But the gate-posts yield beneath him;
Now he climbs the fir-tree branches
That he may enjoy and wonder,
Climbs and listens to the music
Of the harp of Wainamoinen.
Tapiola's wisest senior,
Metsola's most noble landlord,
And of Tapio, the people,

Young and aged, men and maidens,
Flew like red-deer up the mountains
There to listen to the playing,
To the harp of Wainamoinen.
Tapiola's wisest mistress,
Hostess of the glen and forest,
Robed herself in blue and scarlet,
Bound her limbs with silken ribbons,
Sat upon the woodland summit,
On the branches of a birch-tree,
There to listen to the playing,
To the high-born hero's harping,
To the songs of Wainamoinen.

All the birds that fly in mid-air
Fell like snow-flakes from the heavens,
Flew to hear the minstrel's playing,
Hear the harp of Wainamoinen.
Eagles in their lofty eyrie

Heard the songs of the enchanter;

Swift they left their unfledged young ones, Flew and perched around the minstrel. From the heights the hawks descended, From the clouds down swooped the falcon,

Ducks arose from inland waters,

Swans came gliding from the marshes;
Tiny finches, green and golden,

Flew in flocks that darkened sunlight,

Came in myriads to listen,

Perched upon the head and shoulders
Of the charming Wainamoinen,
Sweetly singing to the playing
Of the ancient bard and minstrel.
And the daughters of the welkin,
Nature's well-beloved daughters,
Listened all in rapt attention;
Some were seated on the rainbow,
Some upon the crimson cloudlets,
Some upon the dome of heaven.

In their hands the Moon's fair daughters

Held their weaving-combs of silver;

In their hands the Sun's sweet maidens

Grasped the handles of their distaffs,

Weaving with their golden shuttles,
Spinning from their silver spindles,
On the red rims of the cloudlets,
On the bow of many colors.
As they hear the minstrel playing,
Hear the harp of Wainamoinen,
Quick they drop their combs of silver,
Drop the spindles from their fingers,
And the golden threads are broken,
Broken are the threads of silver.
All the fish in Suomi-waters
Heard the songs of the magician,
Came on flying fins to listen
To the harp of Wainamoinen.

Came the trout with graceful motions,
Water-dogs with awkward movements,
From the water-cliffs the salmon,
From the sea-caves came the whiting,
From the deeper caves the bill-fish;
Came the pike from beds of sea-fern,
Little fish with eyes of scarlet,
Leaning on the reeds and rushes,
With their heads above the surface;
Came to hear the harp of joyance,
Hear the songs of the enchanter.
Ahto, king of all the waters,
Ancient king with beard of sea-grass,
Raised his head above the billows,
In a boat of water-lilies,

Glided to the coast in silence,
Listened to the wondrous singing,
To the harp of Wainamoinen.
These the words the sea-king uttered:
"Never have I heard such playing,
Never heard such strains of music,
Never since the sea was fashioned,
As the songs of this enchanter,
This sweet singer, Wainamoinen."
Satko's daughters from the blue-deep,
Sisters of the wave-washed ledges,
On the colored strands were sitting,
Smoothing out their sea-green tresses
With the combs of molten silver,
With their silver-handled brushes,
Brushes forged with golden bristles.
When they hear the magic playing,
Hear the harp of Wainamoinen,
Fall their brushes on the billows,
Fall their combs with silver handles

To the bottom of the waters,

Unadorned their heads remaining,
And uncombed their sea-green tresses.
Came the hostess of the waters,
Ancient hostess robed in flowers,
Rising from her deep sea-castle,
Swimming to the shore in wonder,
Listened to the minstrel's playing,
To the harp of Wainamoinen.
As the magic tones re-echoed,
As the singer's song outcircled,
Sank the hostess into slumber,
On the rocks of many colors,
On her watery couch of joyance,
Deep the sleep that settled o'er her.
Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,
Played one day and then a second,
Played the third from morn to even.
There was neither man nor hero,
Neither ancient dame nor maiden,
Not in Metsola a daughter,

Whom he did not touch to weeping;
Wept the young and wept the aged,
Wept the mothers, wept the daughters,
At the music of his playing,

At the songs of the magician.

Crawford's Translation, Runes XL.-XLI.

THE

THE ENEID.

HE Æneid was written by Publius Vergilius Maro, commonly known as Vergil, who was born at Andes, near Mantua, Oct. 15, 70 B. c., and died at Brundusium, Sept. 22, 19 B. C.

He was educated at Cremona, Milan, Naples, and Rome. When the lands near Cremona and Mantua were assigned by Octavianus to his soldiers after the battle of Philippi, Vergil lost his estates; but they were afterwards restored to him through Asinius Pollio.

He became a favorite of Augustus, and spent part of his time in Rome, near his patron, Mæcenas, the emperor's minister.

Vergil's first work was the Bucolics, in imitation of Theocritus. His second work, the Georgics, treats of husbandry. The Æneid relates the adventures of Æneas, the legendary ancestor of the Romans.

The Æneid is in twelve books, of which the first six describe the wanderings of Æneas, and the last six his wars in Italy. Its metre is the dactyllic hexameter.

Vergil worked for eleven years on the poem, and considered it incomplete at his death.

The Eneid tells the story of the flight of Æneas from burning Troy to Italy, and makes him an ancestor of the Romans. With the story of his wanderings are interwoven praises of the Cæsars and the glory of Rome.

It is claimed that because Vergil was essentially a poet of rural life, he was especially fitted to be the national poet, since the Roman life was founded on the agricultural country life. He also chose a theme which particularly appealed to the patriotism of the Romans. For this reason, the poem

was immediately received into popular favor, and was made a text-book of the Roman youths.

It is often said of Vergil by way of reproach, that his work was an imitation of Homer, and the first six books of the Æneid are compared to the Odyssey, the last six to the Iliad. But while Vergil may be accused of imitation of subject matter, his style is his own, and is entirely different from that of Homer. There is a tender grace in the Roman writer which the Greek does not possess. Vergil also lacks that purely pagan enjoyment of life; in its place there is a tender melancholy that suggests the passing of the golden age. This difference of treatment, this added grace and charm, which are always mentioned as peculiarly Vergil's own, united with his poetical feeling, and skill in versification, are sufficient to absolve him from the reproach of a mere imitator.

The Æneid was greatly admired and imitated during the Middle Ages, and still retains its high place in literature.

BIBLIOGRAPHY AND CRITICISM, THE ÆNEID. R. W. Brown's History of Roman Classical Literature, n. d., pp. 257-265; John Alfred Church's Story of the Æneid, 1886; Domenico Comparetti's Virgil in the Middle Ages, Tr. by Benecke, 1895; C. T. Cruttwell's Virgil (see his History of Roman Literature, n. d. pp. 252-375); John Davis's Observations on the poems of Homer and Virgil, out of the French, 1672; James Henry's Æneidea: or Critical, Exegetical, and Esthetical Remarks on the Æneis, 1873; James Henry's Notes of Twelve Years' Voyage of Discovery in the first six Books of the Æneid, 1853; J. W. Mackail's Virgil (see his Latin Literature, 1895, pp. 91-106); H. Nettleship's The Eneid (see his Vergil, 1880, pp. 45-74); H. T. Peck and R. Arrowsmith's Roman Life in Latin Prose and Verse, 1894, pp. 68-70; Leonhard Schmitz's History of Latin Literature, 1877, pp. 106-108; W. Y. Sellar's Roman Poets of the Augustan Age, Vergil, Ed. 2, 1883; W. S. Teuffel's Æneis (see his History of Roman Literature, 1891, pp. 434-439); J. S. Tunison's Master Virgil, the author of