this satisfactory meeting
of father with son. But Athene intervenes to avert further
bloodshed. She stays the hand of Ulysses raised in fell self-
defense against the avenging kindred of the suitors, and en-
joins a solid peace between the two parties at feud. In this
appearance the goddess assumes the familiar form of Mentor,
ancient friend of Ulysses — in which form it was, as every
body well knows who has read F^nelon's charmingly invented
and charmingly written T^lemaque, that this celestial patron-
ess of the house of Ulysses had previously accompanied
young Telemachus on his round of wanderings in search of
his father. Thus the Odyssey ends not only in justice vin-
dicated, but in amity restored.

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Preparatory Greek Course in English, • 255

A GLANCE BACKWARD AND FORWARD.

We have thus, as we were able, accomplished with our
readers what we voluntarily put ourselves under engagement
with them to do. We have completed the course of Greek
literature usually presumed to have been gone over by the
student that has prepared himself for matriculation at college ;
that is, what, in its relation to the college curriculum, has
come to be, in a sort technically, termed the *' preparatory "
Greek course. We have, indeed, done something more than
barely this ; for we have advanced, in the various Greek au-
thors represented, a little beyond the limits within which
class instruction at school is ordinarily confined. We have
further sought to supply to our readers something like an
equivalent for the body of collateral information, which, du-
ring the hours of " recitation," so called, is imparted by the
living teacher, either in response to questions from his class,
or at the spontaneous suggestion of what occurs in the " les-
sons" from day to day. This incidental purpose of ours
will, we hope, sufficiently account to our readers for the free-
dom with which, at intervals, we have permitted ourselves to
be drawn aside into diversions from the main highway and
thoroughfare of progress to our goal. We have tried to be
entertaining, as well as instructive, but we have acted all the
time on the belief that to be instructive was our best way to
be entertaining. How well we have succeeded, our readers
will, of course, judge for themselves — and our readers must
judge, too, for us. Perhaps in the second book of our series
we may reasonably trust to do better than we have done in
this first. The effort, at least, shall not be wanting.

The intrinsic interest of the literature in Latin to be pre-
sented in the next volume, will not be greater, it may even

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256 Preparatory Greek Course in English.

be less, than that which belongs to what has been presented
in this. But then there will be, in the next volume, the added
interest of relation between the two literatures, a relation of
comparison and of contrast, a relation likewise of derivation
and influence. Plutarchconceived the idea of pairing off a
Greek name with a Roman, and treating the two together in
a kind of parallel biography. These collated lives written
by Plutarch, constitute one of the most suggestive and inter-
esting features of his fascinating volumes. Of course, such
parallels may easily be made very misleading. That Plu-
turch has hot pushed his device at points too far, we would
bytio means maintain. But the love of comparison and con-
trast is one of the deepest instincts of the human mind ; and
always we arrive best at clear definition when we have
present in thought some contrast to our ideas, to indicate
the limits at which we must look for their outline or bound-
ary.

It will thus be highly instructive and stimulating to study
Caesar, in a kind of comparison and contrast with Xenophon
— to study Virgil in parallel with Homer, his master and
original. As we go on in our later, our latest, stages of
progress in this road, we shall set Cicero off against De-
mosthenes — though we shall need to bring Plato too, perhaps
even Aristotle besides, into relation, in order to find a full
counterpart to the versatile, the voluminous, the all-accom-
plished Roman. And there will constantly, on to the end,
continue to be such occasion of extrinsic interest derived
for our study of Latin literature, through the parallels and
antitheses suggested between the authors belonging respect-
ively to the earlier and the later, to the original and the
derivative. The genius and history of the two peoples, great
and peculiar in ways so strikingly different, on the one side
and on the other, will naturally be estimated with more ad-
vantage, and therefore with more zest, when, having got a
tolerably intelligent comprehension of the first, we make the

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Preparatory Greek Course in English, 257

transition to form our comparative conception of the second.
It will be suitable, in our second volume, to lay before our
readers, not certainly an exhaustive, but at least a suggestive,
assemblage of celebrated, or otherwise noteworthy, expres-
sions of opinion on the several peculiarities and relative
merits of the two literatures, Latin and Greek, as wholes,
and then also, from time to time, in the second volume, and
in the others to follow that, like expressions of opinion con-
cerning those various individual writers on the two sides,
who have naturally, in all ages since they flourished, been
brought into mutual comparison.

Although, therefore, from the nature of the case, one can-
not with reason anticipate any augmentation in the proper
and inherent interest of the subject, in taking leave of
Greek literature, to make acquaintance with Latin — for the
Greek mind found for itself in letters and art that supreme
satisfaction of its energy, which the Roman mind more
naturally sought for itself in conquest and government —
still, when we consider the separate interest to be derived,
as one passes on to study the second, from mutual jux-
taposition of the two in stimulating comparison, we feel
warranted in promising to our readers that they will, on the
whole, be not less entertained and instructed in the next
following stage of their course, than they have been in this.
Through all the successive stages of the course, to the ulti-
mate goal, we shall, as we advance, in the instance of some
of the authors represented, be able to make use of transla-
tions, tha:t may be regarded as rising themselves to the rank
of a really high literature in English. This will be notably
the case as to Virgil, as to Horace, and as to Plato, hardly
less so perhaps than it has been here as to Homer. The
prospect altogether is decidedly bright and inviting.

With such assurances, animating to us at least, as we hope
they will be likewise to them, we herewith bid our readers
good-bye, and, if they kindly please, let it be in the senti-

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i ment of that hearty German phrase of farewell, Auf wieder-

sehen, Till we meet again.
I Those, however, who have thus far liked their entertain-

I ment the best, will, we may trust, have a mind to linger a

little, still holding their friend, writer or compiler, by the
I hand, as they pass out at their leisure through the halls and

I corridors beyond, consisting of various matters germane to

our purpose, in pages following adjoined and appended.

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APPENDIX.

THE STUDENT'S MEMORANDA.

The reader of this volume may profitably fill the blanks on
the following pages.

The labor required in this is very slight, but well performed
will be of value, as it incites to the exercise of judgment, the
discipline of memory, and the training in the art of concise
and comprehensive statement. Every effort to recall and
to express one's knowledge, gives a firmer hold upon that
knowledge and renders it of greater practical value. He
who does a little work well, will know how to undertake
something larger, and from th'is experience will come con-
tinued and cumulative success. The reader may become
the student, and the student, after a while, the scholar.

The exercises here provided are for beginners — whether
they be old or young. They are not tasks assigned, but
opportunities offered. The work may be done at any time,
and in any place, and after any method. Only let the work
be done.

The student having mastered the several subjects with
sufficient fullness to be able to write out his answers, should
do so with care and neatness, that he may never have reason
to be ashamed of the portion of the book which he has him-
self written.

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26o Preparatory Greek Course in English.

Record, — Began reading this book , i88

Finished it i88..

Name

Residence

A Statement, — The object of this book :

An Outline. — ^The contents of the book stated in few words :

A Selection, — In what incidents and passages contained in
the book have I been most interested ? (Indicate here by
pages. On the pages mark the selections.)

Biographical, — State briefly the chief points in the life and
character* of the following persons, named in the foregoing
pages :

♦ Name Family Birthplace Date of Birth Prin. Deeds

Prin. Writings. .!. Characteristics Where and When die. . . .Esti-
mate of Influence. ...

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Homer :

Xenophon :

-^sop:

LuciAN :

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Cyrus •

Achilles :

Agamemnon :

tJLYSSES t

iEneas :
iEnone :
./Eschylus :
Ajax:

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Preparatory Greek Course in English. 263

Alcinous :

Alexander the Great :
Antenor :
Apollo :
Aristotle :
Arnold, Matthew:
Artaxerxes :
Beattie :
Bentley :
Browning, Mrs. :
Bryant :
Buttmann:
Calypso :

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Castor :

Chapman :
Chaucer :
Chiiisophus:
Chrysostom:
Cicero :
Circe :
Clearchus:
Cowper :
Croesus:
Crosby :

Cyrus the Great :
Demodocus :

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Preparatory Greek Course in English. 265

Demosthenes :

Derby: -

Diodorus Siculus :

Diogenes :

Diogenes Laertius :

Dioraed :

Dione :

Dryden :

Eparninondas:

Erasmus :

Euripides :

Fenelon :

Foster :

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Ganymede :

Gladstone :

Glaucus ;

Goodwin :
Grote :
Hadley :
Harkness :
Hector :
Helen :
Helv^tius:
Herodotus:'
Hesiod :
Hippolochus:

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Preparatory Greek Course in English. 267

Ino:

Isaiah :
9
Isocrates :

Juno:

Jupiter :

Keats :

Kendrick :

Kiihner:

Laertes:

Lamb :

Landor, Walter Savage:

Livy :

Longfellow :

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Longinus :
Louis XIV. :
Lyttleton :
Macaulay :
Malachi :
Mars:
Menelaus :
Menon :
Mercury :
Milton :
Minerva :
Nausicaa :
Neptune :

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Preparatory Greek Course in English. ^69

Nestor :

Orontes :

Pandarus :

Paris :

Patroclus :

Pelopidas :

Penelope :

Pericles :

Philip of Macedon :

Pindar:

Plato:

Pollux:

Polyphemus :

12*

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Pope:

Priam :

Proxenus :

Sappho :

Schliemann :

Scott, Sir Walter :

Smith, Dr. William:
Socrates:

Solon :

Spenser:

Swinburne :

Syennesis :

Tacitus :

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Preparatory Greek Course in English. 271

Telemachus :

Tennyson :

Theocritus :

Thersites :

Thetis :

Thomson :

Thucydides :

Tiresias :

Venus:

Vincent :

Virgil :

Voltaire :
Vulcan :

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Webster .
Whitman, Wait :
Wilde, Oscar:
Wordsworth :
Worsley :
Sophocles :
Xanthippe :
Zeno:

National and Geographical:^
Troy:

Mycenae :

Dorians :

lonians :

* Location . . • .Size. . . .Characteristics. . . .Influence.

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-^olians :

Sparta :
Argos :
Ithaca:
Phaeacians:
Ogygia :
Pylos :
Persians :
Trapezus :
Sardis :
Tarsus :
Babylon :
Cunaxa :

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Colossae •

Annenia :

Colchis :

Olympus

Bceotia :

I. Outline of Greek History.

1. The Heroic Period — about t,ooo years.

2. The Homeric Period — 224 years.

3. The Historico-traditional Period — 286 years.

4. The Historic Period — 2,370 years.

II. Subdivisions of the Historic Period.

1. The Persian Wars — beginning 490 B.C.

2. The Athenian Period — ^beginning 479 B.C.

3. The Spartan Period — ^beginning 404 B.C.

4. The Theban Period — beginning 371 B.C.

5. The Macedonian Period — beginning 361 B.C.

6. The Roman Period — beginning 146 B.C.

7. The Byzantine Period — beginning 395 A.D.

8. The Modern Period — beginning 1453 A.D.

III. Great Men of Ancient Greece.

1. Great Lawgivers: Minos, L)xurgus, Solon.

2. Great Statesmen : Clisthenes, Aristides, Pericles.

3. Great Generals : Miltiades, Epaminondas, Alexander.

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Preparatory Greek Course in English, 275

4. Great Orators : Pericles, Demosthenes, -^schines.

5. Great Dramatists : -^schylus, Sophocles, Euripides.

6. Great Philosophers : Socrates, Plato, Aristotle.

7. Great Historians : Herodotus, Thucydides, Xenophon.

8. Great Artists : Phidias, Praxiteles, Apelles.

GREECE.

B. C.

Lycurgus Flourishes | .

First Olympiad )

Legislation of Draco 624

Legislation of Solon 594

Usurpation of Pisistratus 560

Reforms of Clisthenes 5 lo

Revolt of Miletus and other Greek Cities of Asia

Minor 500

Expedition of Mardonius into Greece 490

Ostracism of Aristides 483

Xerxes' Invasion. Battles of THERMOPVLiE and

Salamis 480

Battle of PLATiEA 479

Rebuilding of Athens 478

Revolt and Conquest of Naxos 466

Earthquake at Sparta and Revolt of Helots and

Messenians 464

Battle of CEnophyta and Conquest of Boeotia 456

Athenian Power at its Height 448

Battle of Chaeronea, Loss of Bceotia 447

Thirty Years' Truce 445

Attacks on Pericles 432

Return of Alcibiades to Athens 407

Capture of Athens 404

Expedition and Retreat of the Ten Thousand 401-400

Death of Socrates 399

Conon Restores the Long Walls of Athens 393

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J^mx of ^ntBlctbH0 387

Supremacy of Thebes 371-361

Philip of Macedon 359-33^

Alexander the Great 336-323

The Achaean League 25 1

The i£tolian League 220

Destruction of Corinth by Mummius. Greece

BECOMES A Roman Province 146

The Kingdoms of Greece.

Name. Founder. Length of Dynasty.

B.C.

1. Argos Inachus 1803-1446

Damos 1446-1283

Pelops 1283-1103

2. Sicyon ^gialeus 1813-1764

3- Ogygia Ogyges 1780-1764

4. Athens Cecrops 1556-1065

5. Sparta Lelex 1483-1 108

6. Thebes Cadmus 13x5-1200

Wise Men of Greece.

Chilon of Sparta, Solon of Salamis,

Periander of Corinth, Pittacus of Mitylene,

Bias of Prien^, Cleobulus of Lindos,

Thales of Miletus.

Greek Wars.

B.C.

Siege of Troy -. 1192-1183

First Messenian War 743~723

Second Messenian War 679-662

Third Messenian War 464-455

Persian War 490-466

Battle of Marathon 49^

Battle of Thermopylae 480

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Battle of Salami's 480

Battle of Plataea 479

Battle of Mycale 479

Battle of Eurymedon 466

Peloponnesian War 431-404

Siege of Plataea 429-427

Blockade of Sphacteria 425

^cace of ^iciaa 421

Sicilian Expedition 415

Battle of Syracuse 413

Battle of iEgospotami 405

Greek Poets.

B.C.

Homer (contemporary with Solomon and Rjho-

boam) 850

Hesiod (Didactic) 849-745

Callinus (Elegiac) 720-668

Tyrtoeus (Elegiac) 634-600

Archilochus (Iambic) 710-690

Simonides (Iambic) . . 566-520

Hipponas (Iambic) 566-520

Terpander (^olian or Lesbian) • 700-650

Alcaeus (^olian or Lesbian) 624-570

Arion (^olian or Lesbian) 640-600

Sappho (^olian or Lesbian) 620-570

Alcman (Lyric-Doric) 660-600

Stesichorus (Lyric-Doric) 632-552

Pindar of Thebes (Lyric-Doric) 522-442

Anacreon (Lyric-Ionian) 563-467

Simonides of Ceos (Lyric-Ionian) 556-467

Thesbis of Attica (Dramatic) 523-483

Phrynicus of Athens (Dramatic) ,

^schylus (Dramatic) 525-456

Sophocles (Dnmatic) 495-406

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Euripides (Dramatic) 480-406

Aristophanes (Dramatic) 444-(?)38o

Callimachus 300-240

Apollonius 270-196

Theocritus of Syracuse (Pastoral) 300-280

Bion of Smyrna (Pastoral) 295-238

Moschus of Syracuse (Pastoral) 289-200

Nicander (Ionian) 200-1 20

Meleager of Gadara (Ionian) 135-60

Critical Estimates : *
Homer :

* The student may here insert condensed criticisms upon the leading
Greek authors included in our course of reading.

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Xenophon :

Lucian :

^sod:

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28o Preparatory Greek Course in English,

Questions suggested as clues to guide the further independent
investigation of students in Greek literature :

I. Was Greek literature a creation of the Greek mind, or
was it a derivation from some foreign original ?

2. What form did Greek literature first assume : that of
prose, or that of poetry ?

3. What is the very earliest work in Greek literature of
which we have any remains ?

4. Was this earliest extant Greek writing probably also the
earliest Greek writing produced ?

5. What existing recognized species of poetical and prose
composition were originated by the Greeks ?

6. Was the Iliad the production of a single mind ?

7. Was the Odyssey produced by the author or authors of
the Iliad ?

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Preparatory Greek Course in English. 281

8. Is the Ilia:d a single poem having a true organic unity,
or is it an aggregation of separate poems ?

9. Was the Iliad at first committed to writing, or was it
composed mentally, and then orally passed on from memory
to memory ?

10. Was it Greece proper, or was it Greek Asia Minor,
that gave us the Iliad ?

II. To what enlightened Greek city do we owe the preser-
vation of the Homeric poems, in what may be called their
authorized form ?

12. What influence did the Homeric poems exert on the
intellectual, the moral, the religious, the social, and the polit-
ical life of Greece ?

13. What differences do you discern between the style and
matter of the Odyssey and those of the Iliad ?

14. If you should characterize Homer as either predomi-
nantly subjective, or predominantly objective, which would

it be?

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282 Preparatory Greek Course in English,

15. What lines of literary influence can you distinctly trace
descending from Homer through the Latin to the languages
of modem civilization ?

16. What space of time probably separated Xenophon
from Homer?

17. What diff'erences in type of civilization represented,
do you find between Homer and Xenophon ?

18. Judging from the works of Homer and Xenophon for
instance, how far would you say that the culture of the indi-
vidual mind is dependent on the general atmosphere of intel-
lectual development surrounding?

19. Judging in the same way, how far would you say that
moral and intellectual culture for the individual man, depends
on conditions of material progress, on the part of society at
large, that is, advance in the arts and sciences that give mas-
tery over the powers of nature ?

20. What points of resemblance or of contrast do you
perceive between the method and style of Xenophon's Anab-
asis and those of say Caesar's Commentaries, Kinglake's
Crimea ?

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Preparatory Greek Course in English. 283

21. What state of public mind as toward the religion of
Olympian polytheism is indicated by the appearance and
popular currency of a writer like Lucian ?

22. What periods in the history of Greek literature may
justly and conveniently be reckoned?

23. What relation may be observed between the literatures
of the different periods, and the political condition of Greece
during those periods ?

24. What famous philosopher of Greece illustrates the
influence that a master mind, without itself producing litera-
ture, may exert upon literary production ?

25. What are the chief distinctive traits of the national
mind of Greece, as exhibited in Greek literature ?

26. To what extent is it best that the study of Greek
should, in our schemes of higher education, give way to the
study of the physical sciences ?

27. Which is more valuable, the discipline of mind ob-
tained through studying Greek, or the addition so secured to
our material of knowledge?

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284 Preparatory Greek Course in English,

28. In what structural respects does the Greek language
differ from our own ?

29. What fundamental differences do you recognize be-
tween Latin literature and Greek ?

30. What influence have Greek literary models exerted
upon style in English composition ?

31. How came Greek to be the language of the New Tes-
tament ?

32. What personal influence was most powerful in bringing
about the wide diffusion of the Greek language tha:t subsisted
at the time of Christ's advent?

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Preparatory Greek Course in English^

*8S

HOW TO PRONOUNCE GREEK.

[The publishers of the present volume acknowledge,
with thanks, the liberality of Messrs. D. Appleton & Co.,
in permitting to be reproduced here several pages of
matter from their copyright publication, Harkness's
" First Greek Book."]

GREEK ALPHABET.

Form.

Sound.

Name.

Alpha

Beta

ff hard

Gamma

Delta

€

e short

Epsllon

Zota

e long

Eta

Tlieta

Jota

Kappa *

Lambda

Mil

Nil

6 short

Omicron

Eho

a- (9 J^ial)

Sigma

Tan

Upsilon
Pfii

Chi

*•

Psi

6 long

Omega.

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286 Preparatory Greek Course in English,

What we avail ourselves of the privilege of trans-
ferring to our work from Professor Harkness's excellent
manual, will be found, within very brief compass, to
contain, lucidly conveyed, all the information that is
necessary to our readers on the subject of Greek pro-
nunciation.

We need only premise the important remark that
every separate vowel or diphthong in a word, whether
of Latin or of Greek, creates a syllable. There are no
silent vowels in either of these languages. With the
various accent and breathing marks on Greek words,
our readers do not need to concern themselves.

Of Greek pronunciation, then. Professor Harkness
says:

There are no less than three distinct methods
recognized by classical scholars in the pronunciation
of Greek, generally known as the Englishy the Mod-
em Greek^ and the Erasmian; the first prevailing
in England and in this country, the second in Greece,
and the third in other parts of the continent of Eu-
rope. We subjoin a brief outline of each, leaving the
instructor to make his own selection.

I. THE ENGLISH METHOD.

1. Sounds of the Vowels.

The vowels, 17, o), and v, always have the long
English sounds of ^, o^ and u^ as heard in metey tubcy
notCy e. g. firiVy vvv, tcop.

The vowels, e . and 0, have the short English

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Preparatory Greek Course in English. 287

Bounds of 6 and in met^ not; e.g. eV, rov\ except
when they stand before another vowel or at the
end of a word, in which positions they are length-
ened.

The vowels, a and i, are pronounced like a
and i in Latin, sometimes with the long English
Bounds, as in made\ pine^ and sometimes with the
short sounds, as in mad^ pi/n. In words of more
than one syllable, however, final a has the sound of
final a in America.

2. Sounds of the Diphthongs.

at like ai in aisle y e. g. aip<o.

€t ei height; e.g. €^9.

ov oi coin ; c. g. rolv,

av au author / e. g. vats.

€u and r)v eu neuter / e. g. TrXeuo-cD.
ov ou noun / e. g. vovv.

VI ui quire / e. g. fjuvla,

Tlie improper diphthongs, a, 17, and ^, are ffto-
nounced precisely like a, ^, arid g).

3. Sounds of the Consonants,

Tlie consonants are pronounced nearly as in
English ; 7, however, is always hard, like g in go^ ex-
cept before k, 7, ;^, and f, where it has the sound of n^
in siiig^ as ayj€\o<i, pronounced anggelos ; ^ has the
sound of th in thin ; a and t never liave tlie sound
oish like s and ^ in Latin and English : thus ^Aaia is
not pronounced Ashia^ but with the ordinary sound
of s ; KpiTUL<i is not i)ronounced Krishias^ but with
tho ordinary sound of L

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288 Preparatory Greek Course in English,

II. THE EBASMIAK METHOD.

1. Sounds of the Vowels.

Tlie vowels 6, o, u, and ©, have nearly tlie same
eoands as in the English Method : the other voweb
are pronounced tis follows :

a like a \\\ father ; e. g. iranjp.

71 a in made / e. g. irarrip.

I e in me ; e. g. larrffic

2. Sounds of the Diphthongs.

Tlie diphthongs have nearly the same sounds
as in the English Method, with the following excep-
tions :

av like {?t^ in house ; e. g. vav<i.

ov 00 in noon / e. g. vovv.

i/t we in pronoun we y e. g. fivca.

3. Sounds of the Coiisonants.

The pronunciation of the consonants is nearly
the same as in the English Method.

1. Sounds of the Vowels.

a like a in father ; e.g. Trarrip.
€ e there ; e.g. ^epe.

7j, L, V e m,e / e. g. irriyvvp.L.

o, CO note J Q. g. i^wto?.

• For the Modern Greek Pronunciation the author is indebted to
the kindness of Rev. R. F. Duel, late missionary to Greece and long
resident in Athens.

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Preparatory Greek Course in EvfrJish. 289

2. Sounds of the Diphthongs.

iu like e in there; e.g. <f)ep€T(u.

€1, 01, VI e me / e. g. fieiol, fxvZa,

ov 00 noon / e. g. vovv.

a, 97, ^ precisely like the single vowels a, 17, o.
Tlie diphtiiongs av, ev, r^v, before a vowel, di})li
thong, liqnid, or ^, 7, S, f, have the rounds of av, rr,
ev in average^ every ^ even : e. g. avXof;, evBov, tjvBov.
In other situations they have the sounds of of, ef eef
iu afier^ ^ffort^ reef: e. g. av^to, rjv^rjaa,

3. Sounds of the Consonants,

fi has the sound of the English v: e. g.
/9a(r(9.

7 has no exact representative in English ; it has a
sound intermediate between that of ^ hard and y, and
is approximately expressed by g in again : e. g. 761/09,
yepa^. Before k, 7, ;^, and f, it has the sound oi'ng in
stTig : e. g. dyye\o<;, pronounced anggelos.

S has the sound of th in ^A^m.

.& has the sound of th in think.

V has generally the sound of ti in English ; in the
article, however, it has before k the sound of ng: as
rrjv K€<f)a\'qv ; and before ir that of m, as t^i/ itoKlv.

IT has generally the sound of jk>, but after v of the
article and fi it has that of J ; e. g. afiireko^;, rrjp ttoKlv.

T has generally the sound of t^ but after v in the
middle of a word and after v of the article it is pro-
nounced like d: e.g. Travra, ttjv TLfn]P.

;^ has no equivalent in English, but is like the
German ch. It may be approximately described as
intermediate between the sounds of h and k in /le and

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290 Preparatory Greek Course in Erg/irh,

Tlie Oilier consonants are pronounced nearly as in
the English Method.

In pronunciation quantity is disregarded, the
rough breathing is not heard, and the written maik
determines the spoken accent,

Marks of Punctuation.

Comma ^

Colon

Period .---.,

Interrogation-mark " " " j

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Preparatory Greek Course in English, 291

INTERLINEAR READINGS IN THE ANABASIS.

BOOK I.— CHAPTER I.

Aapeiov kol UapvaaTiSo^ yiyvovrat 6vo TralSeg, npeadvrepn^
Of Darius and Parysatia are-born two sous, (the) elder

fjLEV ^Apra^ep^Tjg, 6e VE(x>Tepog Kvpog. *Enel 61: dapeloq

(indeed) Artaxerxes, {but) (the) younger Cyrus. After — Dllrlu^4

ilfjMvei Kol vTTWTrreve reXevrriv tov pioVy tdnvXero rio
was-sick, and suspected (the) end {of-t/ie) (his) life, he-dctiU'ed {t/it)

dfi(t>OTep<D TTolde napelvai, 'O npefjdvTepog fitv

both (his) sons to-be-present (with him.) The elder indeed

ovv irvyxfive irapiidv' de fieraTTtfj-TTerai*

{fJiet'e/ore) happened | .{heing-present) (to be present;) but ho-sends-for

Kvpov OTTO T^c" ^PX^^f ^r Inoiriae avrov aaTpaTrrjv

Cyrus from the government, of- which » he (had) »made him satmp

KOI dneSei^e avrbv 6e orpaTTf/bv ttclvtcjv^.

and » he (had) * appointed him also commander of-all (the forces,)

Saoi a&poi^ovT(u elg Tredtov KaaT<M)h)v. 'O Kvfwg

as-many -as muster in (the) plain of-Castolus. -^ Cyrua

OVV dvaJbaivei ka6G)v Ti(Tacuf>epv7jv oyg

therefore goes-up (to his father) having-takeu (with him) Tissapherncs as (a)

' 0iAov, Kal dvitri £%a)v 6^ rpiaicoalovg dnXlTog

friend, and he-went- up havinjy also (with him) three- hundred heavy-armed-men

Tc5v 'EAAt/vwv, dpxovra de avrCjv Aevlav Happdmov,

of-the Greeks, (and) (the) oommander abo cf-them Xenias (the) Parrha^ian.

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292 Preparatory Greek Course in English.

'Errei Sk ^apeXo^ tTeXevrrjce, Kai ^Apra^fip^^ KareoTrj etg
After — Darius died, and Artaxerxes wa8-establi«hcd in

TTjv PamXeiaVy TiaaatpEpvijg diaddXkei rov Kvpov Trpbg rbv

tho kingdom, Tu*sapherne» calumniates — Cyrus to (the) (his*)

dSehfyov^ wC t'mdovXevoi avrC), 'O

brollicr, as-hovv-that he-might-l)e-plotting against-iiira. — (Artaxerxes;

6e nelderai. re Kal ovXXa^JiMvu Kvpov (5^ dnofcrevcjv'
indeed believes (this) and also he-arrests Cyrus | aa-if about-killing;

[with the intention of putting him to death ;] but (the) (his) molher

t ^aiTrjacLfjihfi] avrhv^ dnoTTtfiirei

liu\ ing-entreated-for-her-own-sakc (pardon for) him sends (him)

rrd?uv tnl rrfv dpxi^v, 'O (T cjg dTTTjXSe^

back to — (his) government. — But when he-departed, (after)

'Kcvdvvevaag Kai drifjiaadetg^ povXeverai ottcj^ firJTTore

huviug-been-in-danger and disgraced, he-deliberates how » he-shair never

tarai tri t-rri tgj dcJcA^w, dXk* rjv dvvqrai.

» be hcivafter (dependent) on — (his) brother, but if he-could

PaaiXevaei dvr' ^Keivov, Uapvaarig fiev 67} 1} fxrjrTjp vnrjpxT}
he-would-reign instead of-him. Parysatis indeed — the mother went-for

T6J Ki'pcj, <piXovaa avrov iicLXaov ^ rov (icunXevovTa 'Apra^ip^v,
— Cyrus, loving him more than the reigning Artaxerxes.

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Preparatory Greek Course in English,

293

GREEK IN ENGLISH.

List of words in Greek from which English words have
been derived :

Greek.

Engltsh.

Copr.

fiETQOv, measure

metre.

d€p/j,og, heat

thermo-meter.

3apv^^ heavy

baro-meter.

dvefxog, (Lat., animus, ani-

ma) wind

anemo-meter.

yrj, earth

ge-o-metry.

/toyo^*, speech

logic.

^tdq, God

theo-logy.
ge-o-logy.

TVTTo^, stamp

type.

f(kLOf;, sun

helio-type.

^C, <^^ro<;^ light

photo-type.

<l>sQG)y (Lat., fero) dear

ferry,
phos-phorus.

ypd<^a), 7vritt

graphic.

ge-o-graphy.

photo-graph.

dgtdnog, number

arithmetic.

fiovaa, muse

music.

ndhg, city, state

polite, politics.

TQvoq^ tone

fiovog, atom

mono-tone.

dyyekog, messenger

angel.

Ev-ayyeXcov, good message

ev-angelic.

KVKXog, circle

cycle.

13*

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294 Pretaratory Greek Course in English,

PRACTICE.

COPY THE FOLLOWING GREEK SENTENCES:

I am the bread of [the] life ; the-one coming to mo,
ov fiTj neivda^.—John 6. 85.
not not Bhall-hunger.

I am tlie bread of life ; he that cometh to me shall never hunger.

Xp^ ^eivov napeovra <f>tXeXv^ l^eXovra 6^

It-is-meet a-guest staying to love, wishing [to bo sped J on-the-other-hand
TTEpineiV,— Odyssey, xv, 70.
to-speed.

Welcome the coming, speed the parting guest. — Pope,

Love well the tarrying guest, and speed him fain to go. — Worslsy,

M/a yap ;^;eA4(5wv lap ov noiel.— Aristotle.
One for swallow a-spring not miikes.
For one swallow does not make a spring.

t) yap PovXeraiy tov^^ efcaarog Kat oterai.—Demostkmei,
What for he-wishes, this each also believes.
For what he wishes, this each one also believes.

^ELval yap at yvvaiKeq evpiaiceiv TEXvaq.—EaHpides.
Clever for [the] women to-find devices.
For women are clever in finding devices.

''Ov ol -Beoi <t>iXovaiv^ dno&v'qaicei veoq.—Menanier.
Whom the gods love, dies youtig.

He whom the gods love, dies young.

'Aduvarov ovv noXXd rexvcjfievov av^pomov ndvra
Impossible therefore many-thlnga practicing-arts a-man all

teaXo}^ TTOiELV. — JCefwphon.
Well to-do.

It is impossible for a man who practices many arts to do them all well.

Bpaxvg 6 ftiog, i) 6t texvtj fmKpd^

Short [thej life, [the] on-the-other-hand art long.
Art is long, and Time u iliieting. — Loncf/dlo-w.

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vc ^^—

924247

THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA UBRARY

^ YC^9778^^^H

924247 ^^H

THE IfNIVERSil'Y OF CALIFORNIA UBRARY ^^^^^^|

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