NORTH.
I do.
Ιδομενεὑ, φερι μἑν σε θιω Δαναὡν ταχυφωλων,
ἡμἑν ἑνἱ πτολἑμω ἡδ' ἁλλοἱω ἑφι ἑργω,
ηδ' ἑν δαἱθ', ὁτε φερ τε γεροὑσιον αἱθοπα οἱνον
'Αργεἱων οἱ ἁριστοι ἑνἱ κρηθηρσι κἑρωνται.
εἱπερ γἁρ τ' ἁλλοι γε καρηκομὁωντες 'Αχαιοἱ
δαιτῥον φινωσιν, σὁν δἑ πλεἱον δἑπας αἱεἱ
ἑστηχ', ὡσπερ ἑμοἱ, πιἑειν, ὁτε θυμὁς ἁνὡγοι.
ἁλλ' ὁρσευ φολεμὁνδ', οἱος φαρος εὑχεο εἱναι.P/
I believe you will find that in general men praise more truly, that is
justly, deservedly, than they condemn. They praise from an impulse of love—that
is, from a capacity. Nature protects love more than hate. Their condemnation
is often mere incapacity—want of insight. Mr Alison had elegance
of apprehension—truth of taste—a fine sense of the beautiful—a sense of the
sublime. His instances for praise are always well—often newly chosen, from
an attraction felt in his own genial and noble breast. The true chord struck
then. But he was somewhat too dainty-schooled—school-nursed, and school-born.
A judge and critic of Poetry should have been caught wild, and tamed;
he should carry about him to the last some relish of the wood and the
wilderness, as if he were ever in some danger of breaking away, and relapsing
to them. He should know Poetry as a great power of the Universe—a sun—of
which the Song—whosesoever—only catches and fixes a few rays. How
different in thought was Epos to him and to Homer! Homer paints Manners—archaic,
simple manners. Everybody feels—everybody says this—Mr
Alison must have known it—and could have said it as well as the best—
SEWARD.
But the best often forget it. They seem to hold to this knowledge better
now, Mr North; and they do not make Homer answerable as a Poet, for the
facts of which he is the Historian—Why not rather accept than criticise?
NORTH.
I am sorry, Seward, for the Achæan Chiefs who had to drink δαιτρον—that is
all. I had hoped that they helped themselves.
SEWARD.
Perhaps, sir, the Stint was a custom of only the οινον γερουσιον—a ceremonious
Bowl—and if so, undoubtedly with religious institution. The Feast is not
honorary—only the Bowl: for anything that appears, Agamemnon, feasting his
Princes, might say, "Now, for the Bowl of Honour"—and Idomeneus alone
drinks. Or let the whole Feast be honorific, and the Bowl the sealing, and
crowning, and characterising solemnity. Now, the distinction of the Stint, and
the Full Bowl, selected for a signal of different honouring, has to me no
longer anything irksome. It is no longer a grudged and scanted cheer—but
lawful Assignment of Place.