And of Asius, in the Thirteenth Book:
"He fell as falls an oak, or poplar tall,
Or lofty pine."
These passages are placed together as containing some of the poet's favorite and beautiful images, and as showing how happy the translator has been in rendering them with truthfulness to their natural grace.
Earl Derby is not less successful in reproducing the deep tenderness and moving pathos that form a conspicuous feature of the Iliad. We quote from the Sixth Book, from the affecting scene between Hector and Andromache; but, instead of Andromache's words, so well known through Pope's translation, we give the answer of the noble Hector, the hero of the Iliad, in which, with soul-felt tenderness, he seeks to console his desponding wife: [Footnote 280]
[Footnote 280: To illustrate what we mean by the directness, simplicity, and even rapid movement of Homer's verse, we cite here from a popular English poet an extract which, though not a parallel to the above, is somewhat kindred; it is the first at hand, and will serve our purpose.
"Trust me, whatever fate my soul may gall,
Thou at thy woman's choice shall ne'er repine.
Trust me, whatever storm on me may fall,
This man's true heart shall ward the bolt from thine.
Hark, where the bird from yon dark ilex breathes
Soul into night so be thy love to me;
Look, when around the bird the ilex wreathes
Still sheltering boughs, so be my love to thee!
O dweller in my heart! the music thine;
And the deep shelter—wilt thou scorn it? mine."
It will be observed, in reading these exquisite lines, how complex is the web of thought; how the artist, as it were, lingers to work into it embroidery of words and images borrowed from foreign objects. In Homer there is nothing but the natural artless flow of feeling; the even movement, as it springs from the soul, is not crossed by shadow or image from any other object, nor does it diverge this way or that to borrow of other sources in metaphor or comparison, tone, color, or pathos. The movement in Homer is natural, direct, even, rapid; and yet this natural, simple, deep gush of feeling presents to us a most truthful, touching, and expressive picture of a soul overwhelmed with tender love and sorrow commingled, but facing the stern task of duty.]
"Think not, dear wife, that by such thoughts as these 512
My heart has ne'er been wrung; but I should blush
To face the men and long-robed dames of Troy,
If, like a coward, I could shun the fight.
Nor could my soul the lessons of my youth
So far forget, whose boast it still has been
In the forefront of battle to be found,
Charged with my father's glory and mine own.
Yet in my inmost soul too well I know 520
The day must come when this our sacred Troy,
And Priam's race, and Priam's royal self,
Shall in one common ruin be o'erthrown.
But not the thoughts of Troy's impending fate,
Nor Hecuba's, nor royal Priam's woes, 525
Nor loss of brethren, numerous and brave,
By hostile hands laid prostrate in the dust,
So deeply wring my heart as thoughts of thee,
Thy days of freedom lost, and led away
A weeping captive by some brass-clad Greek. 530
Haply in Argos, at a mistress' beck,
Condemned to ply the loom, or water draw
From Hypereia's or Messais' fount.
Heart wrung, by stern necessity constrained,
Then they who see thy tears perchance may say, 535
'Lo! this was Hector's wife, who, when they fought
On plains of Troy, was Ilium's bravest chief!'
Thus may they speak, and thus thy grief renew
For loss of him who might have been thy shield
To rescue thee from slavery's bitter hour. 540
Oh! may I sleep in dust ere be condemned
To hear thy cries and see thee dragged away."
The opinion of Lord Derby's oratory, entertained on this side of the Atlantic, may tempt those who admire it to think that in this translation his splendid eloquence and vigorous language would have their fitting scope in depicting the scenes of camp and field, in transmitting, lifelike, those angry encounters in the councils of gods and men; but, that the most tender and delicate tones of human feeling are not alien to his speech, is amply proved by the lines we have quoted. The same deep chord of feeling is struck by the words and modulations of this beautiful passage that vibrates in the pathetic language and melody of the Ionian bard.
We add another of those magnificent incidents of the Iliad, where the struggle of warriors on the very brink of battle is so grandly described by the poet. In the Thirteenth Book, the Greeks, closely massed under the Ajaces,