"He spake: Achilles sorrowfully thought
Of his own father. By the hand he took
The suppliant, and with gentle force removed
The old man from him. Both, in memory

Of those they loved, were weeping. The old king,
With many tears, and rolling in the dust
Before Achilles, mourned his gallant son.
Achilles sorrowed for his father's sake,

And then bewailed Patroclus, and the sound
Of lamentation filled the tent."

Without making any comment, we transcribe the same passage, as rendered by Cowper :

"Think, O Achilles, semblance of the gods,
On thine own father, full of days like me,
And trembling on the gloomy verge of life.
Some neighbor chief, it may be, even now
Oppresses him, and there is none at hand,
No friend to succor him in his distress.
Yet, doubtless, hearing that Achilles lives,
He still rejoices, hoping day by day,
That one day he shall see the face again
Of his own son, from distant Troy returned.
But me no comfort cheers, whose bravest sons
So late the flowers of Ilium, are all slain.
When Greece came hither I had fifty sons;
But fiery Mars hath thinned them. One I had,
One, more than all my sons, the strength of Troy,
Whom, standing for his country, thou hast slain-
Hector. His body to redeem I come

Into Achaia's fleet, bringing myself,

Ransom inestimable to thy tent.

Rev'rence the gods, Achilles! recollect

Thy father; for his sake compassion show
To me, more pitiable still, who draw

Home to my lips (humiliation yet

Unseen on earth) his hand who slew my son!"

So saying, he waken'd in his soul regret

Of his own sire; softly he placed his hand
On Priam's head, and pushed him gently away.
Remembrance melted both. Rolling before
Achilles' feet, Priam his son deplored,

Wide-slaughtering Hector, and Achilles wept
By turns his father and by turns his friend
Patroclus: sounds of sorrow filled the tent."

-Ib., xxiv.

The reader has now an opportunity of judging for himself of the comparative merits or demerits as translators of two genuine poets also another opportunity of determining how much justice there is in describing the hero of the Iliad as a "ferocious barbarian, at best." The only additional remark we will make is, that Cowper evinces a much closer familiarity with the original than Bryant, while the American poet proves himself at least the equal of the English poet in his thorough acquaintance with the resources and graphic power of the vernacular. There is no better test-passage than the celebrated appeal of Andromache to Hector at the Scaan gate. The following is Mr. Bryant's version:

"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.

And no dear mother.

Father have I none,

Great Achilles slew

My father when he sacked the populous town
Of the Cilicians,-Thebé with high gates.

'Twas there he smote Eëton, yet forbore

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 Ægis-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 Placos, 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 Ajaces and the famed Idomeneus,

The two chiefs born to Atreus, and the brave
Tydides, whether counselled by some seer

Or prompted to the attempt by their own minds."

B. vi, 526–563.

Every reader of this journal is familiar with Pope's rendering of the same appeal, yet none will object to its being placed here beside Mr. Bryant's version:

"Too daring prince! ah, whither dost thou run?

Ah, too forgetful of thy wife and son!

And think'st thou not how wretched we shall be,
A widow I, a helpless orphan he!

For sure such courage length of life denies,
And thou must fall, thy virtue's sacrifice.
Greece in her single heroes strove in vain;
Now hosts oppose thee and thou must be slain!
Oh grant me, gods! ere Hector meets his doom,
All I can ask of heaven, an early tomb!
So shall my days in one sad tenor run,
And end with sorrows as they first begun.
No parent now remains my griefs to share,
No father's aid, no mother's tender care.
The fierce Achilles wrapp'd our walls in fire,
Laid Thebé waste and slew my warlike sire!
By the same arm my seven brave brothers fell;
In one sad day beheld the gates of hell.
My mother lived to bear the victor's bands,
The queen of Hippoclacia's sylvan lands.

Yet, while my Hector still survives, I see
My father, mother, brethren, all in thee:

1

Alas! my parents, brothers, kindred all
Once more will perish if my Hector fall.
Thy wife, thy infant, in thy danger share:
Oh, prove a husband's and a father's care!
That quarter most the skilful Greeks annoy,
Where yon wild fig-trees join the walls of Troy ;
Thou from this tower defend the important post;
There Agamemnon points his dreadful host,
That pass Tydides, Ajax, strive to gain,
And there the vengeful Spartan fires his train.
Thrice our bold foes the fierce attack have given,

Or led by hopes or dictated from heaven.
Let others in the field their arms employ,

But stay my Hector here and guard his Troy."

Because Pope's is the most elegant and most poetical of all the English versions of the Iliad, it has always been the fashion with those who must find fault to regard it as the least faithful to the original. It is true that Pope is less literal in his rendering than almost any other translator of Homer; but it is equally true that, in general, and especially in the most beautiful passages, no translator infuses into his version more of the sublime spirit of the original. Whether Mr. Bryant is a better or a worse interpreter of the tender solicitude and sad forebodings of the model wife and mother than Pope, we leave the intelligent reader to judge for himself, merely remarking, as we pass on to the Odyssey, that in no other passage are the faults and beauties of the American translator more conspicuous than in that just given.

The space we have now left for the conclusion of this article is so brief that we would entirely pass over Mr. Bryant's Odyssey, had we not promised, eight months ago, that, should we find it a better version than his Iliad, it would afford us pleasure to bear testimony to the fact as soon as possible. We made this remark because we thought we observed considerable improvement in the two or three last books of the Iliad. This awakened in us certain expectations in regard to the Odyssey, and most cheerfully do we admit that those expect

ations have been realized to a considerable extent, if not wholly.

In his Odyssey Mr. Bryant is less literal than in his Iliad, but decidedly more faithful to the spirit of the original. To many this may seem a contradiction; however, it is strictly true. If we had sufficient space, we could easily illustrate the fact, and we may do ourselves that pleasure on a future occasion. But the best we can do to-day is to transcribe a passage or two from the Odyssey, so that the reader may compare them with those from the Iliad, already given. We have another criticism or two to make, however, before we take our leave; and, as we prefer to close with the language of approbation, rather than that of censure, we must remark here that Mr. Bryant's Odyssey is by no means free from the amusing class of blunders, some of which we have pointed out in his Iliad.

In the former, as well as in the latter, he is rather fond of bestowing titles, and paying compliments, which are not in Homer. It is true that his liberality in this respect is evinced, chiefly, toward the goddesses, and generally toward the prettiest. Longinus says that there is such a thing as poetical gallantry, as well as poetical justice; but that honest and admirable critic adds, that the former can exist only in a spurious form without the latter. If this be true, we fear that the gallantry of Mr. Bryant toward such goddesses as Calypso and Circé is not of the genuine stamp. It is generally admitted that none of the Homeric goddesses were above suspicion as to their virtue. Some of them, however, had a much better character than their divine sisters; and, perhaps, we should not find fault with Mr. Bryant for styling the more modest, or rather, the less immodest class, "virgins." At all events, we would not do so were it not that he stretches his courtesy, in this respect, a little too often. We cannot make room for more than an example or two. We only proceed to the fourteenth line of the first book of the Odyssey, when we find the following: