acteristics of poetic expression. For example, the passage in which Achilles speaks of the "two urns, one of good, and another of ills, which stand in the hall of Zeus," Hobbes drolly renders,
"Two barrels in his cellar Jove has still
Of gifts to be bestowed on mortal wights."
The lines of which Chapman's version is cited above are thus rendered by the philosopher :
"Thus end the games. The Greeks dispersed are,
And every man returned to his tent,
And busie was his supper to prepare;
And after they had supped, to bed they went.
Achilles all the night slept not a wink,
But on Patroclus' worth and company,
And on their common sufferings, still did think,
And lay upon his bed unquietly.
And weeping, sometimes laid himself on this,
Sometimes on that side, sometimes on his face,
And sometimes on his back, and sometimes ris,
And walkt upon the shore from place to place;
And soon as ere he saw the morning come,
He Hector to his charret ti'd again
And dragg'd him thrice about Patroclus' tomb,
And then went in, and left him on the plain."
This sort of version did not satisfy the fastidious ears of good Queen Anne's generation. Let us see how Pope deals with the passage:
"Now from the finished games the Grecian band
Seek their black ships, and clear the crowded strand;
All stretched at ease the genial banquet share,
And pleasing slumbers quiet all their care.
Not so Achilles; he, to grief resigned,
His friend's dear image present to his mind,
Takes his sad couch, more unobserved to weep;
Nor tastes the gifts of all-composing sleep.
Restless he rolled around his weary bed,
And all his soul on his Patroclus fed;
The form so pleasing, and the heart so kind,
That youthful vigor, and that manly mind,
What toils they shared, what martial works they wrought,
What seas they measured, and what fields they fought,
All passed before him in remembrance dear;
Thought follows thought, and tear succeeds to tear;
And now supine, now prone, the hero lay,
Now shifts his side, impatient for the day;
Then starting up disconsolate he goes
Wide on the lonely beach to vent his woes.
There as the solitary mourner raves,
The ruddy morning rises o'er the waves;
Soon as it rose, his furious steeds he joined ;
The chariot flies, and Hector trails behind,
And thrice, Patroclus, round thy monument
Was Hector dragged, then hurried to the tent."
Cowper, in a less ambitious spirit, thus translates :
"The games all closed, the people went dispersed
Each to his ship; they mindful of repast,
And to enjoy repose; but other thoughts
Achilles' mind employed; he still deplored
With tears his loved Patroclus, nor the force
Felt of all-conquering sleep, but turned and turned
Restless from side to side, mourning the loss
Of such a friend, so manly and so brave;
Their fellowship in toil; their hardships oft
Sustained in fight laborious, or o'ercome
With difficulty on the perilous deep; -
Remembrance busily retracing themes
Like these drew down his cheeks continual tears;
Now on his side he lay, now lay supine,
Now prone; then starting from his couch he roamed
Forlorn the beach; nor did the rising morn
On seas and shores escape his watchful eye,
But, joining to his chariot his swift steeds,
He fastened Hector to be dragged behind;
Around the tomb of Menoitiades
Him thrice he dragged; then rested in his tent.”
Mr. Sotheby, previously known as the translator of Wieland's Oberon, attempted to combine in his version of the Iliad the fidelity of Cowper and the poetry of Pope. This translation, though careful and elaborate, is frequently stiff. The parallel passage in his Iliad runs as follows:
"The games now closed, the Grecians sought their tent,
And to their feast or soothing slumber went;
But not the power of all-subduing sleep
E'er closed Peleides' eye, who woke to weep.
He, inconsolable, untimely left,
Of all his heart most loved by death bereft,
Knew not repose, but, wearied out with woe,
Tost, ever-rolling, restless, to and fro;
And more and more, Patroclus' loss to mourn,
Recalled their various toils together borne,
What glorious battles fought, what victories gained,
And on the boundless deep what dangers both sustained.
Still recollecting these, he watched, he wept,
While his worn limbs no peaceful posture kept;
Now on his side, and now supine, now prone,
Now starting up, the wanderer strayed alone
Along the beach of the resounding shore,
Unheard the ocean's melancholy roar;
But not unmindful when the dawn of day
Stretched o'er the sea and shore its rising ray,
He back returned, and yoked his steeds of war,
And bound the Hectorean limbs behind his car;
Thrice dragged the corse Patroclus' tomb around,
Then sought his tent and cast him on the ground."
Now, as old Michael Drayton says to George Sandys, "Let's see what lines Virginia will produce."
Mr. Munford's version is:
"The games were finish'd; to their several ships
Dispersing went the multitude; and they
The banquet there and sweet repose enjoy'd;
But, comfortless, remembering still his friend,
Achilles wept. To sleep's all-ruling sway
He yielded not, but turn'd from side to side,
Regretting brave Patroclus' manly form
And martial spirit, now for ever flown.
Revolving pensively the toils and woes
He bore with him, in wars of heroes bold,
And voyages upon the stormy main,
A flood of tears he shed; this way and that,
Tossing incessantly, supine or prone,
Or on his sides alternately outstretch'd.
Then, starting up, with tortur'd heart he roam'd,
Disconsolate, the lonely sea-beat coast;
Nor fail'd to watch Aurora's earliest ray
Obscurely glimmering on the restless waves
And misty shores of ocean. Coupling then
His fiery coursers to the car, he dragg'd
The corse of Hector in its rear again;
And three times trailing it around the tomb
Of dead Patroclus, to his tent return'd."
We close this comparative survey by giving the corresponding hexameters from Blackwood.
"Now the assembly dissolv'd; and the multitude rose and disperst them,
Each making speed to the ships, for the needful refreshment of
Food and the sweetness of sleep; but alone in his tent was Achilles, Weeping the friend that he lov'd; nor could sleep, the subduer
Master his grief; but he turn'd him continually hither and thither, Thinking of all that was gracious and brave in departed Patroclus, And of the manifold days they two had been toilfully comrades, Both in the battles of men and the perilous tempests of ocean. Now on his side, and anon on his back, or with countenance downward,
Prone in his anguish he sank: then suddenly starting, he wander'd, Desolate, forth by the shore; till he noted the burst of the morning As on the waters it gleam'd, and the surf-beaten length of the sand-beach.
Instantly then did he harness his swift-footed horses, and corded Hector in the rear of the car, to be dragg'd at the wheels in dis
Thrice at the speed he encircled the tomb of the son of Mencetius, Ere he repos'd him again in his tent, and abandon'd the body, Flung on its face in the dust; but not unobserv'd of Apollo.'
Blackwood's Magazine, Vol. LIX., p. 260.
Our limits will not permit us to quote at length from Mr. Munford's translation. We can give only a few disjointed extracts, to show the ability with which he has accomplished his undertaking.
"Meanwhile the people throng'd, like humming tribes
Of swarming bees, when from a hollow rock
They pour incessantly, fresh numbers still
Succeeding without end, and restless fly
In clust'ring throngs among the flowers of spring;
Some here, some there, a countless multitude.
So then the numerous tribes from tents and ships
Pour'd thronging forth, along the winding shore
Of vast extent. Among them, Fame herself
Conspicuous flam'd, (Jove's messenger,) to march
Exciting all they crowding hurried on."
Tumultuous was the concourse; when they sat,
The ground beneath the mighty numbers groan'd,
And loud their clamor rose. Nine heralds there
Vociferous warn'd them, with commanding shouts,
To cease that uproar, and attentive hear
Their Jove-instructed kings. At length controll'd,
They kept their seats in peace, and all was hush'd."
"The mighty numbers mov'd
Like billows huge upon th' Icarian main,
When, rushing from the stormy clouds on high,
Assembled by their father Jove, the winds,
Eurus and Notus, heave the troubled deep.
As when the western blast, with rapid sway
Descending, sweeps a wide-spread field of corn,
Bending the yielding harvest, so the crowd
Immense commotion seiz'd! With joyful cries
All hurried to the ships: beneath their feet
Thick dust arose, and form'd a standing cloud.
They call'd each other speedily to seize
The ships, and launch them to the boundless main.
The work was soon commenced, and, from their keels
Imbedded, scoop'd the sand: shrill clamors reach'd
The lofty skies, of men returning home! "
"To the place of concourse they
From ships and tents returning rush'd with noise,
As when loud-sounding Ocean's stormy waves
Burst, roaring, on the wide reëchoing shore."
"Among them flew
Blue-eyed Minerva! On her powerful arm
The blazing Ægis, ever new and bright,
Precious, eternal! Round its ample verge
A hundred fringes shone, of heavenly gold,
Inimitably wrought: with mortals, each
Were worth a hecatomb. She, arm'd with this,
Flew swiftly through Achaia's host, to arms
Exciting all, and every Greek inspir'd
With valor, war unceasing to maintain.
More sweet to them the bloody contest seem'd
Than e'en rejoicing in their hollow ships
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