THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 LITERATURE, 
 
 ANCIENT AND MODERN. 
 
 
 ^'%'^- 
 
 BOSTON: 
 C.II. I'EIRCE AND G.C.llAND,
 
 LITERATURE, 
 
 ANCIENT AND MODERN, 
 
 s P E c I M fc: N s . 
 
 ISy THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 PETER PARLEY'S TALES. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY RANI) AND MANN, 
 
 No. 3 Comhill. 
 
 1 84 «>.
 
 PRESS OF GEOllGE C. RAND &■ CO. 
 
 .i^^- 
 
 ■Tl^i^
 
 PREFACE 
 
 Literature consists of the Written Tiioughts 
 of Man, and national literature is the Reflection 
 of the National Mind. In its collective meaning, 
 literature embraces the accumulated knowledge of 
 the world — all we know of the past, all that can 
 give interpretation of the present, or shed light 
 upon the future. It is the great fountain of in- 
 struction ; the wide ocean of human expe- 
 rience ; made up, drop by drop, of the knowledge 
 and the ignorance — the hopes and fears — the 
 pleasures and sufferings — the triumphs and de- 
 feats — of by-gone generations. 
 
 In the compass of these few and humble 
 pages, it would be idle to attempt to do more 
 than to present the general characteristics of the 
 literature of the most intellectual nations of an- 
 cient and modern times ; and even this might,
 
 perhaps, seem a task beyond the scdpe of the 
 present volume. It is believed, however, that 
 the work may be useful as a guide to youthful 
 readers, in forming an estimate of the literary 
 productions of diiVercnt nations and ages, and 
 that it may also serve to refresh the recollection, 
 and methodize the views, of those who have 
 before gone over the same topics, as found scat- 
 tered in various publications.
 
 C O N T E N r S . 
 
 PiC 
 
 IXTRODCCTIO.V, ,......• 
 
 Materials for Writing, ...... 8 
 
 Paper-making, . ...... 1) 
 
 Papyrus, 9 
 
 Parchment, ........ 11 
 
 Ancient Lil)rarios, ...... 12 
 
 Ancient Manuscripts, ...... 13 
 
 Invention of I'rinting, 14 
 
 Modern Libraries, ...... 15 
 
 Modern Literature, ...... 17 
 
 Emolument of Autiiors, ancient and modern, . Id 
 
 Examples of literary Success in modern Times, . 32 
 
 LiTEKARV Character ok the Bible, ... 33 
 
 Literature of Greece, ...... 52 
 
 Roman Literature, ....... 86 
 
 Chinese Literature, lOJ: 
 
 Literature of the Arabians, .... 124 
 
 Persian Literature, 145 
 
 . J 
 
 1*
 
 6 CONTENTS. 
 
 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 LiTERATUKE Ol' TIIK TCUKS, 
 
 . 158 
 
 Italian Literature, .... 
 
 . 164 
 
 Spanish Literature, .... 
 
 . 182 
 
 Portuguese Literature, 
 
 . 201 
 
 French Literature, .... 
 
 . 210 
 
 Slavonian Literature, 
 
 . 233 
 
 Scandinavian Literature, 
 
 . 247 
 
 German Literature, .... 
 
 . 264 
 
 Literature of Holland, 
 
 . 290 
 
 English Literature, .... 
 
 . 299 
 
 Irish Literature, 
 
 . 323 
 
 American Literature, .... 
 
 . 334 
 
 1 1 
 
 i 
 
 
 \ 

 
 LITERATUEE. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Literature, in its widest sense, embraces the learn- 
 ing of mankind, as imbodied in books. It grows out 
 of the art of composition, in the forms of prose and 
 verse, adopted by authors. Narration and argument 
 are usually written in prose : metre, and the regular 
 succession of long and short syllables, with or without 
 rhyme, are the usual forms of poetry. 
 
 Books arc the productions of men of letters ; and 
 collections of them, called libraries, are the great de- 
 positories of human learning. The five books of Moses 
 are, doubtless, the oldest now extant ; and nothing of 
 secular literature, anterior to Homer, at present re- 
 mains. It is remarkable that the two most ancient 
 works, sacred and profane, should be the Pentateuch 
 and the Iliad — the one being part of a divine revela- 
 tion, and the other among the greatest achievements 
 of human genius. 
 
 The, first Greek writers were Homer and Ilesioo, 
 about 1000 B. C ; Tyrlteus and Archilochus, in 700 ; 
 and Alcajus, Sappho, and Anacreon, in 600. The first 
 Latin writers were Plautus, Ennius, and Terentius, in 
 200 B. C. The first British writers were Gildas,
 
 8 LITERATURE. 
 
 Nennius, and Bedc, in 600 and 700 A. D ; the first 
 German, Eginhard, Wallafrid, and Rabanus, in 800 ; 
 the first French, Fort, Gregory, and Maralfe, in 500 ; 
 the first Spanish, Arrian, Fulgentiiis, and ]\Iartin, in 
 500 ; the first Polish, Yaraslof and Nestor, in 1000 ; 
 the first Italian, Gratian, Falcand, and Campanus, 
 in 1100 A. D. 
 
 A great variety of materials were formerly used in 
 making books. Plates of lead and copper, the bark of 
 trees, bricks, stone, and wood, were among the first 
 materials employed to engrave such things upon as 
 men were desirous to transmit to posterity. Josephus 
 speaks of two columns — the one of stone, the other of 
 brick — on which the children of Seth wrote their 
 inventions and astronomical discoveries. Porphyry 
 makes mention of some pillars, preserved in Crete, on 
 which the ceremonies practised by the Corybantes in 
 their sacrifices, were recorded. Hesiod's works were 
 originally written upon tables of lead, and deposited in 
 the Temple of the Muses, in Bosotia. The ten com- 
 mandments delivered to Moses were written upon stone, 
 and Solon's laws upon wooden planks. Tables of 
 wood, box, and ivory, were common among the 
 ancients ; when of wood, they were frequently cov- 
 ered with wax, that people might write on them with 
 more ease, or blot out what they had written. The 
 leaves of the palm-tree were afterwards used instead of 
 wooden planks, and the finest and thinnest part of the 
 bark of such trees as the lime, the ash, the maple, and 
 the elm. From hence comes the word liher, which 
 signifies the inner bark of the trees ; and as these were 
 rolled up, in order to be easily portable, they were
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 called volumen, or volume — a name aftei'wards given 
 to the like rolls of paper or parchment. 
 
 The art of making paper from fibrous matter, re 
 duced to a pulp in water, which is the present method, 
 appears to have been discovered by the Chinese about 
 the year 95 A. D. Previously to this time, ihey wrote 
 on the inner bark of the bamboo, with a style or 
 bodkin. 
 
 Egyptian I'apijrus. 
 
 Before the invention of paper, the Egyptian papyrtcs, 
 from which our modern paper derives its name, had 
 taken the place of other materials for writing. This 
 was made from a reedy plant, bearing the above name: 
 for this purpose, the thin, concentric coats, or pellicles 
 that surround the triangular stock of the plant, were 
 employed, those nearest the centre being considered the 
 best and finest. These were cut into strips of a certain 
 length, and placed side by side, in a layer, on a board ; 
 another layer of the same material was then pasted
 
 10 
 
 LITERATURE. 
 
 over it crosswise, so as to form a sheet of convenient 
 thickness. After being pressed and dried in the sun, 
 this was polished with a shell, or other hard and 
 smooth substance. A number of these sheets, some- 
 times as many as twenty, were placed together, to 
 form a scapiis, or roll. The breadth of the roll was 
 determined by the length of the slips taken from the 
 plant, the broadest being about thirteen fingers' breadth, 
 and others ten : the length of the roll might be carried 
 to almost any extent ; some have been found as long 
 as thirty feet. 
 
 The papyrus was in general use for a considerable 
 period prior to the Christian era, and it appears that 
 the Egyptians had extensive manufactures of it, from 
 which they derived a large revenue. It was the 
 common material for writing not only in the East, but 
 throughout Europe, and especially at Rome. Among 
 other works, the New Testament was first written upon 
 it. Numerous specimens of ancient writings upon pa- 
 pyrus are in existence. One of these, a Greek man- 
 uscript in the British Museum, being a deed of sale, 
 was probably written about 135 B. C. In the Egyptian 
 Museum, at Leyden, there are one hundred and forty- 
 seven papyri, some in Greek and some in Egyptian. 
 Among the papyri of the Vatican, is one bearing the 
 date of 640 B. C ; and several of the age of Darius, 
 son of Hystaspes, are in the collection at Paris. 
 Among the ruins of Herculaneum, vast numbers of 
 papyri were found, consisting of the writings of 
 Greek sophists and rhetoricians, with works on music, 
 medicine, the arts, and natural and moral philosophy. 
 Great pains have been taken to decipher them, but
 
 INTRODUCTION. 1 1 
 
 nothing of value has been discovered. Ncvie of the 
 lost works of the great authors of antiquity were found 
 among them. 
 
 Parchment, usually made of the skins of sheep or 
 lambs, derives its name from Pcrgamus, where it is 
 said to have been invented by Eumencs, about 197 
 B. C, in consequence of the scarcity of the papyrus. It 
 was manufactured by scraping and polishing, and was 
 a work of great labor. Some of it was reduced to so 
 delicate a texture, that Cicero is said to have seen a 
 copy of the Iliad, which was written upon it, enclosed 
 in a nut-shell. Parchment came into use after the 
 Christian era, and appears, in the seventh century A. D. 
 to have nearly superseded the papyrus. About this 
 time, the Arabians cither invented the art of making 
 paper from cotton, or borrowed it from the Chinese. 
 An establishment for this purpose was made at Sam- 
 arcand, 106 B. C. The art was carried to Spain, and 
 then spread over Europe, thus superseding all other 
 materials for writing. A person by the name of Tate 
 had a paper-mill in England, early in the sixteenth 
 century, previous to which time that country appears 
 to have been supplied from France and Holland. 
 Even so late as 1G62, paper-making had made little 
 progress in England ; but at the present day, English 
 paper surpasses that of all other countries. 
 
 The origin of writing is lost in the mists of antiquity. 
 It was probably pictorial at the beginning, consisting 
 only of imitations of visible objects : at a later period 
 it became hicroglyphical, in which certain figures 
 were used as arbitrary signs of ideas. An alphabet, 
 consisting of letters containing the elementary sounds
 
 12 LITERATURE. 
 
 of a language, was a subsequent improvement, and has 
 proved one of the greatest instruments of human 
 civilization. 
 
 In the East, the Sanscrit is said to be the oldest 
 language : its alphabet has sixteen vowels and thirty- 
 four consonants, and is probably the parent of most of 
 the Oriental characters, and even of the Greek. The 
 Chaldee, Syriac, and Phoenician, successively ascribed 
 to the invention of Adam, Enoch, Noah, Abraham, 
 and Moses, is nearly the same as the Hebrew, Scaliger 
 supposed it to have been the original of that language ; 
 it was used by the Jews from the time of Moses to the 
 captivity. 
 
 The art of writing appears to have been extensively 
 practised in ancient times, and the collecting of libraries 
 was adopted in remote ages. The first library of 
 which we have any account was that established by 
 Hipparchus, at Athens, 526 B. C, The second of note 
 was founded by Ptolemy Philadelphus, at Alexandria, 
 284 B. C, It contained 400,000 volumes, many of 
 great value, when it was burnt by the Roman army, 
 47 B, C, Some of the books escaped, and the suc- 
 cessors of Ptolemy collected them, and founded another 
 library, which finally amounted to 700,000 volumes. 
 This was entirely destroyed by the Saracens at the 
 command of Omar, A, D. 642, 
 
 The Bazilican library, containing 36,000 MSS., was 
 destroyed by fire at Constantinople in 850 ; and by the 
 sacking of that city by the Turks, in 1452, 120,000 
 Greek MSS also perished. 
 
 When the northern nations, in the fifth centur}-^ 
 overran Italy, and other scats of civilization, multitudes
 
 INTRODUCTION. 13 
 
 of books were destroyed, and, for a period of nearly 
 a thousand years, literature was little cultivated in 
 Europe. A few monks and others occupied themselves 
 with transcribing the works of celebrated authors, and 
 many of them arrived at great perfection in this art. 
 Thus the Scriptures were handed down, as well assomt? 
 of the classic authors of Greece and Rome. But many 
 valuable works remained rotting as lumber in the 
 monasteries, or they were sold to book-binders and 
 racket-makers for the parchment they contained. 
 Some of these fell into the hands of scholars, who 
 could appreciate their value, and thus a portion of the 
 treasures of antiquity were preserved. 
 
 It was one of the barbarous practices of the monks 
 and caligraphists, to obliterate the writing on the ancient 
 manuscripts, by a chemical preparation, merely for the 
 sake of using the paper; and thus thousands of valuable 
 works perished forever. Greek dramas, works of 
 Cicero, &c., have been traced under the new writing. 
 The Abbe Mai has collected many valuable fragments 
 from Bobbio. Under an insignificant poem, he found 
 three orations of Cicero. Under some acts of a Romish 
 council, he discovered three others, with an ancient com- 
 mentary ; also, eight speeches of Symmachus, and the 
 works of Fronto. Under another, he found fragments 
 of Plautus, commentaries of Terence, and an oration of 
 Tsaeus. Finally, he restored a work of Dionysius of 
 Ilalicarnassus, and found 800 linos of a very ancient 
 copy of the Iliad ! 
 
 The loss of the historical works of the anc'cnts is 
 chiefly to be regretted ; for human genius may furnish 
 poetry and philosophy, but history depends upon
 
 14 LITERATURE. 
 
 records, and cannot be supplied by invention. It w 
 among one of the evils entailed upon mankind by su- 
 perstition and war, that the early annals of our race 
 have been swept away by the fires they have kindled, 
 thus leaving us, in respect to many interesting portions 
 of history, to be the sport of poets and fabulists. 
 
 The invention of printing, in 1444, by Guttenberg. 
 of Mentz, in Germany, may be regarded as having 
 done more for the cultivation of the human intellect 
 than all other modern discoveries. Without this, the 
 mass of mankind must have remained uneducated ; and 
 therefore, while they continued to be the tools of the 
 selfish and the crafty, they would have been left to the 
 supremacy of their physical nature. That man — having 
 regard to the whole race — is advancing towards a point 
 when he may be pronounced an intellectual being, and 
 one whose rights shall be universally respected, is due 
 to the offspring of this mighty invention — the press* 
 
 Soon after the discovery of the art of printing, a 
 new era dawned upon Europe — the revival of letters. 
 A number of great events conspired to dissipate the 
 gloom that had rested upon the world, and to shed 
 abroad the radiance of learning. Under these happier 
 auspices, books became multiplied, the iron shackles 
 of superstition were sundered, and the emancipated 
 mind and body of man began to walk forth in light and 
 libert}^ The march of improvement might seem slow ; 
 for prejudices, despotisms, and superstitions, — all in- 
 trenched in thrones and dynasties, and enforced by 
 chains, prisons, and the rack, — were to be combated, 
 
 * For a view of the origin and power of the press, see "The 
 World and its Inhabitants "
 
 INTRODUCTION. 15 
 
 conquered, and demolished. Tlic great work has, 
 however, gone bravely on ; and if a comparison be 
 made between the present condition of society in Eu- 
 rope, and what it was even at the dawn of the nine- 
 teenth century, — not fifty years ago, — it will be not 
 only seen that a mighty advance has actually been made 
 in all that concerns the best interests of humanity, but 
 that a momentum has been acquired, in the march, 
 which must prove irresistible. 
 
 The libraries of the presi nt day bear witness to the 
 amount of human learning, now recorded and placed 
 beyond the possibility of annihilation — unless by some 
 event which shall involve the entire surface of the 
 globe in destruction. Among the larger collections of 
 books in Europe, we may name the following : The 
 Royal Library, Paris, 700,000 vols, and 80,000 MSS. ; 
 the Bodleian Library, Oxford, 420,000 vols, and 
 30,000 MSS. ; the Royal Central, Munich, 500,000 
 vols, and 16,000 MSS. ; the Vatican, Rome, 100,000 
 vols, and 40,000 MSS. ; University of Gottingcn, 300,000 
 vols, and 22,000 MSS.; Vienna, 350,000 vols, and 
 16,000 MSS. ; Naples, 300,000 vols, and 2700 MSS. ; 
 Copenhagen, 400,000 vols, and 20,000 MSS. ; Berlin, 
 250,000 vols, and 5000 MSS. The foregoing being 
 given in round numbers, it can only be regarded as 
 comparatively correct ; but it serves to convey some 
 idea of the vastness of these collections, as well as their 
 relative magnitude. 
 
 There are other public libraries, of great extent, in 
 Europe, beside countless numbers of private collections, 
 some of great value, and containing many thousands 
 of volumes. The most considerable public libraries in
 
 16 LITEEATURE. 
 
 the United States, are those of the Athenaeum, Boston 
 35,000 vols. ; of Cambridge University, 40,000 vols. , 
 the City Library, Philadelpliia, 40,000 vols. 
 
 The facilities for printing, at the present day, are as- 
 tonishing ; and the number of clever writers, who are 
 rushing into the literary arena, is likewise matter of 
 wonder. Scarcely does one star arise in the horizon 
 of the republic of letters, before another, and another, 
 and still another, ascends to challenge the admiring 
 gaze. Every species of composition — science, art, 
 history, and philosophy ; every form of poetry and 
 prose — is poured out from the groaning press with 
 lavish prodigality, if not cloying affluence. Nor 
 are the attractions of intellect alone sufficient to 
 satisfy the taste of the age : every art of embellish- 
 ment which the pencil and the graver can bestow, is 
 put in requisition, and even when the pages are pre- 
 pared, invention is often put to the rack, to furnish an 
 exterior covering suited to the gorgeous text. The 
 spirit of activity which animates the press at the present 
 day is happily depicted in a dashing passage which we 
 quote from a newspaper of the day.* 
 
 " Although, in this age of universal education, when 
 there are almost as many book-makers as book-readers, 
 the press — English and American — teems with the 
 varied products of learning, inquiry, and fancy, the 
 supply yet appears unequal to the constant and insa- 
 tiable demand. The literary palate seems cloyed with 
 indigenous food, and craves incessantly for exotics. 
 Accordingly we find that foreign literature claims a 
 
 * The New Orleans Bee
 
 INTRODUCTION. 17 
 
 very considerable portion of public attention. The 
 English have crossed the Channel on one hand, and 
 the German Ocean on the otlier, and have laid hold, 
 with equal avidity, of the fictions of France and the 
 substantial literary monuments of their Saxon progeni- 
 tors. The number of works recently rendered into 
 English from French and German, is absolutely aston- 
 ishing. The shelves of our booksellers groan beneath 
 the accumulated treasures. In French literature, the 
 industrious have culled from every field — presenting 
 us with the obscene frivolities of Paul de Kock, 
 scarcely redeemed by the intense nationality of his 
 portraits ; the vivid and graphic pictures exhibited in 
 the novels of Sue and Soulis ; and the powerful, eru- 
 dite, and elaborate historical researches of Thiers and 
 others. In Germany, they have made every branch 
 of intellectual knowledge contribute to satisfy our 
 appetite — the whole race of German novelists, until 
 recently an ignotum genus, have been laid before won- 
 dering English eyes for the first time. Tieck and 
 Zschokke, and other unpronounceable cognomina, stare 
 at us from book-shelves and literary depots. Jean 
 Paul Richter's sublimated idealities have assumed the 
 English garb ; Kant's metaphysical and transcen- 
 dental incomprehensibilities have found a deeper depth 
 of mysticism in the futile attempt to discover terms in 
 o jr stinted vernacular capable of conveying their mean- 
 ing ; while strong, sound thinkers, truly Germanic in 
 the mould of their understandings, and in the super- 
 human industry with which they have grappled with 
 the buried treasures of obscure history and tradition — 
 men like Ranke and Niebuhr — have found models
 
 1^ 
 
 LITERATURE, 
 
 of English patience and perseverance in faithful and 
 laborious translators. Even Russia — that ultima 
 Tliule of literary investigation — has been made sub- 
 sidiary to the epidemic rage fur novelty. Sweden is 
 ransacked, and has furnished us a Bremer to captivate 
 the fancy, and amend the heart. Norwegian and Ice- 
 landic literature — romances of which Mount Hecla 
 shall be the region, and Thor and Odin the heroes — 
 are alone wanting to complete the categoiy." 
 
 We cannot better close this preliminary sketch of 
 the origin and progress of literature, than by present- 
 mg the following rapid outline of the lives of the most 
 celebrated authors of ancient and modern times, written 
 with a view to repel the vulgar imputation of poverty 
 to literary men : — 
 
 "Bad authors have been always poor — as it is 
 quite fair that they should be ; upon the same principle 
 that bad painters, or bad architects, or bad boot-makers, 
 or bad carpenters, or bad any things, have been and 
 always must be poor ; for the rule applies equally to 
 tables and tragedies, sermons and shoes. Bad writers 
 have always existed in a much greater number than 
 good ; and, their works being most deservedly neglect- 
 ed, or as deservedly ridiculed, they complained very 
 loudly and very absurdly : they were unfit for writing ; 
 therefore they refused to turn bricklayers : they lived 
 in poverty, and died in want, because they persisted in 
 writing books which nobody would read ; and the 
 worse writers they were, the more, of course, they 
 cried out against the injustice with which they were 
 treated, and the poverty to which they were con- 
 demned.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 19 
 
 " Mr. D' Israeli has composed two corpulent volumes 
 about their ' Calamities,' to which we shall presently 
 recur ; and the history must be allowed to be suf- 
 ficiently melancholy, though any reader of that diligent 
 compiler's ' Calamities of Authors,' cannot fail to be 
 convinced, that all the miseries of all these gentlemen 
 arose from their having mistaken their vocation — that 
 they were either utterly bad writers, or prodigal per- 
 sons, who would have ruined themselves under any 
 circumstances ; and that a history of the calamities of 
 incapable tailors, or inept shoemakers, may be made 
 up by some one belonging to these classes of operatives^ 
 which shall contain as pathetic pictures of the public 
 leglect, or condemnation of their works, as Mr. D'ls- 
 raeli has assembled in his collection of calamities. 
 
 " The wits and satirists of the age in which these 
 bad writers lived, found their poverty an excellent sub- 
 ject for mirth and ridicule ; and extending it to the 
 whole tribe of authors, they consecrated to their use 
 forever 
 
 ' Want, the garret, and the jail.' 
 
 " To say nothing of the Greeks, — Horace, Martial, 
 Chaucer, Ariosto, Cervantes, Spenser, Shakspcare, 
 Butler, Milton, Moliore, Drydon, Boileau, Prior, Swift, 
 Congreve, Addison, Le Sage, Pope, Gay, Arbuthnot, Vol- 
 taire, Johnson, Fielding, Smollett, Rousseau, — comic 
 writers, poets, epigrammatists, satirists, novelists, wits, 
 — all have joined in representing authors as poor, for 
 the sake of the jests that have since set many a table 
 '.n a roar. But let our readers recur to our list, and 
 • ney will see that tie names of those who have thus
 
 20 ' LITERATURE. 
 
 held up authors to ruJiculc arc the most successful 
 whom the Muse has ' admitted of her crew ; ' that 
 they are among the most eminent names in ancient 
 and modern Hlerature ; that they all lived in comfort, 
 and some even in opulence ; that those who were not 
 rich, were poor from causes totally independent of 
 their literary vocation — and let it be remembered 
 that no complaint has ever been made, in prose or 
 rhyme, by any author, of the general poverty of his 
 tribe, except for the sake of pointing a jest, or height- 
 ening a picture. 
 
 " We trust our readers will excuse us for omitting 
 all investigation into the private circumstances of 
 Hermes Trismegistus, the inventor of the Egyptian 
 Statutes at Large ; of Cadmus, the inventor of the 
 (jreek letters, and consequently the cause of the intro- 
 duction of birch into English schools ; of Amphion, 
 Orpheus, and other great poets of those days ; and 
 even of Zoroaster, the hero of many a novel, and 
 some pantomimes. The most fastidious admirer of 
 antiquity, we are persuaded, will be satisfied with such 
 a respectable age as that of Hcsiod and Homer, which 
 carries us back ten centuries before the birth of Christ ; 
 and, in taking this for our point of starting, we think 
 we may fairly be allowed to have complied with the 
 judicious advice given by the Giant Moulineau to Count 
 Hamilton's historiographical ram, to ' begin with tho 
 beginning.' 
 
 " The father of Hesiod, it is quite clear, left behind 
 him an estate : this was to have been divided between 
 the poet and his brother Perses : the latter corrupted 
 the judges, and defrauded him ; yet, notwithstanding
 
 INTRODUCTION. 21 
 
 this, he tells us, in various passages of his poems, that 
 he was not only above want, but capable of assisting 
 others. The name of Homer has passed into a prov- 
 erb of poverty ; yet Thestoridcs made a vast fortune 
 by reciting the poems of Homer as his own. Homer 
 was indeed a mendicant for some time; but this was 
 only while he was regarded as an impostor, pretending 
 to be the author of poems which he did not compose. 
 His subsequent eflfusions, however, disclosed the true 
 author of the Iliad ; and he died in happiness, affluence, 
 and honor. 
 
 " Passing over the intervening centuries, in which 
 no very eminent names of authoi*s appear, we arrive 
 at the fifth and si.xth B. C. Anacreon, according to 
 Madame Dacier, was related to Solon, and was conse- 
 quently allied to the Codrida?, the noblest family in 
 Athens. Few events of his life are known ; but this 
 fact is enough to prove that he could not, at all events, 
 have been poor. We know, however, that he was the 
 friend of kings — of Polycratcs and Hipparchus : it is 
 pretty clear, from his poems, that he lived in luxury, 
 which poor authors seldom do ; and his death was 
 caused by swallowing a grape-stone in drinking some 
 neAV wine. Pindar was not noble, like Anacreon • 
 he was even of low origin ; but this did not prevent 
 him from being courted by princes, and honored like a 
 deity in his lifetime. Even the priestess of Delphi 
 ordained him a share of the oflcrings to the god : 
 statues were erected in honor of him, during his life, 
 by his patron, Hiero of Syracuse ; and he died in a 
 public theatre, which would seem to argue mat his 
 life was not particularly unhappy. The brother of
 
 22 LITERATURE. 
 
 ^Eschylus commanded a squadron of ships at the battle 
 of Salamis ; the poet himself was largely patronized 
 by Hiero of Syracuse ; his funeral was splendid, and 
 plays were performed at his tomb in honor of his 
 memory. 
 
 " Of the condition of Sophocles little is known ; but 
 he must have been left in easy circumstances by his 
 father, since the latter, according to Athenajus, was 
 rich enough to afford the vast expense of educating his 
 son in all the polite accomplishments of his polite 
 country : he was taught music and dancing by Lam- 
 pros, and poetry by ^'Eschylus. He filled some of the 
 highest offices in the state ; and Strabo mentions him 
 as accompanying Pericles in his expedition to conquer 
 the rebel Samians. Herodotus certainly had the 
 means of travelling during a great portion of his life ; 
 and he must have been no inconsiderable person, 
 since his influence contributed mainly to the expulsion 
 of the tyrant Lygdamis. Euripides was of noble 
 descent, and prime minister to Archelaus of Macedon. 
 Thucydides was of the royal blood of the Thracian 
 kings ; he had a high command in the army, and 
 joined to his own affluence many rich mines of gold, 
 which he acquired by marriage. Plato was descended 
 on the paternal side from Codrus, on the maternal 
 from Solon ; and though it does not appear that he 
 was very wealthy, it is certain that he lived delight- 
 fully in the elegant retreat purchased with his own 
 drachmas — 
 
 ' The olive-grove of Academe, 
 
 His sweet retirement, where the Attic bird 
 Trilled her thick-warbled notes the summer long.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 23 
 
 There he lived, the unambitious friend and counsellor 
 of kings, amidst his statues, his temples, and his cy- 
 presses ; and, reposing by the whispering and haunted 
 stream which flowed through them, he meditated the 
 peace on earth and happiness to men, which he after- 
 wards taught in the language of the gods, whose elo- 
 quence he was said by his panegyrists to have stolen. 
 
 "Descending to the fourth century B. C, we come 
 to Aristophanes ; but of his circumstances we know 
 nothing. Even if it were proved, however, that they 
 were indiflcrent, we should not be justified in making 
 him an exception ; for his whole life was one long and 
 self-sought war whh powerful living adversaries, and 
 therefore could not be very happy. Aristotle, after 
 the death of his friend Plato, visited Hermias, king of 
 the Atarnenses. On the fall of the latter, he erected 
 a statue to him, and afterwards married his sister 
 Pythias. He was, moreover, as every one knows, the 
 master and the friend of Alexander the Great. Me- 
 nandcr was probably rich, from the fact of his adora- 
 tion of the expensive Glycera : he alludes also fre- 
 quently to his own habits of luxurious dress. The 
 kings of Eg\'pt and Macedon so highly honored and 
 esteemed him, that they sent ambassadors to invite, 
 and fleets to convey, him to their courts. Xenophcm 
 wa-s of high rank, a commander in the army, and the 
 favorite of Cyrus; and the father of Demosthenes, we 
 know, left him enough of property to make it worth 
 his while to plead for its recovery from the hands of 
 iniquitous guardians. What a fortune would amount 
 to, that should render such a proceeding in a court ot
 
 9||| LITERATURE. 
 
 equity at the present day at all judicious, our readers 
 may ascertain by the aid of a very powerful calculus. 
 
 " In the third and second centuries, we hive Theoc- 
 ritus, who was patronized by Ptolemy Philadelphus, 
 and lived at his court; Plautus, a slave, who, after 
 gaining a great deal of money by his plays, lost it in 
 commercial speculations ; and lastly, Terence, who, 
 though a slave, rose to be the intimate friend of Scipio 
 and La^lius, and whose wealth, gained by his comedies, 
 enabled him to marry his daughter to a Roman noble.' 
 He received three thousand sesterces for one perform- 
 ance of the Eunuch alone ; and as it was usual to 
 pay the author of a play each time it was performed, 
 the sums which Terence received must have been 
 enormous. He left a splendid house and gardens. 
 
 " The first century B. C, and the first after, present 
 ns with a long list of noble and opulent authors. Of 
 the life of Lucretius few particulars are known. Cicero 
 was of a noble family ; he was successively quaestor, 
 praetor, and consul, and might have been a fourth 
 party in the government formed by Pompey, Caesar, 
 and Crassus. His wealth must have been great ; for 
 he gave for his house on the Palatine, alone, a sum 
 exceeding <£30,000 sterling. The father of Catullus 
 was the friend of Julius Csesar ; Catullus himself was 
 praetor, and afterwards governor of Bithynia ; and 
 Lesbia was the sister of the noble and rich Clodius, the 
 enemy of Cicero. 
 
 " Virgil inherited a patrimony from his father at 
 Mantua ; was enriched by Augustus, and received a 
 sum equivalent to ^2000 sterling for his verses about
 
 INTRODUCTION. 2B 
 
 Marcellus alone. Tibullus was the son of a knight, 
 and a man of fortune. Propertius was also noble, and 
 possessed of a considerable estate ; he was the friend 
 of Maecenas and Gallus. Horace was, to be sure, the 
 son of a freedman ; but that freedman was a tax- 
 gatherer, and, it is almost needless to say, rich. His 
 father's estate was, for some reason or no reason, con- 
 fiscated by the government, but restored to Horace by 
 Augustus. The emperor offered him the office of 
 private secretary ; but he refused all court honors. 
 Ovid was the younger son of a Roman noble, and, on 
 the death of his elder brother, inherited his fortune. 
 Livy was of an illustrious and wealthy family, which 
 had given many consuls to Rome. Seneca, the tutor 
 of Nero, was quaestor, praetor, and consul. His houses, 
 gardens, and walks, were the most magnificent in 
 Rome; and he had received of the public money more 
 than two millions and a half sterling in about four 
 years. Persius was opulent, and bequeathed a large 
 fortune to his friend Cornutus. Pliny the Elder arrived 
 at the high dignity of augur; he was procurator, or 
 treasurer, to Tiberius, and was ofiered, for part of his 
 MSS., 400,000 sesterces. Juvenal's father was a freed- 
 man — a class generally rich at Rome. He, at all 
 events, gave his son a liberal and learned education. 
 Pliny the Younger was augur, consul, proconsul of 
 Bithynia, and the friend of Trajan. Martial was en- 
 nobled by Domitian, and married a wife so rich, that 
 (to use his own words) ' she made him a kind of 
 monarch.' Quinctilian was paid liberally out of the 
 public treasury for teaching oratory under Galba : ho 
 was patronized by Domitian, became consul, and died 
 rviL— 3
 
 26 LITERATURE. 
 
 rich. Tacitus was son-in-law of Agricola, and pat- 
 ronized by Vespasian, Titus, and Domitian. It nnay 
 be inferred that his family was wealthy and powerful, 
 from the fact that M. Claudius Tacitus, who was cre- 
 ated emperor in A. D. 275, was descended from him. 
 The father of Lucan, a Roman knight, was brother to 
 Seneca, one of the weaUliiest men in Rome. Lucan 
 himself was opulent, and filled the offices of quaestor 
 and augur. 
 
 "The second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh 
 centuries after Christ do not present us with many 
 names : we shall therefore class them all in one para- 
 graph, which will bring us down to ?nodcrn authors. 
 
 " Plutarch was of an old family : his lectures were 
 highly popular with the Roman nobility, and he was 
 the friend of Trajan. Apuleius was a successful 
 lawyer, and married a very rich widow. Longinus 
 was tutor to the children of Zenobia. Mahomet was 
 related to the heads of one of the noblest and wealthi- 
 est of the Arab tribes ; and he himself was as wealthy 
 as he was successful. 
 
 " The eleventh, twelfth, thirteenth, and fourteenth 
 centuries we shall gather, like the last, under a single 
 head. 
 
 " Dante was descended from one of the greatest fam- 
 ilies in Florence, and held a distinguished place at his 
 native city. It is'true that the political events of his 
 lime, in which he mingled, occasioned his exile and 
 poverty ; but he died in a palace. Petrarch was the 
 son of a wealthy Italian notary. He was the friend of 
 the Colonnas, and resided in their palaces, and was 
 familiar with kings, emperors, and pontiffs. Boccac-
 
 INTRODUCTION. 27 
 
 cio was the son of a Florentine merchant, when mer- 
 chants were princes : he inherited property from his 
 father, and was beloved by the daughter of the king, 
 (Robert,) who was his patron. Chaucer, according to 
 Leland, was of noble origin : he was appointed am- 
 bassador to Genoa by Edward III., and possessed 
 i£lOOO a year — an enormous income for that period. 
 
 " We have now arrived at the fifteenth century. 
 Pulci was the intimate and jocular friend of Lorenzo 
 the Magnificent. Sannazaro was patronized by Fred- 
 eric, son of the king of Naples, from whom he received 
 a pension and the beautiful country-house of Mergel- 
 lina: he was courted by all the great of his time, and 
 enjoyed the friendship of two popes. Marot Uved 
 among princes. Erasmus was not rich ; but then he 
 never lived long in one place, and always expensively 
 and luxuriously. Macchiavelli was secretary of the 
 Florentine republic. Bojarda was a man of large pos- 
 sessions, and count of Scandiano. Ariosto was of a 
 noble family, was patronized by the Este family, and 
 by Leo X. ; and he must have had some pretensions 
 to wealth and influence, since he expected a cardinal's 
 hat. Guicciardini was of a noble Florentine family, 
 the chief counsellor in Florence, married the daughter 
 of the most distinguished person there, and was created 
 governor of Bologna by the pope. Rabelais lived a 
 joyous and luxurious life, both us a Benedictine monk 
 and as cure of Mcudon. 
 
 " We are rapidly approaching more familiar names, 
 for we arc now arrived at the sixteenth century. 
 Buchanan is the first Though tutor to a prince and 
 to tlie most interesting and seductive of queens, we
 
 US LITERATURE. 
 
 fear his temper and his tastes were too much like those 
 of Erasmus to allow us to class him with the rich in 
 our catalogue. He was, moreover, addicted to per- 
 sonalities and to quarrels, which made him disliked in 
 his own country, and caused him to be persecuted in 
 others. The name which comes next in our catalogue 
 has passed into a proverb of poverty — but unjustly. 
 The misfortunes of Camoens arose from causes alto- 
 gether independent of his literary pursuits. If he met 
 with misfortunes, his poetical genius, so far from being 
 the cause of them, tended to alleviate tlieir bitternessj 
 and gained him honor, friends, and (at one time) 
 riches. Montaigne was a countiy gentleman of for- 
 tune. Tasso was courted and happy up to the period 
 of his insanity ; for he was undoubtedly insane. 
 
 " Cervantes was chamberlain to one cardinal, pen- 
 sioned by another, and patronized by a viceroy ; and 
 his Don Quixote was so popular, that 12,000 copies 
 of the first part were sold before the second was 
 printed. Sydney was a candidate for the crown of 
 Poland. Spenser had fifty pounds a year as poet 
 laureate, (no inconsiderable sum in those days ;) 
 he was sheriff of Cork, with 3000 acres of land ; and 
 was patronized by Elizabeth, Lord Essex, and the 
 noble family to which he belonged. De Thou and 
 Sully were statesmen. Bacon was lord chancellor of 
 England, and enormously rich. 
 
 " Lope de Vega was a knight of Malta, and held a 
 rich office under Urban VIII. Calderon de la Barca 
 was first a knight of St. lago, and afterwards a fat and 
 comfortable canon of Toledoi. To return to our own 
 authors : Shakspeare made a fortune, and died the
 
 INTRODUCTION. 29 
 
 richest man in Stratford-upon-Avon. Jonson gained 
 prodigious sums by his plays, though his extravagant 
 and careless life made him always poor. Little is 
 known of the private lives of Beaumont and Fletcher ; 
 but we know that Beaumont\s father was a judge, and 
 Fletcher's a bishop. Grotius was a wealthy lawyer 
 and statesman ; Selden a member of parliament. Of 
 Massinger we know nothing but that his plays were 
 popular. Of Ford we know almost as little; but at 
 all events, he was the son of a justice of the peace. 
 Butler's misfortunes were owing to the times, and the 
 character of the reigning monarch ; and ^3000 were 
 ordered to be paid to the author of Hudibras, though 
 he never received the money. Ilobbes lived in easy 
 circumstances at Chatsworth. Even after Charles 
 withdrew his patronage from him, he was visited, in 
 his old age, by the most illustrious men of his time, 
 and by princes and ambassadors. Sir Thomas Browne 
 was a wealthy physician. 
 
 " Waller was rich, a member of parliament, and a 
 favorite at court. Corneille was not only the most 
 successful author of his day, but he was pensioned by 
 Richelieu. Milton left behind him iC1500; but even 
 if it could be shown that he was poor, his persecutions 
 on political accounts, and the fanaticism of the times, 
 would account for his poverty. Cowley lived in ele- 
 gant retirement, and his poetry was eminently success- 
 ful. Moliere was poor, till he made a fortune by his 
 plays. La Fontaine was a gentleman, and married a 
 rich wife. Jeremy Taylor was a bishop. Dryden 
 was a person of old family ; and he gained by his 
 writings at least ^500 a year — equal to ^1500 at 
 3*
 
 90 LITEEATUBE. 
 
 the present day. Boileau gained an ample pension by 
 his writings ; so did Racine. Bayle's works caused 
 him twice to be chosen professor of philosophy. Fen- 
 elon was a rich archbishop. Prior was an ambassador. 
 Swift died rich ; so did Congreve, Addison, Gay, and 
 Pope. Le Sage was the most popular of novel-writers, 
 and an eminently successful dramatist. When Steele 
 lost the patent of his theatre, he computed the loss at 
 ten thousand pounds. Marivaux was one of the most 
 successful of authors. Arbuthnot was the court physi- 
 cian. Vanbrugh was poor, but this was in spite of 
 his success as an author and architect, and his enjoy- 
 ment of some of the most lucrative situations under the 
 crown. Richardson died as rich as a Jew ; so did 
 Voltaire. 
 
 ^' We now arrive at the eighteenth century. Thom- 
 son, in spite of his indolence, obtained several lucrative 
 situations under government, in consequence of his 
 works. Dr. Johnson got a pension, and might have 
 become rich by means of his writings, had he not 
 been the most indolent of authors. Franklin raised 
 himself by his literary talents. Fielding's profuse ex- 
 travagance swallowed up the profits of his successes as 
 an author ; but he died a justice of the peace. Lin- 
 naeus had a grant of land conferred on him for his dis- 
 coveries, and he was ennobled by the king of Sweden. 
 Hume had nothing, till his works procured him .£1000 
 a year. 
 
 "Rousseau's name is not worth mentioning here : 
 his miseries and poverty were voluntary. Grimm and 
 Diderot received large pensions for their literary merits. 
 Sterne passed his life in painting, fiddling, and shoot-
 
 INTJIODUCTION. 31 
 
 ing — occupations not at all indicative of poverty. 
 Garrick, who died very rich, made his fortune as an 
 author and aclor. Smollett received large sums for 
 all his works. Goldsmith was in the last stage of pov- 
 erty, till his writings raised liim to independence. 
 Burke was a statesman. Cowper received vast sums 
 for his works : so did Gibbon ; yet Cowper had a 
 private fortune, and Gibbon had held lucrative situa- 
 tions under the crown. Chatterton, indeed, died poor ; 
 but he had employment from his literary patrons as 
 long as he chose to accept it. Burns was poor, not in 
 consequence of being an author, but in spite of it. 
 Schiller, Goethe, and Werner, were all enriched or 
 ennobled by their poetry. 
 
 " Here we close our catalogue ; for we do not venture 
 to quote examples from the writers of our own times. 
 But it may be stated in general, and hundreds of in- 
 stances will occur to the memory of every one, that 
 there is scarcely one eminent individual of the present 
 day, who docs not owe his riches, or rise, or distinc- 
 tions, in some way to literature. Let our readers 
 refer to the list we liave given above, and they will 
 see that scarcely one great, or even second-rate name 
 in literature has been omitted, and that on not one can 
 ihe reproach of poverty in consequence of authorship 
 fall ; while it will be uniformly seen that literary meri* 
 has been always of advantage to those who were un- 
 fortunate from other causes. We have carefully 
 looked over Mr. D'lsracli's ' Calamities of Authors,' 
 and have found, without one exception, either that the 
 authors who suffered the calamities in question were 
 had authors, or that the 'calamities' alluded to 
 consisted in a little gentle castigation in rcviewa.
 
 ;8gS litebatube. 
 
 ridicule in popular novels, or the infliction of a 
 satirical couplet." 
 
 To the examples of literary success, cited in the 
 preceding extract from the London Monthly Magazine, 
 we may add the following statement, showing the enor- 
 mous sums received by English authors of our own 
 times. 
 
 For Fragments of English History, by C. J. Fox, sold by 
 Lord Holland, 5000 guineas. 
 
 For ditto, by Sir J. Mackintosh, £5000. 
 
 For Lingard's History, £4633. 
 
 Scott's Bonaparte, £10,000, first two editions. 
 
 Life of Wilbcrforce, by his sons, 4000 guineas. 
 
 Life of Byron, by Moore, £1000. 
 
 Life of Sheridan, by the same, £2000. 
 
 Life of Cowper, by Southey, £1000. Life of H. More, £2000. 
 
 Life of Scott, by Lockhart, £12,500, for the first two years. 
 
 Byron's Works, £20,000. 
 
 Lalia Rookh, by Moore, £3000. Rejected Addresses, £1000. 
 
 Half share of Lord of the Isles, by Scott, £1500. 
 
 New edition of Crabbe's works, £3000. Ditto of Words- 
 worth's, £1000. 
 
 Bulwer, £1200 to £1500, for each of his novels; for each 
 of Marryatt's, £1000 to £1200. 
 
 Mrs. Trollope's Factory Boy, £1800. 
 
 Scott is supposed to have received, during his lifetime, 
 £250,000. Hannah More received £3000 a year, during the 
 latter years of her life. 
 
 The editors of several Reviews — as the Edinburgh, Quar- 
 terly, Blackwood, New Monthlj' — receive an average of £1000- 
 
 The net income of some of the leading newspapers of Lon- 
 don is said to reach £10,000 to £20,000 per annum. 
 
 In the United States, we can hardly be said to have 
 a distinct class of literary men, or a national literature : 
 yet the works of authors of decided merit, such as 
 Irving, Cooper, Sparks, Prescott, and Bancroft, have 
 been a source of liberal income.
 
 THE BIBLE. 
 
 As furnishing the oldest specimens of literature, the 
 most ancient written thoughts of man, the Bible may 
 claim a brief notice in these pages. Merely in a 
 literary point of view, it is the most remarkable work 
 now in existence. In the libraries of the learned there 
 are frequently seen books of extraordinaiy anti- 
 quity, and curious and interesting from the nature of 
 their contents ; but none approach the Bible, taken in 
 its complete sense, in point of age, while certainly no 
 production whatever has any pretension to rival it in 
 dignity of composition, or the important nature of 
 the subjects treated of in its pages. The word Bible 
 is of Greek origin, and, in signifying simply the Book, 
 is expressive of its superiority over all other literary 
 productions. The origin and nature of this every way 
 wonderful work — how it was preserved during the 
 most remote ages, and how it became known to the 
 modern world in its present shape — form a highly in- 
 teresting chapter of literary history. 
 
 The Bible comprehends the foundation of the re- 
 ligious belief of the Jews and Christians, and is divided 
 into two distinct portions, entitled tiie Old and New 
 Testament, — the former being that which is esteemed 
 by the Jewish nation, but both Ireing essential In 
 c
 
 34 LITERATURE. 
 
 forming the faith of the Christian. The Old Testa- 
 ment is the largest department of the work, and appears 
 to be a collection of detached histories, moral essays, 
 and pious poetical compositions, all placed together in 
 the order of time, or as they may serve for the purpose 
 of mutual illustration. On taking a glance at the con- 
 tents, the principal subject of narration seems to be the 
 history of the Je^v•s, commencing with an account of 
 the creation of the world, and tracing their annals, 
 genealogically, through a series of striking vicissitudes 
 and changes of situation. But when we examine the 
 narratives minutely, it is found that there is another 
 meaning than that of mere historical elucidation. It is 
 perceived that the whole train of events recorded, the 
 whole of those lofty, impassioned strains of poetry 
 which distinguish the volume, are precursory and 
 prophetic of a great change, which, at a future period, 
 was to be wrought on the moral character and fate of 
 mankind, by the coming to the earth of a Messiah. 
 
 The writers, generally speaking, do not reason, but 
 exhort and remonstrate ; they do not attempt to fette: 
 the judgment by the subtleties of argument, but to 
 rouse the feelings by an appeal to palpable facts. But 
 though there is no regular treatise in the Scriptures or 
 any one branch of religious doctrine, yet all the mate- 
 rials of a regular system are there. The word of GoQ 
 contains the doctrines of religion in the same way as 
 the system of nature contains the elements of physical 
 science. In both cases, the doctrines are deduced 
 from facts, which are not presented to us in any 
 regular order, and which must be separated and classi- 
 fied before we can arrive at first principles, or attain
 
 THE BIBLE. 35 
 
 to the certainty of knowledge ; and in both cases, a 
 consistent system can only be made out by induction 
 and investigation. The very circumstance of no de- 
 tailed system being given, renders it necessary to form 
 one ; for although a portion of religious and physical 
 knowledge, sufTicicnt for the common purposes of life, 
 may be obtained by traditional information, and men 
 may work conveniently enough by rules without pos- 
 sessing much general knowledge, yet they who would 
 teach with profit must generalize, and they who would 
 explain the ways of God must arrange the materials 
 which are so amply furnished, but which are presented 
 apparently without order or plan. 
 
 The periods when the act of writmg all or the greater 
 part of the Scriptures took place, as well as most cf 
 the names of those who were instrumental in forming 
 the work, have been ascertained with considerable 
 accuracy, both from written evidence in the narratives 
 themselves, and from the well-preserved traditions of 
 the Jews. Generally speaking, it cannot be said that 
 the books of the Old Testament are of a less antiquity 
 than from two thousand three hundred to four thousand 
 years — an antiquity considerably greater than that of 
 any profane history. At whatever time, however, the 
 difierent books were written, they were not collected 
 from the sacred depositories of the Jews, where they 
 had been carefully placed, till long after their im- 
 mediate authors were deceased ; and their present 
 arrangement, as we shall afterwards explain, is of 
 comparatively modern date. 
 
 According to the order in which the books of the 
 Old Testament now stand, those of an historical nature
 
 Sf}' LITERATURE. 
 
 are appropriately placed at the beginning. The first 
 five books, having a chain of connection throughout, 
 are Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuter- 
 onomy. These are styled the Pentateuch, such being 
 the Greek compound for fwe books. They are like- 
 wise entitled the Books of Moses, from the belief that 
 that enlightened Jewish leader composed them. 
 
 The Jews call tlie Pentateuch the Law, without 
 doubt because the law of God, which Moses received 
 on Mount Sinai, is the principal part of it ; and it is 
 little to be doubted whether that great man was the 
 writer of the Pentateuch. This is expressly declared 
 both in Exodus and Deuteronomy. But as an account 
 of the death of Moses is given in the last eight verses 
 of this book, it is therefore thought that these were 
 added either by Joshua or Ezra. The opinion 
 of Josephus concerning them is very singular ; he 
 assumes that Moses, finding his death approaching, 
 and being willing to prevent an error into which the 
 veneration the people had for him might cause the 
 Jews to fall, wrote this account himself; without which 
 the Jews would probably have supposed that God had 
 taken him away, like Enoch. 
 
 After the death of Moses, Joshua, by the order of 
 the Divine Being, took upon himself the conducting of 
 the Hebrew people, and succeeded Moses, to whom he 
 had been a faithfil servant, and by whom he had been 
 instructed in wbdt he ought to do. It is uncertain 
 whether the book which contains the history of this 
 successor of Moses is called Joshua from the subject 
 of it, or from his having been the writer of it. But it 
 is certain that it contains an account of what passed
 
 THE BIBLE. 37 
 
 from the death of Moses to that of Joshua. Never- 
 theless, there are several things in it which did not 
 come to pass til! after the death of this great man, and 
 which, consequently, could not have been written by 
 him. The common opinion as to the length of time it 
 contains is, that Joshua discharged his office only for 
 seventeen years, and that, therefore, this book contains 
 no more than the history of that number of years. 
 
 After the death of Joshua, the Israelites were gov- 
 erned by magistrates, who ruled under the general 
 designation of judges ; and the book which contains 
 the history of these rulers is called the Book of Judges. 
 This history begins with the death of Joshua, and 
 reaches to that of Samson. We here see the people 
 of God often enslaved in punishment of their crimes, 
 and often wonderfully delivered from bondage. To- 
 wards the end of it, we have some instances of this 
 people's inclination to idolatry, and of the corruption 
 of their manners, even before they had been brought 
 into slavery. Such arc the histories of Micah, and of 
 the Benjamitcs who abused the Lcvite's wife. This 
 book contains the history of about three hundred years. 
 
 During the time of the government of judges, there 
 was a great famine in the land of Israel, which forced 
 Elimclcch, a native of Bethlehem, to retire into the 
 land of Moab, with his wife Naomi and two cliildren. 
 Elimclcch died there, as also his two sons, who had 
 married two Moabitish women, one of whom was 
 named Ruth. Naomi, after the death of her husband 
 and her children, returned to Rethlehem, accompaniocl 
 by Ruth, her daughter-in-law, who was there married 
 XVII.— 4
 
 38 LITERATTJRE. 
 
 to Boaz, Elimelech's near relation, and the heir to hia 
 estate. The book which contains this history is called 
 the Book of Ruth. The beginning of it shows that it 
 happened in the time of the judges, but under which 
 of them is not certainly known : some place it in the 
 time of Shamgar, or of Deborah. As to the writer of 
 this book, some think that the Books of Judges and 
 Ruth were both composed by Samuel ; others attribute 
 them to Hezekiah, and others to Ezra. The Jews 
 place the Book of Ruth among the five books which 
 they usually read on all the festivals in the year. 
 These five books are, the Song of Songs, Ruth, the 
 Lamentations of Jeremiah, Ecclesiastes, and the Book 
 of Esther. In the Hebrew Bibles they are printed or 
 written apart by themselves, and are bound up together. 
 The four books following Ruth are called by the 
 Greeks, and also in some Latin Bibles, the History of 
 the Reigns. Others call them all the Books of Kings, 
 because they give an account of the establishment of 
 the monarchy, and of the succession of the kings, who 
 reigned over the whole kingdom at first, and over the 
 kingdoms of Judah and Israel after its division. At the 
 beginning of these books is the history of the prophet 
 Samuel, which throws light upon that of the kings. 
 The Jews call the first two of these books the Books 
 of Samuel, perhaps because they contain the history 
 of the two kings who were both anointed by Samuel, 
 and because what is said of Saul in the first, and of 
 David in the second, proves the truth of Samuel's 
 prophecies. They give the name of the Books of 
 Kings only to the other two, which in the Latin and
 
 THE BIBLE. 39 
 
 French Bibles are called the Tliird and Fourth Books 
 of Kings. 
 
 The name of Parol ipomena, which, in Greek, sig- 
 nifies the history of things omitted, is given to the two 
 books which follow those of the Kings. These form, 
 in fact, a supplement, containing what had been omitted 
 in the Pentateuch, and the Books of Joshua, Judges, 
 and Kings ; or rather they contain a fuller description 
 of some things which had been therein only briefly 
 related. Some give them the name of Chronicles, 
 because they arc very exact in mentioning the time 
 when every transaction happened. 
 
 Rzra wrote the history of the return of the Jews 
 from the captivity of Babylon into Judea. It is the 
 history of about eighty-two years, from the year of the 
 world 3468, when Cyrus became master of the eastern 
 empire, by the death of his father Cambyscs in Persia, 
 and his father-in-law Cyaxares in Media, to the year 
 3550, which was the twentieth year of the reign of 
 Artaxer.xcs, surnamed Longimanus. This book bears 
 the name of Ezra, who was the writer of it. 
 
 The next book is a continuation of that of Ezra, and, 
 therefore, it is by some called the Second Book of Ezra. 
 It was Nehemiah, however, whose name it also bears, 
 who wrote it, as is said, by the advice of Ezra. It 
 contains the account of the reestablishment of Je- 
 rusalem, and of the Temple, and the worship of God. 
 It is believed by some writers to be the history of 
 about thirty-one years ; but its chronology is exceed- 
 ingly uncertain. 
 
 After this general history of the Jews, follow two 
 histories of particular persons, namely, Esther and
 
 W LITERATURE. 
 
 Job. The first contains the account of a miraculous 
 deliverance of the Jews, which was accomphshcd by 
 means of the heroine named Esther. The history of 
 Job is not only a narration of his actions, but contains 
 also the entire discourses which this pious man had 
 with his wife and his friends, and is, indeed, one of the 
 most eloquent and poetic books in the Holy Scriptures. 
 It is uncertain who was the author. 
 
 Next to the historical books of Scripture, follow 
 those of a moral nature. The first of these is the 
 book of Psalms, which are likewise in some measure 
 historical ; for they recite the miracles which God 
 had wrought, and contain, as it were, an abridgment 
 of all that had been done for the Israelites, and that 
 had happened to them. The Hebrews call them the 
 Book of Praises, by which they mean, the praises 
 of God. The word psalm is Greek, and properly 
 signifies the sound of a stringed instrument of music. 
 The Hebrews sang the psalms with different instru- 
 ments. We make but one book of them all, but the 
 Hebrews divide them into five parts, which all end 
 with the words Amen, Amen. Though the Psalms 
 bear the name of David, yet they were not all com- 
 posed by him : some of them are more ancient, and 
 others are of a later date than his time ; some of 
 them being ascribed to Moses, Samuel, and Ezra. 
 
 After the Psalms art) the Proverbs, which are a 
 collection of moral sentences, of which Solomon was 
 the writer. This name is given them by the Greeks, 
 but the Hebrews call them Misle, that is, Parablis or 
 Comparisons ; and the woixl may also signify &n-
 
 THE BIBLE. 41 
 
 letices, or Maxims. It is a collection of divine precepts, 
 proper for every age and every condition of life. 
 
 The book which follows is also a moral one, and "'»« 
 likewise composed by Solomon. The Greeks call it 
 Ecclesiasles^ which answers to the name of Kohcleth, 
 which it bears in the Hebrew. Both these words 
 signify, in our language, a preacher, or one icho speaks 
 in an assetnhly. In this book is given an admirable 
 picture of the vanity of worldly expectations. 
 
 Among the moral books is also reckoned die Song 
 of So7igs ; that is to say, according to the Hebrew 
 manner of speaking, a most, excellent, song. It is an 
 inspired production of Solomon, in the allegorical form 
 of an epithalamium, or nuptial song, significant of the 
 marriage and fellowship between Christ and his people. 
 " Its majestic style ; its power on men's consciences to 
 promote holiness and purity ; the harmony of its lan- 
 
 lage with that of Christ's parables, and of the book 
 -f Revelation ; the sincerity of the bride in acknowl- 
 edging her faults; and, in fine, its general reception 
 by the Jewish and Christian church, sufficiently prove 
 'ts authenticity." 
 
 In regard to the prophets, it may be observed, that 
 all the Old Testament is considered to be in substance 
 one continued prophecy of the coming of a Messiah ; 
 so that all the books of which it consists are understood 
 to be in some sense prophetical. But this name is 
 more especially given to those books which were 
 written by pei-sons who had a clearer knowledge of 
 futurity, who forewarned both kings and people of what 
 /ould happen to them, and who, at the same time, 
 ^inted out what the Messiah was to accomplish, whom
 
 «Z LITERATUKE. 
 
 they who are acknowledged to have been prophets had 
 always in view ; and this is what ought most especially 
 to be taken notice of in their writings. 
 
 The works of the prophets are divided into two 
 parts, the first of wliicli contains the Greater, and the 
 second, the Lesser Prophets. This distinction, of 
 course, does not apply at all to the persons of the 
 prophets, but only to the bulk of their works. The 
 Greater Prophets are Isaiah, Ezekiel, Daniel, and 
 Jeremiah. The Lamentations of Jeremiah make a 
 separate book by themselves, containing that prophet's 
 descriptions of the destruction of the city of Jerusalem, 
 and of the captivity of the people. The Lesser Proph- 
 ets are Hosea, Joel, Amos, Obadiah, Jonah, Micah, 
 Nahum, Habakkuk, Zephaniah, Haggai, Zechariah, and 
 Malachi. They were formerly contained in one single 
 volume, which the Hebrews call Thereaser, which 
 means Twelve, or the Book of the Twelve. 
 
 The dates of many of the prophecies are uncertain, 
 but the earliest of them was in the days of Uzziah ; 
 king of Judah, and Jeroboam the Second, his con- 
 temporary, King of Israel — about two hundred years 
 before the captivity, and not long after Joash had 
 slain Zechariah, the son of Jehoiada, in the court of the 
 Temple. Hosea was the first of the writing prophets; 
 and Joel, Amos, and Obadiah, published their proph- 
 ecies about the same time. 
 
 Isaiah began his remarkable prophecies a short time 
 afterwards ; but his book is placed first, because it is 
 the largest of them all, and is more explicit respecting 
 the advent of Christ than any of the others. The 
 language of this eminent writer is exceedingly sublime
 
 THE BIBLE. 43 
 
 and affecting ; so much so, that it has never been 
 equalled by any profane poet either in ancient Oi 
 modern times. It is impossible to read some of the 
 chapters without being struck by the force of the 
 prophetic allusions to the character and sufTe rings of 
 the Messiah ; and, in consequence of these prevailing 
 characteristics, the author is ordinarily styled the 
 Evangelical Prophet, and, by some of the ancients, a 
 Fifth Evangelist. The Jews say that the spirit of 
 prophecy continued forty years during the second 
 Temple ; and Malachi they call the Seal of Prophecy, 
 because in him the succession or series of prophets 
 broke off, and came to a period. The book of Malachi, 
 therefore, appropriately closes the sacred record of the 
 Old Testament. 
 
 The New Testament, the second and lesser di- 
 vision of the Bible, relates entirely to the Christian reli- 
 gion, or the fulfilment of that which was predicted and 
 prefigured in the more ancient department of the work. 
 This division of the Sacred Scriptures is generally 
 styled the New Testament, or that which has been a 
 later revelation and bequest. That portion of it which 
 relates to the history of the life of Christ is called the 
 Gospel, and by some the Evangel, both these words 
 having the same meaning, and implying good neios, or 
 glad lidi?igs, from the circumstance that the narratives 
 contain an account of things which are to benefit man- 
 kind. 
 
 The New Testament, like the Old, is a compilation 
 of books written by ilificrent inspired individuals, and 
 all put together in a manner so as to exhibit a regular 
 account of the birth, actions, and death, of ChrUt^
 
 4i LITERATURE. 
 
 the doctrine he promulgated — and the prophecies re- 
 garding the future state of the church which he founded. 
 The historical books are the four Gospels and the Acts 
 of the Apostles, all these being of the character of 
 narratives of events ; the doctrinal are the Epistles of 
 Paul, and some others ; the prophetic book is the last, 
 and is called the Revelation, or Apocalypse of St. John, 
 having been written by that apostle while he was in 
 the Island of Patmos. 
 
 The four evangelists, or writers, are Matthew, 
 Mark, Luke, and John ; these having, as is generally 
 believed, been companions of Christ during his minis- 
 trations, and therefore personally acquainted with his 
 life and character. Each of the four books is princi- 
 pally a repetition of the history of Christ; yet they all 
 possess a difference of style, and each mentions some 
 circumstances omitted by the others, so that the whole 
 IS essential in making up a complete life of the Mes- 
 siah. These distinctions in the tone of the narratives, 
 and other peculiarities, are always considered as strong 
 circumstantial evidence in proof of their authenticity, 
 and of there having been no collusion on the part of 
 the writers. But, indeed, the events they record are 
 detailed in so exceedingly simple and unaffected a 
 manner, that it is impossible to suppose that they were 
 written with a view to impose on the credulity of man- 
 kind. The veracity and actual belief of the evan- 
 gelists themselves are placed beyond a doubt. 
 
 The first book is written by Matthew, who was by 
 birth a Jew, and exercised the profession of a publican 
 — that is, a collector of the public tax or assessmeni. 
 imposed upon the Jewish people by their conquerors,
 
 THE BIBLE 46 
 
 the Romans. Matthew, who was also called by the 
 name of Levi, was one of tlie twelve apostles of Christ, 
 and he is said to have written his narrative from thirty 
 to forty years after the departure of his Master from 
 the earth. Many of the ancients say that he wrote it 
 in the Hebrew or Syriuc language ; but it is more prob- 
 able that there were two originals — one in Hebrew 
 and the other in Greek, the former written A. D. 37 or 
 38, and the latter A. D. 61 ; and that these were respec- 
 tively designed for the Hebrew and Gentile nations. 
 
 With regard to Mark, the writer of the second Gos- 
 pel, it may be observed, that although Mark or Marcus 
 was a common Roman name, there is reason to believe 
 that this evangelist was a Jew, who had changed his 
 original appellation on being converted to the faith of 
 Christ. Jerome says that, after the writing of this 
 Gospel, he went into Egypt, and was the first that 
 preached the gospel at Alexandria, where he founded 
 a church, to which he ofiered an example of holy 
 living. 
 
 Luke, the name of the third evangelist, is consid- 
 ered by some to be a contraction of Lucilius ; and he 
 is said by St. Jerome to have been born at Antiocli. 
 Some think that he was the only one of all the penmen 
 of the Scriptures that was not of the Israelites; that he 
 was a Jewish proselyte, and was converted to Chris- 
 tianity, by the ministry of St. Paul, at Antioch ; and 
 that, after the coming of Paul into Macedonia, Luke 
 was his constant companion. He had employed him- 
 self in the study and practice of physic ; and hence 
 Paul calls him Luke the beloved physician. It is 
 deemed probable that Luke wrote both his Gospel and
 
 49 LITERATURE. 
 
 his narrative of the Acts of the Apostles at Rome, 
 when he was there a prisoner with Paul, preaching in 
 his own hired house — circumstances alluded to at the 
 conclusion of the latter work. If this be the case, 
 Luke's Gospel may be dated about thirty years after 
 Christ's departure, or A. D. 63. 
 
 The fourth evangelist, John, was one of the sons of 
 Zebedee, a fisherman of Galilee, the brother of James, 
 one of the twelve apostles, and distinguished by the 
 honorable appellation of that disciple xohom Jesus loved. 
 The ancients tell us that John lived longest of all the 
 apostles, and was the only one of them that died a 
 natural death — all the rest suffering martyrdom. It is 
 now established that he wrote his Gospel about the 
 year 97 or 98, when he was of an extremely old age. 
 
 After the gospel, or history of Jesus Christ, follows 
 the history of what passed after his ascension, and was 
 transacted by the apostles. The book, therefore, 
 which contains this history, is called the Acts of the 
 Apostles. It is a history of the rising church for about 
 the space of thirty years. It was written, as has been 
 already observed, by St. Luke, the evangelist, when he 
 was with St. Paul at Rome, during his imprisonment 
 there. In the end of the book he mentions particularly 
 his being with Paul in his dangerous voyage to Rome, 
 when he was carried thither a prisoner ; and it is 
 evident that he was with him when, from his prison 
 there, Paul wrote his Epistles to the CoJossians and 
 Philemon, for in both of these he is named by him. 
 
 Next to this con)c the Epistles of St. Paul, which 
 are fourteen in number — one to the Romans; two to 
 the Corinthians : one to the Galatians ; one to the
 
 THE BIBLE. #F 
 
 Epheslans ; ono to the Philippians ; one to the Coles- 
 sians ; two to the Tliessalonians ; two to Timothy ; 
 one to Titus ; one to Philemon ; and one to the He- 
 brews. They contain that part of ecclesiastical his- 
 tory which immediately follows after what is related 
 in the Acts. The principal matter contained in them 
 is the establishment or confirmation of the doctrine 
 which Jesus Christ taught his disciples. 
 
 St. Paul wrote to the churches of some particular 
 places, or to some particular persons ; but the other 
 epistles which follow his are called catholic (that is, 
 universal,) because, with the exception of the second 
 and third of St. John, they were not addressed to any 
 particular church or individual, as his were, but to the 
 whole church in general. These are — one of St. 
 James ; two of St. Peter ; three of St. John ; and one 
 of St. Jude. 
 
 The date of most of these epistles is extremely un- 
 certain, but the most generally received chronology of 
 them is as follows : that of St. James, A. D. 61 ; of 
 St. Peter, A. D. 66 and 67 ; of St. John, A. D. 80 and 
 90 ; of St. Jude, A. D. 66. 
 
 Modern History of the Bible. — It will have 
 been gathered from the preceding details, that the 
 books of the Old Testament were originally written in 
 the Hebrew language, that being the tongue spoken by 
 the ancient Jewish people ; and that the books were 
 inscribed on rolls or sheets of carefully-prepared parch- 
 ment, and deposited only in the Temple, or preserved 
 in the hands of the highest officers of religion. In 
 this condition, and either in the Hebrew or Chaldaic 
 tongue, they existed till translated into the language
 
 49 LITERATURE. 
 
 of the Greeks, under the name of the Septuagint. 
 With respect to the exact period at which this transla- 
 tion was efTecled, history presents no uniform account. 
 The translation is ordinarily assigned to seventy Jewish 
 elders or interpreters, — and hence the term Septuagint, 
 which signifies seventy, — who were employed by the 
 Egyptian ruler, Ptolemy Philadelphus, to furnish a 
 copy of the Scriptures in Greek, a language with 
 which he and his people were acquainted. Whether 
 the narration of this circumstance, which is said to 
 have occurred 277 years before the Christian era, be 
 conformable with credible history, it is at least certain 
 that the translation called the Septuagint was effected 
 by Jews skilled in the Greek tongue, at about the time 
 specified ; and it was afterwards held in high esteem 
 by the Sanhedrim at Jerusalem. It may further be 
 explained, that it was this Greek version of the Scrip- 
 tures which was always quoted by our Savior and his 
 apostles, whenever they made an appeal to the sacred 
 writings. 
 
 With the earliest organization of the Christian church 
 may be said to have commenced a new era in the his- 
 tory of the Bible. The Old Testament books, whether 
 in the form of Hebrew, Chaldaic, or Greek versions, 
 were still cherished by the Hebrew priesthood, as they 
 are at this day ; but copies were likewise accessible to 
 the early Christians, and by these pious apostles and 
 disciples they were treasured as the prophetic testimony 
 of God's design for the salvation of mankind, in the 
 grand event which had now actually occurred — the 
 coming of Jesus Christ. 
 
 When the books of the New Testament were col-
 
 THE BIBLE. 49 
 
 lected and authenticated by the early fathers and other 
 members of the Christian church, tliey were held in 
 equal esteem with those of the Old, and carefully pre- 
 served along with them. Though still in detached 
 manuscripts, they were generally in the Greek tongue; 
 but, during the first three centuries of our era, Latin, 
 or the language of the Romans, came largely into use 
 in hterature, a.id, in the same manner as the modern 
 L w ropean languages, in later times, superseded the 
 Latin, so did the Latin supersede the Greek. In the 
 fifth century, the Latin version of the Scriptures, called 
 the Vulgate, was made by St. Jerome. 
 
 For the safe custody and verification of the Scrip- 
 tures, from the period at which the New Testament 
 books were collected, we are indebted to the church, 
 or, to speak more plainly, that series of ecclesiastical 
 functionaries whose history is extended from the apos- 
 tolic times till the present. Until the Bible, therefore, 
 was secured to the people by the greatest of all me- 
 chanical applications, — the art of printing, — and in 
 that respect placed beyond the reach of private interpo- 
 lation or error, its safety, as a record, was dependent on 
 the care and affection of the church. From the era 
 of Augustine and Jerome, when copies of the sacred 
 books came into considerably greater request by the 
 scattered branches of the church, transcripts were 
 effected by priests, and latterly by monks, with a dili- 
 gence and accuracy which demand our utmost esteem 
 and approbation. In the cells of monasteries, sur- 
 rounded by hordes of barbarous nobles and their serfs, 
 learning found refuge from oppression ; and there, in 
 the darkest ages of Eiiropoan history, were ecclesias- 
 
 D XVII. — 5
 
 60 LITERATURE. 
 
 tics engaged in penning copy after copy of the Sacred 
 Writings, and bequeathing tliem as memorials of their 
 industry to future and more fortunate generations. 
 
 Both before and after the appHcation of printing to 
 multiply copies of the Bible, translations, either direct 
 from the original tongues or from the Greek versions, 
 were effected by almost every people to whom Chris- 
 tianity was inti'oduced. Thus copies of the Scriptures 
 in Arabic, Persian, Sclavonic, and other tongues, were 
 produced. One of the most ancient of these is that 
 translated for the use of the Armenian Christians in 
 the fifth or sixth century. Portions of the Scriptures 
 are understood to have been translated into Anglo- 
 Saxon, for use in the first British churches, as early as 
 the sixth or seventh centuries ; and the whole Bible 
 was translated by Bede, an eminent Romish ecclesias- 
 tic, in the beginning of the eighth century. The first 
 English Bible we read of was that translated by Wick- 
 liffe, one of the earliest English reformers, about the 
 year 1360, but never printed. 
 
 The Bible now in use among Protestants was trans- 
 lated by order of James T., of England. To effect this 
 very important undertaking, forty-seven distinguished 
 scholars were appointed, and divided into six classes. 
 Ten at Westminster were to translate to the end of II. 
 Kings ; eight at Cambridge were to finish the remain- 
 ing historical books and the Ilagiographa ; at Oxford, 
 seven were engaged on the Prophets, eight upon the 
 four Gospels, the Acts of the Apostles, and the Apoca- 
 lypse : the Apocryphal books were to be translated at 
 Cambridge. Each individual translated all the books 
 abetted to his class ; the whole class then compared
 
 THE BIBLE. 51 
 
 all the translations, and adopted the readings agreed 
 on by the majority. The book, thus finished, was 
 sent to each of the other classes. Three years were 
 consumed in this arduous duty of translating and exam- 
 ining. Copies were then sent to London, one from 
 each of the above-named places. Here a committee 
 of six, one from each class, reviewed the whole, which 
 was last of all revised by Dr. Smith, and Dr. Bilson, 
 bishop of Winchester. Having received the appro- 
 bation of the king, it was printed in 1611. We are 
 not informed by any writer whether the translation 
 was effected from Hebrew copies of the Old Tes- 
 tament or the Greek Scptuagint, or whether any tran- 
 scriptions of the original manuscripts were consulted ; 
 but it is allowed by all persons competent to judge, 
 that the version possesses extraordinary merit, and ia 
 the most perfect ever produced.
 
 LITERATURE OF GREECE. 
 
 As the Greeks, more than any other people, were 
 the originators of their own literature, and have exerted 
 a controlling influence on that of succeeding ages, it 
 may be proper to preface the following sketch by a 
 few remarks on the general nature and tendency of 
 this potent offspring of human genius. 
 
 Under the term literature* we comprehend all those 
 arts and sciences, and all those mental exertions, which 
 have human life, and man himself, for their object ; 
 but which, manifesting themselves in no external effect, 
 energize only in thought and speech, and, without 
 requiring any corporeal matter on which to operate, 
 display intellect as imbodied in written language. 
 Under this are included, first, the art of poetry, and 
 the kindred art of narration, or history ; next, all those 
 higher exertions of pure reason and intellect which 
 have human life, and man himself, for their object, 
 and which have influence upon both ; and, last of all, 
 eloquence and wit, whenever these do not escape in 
 the fleeting vehicle of oral communication, but remain 
 displayed in the more substantial and lasting form of 
 written productions. 
 
 • See Schlegel's History of Literature.
 
 LlTJiRATL'EE OF GREECE. 53 
 
 The greatest and most important discover^' of human 
 ingenuity is writing ; there is no impiety in saying, 
 that it was scarcely in the power of the Deity to confer 
 on man a more glorious present than Language, by 
 the medium of which lie himself has been revealed to 
 us, and which affijrds at once the strongest bond of 
 union, and the best instrument of communication. So 
 inseparable, indeed, arc mind and language, so identi- 
 cally one are thought and speech, that although we 
 must always hold reason to be the great characteristic 
 and peculiar attribute of man, yet language also, when 
 we regard its original object and intrinsic dignity, is 
 well entitled to be considered as a component part of 
 the intellectual structure of our being. 
 
 However greatly both of these high gifts, which are 
 so essentially the same, — these, the proudest distinc- 
 tions of human nature, which have made man what he 
 is, — may be in many instances misdirected and 
 abused, still our innate and indestructible sense of 
 the original dignity of speech and language is suffi- 
 ciently manifest, from the importance which we attach 
 to them in the formation of all our particular judg- 
 ments and opinions. What influence the art of speak- 
 ing has upon our judgment in the affairs of active life, 
 and in all the relations of society, — what power the 
 force of expression every where exerts over our 
 thoughts, it would be superfluous to detail. The same 
 considerations which govern us in our judgment of in- 
 dividuals determine us also in our opinions concerning 
 nations ; and we are at once disposed to look upon that 
 people as the most enlightened and the most polished 
 which makes use of the most clear, precise, appro- 
 5*
 
 54 LITERATUKE OF GREECE. 
 
 priate, and agreeable medium of expression ; inso- 
 much ihal we not unfrcquciitly allow ourselves to be 
 biased, even to weakness, by the external advantage 
 of diction and utterance, and pay more attention to the 
 vehicle than to the intrinsic value of the thoughts them- 
 selves, or the moral character of those from whom 
 they proceed. 
 
 The true excellence and importance of those arts 
 and sciences, which exert and display themselves in 
 writing, may be seen in the great influence which they 
 have exerted on the character and fate of nations, 
 throughout the history of the world. Here it is that 
 literature appears, in all its reach and comprehension, 
 as the epitome of all the intellectual capabilities ana 
 progressive improvements of mankind. If we look 
 back to the history of our species, and observe what 
 circumstances have given to any one nation the great- 
 est advantages over others, we shall not hesitate to 
 admit, that there is nothing so necessary to the whole 
 .mprovement, or rather to the whole intellectual exist- 
 ence, of a nation, as the possession of a plentiful store 
 of those national recollections and associations, which 
 are lost in a great measure during the dark ages of 
 infant society, but which it forms the great object of 
 the poetical art to perpetuate and adorn. Such national 
 recollections — the noblest inheritance which a people 
 can possess — bestow an advantage which no other 
 riches can supply ; for when a people are exalted in 
 their feelings, and ennobled in their own estimation, by 
 the consciousness that they have been illustrious in 
 ages that are gone by, — that these recollections have 
 come down to them from a remote and an heroic an-
 
 LITERATURE OF GREECE. 55 
 
 cestiy, — in a word, that they have a national poetry 
 of their own, we are willing to acknowledge that their 
 pride is reasonable, and tlicy are raised in our eyes by 
 the same circumstances which give them elevation in 
 their own. 
 
 It is not from the extent of its undertakings alone, or 
 from the remarkable nature of the incidents of its his- 
 tory that we judge of the character and importance of 
 a nation. Many a nation, which has undergone, in its 
 time, all the varieties of human fortune, has sunk name- 
 less into oblivion, and left behind scarcely a trace of 
 its existence. Others, more fortunate, have transmitted 
 to posterity the memory of their influence, and the 
 fame of their conquests ; and yet we scarcely hold the 
 narrative to be worthy of our attention, unless the spirit 
 of the nation has been such as to communicate its in- 
 terests to those undertakings and those incidents which 
 at best occupy but too great a space in the history of 
 the world. Ilemarkablc actions, great events, and 
 strange catastrophes, are not, of themselves, suflicient 
 to preserve the admiration and determine the judgment 
 of posterity. These arc only to be attained by a 
 nation who have given clear proofs that they were not 
 insensible instruments in the hands of destiny, but 
 were themselves conscious of the greatness of their 
 deeds and the singularity of their fortunes. 
 
 This national consciousness, expressing itself in 
 works of narrative and illustration, is History. A 
 people whose days of glory and victory have been cel- 
 ebrated by the pen of a Livy, whose misfortunes and 
 decline have been bequeathed to posterity in the pages 
 of a Tacitus, acquires a strange preeminence by the
 
 56 LITERATUHE OF GREECE. 
 
 genius of her historians, and is no longer in any danger 
 of being classed with the vulgar multitude of nations, 
 which, occupying no place in the history of human in- 
 tellect, as soon as they have performed their part of 
 conquest or defeat on the stage of the world, pass 
 away from our view, and sink forever into oblivion. 
 
 The poet, the painter, or the sculptor, though endued 
 with all the power and all the magic of his art, — 
 though capable of reaching or imbodying the boldest 
 flights of imagination, — the philosopher, though he 
 may be able to scrutinize the most hidden depth of 
 human thought, — can, during the period of his own life, 
 be known and appreciated only by a few. But the 
 sphere of his influence extends with the progress of 
 ages, and his name shines brighter and broader as it 
 grows old. Compared with his, the fame of the legis 
 later, among distant nations, and the celebrity of new 
 institutions, appear uncertain and obscure ; while the 
 glory of the conqueror, after a few centuries have sunk 
 into the all-whelming, all-destroying abyss of time, is 
 forever fading in its lustre, until, at length, it perhaps 
 affords a subject of exultation to some plodding anti- 
 quarian, that he should be able to discover some glim- 
 merings of a name which had once challenged the 
 reverence of the world. It may safely be affirmed, 
 that not only among the moderns, but even in the 
 latter ages of antiquity, the preservation and extension 
 of the fame of Greece were at least as much the work 
 of Homer and Plato, as of Solon and Alexander. The 
 tribute of attention which all the European nations so 
 wilUngly pay to the history of the Greeks, as the 
 authors and examples of European refinement, is in
 
 LITERATURE OF GREECE. 57 
 
 truth more rightly due to the philosopher and the poet 
 than to the conqueror and the legislator. The influ- 
 ence which the works and the genius of Homer have 
 of themselves produced on after ages, or rather, indeed, 
 on the general character and improvement of the 
 human race, has alone been far more durable, and far 
 more extensive, than the combined effects of all the 
 institutions of the Athenian, and all the heroic deeds 
 and transcendent victories of the Macedonian. 
 
 If to these high advantages of national poetry and 
 national traditions, of a history abounding in subjects 
 of meditation, of refined art and profound science, we 
 add the gifts of eloquence, of wit, and of a language 
 of society adapted to all the ends of elegant intercourse, 
 but not abused to the purposes of immorality, — we have 
 filled up the picture of a polished and intellectual 
 people, and have a full view of what a perfect and 
 comprehensive literature ought to be. 
 
 As in most other countries, poetry flourished in 
 Greece earlier than prose. At a very remote period, 
 Linus, Orpheus, and Musajus, are said to have com- 
 posed poetry ; but although some verses, attributed to 
 them, are still extant, it is now generally admitted that 
 these must have been the production of more modern 
 times. Homer, the most ancient of the Grecian poets 
 whose works have been preserved, is understood to 
 have existed in the tenth century before Christ, or 
 about three centuries previous to the appearance of 
 any known prose writers in the land. 
 
 The biographers of Homer represent him as a blind 
 old minstrel, who went from place to place, reciting or 
 singing his verses for a livelihood. He is said to have
 
 68 LITERATURE OF GREECE. 
 
 lived about the year 900 B. C, and to have been a 
 native of the Isle of Scio, on the western coast of Asia 
 Minor, which seems to account for the Ionic dialect in 
 which his poems were written. Many years after he 
 had closed a life of penury and neglect, no fewer than 
 seven considerable Grecian cities contended for the 
 honor of having given birth to this inspired mendicant 
 — a circumstance highly characteristic of a country in 
 which the desire of fame was the ruling appetite of 
 men, both as individuals and as communities. The 
 Island of Scio is nevertheless regarded as most likely 
 to have been his birthplace. 
 
 The Iliad and Odyssey of Homer are long narrative 
 poems, illustrative of events connected with the Trojan 
 war. At the time when the Iliad opens, the tenth and 
 last year of the siege has already arrived, and the 
 remaining incidents and final result of the contest are 
 successively described with great poetical power. This 
 is the whole subject of the twenty-four books or 
 sections of the Iliad ; yet the characters and scenes 
 portrayed in the poem are so numerous as to add the 
 strong charm of variety to its other beauties. The 
 immortal gods are represented as not only feeling a 
 deep interest, but even making themselves active 
 parties, in the war ; which intermixture of divine and 
 human agency in the poem, has, of course, the effect 
 of taking from it all natural probability ; yet, leaving 
 this objection aside, there is much in the Iliad to 
 engage the attention of an inquirer into the early 
 history of mankind. It abounds with descriptions 
 and incidents which throw a light upon either the 
 time of action in the poern, or the time of its com-
 
 LITERATUKE OF GREECE. 59 
 
 position. Fleroes arc represented as, in those days, 
 yoking their own cars ; queens and princesses arc 
 busied in spinning ; and Achilles kills his mutton with 
 his own hand, and dresses his own dinner. Yet these 
 operations, tame and commonplace, if not vulgar, as 
 they are, do not, in the hands of Homer, detract in 
 the slightest degree from the dignified grandeur of the 
 characters who perform them. 
 
 The general tone of the poem is grave and lofty, 
 and it occasionally rises into sublimity. In the lan- 
 guage there is often a sur})rising felicity — insomuch that 
 one word will sometimes fill the mind of the reader 
 with a perfect and delightful picture. But the great 
 merit of the work lies in the strength of thought, and 
 the singular ardor of imagination, which it displays. 
 " No poet was ever more happy," says Dr. Blair, " in 
 the choice of his subject, or more successful in painting 
 his historical and descriptive pieces. There is a con- 
 siderable resemblance in the style to that of some parts 
 of the Bible, — for instance, Isaiah, — which is not to 
 be wondered at, seeing that the writings of the Old 
 Testament are productions of nearly the same age, and 
 of a part of the world not far from the alleged birth- 
 place of Homer." 
 
 The following passage from the Iliad, which de- 
 scribes an interview between Hector, one of the brave 
 defenders of Troy, and his wife, Andromache, is full 
 of truth and beauty, and may serve as a specimen of 
 the poem. It is copied from Pope's translation. 
 
 " 'Too daring priiico 1 all, wliither dost thou run ? 
 Ah, too forgotful of thy wife and son !
 
 ^ LITERATURE OF GREECE. 
 
 And think'st thou not how wretched we shall be, 
 A widow I, and helpless orphan he ? 
 For sure such courage length of life denies, 
 And thou must fall tiiy virtue's sacrifice. 
 .Greece in her single heroes strove in vain; 
 Now hosts oppose thee, and thou must be slain ! 
 O 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 wrapped our walls in fire. 
 Laid Thebe waste, and slew my warlike sire ! 
 His fate compassion in the victor bred ; 
 Stern as he was, he yet revered the dead ; 
 His radiant arms preserved from hostile spoil 
 And laid him decent on the funeral pile ; 
 Then raised a mountain where his bones were burned ; 
 The mountain nymphs the rural tomb adorned. 
 Jove's sylvan daughters bade their elms bestow 
 A barren shade, and in his honor grow. 
 
 By the same arm my seven brave brothers fell — 
 In one sad day beheld the gates of hell ; 
 While the fat herds and snowy flocks they fed, 
 Amid their fields the hapless heroes bled ! 
 My mother lived to bear the victor's bands, 
 The queen of Hyppoplacia's sylvan lands: 
 Redeemed too late, she scarce beheld again 
 Her pleasing empire, and her native plain, 
 When, ah ! oppressed by life-consuming woe, 
 She fell a victim to Diana's bow. 
 
 Yet, while my Hector still survives, I see 
 My father, mother, brethren, all, in thee : 
 Alas ! my parents, brothcis, kindred, all 
 Once more will perish, if my Hector fall. 
 Thy wife, thy infant, in thy danger share ; 
 O, prove a husband's and a father's care •
 
 LITERATURE OF GREECE. 61 
 
 That quarter, most, the skilful Greeks annoy, 
 
 Where yon wild fig-trees join the walls of Troy. 
 
 Thou from tiiis tower defend the important post; 
 
 There Agamemnon points his dreadful host ; 
 
 That pass Tydides, Ajax, strive to gain, 
 
 And there the vengeful Spartan fires iiis 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.' 
 
 The chief replied, ' Tliat post shall be my care, 
 Nor that alone, but all the works of war. — 
 How would the sons of Troy, in arms renowned, 
 And Troy's proud dames, whose garments sweep the ground. 
 Attaint the lustre of my former name. 
 Should Hector basely quit the field of fame ! 
 My early youth was bred to martial pains. 
 My soul impels me to the embattled ])lains ; 
 Let me be foremost to defend the throne. 
 And guard my father's gloric^s and my own. 
 
 For come it will, the day decreed by fates — 
 How my heart trembles while my tongue relates — 
 The day when thou, imperial Troy ! must bend. 
 And see thy warriors fall, thy glories end. 
 And yet no dire presage so wounds my mind,^ 
 My mother's death, the ruin of my kind. 
 Not Priam's hoary hairs defiled with gore, 
 Not all my brothers gasping on the shore, — 
 As thine, Andromache ! Thy griefs I dread ; 
 I see thee trembling, weeping, captive led. 
 In Argijfe looms our battles to design, 
 And woes of which so large a part was thine ! 
 To bear the victor's hard commands, or bring 
 The weight of waters from Hyperia's spring. 
 
 Then, while you groan beneath the load of life. 
 They cry, " Behold the miglity Hector's wife ! " 
 Some haughty Greek, who lives thy tears to sec, 
 Imbittcrs all thy woes by naming me. 
 XVII. — 6
 
 62 LITERATURE OF GREECE. 
 
 The thoughts of glory past, and present shame, 
 A thousand griefs, shall waken at the name ! 
 May I lie cold before that dreadful day. 
 Pressed with a load of monumental clay ! 
 Thy Hector, wrapped in everlasting sleep. 
 Shall neither hear thee sigh nor see thee weep.' 
 
 Thus having spoke, the illustrious chief of Troy 
 Stretched his fond arms, to clasp the lovely boy. 
 The babe clung, crying, to his nurse's breast, 
 Scared at the dazzling helm, the nodding crest. 
 With secret pleasure each fond parent smiled. 
 And Hector hastened to relieve his child ; 
 The glittering terrors from his brows unbound. 
 And placed the beaming helmet on the grovmd ; 
 Then kisstd the child, and lifting high in air. 
 Thus to the gods preferred a father's prayer : — 
 ' O thou ! whose glory fills the ethereal throne, 
 And all ye deathless powers, protect my son ! 
 Grant him, like me, to purchase just renown, 
 To guard the Trojans, to defend the crown, 
 Against his country's foes the war to wage, 
 And rise the Hector of the future age ! 
 So, when, triumphant from successful toils, 
 Of heroes slain he bears the recking spoils. 
 Whole hosts may hail him with deserved acclaim. 
 And saj', " This chief transcends his father's fame ; 
 While, pleased amid the general shouts of Troy, 
 His mother's conscious heart o'erflows with joy.' 
 
 He spoke ; and, fondly gazing on her charms, 
 Restored the pleasing burden to her arms ; 
 Soft on her fragrant breast the babe she laid, 
 Hushed to repose, and with a smile surveyed : 
 The troubled pleasure soon chastised by fear, 
 She mingled with a smile a tender tear. 
 The softened chief with kind compassion viewed, 
 And dried the falling drops, and thus pursued : — 
 
 'Andromache ! my soul's far bettor part ! 
 Why with untimely sorrows heaves thy heart '
 
 LITERATURE OF GREECE. 63 
 
 No hostile hand can antedate my doom, 
 Till Fate compels me to the silent tonil). 
 Fixed is the term to all the race of earth ; 
 And such the hard condition of our birth, 
 No force can then resist, no flight can save , 
 All sink alike, the fearful and tiie brave. 
 No more — but hasten to tliy tasks at home ; 
 There guide the si)indle, and direct the loom. 
 Me glory summons to the martial scene ; 
 The field of combat is the sphere for men. 
 Where heroes war, tlic foremost place I claim, 
 The first in danger, as the first in fame I ' 
 
 The Odyssey has been said to resemble a work 
 called forth by the success of a previous one, and 
 ranks, as a whole, below the Iliad. It relates to the 
 adventures which befell Ulysses, king of the Island of 
 Ithaca, on his way home from the Tiojan war. Both 
 this poem and the Iliad have continued for more than 
 two thousand years to enjoy the admiration of mankind ; 
 and it is certainly a proof of surpassing merit, that no 
 effort in the same style of poetry, though made under 
 circumstances much more advantageous than those of 
 the blind old minstrel, has ever been in nearly the 
 same degree successful. 
 
 Hesiod, a poet much inferior in powers to Homer, 
 whose contemporary he is generally supposed to have 
 been, was the author of several poems of considerable 
 merit, two of which, entitled the Thcogony, or the 
 Generation of the Gods, and the Works and Days, 
 have come down to modern times. The former of 
 these compositions is a poetical account of the origin, 
 relationship, rank, and peculiar characteristics and 
 functions of the divinities worshipped by the Greeks
 
 64 LITERATURE OF GREECE. 
 
 and ihe other piece is a sort of rustic calendar in verse, 
 with directions for the proper performance of agri- 
 cultural labors. The Roman poet Virgil acknowl- 
 edged that he had taken this poem as liis model when 
 composing his Georgics, although it must be allowed 
 that, in this instance, the imitation far surpassed the 
 original. 
 
 Few of the events of Hesiod's life have been re- 
 corded ; and of the scanty notices which we possess 
 respecting him, some appear to be entitled to little 
 credit. He was a native of Ascra, a town of Boeotia, 
 and spent his youthful years in tending his father's 
 sheep on the sides of Mount Helicon. He had a 
 brother, named Perses, who contrived to swindle Hesiod 
 out of his share of an estate which their father, at his 
 death, had left to be divided between them. Hesiod, 
 fortunately, was so circumstanced otherwise, that he 
 could procure, in moderation, the comforts of life ; and 
 he was so little ambitious, that, instead of giving way 
 to unavailing regret at the disappointment of his just 
 expectations, he contented himself with recording in 
 verse his pity for those who place their happiness in 
 wealth, and who endeavor to obtain it even at the 
 expense of honesty. And so forgiving was his dis- 
 position, that, notwithstanding the cruel and unjust 
 manner in which his brother had used him, he subse- 
 quently assisted him more than once in distresses 
 which overtook him. 
 
 Hesiod gained a public prize in a poetical contest 
 which took place at the celebration of funeral games in 
 honor of a king of EubcEa. The poet lived to a great 
 nge, and is stated to have spent tlie latter part of his
 
 LITERATUEE OF GREECE. 65 
 
 life in Locris, in the vicinity of Mount Parnassus, 
 Quiet and inoffensive as his disposition was, it was 
 his fate to meet with a violent death. A Milesian who 
 resided in the same house with him had committed a 
 gross outrage upon a young woman, whose brothers, 
 erroneously supposing that Ilosiod had connived at the 
 crime, included him in its punishment. They mur- 
 dered both the innocent poet and the guilty Milesian, 
 and cast their bodies into the sea. 
 
 The eighth centui-y before Christ, or that immedi- 
 ately following the era of Ilomor and Ilesiod, forms a 
 perfect blank in the literary history of Greece ; not 
 one of its poets, if indeed any then flourished, having 
 possessed sufficient merit to insure the preservation of 
 his works, or even of his name, from oblivion. The 
 seventh century, by producing Archilochus, Tyrtaius, 
 and Alcman, gave indication of the approach of a 
 brighter period ; and the sixth more than fulfilled the 
 promises of its predecessor, by giving birth to Sappho, 
 Anacreon, and Simonides, besides several other poets 
 of inferior, yet still of distinguished ability. 
 
 Sappho was a lyrical poetess, whose genius was so 
 much admired by the Greeks, that they honored her 
 with the title of " the Tenth Muse." She was born at 
 Mitylenc, in the Isle of Lesbos, about the year 610 B. C. 
 She became the wife of a wealthy inhabitant of the 
 Island of Andros, to whom she bore a daughter, named 
 Cleis. Sappho was short in stature, swarthy in com- 
 plexion, and by no means beautiful. Endowed with a 
 warm and passionate temperament, she chiefly wrote 
 poetry descriptive of the hopes and fears inspired by 
 love. Only two of her lyrics have been preserved 
 E 6*
 
 TO LITERATUKE OF GREECE. 
 
 entire, — namely, a Hymn to Vfenus, and an Ode to a 
 Young Lady, — both of which arc characterized by so 
 much beauty, feeling, and fire, as to justify the ad- 
 miration with which her poetical powers were regarded 
 by the ancients. Her vehement affections finally 
 impelled her to her own destruction. After the death 
 of her husband, she became desperately enamored 
 of a young man, named Phaon, and, finding herself 
 unable to excite a reciprocal passion, notwithstanding 
 the most earnest and persevering efforts, she threw 
 herself headlong into the sea, from a high rock at 
 the promontory of Leucate. The place where she 
 was drowned was afterwards known by the name of 
 the " Lover's Leap." The following fragment will 
 serve to show the poetic feeling and fancy which 
 characterize the productions of this celebrated woman. 
 
 The Rose. 
 
 " Would Jove appoint some flower to reign 
 In matchless beauty on the plain, 
 The rose — mankind will all agree — 
 The rose, the queen of flowers should be : 
 The pride of plants, the grace of bowers, 
 The blush of meads, the eye of flowers, 
 Its beauties charm tiie gods above ; 
 Its fragrance is the breath of love ; 
 Its foliage wantons in the air. 
 Luxuriant, like the flowing hair ; 
 It shines in blooming splendor gay, 
 While zephyrs on its bosom play.'* 
 
 Passing over inferior names, we come to Anacreon, 
 a poet of great celebrity, who was born at Teos, a city 
 of Ionia, in Asia, about the middle of the sixth century
 
 LITERATURE OF GREECE. 67 
 
 before the Christian era. It is supposed that he would 
 be about eighteen or twenty years of age when Cyrus, 
 the king of Persia, sent a general named Ilarpagus, 
 with a large army, to punish the Greek cities of Asia 
 Minor for refusing to assist him in his war with Croesus, 
 king of Lydia. On the approach of Ilarpagus, the 
 Teians resolved to abandon their country rather than 
 submit to the Persians ; and, accordingly, they crossed 
 the Archipelago or iEgcan Sea, and settled at Abdera, 
 on the coast of Thrace. Anacreon, who had accom- 
 panied his fellow-citizens into voluntary exile, subse- 
 quently visited Samos, where he obtained the friendship 
 of Polycrates, the king of that island. He is said to 
 have resided, during a long period, at the court of 
 Polycrates, dividing his hours between the composition 
 of amatory and bacchanalian verses, and indulgence in 
 pleasures of a congenial kind. 
 
 His reputation as a poet having become very great, 
 Hipparchus, who, together with his brother Hippias, 
 then ruled in Athens, invited him to visit that city 
 and, according to Plato, sent a fifty-oared vessel for 
 the express purpose of conveying him to Attica. After 
 the Eissassination of Hipparchus, Anacreon recrossed 
 the i^gean to his native town of Teos ; but was a 
 second time obliged to quit it, on account of the 
 advance of the Persian army, when the Greek states of 
 Asia Minor endeavored to throw off the yoke of Darius, 
 in the year 500 B. C. He then returned to the Teian 
 settlement at Abdera, where he died in the eighty-fifth 
 year of his age, (about 470 B. C.) He is said to liave 
 been choked by a grape-stone while quafling a cup of 
 wine — a death not inappropriate to the manner in
 
 68 LITERATUUK OF GREECE. 
 
 which he spent his life. Tlie extant works of Anac- 
 reon consist of odes and sonnets, chiefly referring to 
 ihe subjects of love and wine. His style is graceful, 
 sprightly, and mellifluous ; but he can only be con- 
 sidered as an inspired voluptuary. The Athenians, in 
 his own spirit, reared a monument to him in the shape 
 of a drunkard singing — an expressive proof of the 
 blindness of the ancients to the vicious and degrading 
 nature of intemperance. 
 
 The following pieces exhibit fair specimens of the 
 poetry of Anacreon ; — 
 
 On his lyre. 
 
 " « Wake, O lyre, thy silent str'ings : 
 Celebrate the brotlier kings, — 
 Sons of Athens, famed afar, — 
 Cadmus, and the Theban war ! ' 
 Rapt 1 strike the vocal shell — 
 Hark ! — the trembling chords rebel ; 
 All averse to arms tlicy prove, 
 Warbling only strains of love. 
 
 Late I strung anew my l3're — 
 ' Heavenly muse, my breast inspire, 
 While the swelling notes resound 
 Hercules, for toils renowned ! ' 
 Still the chords rebellious prove, 
 Answering only strains of love. 
 
 Farewell, heroes, farewell, kings ! 
 
 Love alone shall tune my strings." 
 
 The Grasshopper. 
 
 " Thee, sweet grasshopper, we call 
 Happiest of insects all, 
 Who from spray to spray canst skip, 
 And the dew of morning sip :
 
 LITERATURE OK GREECE. 69 
 
 Little sips inspire to sing ; 
 Then thou'rt happy as a king. 
 All — whatever thou canst see, 
 Herbs and flowers — belong to thee j 
 All the various seasons yield, 
 All the produce of the field. 
 Thou, quite Innocent of harm, 
 Lov'st the fanner and the farm ; 
 Singing sweet when summer's near, 
 Thou to all laaiikiud art dear ; 
 Dear to all the tuneful Nine, 
 Seated round the throne divine ; 
 Dear to I'hccbus, god of day ; 
 He inspired thy sprightly lay, 
 And with voice melodious blessed. 
 And with vivid colors dressed. 
 Thou from spoil of time art free ; 
 Age can never injure thee. 
 Wisest daughter of the earth ! 
 Fond of song, and full of mirth ; 
 Free from flesh, exempt from pains, 
 No blood riots in thy veins. 
 To be blessed, 1 equal thee ; 
 Thou'rt a demi-deity I " 
 
 Cupid Woundt'il 
 
 " Once as Cupid, tired with play, 
 On a bed of roses lay, 
 A rude bee, that slipped, unseen, 
 The sweet-breathing buds between, 
 Stung his finger — cruel chance ! — 
 With its little pointed lance : 
 Straight he fills the air with cries, 
 Weeps and sobs, and runs and flics, 
 Till the god to Venus came, 
 Lovely, laughter-loving dame ;
 
 PjO LITERATURE OF GREECE. 
 
 Then he thus began to plain : 
 
 » O undone ! 1 die with pain ! 
 
 Dear mamma, a serpent small, 
 
 Which a bee the ploughmen call, 
 
 Imped with wings, and armed with dart, 
 
 O ! has stung me to the heart.' 
 
 Venus thus replied, and smiled : 
 
 ' Dry those tears — for shame, my child ; 
 
 If a bee can wound so deep, 
 
 Causing Cupid thus to weep, 
 
 Think, O think, what cruel pains 
 
 He that's stung by thee, sustains.' " 
 
 Passing over other philosophers who shed a blaze of 
 light upon Greece at this period, we must briefly notice 
 Pythagoras, who was a native of Samos, and born about 
 the middle of the si.xth century B. C. Having re- 
 ceived a finished education, and enriched his mind by 
 travel and study in Egypt, he established a school of 
 philosophy at Crotona, where several hundred pupils 
 soon were enrolled. They lived together, as in one 
 family, with their wives and children, in a public 
 building called the common auditory. The whole 
 business of the society was conducted with the most 
 perfect regularity. Every day was begun with a 
 distinct deliberation upon the manner in which it should 
 be spent, and concluded with a careful retrospect of 
 the events which had occurred and the business which 
 had been transacted. They rose before the sun, that 
 they might pay him homage, after which they repeated 
 select verses from Homer and other poets, and made 
 use of music, both vocal and instrumental, to enliven 
 their spirits and fit them for the duties of the day. 
 They then employed several hours in the study of
 
 LITERATURE OF GREECE. 71 
 
 science. These were succeeded by an interval of 
 leisure, which was commonly spent in a solitary walk 
 for the purpose of contemplation. The next portion 
 of the day was allotted to conversation. The hour 
 immediately before dinner was filled up with various 
 kinds of athletic exercises. Their dinner consisted 
 chiefly of bread, honey, and water; for, after they 
 were perfectly initiated, they wholly denied themselves 
 the use of wine. The remainder of the day was 
 devoted to civil and domestic afiairs, conversation, 
 bathing, and religious ceremonies. 
 
 While teaching, whether in public or in private, 
 Pythagoras wore a long white robe, a flowing beard, 
 and, as some assert, a crown upon his head — always 
 preserving a commanding gravity and dignity of man- 
 ner. Being desirous of having it supposed that he was 
 of a superior nature to ordinary men, and not liable to 
 be aflected by their passions and feelings, he was care- 
 ful never to exhibit any tokens of joy, sorrow, or anger, 
 and to appear perfectly tranquil in all circumstances. 
 To promote this composure, he was accustomed to 
 soothe his mind with music, and took especial delight 
 in sing'uig the hymns of Hesiod and Homer. 
 
 Concerning the Supreme Being, Pythagoras is un- 
 derstood to have taught that lie is the soul of the 
 universe, and the first principle of all things ; that in 
 substance he resembles Ughf, and in nature, is like to 
 truth ; that he is invisible, incorruptible, and incapable 
 of pain. He held that from the One divine mind 
 proceeded four ordere of intelligences — namely, gods, 
 demons, heroes, and the souls of men. Of these, the 
 gods were the first in place ; the demons, second ;
 
 ^ 
 
 LITERATURE OF GREECE. 
 
 the heroes, who were described as a class of beings 
 with bodies composed of a subtile, luminous substance, 
 occupied the third rank ; and the human mind con- 
 stituted the fourth. The gods, demons, and heroes, 
 dwelt in the upper air, and exercised a beneficent or 
 malignant influence on men, dispensing, at their pleas- 
 ure, sickness, prosperity, and adversity. 
 
 Pythagoras taught the doctrine of transmigration of 
 souls, — in consequence of which his followers rigidly 
 abstained from the use of animal food, and were un- 
 willing to take away the life of any living creature ; it 
 being impossible to prove that, in felling an ox, or 
 shooting a pigeon, they were not dislodging the soul 
 of some celebrated warrior or sage of former times, or 
 perhaps even lifting their hands against the lives of 
 some of their own deceased relatives or friends. 
 
 According to this philosopher, the sun is a globe of 
 fire, placed in the centi-e of the universe, and round it 
 revolve the planets, of which the earth is one. Mer- 
 cury and Venus complete their revolution in one year, 
 Mars in two, Jupiter in twenty, and Saturn in thirty. 
 The earth is of a globular form, as are likewise the 
 moon and the other planets. Immediately surrounding 
 the earth is the gross atmosphere of common air; but 
 beyond this is a region of pure ether, the abode of 
 divine intelligences. The sun, moon, and stars are 
 inliabited by gods and demons. 
 
 Pythagoras attached a mysterious importance to 
 numbers, both arithmetical and musical. He is re- 
 ported to have taught, that one, or unity, denotes God, 
 or the animating principle of the universe ; that two is 
 en»blematic of matter, or the passive principle ; that
 
 LITERATURE OF GREECE. 73 
 
 three signifies the world, formed by the union of the 
 two former ; and that four denote the perfection of 
 nature. The decade, which is the sum of the whole 
 of these numbers, comprehends all arithmetical and 
 musical qualities and proportions. Pythagoras was 
 himself, as has been already intimated, fond of music, 
 in the science of which he was deeply versed. He is 
 believed to have been the discoverer of musical ratios, 
 and to have invented the monochord, a single-stringed 
 mstrumcnt, with movable bridges for measuring and 
 adjusting the ratios of musical intervals. He was also 
 profound in geometry, to wliich he made several im- 
 portant additions. The celebrated demonstration in 
 Euclid, ranking forty-seventh in the first book, is a 
 noble and enduring monument of his skill in this 
 department of science. As a moral teacher, he pro- 
 mulgated many sound and excellent precepts, of which 
 the following may serve as specimens : " It is in- 
 consistent with fortitude to abandon the post appointed 
 by the stiprcme Lord before we obtain his permission. 
 No man ought to be esteemed free who has not the 
 perfect command of himself. That which is good and 
 becoming is rather to be pursued than that which is 
 pleasant. Sobriety is the strength of the soul, for it 
 preserves the reason unclouded by passion. The gods 
 are to be worshipped not under such images as rep- 
 resent the forms of men, but by simple illustrations and 
 offerings, and with purity of heart." 
 
 At the time of his death, Pythagoras was upwards of 
 
 eighty years of age. He left two sons and a daughter, 
 
 all of whom attained considerable celebrity for their 
 
 intellectual acquirements. The sons succeeded theii 
 
 XVII. — 7
 
 74 LITERATURE OF GREECE. 
 
 father in the direction of his philosophical school, and 
 the daughter was distinguished for her learning, and 
 wrote an able commentary on the poems of Homer. 
 It has been disputed whether Pythagoras ever committed 
 any of his doctrines to writing. Several compositions 
 have been attributed to him, but their authenticity is 
 regarded as extremely questionable. 
 
 The origin of tlieatrical representations has been 
 traced to the Grecian custom of celebrating, in the 
 grape season, the praises of Bacchus, the god of wine, 
 by joyous dances and the chanting of hymns — a 
 species of festivity perhaps akin to some of the cer- 
 emonies which attend the " haiTest home " in many 
 modern countries. By way of varying the hymns, or 
 dithyr amines, as they were called, an ingenious man, 
 named Thespis, originated a custom of introducing a 
 single speaker, whose duty it was to amuse the com- 
 pany with recitations. Thespis was a native of Icaria, 
 in Attica, and lived in the early part of the sixth 
 century before the Christian era. He also contrived a 
 rude movable car, on which his performers went 
 through their exhibitions in various places. The car 
 was the first form of the stage ; the single reciter was 
 the first kind of actor ; the persons who sang the hymns 
 or choruses, although unknown to the modern theatre, 
 continued ever afterwards to be an essential part of 
 that of Greece, under the appellation of the chorus ; 
 their duty being to stand by during the performance, 
 and make explanatory comments on what was passing. 
 
 The car of Thespis was soon exchanged for a fixed 
 stage in the temple of Bacchus. A second reciter was 
 introduced ; masks, dresses, and scenery were used ;
 
 LITERATURE OF GREECE, 75 
 
 and in a wonderfully short space of time from the rise 
 of Thespis, entertainments of this nature had assumed 
 something like a dramatic form. Originally, the in- 
 cidents represented were chiefly selected from the 
 fabulous and poetical history of early Greece. The 
 ancient theatres were constructed on a very extensive 
 scale, and differed in many respects from the places 
 on which the same appellation is bestowed in modern 
 times. Instead of consisting of a covered edifice, in 
 which a limited audience assemble for a few hours in 
 the evening, the Grecian theatre was a large area, 
 enclosed with a wall, but open above, in which almost 
 the entire population passed the whole day, during the 
 celebration of the festivals of Bacchus, in witnessing 
 the representation of a scries of dramatic pieces. 
 
 The site chosen for the theatre was generally the 
 slope of a hill, that the natural inclination of the ground 
 might enable the occupants of the successive tiers of 
 seats to see the performers on the stage without ob- 
 struction. The enclosure sometimes comprehended so 
 large a space, that it could accommodate from twenty 
 to thirty thousand persons. Behind the scenes there 
 was a double portico, to which the audience were at 
 liberty to resort for shelter when it rained. The 
 theatre was opened in the morning, and the people 
 brought with them cushions to sit on, and a supply of 
 provisions, that they might not need to quit their places, 
 for the purpose of procuring refreshments, during 
 the performance. The daily entertainments consisted 
 of a succession of four plays — three tragedies and a 
 comedy ; and at the conclusion of the representation, 
 certain judges decided on the relative merits of the
 
 ■^ LITERATURE OF GREECE. 
 
 pieces brought forward, and awarded the dramatic 
 prize to tho favorite of the day. The emulation ex- 
 cited by these public awards of honor led to the 
 production of dramatic compositions in great numbers 
 throughout Greece, and particularly at Athens. The 
 theatre of that city, we are told, at one period possessed 
 no less than two hundred and fifty tragedies of the 
 first class, and five hundred of the second, together 
 with an equally numerous collection of comedies and 
 satirical farces. 
 
 Very little is known respecting the personal history 
 of the first Greek dramatists. Phrynicus, to whom is 
 attributed the invention of the theatric mask, was a 
 pupil of Thespis. iEschylus, who was the first to 
 attain great fame in this profession, was a native of 
 Eleusis, and born 525 B. C. The numerous and 
 important improvements which he effected on the 
 Athenian theatre, and the force and dignity of his tragic 
 compositions, elevated and refined the infant drama, 
 and justly entitled him to the designation of " the 
 father of tragedy." 
 
 iEschylus was a brave soldier as well as a true and 
 highly-gifted poet, and distinguished himself by his 
 valor at the battles of Marathon, Salamis, and Plataea. 
 He gave great ofience to his countrymen, by making 
 some allusions, in one of his dramas, to the Eleusinian 
 mysteries ; and would have been condemned for im- 
 piety, had not his brother pleaded his cause before the 
 assembly of the people, and, by recounting his patriotic 
 deeds, induced the Athenians to pardon the indiscreet 
 poet. 
 
 After enjoying undisturbed possession of the dra
 
 LITERATURE OF GREECE. 77 
 
 matic throne till his fifty-sixth year, ^Eschylus was 
 defeated in a theatrical contest by Sophocles, a young 
 competitor of great merit and genius. Unable to 
 endure the mortification of seeing the works of his 
 rival preferred to his own, the elder bard withdrew 
 from Athens, and passed into Sicily, where he was 
 received with welcome by Hiero, king of Syracuse, at 
 whose court the lyrical poets Simonides and Pindar, 
 and the comic writer Epicharmus, were then residing. 
 jEschylus died at Gela, in Sicily, in the sixty-ninth 
 year of his age, 456 B. C. 
 
 A singular account is given of the manner of his 
 death. It is said that, while he was one day walking, 
 bareheaded, in the fields, an eagle, mistaking his bald 
 head for a stone, let fall a tortoise upon it, by which 
 he was killed on the spot. 
 
 Sophocles, the successful rival of ^schylus, was 
 born at Colonos, in the vicinity of Athens, about the 
 year 497 B. C. Ilis father, Sophilus, although a 
 blacksmith by trade, appears to have been a person of 
 some consequence, and in the enjoyment of easy 
 circumstances. Sophocles received from him a good 
 education, and was early distinguished for the rapidity 
 of his progress in. his studies. He had attained his 
 sixteenth year at the time of the memorable sea-fight 
 near Salamis, and was selected, on account of his 
 personal beauty and skill in music, to lead a chorus of 
 noble youths, who sang and danced round the trophy 
 erected by the Greeks in commemoration of that 
 victory. The dramatic achievements of ^schylus had 
 early excited the admiration and awakened the am- 
 bition of Sophocles ; and, on his arrival at manhood, 
 7*
 
 -!J8 UTEEATURE OF GREECE. 
 
 he bent all the energies of his mind to the composition 
 of tragic poetry. After spending a considerable period 
 in preparation, he at length, in his twenty-eighth year, 
 ventured to compete with iEschylus for the dramatic 
 prize. Encouraged by the decision of the judges in 
 his favor, Sophocles continued to write for the stage, 
 and is said to have produced no less than one hundred 
 and twenty tragedies, only seven of which have come 
 down to modern times. He also composed a number 
 of elegiac and lyrical poems, and a prose work on 
 dramatic poetry. 
 
 Although Sophocles received many invitations to 
 visit foreign countries, his attachment to his native land 
 W£is so strong, that he never could make up his mind 
 to quit it, even for a time. He died at Athens in his 
 ninetieth year, 407 B. C. According to the common 
 account, his death was occasioned by the excess of his 
 joy at obtaining the prize for a play which he had 
 brought forward even at that very advanced age. 
 
 Euripides, another celebrated tragic poet, was born 
 at Salamis, on the very day of the great naval conflict 
 between the Greeks and Pereians near that island. 
 When he had reached an age at which he became his 
 own master, he abandoned the exercises of the gym- 
 nasium, for which he appears never to have had much 
 relish, and applied himself with more ardor than ever 
 to his favorite philosophical and literary studies. 
 Warned, however, by the fate of his teacher Anaxag- 
 oras, who was banished from Athens for promulgating 
 opinions subversive of the established religion, he pru- 
 dently resolved to adopt a profession less dangerous 
 than that of correcting popular errors, and accordingly
 
 LITERATUEE OF GUEECE. 79 
 
 began, in his eighteenth year, to write for tlie stage 
 From this period until he quitted Athens for Mace- 
 donia, in his seventy-second year, he continued his 
 dramatic labors, and wrote seventy-five, or, as some 
 affirm, ninety-two plays. He composed many of his 
 tragedies in a gloomy cave in his native island of 
 Salamis, to which he, from time to time, retired for 
 that purpose from the noise and bustle of Athens. lie 
 wrote slowly, on account of the infinite pains he took 
 to polish his works ; and it is related, that, having once 
 mentioned his having taken three days to compose 
 three verses, a brother poet boasted of having written a 
 hundred in as brief a space. " That may be," replied 
 Euripides ; " but you ought to remember that your 
 verses arc destined to perish as quickly as they are 
 composed, while mine arc intended to last forever." 
 
 As tragedy took its rise from the dithyrambic verses 
 sung at the feast of Bacchus, so comedy sprang from 
 the phallic hymn which was chanted by the processions 
 of worshippers during the same festivals. The earliest 
 comic performances were little else than mere mounte- 
 bank exhibitions. 
 
 Aristophanes, the most celebrated of the comic poets 
 of Greece, was a native of Atltens. The date of his 
 birth is uncertain, but it is known that he brought for- 
 ward his first comedy in the fourth year of the Pelo- 
 ponnesian war, (427 B. C.) lie enjoyed a very large 
 share of popularity, and continued for many years to 
 write successfully for the stage. His plays, like those 
 of the other early comic poets, consist of caricatured and 
 ludicrous representations of living men and manners. 
 He did not hesitate to introduce the most enunent
 
 80 LITERATURE OF GREECE. 
 
 statesmen, warriors, and philosophers of his time, into 
 his satirical pieces, even under their real names, and to 
 expose and ridicule their faults and foibles, real or 
 imaginary. It is to be regretted that he frequently 
 abused the privileges of his profession, by directing his 
 sneers and ribald abuse against such excellent men as 
 Socrates and Euripides, both of whom he attacked in 
 his comedies in the most unjustifiable manner. He 
 composed fifty-four plays, seventeen of which are still 
 extant. It is believed that he lived to a very advanced 
 age ; but no authentic information has been handed down 
 to us respecting the time or manner of his death. 
 
 Our space will not allow us to notice in detail the 
 galaxy of poets, historians, and philosophers, who now 
 succeed each other in rapid succession, and w'ho have 
 left either their works or their fame, to testify to their 
 genius. We must not omit, however, to mention 
 Pindar, who was born 520 B. C, and whose sublime 
 odes have come down to our time ; Herodotus, the 
 father of history, who was born 484 B. C. ; Thucydi- 
 des, another historian of great fame, who was born 
 470 B. C. ; Socrates,* the greatest and best of the 
 ancient philosophers, who was also born 470 B. C. ; 
 Plato, who still continues to exert an influence on the 
 philosophy of mankind ; and Aristotle, whose works 
 also yet live among the productions of the master 
 spirits of mankind. 
 
 Theocritus, a pastoral poet, was a native of Syra- 
 cuse, and was born 270 B. C. He was a pupil of 
 
 " For the lives of Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, «S:c., see Lives 
 of Famous Men of Ancient Times.
 
 LITERATURE OF GREECE. 81 
 
 Philetas, a poet of Ck)s. Those of his works which 
 have been transmitted to posterity arc thirty Idylliums ; 
 a diminutive name, which corresponds to what we 
 should call "short occasional poems." Of these, ten 
 are strictly bucolic, or pastoral ; the rest arc of a 
 mi.xed nature, some being upon familiar and humorous 
 subjects, connected either with a city or a country life, 
 and others having all the majesty of epic composition. 
 He also wrote a considerable number of epigrams on 
 various mythological, personal, and historical themes. 
 Many poems of this author are not now extant. 
 
 As a pastoral pout, he stands at the head of his class. 
 The Roman poet Virgil was content to call the Sicilian 
 " master," and invokes, in his pastorals, the muse of 
 Theocritus, under the name of the Sicilian or Syra- 
 cusan muse. In general, Virgil imitates, and in many 
 cases adopts and refines, the ideas of his predecessor. 
 In some instances, according to a custom of ancient 
 writers which would now be held to be literary piracy, 
 he translates the very words of Theocritus. 
 
 The following is one of the admired odes of this 
 favorite writer : — 
 
 The Fishermen. 
 
 " Need, Diopliantes, ready wit imparts, 
 Is labor's mistress, and the nurse of arts : 
 Corroding cares tlie toiling wretch infest, 
 And spoil the peaceful tenor of his breast ; 
 And if soft slumbers on his eyelids creep, 
 Some cursed care steals in, and murders sleep. 
 
 Two ancient fishers in a straw-tliatched shed, — 
 Leaves were their walls, and sea- weed was their bed, — 
 F
 
 5 LITERATURE OF GREECE. 
 
 Reclined their weary limbs : hard by were laid 
 
 Baskets, and all their implements of trade, 
 
 Rod, hooks, and lines composed of stout horsehairs, 
 
 And nets of various sorts, cand various snares, 
 
 The seine, the cast-net, and the wicker maze, — 
 
 To waste the watery tribes a thousand ways ; 
 
 A crazy boat was drawn up on a plank ; 
 
 Mats were their pillow, wove of osiers dank ; 
 
 Skins, caps, and rugged coats, a covering made ; 
 
 This was their wealth, their labor, and their trade. 
 
 No pot to boil, no watch-dog to defend ; 
 
 Yet blest they lived, with Penury their friend. 
 
 None visited their shed — save, every tide, 
 
 The wanton waves, that washed its tottering side. 
 
 When half her course the moon's bright car had sped, 
 
 Joint labor roused the tenants of the shed. 
 
 The dews of slumber from their eyes they cleared, 
 
 And thus their mind with pleasing parley cheered : - 
 
 ASPHALION. 
 
 I hold, my friend, that trite opinion wrong. 
 That summer nights are short, when days are long ; 
 Yes — I have seen a thousand dreams to-night, 
 And yet no morn appears, nor morning light ; 
 Sure, on my mind some strange illusions play, 
 And make short nights wear heavily away. 
 
 Fair summer seasons you unjustly blame ; 
 Their bounds are equal, and their pace the same; 
 But cares, Asphalion, in a busy throng. 
 Break on your rest, and make the night seem long. 
 
 ASPHALION. 
 
 Say, hast thou genius to interpret right 
 My dream .'' I've had a jolly one to-night. 
 Thou shalt go halves, and more thou canst not wish : 
 We'll share the vision, as we share our fish.
 
 LITEEATURE OF GREECE. 
 
 I know thee shrewd, expert of dreams to spell; 
 He's the best judge who can conjecture well. 
 We've leisure time, which can't be better spent, 
 By wretched carles in wave-washed cabin pent, 
 And lodged on leaves ; yet why should we repine. 
 While living lights in Prytaneum shine ? 
 
 To thy fast friend each circumstance recite, 
 And let me hear this vision of the night. 
 
 ASPHALIO.V. 
 
 Last evening, weary with the toils of day. 
 Lulled in the lap of rest, secure 1 lay ; 
 Full late we supped ; and sparingly we eat ; 
 No danger of a surfeit from our meat. 
 Methought 1 sat upon a shelfy steep. 
 And watched the fish that gambolled in the deep. 
 Suspended by my rod, I gently shook 
 The bait fallacious, which a huge one took j 
 (Sleeping we image what awake we wish ; 
 Dogs dream of bones, and fishermen of fish ;) 
 Bent was my rod, and from his gills the blood, 
 With crimson stream, distained the silver flood. 
 1 stretched my arm out, lest the line should break 
 The fish so vigorous, and the rod so weak ! 
 Anxious I gazed ; he struggled to be gone ; 
 ' You're wounded ; I'll be with you, friend, anon ; 
 Still do you tease me .' ' for he plagued me sore : 
 At last, quite spent, I drew him safe on shore, 
 Then grasped him by my hand for surer hold, 
 A noble prize, a fish of solid gold ! 
 But fears suspicious in my bosom thronged. 
 Lest to the god of ocean he belonged ; 
 Or haply, wandering in the azure main. 
 Some favorite fish of Amphitrite's train. 
 My prize I loosed, and strictest caution took. 
 For fear some gold might stick about the hook ;
 
 LITERATURE OF GREECE. 
 
 Then safe secured him, and devoutly swore 
 
 Never to venture on the ocean more, 
 
 But live on land, as happy as a king ! 
 
 At this 1 waked. What think you of the thing ? 
 
 Speak free, for know, I am extremely loath, 
 
 And partly fear, to violate my oath. 
 
 Fear not, old friend : — you took no oath ; for why ? 
 You took no fish — your vision 's all a lie. 
 Go search the shoals, not sleeping, but awake ; 
 Hunger will soon discover your mistake. 
 Catch real fish ; you need not, sure, be told, 
 Those fools must starve who only dream of gold." 
 
 Bion was born at Smyrna, and spent the greater part 
 of his time in Sicily. Moschus acknowledges him as his 
 friend, and his preceptor in pastoral poetry. His existing 
 works are a few elegant and simple pastorals, and some 
 fragments. He was a rich man, and we learn from 
 one of the Idyls of Moschus that he died by poison, 
 administered by a powerful enemy. The following is 
 one of the lesser productions of Bion : — 
 
 The Teacher Tanght. 
 
 " As late I slumbering lay, before my sight 
 Bright Venus rose in visions of the night : 
 She led young Cupid ; as in thought profound, 
 His modest eyes were fixed upon the ground ; 
 And thus she spoke : ' To thee, dear swain, I bring 
 My little son ; instruct the boy to sing.' 
 
 No more she said ; but vanished into air, 
 And left the wily pupil to my care : 
 I (sure I was an idiot for my pains) 
 Began to teach him old bucolic strains ,
 
 LITERATURE OF GREECE. 85 
 
 How Pan the pipe, how Pallas formed the flute, 
 Phoebus the lyre, and Mercury the lute : 
 Love, to my lessons quite regardless grown, 
 Sang lighter lays and sonnets of his own ; 
 The amours of men below and gods above, 
 And all the triumphs of the Queen of Love. 
 I — sure the simplest of all shepherd swains — 
 Full soon forgot my old bucolic strains ; 
 The lighter lays of love my fancy caught. 
 And I remembered all that Cupid taught." 
 
 Wc must pass over the fabulist JEsop ; the orator 
 Demosthenes ; the historians Poiybius, Diodorus Siculus, 
 and Xenophon ; the stoic Zcno ; the materialist Epicurus, 
 and the biographer Plutarch. These, and other brilliant 
 names, appear successively in the pages of Grecian his- 
 tory, and shed their light and lustre along the dazzling 
 path of that wondrous people. Even after their lib- 
 erties had fled, and the land of Lconidas and Lycur- 
 gus had become reduced to the condition of a Roman 
 province, the Greek poets, philosophers, and rhetori- 
 cians, continued to excite the admiration of mankind; 
 and, while they bowed to Roman arms, by their arts 
 and their literature they achieved a conquest over the 
 Roman mind. 
 
 mi. — y
 
 ROMAN LITERATURE. 
 
 Rome is said to have been founded, by Romulus, 
 about the year 753 B. C. The people consisted of a 
 Latin colony, who, at that time, were just emerging 
 from a state of barbarism. The city of Rome in- 
 creased, and soon became the leading power in Italy. 
 While the inhabitants flourished, however, in arts and 
 arms, for a space of five hundred years they had nothing 
 which deserved the name of literature. Ennius, who 
 was born 239 B. C, though a Greek by birth, was the 
 first who taught the Romans to write their own lan- 
 guage with ease and elegance. He lived on intimate 
 terms with some of the most eminent members of the 
 Roman aristocracy, and gradually introduced a taste 
 for Greek literature. 
 
 In the year 155 B. C, the study of the Greek phi- 
 losophy was introduced among the Romans, by the 
 embassy which the Athenians sent to Rome, consisting 
 of three of the most eminent philosophers of the age — 
 namely, Carneades of the Academy, Diogenes the Stoic, 
 and Critolaus the Peripatetic. Though the study was 
 condemned by Cato and others, and Avas forbidden by 
 severe statutes, it soon made progress among the 
 Roman nobles. The study of the Greek language and 
 literature was still further promoted by the conquest of
 
 ROMAIC LITERATUUE, 87 
 
 Achaia, and by the influence of the distinguished 
 Achaian pinsoners who were distributed among the 
 towns of Italy. Among these was tiic historian Po- 
 lybius, who attracted the attention of Paulus iEmilius, 
 and was appointed by him instructor of his two sons, 
 Fabius and Scipio. Though Polybius did not write in 
 Latin, he exerted a great influence upon Roman Hter- 
 ature. He sliowed the Romans how the history of 
 their own state ought to be treated, and, by his inti- 
 macy with Scijjio and tlie most distinguished Romans 
 of the time, produced a great impression upon the 
 literary character of the age. From this time, it 
 became the fashion for all well-educated Romans to 
 read, speak, and even write, the Greek language ; and 
 Greek rhetoricians and philosophers found abundant 
 employment in Rome. Literature, however, was chiefly 
 prosecuted by the great and noble, while the body of 
 the people remained uneducated. 
 
 From the preceding account, it will be scon that 
 Roman literature only rose and spread in connection 
 with the study of the Greek literature ; and the con- 
 sequence was, not only that the Roman writers made 
 the Greeks their models, but that they rarely attempted 
 any original work. One exception, however, must be 
 made in favor of the Roman satire, which was essen- 
 tially home-born, and had nothing similar to it in the 
 Greek* language. This species of composition appears 
 to have arisen from a practice which has prevailed 
 in Italy from the earliest times to the present day — 
 that of making rude extempore verses in ridicule of 
 one another, which pertains to the country people. 
 Lucilius, who was the contemporary of Scipio Afri-
 
 88 ROMAN LITKKATURE. 
 
 canus and of Laclius, with whom he lived on the most 
 intimate terms of friendshij), was tlie first writer who 
 constructed Roman satires on those principles of art 
 which were considered, in the time of Horace, as es- 
 sential requisites in a satiric poem. 
 
 The first century before the Christian era was the 
 most brilliant epoch of Roman literature. The various 
 writings of Cicero had brought the Roman language to 
 perfection ; and almost every species of composition was 
 now cultivated with success. The Augustine age is, 
 proverbially, that in which the light of learning blazed 
 forth with peculiar brilliancy, and the glory of which, 
 time and change have been unable to obscure. It 
 was during this period that Virgil, Horace, Ovid, and 
 Tibullus, — the greatest names associated with Roman 
 poetry, — appeared; and as their works have come 
 down to us nearly entire, we are able to share in the 
 fruition of that era of genius. 
 
 Passing over Julius Caesar and Cicero, — the first 
 the most correct, and the last the most eloquent, of the 
 Roman writers of prose, — we come to Virgilius Pub- 
 lius Maro, who was born in the year 70 B. C, five 
 years before the poet Horace, and seven before the 
 emperor Augustus. His native place was Andes, a 
 small village near Mantua. His father appears to 
 have been a proprietor of landed estate, and had his 
 son educated in the neighboring towns of Cremona and 
 Milan. He was taught Greek, and appears to have been 
 imbued with the philosophy of Epicurus. He went 
 to Rome, where he obtained the patronage of Ma;cenas, 
 and afterwards of the emperor Augustus. He visited 
 Greece, and on his return to Rome was taken sick,
 
 EOMAN LITERATURE. 89 
 
 and died at Brundusium, 19 B. C. According to his 
 wish, his body was taken to Naples, and interred two 
 miles from the city.* 
 
 In person, Virgil is said to have had a clownisli 
 appdarance, and to have been sliy, diffident, and feeble 
 in health. He was intimately acquainted with all the 
 distinguished persons of his age, and his friend Horace 
 has commemorated his virtues and gentle disposition. 
 His principal works are the Bucolics, Georgics, ami 
 the -iEneid. 
 
 In his Bucolics, Virgil imitated the Idyls of The- 
 ocritus, but it was rather in the form than the spirit 
 that he followed his Greek original. Italy, indeed, 
 furnished no characters similar to the simple shepherds 
 and shepherdesses who talk and sing with so much 
 truth and nature in the Idyls. He was therefore 
 obliged to introduce personages and scenes which did 
 not exist in his own country, and which are indeed 
 unreal, and therefore insipid, creations of the imagi- 
 nation. 
 
 The Georgics are a didactic poem, in four books, 
 addressed by the author to his patron Maecenas. In 
 the first, he treats of the cultivation of the soil ; in the 
 .second, of the management of fruit-trees ; in the third, 
 of cattle; and in the fourth, of bees. From the latter 
 we extract the following passage : — 
 
 " Describe we next tlie nature of the bees. 
 Bestowed by Jove for secret services ; 
 When, by the linkUng sound of timbrels led, 
 The king of heaven in Cretan caves tiiey fed. 
 
 * For a more ample notice of Virgil, see Lives of Famous 
 Men of Ancient Times. ^
 
 I ROMAN LITERATURE. 
 
 Of all the race of animals, alone 
 The bees have oominon cities of their own, 
 And common sons ; beneath one law they live ; 
 And with one common stock their traffic drive. 
 Each has a certain home, a several stall ; 
 All is the state's, the state provides for all. 
 Mindful of coming cold, they share the pain, 
 And hoard for winter's use the summer's grain. 
 Some o'er the public magazines preside. 
 And some are sent new forage to provide ; 
 These drudge in fields abroad, and those at home 
 Lay deep foundations for tiie labored comb. 
 With dew, narcissus' leaves, and clammy gum. 
 To pitch the waxen flooring some contrive, 
 Some nurse the future nation of the hive : 
 Sweet honey some condense, some purge the fruit 
 The rest in cells apart the liquid nectar shut. 
 All with united force combine to drive 
 The lazy drones from the laborious hive. 
 With envy stung, they view each other's deeds; 
 With diligence the fragrant work proceeds. 
 
 Studious of honey, each in his degree, 
 The youthful swain, the grave, experienced bee ; 
 That in the field — tliis in affairs of state 
 Employed at home, abides within the gate. 
 To fortify the combs, to build the wall. 
 To prop the ruins, lest the fabric fall ; 
 But late at night, with weary pinions come 
 The laboring youth, and heavy laden, home. 
 Plains, meads, and orchards all the day he plies, 
 The gleans of yellow thyme distend his thighs ; 
 He spoils the saffron flowers, he sips the blues 
 Of violets, wilding blooms, and willow dews. 
 Their toil is common, common is their sleep : 
 They shake their wings when day begins to peep. 
 Rush through the city gates without delay ; 
 Nor ends their work but with declining day :
 
 ROMAN LITERATURE. 91 
 
 Then, having spent the last remains of light, 
 
 They give their bodies due repose at niglit, 
 
 When liollow murmurs of their evening bells 
 
 Dismiss the sleepy swains, and toll them to their cells. 
 
 When once in bed, their weary limbs they steep; 
 
 No buzzing sounds disturb their golden sleep ; 
 
 'Tis sacred silence all. Nor dare they stray, 
 
 When rain is promised on a stormy day ; 
 
 But near the city walls their watering take. 
 
 Nor forage far, but short excursions make : 
 
 And as, when empty barks on billows float, 
 
 With sandy ballast sailors trim the boat. 
 
 So bees bear gravel-stones, whose poising weight 
 
 Steers through the whistling winds their steady flight." 
 
 The iEneid of Virgil is the great national epic of 
 the Romans. It is said that the author, who had spent 
 eleven years in its composition, was still dissatisfied 
 with it, and gave instructions in his will that it should 
 be burned. He was persuaded, however, to change its 
 destination; and, bequeathing it to his friends Tucca 
 and Varus, it was published after his death. The 
 poem consists of twelve books, and contains the story 
 of the wanderings of /Eneas and his friends, from 
 the fall of Troy to their final settlement in Latium. 
 The following, which is 'descriptive of a storm which 
 beset the emigrants in their voyage across the Med- 
 iterranean, is one of the admired passages of this cel- 
 ebrated poem: — 
 
 " While thus the pious prince his fate bewai!s, 
 Fierce Boreas drove against his flying sails, 
 And rent the sheets ; the raging billows rise, 
 And mount the tossing vessel to the skies ; 
 Nor can the shivering oars sustain the blow ; 
 The galley gives her side, and turns her prow ;
 
 92 ROJUN LITERATURE. 
 
 While those astern, descending down the steep, 
 
 Through gaping waves behold the boiling deep ! 
 
 Three ships were hurried by the southern blast, 
 
 And on the secret shelves with fury cast ! 
 
 Those hidden rocks th' Ausonian sailors knew, 
 
 They called them altars wlien they rose in view. 
 
 And showed their spacious backs above the flood ' 
 
 Three more fierce Eurus, in his angry mood, 
 
 Dashed on the shallows of the moving sand, 
 
 And in mid ocean left them moored a-land ! 
 
 Orontes' back, that bore the Lycian crew, 
 
 A horrid sight, even in the hero's view, 
 
 From stem to stern, by waves was overborne : 
 
 The trembling pilot, from his rudder torn, 
 
 Was headlong hurled ; thrice round the ship was tost, 
 
 Then bilged at once, and in the deep was lost ! 
 
 And here and there, above the waves, were seen 
 
 Arms, pictures, precious goods, and floating men ! 
 
 The stoutest vessel to the storm gave way. 
 
 And sucked through loosened planks the rushing sea. 
 
 llioneus was her chief; Alethes old, 
 
 Achates faithful, Abas young and bold. 
 
 Endured not less ; their ships, with gaping seams. 
 
 Admit the deluge of the briny streams ! 
 
 Meanwhile, imperial Neptune heard the sound 
 Of raging billows breaking on the ground ; 
 Displeased, and fearing for his watery reign. 
 He reared his awful head above the main. 
 Serene in majesty ; then rolled his eyes 
 Around this space of earth, and sea, and skies. 
 He saw the Trojan fleet, dispersed, distressed, 
 By stormy winds and wintry heaven oppressed. 
 Full well the god his sister's envy knew. 
 And what her arms, and what her arts pursue 
 He summoned Eurus and the western blast. 
 And first an angry glance on both he cast ; 
 Then thus rebuked : ' Audacious winds ! from whence 
 This bold attempt, this rebel insolence .'
 
 ROMAN LITERATURii. 93 
 
 is it for yoii to ravage seas and land, 
 
 Unauthorized by my supreme command ? 
 
 To raise such mountains on the troubled main ? 
 
 Whom 1 — But first, 'tis fit the billows to restrain, 
 
 And then you shall be taught obedience to my reign 
 
 Hence ! to your lord my royal mandate bear ; 
 
 The realms of ocean, and the fields of air. 
 
 Are mine, not his ; by fatal lot to me 
 
 The liquid empire fell, and trident of the sea 
 
 His power to hollow caverns is confined ; 
 
 There let him reign, the jailer of the wind ; 
 
 With hoarse commands his breathing subjects call, 
 
 And boast and bluster in his empty hall I ' 
 
 He spoke, and while he spoke, he smoothed the sea, 
 
 Dispelled the darkness, and restored the day." 
 
 In the composition of the ^ncicl, Virgil followed the 
 Odyssey and Iliad, and is therefore destitute of the 
 merit of invention. His Trojan heroes are insipid 
 personages, and ^Eneas, the chief actor, fails to e.xcite 
 any deep sympathy. The subject of the poem is 
 indeed barren; but the author skilfully associated the 
 fortunes of Rome with the illustrious names of Troy, 
 and, by flattering the vanity of the Romans, imparted 
 to it an adventitious interest. He scattered over his 
 work an abundance of antiquarian lore ; and if he had 
 no originality, he at least possessed good taste. His 
 poem can bear no comparison with the Iliad, as a com- 
 plete work ; it does not abide in the memory as an 
 entire poem, yet numerous single passages are remem- 
 bered with pleasure. If Virgil was the most popular 
 of the Roman poets, it is rather because of the skill 
 with which he ministered to the pride of the Roman 
 people, than from any positive superiority of genius 
 over his rivals.
 
 f5» ROMAN LITERATURE. 
 
 Horatius Q. Flaccus was born at Vcnutia. His 
 father was a freedman ; and, though poor, he bestowed 
 a liberal education on his son, and sent him to learn 
 philosophy at Athens, after he had received the les- 
 sons of the best masters at Rome. Horace followed 
 Brutus from Athens ; but the timidity which he betrayed 
 at the battle of Philippi so effectually discouraged him, 
 that he forever abandoned the profession of arms ; and at 
 his return to Rome, he applied himself to the cultivation 
 of poetry. His rising talents claimed the attention of 
 Virgil and Varus, who recommended him to the care 
 of Ma3cenas and Augustus. Under the fostering pat- 
 ronage of the emperor and of his minister, Horace 
 gave himself up to indolence and luxurious pleasure. 
 . He was a follower of Epicurus ; and while he liberally 
 indulged his appetites, he neglected the calls of ambi- 
 tion, and never suffered himself to be carried away by 
 the tide of popularity. He even refused to be the sec- 
 retary of Augustus, and the emperor was not offended 
 at his refusal. He lived at the table of his illustrious 
 patrons, as if he were in his own house ; and Augustus, 
 while sitting at his meals, with Virgil at his right hand 
 and Horace at his left, often ridiculed the short breath 
 of the former and the watery eyes of the latter, by 
 observing that he sat between sighs and tears. 
 
 Horace was warm in his friendships ; and if ever any 
 ill-judged reflection had caused offence, the poet im- 
 mediately made every concession which could effect a 
 reconciliation, and not destroy the good purposes of 
 friendly society. He died in the 57th year of his age, 
 8 B. C. His gayety was adapted to the liveliness and 
 dissipation of a court. His intimacy with Maecenas
 
 ROMAN LITERATURE. 95 
 
 has induced some to believe that his death was volun- 
 tary, and that he hastened himself out of the world to 
 accompany his friend. His 17th ode gives some color 
 of credibility to this account. 
 
 The poetry of Horace, so much commended for its 
 elegance and sweetness, is deservedly censured for the 
 licentious expressions and indelicate thoughts which he 
 loo frequently introduces. In his odes, he has imitated 
 Pindar and Anacreon ; and if he has confessed himself 
 to be inferior to the former, he has shown that he bears 
 the palm over the latter by his more ingenious and 
 refined sentiments, by the ease and melody of his ex- 
 pressions, and by the pleasing variety of his numbers. 
 In his satires and epistles, Horace displayed much wit 
 and satirical humor, without much poetry ; and his style, 
 simple and unadorned, differs little from prosaical com- 
 position. In his " Art of Poetry," he has shown much 
 taste and judgment, and has rendered, in Latin hexam- 
 eters, what Aristotle had some years before delivered 
 to his ptipils in Greek prose. The following lines 
 appear appropriate to the voluptuous character of the 
 writer : — 
 
 To his Cask. 
 
 " Gentle cask of mellow wine, 
 And of equal age with mine ; — 
 Whether you to broils, or mirth, 
 Or to madding love, give birth ; 
 Or the toper's temples steep 
 Sweetly in ambrosial sleep j 
 For whatever various use 
 You preserve the golden juice, 
 Worthy of some festal hour, — 
 Now the hoary vintage pour :
 
 96. ROMAN LITERATURE. 
 
 Come — Corvinus, gucet divine, 
 Bids me draw the smoothest wine. 
 
 Though with science deep imbued, 
 He, not like a cynic rude, 
 Thee despises; for of old 
 Cato's virtue, we are told, 
 Often with a bumper glowed. 
 And with social raptures flowed. 
 
 You by gentle tortures ofl 
 Melt hard tempers into soft; 
 You strip off the grave disguise 
 From the counsels of the wise. 
 And with Bacchus, blithe and gay, 
 Bring them to the face of day. 
 Hope, by thee, fair fugitive ! 
 Bids the wretched strive to live ; 
 To the beggar you dispense 
 Heart and brow of confidence ; 
 Warmed by thee, he scorns to fear 
 Tyrant's frown or soldier's spear. 
 
 Bacchus boon, and Venus fair, — 
 If she come with cheerful air, — 
 And the Graces, charming band ! 
 Ever dancing hand in hand ; — 
 And the living taper's flame 
 Shall prolong the purple stream. 
 Till returning Phoebus bright 
 Puts the lazy stars to flight." 
 
 Tibullus was a Roman knight, who followed Messala 
 Corvinus into the Island of Corcyra ; but he was soon 
 dissatisfied with the toils of war, and retired to Rome, 
 where he gave himself up to literary ease, and to all 
 the effeminate indolence of an Italian climate. His 
 first composition was designed to celebrate the virtues 
 of his friend Messala ; but his more favorite aim was 
 that of love vei-ses, in which he showed himself the
 
 ROMAN LITERATLRK. 97 
 
 mcst correct of ihc Roman poets. As he had espoused 
 the cause of Brutus, he lost his possessions when the 
 soldiers of the triumvirate were rewarded with lands ; 
 but he might have recovered them if he had con- 
 descended, like Virgil, to make his court to Augustus. 
 Four books of elegies are the only remaining pieces 
 of his composition. They are marked with so much 
 elegance, grace, and purity of sentiment, that the 
 writer is deservedly ranked as the prince of elegiac 
 poets. Tibullus was intimate with the literary men of 
 his age, and Ovid wrote a beautiful elegy on his death. 
 The foUowine: fragment will "ive an idea .of his 
 
 Hope. 
 
 " Thousands in death would seek an end of woe : 
 But Hope, deceitful Hope, prevents the blow ! 
 Hope plants the forest, and she sows the plain, 
 And feeds with future granaries the swain. 
 Hope snares the winged vagrants of the sky ; 
 Hope cheats in reedy brooks the scaly fry. 
 By Hope, the fettered slave, the drudge of fate, 
 Sings, shakes his irons, and forgets his state. 
 Hope promised you : you, haughty, still deny ; 
 Yield to the goddess ; O my fair, comply. 
 Hope whispered me, ' Give sorrow to the wind ! 
 The haughty fair one shall at last be kind.' 
 Yet, yet you treat me with the same disdain ; 
 O, let not Hope's fond whispers prove in vain ! " 
 
 Publius Naso Ovidius was born at Sulmo, in the 
 ye«r 43 B. C. He was educated for the bar ; but his 
 love of the Muses overcame all obstacles, and he 
 Ixcamo a poet. His verses S'jun found admirrr*? ; 
 
 G XVII. — 9
 
 98 ROMAN LITERATURE. 
 
 Virgil, Tibullus, Horace, Propcrtius, and others, be- 
 stowed upon him their encouragement ; and Augustus 
 honored him with the most unbounded hberality. 
 These favors were, however, but momentary, for the 
 poet was soon after banished to Tomos, on the Euxine 
 Sea. The cause of this exile has ever remained a 
 secret. Ovid sought, with cringing servility, to obtain 
 his recall ; but this was without effect, and he died in 
 the eighth year of his banishment, A. D. 17, 
 
 The greater part of Ovid's poems are preserved. 
 His Metamorphoses is curious and valuable as a store- 
 house of mythological history, but it has no claim to 
 the rank of an epic poem. His Art of Love displays 
 great elegance of diction ; but, like most other poetry of 
 this period, it is marked with gross licentiousness. He 
 must, however, be regarded as one of the most vig- 
 orous, original, and racy, of the Roman poets. The 
 following is extracted from one of his poems, entitled 
 Phaeton, and recites the well-known fable of that youth 
 who asked permission of his father, Phoebus, to drive the 
 chariot of the sun in its course for a single day. The 
 endeavors of the father to dissuade the youth from the 
 rash undertaking are given in the following words : — 
 
 " Too vast and hazardous the task appears, 
 
 Nor suited to thy strength, nor to thy years. 
 
 Thy lot is mortal, but thy wishes fly 
 
 Beyond the province of mortality. 
 
 There is not one of all the gods that dares 
 
 (Plowever skilled in other great affairs) 
 
 To mount the burning axle-tree but I. 
 
 Not Jove himself, the ruler of the sky, 
 
 That hurls the three-forked thunder from above, 
 
 Dares try his strength ; yet who so strong as JoTe ?
 
 ROMAN LITERATURE. 99 
 
 The steeds climb up the first ascent with pain ; 
 
 And when the middle firmament they gain, 
 
 If downward from tlie heavens my head I bow. 
 
 And see the earth and ocean hang below, 
 
 Even I am seized with horror and affright, 
 
 And my own heart misgives me at the sight : 
 
 A mighty downfall steep 's the evening's stage, 
 
 And steady reins must curb the horses' rage : 
 
 Tethys herself has feared to see me driven, 
 
 Down, headlong, from the precipice of heaven. 
 
 Besides, consider what impetuous force 
 
 Turns stars and planets in a different course. 
 
 I steer against their motions ; nor am I 
 
 Borne back by all the current of the sky. 
 
 But how could you resist the orbs that roll. 
 
 In adverse winds, and stem the rapid pole ? 
 
 But you, perhaps, may hope for pleasing woods, 
 
 And stately domes, and cities filled with gods ; 
 
 While through a thousand snares your progress liea, 
 
 Where forms of starry monsters stock the skies ; 
 
 For, should you hit the doubtful w.ay aright, 
 
 The Bull, with stooping horns, stands opposite ; 
 
 Next him, the bright llajmonian Bow is strung, 
 
 And next, the Lion's grinning visage hung ; 
 
 The Scorpion's claws here clasp a wide extent; 
 
 And here the Crab's in lesser clasps are bent. 
 
 Nor would you find it easy to compose 
 
 The mettled steeds, when from their nostrils flows 
 
 The scorching fire tliat in their entrails glows. 
 
 E'en I their headstrong fur}' scarce restrain. 
 
 When they grow warm and restive to the rein. 
 
 Let not my son a fital gift require, 
 
 But O, in time recall your rash desire." 
 
 Phaeton, however, persists in his request ; the father 
 at last yields to his importunity, and the chariot is 
 brought forth.
 
 100 ROMAN LITERATURE. 
 
 "A golden axle did the work uphold ; 
 
 Gold was the beam, the wheels were orbed witli gold. 
 
 The spokes in rows of silver pleased the sight; 
 
 The seat with party-colored gems was bright; 
 
 Apollo shined amid the glare of light. 
 
 The youth with secret joy the work surveys, 
 
 When now the moon disclosed her purple rays ; 
 
 The stars were fled, for Lucifer had chased 
 
 The stars away, and fled himself at last. 
 
 Soon as the father saw the rosy morn, 
 
 And the moon shining with a blunter horn. 
 
 He bade the nimble Hours without delay 
 
 Bring forth the steeds ; the nimble Hours obey : 
 
 From their full racks the generous steeds retire. 
 
 Dropping ambrosial foam, and snorting fire. 
 
 Still anxious for his son, the God of Day, 
 
 To make him proof against the burning ray, 
 
 His temples with celestial ointments wet. 
 
 Of sovereign virtue to repel the heat; 
 
 Then fixed the beamy circle on his head, 
 
 And fetched a deep, foreboding sigh, and said, — 
 
 ♦ Take this, at least, this last advice, my son ; 
 
 Keep a stiff rein, and move but gently on : 
 
 The coursers of themselves will run too fast; 
 
 Tour art must be to moderate their haste ; 
 
 Drive them not on directly through the skies, 
 
 But where the zodiac's winding circle lies. 
 
 Along the midmost zone ; but sally forth 
 
 Nor to the distant south, nor stormy north. 
 
 The horses' hoofs a beaten track will show, 
 
 But neither mount too high, nor sink too low. 
 
 That no new fires on earth or heaven infest; 
 
 Keep the mid way — the middle way is best. 
 
 Nor, where in radiant folds the Serpent twines. 
 
 Direct your course, nor where the Altar shines. 
 
 Shun both extremes ; the rest let fortune guide, 
 
 And better for thee than thyself provide !
 
 ROMAN LITERATURE. 101 
 
 See, while I speak, the shades disperse away ; 
 Aurora gives tlie promise of a day : 
 I'm called, nor can I make a lonircr stay. 
 Snatch up the reins ; or still th' attempt forsake. 
 And not my chariot, but my counsel take, 
 While yet securely on the earth you stand, 
 Nor touch the horses with too rough a hand. 
 Let me alone to light the world, while you 
 Enjoy those beams which you may safely view.* 
 He spoke in vain ; the j'outh, with active heat 
 And sprightly vigor, vaults into the seat. 
 And joys to hold the reins, and fondly gives 
 Those thanks his father witli remorse receives." 
 
 The career of the improvident youth is well known. 
 After driving through a j)art of his course, the horses 
 turned from their track, and ll)e burning chariot ap- 
 proached the earth, involving whole regions in terrific 
 conflagration. Jupiter beheld the awful catastrophe, 
 and hurled a fiery shaft at the imprudent charioteer. 
 
 " At once from life and from the chariot driven, 
 
 The ambitious boy fell tiiunderstruck from heaven. 
 
 The horses started with a sudden bound. 
 
 And flung the reins and chariot to the ground. 
 
 The studded harness from their necks they broke ; 
 
 Here fell a wheel, and here a silver spoke ; 
 
 Here were the beam and axle torn away ; 
 
 And, scattered o'er the earth, the shining fragments lay. 
 
 The brealiiless Phaoton, with llaming hair, 
 
 Shot from tlie chariot like a falling star, 
 
 That in a summer's evening from the top 
 
 Of heaven drops down, or seem.s at lea.4t tu drop ; 
 
 Till on the Po his blasted corpse was hurled, 
 
 Far from his country, in the western world." 
 
 Decius Junius Juvcnalis was born at a later period, 
 and flourished during the reign of Nero. Ilis native 
 9*
 
 102 ROMAN LITERATURE. 
 
 place was Aquinum ; but he came early to Rome, 
 where he first appeared in public as a declaimer. He 
 soon after devoted himself to the composition of satires, 
 sixteen of which are extant. His writings are fiery, 
 animated, and abounding in humor. His shafts were 
 levelled not only at the vices of his times, but against 
 mankind at large, thus seeming to make virtue an 
 impossibility in actual life. His writings, therefore, 
 are more likely to injure than to benefit the cause of 
 morals. The following is an extract from his cele- 
 brated tenth satire : — 
 
 " Look round the habitable world ; how few 
 
 Know their own good, or, knowing it, pursue ! 
 
 How void of reason are our hopes and fears ! 
 
 What, in the conduct of our life, appears 
 
 So well designed, so luckily begun. 
 
 But, when we have our wish, we wish undone .' 
 
 Whole houses, of their whole desires possessed, 
 
 Are often ruined at their own request. 
 
 In war and peace things hurtful we require, 
 
 When made, obnoxious to our own desire. 
 
 With laurels some have fatally been crowned. 
 Some who the depths of eloquence have found, 
 In that unnavigable stream were drowned. 
 
 The brawny fool, who did his vigor boast, 
 In that presuming confidence was lost : 
 But more have been by avarice oppressed, 
 And heaps of money crowded in the chest : 
 Unwieldy sums of wealth, which higher mount 
 Than files of marshalled figures can account; 
 To which the stores of Croesus, in the scale, 
 Would look like little dolphins, when they sail 
 In the vast shadow of the British whale. 
 
 For this, in Nero's arbitrary time, 
 Wten Tirtue was a guilt, and wealth a crime,
 
 BOMAN LITERATURE. 103 
 
 A troop of cutthroat guards were sent to seize 
 The rich men's goods, and gut their palaces : 
 The mob commissioned by the government 
 Are seldom to an empty garret sent. 
 The fearful passenger, who travels late, 
 Charged with the carriage of a paltry plate. 
 Shakes at the moonshine shadow of a rush, 
 And sees a red coat rise from every bush : 
 The beggar sings even when he sees the place 
 Beset with thieves, and never mends his pace. 
 Of all the vows, the first and chief request 
 Of each is to be richer than the rest. 
 And yet no doubts the poor man's draught control; 
 He dreads no poison in his homely bowl : 
 Then fear the deadly drug, when gems divine 
 Enchase the cup, and sparkle in the wine." 
 
 Juvenal died in the year A, D. 128, After this 
 period, Roman literature appears to have declined, and 
 a false taste to have vitiated the great bulk of the 
 community. Oratory continued to form the chief 
 study in the education of the higher classes ; yet 
 sophistry in argument, and declamation in style, were 
 characteristics of the age. The art of the rhetorician 
 is visible in the prose of Seneca and Pliny, as well as 
 in the poems of Lucan and Valerius Flaccus. All 
 these abandoned nature, and seemed only striving for 
 effect. 
 
 In later periods, when civil commotions prevailed, 
 literary pursuits were nearly extinguished. The 
 Roman people at large l>ad never appreciated the 
 great works of their countrymen ; and when the 
 patronage of the educated and wealthy was withdrawn, 
 there was no encouragement to literary exertions. By 
 degrees the poets dwindled into mere versifiers, and
 
 104 ROMAN LITERATURE. 
 
 the historians became only chroniclers of events. All 
 kinds of barbarisms and corruptions crept into the 
 language, and the stream of Roman literature at last 
 disappeared within the monastic shadows of the church. 
 In taking a retrospect of Roman poetry, we cannot 
 but be struck with its external and physical character. 
 It deals almost wholly in sensible objects, or the direct 
 associations which spring from them. There is no 
 delving into the caverns of the soul, no roaming on the 
 shoreless sea of spiritual life. While it is occupied 
 with material nature, it lacks the sparkling freshness, 
 the bounding mirth and hilarity, of Grecian song. 
 When compared with the deep, thoughtful, spiritual 
 productions of our own time, it appears bald, and 
 almost puerile. It may be said of Roman literature, 
 as of that of the Greeks, that it is to be admired, in a 
 great degree, from a consideration of the time and cir- 
 cumstances in which it was produced ; should any 
 author of our day write a poem of equal merit, and 
 in the same vein, as the best that Roman antiquity has 
 handed down to us, it would be received with indif- 
 ference, if not contempt. It is not, therefore, the 
 positive merit of these renowned productions which 
 extorts the praise of mankind ; it is, at least in part, 
 the associated charm of antiquity that bestows upon 
 them their power.
 
 CHINESE LITERATURE. 
 
 As in many other arts, so in that of printing, tlie 
 Chinese preceded tlic Europeans. Their first material 
 for writing consisted of thin slices of bamboo ; but 
 about the first century of the Christian era, they made 
 paper of a pulp of silk or cotton, immersed in water, 
 according to the present method. Their modern paper 
 is fine and delicate, but so spongy as to be used only 
 on one side. In writing, they employ the hair pencil, 
 and the well-known Indian ink. 
 
 In the tenth century, the art of printing was invented, 
 though not by movable types, which have never been 
 used by the Chinese. Their process is as follows : 
 the sentence or page is written distinctly on paper, and 
 then pasted upon a thin block of wood. The engraver, 
 following the direction of the letters, cuts through them 
 into the wood, which is thus so indented that a sheet 
 laid over and pressed upon it, receives the impression 
 of the characters. Thus every word and page of a 
 book is engraved, as in the case of copperplate en- 
 graving with us. Though the process is less expedi- 
 tious tlian ours, with movable types, still, as labor is 
 extremely cheap in China, printing is by no means 
 dear, and books are abundant. 
 
 The language of the Chinese has been supposed to
 
 106 CHINESE LITERATURE. 
 
 be SO complicated as to render its acquisition almost 
 hopeless to foreigners ; but this error has been dis- 
 pelled by modern experience, and several European 
 sciiolars are now well acquainted with the Chinese lan- 
 guage and literature. 
 
 The roots, or original characters, of the Chinese lan- 
 guage, are 214 in number. These were at first pic- 
 tures of the objects they represented ; but in the course 
 of time, they have ceased to have any great resem- 
 blance to their original form, and may, therefore, be 
 considered as arbitrary signs of thought. The lan- 
 guage of the Chinese is made up by the combinations 
 of these 214 characters, just as various numbers 
 are expressed by the different combinations of the 
 Arabic figures, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, &c. It appears, also, that 
 this language, when printed, is understood by the in- 
 habitants of Japan, Corea, Cochin China, and Loo 
 Choo, who could by no means hold oral converse 
 with a Chinese. This fact may be understood by con- 
 sidering that if an Italian wishes to convey to you the 
 idea of tvventy-two,youwillreadi!y understand him if he 
 will write 22 ; though you will by no means compre- 
 hend his words for the same — venti-due. We thus see 
 that, so far as Europe is concerned, in respect to nu- 
 merals, the figures 1, 2, 3, 4, &c., are a universal 
 language ; for though they have difl!erent names among 
 different nations, they convey to all precisely the same 
 ideas. It is in the same way that the written language 
 of China is common to a vast f>opulation, who yet 
 speak as differently as the Italians, French, and 
 English. 
 
 From the earliest ages, literature has held a high
 
 CHINESE LITERATURE. 107 
 
 place in China. "The literati," says Dr. Morrison, 
 "are the gentry, the magistrates, the governors, the 
 negotiators, the ministers, of China." The absence 
 of hereditary rank, and even of any class possessing 
 great riches, leaves the field entirely open to this spe- 
 cies of distinction. When the parent e.xhorts his child 
 to attend to his lessons, he can tell him with truth that 
 he may thus become a powerful mandarin, and one of 
 the first personages in the state. From these causes, a 
 degree of veneration is attached even to the humblest 
 objects connected with the art of writing. Paper, pen- 
 cil, ink, and the marble on which this last is dissolved, 
 are called the four precious things ; and the manufacture 
 of them is considered a liberal occupation. A passage 
 in a recently translated drama strikingly expresses the 
 brilliant career supposed to be opened to a village 
 schoolmaster, as compared even with that of a pros- 
 perous merchant. " If you are successful in trade, 
 from a little money you make much ; but if you 
 study letters, your plebeian garments are changed for 
 a soldier's gown. If you compare the two, how much 
 superior is the literary life to that of the merchant or 
 tradesman! When you shall have acquired celebrity, 
 men will vie with each other in their admiration of 
 you ; over your head will be carried the round um- 
 brella ; before your horse will be marshalled the two 
 files of attendants. Think of the toil of those who 
 traffic, and you will see the difiercnce." 
 
 Despite the honor thus paid to men of letters, Chi- 
 nese literature docs not hold a high rank when com- 
 pared with our own. It, however, may well claim our 
 attention. It appears that the great works of the
 
 108 CHINESE LITERATURE. 
 
 empire arc usually composed by associated members 
 of the Haw-lin Board, under the authority, and printed 
 at the expense, of government. These consist chiefly 
 of histories, dictionaries of the language, and compen- 
 diums of arts and sciences, or encyclopedias. The 
 authors thus employed are, of course, possessed of 
 suitable materials and abundant leisure, and are not 
 obliged to gratify the impatience, or court the taste, of 
 the public. Perhaps, however, the very circumstance 
 of writing under command, and the dread of censure 
 from the emperor and his agents, though they may guard 
 against palpable errors, will paralyze the powers of 
 invention and the flights of genius. The career of 
 authorship, however, is open to every individual ; 
 works are not even subjected to any previous censor- 
 ship.; but a prompt and severe punishment awaits the 
 authors of those which contain any thing offensive to 
 the government. 
 
 The principal subjects of Chinese literature are, — 
 1. Philosophy, including whatever is taught of the- 
 ology and general physics ; 2. History; 3. The Drama; 
 and, 4. Novels. 
 
 In the. first and most important of these departments, 
 the Chinese refer always to one work, — the Y-King, 
 also called Ye-King, Yih-King, and U-King, — as the 
 most ancient and valuable treasure. Language seems 
 to sink under the panegyrics which they lavish upon it, 
 representing it as the fountain and centre of all their 
 knowledge. According to Kang-hi, who studiously 
 adopted Chinese ideas on these subjects, the Y-King 
 contains all things. Fou-hi, Chin-nong, Hoang-ti, Yao, 
 and Chun, are ruled by it. The occult virtue, and the
 
 CHINESE LITERATURE. 109 
 
 operations, of Heaven and man, are all comprised in the 
 Y-King. Our respect for this mighty production is, how- 
 ever, not a little lessened, when we learn that it was 
 comprised in eight half-legible lines, discovered by two 
 sages on the backs of a drairon and a tortoise ! Taking 
 
 o o o 
 
 advantage of the national superstition, Confucius wrote 
 an elaborate commentary upon the Y-King, which was 
 received by the nation with the deepest respect, and was 
 incorporated with the original work, of which it has ever 
 since been considered as an essential part. It was said 
 to " form the wings on which the Y-King would fly 
 down to posterity." It is probably the only part of real 
 value ; for though it bears, to a great extent, the gen- 
 eral character of incomprehensibility which belongs to 
 the original, it is interspersed with some useful and 
 beautiful maxims. The following quotations are de- 
 rived from this commentary : — 
 
 "To improve from day to day, is a great virtue. He who 
 in study advances a step every daj', has not lost his time and 
 his years. 
 
 The path of Heaven is simple and clear ; but the path 
 of the sage is made only with effort and perseverance. 
 
 It is the sage alone who knows how to advance or to re- 
 cede ; to preserve or to see destroyed, without losing liis 
 tranquillity : it is only the sago who can do so. 
 
 A virtuous man, in the midst of difficulties, will adhere to 
 his virtuous purpose, even to loss of life." 
 
 Beside the Y-King, the Chinese reckon throe other 
 ancient books, or king, which rank with it, and are 
 held in almost equal veneration. These are the Shoo- 
 King, or Chou-King, a collection of historical documents 
 edited by Confucius; the Shi-King, or Chi-King, a com- 
 pilation of ancient poems firmed also hv Confucius • 
 XVII.— 10
 
 1 10 CHINESE LITERATURE. 
 
 and the Li-ki, or Ly-ki, which treats of propriety in dress, 
 demeanor, conversation, and the ordinary conduct of 
 life. In the Li-ki are concentrated the ideas and 
 maxims of the ancient Chinese regarding morals and 
 behavior ; and it has probably contributed more towards 
 forming their character, during the last 2000 years, 
 than all the other classics united. 
 
 Confucius was born in the year 549 B. C, and is 
 lustly considered the greatest of Chinese philosophers. 
 His works are to this day held in the greatest rev- 
 erence, and constitute the most cherished portion of 
 Chinese literature. Their practical portion consists 
 chiefly in maxims which inculcate the virtues of jus- 
 tice, patience, mercy, prudence, and fortitude — and, 
 above all, obedience to superiors. Filial piety, and 
 the duty of submission to magistracy, were his favor- 
 ite themes of commendation. On the whole, his works 
 furnish a pure code of morals, founded in the good of 
 mankind, without reference to a future state.* 
 
 We have not space to notice the numerous works of 
 philosophers which have appeared since the age of 
 Confucius, nor can wc enter into details respecting 
 several other topics of interest. In regard to medi- 
 cine, though the Chinese were familiar with the circula- 
 tion of the blood about sixteen centuries before it was 
 known in Europe, and though inoculation for the 
 small-pox was practised by them some hundred years 
 before it was adopted in Christendom, it would seem 
 that they are ignorant of anatomy, and that their 
 medical practice is mingled with the most absurd 
 jugglery. 
 
 * For a life of this great philosopher, see the Laves of Fw 
 7!ioits Men of Ancicvf Times.
 
 CHINESE LITERATURE. Ill 
 
 History has been cultivated by the Chinese wi'.h 
 great assiduity, and they possess several works of high 
 repute among themselves. That which is entitled 
 Koo-King was edited by Confucius, contains the early 
 annals of the empire, and is held in a degree of 
 esteem almost amounting to reverence. To this we 
 may add that *here are several works on govern- 
 ment, including the codes of laws established by the 
 empire. 
 
 Poetry is pursued with ardor, and is held in high 
 esteem by the Chinese ; yet tlicir works, having differ- 
 ent objects for comparison and illustration from ours, 
 and different trains of association, can hardly be 
 highly relished by us. Instead of the Alps or the Ap- 
 ennines, the grandeur of mountain scenery is suggest- 
 ed to the Chinese by the Kevan-lun and the Tan-yu 
 chains, which, though probably more elevated, do 
 not convey to the car the same lofty ideas. For the 
 rose and the violet, we have the flower Ian, and the herb 
 yu-lu. Instead of the dove, the wild-goose portrays 
 to Chinese fancy the image of a, tender and faithful 
 lover. 
 
 It would appear that Chinese verse is not destitute 
 of harmony, and that rhyme is often used, sometimes 
 even to an extent of sixteen consecutive lines. The 
 following extracts from the Shi-King afford a good 
 specimen of the more ancient poetry : — 
 
 "Tbo bland south wind brcatlics upon and cherishes the 
 sap of thcsr plants; hence the grove flourishes, and appears to 
 rise anew. But our mother is distressed with labor and care. 
 
 The bland south wind cherishes by breathing on them 
 the woodi of this grove. Our mother excels in prudence 
 and understanding, but we arc men of no estimation.
 
 112 CHINESE LITERATURE. 
 
 The cool fountain, bursting forth, waters the lower part 
 of the region Tsun. We are seven sons, whose mother is 
 oppressed by various cares and labors. 
 
 Sweetly, tunefully, and with unbroken voice, sings the 
 saffron-bird hoang-niao. We seven sons afford no assistance 
 to our parent." 
 
 There is some pathos in this complaint of broken 
 friendship : — 
 
 " The soft and gentle wind brings rain along with it. I 
 and thou were sharers in labor and in jxjverty ; then you 
 cherished me in your bosom ; now, having become happy, 
 you have left me, and are lost to me. 
 
 The wind is soft and gentle ; yet when it blows over the 
 tops of the mountains, every plant withers, every tree is 
 dried up. You forget my virtues, and tliiikk only of trifling 
 complaints against me." 
 
 The epithalamia, celebrating the marriage of princes, 
 are among the gayest pieces in this collection. The 
 picture of a perfect beauty, drawn three thousand 
 years ago, is illustrated by images very different from 
 those which would occur to a European fancy. 
 
 " The great lady is of lofty stature, and wears splendid 
 robes beneath others of a dark color. She is the daughter of 
 the king of Tsi ; she marries the king of Onei ; the king of 
 Hing has married her elder sister; the Prince Tari-Kong 
 has married the younger. 
 
 Her hands are like a budding and tender plant ; the skin 
 of her face resembles well-prepared fat. Her neck is like 
 one of the worms Tsion and Tsi. Her teeth are like the 
 kernels of the gourd. Her eyebrows resemble the light 
 filaments of newly-formed silk. She smiles most sweetly, 
 and her laugh is agreeable. The pupil of her eye is black, 
 and how well are the white and black distinguished I " 
 
 The following invitation to decent gayety is given at 
 the entrance of the new year — a grand period of 
 Chinese festival : —
 
 CHINESE LITERATURE. 113 
 
 " Now the crickets have crept into the house ; now the 
 end of the year approaches ; let us indulge in gayety, lest the 
 sun and moon should seem to have finished their course in 
 vain ; but amid our joy let there be no offence against the 
 rules of moderation. Nothing should transgress the proper 
 bound. Duty must still be remembered. Sweet is pleasure, 
 but it must be conjoined with virtue. The good man, in the 
 midst of his joy, keeps a strict watch over himself." 
 
 The disorders of a drunken party arc not ill por- 
 trayed in the following passage : — 
 
 " The guests sit down at first with groat politeness, treat- 
 ing each other with mutual respect; thus they continue till 
 overcome with wine. They then forget all modesty and 
 propriety, — run dancing backward and forward. They raise 
 wild and senseless shouts, overturn the most precious cups, 
 dance in sport, and, as they dance, their feet slide from be- 
 neath them ; their cap, inverted, becomes loosely attached to 
 the head, and seems about to fall off; while their body bends 
 this way and that, and they can scarcely stand ; still they 
 madly dance. Some run wildly away, amid tumultuous 
 good wishes from the rest ; others remain, and infringe the 
 laws of virtue. It is well to indulge in wine; but modera- 
 tion must be carefully observed." 
 
 The modern compositions, though not held in the 
 same veneration, appear to display a considerable im- 
 provement. They arc still, indeed, only short effu- 
 sions, composed of mingled reflection and imagery ; 
 but these two elements are more naturally and inti- 
 mately blended, and exhibited in a more poetical form. 
 Mr. Davis has furnished us with some specimens of 
 this school. The following is marked by peculiarly 
 bold and lofty imagery : — 
 
 " See the fine variegated peaks of yon mountain, con- 
 nected like the fingers of the hand. 
 And rising up from the south, as a wall midway to heaven. 
 H 10*
 
 114 CHINESE LITERATURE. 
 
 At night, it would pluck, from the inverted concave, the stars 
 of the milky way ; 
 
 During the day, it explores the zenitli, and plays with the 
 clouds. 
 
 The rain has ceased, and the shining summits are apparent 
 in the void expanse. 
 
 The moon is up, and looks like a bright pearl over the ex- 
 panded palm. 
 
 One might imagine that the Great Spirit had stretched forth 
 an arm 
 
 From afar, from beyond the sea, and was numbering the 
 nations." 
 
 The picture of a clever but reckless profligate is 
 drawn with some force in the following lines : — 
 
 " The paths of trouble heedlessly he braves. 
 Now shines a wit, and now a madman raves. 
 His outward form by nature's bounty dressed, 
 Foul weeds usurped the wilderness, his breast ; 
 And bred in tumult, ignorant of rule. 
 He hated letters — an accomplished fool. 
 In act depraved, contaminate in mind. 
 Strange, had he feared the censures of mankind 
 Titles and wealth to him no joys impart ; 
 By penury pinched, he sank beneath the smart. 
 O wretch ! to flee the good thy fate intends ! 
 O, hopeless to thy country and thy friends ! 
 In uselessness the first beneath the sky. 
 And curst in sinning with supremacy. 
 Minions of pride and luxury, lend an ear, 
 And shun his follies, if his fate ye fear." 
 
 The following poem was written by a Chinese who 
 paid a visit to London about the year 1813. It was 
 written in his native tongue, and addressed to his coun- 
 nymen. The translation is furnished by Mr. Davia.
 
 CHINESE LITERAVURE. 115 
 
 Loudon. 
 
 " Afar in the ocean, towards the extremities of the north-west, 
 
 There is a nation, or country, called England. 
 
 The clime is frigid, and you are compelled to approach the 
 
 fire. 
 The houses are so lofty that you may pluck tlie stars. 
 The pious inhabitants respect the ceremonies of worship, 
 And the virtuous among them ever read the sacred books. 
 They bear a peculiar enmity towards the French nation 
 The weapons of war rest not for a moment between thera. 
 
 Their fertile hills, adorned witli the richest luxuriance) 
 
 Resemble in the outline of their summits tlie arched eye- 
 brow of a fair woman. 
 
 The inhabitants are inspired with a respect for the female 
 sex, 
 
 Who in this land corresjwnd with the perfect features of 
 nature. 
 
 Their young maidens have checks resembling red blossoms, 
 
 And the complexion of their beauties is like the white gem. 
 
 Of old has connubial affection been highly esteemed among 
 them, 
 
 Husband and wife delighting in mutual harmony. 
 
 In the summer evenings, through the hamlets and gardens 
 
 beyond the town, 
 Crowds of walkers ramble without number. 
 The grass is allowed to grow as a provision for horses. 
 And enclosures of wooden rails form pastures for cattle. 
 The harvest is gathered in with the singing of songs ; 
 The loiterers roam in search of flowers without end, 
 And call to each other to return in good time, 
 Lest the foggy clouds bewilder and detain them. 
 
 The two banks of the river lie to the north and south ; 
 Three bridges interrupt the stream, and form a communi 
 cation ;
 
 116 CHINESE LITERATURE. 
 
 Vessels of every kind pass between the arches, 
 
 While men and horses pace among the clouds. 
 
 A thousand masses of stone rise one above the other, 
 
 And the river flows through nine channels : 
 
 The bridge of Loyang, which out-tops all in our empire. 
 
 Is in shape and size somewhat like these. 
 
 It is a rich, populous, and highly-adorned land ; 
 
 Its workmen vie with each other in the excellence of their 
 manufactures. 
 
 Within the circuit of tlie imperial residence is a splendid 
 palace. 
 
 Lofty trees are immingled with unnumbered dwellings. 
 
 The young gentry ride in wheeled carriages, and on horse- 
 back ; 
 
 And the fair womon clothe themselves in silken garments, 
 
 The towering edifices rise story above story, 
 In all the stateliness of splendid mansions. 
 Railings of iron thicklj' stud the sides of every entrance, 
 And streams from the river circulate through the walls. 
 The sides of each apartment are variegated with devices ; 
 Through the windows of glass appear the scarlet hang- 
 ings; 
 And in the street itself is presented a beautiful scene. 
 The congregated buildings having all the aspect of a picture. 
 
 In London, about the period of the ninth moon, 
 
 The inhabitants delight in travelling to a distance ; 
 
 They change their abodes, and betake themselves to the 
 
 country, 
 Visiting their friends in their rural retreats. 
 The prolonged sound of carriages and steeds is heard through 
 
 the day ; 
 Then in autumn the prices of provisions fall ; 
 And the greater number of buildings being untenanted, 
 Such as require it are repaired and adorned.
 
 CHINESE LITERATURE. 117 
 
 The spacious streets are exceedingly smooth and level, 
 
 Each being crossed by others at intervals ; 
 
 On either side perambulate men and women, 
 
 In the centre career along the carriages and horses. 
 
 The mingled sound of voices is heard in the shops at 
 evening. 
 
 During midwinter, the hcapcd-up snows adhere to the path- 
 way. 
 
 Lamps are displayed at night along the street-sides. 
 
 Whose radiance twinkles like the stars of the sk}'. 
 
 The climate is too cold for the cultivation of rice, 
 
 But they have for ages been exempt from the evils of famine. 
 
 With strong tea they immingle rich cream; 
 
 And their baked wheaten bread is involved in unctuous lard. 
 
 Here excellent meats are served in covers of silver, 
 
 And fine wines are poured into gem-like cu{>s; 
 
 The custom of the country pa\'s respect to the ceremony of 
 meals. 
 
 Previous to the repast, they make a change in their vest- 
 ments." 
 
 In works of fiction Chinese literature abounds. 
 Tliesc arc, for the most part, short tales, without point 
 or moral, and might seem designed rather for children 
 than adult readers. Among this class of publications 
 we may notice the Tsze Pun Yu, which is a Chinese 
 collection of tales, romances, fables, &c. It contains 
 no less than seven hundred tales, the titles of some of 
 them being. Ghost of a Fortune-Teller, a Stolen 
 Thunderbolt, the Literary Fo.\ advising Men to 
 become Fairies, Elves begging Fish, the Man with 
 Three Heads, the Devil turned Watchmaker a Pig 
 acting the Priest of Taou, the Enchanted Town, the 
 Ass of a Mahometan Lady, a Demon bearing ChiJ- 
 
 •v
 
 118 CHINESE LITERATURE. 
 
 dren, Vulcan's Toys, &c. The following are trans- 
 lations from this work, made by a youth at Canton, who 
 was studying the Chinese language ; they will afford a 
 specimen of a Chinese book of" small talk." 
 
 The Sagacious Pig- — "In the district of Suhchow, in 
 Keanguau, a man was murdered, and his body thrown into 
 a well One of the officers, having long sought in vain for 
 the murderer, was riding by the well one day, when a pig 
 came before his horse, and set up a most bitter cry. His 
 attendants not being able to drive the pig away, the officer 
 said to them, ' What does the pig want ? ' whereupon the 
 pig kneeled before him, and made the kow-toic. The officer 
 then bade his attendants to follow the pig, which immediately 
 rose up and led them to a house, and, entering the door, 
 crawled under a bed, and began rooting up the ground, and 
 continued doing so until he had uncovered a bloody knife. 
 The attendants immediately seized the master of the house, 
 who, on examination, proved to be the murderer. 
 
 The villagers, having deliberated on the case, took the 
 pig, and supported him in one of the temples of Buddha; 
 visitors came frequently to see him, and gave money for his 
 support, saying, ' Such a sagacious pig deserves to be re- 
 warded.' After more than ten years, lie died, and the priests 
 of the temple, having procured for him a coffin, buried him 
 with due formality." 
 
 The Enchanted Box. — " On the banks of the Lake Kan- 
 ning, in the province of Yunnan, some husbandmen, while 
 digging up the ground, discovered a small iron box, on which 
 characters were written in the ancient form, used in the time 
 of the Han dynasty. The husbandmen did not understand 
 this writing, but the characters by the side of it were intel- 
 ligible, and were as follows : ' Given by a fairy, in the first 
 year of Cheching.' 
 
 The husbandmen, not knowing what the box was, broke 
 it open, when they found a small worm, about an inch in 
 length, and apparently dead. The boys, collecting, threw 
 water on it. The worm then began to stretch itself, until it
 
 cni:.ESr. LlTEItAT'JKE, 119 
 
 became quite long, and then it (hirted into tiie air. A hurri- 
 cane soon came on ; the rain fell in torrents ; the heavens 
 and eartli seemed enveloped in black clouds ; in the midst 
 of which appeared a horned monster, fighting with two yel- 
 low dragons. Hail, mingled with dew, descended ; and the 
 houses and the property of all the husbandmen were de- 
 stroyed ! " 
 
 The Black Pillar. — " Once, in the district Shaouhing, there 
 lived a man whose name was Yen, who was married into tiie 
 family of Wang, and was taken home by his futher-in-law, 
 who had no son of his own. After the ceremony, Yen re- 
 turned to visit his family. His wife having been suddenly 
 taken ill, a messenger was sent by Iii.s father-in-law to inform 
 him of it. Yen immediately left his father's house, although 
 it was the middle of the night. 
 
 By the light of a candle, he was proceeding along the 
 road, when a black cloud, resembling the pillar of a temple, 
 descended between him and the candle. If he moved the 
 candle to the east, the pillar also moved to the cast; if he 
 moved the candle westward, the pillar moved with it, as if 
 trying to obstruct the way, and not to permit him to proceed. 
 
 Yen, being very much frightened, entered the house of 
 a friend, and, having procured a servant, and another candle, 
 proceeded, and the black pillar gradually disappeared, while 
 he hastened to his wife's house. On entering, his father-in- 
 law met him, and said, ' You arrived a long time ago ; — 
 where have you come from now .' ' 
 
 Yen replied, ' Most certainly 1 iiave not been in before ! ' 
 Yen, and the whole family fled in astonishment to his wife's 
 room, where tliey found a man seated on her bed, holding 
 her hand. As he proceeded to his wife's side, the stranger 
 disappeared, and his lady soon expired." 
 
 Fidelity of Cats. — " In IlcUngning there lived a lad whose 
 surname was Wang. His father had an old servant, upwards 
 of seventy years old, who, being extremely fond of cats, kept 
 thirteen in her house, and loved and cherished them like 
 children. Each one had a nickname, and came immediately 
 at her cal . In tlir rdgn of Kf^ijnlung. this old woman died.
 
 120 CHINESE LITERATURE. 
 
 The poor cats gathered round her coffin, crying bitterly, and 
 refused fish, rice, and every kind of food ; and afler three 
 days, they all died ! " 
 
 The drama, as might he expected, constitutes a pop- 
 ular form of Chinese literature, though it labors under 
 great imperfections, and is not regularly exhibited on 
 any public theatre. Its professors are merely invited 
 to private houses, and paid for each performance. 
 The sovereign himself does not bestow any patronage 
 on the art beyond hiring the best actors, when he 
 wishes to enjoy their wit or talents. No entertainment, 
 however, given by the prince, or any great man, is 
 considered complete without a dramatic exhibition ; 
 and every spacious dwelling, and even the principal 
 inns, have a large hall set apart for the purpose. 
 Among less opulent individuals, a subscription is occa- 
 sionally made, to bear in common the expense of a 
 play. It is reckoned that several hundred companies 
 find employment in Pekin ; and along the rivers and 
 great canals, numerous strolling parties live in barges. 
 A troop usually consists of eight or ten persons, mostly 
 slaves of the manager, who accordingly occupy a very 
 mean place in public estimation. To purchase a free 
 child for the purpose of educating him as an actor, is 
 punished by a hundred strokes of the bamboo ; and 
 no free female is allowed to marry into that class. To 
 this contempt for the performers, as well as to the 
 low standard of the drama among the Chinese, who 
 seem to view it merely as the amusement of an idle 
 hour, may be ascribed the depressed state in which it 
 continues to exist. The dramatic poet has liberty and 
 employment, but he has not honor, which seems
 
 CHINESE LITERATURE. 121 
 
 equally necessary for the production of any thing 
 great in the arts. Scenery and stage cfiect, which 
 indeed the places of performance would render very 
 difficult to produce, are never attempted. A theatre 
 can at any time be erected in two hours : a platform 
 of boards is elevated, six or seven feet from the ground, 
 on posts of bamboo ; three sides are hung with cur- 
 tains of cotton cloth, while the front is left open to the 
 audience. 
 
 Under these humiliating circumstances, there do not 
 seem to have arisen any great names, to which the 
 Chinese people can refer with pride, as national dram- 
 atists. Numerous pieces have, however, been pro- 
 duced, particularly under the dynasty of the Tang. 
 A collection has been formed of 199 volumes, from 
 which are selected a hundred plays, supposed to com- 
 prehend the flower of this class of productions. Of 
 these, only five have been translated — namely, two 
 tragedies, the Orphan of Tchao, by Father Premare, 
 and the Sorrows of Han, by Mr. Davis ; and three 
 comedies, the Ileir in his Old Age, by the latter 
 gentleman, the Circle of Chalk, by 1\I. Stanislas- 
 .lulien, and the Intrigues of a Waiting-Maid, by M. 
 Bazin. This certainly is but a small portion of so 
 great a mass ; yet, as it consists of favorite produc- 
 tions chosen by judicious translators, the Chinese 
 drama will not, probably, have cause to complain of 
 being judged according to such specimens. 
 
 On perusing even the best of these compositions, we 
 at once discover that the dialogue is nearly as rude and 
 inartificial as the scenery. Instead of allowing char- 
 acters and events to be dovolopod in the progress of 
 
 XVII.— 11
 
 133 CHINESE LITERATURE. 
 
 *he piece, each performer, on his first entry, addresses 
 the audience, and informs them who and what he is, 
 what remarkable deeds he has performed, and what 
 are his present views and intentions. On these occa- 
 sions, he speaks completely in the style of a third per- 
 son, stating, without veil or palliation, the most enor- 
 mous crimes, either committed or contemplated. The 
 unities, which have been considered so essential to a 
 classic drama, are completely trampled under foot ; and 
 even the license, as to time and place, to which Shak- 
 spere has accustomed a British audience, is far ex- 
 ceeded. The Orphan of Tchao is born in the first act, 
 and before the end of the drama figures as a grown 
 man. In the Circle of Chalk, a young lady m one 
 scene receives and accepts proposals of marriage ; in 
 the next, she appears with a daughter aged five years. 
 The tragedies labor under a much more serious defect, 
 in the absence of impassioned and poetic dialogue. 
 The performer, in the most critical and trying moments, 
 makes no attempt to express his sorrows in correspond- 
 ing language. Action aione is employed, which af- 
 fords a genuine, indeed, though not very dramatic indi- 
 cation of the depth of his feelings. The hero, in the 
 most tragic scenes, strangles himself, or stabs his 
 enemy, with the same coolness as if he had been sittnig 
 down to table. 
 
 In concluding our view of Chinese literature, we feel 
 constrained to remark that it is chiefly valuable as 
 throwing light upon the character of the most populous 
 nation on the globe, and not on account of any im- 
 portant materials which it can directly contribute to our
 
 CHINESE LITERATURE. " 123 
 
 Stores of thought. There is scarcely a fact in science, 
 a passage in philosophy, an illustration in poetry, or plot 
 in a play, to be found in the whole circle of Chinese 
 Dooks, which, if rendered into English, would serve to 
 oenefit our own literature. We cannot but feel, in spite 
 of the great antiquity of the nation, notwithstanding the 
 practical wisdom displayed in government, and the in- 
 genuity evinced in the arts, that, in all the higher qual- 
 ities of the intellect, the Chinese are an inferior people. 

 
 LITERATURE OF THE ARABIANS. 
 
 At the overthrow of the Roman empire, the people 
 of Europe sank into barbarism. Civil wars and feudal 
 tyranny desolated the land. With difficulty did the in- 
 habitants preserve their lives, ever menaced by famine 
 or the sword ; and in this perpetual state of violence and 
 fear, they had little leisure for intellectual enjoyments. 
 It was impossible that eloquence could exist deprived 
 of its proper objects. Poetry was unknown, and phi- 
 losophy was proscribed as a rebellion against religion. 
 But at this very period, a new nation, which, by its con- 
 quests and its fanaticism, had contributed more than 
 any other to extirpate science and literature, having at 
 length established its empire, in its turn devoted itself 
 to letters. 
 
 Masters of a great portion of the East, of the coun- 
 try of the Magi and the Chaldeans, whence the first 
 light of knowledge had shone over the world, — of the 
 fertile Egypt, the storehouse of human science, — of 
 Asia Minor, that smiling land where poetry, and taste, 
 and the fine arts, had their birth, — and of the burning 
 plains of Africa, the country of impetuous eloquence 
 and subtile intellect, — the Arabians seemed to unite 
 in themselves the advantages of all the nations which 
 they had thus subjugated. Their success in arms had
 
 UTERATUnE OF THE ARABIANS. 125 
 
 been sufficient to satiate even tlic most unmeasured 
 ambition. The East, and Africa, from their respective 
 extremities, had yielded to the empire of the caliplis. 
 Innumerable treasures had been the fruit of their con- 
 quests ; and the Arabians, before that time a rude and 
 uncultivated nation, now began to indulge in the most 
 unbounded luxury. With the conquest of those happy 
 countries over which pleasure had so long held sway, 
 the spirit of voluptuousness was naturally introduced 
 among them. With all the delights whicli human in- 
 dustry, quickened by boundless riches, can procure, — 
 with all that can flatter the senses, and attach the heart 
 to life, — the Arabians attempted to mingle the pleasures 
 of the intellect, the cultivation of the arts and sciences, 
 and all that is most excellent in human knowledge, — 
 the gratifications of the mind and the imagination. In 
 this new career, their conquests were not less rapid 
 than they had been in the field, nor was their empire 
 less extended. With a celerity equally surprising, it 
 rose to as gigantic a height ; but it rested on a founda- 
 tion no less insecure, and was quite as transitory in its 
 duration. 
 
 The flight of Mahomet from Mecca to Medina, 
 which is styled the Hegira, corresponds with the year 
 622 of the Christian era, and the pretended burning 
 of the Alexandrian library with the year 611. This is 
 the period of the deepest barbarism of the Saracens ; 
 and this event, doubtful as it is, has left a melancholy 
 proof of their contempt for letters. But a century had 
 scarcely elapsed from the period to which this barbarian 
 outrage is referred, when the family of the Abassides, 
 who mounted the throne of the caliphs in 750, intro- 
 11*
 
 126 LITERATURE OF THE ARABIAI^S. 
 
 duced a passionate love of art, of science, and of 
 poetry. In the literature of Greece, eight centuries of 
 progressive cultivation succeeding the Trojan war, had 
 prepared the way for the age of Pericles. In that of 
 Rome, the age of Augustus was also in the eighth cen- 
 tury after the foundation of the city. But in the rapid 
 progress of the Arabian empire, the age of Al Ma- 
 moun, the father of letters and the Augustus of Bag- 
 dad, was not removed more than one hundred and fifty 
 years from the foundation of the monarchy. 
 
 Ali, the fourth caliph from Mahomet, was the 
 first who extended any protection to letters. His suc- 
 cessor, Moawyah, the first of the Ommiades, was still 
 more favorably disposed towards them. He assembled 
 at his court all who were distinguished by scientific 
 acquirements ; he surrounded himself with poets ; and 
 as he had subjected to his dominion many of the Greek 
 isles and provinces, the sciences of Greece first began, 
 under him, to obtain an influence over the Arabians. 
 After the extinction of the dynasty of the Ommiades, 
 that of the Abassides bestowed a still more powerful 
 patronage on letters. Al Manzor, the second of these 
 princes, invited to his court a Greek physician, who was 
 the first to present to the Arabians translations of the 
 medical works of the Greeks. At Gondisapor, in 
 Pei-sia, the persecuted Christians from the Greek 
 empire founded a school of medicine, from whence 
 issued a crowd of learned Nestorians and Jews, who, 
 obtaining reputation by their medical knowledge, 
 transported to the East all the rich inheritance of 
 Grecian literature. 
 
 The celebrated Haroun Al Raschid, who reigned
 
 LITERATURE OF THE ARABIANS. 127 
 
 from 786 to 809, acquired a glorious name by the pro- 
 tection which he aflbrded to letters. The historian 
 Elmacin assures us tliat he never undertook a journey 
 without at least a hundred men of science in his train. 
 The Arabians are indebted to him for the rapid progress 
 which they made in science and literature, for he never 
 built a mosque without attaching to it a school. His 
 successor followed his example ; and, in a short period, 
 the sciences which were cultivated in the capital 
 spread themselves to the very extremities of the empire 
 of the caliphs. 
 
 But the true protector and father of Arabic literature 
 was Al Mamoun, the seventh caliph of the race of the 
 Abassides, and the son of Haroun Al Raschid. Even 
 in his father's lifetime, and during his journey to 
 Khorasan, he had chosen for his companions the most 
 celebrated men of science among the Greeks, the Per- 
 sians, and the Chaldeans. Having succeeded to the 
 throne in 813, he rendered Bagdad the centre of liter- 
 ature. Study, books, and men of letters, almost en- 
 tirely engrossed his attention. The learned were his 
 favorites, and his ministers were occupied alone in 
 forwarding the progress of literature. It might be said 
 that the throne of the caliphs seemed to have been 
 raised for the Muses. He invited to his court, from 
 every part of the world, all the learned with whose 
 existence he was acquainted ; and he retained them by 
 rewards, honors, and distinctions, of every kind. He 
 collected from the subject provinces of Syria, Armenia, 
 and Egypt, the most important books which could be 
 discovered, and which in his eyes were the most pre- 
 cious tribute he could demand. The governors of
 
 138 LITERATURE OF THE ARABIANS. 
 
 provinces, and ihc officers of administration, were di- 
 rected to amass, in preference to every thing else, the 
 literary relics of the conquered countries, and to carry 
 them to the foot of the throne. Hundreds of camels 
 might be seen entering Bagdad, loaded with nothing but 
 manuscripts and papers ; and those which were thought 
 to be adapted to the purposes of public instruction were 
 translated into Arabic, that they might be universally 
 intelligible. Masters, instructors, translators, and com- 
 mentators, formed the court of Al Mamoun, which 
 appeared rather to be a learned academy than the 
 centre of government in a warlike empire. 
 
 The progress of the nation in science was propor- 
 tioned to the zeal of the sovereign. In all parts, 
 schools, academics, and colleges, were established, 
 from all of which many learned men proceeded. 
 Bagdad was the capital of letters as well as of the 
 caliphs ; but Bassora and Cufa almost equalled that 
 city in reputation, and in the number of valuable trea- 
 tises and celebrated poems which they produced. 
 The same enthusiasm had been carried by the Ara- 
 bians beyond the frontiers of Asia. Benjamin of Tu- 
 dela, the Jew, relates, in his Itinerary, that he found in 
 Alexandria more than twenty schools for the propaga- 
 tion of philosophy. Cairo also contained a great num- 
 ber of colleges. In the cities of Fez and Morocco, 
 likewise, the most magnificent buildings were appro- 
 priated to the purposes of instruction, and these estab- 
 lishments were guided by the wisest and most benefi- 
 cent regulations. The rich libraries of Fez and La- 
 rache preserved to Europe a number of precious vol- 
 umes which had been lost elsewhere.
 
 LlTtKATUKK OF THE ARABIANS. 129 
 
 But Spain was more especially tlie seat of Arabian 
 learning : it was tiierc tliai it shone with superior 
 brightness, and made its most ra{)id progress. Cor 
 dova, Granada, Seville, and almost all the cities of the 
 peninsula, rivalled one another in the magnificence of 
 their schools, colleges, academies, and libraries. In 
 various cities of Spain, seventy libraries were open for 
 the instruction of the public, at the period when all the 
 rest of Europe — without books, without learning, and 
 without cultivation — was plunged in the most disgrace- 
 ful ignorance. Thus, throughout the vast extent of 
 the Arabian empire in the three quarters of the globe, 
 the progress of letters had followed that of arms ; and 
 literature, for five or six centuries, from the ninth to the 
 fourteenth or fifteenth, preserved all its brilliancy. 
 
 The Arabic language belongs to that ancient class 
 which includes the Hebrew. It has outlived its sister 
 tongues, and has spread all over Syria, Egypt, and 
 Northern Africa, besides existing as the language of 
 religion throughout Persia, the Turkish empire, and all 
 countries into which the Mahometan faith has been in- 
 troduced. It is rich not only in words, such especially 
 as refer to natural objects and the life of a nomadic 
 people, but also in grammatical inflections, particularly 
 in the verb. Its purity and copiousness were long an 
 object of national pride to the Arabians. The modern 
 vernacular Arabic does not materially differ from the 
 classical language of the Koran ; but in the gram- 
 matical forms, time seems to have produced a change 
 similar to what we perceive in other languages. 
 
 One of the first objects of the Arabians, at the res- 
 toration of letters, would naturally be to carry to per« 
 I
 
 130 LITERATURE OF THE ARABIANS. 
 
 fection the vehicle of thought and imagination ; and, in 
 fact, the cuhivation of their language had been among 
 the most important labors of the learned. They were 
 divided into two rival schools, that of Cufa and that 
 of Bassora ; from both of which a number of distin- 
 guished men proceeded, who have analyzed with the 
 greatest acuteness the rules of the Arabic language. 
 The study of rhetoric was united with that of grammar, 
 and, as it always happens in the literature of every 
 country, the precepts of elegant composition succeeded 
 the models. The Koran was not written in pursuance 
 of the rules of rhetoricians. A confusion of ideas, pro- 
 duced by too elevated an enthusiasm, and an obscurity 
 and contradiction, which were the consequences of the 
 turbulent life and diversified designs of the author, 
 destroyed the unity, and impaired the interest, of that 
 work. Notwithstanding this, there is scarcely a volume 
 in the Arabic language, if we may believe some critics, 
 which contains passages breathing a more sublime 
 poetry or a more enchaining eloquence. In like man- 
 ner, the first harangues which were addressed to the 
 people and the armies, to inspire them with the new 
 faith, and with a zeal for combat, undoubtedly pos- 
 sessed more true efoquence than all that were after- 
 wards composed in the schools of the most famous 
 Arabic rhetoricians. 
 
 After the age of Mahomet and his immediate suc- 
 cessors, popular eloquence was no longer cultivated 
 among the Arabians. Eastern despotism having sup- 
 planted the liberty of the desert, the heads of the state 
 and the army regarded it as beneath them to harangue 
 the people or the soldiers. They no longer relied
 
 LITERATURE OF THE ARABIANS. 131 
 
 upon their counsel or their zeal ; they only called upon 
 them for obedience. But if political eloquence was 
 of no long duration among the Arabians, they were the 
 inventors of that species of rhetoric which is the most 
 cultivated at the present day. They exercised them- 
 selves alternately in the eloquence of the academy and 
 the pulpit. Their philosophers, so enthusiastic in the 
 belief of the beauty of their language, took the op- 
 portunity of displaying, in these learned assemblies, all 
 the measured harmony of which it is susceptible. 
 They had their Demosthenes, their Cicero, and their 
 sacred orators. Many of the Arabic sermons are pre- 
 served in the Escurial, and their style is very similar to 
 that of the Christian preachers. 
 
 Poetiy, still more than eloquence, was the favorite 
 study of the Arabians, from their origin as a nation. 
 It is said that this people, alone, has produced more 
 poets than all others united. Arabic poetry took its 
 rise even before the art of writing had become general ; 
 and from remote antiquity, a number of poets had an- 
 nually celebrated their academical games in the city 
 of Okadh. These festivals were suppressed by Ma- 
 homet as a relic of idolatry. Seven of the most fa- 
 mous of these ancient poets have been celebrated by 
 the Oriental writers under the title of the Arabian 
 Pleiades ; and their works were suspended around the 
 Caaba, or Temple of Mecca. Mahomet himself cul- 
 tivated poetiy, as well as Ali, Amrou, and some others 
 of the most distinguished of his first companions ; but 
 after him, the Arabian Muses seem to have been silent 
 till the reign of tiic Abassides. It was under Ilaroun 
 Al Raschid, and his successor, Al Mamoun, — and more
 
 132 LITERATURE OF THE ARABIANS. 
 
 especially under the Ommiadcs of Spain, — that Arabic 
 poetry arrived at its highest pilch of splendor. It is at 
 this period that wc find that company of poets, chival- 
 rous lovers, and royal princesses, whom the Oriental 
 writers compare to Anacrcon, Pindar, and Sappho. 
 
 The poetry of the Arabians is entirely lyric or di- 
 dactic. They have been very prolific in their amatory 
 effusions ; their elegies on the deaths of their heroes or 
 of their beauties ; their moral verses, among which 
 their fables may be reckoned ; their eulogistic, satirical, 
 descriptive, and, above all, their didactic poems, wliich 
 embrace even the most abstruse sciences, as grammar, 
 rhetoric, and arithmetic. But among all their poems, 
 the catalogue of which, in the Escurial alone, consists 
 of twenty-four volumes, there is not a single epic, com- 
 edy, or tragedy. 
 
 In the branches of poetry which they cultivated, the 
 Arabians displayed a surprising subtilty, and great 
 refinement of thought. Their style of expression is 
 graceful and elegant ; their sentiments are noble ; and,^ 
 if we may credit the Oriental scholars, there prevails, 
 in the original language, a harmony in the verses, a 
 propriety in the expression, and a grace throughout, 
 which are necessarily lost in a translation. But it 
 cannot escape us that the fame of their lyric composi- 
 tions rests, in some degree, on their bold metaphors, 
 their extravagant allegories, and their excessive hyper- 
 boles. It may justly be asserted that the great charac- 
 teristic of Oriental taste is an abuse of the imagina- 
 tion. The Arabs despised the poetry of the Greeks, 
 which to them appeared timid, cold, and constrained; 
 and, amongst all the books which, with almost a super
 
 LITERATURE OF THE ARABIANS. 133 
 
 stitious veneration, they borrowed from that people, 
 there is scarcely a single poem. None of those relics 
 of classical genius were adjudged worthy of a transla- 
 tion ; and neither Homer, nor Sophocles, nor even 
 Pindar, was allowed to enter into a comparison with 
 their own poets. The object cf the Arabians was 
 always to make a brilliant use of the boldest and most 
 gigantic images. They sought to astonish the reader 
 by the abruptness of their expressions ; and they bur- 
 dened their com])osition with riches, under the idea 
 that nothing which was beautiful could be superfluous. 
 They were not satisfied with one comparison, but 
 heaped images one upon another — not to assist the 
 reader in catching their ideas, but to excite his admira- 
 tion of their coloring. They neglected natural senti- 
 ment, and made an exhibition of art ; and the more 
 the ornaments of art were multiplied, the more admi- 
 rable, in their eye, did their work appear. On this 
 account, they were perpetually seeking for difficulties 
 to vanquish, though these added neither to the develop- 
 ment of the idea nor to the harmony of the verse. 
 
 The Arabic poetry is rhymed like our own, and the 
 rhyming is often carried still farther in the construction 
 of the verse, while the uniformity of the sound is fre- 
 quently echoed throughout the whole expression. Their 
 lyrical poetry is moreover subjected to particular rules, 
 either in the form of the strophe, or in the order of 
 the rhymes, or in the length of the poems. 
 
 But if the Arabs had not the epic nor the drama, 
 they have been, on the other hand, the inventors of a 
 style of composition which is related to the epic, and 
 
 xvir. — 12
 
 134 LITERATUKE OF THE AUABIANS. 
 
 which supplies, in the East, the place of the drama. 
 We owe to them those tales, of which the conception 
 is so brilliant, and the imagination so rich and varied - 
 tales which have been the delight of our infancy, and 
 which, at a more advanced age, we never read without 
 feeling their enchantment anew. Every one is ac- 
 quainted with the Arabian Nights' Entertainments ; but 
 we do not possess, in English, more than a fragment 
 of the whole work. This prodigious collection is not 
 confined merely to books, but forms the treasure of a 
 numerous class of men and women, who, throughout 
 the whole e.xtent of the Mahometan dominion in 
 Turkey, Persia, and even to the extremity of India, 
 find a livelihood in reciting these tales to crowds, who 
 delight to forget, in the pleasing dreams of imagination, 
 the melancholy feelings of the present moment. In 
 the coffee-houses of the Levant, one of these men will 
 gather a silent crowd around him. Sometimes he will 
 excite terror or pity ; but he more frequently pictures 
 to his audience those brilliant and fantastic visions 
 which are the patrimony of Eastern imaginations. 
 He will even occasionally provoke laughter ; and the 
 severe brows of the fierce IMussulmans will unbend 
 only on an occasion like this. Story -telling is the 
 only exhibition of the kind in all the Levant, where 
 these recitations supply the place of our dramatic rep- 
 resentations. The public squares abound with story- 
 tellers, who fill up the heavy hours of the Mahom- 
 etan idler. The physicians frequently recommend 
 them to their patients, in order to soothe pain, to calm 
 agitation, or to produce sleep after long watchfulness ;
 
 LITERATURE OF THE ARABIANS. 135 
 
 and these skilful narrators, accustomed to sickness, 
 modulate tlieir voices, soften their tones, and gently sus- 
 pend them, as sleep steals over the sufferer. 
 
 The imagination of the Arabs, which shines in all 
 its brilliancy in these tales, is readily distinguished from 
 the imagination of the chivalric nations, though it is 
 easy to perceive a certain resemblance between them. 
 The supernatural world is the same in both, but the 
 moral world is different. The Arabian tales, like the 
 romances of chivalry, convey us into the fairy realms, 
 but the human personages which they introduce are 
 very dissimilar. These tales had their birth after the 
 Arabians, yielding the empire of the sword to the Tar- 
 tars, the Turks, and the Persians, had devoted them- 
 selves to commerce, literature, and the arts. We rec- 
 ognize in them the style of a mercantile people, as we 
 do that of a warlike nation in the romances of chiv- 
 alry. Riches and artificial luxuries dispute the palm 
 with the splendid gifts of the fairies. The heroes un- 
 ceasingly traverse distant realms, and the interests of 
 merchandise excite their active curiosity, as much as 
 the love of renown awakened the spirit of the ancient 
 knights. Beside the female characters, we find in these 
 tales only four distinct classes of pei-sons — princes, 
 merchants, monks or calenders, and slaves. Soldiers 
 are scarcely ever introduced. Valor and military 
 achievements, in these tales, as in the records of the 
 East, inspire terror, and produce the most desolating 
 effects, but excite no enthusiasm. There is, on this 
 account, in the Arabian talcs, something less noble and 
 heroic than we usually expect in compositions of this
 
 136 LITERATURE OF THE ARABIANS. 
 
 nature. But, on the other hand, we must consider that 
 these story-tellers are our masters in the art of pro- 
 ducing, sustaining, and unceasingly varying, the in- 
 terest of this kind of fiction ; that they are the creators 
 of that brilliant mythology of fairies and genii, which 
 extends the bounds of the world, multiplies the riches 
 and the strength of human nature, and which, without 
 striking us with terror, carries us into the realms of 
 marvels and prodigies. It is from them that we have 
 derived that intoxication of love, that tenderness and 
 delicacy of sentiment, and that reverential awe of 
 women, — by turns slaves and divinities, — which have 
 operated so powerfully on our chivalrous feeling. 
 
 Every branch of histoiy was cultivated with live- 
 ly interest by the Arabians. Each author, among 
 whom the most celebrated was Abulfeda, prince of 
 Itamah, wrote a universal history, from the beginning 
 of the world down to his own time. Every state, 
 every province, and every city, possessed its indi- 
 vidual character and historian. Many, in imitation of 
 Plutarch, composed the lives of great men. There 
 was, indeed, among Arabians, such a passion for every 
 species of literary composition, and such a desire to 
 leave no subject untouched, that Ben-Zaid, of Cordova, 
 and Abul-Monder, of Valencia, wrote a grave history 
 of celebrated horses, as did Alasueco of camels which 
 had risen to distinction. Historical dictionaries were 
 invented by the Arabians ; and they possessed geo- 
 graphical dictionaries of great accuracy ; and others 
 on critical and bibliographical subjects. Each art and 
 science had a history, of which the Arabians possessed
 
 LITERATURE OF THE ARABIANS. 137 
 
 a more complete collection than any other nation, an- 
 cient or modern. 
 
 Philosophy was passionately cultivated by the Ara- 
 bians, and upon this was founded the fame of many 
 ingenious men, whose names are still revered in 
 Europe. Averroes, of Cordova, was the great com- 
 mentator of Aristotle, and died in 1198. Avicenna, 
 who died in 1037, was a profound philosopher, as well 
 as celebrated physician. Al-Farabi, of Transo.xiana, 
 died in 950. He spoke seventy languages, wrote 
 upon all the sciences, and collected them into an en- 
 cyclopedia. The learned Arabians did not confine 
 themselves to the studies which they could only pros- 
 ecute in their closets. They undertook, for the ad- 
 vancement of science, the most perilous and painful 
 journeys ; they became the counsellors of princes, and 
 they were often involved in the revolutions which in 
 the East are so violent, and generally so cruel. Their 
 private life was thus more varied, more checkered 
 with accidents, and more romantic, than that of the 
 learned of any other nation. 
 
 So little attention has been paid to Arabic literature 
 in Europe, except by philologists, that it is difficult to 
 collect any good specimens of their poetry in an Eng- 
 lish translation. The following eclogue is from the 
 pen of Sir William Jones, who informs us that he doeu 
 not claim for it the character of a regular translation, 
 but that it is made up from detached passages of dif- 
 ferent works. It will, however, afford the reader a fair 
 specimen of the figures, sentiments, and descriptions, 
 which are characteristic of Arabic poetry. 
 
 12*
 
 9 LITERATURE OF THE ARABIANS. 
 
 Solima. An Eclogue. 
 
 " Ye maids of Aden, hear a loftier tale 
 Than e'er was sung in meadow, bower, or dale. 
 The smiles of Abdala, and Mena's ej-es, 
 Where beauty plays, and love in slumber lies ; 
 The fragrant hyacinths of Azza's hair, 
 That wanton with the laughing summer air ; 
 Love-tinctured cheeks, whence roses seek their bloomy 
 And lips from which the zephyr steals perfume, — 
 Invite no more the wild, unpolished lay. 
 But fly like dreams before the morning ray. 
 Then farewell, love ! and farewell, youthful fires ! 
 A nobler warmth my kindred breast inspires. 
 Far bolder notes the listening woods shall fill ; 
 Flow smooth, ye rivulets, and ye gales, be still. 
 
 See yon fair groves, that o'er Amara rise, 
 And with their spicy breath embalm the skies ; 
 Where every breeze sheds incense o'er the valea, 
 And every shrub the scent of musk exhales. 
 See, through yon opening glade, a glittering scene, 
 Lawns ever gay, and meadows ever green. 
 Then ask the groves, and ask the vocal bowers, 
 Who decked their spicy tops with blooming flowers, 
 Taught the blue stream o'er sandy vales to flow. 
 And the brown wild with liveliest hue to glow. 
 ' Fair Solima ! ' the hills and dales will sing; 
 ' Fair Solima ! ' the distant echoes ring. 
 But not with idle shows of vain delight, 
 To charm the soul, or to beguile the sight, 
 At noon on banks of pleasure to repose, 
 Where bloom, entwined, the lily, pink, and rose ; 
 Not in proud piles to heap the nightly feast. 
 Till morn with pearls has decked the glowing east ; — 
 Ah ! not for this she taught those bowers to rise. 
 And bade all Eden spring before our eyes : 
 Far other thoughts her heavenly mind employ — 
 Hence, empty pride ! and hence, delusive joy ! —
 
 LITERATURE OF THE ARABIANS. 139 
 
 To cheer with sweet repast the fainting guest, 
 To lull the weary on the couch of rest, — 
 These are her cares, and this her glorious task : 
 Can Heaven a noble/ give, or mortals ask ? 
 
 When, chilled with fear, the trembling pilgrim roveii 
 Through pathless deserts and through tangled groves. 
 Where mantling Darkness spreads her dragon wing. 
 And birds of death their fatal dirges sing, 
 While vapors pale a dreadful glimmering cast. 
 And thrilling horror howls in every blast, — 
 She cheers his gloom with streams of bursting light ; 
 By day a sun, a beaming moon by night, 
 Darts througii the quivering shades a heavenly ray, 
 And spreads with flowers his solitary way. 
 
 Ye heavens, for this, in showers of sweetness, shed 
 Your mildest influence o'er her favored head ! 
 Long may her name, which distant climes shall praise. 
 Live in our notes, and blossom in our lays. 
 And like an odorous plant, whose blushing flower 
 Paints every dale, and sweetens every bower. 
 Borne to the skies in clouds of soft perfume. 
 Forever flourish, and forever bloom. 
 These grateful songs, ye maids and youths renew. 
 While fresh-blown violets drink the pearly dew, 
 O'er Azil's banks while love-lorn damsels rove. 
 And gales of fragrance breathe from Hagar's grove. 
 
 So sang the youth, wiiose sweetly-warbled strain 
 Fair Mcna heard, and Saba's spicy plain. 
 Soothed with liis lay, the ravished air was calm. 
 The winds scarce whispered o'er the waving palm. 
 The camels bounded o'er the flowery lawn, 
 Like the swift ostrich or the sportful fawn. 
 Their silken bands the listening rosebuds rent, 
 And twined tlieir blossoms round his vocal tent. 
 He sang till on the bank the moonlight slept, 
 And closing flowers beneath the night-dew wept, 
 Then ceased, and slumbered in the lap of rest, 
 Till the shrill lark Iiad left his low-built nest."
 
 140 LITERATURE OF TUE ARABIANS. 
 
 We shall next ofTer the reader a literal version of a 
 portion of the poem of Tarafa, one of the seven compo- 
 sitions which were suspended on«the Temple of Mecca. 
 
 " ' The mansion of Khaula is desolate ; and the traces of it 
 on the stony hills of Tahmed faintly shine, like the remains 
 nf blue figures painted on the back of the hand.' 
 
 While I spoke thus to myself, my companions stopped 
 their coursers by my side, and said, ' Perish not through 
 despair, but act with fortitude.' 
 
 ' Ah ! ' said I, ' the vehicles which bore away my fair one, 
 on the morning when the tribe of Malec departed, and their 
 '.amels were traversing the banks of the Deda, resembled 
 large ships sailing from Aduli ; or vessels of Ibn Tamin, 
 which the mariner steers to the right and left. 
 
 Ships which cleave the foaming waves with their prows, 
 as a boy at play divides with his hand the collected earth. 
 
 In that tribe was a lovely antelope, with black eyes, dark 
 ruddy lips, and a beautiful neck, gracefully raised to crop the 
 fresh leaves of Erac, — a neck adorned with two strings of 
 pearls and topazes. 
 
 She strays from her young, and feeds with the herds of 
 roes in the tangled thicket, where she browzes the edges of 
 the wild fruit, and covers herself with a mantle of leaves. 
 
 She smiles and displays her white teeth, rising from their 
 dark-colored basis like a privet plant in full bloom, which 
 pierces a bank of pure sand moistened with dew. 
 
 To her teeth the sun has imparted his brilliant water, but 
 not to the part where they grow, which is sprinkled with 
 lead ore, while the ivory remains unspotted. 
 
 Her face appears to be wrapped in a veil pf sunbeams : 
 unblemished is her complexion, and her skin without a 
 wrinkle. 
 
 Were it not for three enjoyments which youth affords, 1 
 swear, by thy prosperity, that I should little care how soon 
 my friends were gathered round my death-bed. 
 
 First, to rise before the censurers awaken, and to drink
 
 LITERATURE OF THE ARABIANS. 141 
 
 tawny wine, which sparkles and froths when the clear stream 
 is poured into it. 
 
 Ne.xt, when a warrior, encircled by foes, implores my aid, 
 to urge towards him my prancing charger, fierce as a wolf 
 among the Gadha trees, whom the sound of liuman steps has 
 awakened, and who runs to quench his thirst at the brook. 
 
 Thirdly, to shorten a cloudy day, a day astonishingly dark, 
 by toying with a lovely, delicate girl, under a tent supported 
 by pillars ; 
 
 A girl whose bracelets and bands seem hung on the stems 
 of oshar-trees not stripped of their soft leaves ! ' " 
 
 In the poem of Amriolkais, another of the seven, 
 we have the following description of an Arabian 
 beauty : — 
 
 " With many a spotless virgin, whose tent had not been 
 frequented, have 1 holden soft dalliance at perfect leisure. 
 
 To visit one of them, 1 passed the guards of her bower, 
 and a hostile tribe, who would have been eager to proclaim 
 my death. 
 
 It was the hour when the Pleiades appeared in the firma- 
 ment, like the folds of a silken sash variously decked with 
 gems. 
 
 Her waist was gracefully slender, but sweetly swelled 
 the part encircled with ornaments of gold. Delicate was her 
 shape, fair her skin, and her body well proportioned; her 
 bosom was smooth as a mirror ; 
 
 Or like the pure egg of an ostrich, yellow blended with 
 /fhite and nourished by a stream of wholesome water. 
 
 She turned aside and displayed her soft cheek. She 
 gave a timid glance with languishing eyes, like those of a 
 roe in the groveg of Wegera, looking tenderly at her young. 
 
 The long coal-black hair decorated her back, thick, and 
 diffused like bunches of dates clustering on the palm-tree. 
 
 The brightness of her face illumines the veil of night, like 
 the evening taper of a recluse hermit."
 
 112 LITERATUnE OF THE ARABIANS. 
 
 The poem of Leboid is written with genuine feehng 
 and pathos. We extract the following striking descrip- 
 tion of an Arabian deserted village : — 
 
 " Desolate are the mansions of the fair, the stations in 
 Minia where they rested, and those where they fixed their 
 abodes. Wild are the hills of Goul, and deserted is the 
 summit of Rijaam. 
 
 The canals of Rayaan are destroyed ; their remains are 
 laid bare and smooth by the floods, like characters engraved 
 on the solid rocks. 
 
 Dear ruins! Many a year has been closed — many a 
 month, holy and unhallowed, has elapsed — since I exchanged 
 lender vows with their fair inhabitants. 
 
 The rainy constellations of spring have made their hills 
 green and luxuriant. The drops from the thunder-cloud 
 have drenched them with heavy and with gentle showers. 
 
 Here the wild eringo plants raise their tops. Here the 
 antelopes bring forth their young by the sides of the valley ; 
 and here the ostriches drop their eggs. 
 
 The large-eyed wild-cows lie suckling their young a few 
 days old ; their young, who will soon become a herd on the 
 plain. 
 
 The torrents have cleared the rubbish, and disclosed the 
 traces of habitations, as the reeds of a writer restore effaced 
 letters in a book ; or as the black dust, sprinkled over the 
 varied marks on a fair hand, brings to view, with a brighter 
 tint, the blue stains of woad. 
 
 1 stood asking of the ruins news concerning tJieir lovely 
 habitanls : but what avail my questions to dreary rocks who 
 nnswcr only with their echo .' 
 
 In the plains which now are naked, a populous tribe once 
 dwelt ; but they decamped at early dawn, and nothing of 
 them remains but the canals which encircled their tents, and 
 the thumaam plants with which they were repaired. 
 
 How were thy tender affections stirred when the damsels 
 of the tribe departed ; when they hid themselves in their
 
 LITERATURE OF THE ARABIANS. 14(5 
 
 carriages like antelopes in their lair; and their tents, as they 
 were struck, gave a piercing sound ! 
 
 They were concealed in vehicles whose sides were well 
 covered with awnings and carpets, with fine-spun curtains 
 and pictured veils. 
 
 A company of maidens were seated in them, with black 
 eyes and graceful motions, like the wild heifers of Tudah or 
 tiie roes of Wcgera, tenderly gazing on their young. 
 
 They hastened their camels till the sultry vapor gradually 
 stole them from my sight ; and they disappeared through a 
 vale wild with taiiinrisks and rough with stones. 
 
 Ah ! what remains in thy remembrance of the beautiful 
 Nawara, since now slie dwells at a distance, and all the bonds 
 of union between her and thee, both strong and weak, arc 
 torn asunder ! " 
 
 n contemplating the brilliant light which the litera- 
 ture and science of the Arabians shed over their vast 
 empire from the ninth to the fourteenth century, u 
 melancholy reflection ari.ses. "What now remains of so 
 much glory ? Bagdad, formerly the residence of 
 luxury, power, and knowledge, is a heap of ruins. The 
 celebrated universities of Cufa and Bassora are extinct, 
 as well as those of Balkh and Samarcand. The rich 
 countries of Fez and iMorocco, illustrious for five cen- 
 turies by their academies, their universities, and their 
 libraries, are now little better than deserts of burning 
 sand, which the human tyrant disputes with the beast 
 of prey. Mauritania, once flourishing in commerce, 
 arts, and agriculture, is now the retreat of corsairs. 
 Egypt is gradually disappearing under the encroaching 
 sands of the desert. Syria and Palestine are desolated 
 by wandering Bedouins and tyrannical pachas. In the 
 immense extent of territory which owned the sway of 
 the caliphs, twice or thrice as large as Europe, little is
 
 144 LITERATUHE OF THE ARABIANrl. 
 
 found but ignorance, slavery, terror, and death. The 
 prodigious literary riches of the Arabians no longer 
 exist in any of the countries where the Arabians and 
 the Mussulmans rule : these wide regions, where Islam- 
 ism reigned and continues to reign, are now dead to 
 the interests of science. Not more than a dozen indi- 
 viduals are in a situation to take advantage of the 
 manuscript treasures in the library of the Escurial. 
 A few hundreds of men only, dispersed throughout all 
 Europe, have qualified themselves, by obstinate applica- 
 tion, to explore the rich mines of Oriental literature. 
 These scholars with difficulty obtain a few rare manu- 
 scripts ; but they arc unable to advance far enough to 
 form a judgment of the whole scope of that literature 
 of which they have so partial a knowledga
 
 PERSIAN LITERATURE, 
 
 It is difficult to ascertain the extent to which litera- 
 ture, or science, was cultivated among the ancient Per- 
 sians. Nushirvan, who flourished at the close of the 
 sixth century, was the first monarch whom historians 
 notice as the founder of a college ; but the priests had 
 already their books of religion, and the chronicles of 
 the kings of Persia were preserved with great care. 
 The learned were early distinguished for their knowl- 
 edge of astrology which implies a limited acquaintance 
 with astronomy ; but this study, as well as all others, 
 appears to have been confined to the priests ; and it is 
 evident that their boasted learning, under the greatest 
 of the Sassanian kings, was much below that of their 
 western neighbors. Whatever treasures, in science 
 and literature, the ancient Persians may have possessed, 
 are now lost. The polished fragments of vast palaces, 
 and the remains of fine sculpture, prove, at least, that 
 the ancient kings of Persia were rich and powerful 
 monarchs, if not that their subjects were civilized. 
 
 During the first two centuries after the conquest 
 of Persia by the Mahometans, the literature of the 
 country was very little cultivated, the preference being 
 given to the Arabian. But when the power of the 
 caliphs began to decline, under the Abassides, a number 
 J XVII. — 13
 
 146 LITERATURE OF THE PERSIANS. 
 
 of independent princes arose in the different provinces 
 of their empire, who vied with one another in pro- 
 moting the cultivation of letters. The accession of the 
 Bouyah family to the throne of Persia, in the tenth 
 century, marked tlie great epoch of the revival of 
 learning in this country. A sort of rivalship was then 
 called forth by the circumstance of three contemporary 
 princes, all lovers of letters, reigning at once in the 
 provinces of Persia. To the united efforts of these 
 three monarchs, and to their liberal encouragement of 
 letters, the Persian literature may be said to have been 
 indebted for all its lustre. This flourishing state con- 
 tinued until the beginning of the thirteenth century, 
 when the, invasion of Zingis Khan gave a sudden check 
 to the cuTtivation of all the arts of peace. After this 
 came the invasion of Timour, in the fourteenth cen- 
 tury ; but that conqueror, far from discouraging polite 
 literature, adopted the religion and the language of 
 the country, and promoted the fine arts by his bound^ 
 less munificence. 
 
 The Turks, who ravaged Persia during the fifteenth:- 
 century, greatly improved their own harsh dialect, b. 
 mixing with it the language of that country ; and tht.' 
 sultan Mahomet II., who took Constantinople, is enu 
 merated among the best lyric poets of Persia. In th 
 sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, under the bloody 
 reign of the saltans of the house of Sefi, Persia 
 literature sank to the lowest state ; even the languai 
 was corrupted, and borrowed some of its terms fro 
 the Turkish, which was commonly spoken at court. 
 
 The Persian language, although inferior in streng 
 and copiousness to the Arabic, is rich, melodious, a
 
 LITERATURE OF THE PERSIANS. 147 
 
 elegant, and has been spoken, for many ages, by the 
 princes of the politest courts of Asia. Mahomet was 
 once heard to say, that the language of Persia would 
 be spoken in Paradise, owing to its extreme softness. 
 In the simplicity of its grammar it has been compared 
 to the English, and in its power of compounding words, 
 to the German. It contains a great number of Arabic 
 words, and is written with the Arabic letters, from right 
 to left. 
 
 In the beginning of the eleventh century, Firdusi,* 
 the Homer of Persia, wrote his Shah Nameh. A cen- 
 tury afterward flourished Anweri and Reshidi Abd 
 el Jelil, both of Khorasan ; and a century later, Shiraz, 
 which has not improperly been called the Persian 
 Athens, gave birth to several distinguished poets. Of 
 this number was the celebrated Sadi, who left behind 
 him several works in prose and verse, the principal of 
 which is entitled the Gulistan, or Garden of Roses, and 
 s a sort of mystical and moral poem, of which several 
 ditions and translations have been published. The 
 ty of Shiraz had also the honor of producing, in the 
 (urteenth century, the most elegant lyric poet of Asia, 
 he celebrated Hafiz. To these names may be added 
 4iat of Jami, author of the Beharistan, or Mansion of 
 lie Spring — one of the most prolific and pleasing of 
 >11 the Persian poets. The catalogue of these latter 
 tf sufiiciently large ; but in this rapid sketch, wc are 
 de to point out only the most eminent. 
 The Persians are enthusiastically devoted to poetry. 
 
 For an account of the life and writings of Firdusi, see 
 ■Ids and Shadows of Asiatic History.
 
 148 LITERATURE OF THE PEHSIANS. 
 
 The meanest artisan of the principal cities can read or 
 recite the finest passages from their most admired 
 writers ; and even the rude, unlettered soldier leaves 
 his tent, to listen with rapture to the strain of the min- 
 strel who sings a mystic song of divine love, or 
 recites the tale of a battle of his forefathers. The 
 very essence of Soofeeism, a Mahometan doctrine, 
 spread all over Persia, is poetry. The raptures of 
 genius, expatiating on a subject that can never be ex- 
 hausted, are deemed holy inspirations by those who 
 believe that the emancipated soul can wander at large 
 in the regions of the imagination, and even unite whh 
 its Creator. The Musnavi, a work written by Jellal- 
 ud-din, teaches, in the sweetest strain, that all nature 
 abounds with a divine love, causing even the lowest 
 plant to seek the sublime object of its desire. From 
 this favorite work of the Soofees, we make the follow- 
 ing extract : — 
 
 " Hear how yon reed, in sadly-pleasing tales, 
 Departed bliss and present woe bewails ! — 
 ' With me, from native banks untimely torn, 
 Love-warbling youths and soft-eyed virgins mourn. 
 O, let the heart by fatal absence rent 
 Feel what I sing, and bleed when I lament ; 
 Who roams in exile from his parent bower, 
 Pants to return, and chides the lingering hour. 
 My notes, in circles of the grave and gay, 
 Have hailed the rising, cheered the closing day. 
 Each in my fond affection claimed a part, 
 But none discerned the secret of my heart. 
 What though my strains and sorrow flow combined, 
 Yet ears are slow, and carnal eyes are blind. 
 Free through each mortal form the spirits roll, 
 But siffhs avail not — Can we see the soul ? '
 
 LITERATUEE OF THE PEBSIAKS. 149 
 
 • Such notes breathed gently from yon vocal frame 
 
 Breathed, said I ? — No ! — 'Twas all enlivening flame. 
 
 'Tis love that fills the reed with warmth divine, 
 
 'Tis love that sparkles in the rosy wine. 
 
 Me, plaintive wanderer from my peerless maid, 
 
 The reed has fired, and all my soul betrayed. 
 
 He gives the bane, and he with balsam cures — 
 
 Afflicts, yet soothes — impassions, yet allures. 
 
 Hail, heavenly love ! true source of endless gains ' 
 Thy balm restores me, and thy skill sustains. 
 O more than Galen learned, than Plato wise ! 
 My guide, my law, my joy supreme, arise ! 
 Love warms this frigid clay with m3''stic fire, 
 And, dancing mountains leap with young desire. 
 Blest is the soul that swims in seas of love, 
 And long the life sustained by food above. 
 With forms imperfect can perfection dwell .' 
 Here pause, my song; and tliou, vain world, farewell ! * 
 
 The above-named poem ; the works of Jami, which 
 breathe in every line the most ecstatic rapture ; the book 
 of moral lessons of the eloquent Sadi ; and the lyric and 
 mystic odes of Hafiz, — may be termed the Scriptures 
 of the Persian Soofees. To these they continually 
 refer ; and the gravest writers who have defended their 
 doctrine take their proof from these and other poets, 
 whom they deem inspired by their holy theme. 
 
 Sadi has a great reputation in Persia, no less as a 
 wise man and a moralist, than as a poet. Ho seeks 
 by fiction to adorn, not to encumber truth, and the 
 admiration of the reader is invariably given more to 
 the sentiment than to the language. His Gulistan 
 consists of short tales, apologues, and anecdotes, inter- 
 spersed with epigrams in verse. In these compositions, 
 Sadi may challenge competition with any writer of the 
 13*
 
 150 LITERATURE OF THE PERSIANS. 
 
 East. The following apologue is a specimen of his 
 graver style : — 
 
 " One day, as I was in the bath, a friend put into my hand 
 a piece of scented clay. I took it, and said to it, 'Art thou 
 musk or ambergris ? for I am charmed with thy perfume.' 
 It answered, ' I was a despicable piece of clay, but I was 
 sometimes in company with the rose. The sweet quality of 
 my companion was communicated to me ; otherwise I should 
 be nothing but a bit of clay, as I appear to be." 
 
 Of the aphorisms of Sadi we will give a specimen or 
 two : — 
 
 •' The snows of age rest upon my head, 
 Yet my disposition still makes me a youth." 
 
 Addressed to a sovereign : — 
 
 " Be merciful, and learn to conquer without an army ; 
 Seize upon the hearts of mankind, and be the world's con- 
 queror ! " 
 
 The following, as applied to Eastern manners, hap- 
 pily illustrates the danger of negligence in discharging 
 the active duties of life : — 
 
 " Alas for him that is gone, and has not done his work ! 
 The drum for mounting has sounded, and he has not made 
 up his load." 
 
 Very different from Sadi is Hafiz, the Horace of the 
 East, who, notwithstanding the difference of national 
 manners, and consequent difference of poetic illustra- 
 tion, is the Oriental writer with whose works a Western 
 scholar will most wish to become familiar. His poetry 
 is uttered in the sweetest musical strains, and his fame 
 rests upon the creative force of his imagination, and 
 the easy flow of his numbers. He delights the reader 
 by the very scorn with which he rejects all sobriety of
 
 LITERATURE OF THE PERSIANS. 151 
 
 thought, and all continuity of subject. He has the 
 singular good fortune of being alike praised by ortho- 
 dox and heterodox among his countrymen — by saints 
 and by sinners. His odes are sung by the young and 
 joyous, who, taking them in the literal sense find noth- 
 ing but an excitement in them to pass the spring of 
 life in the enjoyment of the world's luxuries ; while 
 the contemplative sage, considering this poet as a re- 
 ligious enthusiast, attaches a mystical meaning to 
 every line, and repeats his ode as he would an orison. 
 Hafiz thus strangely seems to combine the characters 
 of Tom Moore and Dr. Watts. 
 
 The following ode of Hafiz was translated by Sir 
 William Jones : — 
 
 •• Sweet maid, if thou wouldst charm my sight. 
 
 And bid these arms thy neck infold, 
 
 That rosy cheek, tliat lily hand, 
 
 Would give thy poet more delight 
 
 Than all Bokhara's vaunted gold, 
 
 Than all the gems of Samarcand. 
 
 Boy, let yon liquid ruby flow. 
 And bid thy Persian heart be glad ; 
 Whate'er the frowning zealots say, 
 Tell them their Eden cannot show 
 A stream so clear as Rocnabad, 
 A bower so sweet as Moseliay. 
 
 O, when these fair, perfidious maids, 
 Whose eyes our secret haunts infest. 
 Their dear, destructive charms display, 
 Each glance my tender breast invades. 
 And robs my wounded soul of rest. 
 As Tartars seize their destined prey.
 
 LITERATURE OF THE PERSIANS. 
 
 In vain with love our bosoms glow ; 
 Can all our tears, can all our sighs, 
 New lustre to those charms impart ? 
 Can cheeks where living roses blow, 
 Where Nature spreads her richest dyes, 
 Require the borrowed gloss of art ? 
 
 Speak not of fate : — ah ! change the theme, 
 
 And talk of odors, talk of wine ; 
 
 Talk of the flowers that round us bloom ; — 
 
 'Tis all a cloud, 'tis all a dream ; — 
 
 To love and joy thy thoughts confine, 
 
 Nor hope to pierce the sacred gloom. 
 
 Beauty has such resistless power, 
 That e'en the chaste Egyptian dame 
 Sighed for the blooming Hebrew boy ; 
 For her how fatal was the hour. 
 When to the banks of Nilus came 
 A youth so lowly and so coy. 
 
 But ah ! sweet maid, my counsel hear ; — 
 Youth should attend when those advise 
 Whom long experience renders sage : 
 While music charms the ravished ear, 
 While sparkling cups delight our eyes, 
 Be gay, and scorn the frowns of age. 
 
 What cruel answer have 1 heard ! 
 
 And yet, by Heaven, I love thee still ; 
 
 Can aught be cruel from thy lips .' 
 
 Yet say how fell that bitter word 
 
 From lips which streams of sweetness fill, 
 
 Which nought but drops of honey sip .' 
 
 Go boldly forth, my simple lay, 
 Whose accents flow with artless ease,
 
 LITEHATURE OF THE PERSIANS. 153 
 
 Like Orient pearls at random strung ; 
 Thy notes are sweet, the damsels say ; 
 But O ! far sweeter, if they please 
 The nymph for whom these notes are sung." 
 
 In the department of history, the Persians have pro- 
 duced some works which would do honor to any age 
 or people. IMirkhond wrote an historical work, in sev- 
 eral volumes, containing the history of the prophets, 
 kings, and caliphs. His son, Khondemir, wrote the 
 Cream of the Histories, and the Friend of the Travel- 
 lers. Abdallah Al Bcdawee wrote a Universal His- 
 tory from Adam to his own Time, (1276.) Ferishta, in 
 the seventeenth century, wrote a valuable historical 
 work, which has been translated uito English. Abul- 
 fadhl, the vizier of the emperor Akbar, wrote the Akbar 
 Nameh, containing a history of that sovereign and his 
 predecessors. Beside these, there are numerous works 
 comprehending short periods of time, or histories of 
 single dynasties and reigns. 
 
 The literature of the Persians abounds with prose 
 fables and moral tales, mostly borrowed from the Hin- 
 doos. Of this class is a Persian translation of the 
 Fables of Pilpay, or Bidpai. They have also a 
 translation or paraphrase of the Sanscrit Hitopadesa. 
 The Persians, in the luxuriance of their imaginations, 
 have wonderfully embellished the less artificial wri- 
 tings of the natives of India. The lowest animaLs 
 which they introduce into their fables speak a language 
 which would do honor to a king ; and all nature con- 
 tributes to adorn their metaphorical style. This fault 
 of grandiloquence, and the abuse of figures of speech, 
 is the besetting sin of their historical writers.
 
 154 LITERATUEE OF THE PERSIANS. 
 
 One of these fables is uttered by the philosophic 
 Barzooyeh, who, in a work entitled the Touchstone of 
 Wisdom, introduces his fiction, with a gravity worthy 
 of a Christian moralist, thus : — 
 
 " The questions regarding the attributes of the Creator and 
 the nature of futurity, have been sources of never-ending 
 doubt and discussion. Every one deems his opinion the true 
 one, and his life is wasted in efforts to raise his own sect and 
 disparage others. But how many of these persons are mere 
 self- worshippers, in whom there is not a trace of real religion, 
 or of the knowledge of God ! 
 
 How deeply do I regret that time which I myself have 
 lost in pursuit of these vain imaginations, searching every 
 path, but never finding the true way, and never even dis- 
 covering a guide ! 1 have consulted the wise and learned of 
 all religions as to the origin of that faith in wliich they be- 
 lieved ; but I have found them only busied with propping up 
 their own notions, and trying to overset those of others. 
 
 At last, finding no medicine for the sickness of my heart, 
 and no balm for the wounds of my soul, 1 came to the con- 
 clusion that the foundation of all these acts was self-conceit. 
 I had heard nothing that a wise man could approve ; and 1 
 thought that if I gave my faith to their creed, I should be as 
 foolish as the poor thief, who by an unmeaning word was 
 deluded to his destruction. 
 
 Once upon a time, some thieves contrived to get on the 
 top of a rich man's house, in the middle of the night; but he, 
 hearing their footsteps, and guessing their business, waked 
 his wife, and whispered what had occurred. 
 
 ' I shall feign myself asleep,' said he : ' do you pretend to 
 awake me, and begin a conversation loud enough to be heard 
 by the thieves. Demand of me very earnestly how I got 
 my money, and notwithstanding 1 refuse to tell you, still 
 urge me to a confession.' 
 
 The woman did as she was instructed, and the husband 
 replied aloud, ' Have done with such questions, for if I tell 
 vou the truth, I may be overheard, and get into trouble.'
 
 LITERATURE OF THE PERSIANS. 155 
 
 This only stimulated the lady's curiosity, as she pretended; 
 and at length the husband, as if wearied with her importu- 
 nities, answered, ' Nay, if 1 tell you, 1 shall depart from the 
 old maxim, " Never trust a woman with a secret." ' 
 
 The lady now feigned great irritation, and said, ' What ! 
 am 1 not the cherished wife of your bosom ? ' Sec. — ' Well, 
 well,' said her husband at last, ' as you are my true and con- 
 fidential friend, I suppose I must tell all : but beware how 
 you breathe a syllable of it to any living mortal.' The 
 woman promised every thing, of course, and the man, ap- 
 pearing quite satisfied, proceeded as follows : — 
 
 ' Learn, my dear wife, that all my wealth is plunder. 1 
 came into possession of a mystic charm, by which, when 
 standing, on a moonlight night, near a rich man's house, I 
 could, by repeating the words, Sholim, Sholim, Sholim, 
 seven times, and at the same time laying my hand on a 
 moonbeam, vault at once on the roof; where again 1 ex- 
 claimed Sholim ! Sholim ! Sholim ! seven times, and with 
 the utmost ease jumped down into the house ; and again pro- 
 nouncing, Sholim ! Sholim I Sholim ' seven times, all the 
 riches in the house were brought to my view. I took what 1 
 liked best, and for the last time calling out, Sholim ! Sholim ! 
 Sholim ! I sprang out of the window with my booty; and by 
 the blessing of this charm, I was not only invisible, but pre- 
 served from even the suspicion of guilt.' 
 
 The robbers, who heard and believed every word of this 
 story, chuckled with great glee over the precious discovery, 
 and took care to treasure up in their memories the magic 
 words. Some time afterwards, the leader of the band, think- 
 ing every body fast asleep, cried out, ' Sholim ! Sholim ! Sho- 
 lim ! ' seven times, and, springing forward, fell down the scut- 
 tle, heels over head, into tlie room. The master of the house, 
 who was awake, and all ready for his visitor, instantly 
 clutched him with one hand, and with the other began to 
 soften his shoulders handsomely by the help of a cudgel, 
 crying out, ' Have 1 earned all my money for nothing but 
 to let a fellow like you snap it up and run off with it .' Who 
 are you .' ' The thief replied, ' 1 am that senseless Wockhead 
 
 •
 
 156 LITERATURE OF THE PERSIANS. 
 
 whom a breath of yours has consigned to the dust. The 
 proverb is verified in my fate, " I have spread my carpet for 
 prayer on the surface of the waters." ' 
 
 In fine, (adds Barzooyeli,) I came to the conclusion that 
 if, without better proof than delusive words, I were to follow 
 any of the modes of faith which I have described, I should 
 be no better off tlian the fool, in this tale, who trusted to 
 Sholim ! Sholim ! Sholim ! " 
 
 From a general view of their literature, it is appa- 
 rent that none of the sciences or arts which have con- 
 tributed to enlighten and reform the minds of men, in 
 other countries, have been overlooked by the modern 
 Persians. The library of a Mahometan, whether born 
 in India or in Persia, consists of books in the Arabic 
 and Persian. But although they embrace every topic 
 which can engage the attention of the studious, they 
 inspire very different degrees of interest. Their theol- 
 ogy consists in prolix and abstruse commentaries on 
 the Koran, in legendary tales of the miracles per- 
 formed at the tombs of holy sheiks, and in the enthu- 
 siastic rhapsodies of the Soofees. In the history of 
 human opinions, those of the Persians, who are by no 
 means deficient in natural sagacity, are doubtless en- 
 titled to a place ; but it is only in this point of view that 
 they can deserve attention. Their reasoning faculties 
 have never been judiciously applied to the observation 
 of the phenomena of mind. 
 
 Their works of imagination must not be estimated 
 by the rules of criticism derived from the writers of 
 Greece and Rome. The exuberant fancy of an East- 
 ern poet acknowledges no check, and spurns the con- 
 trol of what we regard as a correct taste. From that 
 circumstance, few of the Persian poems admit of literal 
 
 m
 
 LITERATURE OF THE PERSIANS. 
 
 157 
 
 or entire translations ; though the fire of genius, the 
 novehy of the manners, and the bizarre ornaments of 
 the Oriental Muses, render them highly attractive to 
 those whose tastes ai-e not too exclusively formed on 
 higher models, but are capable of relishing the sublime 
 ejxd beautiful, though arrayed in an unusual costume. 
 
 xvn. — 14
 
 LITERATURE OF THE TURKS. 
 
 The Turkish language comprises a variety of dia- 
 lects, which constitute a particular family, differing 
 radically from the Arabic, Persian, Mongol, and Chi- 
 nese. Of these dialects the Osmanlee, which is spoken 
 at Constantinople, is the richest and most polished. It 
 may be considered as a compound of the ancient Sel- 
 jukian language, and that of the tribe of Kayi, from 
 which the Osmanlees are descended. It has no article, 
 and in its construction resembles the Latin ; a sentence 
 generally cannot be understood till the last word is 
 uttered. Compound words are formed in the Turkish 
 with as much ease as in the Greek, English, German, 
 or Persian; and in this particular it diflers radically 
 from the Arabic. This language has found its ad- 
 mirers among European scholars, who affirm that its 
 regularity, precision, and elegance, are such, that if any 
 academy were commissioned to make a language, it 
 would not form one more perfect than the Turkish. 
 Sir William Jones says, " The Turkish language has 
 an admirable dignity. The Persian is fit for joyous 
 and amatory subjects, the Arabic for poetry and elo- 
 quence, but the Turkish for moral subjects." 
 
 The Turkish is now the diplomatic and official lan- 
 guage, not only of Turkey, but Egypt, Tunis, and
 
 LITEEATUEE OF THE TUKKS. 159 
 
 Tripoli, and formerly of Algiers. The Turkish litera- 
 ture is of ancient origin. During the reigns of Osman 
 and his successors, a great number of Arabic, Persian, 
 Greek, and Latin works were translated into Turkish. 
 Mahomet II., it is said, ordered a translation of Plu- 
 tarch's Lives. Soliman I. had the Commentaries of 
 Cajsar translated. Aristotle and Euclid were translated 
 in the commencement of Turkish history. In later 
 times, a number of English, German, Italian, and French 
 works on history, geography, medicine, chemistry, math- 
 ematics, and the military science, have been translated 
 into Turkish. The original literature of the Turks is 
 said to be valuable ; but it appears to have been little 
 studied by the learned of Christendom. j\Iany of the 
 Turkish sultans were distinguished poets, and their 
 works are still extant. The oldest Turkish poet of 
 renown is Ashik Pacha, who lived in the reigns of Os- 
 man and Urkhan. The reign of Bajazet II. was dis- 
 tinguished by the following poets: Nejati, who was 
 considered the first lyrist of his time, and who trans- 
 lated many Arabic works ; Mesihi, an admired poet, a 
 specimen of whose works we shall presently lay before 
 the reader ; Afitabi, Muniri, Prince Korkud, and the 
 female poet Mihri, a native of Amasia. The greatest 
 of all Turkish poets is Baki, who was high judge of 
 Roumili, and died in 1600 ; but none of his works have 
 been translated into English. 
 
 The following version of an ode of Mesihi is by 
 Sir William Jones, and appears to be as close an imi- 
 tation of the measure of the original, as the English 
 language will admit : —
 
 160 LITERATTJRE OF THE TURKS. 
 
 Spring. 
 
 " Hear now the nightingales, on every spray, 
 Hail, in wild notes, the sweet return of May ! 
 The gale that o'er yon waving almond blows 
 The verdant bank with silver blossoms strows ; 
 The smiling season decks each flowery glade ; 
 Be gay : — :too soon the flowers of spring will fade. 
 
 What gales of fragrance scent the vernal air ! 
 Hills, dales, and woods, their loveliest mantles wear. 
 Who knows what cares await that fatal day. 
 When ruder gusts shall banish gentle May ? 
 E'en death, perhaps, our valleys will invade ; 
 Be gay : — too soon the flowers of spring will fade. 
 
 The tulip now its varied hue displays. 
 And sheds, like Ahmed's eye, celestial rays. 
 All nature ever faithful, ever true ! 
 The joys of youth, while May invites, pursue. 
 Will not these notes your timorous minds persuade .' 
 Be gay : — too soon the flowers of spring will fade. 
 
 The sparkling dew-drops o'er the lilies play, 
 Like Orient pearls, or like the beams of day. 
 If love and mirth your wanton thoughts engage, — 
 Attend, ye nymphs, a poet's words, or sage, — 
 While thus you sit beneath the trembling shade, 
 Be gay : — too soon the flowers of spring will fade. 
 
 The fresh-blown rose like Zeineb's cheek appears, 
 When pearls, like dew-drops, glitter in her ears. 
 The charms of youth at once are seen and past, 
 And nature says they are too sweet to last. 
 So blooms the rose, and so the blushing maid ; 
 Be gay : — too soon the flowers of spring will fade. 
 
 See yon anemones their leaves unfold. 
 With rubies flaming, and with living gold 
 While crystal showers from weeping clouds descend, 
 Enjoy the presence of thy tuneful friend. 
 Now, while the wines are brought, the sofas laid, 
 Be gay : — too soon the flowers of spring will fade.
 
 LITERATCTRE OF THE TURKS. 161 
 
 The plants no more are dried, the meadows dead , 
 No more the rose-bud hangs her pensive head ; 
 The shrubs revive in valleys, meads, and bowers, 
 And every stalk is diademed with flowers. 
 In silken robes each hillock stands arrayed ; 
 Be gay : — too soon the flowers of spring will fade. 
 
 Clear drops, each morn, impearl the rose's bloom, 
 And from its leaf the zephyrs drink perfume. 
 The dewy buds expand their liquid store ; 
 Be this our wealth — ye damsels, ask no more ; 
 Though wise men envy, and though fools upbraid, 
 Be ga}"^ : — too soon the flowers of spring will fade 
 
 Late, gloomy winter chilled the sullen air. 
 Till Soliman arose, and all was fair. 
 Soft, in his reign, tlie notes of love resound, 
 And pleasure's rosy cup goes freely round. 
 Here, on the bank which mantling vines o'ershade. 
 Be gay : — too soon the flowers of spring w:.l fade. 
 
 May this rude lay from age to age remain, 
 A true memorial of this lovely train. 
 Come, charming maid, and hear thy poet sing, 
 Thyself the rose, and he the bird of spring. 
 Love bids him sing, and love will be obeyed ; 
 Be gay : — too soon the flowers of spring will fade." 
 
 The Turkish poels have been censured for copying 
 •he Persian with too much servility ; but in this respect 
 fhey have but followed the example of the Latin 
 writers, in their imitation of the Greeks. Horace, in 
 particular, not only imitated the measure and expres- 
 sions of the Greeks, but even translated, almost word 
 for word, the finest passages of Alcaius, Anacreon, 
 and others. But the Turkish poets are not without 
 origmality : the Satires of Ruhi Bagdadi are pro- 
 nounced, by a competent judge, to be very forcible and 
 pungent. More than two centuries ago, a work waa 
 K 14*
 
 LITERATURE OF THE TURKS. 
 
 published at Constantinople, containing extract* from 
 
 549 Turkish poets, which show that they were passion- 
 ately addicted to the art, whatever degree of excellence 
 they may have attained in the practice of it. The fol- 
 lowing verses have been translated by Lord Byron 
 from an anonymous Turkish poet : — 
 
 " The chain 1 gave was fair to view, 
 
 The lute I added sweet in sound ; 
 The heart that offered both was true, 
 
 And ill deserved the fate it found. 
 
 These gifts were charmed with secret spell 
 
 Thy truth in absence to divine ; 
 And they have done their duty well ; 
 
 Alas ! they could not teach thee thine. 
 
 That chain was firm in every link. 
 
 But would not bear a stranger's touch ; 
 
 That lute was sweet, till thou couldst think 
 In other hands its notes were such. 
 
 Let him who from thy neck unbound 
 
 That chain, which shivered in his grasp , 
 
 Who saw that lute refuse to sound, 
 Restring the chords, renew the clasp. 
 
 When thou wert changed, they altered too ; 
 
 The chain is broke, the music mute ; 
 'Tis past — to them and thee adieu ! 
 
 False heart, frail chain, and silent lute ! " 
 
 The number of Turkish historians is very great, and 
 several of them are highly esteemed for then- impar- 
 tiality, judgment, and concise beauty of style. Some of 
 *^heir works are unquestionably valuable, and exhibit a
 
 LITERATURE OF THE TURKS. 163 
 
 spirit of impartiality toward the Christians, worthy of 
 high commendation. Among their biographers we 
 may mention Hatifi, who wrote the Uves of about 
 200 Turkish poets. The literature of the Turks has 
 also been enriched by numerous works on morals, 
 divinity, philosophy, geography, and natural science. 
 Their philosophy, which originated in the famous school 
 of Bokhara, has a mystical character, and resembles in 
 many pomts the speculative doctrines of the German 
 Schelling, especially with regard to pantheism.
 
 ITALIAN LITERATURE. 
 
 The language called Italian is the written language 
 of Italy — that in which books are there chiefly com- 
 posed, and which all educated persons are taught as a 
 branch of school instruction. But a small part of the 
 people of Italy, however, speak this language ; for the 
 great mass use the dialects which belong to the several 
 sections of the country. Among these dialects, the 
 Milanese, Venetian, Mantuan, Piedraontese, Genoese, 
 Bolognese, Neapolitan, Sicilian, and Calabrian, are the 
 principal. These dialects must not be considered as 
 corruptions of the Italian language, but as independent 
 tongues, having an affinity to it, and having sprung up 
 even at periods anterior to it. Many of them are rich 
 and graceful, and are the vehicles in which some 
 eminent authors have given their thoughts to the 
 world. The Venetian is smooth and musical, and is 
 impressed with the character of the people. The 
 Neapolitan is copious, abounds in diminutive and 
 vituperative terms, and is suited to the broad humor 
 and imitative harmony which mark the taste of South- 
 ern Italy. 
 
 The classic Italian is, in fact, the Tuscan dialect, 
 which acquired a greater polish than the others ; and, 
 through the influence of several eminent writei-s of the
 
 ITALIAN LITERATURE. 165 
 
 fourteenth century, — Dante, Petrarch, Boccaccio 
 Sachetli, Villani, and others, all Tuscans, — it acquired 
 an ascendency which it has since maintained. This 
 celebrated tongue, so much admired over the world, is 
 not, however, the language of the lower orders, of the 
 nursery, the streets, and the markets, in any part of 
 Italy except in Tuscany, and a part of the States of 
 the Church. 
 
 The period to which we have just adverted is a 
 remarkable one in the history of Italian literature. 
 While the rest of Europe was groping in the gloom 
 of the dark ages, several eminent men sprang up in 
 Central Italy, and, devoting themselves to letters, not 
 only shed an undying lustre over their country, but 
 greatly aided in clearing the sky of the clouds which 
 had invested it for a thousand years. 
 
 The first and greatest among these great names, is 
 that of Dante, or Dura'nle AUghie'ri, who was born in 
 Florence, in 1265, His family was noble, and he 
 received all the advantages of a liberal education. He 
 appears to have led a licentious life, till he became 
 acquainted with Beatrice Portinari, of an illustrious 
 family of Florence. His attachment, however, seems 
 to have been merely platonic, but it served to purify 
 his sentiments. The lady herself died about the year 
 1290, when Dante was about twenty-five years of age ; 
 but he continued to cherish her memory, if we are to 
 judge from his poems, to the latest period of his life. 
 It must have been about, or a little before, the time 
 of Beatrice's death, that he wrote his Vita Nuova, 
 which is a series of canzoni mixed with prose, in
 
 166 ITALIAN LITERATURE. 
 
 which he speaks of his love m a spiritual and platonic 
 strain, and of the change it produced in him, which 
 was the beginning of his new life. 
 
 At this period, Italy was divided into two factions — 
 the Guelphs, who professed to be the favorers of a 
 popular form of government, and the Guibelines,* 
 who were, for the most part, actuated by a spirit of 
 
 * The two great parties, the Guelphs and Guibelines, had 
 their origin in a contest between two rivals for the imperial 
 throne of Germany — Conrad, duke of Franconia, whose 
 family name was Weiblingen, and hence Guiheline — and 
 Henry, the Lion, duke of Saxony, of the house of Welf, and 
 hence Guelph. In course of time, the name of Guelphs was 
 given to all who were disaffected toward the emperor of 
 Germany, and that of Guibelines to the supporters of his 
 authority. The popes favored the disaffected Guelphs, and 
 became the leaders of that party ; and consequently the 
 Italian cities were divided between the adherents of the 
 popes and those of the emperors. The names of Guelphs 
 and Guibelines were not generally adopted in Italy till the 
 reign of Frederic II., when Italy was divided, as it were, 
 into two camps ; some cities, such as Florence, Milan, Bo- 
 logna, ranging themselves on the Guelph side, while Pisa, 
 Arezzo, Verona, and others, continued to be Guibeline. But 
 in the long struggle that ensued, many changes took place 
 in each city, where sometimes the Guelphs, and sometimes 
 the Guibelines, gained the ascendency. At a subsequent 
 period, these names lost in some degree their original signi- 
 fication, and the struggle between the parties that bore them 
 became one of personal or municipal ambition amongst the 
 Italians themselves. In the course of events, the parties 
 Bometimes changed characters ; for the leaders of the Guelphs, 
 in some towns, tyrannized over their countrymen, while in 
 some instances, as at Genoa, the Guibelines really formed 
 the popular party.
 
 ITALIAN LITERATURE. 167 
 
 aristocracy. Dante attached himself to the latter 
 party — in consequence of which, his property was 
 confiscated, and he was driven into exile. He wan- 
 dered for many years from place to place, restless and 
 unhappy, loathing a state of dependence, yet unable to 
 retrieve his fortune. An opportunity of returning to 
 Florence was offered, but upon terms which he deemed 
 humiliating; and, with manly fortitude, he chose rather 
 to linger in poverty and banishment, than to submit to 
 degradation. He continued a wanderer till the year 
 1321, when he died at Ravenna. 
 
 The works of Dante are numerous, and occupy five 
 volumes quarto. The most celebrated, however, is 
 that which has acquired the title of the Divina Corn- 
 media, and which has been translated into almost every 
 language of Europe. This is a highly-wrought alle- 
 gorical poem, in which the author gives the details of 
 an imaginary journey which he made through the 
 regions of heaven, purgatory, and hell. The first 
 scene represents him as having wandered from the 
 direct track in the journey of life, when at length he 
 finds himself alone, in a dark and savage forest. He 
 knows not how he entered it, having been overwhelmed 
 with sleep. He arrives at the foot of a hill, whose 
 summit is gilded by the rays of the morning sun. 
 He begins to ascend the hill, but his progress is op- 
 posed by a spotted panther, a fierce lion, and a hungry 
 wolf. He draws back in terror, and perceives a hu- 
 man figure. It is the shade of Virgil, who had always 
 been the object of his admiration. Virgil explains to 
 him that, by the desire of Beatrice, he has left the 
 piucc of his repose, and descended to earth, for the
 
 »68 ITALIAN LITERATURE. 
 
 purpose of guiding liim in the direct path. Then the 
 fear of the poet vanishes, and he expresses his renewa. 
 of courage in tlie beautiful simile — 
 
 " As flowerets, by the frosty air of night 
 
 Bent down and closed, when day has blanched their leaves, 
 
 Rise .all unfolded on their spiry stems, — 
 
 So was my fainting vigor new-restored." 
 
 Under the guidance of his renowned conductor, the 
 poet is ferried over the Acheron by Chai'on, — who has 
 eyes of burning coal, — and at length reaches the infer- 
 nal regions, over which Minos presides ; and now begins 
 a series of the most appalling pictures that the human 
 imagination has ever conceived. Different gradations 
 of horror, and degrees of torture, are depicted in such 
 vivid colors, and with such truth-like lineaments, that 
 we can scarcely smile at the popular belief of the 
 Italians that Dante actually descended into hell, and 
 that his sallow complexion, and his crisp beard, were 
 occasioned by his having ventured too near the fire. 
 
 Proceeding in his fearful journey, the traveller, at 
 length, reaches purgatory, a region of pain and sorrow, 
 yet illuminated by hope. The terror which weighed 
 down our spirits in the regions of despair now ceases. 
 The pictures assume a more cheerful character, and 
 their coloring becomes more brilliant. The poem is 
 now enriched by glowing descriptions, mingled with 
 natural and pathetic ideas. The soft and holy music ; 
 the angels, with their brilliant robes, golden hair, and 
 snow-white wings ; the meeting between friends who 
 had, on earth, known and loved one another, and who 
 continue to take a deep interest in the affairs of a
 
 ITALIAN LITERATURE. 169 
 
 world which remains vivid in the memories of those 
 who have not yet tasted of the joys of paradise, — the 
 whole is mingled with thoughts so just and philosoph- 
 ical, and with so profound a knowledge of human 
 nature, as to justify the epithet of divine winch has heen 
 bestowed upon the work. 
 
 When the visitors have passed from circle to circle, 
 and have arrived at the last which conducted to the ter- 
 restrial paradise, the angel of God appears before them. 
 
 " ' Blessed are the pure 
 
 In heart,' he sang • then near him as we came, 
 ' Go ye not farther, holy spirits ! ' he cried, 
 ' Ere the fire pierce you ; enter in ; and list. 
 Attentive, to the song ye hear from thence.' " 
 
 When the poet hesitates to enter into the flames 
 through which he must pass before reaching paradise, 
 Virgil says, — 
 
 «' ' Mark now, my son ; 
 
 From Beatrice thou art by this wall 
 Divided ! ' " 
 
 At the name of Beatrice, Dante unresistingly follows 
 his guide. 
 
 The terrestrial paradise is the emblem of prim- 
 itive innocence, or, according to some theologians, the 
 type of the church. The description of the young and 
 beautiful Matilda, singing and galliering flowers by the 
 side of the limpid waters, under the shadow of the 
 eternal trees, — her sweet laugh, brilliant eyes, and me- 
 lodious song, — is a beautiful picture, whatever be its 
 allegorical meaning. 
 
 The approach of Beatrice is announced with pomp 
 XVII. — 15
 
 170 ITALIAN LITERATURE. 
 
 and splendor. The whole forest becomes brilliantly 
 illuminated, and a soft melody is heard through the air. 
 The symbolic procession which follows is taken from 
 the sacred images in the Old Testament ; and the 
 hymns, partly from the Psalms of David, and partly 
 from the writings of Virgil. 
 
 The mysterious chariot which contains the object of 
 the poet's deathless adoration is surrounded by saints 
 and angels, who sing in holy chant, and shower 
 around them unwithering lilies. 
 
 " I have beheld ere now, at break of day, 
 
 The eastern clime all roseate, and the sky 
 
 Opposed, one deep and beautiful serene } 
 
 And the sun's face so shaded, and with mists 
 
 Attempered, at his rising, that the eye 
 
 Long while endured the sight ; thus, in a cloud 
 
 Of flowers, that from those hands angelic rose, 
 
 And down within, and outside of the car. 
 
 Fell showering, in white veil with olive wreathed, 
 
 A virgin in my view appeared, beneath 
 
 Green mantle, robed in hue of living flame ; 
 
 And o'er my spirit, that so long a time 
 
 Had from her presence felt no shuddering dread, 
 
 Albeit mine eyes discerned her not, there moved 
 
 A hidden virtue from her, at whose touch 
 
 The power of ancient love was strong within me." 
 
 He turns towards Virgil to express his awe and rap- 
 ture ; but his guide, and " best beloved father," has lef* 
 him ; and, in a transport of mingled feelings, he weeps 
 Then, for the first time, Beatrice speaks — 
 
 " Dante ! weep not that Virgil leaves thee ; nay, 
 Weep thou not yet ; behoves thee feel the edge 
 Of other sword, and thou shalt weep for that."
 
 ITALIAN LITERATURE. 171 
 
 The only human interest which we feel after enter- 
 ing paradise is in the poet himself. We cannot sym- 
 pathize in the perfect happiness of those glorious 
 beings, who feel neither hope nor fear. The whole 
 becomes a scene of splendor and beauty, music and 
 light ; and in the midst of all this ethereal glory are 
 theological discussions and metaphysical disquisitions, 
 making of paradise an academic school, surrounded 
 by the most brilliant and magic coloring. 
 
 As they advance in their aerial journey, Beatrice 
 fixes her eager gaze on the sun, and the poet looks in 
 her eyes, until their brightness grows too dazzling. 
 They hear the harmony of the spheres, and the astro- 
 nomical system is explained by Beatrice. They visit 
 Mercury, Venus, the Sun, Mars, Jupiter ; they ascend 
 to Saturn, on a golden ladder covered with stars ; and 
 having entered the constellation Gemini, the poet turns 
 his glance towards Earth, and smiles at its pitiful 
 semblance. 
 
 Each planet is inhabited by myriads of happy souls ; 
 and as they ascend higher, the beauty of Beatrice be- 
 comes more radiant, until it is as difficult to gaze upon 
 her, as upon the stars themselves. 
 
 They visit the garden, where, among innumerable 
 flowers of a thousand dyes, blooms the mystic Rose in 
 which the Word became flesh. This is the figure 
 under which the Catholic poets have always delighted 
 to speak of the Holy Virgin. She is surrounded by 
 " legions of splendors," amidst melody to which the 
 sweetest earthly music sounds as a " rent cloud, when 
 it grates the thunder." The whole description is gor-
 
 17S ITALIAN LITERATURE. 
 
 geous in design and coloring, and the scene terminates 
 by the holy legions chanting the " Regina Cosli,''^ 
 
 " So sweetly, the delight hath left me never." 
 
 The splendor grows fatiguing. The emblematical 
 meaning contained in the descriptions can alone give 
 interest to the enumeration of the nine choirs of angels, 
 burning eternally with divine love, — of the seraphim 
 and cherubim, — the dominions, virtues, and powers, 
 — the principalities and archangels. Another source of 
 interest to the men of that period consists in the poet's 
 scholastic discussions on the divine essence and nature 
 of angels ; in the discourse of St. Peter, in which he 
 inveighs against the corruption of the church of Rome, 
 and in the satirical reflections upon priests and priest- 
 craft, — which, however, seem unworthy of souls in a 
 state of holiness and bliss. 
 
 In the ninth circle, all is light, and love, and joy. A 
 river of light flows through the centre, bordered with 
 flowers of incredible beauty. From the river issued 
 brilliant sparkles, which flew amongst the flowers, 
 where they seemed like " rubies chased in gold." By 
 the desire of Beatrice, Dante drinks of this water, and 
 his eyes being opened, he sees that the sparks are 
 angels, and the flowers mortals. He beholds, in a vast 
 circle of light, more than a million of thrones, disposed 
 lilie the leaves of a rose, where sit angels, and the 
 souls of just men made perfect. An innumerable host 
 of celestial beings, with faces of flame and wings of 
 gold, float over the Eternal City. Here Beatrice leaves 
 him, and resumes her throne of light, " in the third 
 circle from the highest."
 
 ITALIAN LITERATURE. 173 
 
 The poet's next guide is the venerable St. Bernard, 
 who, in a beautiful and solemn prayer, supplicates the 
 Virgin Mary that Dante may be enabled to contem- 
 plate the brightness of the Divine Majesty. The 
 prayer is heard. He receives a glimpse of the Great 
 Mystery, and declares his inability to describe what 
 he beholds. Thus terminates the wonderful poem.* 
 
 If posthumous fame could soothe the shades of depart- 
 ed greatness, the stern spirit of Dante might repose 
 in peace. The first tribute paid to his memory was 
 by Guido ; and the voice of friendship pronounced his 
 funeral oration. Ravenna, w-hich received the stranger 
 in exile, first mourned his loss and hallowed his 
 remains. 
 
 But death is a fire which purifies the true gold from 
 the extraneous dross. Florence mourned, when too 
 late, her ingratitude towards the noblest of her sons. 
 His fellow-citizens humbled themselves before the 
 memory of the illustrious dead. From hatred, they 
 passed to admiration, — from admiration, to awe and 
 reverence. Like the barbarians, among whom St. Paul 
 sought shelter at Melita, after denouncing him as a 
 criminal, they were now ready to worship him as 
 a god. 
 
 Homer retraced the heroic ages of Greece ; Virgil, 
 those of ancient Italy ; Milton, in later times, chose for 
 his theme the history and fate of the original parents 
 of mankind. His characters were angels of light 
 and darkness ; a man in his primitive state, but a little 
 lower than the angels themselves. These poets were 
 
 * See North American Review for 1833, p. 528. 
 15*
 
 174 ITALIAN LITERATURE. 
 
 travellers in unknown and distant regions, who were 
 enabled to display to their fellow-men the marvellous 
 treasures which they had brought from an unexplored 
 land. They exhibited to their countrymen those great 
 names which are hallowed by the lapse of ages; — 
 heroes whose mighty deeds raised them to the rank of 
 gods ; or mortals coeval with creation's dawn, with 
 whom the celestial spirits deigned to hold communion. 
 It was not so with the gi'eat Florentine. His char- 
 acters were those of his own period, with whose history 
 the public were acquainted, and whose families and 
 descendants were alive, and frequently in the enjoy- 
 ment of wealth and power. But the position in which 
 he placed them threw an interest around their story 
 stronger than could have been produced by the ad- 
 ventures of any individual, however illustrious, of a 
 more remote date. The terror and pity, and, in some 
 cases, the vengeance, of the Italians were awakened, 
 when the shadowy forms of their contemporaries 
 were made to pass in review before them, stripped of 
 those external advantages which, while living, had ren- 
 dered them respected, and had cast a veil over their 
 crimes. The cruel husband shrank from the picture 
 of his murdered wife, herself condemned to perdition, 
 yet prophesying that for him was destined the lowest 
 pit in hell. The son beheld his father plunged in 
 eternal woe, yet continuing to feel a tender interest in 
 his welfare. The treacherous assassin, who still oc- 
 cupied his place among the nobles of the land, trembled 
 at seeing himself represented as in hell, while, accord- 
 ing to the bold supposition of the poet, a demon ani- 
 mated his body. The " mighty mantle " itself was no
 
 ITALIAN LITERATURE. 175 
 
 protection to the wearer. Pope Nicholas III., plunged 
 headlong in the flames, was represented as waiting there 
 for the aiTival of his guilty successors. The ttfect 
 was indescribable. Some, unable to endure the con- 
 tempt of their countrymen, condemned themselves to 
 voluntary exile ; some, struck with despair, died broken- 
 hearted ; and others fell victims to the private ven- 
 geance of the poet's friends. 
 
 Francesco Petrarca, a name that is associated with as 
 many tender recollections as any other in history, was 
 born at Arezzo, in 1304. He was educated for the 
 bar ; but his taste for elegant literature prevailed over 
 every other consideration, and he devoted himself to 
 the study of the classics, and the composition of poetry. 
 
 At this period, the pope held his court at Avignon, 
 in France ; and here were assembled the gifted and 
 the gay, from all parts of Europe. Taking up his 
 residence at this place, and assuming the clerical dress, 
 Petrarch became, at twenty-two, one of the most dis- 
 sipated among the licentious throng that fluttered in 
 the blaze of the pontifical palace. He soon niade 
 friends among some of the great personages at Avignv>n, 
 and while he spent much time in pleasure, he ardently 
 pursued his literary studies. 
 
 In 1327, while attending service in the church of 
 St. Clair, at Avignon, he was greatly struck with 
 the beauty of a young lady near him. The passion 
 thus suddenly conceived gave a new turn to his 
 thoughts, and while it seemed to master his whole 
 existence, it became the occasion of that celebrity which 
 has ever since attended his name. 
 
 Thfi name of the woman who thus aflected the heart
 
 176 ITALIAN LITERATURE. 
 
 of the priest was Laura, then nineteen years of age, 
 and married two years before to Hugh de Sade. She 
 was a lady of superior cliaracler ; and though she often 
 met her ardent admirer in society, she ever preserved 
 the utmost discretion of conduct. When Petrarch 
 avowed his passion, she rebuked him sternly, and 
 avoided his presence ; but when he was taken ill, she 
 visited him as a friend, and was the instrument of 
 giving a religious bias to his mind. For several years, 
 a painful struggle was maintained between his passion 
 and his sense of duty. He fixed his residence at Vau- 
 cluse, a romantic place five miles from Avignon, where 
 he wrote some of those exquisite sonnets to Laura, 
 which have continued to charm mankind to the pres- 
 ent day. 
 
 Time rolled on ; the lovely Laura became the mother 
 of a large family, and her beauty faded away ; but 
 the eye of Petrarch only saw her as in the days of her 
 youth. In 1348, while he was in Italy, the plague was 
 raging in France, and finally reached Avignon. Laura 
 was seized with the disease, and died. Petrarch heard 
 the tidings with incurable regret, and from that time 
 seemed to devote himself to the emulation of her pious 
 virtues. He continued to write verses ; but the object 
 which mspired him now was not the living form he 
 had loved, but the sainted spirit with which his own 
 purified soul delighted to hold communion. The depth 
 of his feeling may be imagined from the fact that, 
 twenty years after Laura's death, and when he was 
 himself verging toward the grave, he wrote of her, in 
 the most affecting terms, as having been the chief 
 source of his happiness and his misery. The follow-
 
 ITALIAN LITERATURE. 177 
 
 ing lines will serve at once as a specimen of Petrarch's 
 sonnets, and an indication of that depth of feeling to 
 which wo have alkided : — 
 
 "The eyes' 1 praised so warmly, and the face, 
 
 And arms, and hands, and feet, whose beauty drew 
 
 My spirit from myself, at their sweet view, 
 And made me strange among my fellow race ; 
 Those crisptd locks that shone with golden grace, 
 
 Tir angelic mirth that, with enchanting glow. 
 
 Was wont to make a paradise below. 
 Fill now — unconscious dust — their narrow space. 
 And yet 1 live ; O, life too hardly borne I 
 
 'Reft of the light 1 loved so well and long. 
 My weary bark in stormy seas is torn. 
 
 Be here an end of all my amorous song : 
 My vein of inspiration is out-worn. 
 
 And nought around my lyre but notes of anguish throng." 
 
 Petrarch died at Arqua, July 17, 1373. Tliough he 
 is chiefly known as the lover and poetical eulogist of 
 Laura, he has other claims to remembrance. He was 
 an active laborer in the field of literature, and may be 
 considered as one of the chief instruments of promot- 
 ing the dawn of learning, which had then commenced 
 in Etu'ope. He was an extensive traveller, and an 
 able writer on a great variety of subjects. His friend- 
 ships were sincere, and his political views liberal. He 
 exercised a most extraordinary influence over the great 
 men of his day ; and he may be justly regarded, not 
 only as an honor to his country, but a benefactor of 
 mankind. 
 
 Giovanni Boccaccio, the friend of Petrarch, and who 
 shares with him the honor of having given a powerful 
 impulse to the rising literature of Italy, was born in the 
 
 L
 
 178 ITALIAN LITERATURE. 
 
 territory of Florence, in 1313. He was trained for 
 mercantile pursuits ; but lie had a literary turn, and, 
 going to Naples, he wrote tales and poetry under the 
 patronage of King Robert. He became enamored of 
 the king's daughter, Mary, who returned his affection; 
 and, to please her, he wrote II Filocopo, the first 
 Italian romance in prose. He produced several 
 works in succession ; and, finally, his Decamerone, or 
 Hundred Tales — a work full of humor, but marked by 
 gross licentiousness. 
 
 Boccaccio received a comfortable patrimony at the 
 death of his father ; and while he enjoyed high repu- 
 tation as an author, he was also employed for a time 
 in public affairs. In 1361, having led a licentious life, 
 he was informed that a friar, on his death-bed, had fore- 
 told his speedy dissolution, and had besought some one 
 to enjoin upon him immediate reformation. Deeming 
 this a divine intimation, he betook himself to the 
 reading of the Scriptures, and afterwards, his life was 
 marked with religious sanctity. He died at Cer- 
 taldo, 1370. 
 
 In the hasty sketch which we are here attempting, 
 we can do little more than mention the great names in 
 which the history of Italian literature abounds. Ludo- 
 vico Ariosto, the author of the renowned Orlando Furi- 
 oso, was born at Reggio, in 1474, and his life exhibits an 
 extraordinary series of vicissitudes. — Nicholas Ma- 
 chiavel, whose name has become significant of artifice 
 and duplicity, was born at Florence, in 1469. He 
 successively filled many important offices ; but being 
 out of favor, he retired to his country seat, where he 
 wrote his celebrated work entitled the Prince. In
 
 ITALIAN LITERATURE. 179 
 
 this he points out the policy to be pursued by a mon- 
 arch who aims at the aggrandizement of his throne, 
 regardless of truth, honor, or justice. The work shows 
 a familiar acquaintance with the intrigues and corrup- 
 tions of courts, and the arts of unprincipled politicians, 
 and seems to recommend their adoption without scruple. 
 There has been much dispute as to the real purpose 
 of the author ; but by the discovery, in 1810, of a let- 
 ter written by Machiavel, it appears that the book was 
 not intended for publication, but for the private perusal 
 of Lorenzo de Medici, Duke d'Urbino, to show tbat 
 prince that he possessed sagacity which might make 
 him useful, and thus to pave the way for his restoration 
 to favor and place. Machiavel wrote several his- 
 torical works, and is regarded as one of the great 
 authors of his time. He died at Florence, in 1527. 
 
 Torqnato Tasso was born at Sorrento, in Naples, in 
 1544. He displayed wonderful precocity, in evidence 
 of which we are told, that at the age of seven, he made 
 public orations ; and at nine, wrote a poem still extant, 
 which shows no evidence of juvenility. At the latter 
 age, be was deemed of sufficient importance to be in- 
 cluded in his father's sentence of banishment, imposed 
 by the emperor Charles 11. 
 
 He now devoted himself to poetry, and, at eighteen, 
 published his Rinaldo ; not long after, he commenced 
 his Jerusalem Delivered, the first complete edition of 
 which, however, did not appear till 1575. From this 
 latter period he led an unsettled life, roamuig from 
 place to place, oppressed by melancholy, and some- 
 times reduced even to rags. At last he was imprisoned 
 by the Duke of Mantua, at Ferrara, under the assump-
 
 180 ITALIAN LITEKATUKE. 
 
 tion that he was insane ; and though his liberation was 
 earnestly sought by many of the princes of Italy, he 
 was kept in confinement for seven years. At the expi- 
 ration of that period, he was liberated, and his fame as 
 a poet became soon established. In 1594, he complied 
 with a request of Cardinal Cynthio, to receive the 
 ceremony of the laurel crown, at Rome — at that 
 period esteemed one of the greatest honors that could 
 be bestowed. For this purpose, the poet repaired to 
 the metropolis ; but he was seized with sudden illness 
 and, the night before the appointed ceremony, he died. 
 April 25, 1595. 
 
 In person Tasso was tall, and his face, though pale 
 and thoughtful, was remarkably handsome. He was 
 distinguished for his personal activity, and he displayed, 
 on more than one occasion, a high degree of chival- 
 rous courage. His learning was great, and his historical 
 poems rank him among the gifted sons of genius. 
 His Jerusalem Delivered, v.'hich details the exploits of 
 the crusaders, under Godfrey of Bouillon, is a noble 
 work, and is placed with the epics of Homer, Virgil, 
 and Milton. 
 
 From this period, the authors of Italy crowd upon 
 the attention, and seem at once to fill and adorn every 
 path of literature. It is not possible even to recite the 
 great names which are enrolled on the pages of fame, 
 and which bring us down to the era of the French con- 
 quest of Italy, in 1796. This event sei*ved, for a time, 
 to introduce the French language into use ; and thus 
 the Italian became corrupted by the infusion of a mul- 
 titude of French idioms. This debased dialect found 
 its way into the newspapers, essays, pleadings, and
 
 ITALIAN LITERATURE. 181 
 
 public acts, of the day. The torrent was opposed by 
 the historian Botta, — among whose productions is an 
 excellent history of the United States, — and by several 
 eminent writers; and finally the language was purified, 
 and a just taste restored. The recent literary produc- 
 tions of Italy are numerous and varied, and many arc of 
 a high character. The journals, literary and political, 
 — of which hardly a dozen existed forty years ago, — 
 have increased to about 200, embracing every branch 
 of literature, art, and science. The statistics of every 
 state, including an account of the condition of education, 
 legislation, industry, commerce, &c., are published, 
 thus showing an immense advance in the march of 
 civilization. The colleges and schools of Italy, as well 
 literary as scientific, are numerous, and many of them 
 are of a high order. The provisions for the education 
 of ecclesiastics are ample, and will serve to account for 
 the great learning professed by many of tho ( atholic 
 clergy, who are sent forth to different parts of the 
 world. 
 
 WII. 1()
 
 SPANISH LITERATURE. 
 
 The Arabs, as we have elsewhere remarked, carried 
 learning and the arts to a degree of cultivation far 
 beyond any thing known in the Christian parts of Spain. 
 Before the era of Mahomet, their language had been 
 cultivated, and adapted to poetry and eloquence, ac- 
 cording to the laws of Oriental taste. In Spain, it 
 soon acquired, even among the conquered Christians, 
 a superiority over th§ barbarous Romaic, or dialect 
 of the country, which was then governed by no rules ; 
 for in the eighth century, when the Moors penetrated 
 into Spain, the Visigoths, who had been masters of the 
 territory since the fifth century, were not yet com- 
 pletely intermixed by matrimonial alliances with the 
 Provincials, or descendants of the Roman subjects : 
 and the new national language, which had grown out 
 of a corrupt Latin, was still the sport of accident. 
 The conquered Christians, in the provinces under 
 Moorish dominion, soon forgot their Romaic. They 
 became, indeed, so habituated to the Arabic, that, in the 
 ninth century, scarcely one out of a thousand knew 
 any other language. 
 
 But the Christians who had preserved their inde- 
 pendence, descending from the mountains of the As- 
 turias, began to repel the invaders ; and in proportion
 
 SPANISH LITERATURE. 183 
 
 as they extended their conquests, a wider field was 
 opened for the Spanish tongue. It remained, never- 
 theless, for a long time barren and rude, and was des- 
 tined to receive many additions from the rich and 
 elegant Arabic, before it attained the copiousness 
 requisite for the wants even of common life. The 
 energetic development of literary talent among the 
 Christians, the bold, romantic character of that people, 
 and their ardent spirit of national pride, soon banished 
 the ancient dialects of Arragon, Catalonia, Valencia, 
 and Murcia, from literature, law, and the conversation 
 of the superior classes of society. Finally, towards 
 the middle of the sixteenth century, the Castilian be- 
 came, in the strictest sense of the word, the reigning 
 language of the whole Spanish monarchy. 
 
 The Spanish and Italian, possessing a common ori- 
 gin, yet differ in a very striking manner. The syllables 
 lost in the contraction of words, and those retained, are 
 by no means the same in both : so that many words, 
 derived in each tongue from the Latin, have little re- 
 semblance to one another. The Spanish, more sono- 
 rous, and more full of aspirates and accents, has some- 
 thing in it more dignified, firm, and imposing ; while, 
 on the other hand, having been less cultivated by 
 philosophical writers and orators, it possesses less flex- 
 ibility and precision. In its grandeur, it is occasionally 
 obscure, and its pomp is not exempt from turgidity ; 
 but in consequence of its clear, swelling sounds, and 
 the beautiful articulation of its syllables, it has more 
 affinity to the Italian than any other idium of the Pen- 
 insula. 
 
 The old Castilian, Portuguese, and Galician poetry
 
 184 SPANISH LITERATURE. 
 
 was, under its own peculiar forms, still more popular, 
 and strictly national, than even the Provenfal, of which 
 we have elsewhere given a history.* It was not destined 
 to be recited in courtly circles, before lords and ladies. 
 It arose amidst the clang of arms, and was fostered by 
 constantly reiterated relations of warlike feats, and 
 love adventures, transmitted from mouth to mouth. 
 So common was the practice, among all ranks, of 
 composing in verse, that the historian Faria y Sousa 
 thought himself, at a late period, justified in calling 
 every mountain in his country a Parnassus, and every 
 fountain a Hippocrene. The poems called romances 
 in Spanish, which in English we call ballads, took 
 their appellation from the national language. 
 
 The origin of Castilian poetry is lost in the ob- 
 scurity of the middle ages. The poetic spirit which 
 then awoke in the north of Spain, doubtless first man- 
 ifested itself in ballads and popular songs. Of the an- 
 cient poems relating to the Cid, we have already spoken. 
 t Our notice is next attracted by Alphonso X., named the 
 Wise. This king of Castile was a very extraordinary 
 man for the age in which he lived, and was ambitious, 
 among other distinctions, of being a poet. Scarcely 
 any ballad or song, of true poetic feeling, can be at- 
 tributed to him ; but he loved to imbody his science 
 and learning in verse. Alchemy was his favorite 
 study ; and if his assertions in verse may be trusted, he 
 several times made gold. His versification is har- 
 monious, and ingeniously constructed ; but it is not on 
 
 * See chapter on the Troubadours, in Lights and Shadows 
 of European History. 
 
 t See Curiosities of Human jXature.
 
 SPANISH LITERATURE. 185 
 
 account of his rhymes that Alphonso deserves to be 
 placed at the head of the Castihan poets. He claims 
 that rank from the attention which he devoted to the 
 cultivation of tiie language, and which enabled the poetic 
 genius of the nation to unfold itself with increasing 
 vigor and freedom. The Bible was, by his command, 
 rendered into Castilian, and a paraphrase of Scripture 
 history accompanied the translation. A General 
 Chronicle of Spain, and a Histoiy of the Holy Land, 
 were also written by his order. Finally, he introduced 
 the national language into legal and judicial proceed- 
 ings. 
 
 The history of Spanish poetry continues barren of 
 names until towards the end of the fourteenth century ; 
 and yet, in all probability, the greater part of the 
 ancient Castilian ballads were composed at a much 
 earlier period. One Nicolas, and an abbot named 
 Antonio, are mentioned as celebrated writers of ballads 
 in the thirteenth century, anterior to the reign of 
 Alphonso. But until the invention of printing, no 
 regard was paid by the learned, or by those who 
 wished to be thought learned, to popular ballads ; and 
 when the attention of men of letters began to be di- 
 rected to the old popular poetry, the authors were 
 either forgotten, or no trouble was taken to preserve 
 or recover their names. The latter half of the four- 
 teenth century is the period when the history of the 
 Spanish ballads and songs begins to acquire some 
 degree of certainty. Tiic Spaniards, in constant con- 
 flict with the Moors, and familiar with Oriental manners 
 and writings, felt the proper distinction between poetry 
 and prose less readily than most other people. Pop- 
 16*
 
 186 SPANISH LITERATURE. 
 
 ular songs of every kind were probably indigenous in 
 the Peninsula. The patriotic Spaniards, like many 
 other ancient nations, were fond of preserving the 
 memory of remarkable events in ballads. They also 
 began at a very early period to record their public 
 transactions in prose. As the giving to an accredited 
 fact a poetical dress, in a song for the guitar, was 
 thought not inconsistent with the spirit of genuine 
 national history, still less could the relating of a fab- 
 ricated story, as a real event in history, seem hostile 
 to the spirit of poetry. Thus the historical romance 
 in verse, and the chivalric romance in prose, derived 
 their origin from the confounding of the limits of epic 
 and historical composition. The histoiy of Spanish 
 poetical romance is therefore intimately interwoven 
 with the history of the prose chivalric romance ; and 
 here we must dwell for a moment upon that celebrated 
 work which was so great a favorite with Don Quixote. 
 Whoever was the author of Amadis de Gaul, his 
 genius lives in his invention. This volume soon threw 
 into obscurity all the other tales of knight-errantry, in 
 Latin and French, by many of which it had been pre- 
 ceded. The author of this delightful fiction was for a 
 long time unknown ; but, from very careful investiga- 
 tions made by Spanish and Portuguese scholars, it now 
 appears that the author of the genuine Amadis was 
 Vasco Lobeira, a native of Portugal, who flourished 
 about the year 1300. It is probable that, before it 
 attained to its highest celebrity in Spain and France, it 
 passed through the hands of several emendators ; and it 
 is therefore impossible now to know how much of the 
 book belongs to the origmal author. Its influence upon
 
 SPANISH LITERATURE. 187 
 
 Spanish literature was prodigious, as it operated with 
 all the force of novelty precisely at the time when the 
 poetic genius of the nation began to display itself in 
 youthful vigor. The monstrous perversions of history 
 and geography in that work did not disturb the illu- 
 sions of readers who knew little or nothing of history 
 or geography. The proli.xity of the narrative gave as 
 little offence as the stiff formality of the style. Indeed, 
 the virtues of Gothic chivalry appear more pure as they 
 shine through the formal statelincss of the narrative. 
 The author has borrowed nothing from the Arabian 
 tale-tellers, except the attraction of fairy machinery. 
 This was, however, a powerful charm, and gave an 
 epic coloring to the Amadis, which, joined to the pa- 
 thetic descriptions of romantic heroism, produced an 
 influence over the imagination and feelings of the age 
 which no former work had possessed. Love, also, was 
 painted with an excess of devotion and of voluptuous 
 tenderness ; yet so submissive, so constant, and so re- 
 ligious, that it seemed almost a virtue. 
 
 The celebrity of the Amadis de Gaul, and its numer- 
 ous imitations, gave to the national poetry of Spain a 
 very animated and chivalric character. The spirit of 
 these popular works passed to the ballads, which were 
 equally popular ; and thus originated those poetical 
 tales for which the Spaniards are so eminently dis- 
 tinguished. In most of these compositions we may 
 remark a touching simplicity of expression, a truth of 
 painting, and an exquisite sensibility, which invest 
 them with the highest charms. Some of them are 
 still more distinguished by the powers of invention 
 which they display. When this is the case, they form
 
 188 SPANISH LITERATURE. 
 
 little chivalric romances, the effect of which is lively 
 and impressive in proportion to the brevity of the poem. 
 The weakest memory was able to retain these poems. 
 They were sung by the soldiers on their march, by the 
 rustics in their daily labors, and by the women during 
 their domestic occupations. These antique and artless 
 effusions of a pregnant poetic imagination, scarcely 
 conscious of its own productive power, are the genuine 
 offspring of nature. To recount their defects would be 
 as superfluous, as it would be impossible, by any criti- 
 cal study, to imitate a single trait of that noble simpli- 
 city which constitutes their highest charm. 
 
 It will be sufficient to cite, in support of this opin- 
 ion, the ballad of Count Alarcos, which is, beside, dis- 
 tinguished from most of the others by a greater rich- 
 ness of composition. It opens, in a veiy simple manner, 
 with a description of the sorrows of the infanta Solesa, 
 who, after having been secretly betrothed to Count 
 Alarcos, has been abandoned by him. 
 
 " The fair infanta, midst the court, 
 
 A look of sorrow wears ; 
 Told by an aching heart how she 
 
 Is doomed to pass her years. 
 Her earl}' bloom of life has flown, 
 
 And left her nought but tears." 
 
 At length, after Count Alarcos has been long married 
 to another, the forsaken princess discloses her seduc- 
 tion to her father. This scene is strongly painted, but 
 not overcharged ; the king is transported by rage 
 and indignation ; his honor appears to him so deeply 
 wounded, that nothing but the death of the countess 
 can be an adequate satisfaction. He has an interview
 
 SPANISH LITERATURE, 189 
 
 with the count, addresses him courteously, represents 
 the case to him with chivalrous dignity, as a point of 
 justice and honor, and concludes by peremptorily de- 
 manding that he shall put his lady to death. Thus the 
 development of the story commences in a manner 
 which, though most singular, is not unnatural, when the 
 ideas of that age are considered. The count conceives 
 himself bound, as a man of honor, to obey, and proceeds 
 homeward. There is a touching simplicity in the pic- 
 ture which is here drawn : — 
 
 "Weeping, he homeward wends liis way ; 
 
 Nought can his grief remove ; 
 And many a tear he siicds for her 
 
 He more tlian life dotli love. 
 He weepeth too for his three sons, 
 
 in youth and beauty dear : 
 The youngest boy, a suckling still, 
 
 The countess' self doth rear ; 
 For, save his mother, none he loved, 
 
 Thougli he had nurses three ; 
 Nor by the milk of other breasts 
 
 Would alimented be." 
 
 The pathos now rises to the highest pitch of tragic 
 horror. The countess, who receives her husband with 
 her wonted marks of atfection, in vain inquires the 
 cause of his melancholy. He sits down to supper with 
 his family, and again we have a scene painted with 
 genuine feeling, though with little art : — 
 
 " The board is spread ; he takes his place 
 
 Where viands tempt in vain ; 
 For near him liis loved children are, 
 
 Now loved, alas ! with pain.
 
 190 SPANISH LITERATURE. 
 
 In seeming sleep, with head reclined, 
 
 He tries to hide his woe ; 
 But from his eyes tlie big tears roll, 
 
 And o'er the table flow." 
 
 The apparent fatigue of the count induces the count- 
 ess to accompany him to his apartment. When they 
 enter, he fastens the door, relates what has passed, and 
 desires her to prepare for death. She begs him to 
 spare her for her children's sake. The count only 
 desires her to embrace, for the last time, the youngest, 
 whom she holds asleep in her arms. 
 
 " ' Give to that babe one parting kiss. 
 That babe for whom thou'rt lost. — 
 
 Full heavy is my heart for thee ; 
 'Tis I need pity most ! ' " 
 
 She submits to her hard fate, and only begs for time 
 to say an Ave Maria. The count desires her to be 
 brief. She falls on her knees, and pours forth a quick 
 and fervent prayer ; and then requests a moment's fur- 
 ther delay, that she may once more give suck to her infant 
 son. What modern poet would have thought of intro- 
 ducing so simple and exquisite a touch of nature ? 
 The count forbids her to wake the child ; and the unfor- 
 tunate lady is strangled, forgiving her husband, and 
 predicting that, within thirty days, the king and his 
 daughter will be summoned before the tribunal of the 
 Almighty. Both they and the count die within the 
 prescribed time. 
 
 The ballads founded upon the history of the Moors 
 appear to be greater in number than those derived 
 from events in Spanish history ; and this abundance 
 might well excite as much astonishment in the critic as
 
 SPANISH LITEKATURE. 191 
 
 it has given offence to some orthodox Spaniards. But 
 even the old Castilians found a certain poetic charm in 
 the Oriental manners of the INIoors. On the other 
 hand, the European chivalry, so far as it was adopted 
 by the Moors, became more imposing from its union 
 with Oriental luxury, which favored the display of 
 splendid armor, waving plumes, and emblematical or- 
 naments of every kind. The Christian warriors, it also 
 appears, had sufficient generosity to allow justice to be 
 done to the distinguished leaders of their enemies, who 
 are described in an old ballad as gentlemen, though in- 
 fidels. All these poems, whether of Moorish or Span- 
 ish history, present nearly the same unsophisticated 
 character, and the same artless style of composition. 
 The subject is generally founded on a single fact. 
 Thus Roderick, the last Gothic king of Spain, takes 
 flight after his total overthrow, and bewails his own 
 and his country's fate. 
 
 " The hosts of Don Rodrigo were scattered in dismay, 
 When lost was the eighth battle ; nor heart, nor hope, had 
 
 they ; 
 He, when he saw that field was lost, and all his hope was 
 
 flown. 
 He turned him from his flying host, and took his way alone. 
 
 His horse was bleeding, tired, and lame ; he could no far- 
 
 tlier go ; 
 Dismounted, witiiout patli or aim, the king stepped to and fro. 
 It was a sight of pity to look on Roderick, 
 For sore atliirst and hungry, he staggered, faint and sick. 
 
 All stained and strown with (hist and blood, like to some 
 
 smouldering brand 
 Plucked from the flame, Rodrigo showed : his sword was in 
 
 his hand ;
 
 192 SPANISH LITERATURE. 
 
 But it was hacked into a saw of dark and purple tint ; 
 
 His jewelled mail had many a flaw, his helmet many a dint. 
 
 He climbed upon a hill-top, the highest he could see, 
 And all about of that wide route, his last long look took he. 
 He saw his ro3-al banners where they lay drenched and torn ; 
 He heard the cry of victory, the Arab's shout of scorn. 
 
 He looked for his brave captains who led the hosts of Spain, 
 But all were fled, except the dead; — and who could count 
 
 the slain t 
 Where'er his eye could wander, all bloody was the plain, 
 And while thus he said, the tears he shed ran down his 
 
 cheeks like rain. 
 
 » Last night 1 was the king of Spain : — to-night no king 
 
 am I ! 
 Last night fair castles held my train : — to-night where shall 
 
 1 lie .? 
 Last night a hundred pages did serve me on the knee ; 
 To-night not one I call mj' own, — not one pertains to me. 
 
 O, luckless, luckless was the hour, and cursed was the day. 
 When I was born to have the power of this great seigniory. 
 Unhappy me, that I should see the sun go down to-night : 
 O death ! why now so slow art thou ? — why fearest thou to 
 smite .^ ' " 
 
 We shall add to our extracts from the ballads, that 
 of La Nina Morena, describing the fears of a country- 
 maiden who had dropped her lover's present into the 
 well. 
 
 " ' My ear-rings ! my ear-rings ! They've dropped into the 
 
 well. 
 And what to say to Mu^a, I cannot, cannot tell ! ' 
 — Thus by Granada's fountain spoke Albaharez' daughter : 
 ' The well is deep ; far down they lie, beneath the cold, blue 
 
 water !
 
 SPANISH LITERATURE. 193 
 
 To mc did Mura give them when he spoke his sad farewell, 
 And what to say, when he comes back, I cannot, cannot tell. 
 
 * 
 My ear-rings ! my ear-rings ! They were pearls in silver set, 
 That, when my Moor was far away, I ne'er should him 
 
 forget ; 
 Tliat 1 ne'er to other's tongue should list, nor smile at other's 
 
 tale. 
 But remember he my lips had kissed, pure as those ear-rings 
 
 pale. 
 "When he comes back, and hears that I have dropped them in 
 
 the well, 
 O what will Muqa think of me ? — I cannot, cannot tell I 
 
 My ear-rings ! my ear-rings ! He'll say they should have 
 
 been 
 Not of pearl and of silver, but of gold and glittering sheen ; 
 Of jasper, and of onyx, and of diamond shining clear. 
 Changing to the changing light with radiance insincere ; 
 That changeful mind unchanging gems are not befitting 
 
 well ; 
 Thus will he thmk ; and what to say I cannot, cannot tell. 
 
 He'll think, when I to market went, 1 loitered by the way ; 
 He'll think a willing oar 1 lent to all the lads might say : 
 He'll think some other lover's hand, among my tresses noosed, 
 From the ears where he had placed them, my rings of pearl 
 
 unloosed. 
 He'll think, when I was sporting so beside this marble well, 
 My pearls fell in ; and what to say 1 cannot, cannot tell. 
 
 He'll say I am a woman, and we are all the same ; 
 He'll say I loved, when he was here, to whisper of his flame; 
 But when he went to Tunis, my virgin troth was broken, 
 And 1 tliought no more of Mucja, and cared not for his token 
 My car-rings ! my car-rings ! — O luckless, luckless well ! 
 For what to say tn Mu(ja, alas ! 1 cannot tell. 
 M XVII.— 17
 
 194 SPANISH LITERATURE. 
 
 I'll tell the truth to Mu<;a, and I hope he will believe 
 
 That I thought of him at morning, and thought of him 
 
 at eve : ' 
 
 That musing on my lover, when down the sun was gone, 
 His ear-rings in my hand 1 held, by the fountain all alone ; 
 And that my mind was o'er the sea, when from my hand 
 
 they fell. 
 And deep his love lies in my heart, as they lie in the well.' " 
 
 Among the attempts at epic poetiy, the Araucana 
 of Don Alonzo de Ercilla deserves to be mentioned. 
 He was a soldier in the Spanish army, and served 
 in the campaign against the Araucanian Indians, of 
 Chili. In the midst of his exploits, he conceived, with 
 youthful ambition, the plan of writing a narrative of 
 the conquest of Arauco, in an epic form, but with the 
 strictest regard to historical truth. He executed his 
 project in spite of the dangers which surrounded him, 
 and the hardships which he was compelled to undergo. 
 In a wilderness inhabited by savages, in the midst of 
 enemies, and under no other cover than that of heaven, 
 he composed at night the verses which were to be the 
 memorials of the events of the day. The Araucana is 
 rather a versified history than an epic poem ; yet it is 
 impossible to read the work without admiring the 
 author's talent for lively description, and for painting 
 dramatic situations. His diction is natural and correct, 
 and to this the Araucana is, in a great measure, in- 
 debted for its celebrity. The Spaniards appear to 
 have always failed in the epic, in consequence of the 
 false ideas of it which they entertained. Lucan, their 
 countryman, has ever been, in their eyes, the model 
 of epic poets.
 
 SPANISH LITERATURE. 195 
 
 The Araucana opens with the following expositioa 
 of the subject : — 
 
 " I sing not lovo of ladies, nor of sights 
 Devised for gentle dames by courteous knights; 
 Nor feasts, nor tourne3's, nor that tender care 
 Which prompts tlie gallant to regale the fair ; 
 But the bold deeds of valor's favorite train, 
 Those undegencrate sons of warlike Spain, 
 Wlio made Arauco their stern laws embrace, 
 And bent beneath their yoke her untamed race : 
 Of tribes distinguished in the field 1 sing; 
 Of nations that disdained tiio name of king ; 
 Courage, that danger only taught to grow, 
 And challenge honor from a generous foe ; 
 And persevering toils of purest fame. 
 And feats that aggrandize the Spanish name ; 
 For the brave actions of tiie vanquished spread 
 The brightest glory round the victor's head." 
 
 On the invasion of their country by the Spaniards, 
 the Indians meet to take counsel together. 
 
 " In a deep, shady vale the seniors meet, 
 
 Irabosomed in dark woods, — a cool retreat, — 
 
 Where gentle Flora slieds her annual blooms, 
 
 And with her fragrant scents the air perfumes. 
 
 The sweet perfumes the zephyrs waft away, 
 
 Deep whispering through the groves in wanton play : 
 
 While to the limpid stream that purls below, 
 
 The rising gales in solemn concert blow. 
 
 Th' assembling clans within this bowery screen 
 
 Repose, where scarce a fiery shaft between 
 
 From Piicebus can descend — so close, above. 
 
 The hand of summer weaves tlie solemn grove." 
 
 As they begin their deliberations, in the style of fhe 
 ancient Germans, with a plentiful banquet, they soon
 
 196 SPANISH LITERATURE. 
 
 grow excited, and a violent quarrel ensues concerning 
 ihe command of the army — an honor which almost 
 every chieftain is arrogant enough to challenge for 
 himself. In the midst of the turbulent debate, an old 
 warrior, named Colocolo, delivers the following ha- 
 rangue, which has been much admired. Voltaire 
 ranks it above the speech of Nestor, in the first book 
 of the Iliad. 
 
 " ' Assembled chiefs ! Ye guardians of the land ! 
 
 Think not I mourn from thirst of lost command, — 
 
 To find your rival spirits thus pursue 
 
 A post of honor which I deem my due. 
 
 These marks of age, you see, such thoughts disown 
 
 In me, departing for the world unknown. 
 
 But my warm love, which ye have long possessed, 
 
 Now prompts that counsel you will find the best. 
 
 Why should we now for marks of glory jar ? 
 
 Why wish to spread our martial name afar ? 
 
 Crushed as we are by fortune's cruel stroke. 
 
 And bent beneath an ignominious yoke, 
 
 111 can our minds such noble pride maintain, 
 
 While the fierce Spaniard holds our galling chain. 
 
 Your generous fury here ye vaml}^ show : 
 
 Ah ! rather pour it on th' embattled foe ! 
 
 'Gainst your own vitals would ye lift those hands 
 
 Whose manly strength should burst oppression's bands .' 
 
 If mad desire of death this rage create, 
 O ! die not yet in this degraded state ! 
 Turn these keen weapons, this indignant flame. 
 Against the foe who seeks to quench your fame. 
 And make the world a witness of your shame. 
 
 E'en while 1 thus lament, 1 still admire 
 The fervor of your souls ; they give me fire ; 
 But, justly trembling at their fatal bent, 
 [ dread some dire, calamitous event ;
 
 SPANISH LITERATUKE. 197 
 
 Lest, in your rage, dissension's frantic hand 
 
 May shed the life-blood of our native land. 
 
 If such its doom, my tiiread of being burst, 
 
 And let your old compeer expire the first ! 
 
 Shall this shrunk frame, bowed down by age's weight, 
 
 Live, the weak witness of a nation's fate ? 
 
 No : let some friendly sword, with kind relief, 
 
 Save it from sinking in that scene of grief. 
 
 Happy ! whose ej-cs in timely darkness close, 
 
 Saved from that worst of sights, his country's woes ! 
 
 Yet while I can, I make your weal my care, 
 
 And for the public good my thoughts declare. 
 
 Equal ye are in courage and in worth ; 
 Heaven has assigned to all an equal birth. 
 In wealth, in power, in majesty of soul, 
 Each chief seems worthy of the world's control. 
 These gracious gifts not gratefully beheld. 
 To this dire strife your daring minds impelled. 
 But on your generous valor I depend 
 That all our country's woes will quickly end.' " 
 
 Colocolo then proposes that a trial of strength be 
 made among the warriors, and that the command of 
 the army be conferred on him who can longest sup- 
 port a massive beam on his shoulders. The prize is 
 gained by CaupoHcan.* The whole scene is highly 
 original and characteristic, and shows that had Ercilla 
 made a more hberal use of the materials for his poem 
 which he might have found among the people and the 
 scenery of the western world, he would have produced 
 a work vastly superior to the present one, in beauty 
 and interest. 
 
 The greatest name in Spanish literature is that of 
 
 • See Lives of Famous .Qmcrican Indians. 
 
 n*
 
 198 SPANISH LITERATURE. 
 
 Cervantes.* We proceed to the second wonder of 
 Spain, Lope de Vega, whose fertility of invention is 
 unparalleled in the history of fiction. Cervantes styles 
 him the " prodigy of nature," and this name was not 
 given him in mere levity. He was fettered by no rules 
 of criticism : not that he was ignorant of the theory 
 of the ancient poetry, but he took delight in allowing 
 his verses to flow freely from his pen, confident in the 
 success of whatever he might produce. It required no 
 more than one day to write a versified drama inter- 
 spersed with sonnets, songs, &c., and from beginning to 
 end abounding in intrigues and interesting situations. 
 This astonishing facility enabled him to supply the 
 Spanish theatre with upwards of two thotisand original 
 dramas — of which, however, not more than three hun- 
 dred have been preserved by printing. He sometimes 
 vn-ote a play in three hours. The profits which the 
 theatrical managers derived from the writings of Lope 
 enabled them to bestow such liberal payment on the 
 author, that at one time he is supposed to have been 
 possessed of upwards of a hundred thousand ducats. 
 His poetic talent procured him even more glory than 
 gain. No Spanish poet was ever so much honored 
 during his life : the nobility and the public vied in ex- 
 pressing their admiration of him. Whenever he ap- 
 peared in the streets, he was surrounded by crowds of 
 people, all eager to gain a sight of the " prodigy of 
 nature ; " the boys ran shouting after him ; and those 
 who could not keep pace with the rest, stood and gazed 
 
 * For the life and writings of Cervantes, see Fanums Men 
 of Modem Times.
 
 SPANISH LITERATURE. 199 
 
 with wonder as he passed. He is estimated to have 
 written 21,300,000 verses ! He died in 1631, in his 
 63d year ; and his funeral was conducted with princely 
 magnificence. 
 
 Nature would have overstepped her bounds, and 
 produced a miracle, had Lope de Vega, with this 
 rapidity of invention and composition, attained perfec- 
 tion in any department of literature. Nature, how- 
 ever, did her utmost for this extraordinary man ; for the 
 rudest and most faulty of his performances are imbued 
 with a poetic spirit which no methodical art can create. 
 He was born for dramatic poetry ; and if he did not 
 create the Spanish comedy, his inexhaustible fancy 
 conferred on it that character by which it has since 
 been distinguished, and he fixed, for a century and a 
 half, the spirit and style of nearly all the different 
 kinds of dramatic entertainment in Spain.* 
 
 By the side of Lope deserves to be placed Pedro 
 Calderon de la Barca, one of the greatest of dramatic 
 writers. Which of the two possessed the greatest 
 share of inventive talent, it would be difficult to 
 decide. In general, the invention of Lope may be the 
 bolder, but it is also the more rude, of the two ; and in 
 refinement of conception and style, Calderon formed 
 for himself an entirely new sphere. As an acute 
 observer of the female mind and manners, Calderon 
 was infinitely superior to Lope. This delicacy of ob- 
 servation accords admirably with the almost incredible 
 subtlety of his combinations of intrigue, while the ele- 
 
 * For a specimen of the writings of Lope, see Lives of 
 Famous American Indians, article " Caupolican.
 
 200 SPANISH LITERATURE. 
 
 gance of his language and versification completes the 
 ingenious harmony of his apparently irregular dramas. 
 Spanish literature is rich in lyrical and pastoral 
 poetry ; but we have no room for extracts from Bos- 
 can, Herrera, Garcilaso de la Vega, Montemayor, 
 and others, who wrote with great elegance and taste. 
 Quevedo enjoys a great reputation for his satirical and 
 humorous writings. The Spaniards, after imitating for 
 some time the Italian novelists, invented a species of 
 novel, which, by way of distinguishiag it from the pas- 
 toral romances in prose, and the numerous romances 
 of chivaliy, was denominated picaresco or " rogue " 
 novels. Of these, the most celebrated are the Laza- 
 rillo de Tormes, by Mendoza, and the Guzman de Al- 
 farache, by Aleman. The best historical writers in 
 Spanish are Mariana, Mendoza, Herrera, and De Soils. 
 Among the living writers of Spain, one of the most" 
 successful is Martinez de la Rosa, who, in his dramatic 
 compositions, is considered equal to Moratin, who is 
 ranked by his countrymen as next to Calderon and 
 Lope.
 
 PORTUGUESE LITERATURE. 
 
 The Portuguese language is sometimes spoken of as 
 a corrupt dialect of the Castilian ; but this is an error. 
 They are botli hke the Attic and Ionic branches of the 
 Greek — two boughs, of equal extent and beauty, pro- 
 ceeding from one trunk. It is said by a man of genius 
 that Spanish is just such a language as he should have 
 expected to hear spoken by a Roman slave sulky from 
 the bastinado ; the Portuguese, with a more compli- 
 mentary comparison, love to speak of their language as 
 the eldest daughter of the Latin. This daughter of 
 Rome has been the servant of the Goths and the 
 Moors : still, however, the mother tongue predominates 
 more in Portugal than in any other part of the world. 
 The Portuguese has about the same proportion of 
 Arabic as the Castilian, but it has escaped all guttural 
 sounds. Its harmonious softness probably contributed 
 no less to its early cultivation in general than to its 
 fitness for poetry in particular. 
 
 The popular ballads of Portugal have perished ; but 
 the Spaniards, who have such abundance of them, ac- 
 knowledge that they received the earliest fashion of 
 their poetry from Galicia and Portugal. The first 
 writers who attract any notice, among the Portuguese, 
 are Sa de Miranda, and Fcrreira. We shall refrain,
 
 202 PORTUGUESE LITERATURE. 
 
 however, from troubling the reader with names of 
 obscure writers. The Portuguese have produced but 
 one great poet, Luis de Camoens. 
 
 This author was born at Lisbon, in 1524. He 
 studied at the university of Coimbra, and served in the 
 Portuguese army ; at an early age, he lost his right eye 
 in battle. In 1553, he embarked for India, as hopeless 
 an adventurer as ever sought those shores. The 
 voyage from Portugal to India was, in those days, more 
 perilous than will easily be believed at present. The 
 seas swarmed with pirates ; shipwrecks were dread- 
 fully frequent; and even when these dangers were 
 escaped, the common mortality was so great, that the 
 celebrated preacher Vieyra says, "If the dead who 
 had been thrown overboard between the coast of 
 Guinea and the Cape of Good Hope, and between 
 that cape and Mozambique, could have monuments 
 placed for them where they sank, the whole way would 
 appear like one continued cemetery." The ship in 
 which Camoens sailed was the only one of the fleet 
 which escaped destruction, and he arrived in India to 
 encounter adventures and hazards of every description. 
 Before he left Europe, he had begun his poem of the 
 Lusiad, which he completed during his residence in 
 the East. The remamder of his life was one continual 
 series of calamities. He set sail from Macao, in a 
 ship freighted by himself, for Goa, and was ship- 
 wrecked on the coast of Cochin China, near the River 
 Mecon. All the wealth which he had acquired was 
 lost m the waves, and he escaped, almost miraculously, 
 on a plank, saving nothing but the manuscript of his 
 poem. But the natives gave him a most humane re-
 
 PORTUGUESE LITEKATURE. 203 
 
 ception, and he has immortalized them for it in the 
 Lusiad. He arrived in Portugal, after an absence of 
 sixteen years, in a state of great poverty. He pub- 
 lished his poem in 1572, and died some years afterward, 
 it is believed, in an alms-house. Camoens is rightly 
 enumerated among those men who are equally the 
 pride and reproach of their country — who have asked 
 for bread, and received a stone. 
 
 Almost every species of poetic composition was 
 attempted by Camoens ; but the Lusiad rises so vastly 
 above his other works, and bears such powerful and 
 characteristic marks of his genius, that all his lesser 
 compositions may be considered as merely inferior 
 scions sprung from the same root. 
 
 The Lusiad is an heroic poem ; but so essentially 
 different, in respect to the plan, from all other epic 
 compositions, that it is necessary, in judging of it, to 
 drop the ordinary rules of comparison, and to proceed 
 upon the general idea of epic poetry, unmodified by 
 any prepossession for known models. Camoens struck 
 out a totally new path in the region of epopoeia. The 
 style of his poem is, indeed, formed chiefly on the 
 ancient models ; but the epic idea of the work is en- 
 tirely his own, and the species of composition whicTi 
 forms its groundwork was something entirely original 
 in poetic literature. His object was to recount in 
 heroic strains, with pure poetic feeling, the achieve- 
 ments of the great men of Portugal in general, not 
 of any individual in particular, and consequently not 
 of Vasco dc Gama, who is commonly considered the 
 hero of the Lusiad. 
 
 A poetic and epic grouping of all the great and most
 
 204 PORTUGUESE LITERATURE, 
 
 interesting events in the annals of his country, was 
 what Camocns wished to accomphsli. He therefore 
 very happily selected the event which constitutes the 
 most brilliant epoch in Portuguese history, as a central 
 point for all the different parts of his epic picture. The 
 discovery of the passage to laiia, by Vasco, was cer- 
 tainly not an heroic achievement in the usual sense of 
 the term ; but in that age, when such adventures bor- 
 dered on the incredible, it was a truly heroic enter- 
 prise. Vasco is merely the spindle round which the 
 thread of the narrative is wound ; the heroes who 
 shine with the greatest lustre, in the Lusiad, are all 
 introduced in what arc styled the episodes, although 
 the poem has, in reality, no episode, except the short 
 story of the giant Adamastor. A poetic sketch of the 
 ancient history of Portugal, occupying nearly one half 
 of the work, and commonly called an episode, belongs 
 as essentially to the whole, as any other of the principal 
 parts of the great picture. The Lusiad, therefore, may 
 be termed an epic national picture of Portuguese glory. 
 It has been the fate of Camoens, as of many other 
 poets, to be more admired, by the great majority of his 
 readers, for his faults, than for his excellences. The 
 three passages of the Lusiad which are commonly se- 
 lected for admiration, are the Floating Island, the Appa- 
 rition of the Spirit of the Cape, and the story of Inez de 
 Castro. The first of these has all the author's charac- 
 teristic merits of style, his animated manner, and 
 sweetness of diction ; and those whose moral feeling 
 can tolerate it, may admire it with little other impeach- 
 ment of their judgment. The second is certainly a 
 conception highly poetical ; but the latter part of
 
 PORTUGUESE LITERATURE. 205 
 
 the story is absurdly puerile. The tale of Inez de 
 Castro is in its nature so tragic, that it must ever 
 impress young minds deeply and incffaccably ; and few 
 readers are critically cool enough to see how the poet 
 fails, when he makes the fair victim plead for herself. 
 This unfortunate lady was the daughter of a Castilian 
 gentleman who had taken refuse at the court of Por- 
 tugal. Her beauty and accomplishments attracted the 
 notice of Don Pedro, the king's eldest son, a prince of 
 a brave and noble disposition. She became attached 
 to him, and, according to some accounts, they were 
 privately married. But dreading the resentment of 
 his father, who was of a stern and unforgiving temper, 
 Pedro caused the whole to pass for an act of gallantry. 
 The enemies of Inez, jealous of her power over 
 the prince, persuaded the king to put her to death. 
 This story is so famous in Portuguese history, and has 
 been the subject of so many poems and dramatic 
 pieces, that we shall give the portion of the Lusiad 
 which relates to it. 
 
 " 'Twas thou, O love, whose dreaded shafts control 
 The hind's rude heart, and tear the hero's soul ; 
 Thou ruthless power, with bloodshed never cloyed, 
 'Twas thou thy lovely votary destroyed. 
 Tliy thirst still burning for a deeper woe, 
 In vain to thee the tears of beauty flow. 
 The breast that feels thy purest flames divine, 
 With spouting gore must bathe thy cruel shrine. 
 Such thy dire triumphs ! — Thou, O nymph, the while, 
 Prophetic of the god's unpitying guile, 
 In tender scenes, by lovesick fancy wrought, 
 By fear oft siiifted, as by fancy brought, 
 In sweet Mondego's cver-verdant bowers, 
 LangJished away the slow and lonely hours. 
 XVII. — 18
 
 206 PORTUGUESE LITERATURE. 
 
 While now, as terror waked the boding fears, 
 
 The conscious stream received tliy pearly tears ; 
 
 And now, as hope revived the brighter flame, 
 
 Each cchx) sighed thy princely lover's name. 
 
 Nor less could absence from thy prince remove 
 
 The dear remembrance of his distant love ; 
 
 Thy looks, tliy smiles, before him ever glow, 
 
 And o'er his melting heart endearing flow. 
 
 By night his slumbers bring thee to his arms ; 
 
 By day his thoughts still wander o'er thy charms. 
 
 By night, by day, each thought thy love employ, 
 
 Each thought the memory or the hope of joy. 
 
 Though fairest princely dames invoked his love, 
 
 No princely dame his constant faith could move. 
 
 For thee alone his constant passion burned, 
 
 For thee the proffered royal maids he scorned. 
 
 Ah, hope of bliss too high ! the princely dames 
 
 Refused, dread rage the father's breast inflames. 
 
 He with an old man's wintry eye surveys 
 
 The youth's fond love, and coldly with it weighs 
 
 The people's murmurs of his son's delay 
 
 To bless the nation with his nuptial day. 
 
 Alas ! the nuptial day was past unknown, 
 
 Which, but when crowned, the prince would dare to own. 
 
 And with the fair one's blood, the vengeful sire 
 
 Resolves to quench his Pedro's faithful fire. 
 
 O thou dread sword, oft stained with hero's gore, 
 
 Thou awful terror of the prostrate Moor ! 
 
 What rage could aim thee at a female breast, 
 
 Unarmed — by softness and by love possessed ! 
 
 Dragged from her bower by murderous ruffian hands, 
 Before the frowning king fair Inez stands ; 
 Her tears of artless innocence, her air 
 So mild, so lovely, and her face so fair. 
 Moved the stern monarch, — when, with eager zeal, 
 Her fierce destroyers urged the public weal. 
 Dread rage again the tyrant's soul possessed, 
 And his dark brow his cruel thoughts confessed.
 
 PORTUGUESE LITERATURE. 207 
 
 O'er her fair face a sudden paleness spread, 
 
 Her throbbing heart with generous anguish bled, 
 
 Anguished to view lier lover's helpless woes ; 
 
 And all the mother in her bosom rose. 
 
 Her beauteous eyes, in trembling tear-drops drowned, 
 
 To Heaven she lifted, but her hands were bound ; 
 
 Then on her infants turned a piteous glance. 
 
 The look of bleeding woe; the babes advance, 
 
 Smiling in innocence of infant age, 
 
 Unawed, unconscious of their grandsire's rage; 
 
 To whom, as bursting sorrow gave the flow, 
 
 The native, heartsprung eloquence of woe, 
 
 The lovely captive thus : ' O monarch, hear ! 
 
 If e'er to thee the name of man was dear, — 
 
 If prowling tiger, or the wolfs wild brood, 
 
 Inspired by nature with the lust of blood. 
 
 Have yet been moved the weeping babe to spare, 
 
 Nor left, but tended with a nurse's care, 
 
 As Rome's great founders to the world were given, — 
 
 Shalt thou, who wear'st the sacred stamp of Heaven, 
 
 The human form divine, shalt thou deny 
 
 That aid, that pity, which e'en beasts supply ? 
 
 O that thy heart were, as thy looks declare, 
 
 Of human mould ! superfluous were my prayer. 
 
 Thou couldst not then a helpless damsel slay. 
 
 Whose sole offence in fond affiection lay. 
 
 In faith to him who first his love confessed. 
 
 Who first to love allured her virgin breast. 
 
 In these my babes shalt thou thine image see. 
 
 And still tremendous hurl thy rage on me ? 
 
 Me for their sakcs if yet thou wilt not spare, 
 
 O let these infants prove thy pious care ! ' 
 
 In tears she uttered. As the frozen snow, 
 Touched by the spring's mild ray, begins to flow, 
 So just began to melt his stubborn soul, 
 As mild--ayed pity o'er the tyrant stole
 
 208 PORTUGUESE LITERATUEE. 
 
 But destiny forbade ; with eager zeal, 
 
 Again pretended for the public weal, 
 
 The fierce accusers urged her speedy doom • 
 
 Again dark rage diffused its horrid gloom 
 
 O'er stern Alfonso's brow. Swift, at the sign. 
 
 Their swords, unsheathed, around her brandished shine. 
 
 O, foul disgrace ! of knighthood lasting stain ! 
 
 By men of arms a helpless lady slain ! 
 
 Thus Pyrrhus, burning with unmanly ire, 
 Fulfilled the mandate of his furious sire, 
 Disdainful of the frantic matron's prayer. 
 On fair Polyxcna, her last fond care. 
 He rushed, his blade yet warm with Priam's gore, 
 And dashed the daughter on the sacred floor. 
 While mildly she her raving mother eyed. 
 Resigned her bosom to the sword, and died ! 
 
 Thus Inez, while her eyes to Heaven appeal. 
 Resigns her bosom to the murdering steel : 
 That snowy neck, whose matchless form sustained 
 The loveliest face, where all the graces reigned. 
 Whose charms so long the gallant prince inflamed. 
 That her pale corse was Lisbon's queen proclaimed, — 
 That snowy neck was stained with spouting gore ; 
 Another sword her lovely bosom tore. 
 The flowers that glistened with her tears bedewed. 
 Now shrank and languished, with her blood imbrued. 
 As when a rose, erewhile of bloom so gay. 
 Thrown from the careless virgin's breast away, 
 Lies faded on the plain, — the living red. 
 The snowy white, and all its fragrance, fled — 
 So from her cheeks the roses died away. 
 And pale in death the beauteous Inez lay. 
 With horrid smiles, and crimsoned with her blood, 
 Round the wan victim the stern murderers stood ; 
 Unmindful of the sure though future hour. 
 Sacred to vengeance and her lover's power. 
 
 O Sun ! couldst thou so foul a crime behold, 
 Nor veil thy head in darkness, as of old .'
 
 PORTUGUESE LITEEATUEE. 209 
 
 A sudden light unwonted horror cast 
 
 O'er that dire banquet where the sire's repast 
 
 The son's torn limbs supplied ! — Yet you, ye vales ! 
 
 Ye distant forests, and ye flowery dales ! 
 
 When, pale, and sinking to the dreadful fall, 
 
 You heard her quivering lips on Pedro call, 
 
 Your faithful echoes caught the parting sound. 
 
 And ' Pedro ! Pedro ! ' mournful sighed around. 
 
 Nor less the wood-nymphs of Mondego's groves 
 
 Bewailed the memory of her hapless loves. 
 
 Her griefs they wept, and to a plaintive rill 
 
 Transformed their tears, which weeps and murmar^ tiL. 
 
 To give immortal pity to her woe. 
 
 They taught the rivulet through her bowers to flow ; 
 
 And still through violet beds the fountain pours 
 
 Its plaintive wailing, and is named Amores ! 
 
 Nor long her blood for vengeance cried in vain ; 
 Her gallant lord begins his awful reign. 
 In vain her murderers for refuge fly ; 
 Spain's wildest hills no place of rest supply. 
 The injured lover's and the monarch's ire, 
 And stern-browed Justice, in their doom conspire ; 
 In hissing flames they die, and yield their souls in fire." 
 
 The Portuguese have produced one eminent dram 
 atist, Gil Vicente. In national history, some of their 
 productions arc almost unrivalled. During that period 
 when their achievements were more extraordinary than 
 those of almost any other people, they produced histo- 
 rians worthy to record them ; no other nation possesses 
 such a series of excellent chroniclers. Among these 
 writers the most eminent are Fernam Lopes, Joam dc 
 Barros, and Diego dc Couto. 
 N 18*
 
 FRENCH LITERATURE. 
 
 The most ancient language of Gaul was the Celtic ; 
 bu^ it had become so far corrupted, or supplanted, by 
 the Roman, when the Franks conquered the country, 
 as nearly to have disappeared, except in the province 
 of Brittany, where it has remained to the present day. 
 The massacres which accompanied the wars of Julius 
 Caesar, the subjection of the vanquished, and the ambi- 
 tion of those Gauls who procured the privileges of 
 Roman citizens, all concurred to produce a change in 
 the manners, the spirit, and the language, of the prov- 
 inces situated between the Alps, the Pyrenees, and the 
 Rhine. From that country accomplished Latin schol- 
 ars, ajid celebrated teachers of rhetoric and grammar, 
 proceeded, while the people at large acquired a taste for 
 Roman spectacles, and ornamented their principal cities 
 with magnificent theatres. The Franks, who spoke a 
 northern or German dialect, introduced a new idiom 
 among the Gauls. In writing, an attempt was made 
 still to keep alive the Latin ; but in conversation every 
 one gradually yielded to the prevaiUng habit, and 
 dropped the letters and terminations which were re- 
 garded as superfluous. The French language at 
 length became divided into two principal idioms, sep- 
 arated by the River Loire ; the southern was called the
 
 FEENCH LITERATURE. 211 
 
 langue d''Oc,* and afterwards the Pi'ovenpal, and the 
 northern, the langue (fOil or Old. 
 
 Normandy gave birth to the first poets, and the first 
 'writers in the French languacre. The laws which Wii- 
 Ham the Conqueror, who died in 1087, imposed upon 
 his EngHsh subjects, are the most ancient works in this 
 tongue which have come down to us. The Norman 
 writers appear to liavc invented tlie romance of chiv- 
 alry ; which kind of composition was originally a ver- 
 sified chronicle, founded upon facts, but disfigured by the 
 most absurd fictions. Robert Wacc, an Englishman, 
 educated in Normandy, who lived at the court of 
 Eleanor of Aquitainc, mother of llichard CcEur de Lion, 
 wrote the Brut (P Angleterre, about the middle of the 
 twelfth century ; he is also the author of the Roman de 
 la Ron. Many other romances were written in Norman 
 French about that time ; their principal theme was Kng 
 Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table. Another 
 kind of poetry which belongs to this period, is the 
 failiaux, or [a]cs, which are partly of Oriental origin, and 
 were imported by tlic crusaders into Europe. They are 
 generally written in verse, and sometimes alternately 
 in verse and prose. They often contain a great deal 
 of wit and drollery, but are as frequently disfigured by 
 coarse licentiousness. The poets of other countries 
 have borrowed largely from them. The poem of Al- 
 exander is that which has enjoyed the greatest share 
 of reputation. It is not the work of one individual, 
 but consists of a series of romances and marvellous 
 histories by nine celebrated poets of the time. 
 
 * For some account of the Proven<;al literature, see 
 Lights and Shadows of Europutn History.
 
 212 FRENCH LITERATURE. 
 
 The invention of the brilliant system of romantic 
 chivalry was perfected about the conclusion of the 
 thirteenth century. The knights no longer wandered, 
 like the cavaliers of the Round Table, through the dark 
 forests of a semi-barbarous country covered with mists 
 or white with frosts. The whole universe was exposed 
 to their eyes. The Holy Land was their grand object ; 
 and, as a consequence of their enterprises in that quar- 
 ter, they established an intercourse with the great and 
 wealthy kingdoms of the East. Their geography, like 
 all their knowledge, was very confused. Their voy- 
 ages from Spain to Carthage, and from Denmark to 
 Tunis, were accomplished with a facility and rapidity 
 as surprising as the enchantments of Morgana. These 
 fantastic voyages furnished the romance-writers with 
 opportunities of adorning their narrative with the most 
 splendid descriptions. All the luxury and perfumes of 
 the most highly-favored countries were at their com- 
 mand. The pomp and magnificence of Damascus, of 
 Bagdad, and of Constantinople, swelled the triumphs of 
 their heroes. But the most precious of all their acqui- 
 sitions was the imagination of the people of the South 
 and East — that brilliant and playful faculty so well cal- 
 culated to give animation to the sombre mythology of 
 the North. 
 
 Although the modern literature of France is entirely 
 distinct from the romantic literature, having adopted a 
 different set of rules, and a different spirit and charac- 
 ter, yet it had the same origm. It owed its birth, in the 
 same manner, to the mixture of the northern nations 
 with the Romans. Chivalry, and the feudal system, 
 the manners and opinions of the middle ages, gave it
 
 FRENCH LITERATURE. 213 
 
 its peculiar character. Although none of the works to 
 which we have alluded enjoy a high reputation, or de- 
 serve to be ranked among the masterpieces of the 
 human intellect, they are still worthy of our attention 
 as monuments of the progress of the mind, and as 
 gleams of that rising taste which has since been fully 
 developed. 
 
 The fifteenth century gave birtli, in France, to a 
 kind of allegorical and satirical poetry, of which the 
 most remarkable specimens are the Roman de Renard 
 and the Roman de la Rou. The former is the well- 
 known story of Renard the Fox ; it is, however, doubtful 
 whether the original of this belongs to the German or 
 the French. The appellation of reman was given at 
 that time to every book written in the Romance or 
 common idiom, instead of Latin, which was then the 
 learned language. The Roman de la Rou is, perhaps, 
 the most celebrated French production of the middle 
 ages. It is a kind of didactic allegorical poem, 
 which professes to teach the art of love, and embraces 
 the most varied subjects. It is a very extraordinary 
 mixture of divinity and profane science, in which pas- 
 sages from St. Thomas Aquinas stand side by side 
 with extracts from Ovid's Art of Love. This work 
 was begun by William de Lorris, and finished by Jean 
 de Mehan. It contains 22,000 verses, and was consid- 
 ered, in France, for three centuries, as a masterpiece. 
 In fact, it is far beyond the rude cflx)rts of all the 
 preceding French romances, and nothing equal to it 
 appeared till the reign of Francis I., — a space of 
 more than two centuries. 
 
 This poem exhibits the difficulties and dangers of a
 
 214 FRENCH LITERATURE. 
 
 lover in i)ursuiiig and obtaining the object of his de- 
 sires. The whole is couched under the allegory of a 
 rose, which our lover, after many obstacles, gathers 
 in a delicious garden. He traverses vast ditches, 
 scales lofty wails, and forces the gates of adamantine 
 and almost impregnable castles. These enchanted 
 fortresses are all inhabited by various divinities, some 
 of which assist, and some oppose, the lover's progress. 
 Chaucer has translated the Roman de la Rou, and wo 
 shall copy a short extract in his old English. — The 
 renovation of nature in the month of May is thus de- 
 scribed : — 
 
 " That it was May thus dremed me, 
 
 In time of love and jollitie, 
 
 That all things ginnith waxen gay. 
 
 For there is neither busk nor hay,* 
 
 In May that it n'ill shrouded bene; 
 
 These wooddis eke recoverin grene. 
 
 That drie in winter ben to sene ; 
 
 And the erth waxith prouder withall 
 
 For sote dewis that on it fall, 
 
 And the povir estate forgette 
 
 In which that winter had it sette : 
 
 And thanne becometh the grounde so proude, 
 
 That it will have a newc shroud, 
 
 And make so quaynt his robe and fayre, 
 
 That it had hewes an hundred payre, 
 
 Of grasse and flowris, Inde and Pers, 
 
 And many hcwcs ful divers; 
 
 That is the robe I mene, I wis, 
 
 Through which the grounde to praisin is : 
 
 The birdis that have lefte their songe. 
 
 While they have sufirid cold ful stronge. 
 
 * Bush nor hedge.
 
 \ 
 
 FRENCH LITERATURE. 215 
 
 In places saw I wellis there, 
 
 In which ther no froggis were, 
 
 And fairc in shadow was eche wel : 
 
 But 1 nc' can tlie noinbre tel 
 
 Of stremes small, that by devise. 
 
 Mirth had don come through condise, [conduits.] 
 
 Of which the watir in renning, 
 
 Gan makin a noise ful liking 
 
 About the brinkis of these wellis ; 
 
 And by the stremes ever al cllis, 
 
 Sprange up the grasse as thick isett. 
 
 And soft eke as any velvett. 
 
 On which man might his leman ley, 
 
 As soft as fetherbcd, to pleye. 
 
 There sprange the violet al newe. 
 
 And fresh pcrwinke riche of hewe ; 
 
 And flowris yalowo, white, and rede, 
 
 Such plenti grew ther ner in mcde. 
 
 Ful gaie was al the groundc and queint. 
 
 And poudrid, as men had it peint 
 
 With many a fresh and sondry floure. 
 
 That castin up ful gode savoiire." 
 
 We can only add the portrait of the Goddess ot 
 Beauty, which has been highly admired : — 
 
 "The God of Love, jolife and light, 
 
 Ladde on his honde a ladie bright. 
 
 Of high prise and of gret degree ; 
 
 This ladie called was Beautie. 
 
 And an arowc, of which I told, * 
 
 Ful wel ythowid was she holdc ; 
 
 Ne was she darko, ne browne, but bright. 
 
 And clere as is the mon6 light. 
 
 Her fleshc was tendre as dewc of floure. 
 
 Her chero was simple as birde in boure ;
 
 216 FRENCH LITERATURE. 
 
 And white as lilic, or rose in rise, 
 
 Her face was gentil and tretise, [icdl-proportioned.^ 
 
 Her tresses yalowe and long straughten, 
 
 Unto her helis down the raughten." 
 
 No poet before William dc Lorris, either Italian or 
 French, had delineated allegorical personages in so 
 distinct and enlarged a style, and with such a fulness 
 of characteristic attributes. Nor had descriptive poetry 
 selected such a variety of circumstances, and disclosed 
 such an exuberance of embellishment in forming atrree- 
 able representations of nature. It is not surprising, 
 therefore, that the Roman cle la Ron should have 
 gained a high reputation among the French, and be- 
 come a favorite with the great father of English poetry. 
 Even as late as the seventeenth century, there were 
 persons who compared it with the Bivina Commedia 
 of Dante. 
 
 Froissart, the celebrated historian, was also one of the 
 early French poets. He was born in 1337, and began 
 to write history at the age of twenty. Out of his own 
 compositions, and those of others, he formed a romance 
 of love and chivalry, entitled Le Meliador. But Frois- 
 sart, although he was the author of many thousand 
 verses, is now only known as an historian ; and in this 
 capacity, with all the artlessness and minuteness of 
 narrative belonging to his age, he is highly valued by 
 those who l^ke to study ancient manners at the fountain- 
 head. His Chronicles comprehend the period froml326 
 to 1400 ; and they relate the events which took place in 
 France, Flanders, England, Scotland, Ireland, Italy, &c. 
 Historical memoirs are a species of literature peculiar 
 to the French, the commencement of which dates from
 
 FRENCH LITERATURE. 217 
 
 the thirteenth century. These first historical produc- 
 tions in the French language were written by men 
 jengaged in active life, and who related what they had 
 seen ; they therefore felt the necessity of abandoning 
 the language of poetry to express themselves in that 
 of common life. The characteristics of these old 
 memoirs arc simplicity, united with piety and a cere- 
 monious courtesy. The first of these memoir-writers 
 was Villehardouin, who wrote a remarkable description 
 of the capture of Constantinople by the French and 
 Venitians, in which he had himself a share. He was 
 surpassed by Joinville, the seneschal of Champaigne, 
 who accompanied St. Louis in his first crusade, in 
 1248. The best historian of France, during the middle 
 ages, is Comincs. 
 
 The latter part of the sixteenth century was an age 
 of verse in France, and at no subsequent period do we 
 find so long a catalogue of her poets. The lives of 
 more than two hundred have been written, who belong 
 to this Half century ; but scarcely more than five or six 
 of them are now much remembered even in their own 
 country. Ronsard, the most popular of these, exhibits 
 a spirit striving upward, disdaining what is trivial, and 
 restless in the pursuit of excellence ; but he wrote bad 
 and tasteless poetry. After the appearance of Mai- 
 herbe, his verses fell into contempt ; and the pure 
 correctness of the age of Louis XIV. could not en- 
 dure his barbarous innovations and false taste. 
 
 The most original genius which French literature 
 has produced is Rabelais. He was born about the 
 year 1483, and bred an ecclesiastic ; but his irregu- 
 lar life led to the abandonment of his religious pro- 
 xvn.— 19
 
 218 FKEi\CH LITEKaTURE. 
 
 fession, and he devoted himself to the study of medi- 
 cine. Subsequently, however, he returned to the 
 priesthood. His Histories of Gargantua and Panta- 
 gruel constitute an extravagant and whimsical satire, in 
 the form of a romance, in which he attacks all sorts of 
 monkish and other follies which it would have been 
 unsafe to expose in a graver style. In these works, wit 
 and learning are scattered in great profusion, but in a 
 very wild and irregular manner, and with a plentiful 
 mixture of coarseness and obscenity ; but the obscurity 
 of his language, and the eccentricity of his conceptions, 
 have always baffled commentators in their attempts at 
 explanation ; and he is now read more for the pure 
 whimsicality of his jokes and allusions, than with a 
 regard to the objects of his satire. 
 
 The French literature of the middle ages, although 
 rude, had the merit of being truly national. It bears 
 the stamp of the French character, and gives an image 
 of the civilization of those times. It contained the 
 seeds of a great development ; and had the French 
 writers of the sixteenth century followed the tiack of 
 their predecessors, the literature of their country would 
 have been really a national one, and something very 
 different from what it is now. But under Francis I., 
 the study of the Greek and Roman authors began to 
 spread in France ; and the French writers, dazzled with 
 the hitherto unknown beauties of the classical writers, 
 despised the worlcs of their forefathers, and attached 
 themselves to the imitation of the ancients. The na- 
 tional recollections, as well as the ideas introduced by 
 Christianity, were replaced by the history and my- 
 thology of Rome and Greece ; and thus arose the so
 
 FRENCH LITERATURE. 219 
 
 called Modern Classical School, in opposition to the 
 romantic, which derives its materials from national 
 elements. A still greater error corrupted French lit- 
 erature under Francis I., but produced its most debas- 
 ing eflects under Louis XIV., — namely, that degrading 
 flattery exhibited by the poets toward the court and the 
 great men, which they probably acquired by studying 
 the base adulations of the writers of the Augustan age. 
 
 The era of Louis XIV. is called by the French the 
 golden age of their literature, and is compared by them 
 to that of Augustus, Pericles, and the Medici. Much 
 was done, in the course of this reign, to promote science 
 and literature in France. The French language be- 
 came a universal idiom among the higher ranks of 
 society all over Europe, and the French prose ac- 
 quired that degree of ease, clearness, and precision, 
 which justly entitle it to be considered, in those respects, 
 as the first language in Europe. The French Acad- 
 emy greatly contributed to purify and refine the lan- 
 guage, but at the same time imposed upon it very 
 heavy trammels, by injudiciously proscribing every 
 innovation. It severely condemned all words and ex- 
 pressions not tolerated at court ; and this circumstance 
 has certainly given to the French language that refine- 
 ment and elegance which have rendered it the medium 
 of conversation and epistolary intercourse in the courts 
 and diplomacy of Europe ; but it had also the effect 
 of emasculating its vigor, and introducing a mannerism 
 into the style of many French writers, who have sac- 
 rificed the matter to the form. 
 
 Before we proceed to notice the dramatic authors of 
 France, it may be proper to say a few words of the
 
 220 FRENCH UTEEATURE. 
 
 origin of the modern drama in Europe. This seems 
 not to have sprung from the ancient Greek and Roman 
 theatrical representations, but to have had its birth 
 in the middle ages. The mysteries, which were the 
 forerunners of the present drama, had their immediate 
 source in the pilgrimages to the Holy Land, about the 
 time of the crusades. The pilgrims used to compose 
 rude songs on their travels, containing recitals of the 
 life and death of Christ, and the scenes of the last 
 judgment. In others, they celebrated the miracles of 
 saints, their martyrdoms, and divers wonderful visions 
 and apparitions. These pilgrims going in companies, 
 and taking their stand in the streets and public places, 
 where they sang with their staves in their hands, and 
 their hats and mantles covered with shells and painted 
 images of various colore, formed a kind of spectacle 
 which pleased the public of that day, and at Paris 
 excited the piety of some of the citizens to raise a fund 
 for purchasing a proper place in which to erect a 
 stage whereon these performances might be regularly 
 exhibited on holidays, as well for the instruction of the 
 people as for their entertainment. 
 
 The suggestion thus made was rapidly enlarged 
 and circulated. New places of representation were 
 opened, stages arose in every province, and the eccle- 
 siastics, as well as the la3^men, crowded to witness the 
 mysteries. The brethren, to vary the attractions of the 
 performance, added farcical interludes, called sotiises, 
 or fooleries, which were performed by a junior society 
 entitled Eijfans Sans Souci. The stage consisted of 
 several scaffoldings, representing heaven, earth, and 
 hell ; the latter was at the bottom, and at the mouth
 
 FRENCH LITERATUEE. 221 
 
 was the image of a gaping dragon, whose mouth opened 
 and shut, as the devils made their entrance and exit. 
 
 The subjects of representation were chiefly scrip- 
 tural, and the deatli of Christ was the favorite theme. 
 The dramatis persona:, in some of the French plays of 
 this period, are God — the Father, the Son, and the 
 Holy Ghost ; the Virgin and Joseph ; archangels, an- 
 gels, apostles, and disciples; Jewish priests, emperors, 
 and philosophers ; magicians, Lucifer, Satan, Beelze- 
 bub, Belial, Cerberus, and a multitude of other celestial, 
 terrestrial, and infernal personages, amounting alto- 
 gether to nearly five hundred. 
 
 Thus, in France, as well as elsewhere, the theatre 
 of this period was devoted to religion and sanctioned 
 by the church. To the mysteries succeed perform- 
 ances called moralities and farces, which were in- 
 vented by the clerks of the lawyers of Paris. These 
 were gradually extended, till Etienne .lodelle, in the 
 time of Henry II., brought forward his Cleopatra Cap- 
 tive, a tragedy in five acts, modelled upon the plays of 
 Sophocles and Euripides. This was the beginning of 
 the classical drama in Paris, which for so long a period 
 held its place upon the French stage.* 
 
 Comeille, whose tragedies are justly considered 
 masterpieces by his countrymen, was born in 1606. 
 He peculiarly excels in the delineation of Roman 
 characters, having made himself familiar with the 
 lofty spirit which actuated the sons of imperial Rome, 
 by the careful study of her historians. His most es- 
 
 * For a further account of the mysteries, sec Lights and 
 Shadows of European Ilistonf, page 295.
 
 222 FRENCH LITEBATURE. 
 
 teemed pieces are the Cid, the Horatii, and the Fo- 
 lyeucte. Racine, who was born in 1639, enjoyed the 
 patronage of Louis XIV. His tragedies are the most 
 elegant and finished of all the French dramatic works. 
 Their general characteristics are tenderness, elegance, 
 good taste, refined sentiment, and perfection in the art 
 of versification. In the higher essentials of the drama 
 he is deficient ; he lacks invention of character, veri- 
 similitude, and genuine pathos ; he rather describes 
 feeling than expresses it. The introduction of love 
 into all his dramas necessarily adds to these defects. 
 
 The most popular of all the old French poets is La 
 Fontaine, with whose fables every one is familiar. 
 Few writers have left such a number of verses, which, 
 in the phrase of his country, have " made their for- 
 tune," and been, like ready money, always at hand for 
 prompt quotation. His verses have at once a pro- 
 verbial truth, and a humor of expression, which render 
 them constandy applicable to the uses of life. The 
 models of his style were partly the ancient fabulists, 
 whom he copied, — for he pretends to no originality, — 
 and partly the old French poets, especially Marot. 
 From the one he took the real gold of the fables them- 
 selves, and from the other he caught a peculiar arch- 
 ness and vivacity. Many of his fables are admirable ; 
 the grace of the poetry, the happy inspiration that 
 seems to have dictated the turns of expression, place 
 him in the first rank among fabulists. 
 
 The satires of Boileau, which first appeared in 1666, 
 are characterized, by La Harpe, as the earliest poetry 
 in the French language where the mechanism of the 
 verse was fully understood, where the style was always
 
 FRENCH LITERATURE. 223 
 
 pure and elegant, and where the ear was uniformly 
 gratified. By writing satires, epistles, and an " Art of 
 Poetry," Boileau has challenged an obvious comparison 
 with Horace ; yet they are very unlike : the Latin poet 
 is easy, colloquial, and abandons himself to every 
 change which arises in his mind ; the Frenchman is 
 always equal, always labored, and never capable of a 
 bold neglect. The Lutrin is the most popular of the 
 poems of Boileau, and although its subject is ill chosen, 
 its poignant wit, and the elegance of its couplets, 
 justify its high place in the mock-heroic line. 
 
 Moliere, is, perhaps, of all French writers, the one 
 whom his country has most uniformly admired, and in 
 whom her critics are most unwilling to discover faults. 
 He began to write for the stage in 1653. About one 
 half his plays arc in verse. The French have claimed 
 for him a superiority over all earlier and later writers 
 of comedy. He certainly leaves Plautus, the original 
 model of the school to which he belongs, at a vast 
 distance. The grace and gentlemanly elegance of 
 Terence he has not equalled ; but in the more appro- 
 priate merits of comedy, — just and forcible delineation 
 of character, skilful contrivance of circumstances, and 
 humorous dialogue, — we must award him the prize. 
 Yet we cannot place him above Shaksperc, who had 
 far more invention of character, and an equal vivacity 
 and force in their delineations, while his humor was, 
 at least, as abundant and natural, and his wit in- 
 comparably more brilliant. Shaksperc had much the 
 greater genius, although Moliere, perhaps, wrote the 
 more faultless comedies. 
 
 The TeUmaque of Fcnelon, after being suppressed
 
 224 FRENCH LITERATURE. 
 
 in France, appeared in Holland, clandestinely, in 1699. 
 Perhaps there is no book in the French language that 
 has been more read. Fenelon seems to have con- 
 ceived that, metre not being essential to poetry, he 
 had, by imitating the Odyssey, in Telemaque, pro- 
 duced an epic of as legitimate a character as his model. 
 Teleinaque, however, is only a romance ; but no 
 work of this kind had before breathed so classical a 
 spirit ; none had abounded so much with the rich- 
 ness of poetical language. 
 
 Pascal, by his Provincial Letters, did more to ruin 
 the name of Jesuit than all the controversies of Prot- 
 estantism, or all the fulminations of the parliament of 
 Paris. These letters are written with the greatest ele- 
 gance of style, and abundance of wit ; yet the pleasure 
 of reading them is much diminished by the fact of their 
 being filled with obsolete controversy, and quotations 
 from books now forgotten. The " Thoughts " of Pascal 
 are ranked by many above the Provincial Letters. 
 The eloquence of the pulpit reached its acme in 
 France during the age of Louis XIV. ; and the sermons 
 of Bossuet, Bordaloue, Flechier, and Massillori, among 
 the Roman Catholics, and of Saurin among the Protes- 
 tants, are still regarded as models of sacred eloquence. 
 The art of elegant letter-writing, which was introduced 
 by Balzac and Voiture, became, in France, an almost 
 indispensable accomplishment of well-educated per- 
 sons. Many authors of this period have left admirable 
 specimens of the epistolary style. The Letters of the 
 Marquise de Sevigne are numbered among the French 
 classics. From the authors of the French " golden 
 age," we now proceed to those of a later date.
 
 FRENCH LITERATURE. 225 
 
 No writer has exerted such an influence upon French 
 literature as Voltaire. This celebrated man was born 
 in 1694. He began to compose tragedies at the age 
 of eighteen, and prosecuted his career, as an author, 
 till his death, in 1778, at the age of 84. He was a 
 " master of all work" in literature, and his productions 
 fill nearly a hundred volumes. His talent is conspic- 
 uous in tragedy, comedy, history, epic, and burlesque 
 poetry, romance, criticism, and satire. The part per- 
 formed by Voltaire, in his long and extraordinary life, 
 was of too strong and decided a cast, as regards opin- 
 ions which agitate and divide all classes of mankind, 
 not to have operated very materially on the numerous 
 portraits which have been drawn of him. His physi- 
 ognomy is said to have partaken of the eagle and the 
 monkey ; and he is accordingly esteemed to possess the 
 fire and rapidity of the one, and the mischievous restless- 
 ness and petulance of the other. With strong percep- 
 tions of moral excellence, he was often replete with 
 petty designs, disingenuous and capricious. Of a tem- 
 perament which never allowed him to be at rest, either 
 in mind or body, he was a philosopher rather in his 
 opinions than in his actions, which often appeared to be 
 guided more by caprice and impulse than by settled 
 resolution and firmness of purpose. He had been ac- 
 customed from his youth to pay as much homage to 
 rank and wealth as his vanity would permit ; and as 
 his manners were corrupt, he could not be a consistent 
 friend to virtue and liberty, though he might occasion- 
 ally be captivated by their charms. 
 
 Voltaire appears to have been most anxious for his 
 reputation as a dramatist and poet. His Henriade is 
 

 
 226 FRENCH LITERATTTRE. 
 
 the only decent work, in French, making pretension to 
 the epic character. It displays correctness and ele- 
 vation of thought, well-drawn characters, striking de- 
 scriptions, and harmonious versification ; but its subject, 
 taken from recent and well-known history, precludes 
 the exercise of that invention which is the highest 
 quality of the epic poet, and which, indeed, was not 
 Voltaire's distinguishing faculty. As a dramatist, he 
 immediately follows Corneille and Racine in the esti- 
 mation of the French, and perhaps ranks higher than 
 they do in the judgment of foreigners. His tragedies 
 are numerous, and the greater part of them have be- 
 come stock plays. They have more variety of style 
 and subject than those of Corneille and Racine, and are, 
 on the whole, more interesting. Voltaire attempted 
 comedy with less success, like many other men of 
 brilliant wit, which quality rather impedes than assists 
 genuine representation of life and manners. 
 
 As a writer of history, Voltaire is celebrated for his 
 light, rapid, and pervading glance at events, their 
 causes and results. A liberal and humane philosophy 
 in general directs his pen ; but it is often made the in- 
 strument of his systematic hostility against established 
 opinions and forms, in which he does not scruple to em- 
 ploy the arts of misrepresentation. His style in prose 
 may be regarded as perfect in its kind, which is the 
 middle species, that aims neither at high elegance nor 
 studied refinement, but is lively, pointed, in unaffected 
 good taste, and admirably adapted to light and fugitive 
 pieces. Voltaire's writings, in this department, are 
 among the happiest of their class. Their general pur- 
 pose, when not stimulated by pereonal distaste, is to
 
 FRENCH LITERATURE. 227 
 
 repel what he deemed usurpation upon human reason 
 in every quarter, and to check superstition, intolerance, 
 and fanaticism. It has been the lot of few men to 
 work a more rapid change in the opinions of mankind 
 than Voltaire. Revealed religion was the object of his 
 incessant attacks and bitter sarcasms ; and in this war- 
 fare, he made use of every advantage which he could 
 derive from his talent of placing things in a ludicrous 
 light, unrestrained by any regard to truth or decency. 
 It was said by Montesquieu, " When Voltaire reads a 
 book, he makes it, and then he writes against what he 
 has made i" and this, in fact, is the real secret of much 
 of his wit. 
 
 * Voltaire's popularity is less at the present day than 
 
 • Voltaire's name •vs.s Matio Francis Arouet, that of Vol- 
 taire being an invention and addition of his own. He was born 
 near Paris, 2d Feb. ICJO'l. He soon displayed superior genius, 
 and became an author at an early period. He, however, devoted 
 much of his time, with avaricious eagerness, to commerce, in 
 which he amassed a great deal of money. He rose to great 
 distinction, and was made historiographer of France and 
 gentleman of the bedchamber. But his bitter writings raised 
 up a host of enemies, and he took refuge from them at 
 Berlin, with Frederic the Great. Here he soon quarrelled 
 with a member of the Academy, and consequently left 
 Prussia in disgrace. The publication of an obscene poem 
 rendering his return to Paris dangerous, he fixed his resi- 
 dence at Ferney, in Switzerland, where he lived for many 
 years in retirement. In February, 177S, he went to Paris, 
 where, in tlio enjoyment of wealth and reputation, he lived 
 till May, when he expired. 
 
 The talents of Voltaire were of the higliest order; but as 
 a man, he was inconstant, faithless, mean, and in the highest 
 degree selfish. His great defect was the entire want of a
 
 228 FRENCH LITBRATURE. 
 
 it was during his lifetime. What proportion of his 
 voluminous works will go down to posterity cannot be 
 predicted ; but there can be no doubt that his name 
 will always remain among the most conspicuous in 
 the literary histoiy of the eighteenth century. 
 
 Rousseau, born at Geneva in 1712, is esteemed the 
 most eloquent writer of his age. He exercised a great 
 influence over the theoretical opinions of the day at the 
 commencement of the French revolution, when his 
 political tract entitled the Social Contract was a fa- 
 vorite authority. He is best known by his novel of 
 the Nouvelle Heloise, which, in warmth of painting and 
 eloquence of sentiment, has perhaps no superior among 
 works of its class ; but, with occasional deep knowl- 
 edge of the human heart, it abounds ivith inconsistency 
 and improbability. His ^mile, or Treatise on Educa- 
 tion, which some regard as his principal work, contains 
 many important truths, but tliey are alloyed by sophis- 
 tries and absurdities : and bi-s whole scheme is altogether 
 visionary. Rousseau * wrote also dramatic and other 
 
 moral basis upon which to found his actions — an evil the 
 direct and necessary consequence of the deism which he 
 avowed. He is, more than any other man, responsible for the 
 pervading infidelity of his countrymen, and that materialism 
 which seems to pervade the philosophy of life, among a 
 large portion of the French nation. 
 
 * John James Rousseau was the son of a watchmaker, and, 
 to this day, the house where he was born is pointed out 
 in Geneva. He raised himself to distinction by his literary 
 abilities, and excited the interest of many distinguished men 
 in his behalf; but his temper was irritable, and he was beset 
 by a morbid jealousy, which induced him to spurn the most 
 disinterested acts of kindness. He lived an unsettled and
 
 FRENCH LITERATURE. 229 
 
 works, all more or less marked with his peculiar 
 warmth, energy of style, and vigor of thinking. 
 
 The present state of French literature, extensive 
 and interesting as is the subject, can only be briefly 
 noticed. The violent changes which the revolution 
 produced in the social state of France, had a corre- 
 sponding effect on the national character and literature, 
 which in France, more than any other country, may be 
 regarded as the true picture of the public mind. The 
 revolution, although not favorable to letters, produced a 
 rapid development of eloquence, and also broke the 
 trammels imposed by the Academy on the language. 
 Under Napoleon, the practical sciences were more pat- 
 ronized than elegant literature ; and it was not till the 
 restoration of the Bourbons that the latter began to 
 revive. The most distinguished French poets of the 
 present century are Le Brun, Lamartine, Delille, De- 
 lavigne, and Beranger, to whom may be added Chateau- 
 briand, who must be regarded as a poet, although his 
 writings are not in verse. 
 
 Of these, Beranger, who is still living, is by far the 
 most popular : his songs and odes are in the mouth of 
 every Frenchman, and arc remarkable for their wit, 
 eloquence, and satire. His distinguishing peculiarity is 
 the mixture of gayety and pathos, which he combines 
 with the happiest effect, and his writings exhibit an 
 elegance of diction, a facility of expression, and a 
 harmony of versification, not exceeded by any thing in 
 the French language. We subjoin a translation of 
 
 restless life for many years, until at last ho sought retirement, 
 and for a time seemed to enjoy repose. lie died at Erme- 
 nonvillc, thirty miles from Paris, 1778, aged 66. 
 xvn.— 20
 
 230 rnENcii literature. 
 
 one of his pieces, although the inimitaoie grace of h' 
 style can hardly be expected in English. 
 
 Song of the Cossack. 
 
 " Thou steed, the Cossack's noble friend, 
 Bound to the trumpet of the North ! 
 
 Once more the winds their pinions lend 
 To that wild war-note issuing forth. 
 
 Come, bathe thy seething flanks again 
 
 In the red streams of rebel Seine ! 
 
 Snort, my proud courser ! for we go 
 
 To trample kings and nations low. 
 
 Thou fret'st not silver with thy foam ; 
 
 Gold decks not now thy saddle-bow ; 
 But where our squadrons make their home, 
 
 Ours are the treasures of the foe : 
 And thou ere long shalt find a stall 
 In arched dome of royal hall. 
 
 Kings, prelates, nobles, fiercely pressed 
 
 By vassals struggling to be free, 
 Have cried, ' Approach, thou Tartar guest ! 
 
 To reign o'er them, we'll crouch to thee.' 
 I seize my lance, — and cross and crown 
 Before that signal bow them down. 
 
 A giant phantom met my view. 
 
 With bloodshot eye and regal vest : 
 
 He cried, ' My reign begins anew ! ' 
 And shook his war-axe o'er the West. 
 
 King of the Huns, our tribes inherit 
 
 Thine ancient realm, thine ancient spirit. 
 
 All Europe's dower of ancient fame — 
 Arts, temples, learning, laws and rites —
 
 FRENCH LITERATURE. 231 
 
 Shall vanish hence in dust and flame, 
 Where'er tliy burning hoof alights ; 
 For where the Cossack's toot hath gone, 
 The desert's peace must reign alone ! 
 On, my proud courser ! for we go 
 To trample kings and nations low." 
 
 Among the recent French writers on natural science, 
 we might mention the great names of Cuvier and La- 
 place ; among the historians, Thierry, Guizot, Thiers, 
 and Dumas ; among the miscellaneous writers, Madame 
 de Slael, Madame de Genlis, and Jouy ; among par- 
 liamentary oratoi-s, Mirabeau, Tollendal, and many 
 others ; but our space forbids even a recital of the 
 lengthened catalogue. 
 
 Novels arc exceedingly abundant in France, but 
 most of them delight in scenes of horror and blood- 
 shed. Among them, the most remarkable are those 
 by Eugene Sue, which display talent, but are unnat- 
 ural in their scenes, and utterly false in their moral 
 basis and sentiment. Victor Hugo holds a still higher 
 rank with his countrymen; and, if not of superior 
 genius, he greatly surpasses Sue in his art. He dis- 
 plays a powerful imagination, deep feeling, and a pro- 
 found knowledge of the human heart ; but his works 
 are all disfigured by that extravagance and rage for the 
 horrible which seem to be a chief ingredient of modem 
 French romance. There are many other writers who 
 enjoy a large share of popularity. The press of France 
 is very active, and almost every imaginable subject is 
 treated of in books. 
 
 It may be remarked, in general, that French litera- 
 ture now presents an aspect which would hardly be
 
 232 FRENCH LITERATUnE. 
 
 recognized by a writer of tlie age of Louis XIV. With 
 the overthrow of the ancien regime in politics, fell 
 the main support of the old dramatic code ; and a 
 revolution in art and literature has followed the polit- 
 ical I'evolution, although the old system still has its 
 adherents. French literature is now divided between 
 the classicists, or disciples of the old school, and the 
 romanticists, of the new. Delavigne is at the head of 
 the former, and Victor Hugo of the latter. The 
 higher departments of the drama are now assiduously 
 cultivated by both parties. Comedy seems to be the 
 most flourishing ; and the classic reputation of Moliere 
 enables his plays to maintain their places on the stage, 
 although in tone and manners they are altogether ob- 
 solete. 
 
 ^rx/^i^
 
 SLAVONIAN LITERATURE. 
 
 It is asserted that more than sixty millions of people 
 speak the Slavonian dialects, and that they occupy near- 
 ly one half of the tcrritoiy of Europe. Whence these 
 people came, and how they spread, is an inquiry with 
 which many authors have occupied themselves in vain. 
 Under the name of Goths, Vandals, Huns, Slavi, and 
 Sarmatians, they have been confounded by writers 
 who knew nothing of their language, literature, or his- 
 tory. The Slavonian tribes may, however, be ar- 
 ranged into eight great classes — namely, the Russian, 
 Servian, Croatian, Wendish, Bohemian, Slovakian, Po- 
 lish, and Serbian. Russia has about forty-five millions 
 of Slavonian subjects; Austria, fifteen millions; and the 
 remainder chiefly belong to Turkey. 
 
 The Slavonian language is generally considered as 
 of Hindoo origin, which supposition is founded on the 
 great number of Sanscrit roots which it contains, as 
 well as on some traces of a similar origin exhibited in 
 the religion of the ancient Slavonians, of which the 
 most striking examples are the burning of widows on 
 the funeral piles of their husbands, and the idol of 
 Sviatovid, represented with four heads. The different 
 Slavonian dialects are distinguished by the richness of 
 their vocabulary, which consists not only in the great 
 20*
 
 234 SLAVONIAN LITEBATUEE, 
 
 number of words or synonymes, but also in the num- 
 ber of inflections, both at the beginning and the end of 
 words, which gives a facility of creating from one 
 radical word an extraordinary number of derivatives. 
 The Slavonian languages possess great expressiveness 
 and energy, and are able to represent every object of 
 imagination and passion, as well as all the higher 
 emotions of the poet and the orator, in a manner not 
 inferior to any modern language, and superior to 
 many. The Slavonian alphabet differs from all others, 
 and was originally formed on the model of the Greek. 
 
 The Russian language may be divided into three 
 dialects — the Muscovite, which, since the time of Peter 
 the Great, has constituted the literary language of Rus- 
 sia ; the dialect of Southern Russia ; and that of White 
 Russia. The Muscovite participates in all the merits 
 of all the other Slavonian languages, and has received 
 new riches from modern writers. The Russian people 
 have no ancient popular literature, and no poetry exists 
 in their language of an earlier date than the sixteenth 
 century. The history of the language is wholly lost ; 
 but it was greatly influenced, no doubt, by the transla- 
 tions from the Bible, and by the works of the ecclesias- 
 tical annalists. The irruptions of the Tartars produced 
 no change ; but in the sixteenth and seventeenth cen- 
 turies, the Sarmatian branch obtained considerable as- 
 cendency from the residence of a number of Russian 
 writers in the universities of Poland, then the most in- 
 telligent and cultivated of all the Slavonic nations. 
 Under Peter the Great, the German and Latin tongues 
 introduced a great number of new terms. During the 
 reign of the empress Elizabeth, the Russian language
 
 SLAVONIAN LITERATURE. 235 
 
 was completely Gallicized ; but Catherine restored its 
 characteristic nationality. 
 
 The Annals of Nestor are the earliest Russian his 
 torical records which exist. They are very valuable 
 and obviously the production of an ingenuous and vig 
 orous mind. In the records of Psov and Novgorod 
 much of interesting episode, and many pathetic pas 
 sages, are blended with the dry details of passing events 
 These, and a code of laws, are almost all that has 
 been left to illustrate the historical antiquity of the 
 nation. Among the poetic names which have been 
 preserved out of the ruins of old times, there is one 
 which, though but a name, is religiously venerated in 
 Russia. This is Boyon, the " Nightingale," as he is 
 called, whom tradition has cherished as the bard who 
 led the old Russian warriors to battle, and enabled them 
 to work miracles of valor by the magic excitement of 
 his strains. This northern Tyrtjeus still lives in the 
 universal mind of the country, though not a single 
 breath of his lyre has found its way to the existing 
 generation. In a warlike and anonymous fragment, 
 written in the dialect of Southern Russia, in measured 
 prose, a fine spirit of heroism is mingled with the ob- 
 scurity of a forgotten mythology. This appears to be 
 of the twelfth century ; but, for three hundred years 
 after this, there is a perfect chasm. The song of the 
 Battle of the Don, a pictorial, unornamented narrative, 
 is the only production worth notice till the epoch of 
 Peter the Great. 
 
 Under this great reformer, every species of knowl- 
 edge and cultivation was planted in Russia. Kante- 
 mir introduced the insipid and monotonous versification
 
 236 SLAVONIAN LITERATURE. 
 
 of the French ; yet he opened the floodgates of Eu- 
 ropean learning, and prepared the way for great im- 
 provennents. Lomonosov was the son of a poor 
 sailor. His mind received its deepest impressions from 
 the poetry of the Old Testament, whose sublimity he 
 transferred to his own language, creating all those ele- 
 ments of strength and harmony which he wielded with 
 a sovereign hand. He enriched the literature of his 
 country by purifying and fixing the standard of lan- 
 guage ; he dragged from obscurity its historical 
 annals ; he introduced the study of experimental 
 philosophy ; he established the rules of poetry, and 
 decorated every subject with eloquence. Sumarokov 
 founded the Russian theatre ; but he left the language 
 of the country nearly as he found it ; and his dramatic 
 pieces have neither originality nor nationality of 
 character. 
 
 Catherine the Second, in the midst of her follies and 
 vices, had a most decided passion for literature, and no 
 small literary ambition. She sometimes wrote poetry, 
 and forgot her vast schemes of ambitious domination in 
 plans of intellectual reform. While she sent forth her 
 generals on most unrighteous missions, she founded 
 academies and patronized schools ; and to the present 
 hour, in spite of the foul deeds and strange caprices 
 of her reign, she is spoken of with reverential affection 
 by the "Russians. In her time Petrov,a bold and spirited 
 lyric poet, sang the triumphs of Orlov. Kheraskov 
 sought inspiration from the epic muse ; his style is flow- 
 ing, but affected and diffuse. In his Vladimir and Rus- 
 siad are many passages which are strikingly pictorial, 
 but he wrote too much to write well ; he attempted every
 
 SLAVONIAN LITERATUEE. 237 
 
 species of poetry, but succeeded perfectly in none. 
 Vou Visin gave an air of nationality to the Russian 
 drama, and seized with great success some of the pe- 
 culiarities of his nation, especially the frivolous pride 
 and folly of the lower nobility. Kapnist gave to com- 
 edy all tlie bitterness of satire, while his serious odes are 
 grand and noble, and his shorter pieces gracefully and 
 delicately wrought. 
 
 The best known of all the Russian poets beyond the 
 limits of his country is Derzhavin, who died in 1816. 
 There is no bound to the eulogiums with which his coun- 
 trymen speak of this distinguished man. In order to 
 show the reader the extent to which the spirit of Orient- 
 al exaggeration has pervaded the literature of Russia, 
 we quote the encomium of Bestujev u[)on Derzhavin ; 
 for it is curious and characteristic. 
 
 "The glory of his nation and of his age — the inspired, the 
 inimitable bard — he soared to a height which none before 
 had reached, and none will ever reach again. A poet and a 
 philosopher, his similes brought truth to the ear of princes. 
 His mysterious influence could enliven the soul, enrapture 
 the heart, excite the attention by rapid thoughts, and bold 
 eloquence, and glorious pictures. Ilis style is irresistible as 
 the lightning-flash, and luxuriant as the lap of nature. So 
 when the sunbeam falls on the brilliant diamond which has 
 long been buried in obscurity, its rays burst forth in magnif- 
 icent brightness : — so, ere the eruption breaks from the triple- 
 recioncd Vesuvius, its smoke is veiled bcnoatii the sheltering 
 snows, while the traveller looks upon the dark mists, and 
 foretells the coming storm ! '" 
 
 This, it will be allowed, is sufficiently laudatory ; but 
 Derzhavin was unquestionably a poet of a high order. 
 His " Ode to God " is deservedly celebrated. Captain
 
 238 SLAVONIAN LITERATURE. 
 
 Golownin, in the nan-ative of his adventures in Japan, 
 informs us that it has been translated into Japanese by 
 order of the emperor, and hung up, embroidered with 
 gold, in the temple of Jeddo. A similar honor has 
 been done to this poem in China. We shall quote it 
 here in Bowring's translation : — 
 
 " O thou Eternal One ! whose presence bright 
 All space doth occupy, all motion guide ; 
 
 Unchanged through time's all-devastating flight, 
 Thou only God : — there is no God beside ! 
 
 Being above all beings ! Three in one ! 
 
 Whom none can comprehend, and none explore, 
 
 Who fill'st existence with thyself alone, 
 Embracing all — supporting — ruling o'er : 
 Being whpm we call God — and know no more ! 
 
 In its sublime research, philosophy 
 
 May measure out the ocean-deep, may count 
 The sands, or the sun's rays ; but, God ! for Thee 
 
 There is no weight nor measure : none can mount 
 Up to thy mysteries : Reason's brightest spark. 
 
 Though kindled by thy light, in vain would try 
 To trace thy counsels, infinite and dark ; 
 
 And thought is lost ere thought can soar so high. 
 
 E'en like past moments in eternity. 
 
 Thou from primeval nothingness didst call 
 First chaos, then existence. — Lord ! on Thee 
 
 Eternity had its foundation : all 
 
 Sprang forth from Thee — of light, joy, harmony, 
 
 Sole origin ; all life, all beauty thine. 
 Thy word created all, and doth create : 
 
 Thy splendor fills all space with rays divine. 
 
 Thou art, and wert, and shalt be ! glorious, great, 
 Light-giving, life-sustaining Potentate I
 
 SLAVONIAN LITEKATURE. 239 
 
 Thy chains th' unmeasured universe surround, 
 Upheld by Thee, by Thee inspired with breath ! 
 
 Thou the beginning with the end hast bound, 
 And beautifully mingled life and death. 
 
 As sparks mount upward from the fiery blaze, 
 
 So suns are born, so worlds spring forth from Thee ; 
 
 And as the spangles in the sunny rays 
 
 Shine round the silver snow, the pageantry 
 Of heaven's bright army glitters in thy praise. 
 
 A million torches, lighted by thy hand, 
 
 Wander unwearied through the blue abyss ; 
 They own thy power, accomplish thy command ; 
 
 All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss. 
 What shall we call them ? Piles of crystal light — 
 
 A glorious company of golden streams — 
 Lamps of celestial ether, burning bright — 
 
 Sun-lighting systems with their joyous beams : 
 But Thou to these art as the moon to night. 
 
 Yes ! as a drop of water in the sea, 
 
 All this magnificence in Thee is lost. 
 What are ten thousand worlds compared to Thee ' 
 
 And what am 1 then .' Heaven's unnumbered ho*"!. 
 Though multiplied by myriads, and arrayed 
 
 In all the glory of sublimest thought. 
 Is but an atom in the balance weighed. 
 
 Against thy greatness. — Is a cipher brought 
 
 Against infinity .' — What am 1 then .-' — Nought 
 
 Nought ! But the eflluenco of thy light divine, 
 Pervading worlds, hath reached my bosom too ; 
 
 Yes ! in my spirit doth th}' spirit shine, 
 As shines the 8unl)eam in a drop of dew. 
 
 Nought ! But 1 live, and on liope's pinions fly 
 Eager towards thy presence ; for in Thee 
 
 I live, and breathe, and dwell, aspiring high.
 
 240 SLAVONIAN LITERATtlRE. 
 
 Even to the throne of thy divinity. 
 
 1 am, O God ! and surely Thou must be ! 
 
 Thou art ! directing, guiding all. Thou art ! 
 
 Direct my understanding, then, to Thee : 
 Control my spirit, guide my wandering heart; 
 
 Though but an atom midst immensity, 
 Still I am something fashioned by thy hand : 
 
 1 hold a middle rank 'twixt heaven and earth , 
 On the last verge of mortal being stand, 
 
 Close to the realms where angels have their birth, 
 Just on the boundaries of the spirit-land ! 
 
 The chain of being is complete in me : 
 In me is matter's last gradation lost ; 
 
 And the next step is spirit — Deit}^ ! 
 
 1 can command the lightning, and am dus*. ' 
 
 A monarch and a slave ; a worm, a god ! 
 
 Whence came I here, and how ? So marvellously 
 
 Constructed and conceived ? unkrcwn ! This clod 
 Lives surely through some higher energy : 
 For from itself alone it could not be ! 
 
 Creator ! yes, thy wisdom and thy word 
 
 Created me. Thou source of life and good ! 
 
 Thou spirit of my spirit, and my Lord ! 
 
 Thy light, thy love, in their bright plenitude 
 
 Filled me Math an immortal soul, to spring 
 O'er the ab3'ss of death, and bade it wear 
 
 The garments of eternal day, and wing 
 
 Its heavenly flight, beyond this little sphere, 
 E'en to its source — to Thee — its Author there. 
 
 O thoughts ineffable ! O visions blest ! 
 
 Though worthless our conceptions all of Thee, 
 yet shall thy shadowed image fill our breast, 
 
 And waft its homage to thy Deity.
 
 SLAVONIAN LfTERATUEE. 241 
 
 God ! thus alone my lowly thoughts can soar ; 
 Thus seek thy presence. — Being wise and good ' 
 
 'Midst thy vast works admire, obey, adore ; 
 
 And wlien the tongue is eloquent no more, 
 The soul shall speak in tears of gratitude." 
 
 Karamsin, the author of the following verses, is a 
 voluminous writer on various subjects, and is especially 
 distinguished for a History of Russia, He was born 
 m 1765. 
 
 The Churchyard. 
 
 FIRST VOICE. 
 
 '' How frightful the grave ! How deserted and drear ! 
 With the howls of the storm-wind, the shrieks of the bier, 
 And the white bones all clattering together ! 
 
 SECOND VOICE. 
 
 How peaceful the grave ! Its quiet how deop ! 
 Its zephyrs breatlie calmly, and soft is its sleep. 
 And flowerets perfume it with ether. 
 
 FIRST VOICE. 
 
 There riots the blood-crested worm on the dead, 
 And the yellow skull serves the foul toad for a bed, 
 And snakes in its nettle-weeds hiss. 
 
 SECOND VOICE. 
 
 How lowly, how lone the repose of the tomb ! 
 No tempests are there ; but the nightingales come, 
 And sing their sweet chorus of bliss. 
 
 FIRST VOICE. 
 
 The ravens of night flap their wings o'er the grave ; 
 'Tis the vulture's abode; 'tis the wolf's dreary cave, 
 Where they tear up the earth with their fangs. 
 • p xvii. — 21
 
 242 SLAVONIAN LITERATURE. 
 
 SECOND VOICE. 
 
 There the cony at evening disports with his love, 
 Or rests on the sod, while the turtles above 
 Repose on the bough that o'erhangs. 
 
 FIRST VOICE. 
 
 There darkness and dampness, with poisonous breath, 
 And loathsome decay, fill the dwelling of death. 
 The trees are all barren and bare .' 
 
 SECOND VOICE. 
 
 O, soft are the breezes that play round the tomb. 
 And sweet with the violet's walled perfume. 
 With lilies and jessamine fair. 
 
 FIRST VOICE. 
 
 The pilgrim who reaches this valley of tears. 
 Would fain hurry by, and with trembling and fears 
 He is launched on the wreck-covered river. 
 
 SECOND VOICE. 
 
 The traveller, outworn with life's pilgrimage dreary, 
 Lays down his rude staff like one that is weary. 
 And sweetly reposes forever. 
 
 The Russian drama was founded by Sumarokov 
 and Volkov about a century ago. Heroical epics have 
 6een written by Lomonosov and others ; and Russian 
 literature is by no means deficient in poetical composi 
 tions of a lighter character, and in prose romances. 
 The present generation of Russian writers are produ- 
 cing many useful historical works. 
 
 The Polish language is considered to be more flex- 
 ible and euphonious than most of the other Slavonian 
 dialects. In conciseness of expression it can scarcely
 
 SLAVONIAN LITEEATURE. 243 
 
 be surpassed by any otlier language. It can imitate 
 with great ease the beauties of classical prose, but it 
 has not the same cajjabilities for poetry. 
 
 The language of Servia is the softest and sweetest 
 of all the Slavonic idioms. Almost all its words have 
 vowel terminations. In many respects the Servian 
 ballads resemble the Spanish, and are impressed with a 
 similar Oriental character. A Servian peasant chant- 
 ing to the tones of the gusle, a rude stringed instru- 
 ment, one of their heroic songs, is the very counterpart 
 of an Andalusian romancero striking the chords of his 
 guitar to one of his national strains. The Servians 
 have, strictly speaking, no written history ; and al- 
 though they number nearly five millions of men, the 
 deeds of their ancestors have no prose records familiar 
 to the people. But they have rich, almost inexhaust- 
 ible stores of popular poetry — a species of poetry char- 
 acterizing their habitual pursuits, their daily impres- 
 sions, and their prominent associations. This poetry 
 is their history, and the faithful picture of themselves. 
 It is the versification of strong and simple feelings, 
 encumbered by few epithets, swelled by few exaggera- 
 tions, and simple and flowing in structure. Their pas- 
 toral habits, too, their climate, and their country, are 
 far more favorable to song than those of the more 
 northern Slavonians. As they have little intercourse 
 with foreigners, so their poetry is original and na- 
 tional. 
 
 Of the pastoral and domestic poetry, which consists 
 of short lyrical ballads, and songs used in their several 
 festivals, and illustrative of the manners and habits of 
 the people, we will extract the following specimens : —
 
 244 SLAVONIAN LITERATUKE. 
 
 The Servian Youth to a Traveller. 
 
 " O leave me ! O leave me ! 
 My wants are supplied, and my steed is the fleetest 
 That dwells in our vales, and ray love is the sweetest. 
 
 The sweetest of maidens. O leave me ! 
 
 You do not, you cannot deceive me. 
 
 You say there are brighter 
 And richer domains than the land of our tillage, 
 And cities to which our Belgrade is a village : 
 
 But go to my love, and invite her ; 
 
 Will your lands and your cities delight her ? 
 
 O, no ! she will tell thee 
 That the place of our birth of all places is dearest, 
 That the heart curls its tendrils round that which is nearest 
 She will smile at thy tales of the wealthy, 
 And to shame and to silence compel thee. 
 
 Then go, thou false rover ! 
 
 We will cling to the scenes which our infancy clung to ; 
 
 We will sing the old songs which our fathers have sung too 
 To our country be true as a lover, 
 Till its green sod our ashes shall cover." 
 
 Lepota. 
 
 " Lepota went out to the harvest ; she held 
 
 A sickle of silver in fingers of gold : 
 And the sun mounted high o'er the parched harvest field, 
 
 And the maiden in song all her sympathies told. 
 ' I'll give my white forehead to him who shall bind 
 All the sheaves which my sickle leaves scattered behind ; 
 I'll give my black eyes to the friend who shall bring 
 A draught of sweet water just fresh from the spring ;
 
 SLAVONIAN LITERATURE. 245 
 
 And to him who shall bear me to rest in the shade, 
 I will be — and for aye — an affectionate maid.' 
 
 She thought that her words were all wasted on air, 
 But a shepherd, just watching his sheeplbld, was there; 
 And he flew, and with sedges he bound all the sheaves, 
 And he made her an arbor of hazel-wood leaves; 
 And he ran to the spring, and he brought the sweet water, 
 And he looked on the face of beauty's young daughter, 
 And he said, ' Lovely maiden, thy promise 1 claim ! ' 
 But the cheeks of the maiden were covered with shame, 
 And she said to the shepherd, while blushing, ' No, no ! 
 Go back to thy sheeplbld, thou wanderer, go ! 
 For if thou didst bind the loose sheaves, thou hast left 
 Thy sheep in the stubble to wander bereft ; 
 And if from the fountain the water thou bearedst, 
 Of its freshness and coolness thou equally sharedst ; 
 And if thou hast reared up an arbor of shade, 
 For thyself, as for me, its refreshment was made.' " 
 
 The subjection of the females to their male relations is 
 curiously exemplified in the following simple ballad • — 
 
 Fana. 
 
 " Sweet Pana in the rye-grass slept. 
 
 And Rade to her presence crept : 
 
 ' Sweet Pana, mine consent to be ! ' — 
 
 ' What, Rade, wilt thou give for me .' ' 
 
 ' Sweet Pana, treasures thou shalt hold ; ' — 
 
 ' My brothers, Rade, want no gold.' 
 
 ' Rich dresses for thy loveliness ; ' — 
 
 ' My brothers wish no splendid dress.' 
 
 ' Sweet Pana, horses famed for speed ; ' — 
 
 ' My brotliers, Rade, want no steed.' 
 
 ' Sweet maid, I'll give myself to thee ! ' 
 
 • Sweet youth, thine own the maid shall be.' " 
 
 21*
 
 246 SLAVONIAN LITERATURE. 
 
 Tlie Bohemian language has perhaps been more 
 acted upon, than any other of Slavonian origin, by 
 foreign dialects. It accommodates itself with great 
 readiness to almost every form of verse, and has been 
 very successfully used in most of the ancient classical 
 measures. In the present generation, it has been the 
 object of a very patriotic attention on the part of the 
 people ; but the enthusiasm for its cultivation has been 
 systematically discouraged by the Austrian govern- 
 ment. The national literature of Bohemia is older 
 than that of any other Slavonian country, and its 
 monuments extend as far back as the tenth century. 
 The most valuable relics were, however, only recently 
 discovered. They consist chiefly of fragments of epic 
 and lyric poems, which were composed apparently in 
 the thirteenth century. The loss of the remainder is 
 much to be lamented, as the portions that have been 
 preserved surpass all other similar productions of the 
 middle ages in their poetical beauties, deep and tender 
 feeling, and purity of language. The period from 
 1520 to 1620 is called, by the Bohemians, the golden 
 age of their literature ; and in fact, science, letters, 
 and the arts, were cultivated in Bohemia during this 
 period with much success. Public instruction was in 
 a more flourishing state in that country than in most 
 other parts of Europe. The city of Prague, alone, 
 contained three universities and sixteen educational 
 institutes ; beside which, seminaries of instruction were 
 established all over the country. The Bohemian lan- 
 guage then attained its highest perfection, and the 
 number of books written and published on every sub- 
 ject was very great.
 
 SCANDINAVIAN LITERATURE 
 
 The ancient Scandinavian language, once common 
 to the whole north-western part of Europe beyona the 
 Baltic, is now confined to Iceland, where it has under- 
 gone little change since the ninth century. This 
 dialect of the Gothic is the parent stock of Swe- 
 dish, Danish, and Norwegian. Since it has no longer 
 been spoken on the continent, it has been called exclu- 
 sively Icelandic. The study of these languages throws 
 considerable light on the history of the English tongue. 
 There is a striking similarity of construction between 
 them and the English ; the same grammatical sim- 
 plicity prevails in them ; and neither their verbs nor 
 their nouns are subject to those numerous changes of 
 termination, which render the study of German and 
 Russian so perplexing to a foreigner. The Swedish 
 and Danish arc the softest in sound, and simplest in 
 construction, of all the Gothic dialects. 
 
 Of the original poetry of the various Teutonic races,* 
 
 * Tho Teutonic or Germanic nations include the mass of 
 the Bottlers of Northern Europe, exclusive of the Celts. Thej 
 arc divided into three branches — 1. The Germans proper; 
 2. The Saxons, from whom have descended the Dutch, 
 Frisians, Flemings, modern Saxons, Englisii, Scotch, and 
 Anglo-Suons of the United States; and, 3. The Scandi-
 
 248 SCANDINAVIAN LITERATURE. 
 
 which five or six centuries after the Christian era in- 
 undated all Europe, wc know but little. Tacitus spoke 
 of them, at an earlier period, as a people fond of poetry 
 and song, who yet used their voices as instruments to 
 frighten their enemies ; and Julian the Apostate com- 
 pares their songs to the wild cries of the birds. In the 
 third century, when Odin and his Goths attract our notice 
 in the north, we are struck with the appearance of the 
 Skalds, or northern singers, emerging, as it were, from 
 the night of the past — skilful, elaborate, initiated 
 bards, who drew their wisdom and skill from some 
 fountain of Asiatic lore unknown to us. 
 
 The existence of the ancient Scandinavians — the 
 inhabitants of Iceland, Norway, Sweden, and Denmark 
 — was warlike, wild, and full of action. They were a 
 people of decidedly maritime habits ; and naval enter- 
 prise at that period consisted mostly of piratical adven- 
 tures undertaken in order to gain a livelihood, or for 
 the purpose of subjecting their neighbors to tributary 
 vassalage. Amid these active and stirring scenes, 
 they had intervals of rest ; and to enjoy, during these 
 calm periods, the luxuries and easy pleasures of life, 
 was denied them by an unfriendly climate ; but during 
 the long and gloomy nights of winter, they had leisure 
 to give themselves up to meditation on the exploits of 
 their ancestors. From this origin sprang their epic 
 compositions, which may be enumerated among the 
 most profound and powerful that have ever been pro- 
 duced by the human mind. They are all marked by 
 
 navians, which include the Danes, Swedes, Norwegians, and 
 Icelanders. The descendants of the Teutonic nations amount 
 to ninety millions, at the present daj'.
 
 SCANDINAVIAN LITERATURE. 249 
 
 the characteristics of primitive rudeness, harsh and 
 stern, with often an entire disregard of the outward 
 form of poetry ; bat they all have the vigor of youth- 
 ful life, unrestrained and untamed, that despises every 
 external rule and ornament. Without introduction, 
 without explanation, the narrator plunges at once into 
 the very centre of the action. Depending on the 
 power of his subject, the artless poet often announces 
 tlie issue in the first lines. The words fall sharp like 
 the strokes of the sword ; heavy, like the hammer on 
 the anvil ; and each word is a deed. Nothing is said 
 but what is most necessary, and even here, much is 
 left to the imagination. We see ourselves transported 
 from one realm to another ; from the strand of the sea 
 to the summit of the mountain ; from the subterranean 
 cave of the witch to the bower of the noble maiden, 
 without even a previous intimation: Action stands 
 close to action. 
 
 The mental features of the heroes, also, in their 
 wonderful powers, are drawn only by a few bold 
 strokes of the pencil. They are the immediate de- 
 scendants of the gods of the north ; themselves still a 
 giant race, to which the diminutive measure of our own 
 feelings must not be applied. Enormous in mind, in 
 purpose, and in action, we see them performing deeds 
 which savor of madness. Their anger is rage ; their 
 love a devouring flame ; blood only can quench their 
 thirst for vengeance ; and where even their own giant 
 strength docs not suffice, the dark powers of a subter- 
 ranean world are invoked, and are often present with 
 them in union or in conflict. 
 
 The Skald was a poet, artificial or simple, according
 
 250 SCANDINAVIAN LITERATURE. 
 
 as his genius inspired him. The Sliulds united in 
 themselves the functions of the historiographer and the 
 poet : they were the interpreters of the gods, and the 
 ambassadors of kings. Their poetry was a regular art 
 and science, and they possessed no less than one hun- 
 dred and thirty-six different forms of verse. Theii* 
 poetical language was highly figurative; rivers are 
 called " the sweat of the earth," and " the blood of the 
 valleys ; " arrows are the " daughters of misfortune," 
 the " hailstones of helmets ; " the battle-axe is the 
 " hand of the slaughterer;" the eye is the "torch of 
 the countenance," or the " diamond of the head ; " 
 grass and herbage are the " hair and fleece of the 
 earth ; " hair is the " forest of the head," and when 
 white, the " snow of the brain ; " a ship is the " horsp 
 of the waves ; " rocks are the " bones of the 
 earth," &c. 
 
 One of the most ancient monuments of the poetry 
 and mythology of the Scandinavians is the Edda, a 
 work originally compiled, it is thought, in the eleventh 
 century, and which, to a reader ignorant of its par- 
 ticular design, appears a most whimsical and unintelli- 
 gible performance. The Edda, in fact, according to 
 a competent judge, was intended as a course of poetical 
 lectures, for the use of the young Icelanders who 
 designed to devote themselves to the profession of a 
 Skald or poet. The first and most ancient Edda was 
 compiled by Sosmond Sigfusson, an Icelander, who was 
 born about the year 1057. He was one of the first of 
 his nation who undertook to commit to writing the an- 
 cient religious poetry of the Scandinavians, which then 
 existed only in tradition. He seems to have confined
 
 SCANDINAVIAN LITERATURE. 25l 
 
 himself to the selecting into one body such of the 
 ancient poems as appeared most proper to furnish a 
 sufficient number of poetical figures and phrases. 
 
 The first v/ork being apparently too voluminous and 
 obscure, and not sufficiently adapted to common use, 
 about 120 years afterward, Snorro Sturleson, another 
 learned Icelander, and a poet, undertook an abridgment 
 of it, by selecting whatever was most imporlant in the 
 old mythology. He gave this abridgment in the form 
 of a dialogue, in imitation of the ancient northern poets, 
 who have generally chosen this most natural kind of 
 composition. The name Edda seems to be derived 
 from an old Gothic word signifying " grandmother," a 
 rather unpoetical appellation ; but, in the figurative 
 language of the old poets, this term was, doubtless, 
 thought proper to express an ancient doctrine. 
 
 Other relics of the ancient Scandinavian poetry are 
 preserved in the Icelandic Sagas, which, even at the 
 present day, afford delight to the Icelanders during 
 their long winter evenings. The Sagas are often 
 learned by heart by itinerating historians, who gain a 
 livelihood during winter by staying at different farms 
 and houses, reciting these compositions till their stock 
 of lore is exhausted. This custom appears to have 
 existed among the Scandinavians from time imme- 
 morial. The usual evening reading of the Icelanders, 
 in winter, consists of some old Saga, which is read, in 
 presence of the whole family, by the father or some 
 intelligent member, who explains obscure passages, in 
 the course of his reading, for the benefit of the children 
 and servants. 
 
 The following ode is one of the most ancient pieces
 
 252 SCANDINAVIAN LITERATURE. 
 
 of Scandinavian poetry extant. The translation is by 
 Gray. 
 
 The Descent of Odin. 
 
 " Uprose the king of men with speed, 
 And saddled straight his coal-black steed. 
 Down the yawning steep he rode 
 That leads to Hela's drear abode. 
 Him the dog of darkness spied : 
 His shaggy throat he opened wide, 
 While from his jaws, with carnage filled, 
 Foam and human gore distilled. 
 Hark ! he bays with hideous din, 
 Eyes that glow, and fangs that grin ; 
 And long pursues, with fruitless yell, 
 The father of the powerful spell. 
 Onward still his way he takes ; 
 The groaning earth beneath him shakes, 
 Till full before his fearless eyes 
 The portals nine of hell arise. 
 
 Right against the eastern gate. 
 By the moss-grown pile he sate. 
 Where long, of yore, to sleep was laid 
 The dust of the prophetic maid. 
 Facing to the northern clime. 
 Thrice he traced the Runic rhyme : 
 Thrice pronounced, in accents dread. 
 The thrilling verse that wakes the dead 
 Till from out the hollow ground 
 Slowly breathed a sullen sound. 
 
 PROPHETESS. 
 
 What call unknown, what charms, presume 
 To break the quiet of the tomb .' 
 Who thus afflicts my troubled sprite. 
 And drairs me from the realms of nigrht'
 
 SCANDINAVIAN LITERATURE. 25' 
 
 Long on these mouldering bones have beat 
 The winter's snow, the summer's heat, 
 The drenching dew and driving rain ! 
 Let me, let me, sleep again. 
 Who is he, witli voice unblest, 
 That calls me from the bed of rest ? 
 
 A traveller to thee unknown 
 
 Is he that calls — a warrior's son. 
 
 Thou the deeds of light shalt know : 
 
 Tell me what is done below — 
 
 For whom yon glittering board is spread, 
 
 Dressed for whom yon golden bed .' 
 
 PROPHETESS. 
 
 Mantling in the goblet see 
 The pure beverage of the bee : 
 O'er it hangs the sWcld of gold : 
 'Tis the drink of Balder bold. 
 Baldor's head to death is given ; 
 Pain can reach the sons of heaven. 
 Unwilling 1 my lips unclose ; 
 Leave me, leave me, to repose. 
 
 Once again my call obey ! 
 Prophetess, arise, and say 
 What dangers Odin's child await ; 
 Who the author of his fate ? 
 
 PROPHETESS. 
 
 In Hoder's hand the hero's doom : 
 His brother sends him to the tomb. 
 Now my weary lips I close ; 
 Leave me, leave me, to repose. 
 
 XVII. — 22
 
 254 SCANDINAVIAN LITERATURE. 
 
 Prophetess, my spell obey ! 
 
 Once again arise, and say 
 
 Who the avenger of his guilt; 
 
 By whom shall Hoder's blood be spilt ? 
 
 PROPHETESS. 
 
 In the caverns of the west. 
 By Odin's fierce embrace compressed, 
 A wondrous boy shall Rinda bear, 
 Who ne'er shall comb his raven hair, 
 Nor wash his visage in the stream, 
 Nor see the sun's departing beam, 
 Till he on Hoder's corse shall smile. 
 Flaming on the funeral pile. 
 Now my weary lips I close ; 
 Leave me, leave rae, to repose. 
 
 Yet awhile my call obey ! 
 Prophetess, awake, and say 
 What virgins these, in speechless woe. 
 That bend to earth their solemn brow, 
 That their flaxen tresses tear. 
 And snowy veils that float in air. 
 Tell me whence their sorrows rose, — 
 Then 1 leave thee to repose. 
 
 PROPHETESS. 
 
 Ha ! no traveller art thou ! 
 King of men, I know thee now ! 
 Mightiest of a mighty line 
 
 No boding maid, of skill divine, 
 Art thou, nor prophetess of good, 
 But mother of the giant brood !
 
 SCANDINAVIAN LITERATURE. 255 
 
 PROPHETESS. 
 
 Hie thee hence, and boast at home 
 
 That never sliall inquirer come 
 
 To break my iron sleep again, 
 
 Till Lok has burst his tenfold chain ; 
 
 Never till substantial Night 
 
 Has re-assumed her ancient right; 
 
 Till, wrapped in flames, in ruin hurled. 
 
 Sinks the fabric of the world." 
 
 The following ode of Harold the Valiant is found in 
 an old Icelandic chronicle, entitled Knytlinga Saga. 
 Harold the Valiant was a Norwegian prince, who lived 
 about the middle of the eleventh century, and was one 
 of the most illustrious adventurers of his time. He 
 had traversed all the seas of the North, and carried his 
 piratical incursions as far as the Mediterranean and the 
 coast of Africa. He was at length taken prisoner, and 
 detained some time at Constantinople. He complains, 
 in this ode, that the glory which he had acquired by so 
 many exploits had not been able to make any impres- 
 sion on Elissif, the daughter of Jarislas, Czar of 
 Russia. 
 
 «' My ships have made tlie tour of Sicily. Then wc were 
 all magnificent and splendid. My brave vessel, full of 
 mariners, rapidly rowed to the utmost of my wishes. Wholly 
 engrossed by war, I thought my course would never slacken. 
 — And yet a Russian maiden scorns me ! 
 
 In my youth 1 fought with the people of Drontheim. 
 Their troops outnumbered ours. It was a terrible conflict. 
 I left their young king dead in the field. — And yet a Russian 
 maiden scorns me ! 
 
 One day, we were but sixteen in a vessel. A storm arose 
 and swelled the sea : it filled the loaded ship ; but we dili-
 
 256 SCANDINAVIAN LITERATUEE. 
 
 gently cleared it out. Thence 1 formed hopes of the hap- 
 piest success. — And yet a Russian maiden scorns me ! 
 
 I know liow to perform eight exercises. I fight valiantly. 
 1 sit firm on horseback. I am inured to swimming. 1 know 
 how to dart along on skates. I throw the lance, and am 
 skilful at the oar. — And yet a Russian maiden scorns me ! 
 
 Can she deny, that young and lovely maiden, that, on a 
 day when posted near a city in the southern land, 1 joined 
 battle ; that then I valiantly handled my arms, and left be- 
 hind me lasting monuments of my exploits .'' — And yet a 
 Russian maiden scorns me ! 
 
 1 was born in the high country of Norway, where the men 
 handle their bows so well. But 1 preferred guiding my 
 ships, the dread of peasants, among the rocks of the ocean. 
 And, far from the habitations of men, I have run through all 
 the seas with ray vessels. — And yet a Russian maiden 
 scorns me ! " 
 
 We must now view the Scandinavian literature in 
 another aspect ; in which it presents us a rich treasure 
 of pojmlar poetry, by which we mean those produc- 
 tions bearing the form of songs, ballads, dramas, or 
 any other, which proceed from the common people, and 
 operate upon them ; the blossoms of popular life, born 
 and nurtured under the care of the people, cherished 
 by their joys, and watered by their tears ; and, as such, 
 eminently characteristic of the great mass of the na- 
 tion, and its condition. The treasures of old Swedish 
 and Danish popular poetry are known to most readers 
 only by reputation. The grand, nay, gigantic char- 
 acter of these ballads must necessarily have ren- 
 dered the merely heroic portion of them strange 
 to the tame generation of the present age. Vast num- 
 bers of them had unquestionably perished, even in the 
 memories of the people, when, in 1591, the first at-
 
 SCANDINAVIAN LITERATTTRE. 257 
 
 tempt was made to collect them in a volume. The 
 most modem of them, according to the best judges of 
 the language, are not later than the fifteenth century, 
 the oldest not older than the thirteenth, at least in their 
 present shape. The Swedish popular poetry is, in 
 body and spirit, so very nearly related to the Danish, 
 that it is difficult to discover any distinguishing features. 
 The peasantry of Sweden arc great singers, and are, 
 if possible, more attached to old ballads, and the airs to 
 which they are sung, than even the Lowland Scotch, to 
 whom, in their language, habits, character, and appear- 
 ance, they bear a striking resemblance. 
 
 The following ancient Danish ballad is given in the 
 translation of M. G. Lewis, and will afford some idea 
 of that wild imagination which plays through much of 
 the old poetry of the north. 
 
 The Water-Ring. 
 
 " With gentle murmur flowed the tide, 
 While by its fragrant, flowery side 
 The lovely maid, with carols gay, 
 To Mary's church pursued her way. 
 
 The Water-Fiend's malignant eye 
 Along the banks beheld her hie ; 
 Straight to his mother-witch he sped, 
 And thus in suppliant accents sa.id : — 
 
 « O mother ! mother ! now advise 
 How I may yonder maid surprise ; 
 O mother ! mother ! now explain, 
 How I may yonder maid obtain.' 
 Q 22*
 
 258 SCANDINAVIAN LITERATUEE. 
 
 The witch she gave him armor white ; 
 She formed him like a gallant knight ; 
 Of water clear next made her hand 
 A steed, whose housings were of sand. 
 
 The Water-King then swift he wentj 
 To Mary's church his steps he bent; 
 He bound his courser to the door, 
 And paced the churchyard three times four 
 
 His courser to the door bound he. 
 And paced the churchyard four times three 
 Then hastened up the aisle, where all 
 The people flocked, both great and small. 
 
 The priest said, as the knight drew near, 
 ' And wherefore comes the white chief here •' 
 The lovely maid she smiled aside, 
 ' O ! would I were the white chief's bride ! ' 
 
 He stepped o'er benches one and two , 
 ' O lovely maid, I die for you ! ' 
 He stepped o'er benches two and three ; 
 ' O lovely maiden, go with me ! ' 
 
 Then sweetly smiled the lovely maid. 
 And while she gave her hand, she said, 
 ' Betide me joy, betide me woe. 
 O'er hill, o'er dale, with thee I go.' 
 
 The priest their hands together joins ; 
 They dance while clear the moonbeam shines , 
 And little thinks the maiden bright 
 Her partner is the Water-Sprite. 
 
 O, had some spirit deigned to sing, 
 ' Your bridegroom is the Water-Kin? ! '
 
 SCANDINAVIAN LITERATURE. 259 
 
 The maid had fear and hate confessed, 
 
 And cursed the hand which then she pressed. 
 
 Uut nothing giving cause to think 
 How near she strayed to danger's brink, 
 Still on she went, and hand in hand 
 The lovers reached the yellow sand. 
 
 ' Ascend this steed with me, my dear ! 
 We needs must cross the streamlet here ; 
 Ride boldly in ; it is not deep ; 
 The winds are hushed, the billows sleep.' 
 
 Thus spoke the Water-King. The maid 
 Her traitor-bridegroom's wish obeyed ; 
 And soon she saw her courser lave 
 Delighted in his parent wave. 
 
 • Stop, stop, my love ! The waters blue 
 E'en now my shrinking foot bedew.' 
 ' O, lay aside your fears, sweet heart ! 
 We now have reached the deepest part.' 
 
 ' Stop, stop, my love ! for now I see 
 The waters rise above my knee.' 
 ' O, lay aside your fears, sweet heart ! 
 We now have reached the deepest part.' 
 
 ' Stop, stop ! for God's sake, stop ! for O ! 
 The waters o'er my bosom flow ! ' 
 Scarce was the word pronounced, when knight 
 And courser vanished from her sight. 
 
 She shrieks, but shrieks in vain ; for high 
 The wild winds, rising, dull the cry : 
 The fiend e.xults ; the billows dash, 
 And o'er their hapless victim plash.
 
 260 SCANDINAVIAN LITERATURE. 
 
 Three times, whilst struggling with the stieam. 
 The lovely maid was heard to scream ; 
 But when the tempest's rage was o'er, 
 The lovely maid was seen no more. 
 
 Warned by this tale, ye damsels fair. 
 To whom you give your love beware ! 
 Believe not every handsome knight, 
 And dance not with the Water-Sprite !' 
 
 Among the fairy legends, or tales of the Scandina- 
 vian elves, we have selected the following. The be- 
 lief in the existence of this class of spirits is still cur- 
 rent among the peasantry of Sweden, Denmark, and 
 Norway. 
 
 ElTer's Hoh. 
 
 " The knight laid his head upon Elver's Hoh, 
 
 Soft slumber his senses beguiling : 
 Fatigue pressed its seal on his eyelids, when, lo ! 
 
 Two maidens drew near to him smiling. 
 The one she kissed softly Sir Algamore's eyes, 
 
 The other she whispered him sweetly, 
 ' Arise, thou gallant young warrior, arise, 
 
 For the dance it goes gayly and featly. 
 
 Arise, thou gallant young warrior, arise, 
 
 And dance with us now and forever ; 
 My damsels with music thine ear shall surprise, 
 
 And sweeter a mortal heard never.' 
 Then straight of young maidens appeared a fair throng, 
 
 Who their voices in harmony raising, 
 The winds they grew still as the sounds flew along. 
 
 By silence their melody praising.
 
 SCANDINAVIAN LITERATURE. 261 
 
 The winds they were still as the sounds flew along ; 
 
 The wolf howled no more from the mountain ; 
 The rivers were mute upon hearing the song, 
 
 And calmed the loud rush of the fountain ; 
 The fisli, as they swam in the water so clear, 
 
 To the soft sounds, delighted, attended; 
 And nightingales, charmed the sweet accents to hear, 
 
 Their notes with the melody blended. 
 
 " Now hear me, thou gallant young warrior, now hear ; 
 
 If thou wilt partake of our pleasure. 
 We'll teach thee to draw the pale moon from her sphere, 
 
 We'll show thee the sorcerer's treasure. 
 We'll teach thee the Runic rhyme ; teach thee to hold 
 
 The wild boar in magical fetters ; 
 To charm the red dragon that broods over gold, 
 
 And tame him by mystical letters ! ' 
 
 Now hither, now thither, then danced the gay band, 
 
 By witchcraft the hero surprising. 
 Who sat ever silent, his sword in his hand. 
 
 Their sports and their pleasures despising. 
 'Now hear me, thou gallant young warrior, now hear — 
 
 If still thou disdain'st what we proffer. 
 With dagger and knife from thy breast will we tear 
 
 Thy heart, which refuses our offer ! ' 
 
 O, glad was the Knight when he heard the cock crow ! 
 
 His enemies trembled, and left him ; 
 Else must he have staid upon Elver's Iloh, 
 
 And the witches of life had bereft him. 
 Beware then, ye warriors, returning by night 
 
 From court, dressed in gold and in silver ; 
 Beware how you slumber on Elver's rough height — 
 
 Beware of the witches of Elver ! " 
 
 The modern literature of Denmark exhibits many dis- 
 tinguished names. Ilolbcrg ha.s been compared both
 
 262 SCANDINAVIAN LITERATURE. 
 
 to the author of Hudibras and to Hogarth ; and though 
 but an imitator of cither, he rivals both the poet and 
 the painter in satiric humor. His comedies have great 
 merit ; and, though marked with many offences against 
 good taste, they exhibit great dramatic power, and 
 genuine humor. He gave to Danish literature a sudden 
 and powerful impulse, and produced an extraordinary 
 change in the intellectual taste of his countrymen, 
 whom he taught to read and to think. Holberg was 
 the founder of the Danish comedy ; and Ewald, at a 
 later period, was the creator of the national tragedy. 
 He impressed upon the poetry of Denmark a character 
 till then unknown, inspiring it with his own fervid 
 genius. As a lyric poet, he stands still higher than as 
 a dramatist ; and some critics have pronounced him the 
 most perfect that the world has ever yet seen. Bag- 
 gessen has distinguished himself as an elegant prose 
 writer. To these names we have room only to add 
 those of Ingemann and CEhlenschlager, who are yet liv- 
 ing. The latter, in his dramas and other compositions, 
 has reopened the stores of ancient Scandinavian fable 
 and mythology, and revived the olden spirit of his 
 fatherland. The former has attained celebrity not only 
 as a poet, but also in the field of historical romance, 
 and is generally complimented with the title of the 
 Walter Scott of Denmark. 
 
 The modern literature of Sweden developed itself 
 more slowly than that of Denmark, but its course was 
 nearly the same ; for, springing from a common stock, 
 the two nations were similar in genius and intellectual 
 disposition. Dalin, who flourished in the early part of the 
 last century, is styled the Swedish Addison. Madame
 
 SCANDINAVIAN LITERATURE 263 
 
 Nordenflycht, who was esteemed a prodigy of learning 
 in her sex, wrote elegies and other poems, which dis- 
 play real feeling^nd talent, although marked by false 
 ■taste and affectation. Bellman is styled the Swedish 
 Anacreon, and his songs have a strong vein of nation- 
 ality and racy humor. Madame Lenngren, in her poems, 
 has adorned familiar subjects with the simple graces 
 of nature and truth. Franzcn is a living poet of great 
 reputation ; but the highest rank is assigned to Elias 
 Tegner, whose Frithiof 's Saga has been translated into 
 various European languages. 
 
 There is one department of literature in which 
 Sweden now possesses some original productions of 
 merit — that of prose fiction and the novel. Nearly all 
 Scott's romances have been translated into Swedish, 
 and they have had much influence in creating a taste 
 for this species of reading. The modern novel has 
 been treated with great success by Frederika Bremer, 
 whose works are too well known to the American 
 reader to require any further description.
 
 GERMAN LITERATURE, 
 
 The origin of the German nation is uncertain. The 
 Romans first became acquainted with them, under the 
 name of Cimbri, B. C. 113, when they defeated the 
 consul Papirius Carbo, near the confines 'of the Ro- 
 man dominions. After Caesar had subjugated Gaul, he 
 found various tribes, called Germans, occupying the 
 country east of the Rhine. From this time, they 
 figure in history under various names ; but that of 
 Teutones, or Germans, is the general designation, and 
 may be considered as embracing the pi'ogenitors of the 
 various nations now included in the Germanic empire. 
 
 There is a great multiplicity of German dialects, 
 which may, however, be classed under two heads — the 
 Mgli German of the south, and the loto German of the 
 north. It is a dialect of the former which is the lan- 
 guage of literature at the present day; this dates 
 its origin from the time of Luther. The spoken dia- 
 lects of Germany are very numerous, and difier more 
 or less from the language of books. 
 
 The most ancient monument of German literature 
 extant, is the translation of the Bible into the Gothic* 
 
 * The G(>ths were of the northern or Scandinavian branch 
 of the great Teutonic family.
 
 GERMAN LITERATURE. 265 
 
 language by Bishop Ulfilas. It was made in the 
 second part of the fourth century, for the use of the 
 Gothic tribe of the Theringians, who, having settled on 
 the banks of the Danube, in the ancient Roman prov- 
 ince of Moesia, were generally called IMoDso-Goths. 
 Ulfilas, on that occasion, introduced a new alphabet by 
 modifying the old Runic* characters, which were in 
 general use amongst the Teutonic nations. The 
 library of Upsal, in Sweden, possesses a remarkable 
 fragment of this translation, well known under the 
 name of the Codex ArgcnLeus, being written in silver 
 letters on a purple-colored parchment. It contains the 
 four Gospels, and is supposed to have been written in 
 the fifth, or, at least, in the beginning of the sixth cen- 
 tury, among the Goths of Italy. Some fragments of 
 St. Paul's Epistles to the Romans were discovered in 
 the library of Wolfenbiittel ; and several parts of the 
 books of Esdras and Nehemiah, as well as several 
 Epistles of St. Paul, preserved in the same manner, 
 were discovered in the library of Milan, by Angelo 
 Mai. Several editions of those fragments, accom- 
 panied by interesting commentaries, have been lately 
 published in Germany. 
 
 The reign of Charlemagne may be considered as 
 the commencement of the German literature, although 
 there arc some fragments of translations from eccle- 
 siastical books which were probably made prior to 
 
 * Runic, literally " a mystery," is tlio title given to the al- 
 phabet of the Teutonic nations. It consisted of sixteen letters, 
 and resembled the Greek and Roman characters. It existed 
 before the Christian era, and was kept a secret by the priests; 
 and hence the designation of Runic. 
 XVII.— 23
 
 266 GERMAN LITERATXTRE. 
 
 that epoch. Charlemagne, who was very anxious to 
 promote the cultivation of his native language, intro- 
 duced German names of months. He ordered the 
 scattered monuments of the Teutonic language, par- 
 ticularly laws, customs, and songs, to be collected. He 
 also required the ministers of religion to preach in 
 German. 
 
 After the reign of Charlemagne, the Christian re- 
 ligion being established throughout all Germany, many 
 fragments of the Bible, and some ecclesiastical writings, 
 were paraphrased from the Latin into the vulgar tongue. 
 The separation of the Germanic empire from the 
 French, which took place in the middle of the ninth 
 century, acted beneficially on the national language 
 and literature. The earliest known German poem of 
 that time is a song written in commemoration of the 
 victory which Louis III. of France gained over the 
 Normans, in 881. 
 
 The reign of the emperors of the Suabian family of 
 Hohenstauffen is the golden age of the romantic or 
 chivalrous poetry of Germany. This poetry, being 
 written in the Suabian dialect, which came into fashion 
 through the influence of the reigning family, is gen- 
 erally called the Suabian. Germany at that time had 
 made great progress in civilization, particularly by its 
 frequent intercourse with Italy, which was owing to the 
 expeditions of the emperors to that country. This cir- 
 cumstance led to an acquaintance with the trouba- 
 dours of Provence ; and the crusades, also, which 
 brought the Germans into contact with more civilized 
 nations, such as the Greeks and the Saracens, power- 
 fully contributed to advance the intellectual develop-
 
 GERJIAN LITERATURE. 267 
 
 ment of the nation, and to exalt their chivalrous spirit 
 The poets of that period arc known under the name 
 of minnesingers, from the old German word minne, 
 \vhich signifies loce. They may be compared, in many 
 respects, with the troubadours of Provence, and were 
 generally knights and nobles, whose life was divided 
 between the occupations of love, war, and devotion, 
 which inspired their poetical effusions with tender, 
 noble, and pious feelings. They lived chiefly at the 
 courts of German princes, who were fond of poetry, 
 and many of whom were poets themselves. 
 
 The decline of chivalry put an end to the minne- 
 singers, and the art of poetry descended from the 
 nobles to the burghers of cities. Welfare and civiliza- 
 tion, being secured by their fortified towns, gave them 
 a decided advantage over the nobles, who abandoned 
 themselves to the greatest excesses, and lived in a most 
 lawless state, being constantly engaged in mutual feuds 
 and depredations during the troubles which agitated the 
 German empire in the latter part of the thirteenth 
 century, after the death of Frederic II. 
 
 The cultivation of poetry by the burghers became a 
 kind of trade ; and the poets, who formed a corporation, 
 like other tradesmen and artisans, were called meister- 
 singers, or master-singers. They had their rules, like 
 other corporations, and the members were obliged to 
 submit to an apprenticeship. Their poetry was of a 
 different kind from that of the minnesingers. The 
 exploits of chivalry, and the enthusiastic love, or rather 
 worship, of ladies, were no longer the exclusive theme 
 of composition, although they produced some metri- 
 cal chronicles. The general subjects of the poems
 
 268 GERMAN LITERATUEE. 
 
 of this period are of a moral and satirical character, but 
 there are also some of the didactic kind. The most 
 celebrated production of tiiis school is the well-known 
 poem Reinecke Der Fuchs, translated into English, 
 and published for the first time under the following 
 title, — The History of Reynart the Foxe, by me, 
 William Caxlon, translated from the Dutch into Eng- 
 lish, &c. 
 
 There are many other productions of a similar kind, 
 all characterized by an overflowing comic and satirical 
 humor. The best specimen of this national vein is 
 the celebrated production called Eulenspicgel, trans- 
 lated into English under the title of Owleglass, Lon- 
 don, 1709. 
 
 To this epoch belongs the commencement of the 
 original dramatic literature of Germany, which is due 
 to the meistersingers' school of Niirnberg. Before 
 that period, the Germans were only acquainted with 
 the so called mysteries, or dramatized biblical stories, 
 written and performed, for the most part in Latin, 
 about the middle of the fifteenth century. Harz Volz, 
 a barber by profession, Rosenblut, and some others, 
 introduced a kind of farce called " Carnival Plays." 
 They were all excelled by Hans Sachs, a shoemaker 
 by profession, who lived from 1494 to 1576 : his works 
 are full of wit and invention, and, ne.xt to the Spaniard 
 Lope de Vega, he is the most fertile of dramatic 
 writers. 
 
 Many historical and allegorical poems were written 
 during the 15th century ; and several ballads, and other 
 metrical productions, were rendered into prose, which 
 may be considered as the commencement of the novel
 
 GERMAN LITERATURE. 269 
 
 in Germany. We have not space to name the authors 
 of this period. 
 
 The reformation of Lutlier gave an extraordinary' 
 impulse to the national literature of Germany ; and 
 Luther himself contributed, more than any other man, 
 to the advancement of the German language, which 
 may be considered as having been fixed by his transla- 
 tion of the Scriptures. The religious quarrels which 
 agitated Germany during the sixteenth centuiy gave to 
 literature a theological direction, and tlie first scholars 
 of that time were more or less engaged in religious 
 controversy. Among the poets we may mention Lu- 
 ther himself, who composed many religious songs ; 
 Rudolph, Weckhcrlin, and, above uU, Oj)itz, the founder 
 of the so called Silesian school. 
 
 This latter writer, who died in 1639, greatly im- 
 proved the style of German poetry, by imitating the 
 classics. The German language is indebted to him 
 for more correctness and harmony, but particularly 
 for having purified it from the barbarisms with which 
 it was loaded. Among the principal followers of Opitz 
 we may mention Flemming, Dach, Scheming, Gerhard, 
 &c. Many literary societies, whose object was to pro- 
 mote the national literature, were formed in the seven- 
 teenth century ; the most remarkable were the Order 
 of Flowers, and the Fructifying Society. 
 
 The German poetry of the seventeenth century is, 
 however, very deficient in real merit ; and, except some 
 religious songs, there is scarcely any poetical produc- 
 tion which can be read at present. The general char- 
 acteristics of the poetry of this period arc ridiculous 
 
 23*
 
 270 GERMAN LITERATURE. 
 
 bombast and aflectcd mannerism, introduced by some 
 imitators of the Italian poetry of Marino's school. 
 
 Among the prose writers, we must mention, in the 
 first place, the mystical authors, or the so called iheos- 
 ophists, who united the study of divinity and meta- 
 physics with that of natural philosophy. The most 
 celebrated are Paracelsus, well known as a physician 
 and chemist ; and Weigel, a Saxon clergyman, who 
 may be considered as the pupil of Paracelsus, having 
 imbibed his doctrines from the works of his master, 
 and adapted them to divinity and ethics. To the same 
 school belongs Jacob Boehme. In natural science we 
 may mention Kepler and Leibnitz, two of the greatest 
 men that have ever lived. 
 
 When we come into the eighteenth century, the 
 names of authors familiar to English ears begin to 
 crowd the page of German history. Biirger, the author 
 of Eleanor and other ballads, and one of the favorite 
 writers of his class, died in 1794, at the age of forty- 
 six ; Solomon Gessner, a bookseller of Zurich, who 
 wrote the Death of Abel, died, at the age of fifty -eight, 
 in 1788 ; Holty, celebrated for his lyric compositions, 
 died in 1776 ; and Klopstock, the renowned author of 
 the " Messiah," expired at Baden, in 1803. No Ger- 
 man writer has ever had so general a popularity in 
 England and America as Kotzebue, and no one is 
 regarded at the present day with more general con- 
 tempt. He was born at Weimar, and early devoted 
 himself to writing plays. Going to Russia as secre- 
 tary to General Bauer, he there produced his tragedy 
 of Demetrius, and married a Russian lady. He con-
 
 GERMAN LITERATURE. 271 
 
 linued to write for the stage, and his plays of the Virgin 
 of the Sun, the Stranger, &c., found their way into 
 most European theatres. He was afterwards em- 
 ployed by the emperor Paul ; but, giving some oflence 
 to his patron, he was sent to Siberia. He was, how- 
 ever, soon permitted to return ; and in 1818, being at 
 Manheim, he was assassinated by a fanatical student of 
 Jena, named Sand. 
 
 Such is a brief outline of the life of the once " world- 
 renowned," but now almost forgotten, Augustus 
 Von Kotzebue. Tlie moral of his history is this: his 
 writings, though full of talent, were founded upon a false 
 moral basis ; and therefore his success and popularity 
 were ephemeral. In the strong language of Menzel, 
 " he turned Parnassus into a brothel, and undertook 
 the office of procurer himself. No one knew so well 
 how to tickle the weaknesses and evil inclinations of 
 the educated, and the vanity of the uneducated, public, 
 as he. In refined gentility alone, Kotzebue could not 
 succeed. His nature was too vulgar to find merely 
 the delicate language under which Vice knows how to 
 conceal itself with the more refined natures." Such 
 is the lesson taught in a thousand examples — that im- 
 morality is incompatible with immortality, in literature. 
 Though the palate of the public may be tickled for a 
 time with corruption, sooner or later the stomach will 
 revolt, and cast forth the offensive aliment. 
 
 We come now to a still greater name in German 
 literature — that of Goethe, whom his countrymen, in 
 admiration of his diversified genius, denominate the 
 aJl-sided. His works, in a moral point of view, are 
 no better than those of Kotzebue ; yet they have had a
 
 272 GERMAN LITERATURE. 
 
 wonderful celebrity in Germany ; and in England, as 
 well as here, there is a small school of idolatrous ad- 
 mirers of them. 
 
 As yet, no work of Goethe's has appeared in Eng- 
 lish which rises above mediocrity ; and it seems that, 
 even in Germany, the general spirit of his productions, 
 as well as that of the man, is regarded with reprobation 
 by critics of the highest standing. " His influence 
 upon literature," says Menzel, " not only was, but is, 
 and will long continue to be, immeasurable. This in- 
 fluence is various; excellent in many respects, but 
 harmful in a still greater variety of ways. Inasmuch as 
 he flattered many of the weaknesses and errors of his 
 age, he has become the highest authority for all those 
 who are hardening in these weaknesses, and who carry 
 these errors to still more extravagant lengths. When 
 I behold among his admirers the noblest spirits and 
 the most respectable characters of the nation, whose 
 example I might follow, I see no less among them all 
 those parties, also, whose tendency I regard as mischiev- 
 ous, hostile, deadly to the most sacred interests of the 
 nation, of religion, of morality, nay, of art itself. I am 
 willing, therefore, to let whatever there is about 
 Goethe's mind and powers, that merits admiration, 
 have its influence with those noble men ; but I shall 
 still war against these ignoble spirits, and against every 
 thing in Goethe which they use as a pretext for their 
 own baseness. 
 
 " If I were not guided by a profound feeling and an 
 immovable conviction, verily, I should not take it upon 
 myself to oppose so great a number of respectable
 
 GERMAN LITERATURE. 273 
 
 admirers of Goethe, between whom and the miserable 
 inference-makers 1 draw a wide distinction. 
 
 " The entire phenomenon of Goethe, the sum and 
 substance of all his qualities and manifestations, is a 
 reflex, a closely-compressed and variously-colored 
 image, of his age. But this was an age of national 
 degeneracy ; of political imbecility and disgrace ; of a 
 malicious unbelief , of a coquettish and sensual cant; 
 of a deep demoralization ; of a passion for pleasure, 
 smoothed over by an appearance of taste under the 
 mask of refined manners ; of contempt for every public 
 interest, and an anxious care for self. All these sad 
 phenomena of the times, which occasioned the down- 
 fall of the German empire, and brought about the 
 triumph of France over our despised and neglected 
 country, Goethe has not resisted like a hero, nor be- 
 wailed like a prophet. He has merely given back 
 their images, and poetically embellished them ; nay, 
 not merely applauded them indirectly, but in express 
 terms. 
 
 " We recognize in Goethe the exact opposite of Les- 
 sing. As Lessing emancipated the German mind from 
 foreign influence, Goetlie subjected it to this influence, 
 by toying with every people under the sun ; and as 
 Lessing opposed the sentimental style, with all the 
 force and gracefulness of his manly spirit, so Goethe 
 adhered to that efleminafe enervation of the age, and 
 led the afiections to its snares by the sweetness of his 
 strains. To all the luxurious, soft, effeminate vices 
 that have made their way into German literature by 
 the sentimental spirit, and to all the false, perverted, 
 and foppish mannerisms that have been introduced 
 B
 
 274 GEEMAN LITERATURE. 
 
 by aping foreigners, Goethe lent the most powerful 
 aid, and elevated imbecility and unnaturalness into a 
 law. The only good which he had with this bad tend- 
 ency, and that by which he attained so great power, 
 was his form, — his talent of language, of representa- 
 tion, of dress. 
 
 " When we pierce through the many-colored cloud 
 of the Goethean form, we perceive egotism to be the 
 inmost essence of his poetry, as of his whole life ; not, 
 however, the egotism of the hero and the heaven- 
 storming Titan, but only that •» of the Sybarite and 
 actor — the egotism of the passion for pleasure, and the 
 vanity of art. Goethe referred every thing to himself; 
 made himself the centre of the world ; excluded from 
 his neighborhood, and from contact with himself, every 
 thing that did not minister to his desires, and really 
 exercised a magic sway over weak souls by his talent ; 
 but he did not make use of his power and his high 
 rank to elevate, improve, and emancipate men, or to 
 announce and support any great idea whatever, or to 
 fight in the battles which his contemporaries were 
 waging for right, freedom, honor, and country. By 
 no means. He only carried the world away with him, 
 like the stage princess — to enjoy it, to play his part 
 before it, to get admiration and pay." * 
 
 Schiller furnishes a striking contrast, in the elevation 
 of his personal character and the lofty enthusiasm 
 which inspires his writings, to the selfishness and sen- 
 suality of Goethe, with whom he was contemporary. 
 
 * For a view of the life and writings of Goethe, see Lives 
 of Famous Men of Modern Times.
 
 GERMAN LITERATUKE. 275 
 
 He was born at JMarbach, on the Neckar, in 1759, and 
 is said almost in infancy to have given intimations of 
 the poetic vein which afterwards shone so brightly. 
 ^Vlien quite a child, he was one day found perched 
 on the branch of a tree, during a thunder-storm, and 
 apparently absorbed in watching the sublime phe- 
 nomena of the heavens. When reprimanded by his 
 parents for such indiscretion, he excused himself by 
 saying that the lightning was so beautiful, he wished 
 to find out where it came from. This is no unapt 
 illustration of his character, which was displayed in 
 following the sublime and beautiful to their source in 
 the skies, unawed and unabashed by the splendors that 
 flashed upon his soul. 
 
 After an irregular training, he began the study of 
 the law, but at the same time secretly gave his soul to 
 the Muses. At fourteen, he finished the plan of an 
 epic on Moses, and soon after, having formed a taste 
 for dramatic poetry, he wrote the celebrated play of 
 the Robbers. This was produced at Manhcim in 
 1792 ; and although it created a prodigious sensation 
 throughout Germany, and even gained a place upon 
 the English stage, it must be admitted that the char- 
 acters, language, and sentiment, are all forced, unnat- 
 uml, and bombastic. The moral efibct, which seemed 
 to be to enlist the sympathies of mankind in behalf of 
 a brigand, was also too much like that of Jack Shep- 
 herd and Paul ClitTord, of our own day. 
 
 From this period, Schiller devoted himself to litera- 
 ture, and gained the station of the most popular drama- 
 tist and poet of Germany. Among his plays, the most 
 celebrated are William Tell, Fiesco, Wallenstein, and
 
 27G GERMAN LITERATURE. 
 
 the Maid of Orleans. He also wrote several works of 
 a critical and historical character, which greatly in- 
 creased his reputation. His smaller poems are nu- 
 merous. After a lingering illness, he died, in 1805. 
 Before his departure, he took a touching and tranquil 
 farewell of his friends. Some one asking him, a shor* 
 time before he expired, how he felt, he replied 
 " Calmer and calmer ! " — simple words, expressive ol 
 the mild heroism of the man. After a deep sleep, he 
 awoke for a moment, and saying, " Many things are 
 now growing clear and plain to me," he expired. 
 
 The distinguishing characteristic of Schiller's works, 
 and that which has made him the idol of the German 
 nation, is a fine rushing enthusiasm, an exalted love 
 of mankind, and an earnest faith in ideal excellence. 
 His works, however, are too exclusively reflections of 
 what dwelt in his own bosom ; and though these are 
 noble and glorious, his genius seems to have been 
 confined. His tendency was what is called, by his 
 countrymen, subjective — a habit of using the subjects 
 suggested by his own mind, instead of the opposite pro- 
 cess, called ohjective, in which the mind becomes a 
 mirror of the world around, and reflects its objects and 
 scenes, beautified by the prismatic hues of the soul. 
 Goethe is regarded as having possessed the latter 
 power, and this difference is the line of discrimination 
 between the two poets. 
 
 In dramatic composition, Schiller produced beautiful 
 poetic passages, and hence his plays are admired ; but 
 as he could not go out of himself, he could not depict 
 characters acting and feeling as they would speak and
 
 GERMAN LITERATURE. 277 
 
 feel. He also exhausted every topic, and burdened his 
 dramas with tedious dialogues. His best performances 
 are his lyrics ; here his own feelings come into play, 
 and nothing in the language of his country surpasses 
 them in beauty of thought and emotion. In Germany, 
 his verses are in every mouth ; his memory is revered ; 
 and his works, in spite of their defects, contain that 
 pure spirit of poetry which can never die. We copy 
 two specimens, which will give the reader an idea of 
 this class of Schiller's productions — making due allow- 
 ance for the loss of the original spirit, always suffered 
 in a translation : — 
 
 Hope. 
 
 •' A still, small voice in every soul 
 Of happier days keeps chantingr ; 
 And eagerly on to the golden goal 
 We see men running and panting. 
 The world grows old, and grows young again ; 
 Still this hope of improvement haunts man's brain. 
 
 Hope welcomes to life the smiling child ; 
 
 Her light shapes round the schoolboy swim ; 
 Hope fires the young man with visions wild ; 
 And she goes not under the earth with him, 
 When his race is run, and the grave doth ope ; — 
 On the brink of the grave he planteth — hope. 
 
 It is not an empty, flattering dream. 
 
 Offspring of idle thought ; 
 Through every heart it sendeth a gleam 
 Of that better world we've sought. 
 And what the voice within us spe.Tks 
 Deceives not the soul that trustingly seeks.' 
 XVII. — 24
 
 278 GERMAN LITERATURE. 
 
 Dignity of Woman. 
 
 " Honored be woman I To her it is given 
 
 To twine with our life the bright roses of heaven ; 
 
 'Tis hers to be weaving affection's sweet bond ; 
 Beneath the chaste veil she loves to retire, 
 And nourish, in silence, the holy fire 
 
 That burns in a bosom faithful and fond. 
 
 Far beyond truth's simple dwelling 
 
 Man's wild spirit loves to sweep ; 
 And his heart is ever swelling, 
 
 Tossed on passion's stormy deep. 
 To the distant good aspiring. 
 
 There is still no peace for him ; 
 Through the very stars, untiring. 
 
 He pursues his dazzling dream. 
 
 But woman's mild glance, like a charm, overtakes him, 
 And from his visions of wandering wakes him, 
 
 Warning him back to the present to flee. 
 In the mother's still cot, her enjoyment 
 Finds she in modest and quiet employment ; 
 
 Faithful daughter of nature is she. 
 
 Fierce is man's unending strife ; — 
 
 He, beneath ambition's goad. 
 Madly rushes on through life, 
 
 Without rest or fixed abode. 
 Now creating — now undoing — 
 
 No repose his wishes know ; 
 Like the Hydra's heads, renewing. 
 
 Still they wither, still they grow. 
 
 But woman, contented, enjoys every hour ; 
 
 She plucks from each moment that passes the flower 
 
 And fondly guards it with tender care ; — 
 Her bounden duties are all her pleasures ; 
 Richer than man in memory's treasures. 
 
 Roves she through poesy s endless sphere.
 
 GERMAN LITERATURE. 279 
 
 Foad of self, apart and dreaded, 
 
 Man's cold bosom ne'er doth prove 
 How, when heart to heart is wedded, 
 
 Glows tiie heavenly joy of love. 
 He knows not the exchange of feeling, 
 
 Never melts away in tears ; 
 But his heart, in a world so chilling, 
 
 Hardens witli his growing years. 
 
 As, by the wandering zephyrs when shaken. 
 The tremulous chords of the wind-harp waken, 
 
 Woman's soft soul is feelingly true. 
 Tenderly wrung, when to sorrow she listens. 
 Heaves her fond bosom, and pearly-bright glistens 
 
 The tear in her eye, like heavenly dew. 
 
 Under man's despotic sway, 
 
 ' Might makes right ' is still the word ; 
 Persia's monarch must obey, 
 
 Silenced by the Scythian sword. 
 Self-conflicting passion wages 
 
 In his breast a hateful war ; 
 While hoarse discord rules and rages, 
 
 Modesty is seen no more. 
 
 But woman, with soft, persuasive power, 
 When, in her turn, she rules the hour. 
 
 Quenches the fires tliat burn to destroy, — 
 Teaches the powers, forever contending. 
 In peace and harmony now to be blending — 
 
 Old foes to be mingling in love and joy." 
 
 Among the lesser poets of this period we may notice 
 Matthison, who died, at the age of 70, in 1831, and 
 whose name, by the favor of those who are smitten 
 with the Germano-mania, is not wholly unknown on tkis 
 side of the Atlantic. A recent writer in one of our
 
 280 GERMAN LITERATURE. 
 
 gazettes thus notices this author : " Matthison was one 
 of Germany's sweetest poets ; of his gems, the following 
 was the favorite of the great Schiller. He says of the 
 poem, ' We cannot readily discover whether or not it 
 be barely the happy versification which gives to this 
 song its musical efiect, but it does not originate and 
 perfect it. It is the felicitous combination of images, 
 and the lovely variety in their succession, it is the 
 modulation and the fair connection of the whole, which 
 creates its excellence, and whereby it becomes an ex- 
 pression of a determinate sensation, as well as a picture 
 full of animation and soul.' The following version 
 is an attempt to translate these beauties into an English 
 body : — 
 
 Eventide. 
 
 " Golden light 
 
 Decks the height. 
 Mildly beam the rays enchanted 
 O'er the crumbling castle haunted. 
 
 In godlike beams 
 
 Ocean gleams. 
 Homeward glide, with swan-like motion. 
 Fishing-boats from darkening ocean. 
 
 Silvery sand 
 
 Clothes the strand. 
 Redder here, and yonder whiter, 
 Imaged clouds swim in the water 
 
 Rustling winga, 
 
 Golden things, 
 To the reed-fens on the foreland 
 Swarm in clusters from the moorland.
 
 GERMAN LITERATUEE. 281 
 
 Picture gay 
 
 Peeps for day ; 
 Decked with garden, leaf, and fountain. 
 Moss-clad cloister 'neath the mountain. 
 
 Crimson beams 
 
 Die on streams ; 
 Now grow pale the light rays, trembling 
 O'er the forest-castle crumbling. 
 
 Full moonlight 
 
 Decks the height. 
 Lisping sprites bethrong the valley, 
 Dames and knights in ghostly dally ! " 
 
 Now, we are bound to believe that the translator has 
 succeeded in his attempt to render the beauties of the 
 original into English : we may admit, also, that it is 
 one of the choicest gems of the author, and that Schil- 
 ler pronounced upon it the eulogium above quoted ; but 
 we must stili be permitted to say that it seems not to be 
 above the level of the ordinary newspaper poetry of 
 the day. 
 
 It may be well, in order to show the danger of trust- 
 ing this habit of eulogizing every thing German, to 
 quote the author before cited, in respect to the personal 
 and poetic character " of one of Germany's sweetest 
 poets." " Holty," says he, " expressed genuine sadness 
 with the simplest and tendercst touches ; but soon after 
 Matthison imbodied mock melancholy in a style of the 
 most bombastic aflectation. This celebrated Matthison, 
 a servile soul, seeking his fortune, and finding it, by 
 fawning upon all literary and political authorities; sur- 
 passing, in the number of presentation snuff-boxes that 
 24*
 
 282 GERMAN LITERATURE. 
 
 he had begged, all the other favored disciples of Apollo, 
 gained this favor by taking upon himself the part of 
 howling and weeping his crocodile tears before the 
 loftiest dignitaries, the high nobility, and the respect- 
 able public. 
 
 " This mushroom of fortune was designed neither by 
 nature, nor by destiny, for sighing and the shedding of 
 tears; but he made a lucrative trade out of them, be- 
 cause sentimentality had become the fashion of genteel 
 society ; and so, after a good meal, he seated himself 
 comfortably among the ruins of an old castle, and 
 turned out melancholy verses. At a hunting party, an 
 all-powerful young nobleman, in order to get rid of 
 him, recommended him to stop under a tree until the 
 dignitaries should return, and make an elegy ; and he 
 made an elegy. 
 
 " In his melancholy, therefore, every thing is studied 
 for effect ; there is the most disgusting hypocrisy that 
 I have ever met with. Even the form for which he 
 is celebrated, the elaborately polished verses, the pretty 
 flourishes, the frequent bringing in of little arabesque 
 ornaments, and the like, are proofs of the untruthful- 
 ness of his sentiments and the hoUowness of his heart. 
 Although he made a business of melancholy, and lived 
 at the time when the German was fairly entitled to 
 excite a profounder sadness, it never occurred to Mr. 
 Von Matthison to devote one lament to his country ; 
 but, on the contrary, he offered incense to Napo- 
 leonism, and made the notorious Festival of Diana the 
 theme of song. His melancholy was never drawn at 
 all from the sufferings of private life ; it was the gen- 
 uine reflection oC the weariness of luxury, the morbid
 
 GERMAN LITERATUEE. 283 
 
 affectation of inflated indolence. Among the ruins of 
 an old castle, to bewail the extinction of its possessors, 
 or, with excellent Rhenish before him, to consecrate a 
 tear to their future death — long delayed, it was to be 
 hoped ! — and while so doing, to dandle himself with 
 the fond conceit that he was going to sit down in 
 Elysium, wearing a laurel crown, with Plato and the 
 other Greek notabilities, under Anacrcon's myrtle 
 grove ; — these were the worthy subjects of Matthison's 
 melancholy muse." 
 
 It would lead us entirely beyond the scope of this 
 volume to notice in detail the host of German authors 
 who now crowd the lists of fame. We are told that 
 there are more than 300 living dramatists in Germany. 
 The whole number of the living authors would, probably, 
 amount to several thousands. In such a state of things, 
 there are, doubtless, many who are too insignificant to 
 be known beyond their immediate vicinity ; but there 
 are still many whose works have obtained for them a 
 reputation even beyond the wide limits of their coun- 
 try. The names of Chamisso, the author of " Peter 
 Schlemihl," who bartered away his shadow ; of Heine, a 
 poet and political writer ; of Riickert, celebrated for 
 his lyrics ; of Tiedge, many of whose songs are set to 
 music ; of Tieck, who is known, both as a poet, and 
 translator of Don Quixote and several of the jilays of 
 Shakspere ; — these, and many others, are familiar to 
 English ears, and their works justify the high reputa- 
 tion they enjoy at home. There arc still other names, 
 connected with the literature of Germany, in the vari- 
 ous Morks of history, philosophy, criticism, and science, 
 even more renowned than those wc have cited ; but
 
 284 GERMAN LITERATURE. 
 
 our limits will not permit their enumeration. With 
 a few general remarks, we must close this brief and 
 hasty sketch. 
 
 The literature of Germany is at present attracting 
 great attention throughout the civilized world, and is 
 calculated to excite curiosity as well on account of its 
 quantity as its quality. " The Germans," says Men- 
 zel, " do little, but they write so much the more. If a 
 denizen of the coming centuries ever turns his eye 
 back to the present point of time in German history, 
 he will meet with more books than men. He will be 
 able to stride through years as through repositories. 
 He will say, we have slept, and dreamed in books. 
 We have become a nation of scribes, and might place 
 a goose on our escutcheon, instead of the double- 
 headed eagle. The pen governs and serves, works 
 and pays, fights and feeds, prospers and puaishes. 
 W^e leave to Italians their heaven, to the Spaniards 
 their saints, to the French their deeds, to the English 
 their bags of money, and sit down to our books. The 
 contemplative German people love to think and poetize, 
 and they have always time enough for writing. They 
 have even invented the art of printing, and now they 
 toil away indefatigably at the great engine. The 
 learning of the schools^ the passion for what is foreign, 
 fashion, — lastly, the profits of the book trade, — have 
 done the rest, and so an immeasurable mass of books is 
 built up around us, which increases every day ; and we 
 are astonished at this amazing apparition, this new 
 wonder of the world, the Cyclopedia walls, of which 
 the mind is laying the foundation. Upon a moderate 
 computation, there are printed, every year, in Ger-
 
 GERMAN LITERATURE. 285 
 
 many, ten millions of volumes. As every half-yearly 
 fair-catalogue gives us the names of a thousand Ger- 
 man writers, we must admit that, at the present mo- 
 ment, there are living in Germany towards fifty thou- 
 sand men who have each written one book or more. 
 If their number goes on in the same progression as 
 heretofore, we shall have it in our power to make a 
 registry of ancient and modern German authors, which 
 will contain a larger number of names than a registry 
 of all living readers. 
 
 " The operation of this literary activity stares us in 
 the face. To which side soever we turn, we behold 
 books and readers. Even the smallest town has its 
 reading-room, and the poorest town its manual library. 
 Whatever we may have in one hand, we are. sure to 
 have a book in the other. Every thing, from govern- 
 ment down to children's cradles, has become a 
 science, and must needs be studied. Literature is 
 turned into a regular apothecary's shop for the empire ; 
 and although the empire grows the more ill the more 
 medicine it takes, yet the doses are not diminished, but 
 increased. Books help to every thing. What one is 
 ignorant of, is to be found in a book. The physician 
 writes his receipt, the judge his sentence, the preacher 
 his sermon, the teacher, as well as the scholar, his task, 
 from books. We govern, cure, trade and travel, boil 
 and roast, according to books. Dear youth would be 
 lost, indeed, without books. A child and a book arc 
 things which always occur to us together. 
 
 " There is nothing of any interest whatever which 
 has not been written about, in Germany. Is any thing 
 done, the most important consequence is, that some-
 
 286 GERMAN LITERATURE. 
 
 body writes about it; nay, many things appear to be 
 done for no other reason in the world than to be 
 written about. Most things, however, are only written 
 about in Germany, and not done at all. Our activity 
 is eminently in writing. This were no misfortune, 
 where the wise man who writes a book does no less, 
 but often more, than the general who gains a victory ; 
 but when ten thousand fools take it into their heads to 
 write books, the case is as bad as when all the common 
 soldiers choose to be generals. 
 
 " We receive into ourselves all earlier culture only to 
 enshroud it again in paper. We pay for the books 
 which we read, with those which we write. There are 
 hundreds of thousands, who learn only for the purpose 
 of teaching again ; whose whole existence is riveted to 
 books ; who go from the school-bench to the professor's 
 chair without once looking abroad into the green world. 
 They apply also the same torture to others that they 
 have endured themselves. Priests of corruption, dried 
 up among mummies, they propagate the old poison, as 
 the vestal virgins kept alive the sacred fire." 
 
 The causes of such an extraordinary productiveness 
 in literature are to be found in the political condition 
 of the Germans, acting on a people of a peculiarly 
 thoughtful and meditative turn. In regard to this 
 latter point, the author just quoted says, " There are 
 words which are themselves deeds. All the recollec- 
 tions and ideals of life knit themselves to that second 
 world, of knowledge and poetry, which is born, puri- 
 fied, and transfigured, of the everlasting action of the 
 mind. And in this world, we Germans are preem- 
 inently at home. Nature gave us a surpassing thought-
 
 GERMAN LITERATURE. 287 
 
 fulness, a predominating inclination to descend into 
 the depths of our own spirit, and to unlock its im- 
 measurable riches. While we give ourselves up to 
 this national propensity, we manifest the true greatness 
 of our national peculiarity, and fulfil the law of nature, 
 — that destiny to which we, before all other people, are 
 called. Literature, however, the copy of that spiritual 
 life, will, for this very reason, show here its Ijright, 
 sunny side. Here it works positively, creatively, hap- 
 pily. The light of the ideas which have gone out 
 from Germany will enlighten the world." 
 
 Admitting, as we do, the highly thoughtful char- 
 acter of the Germans, we may easily see, that, as the 
 spirit of the government excludes them from the free 
 discussion of political subjects, it is but natural that 
 their minds, seeking vent in the discussion of all ques- 
 tions not prohibited, should develop new sources of 
 knowledge, and explore new regions of thought. Two 
 things more are also to be considered ; first, that more 
 than forty millions of people read the German lan- 
 guage, thus opening an immense field for literature ; 
 and second, that the several governments, some forty 
 in number, employ a numerous body of learned and 
 scientific men in various ways, many of whom devote 
 themselves to particular points of inquiry, and write 
 books upon them, thus giving rise to the multitude of 
 treatises on special subjects, which form a character- 
 istic of German literature. 
 
 Such we believe to be the true explanation of the 
 amazing fecundity of the German press. The pecu- 
 liarities of their literature may be traced to the sources 
 already noticed ; the German mind, meditative in its
 
 2S8 GERMAN LITERATURE. 
 
 character, working under extraordinary impulses, yet 
 constrained to develop itself in words severed from 
 actions. Under such circumstances, the Germans 
 have excelled in patient investigation, in elaborate 
 research, in toilsome classification ; they have pro- 
 duced the most profound commentaries, the ablest 
 encyclopedias, the most elaborate histories. But when 
 they ,diverge from the defined paths of reality, and 
 enter the regions of poetry and metaphysics, they seem 
 to tread the confines of the land of dreams : groping 
 in the deep caverns of the soul, they appear often to 
 lose themselves in regions where the strained vision 
 mistakes shadows for substances. 
 
 The training of the Anglo-Saxon mind is essentially 
 different from that of the German. Thought and ac- 
 tion with us go together. The checks and balances, 
 imposed upon the thinking power, by action, lead us to 
 the habit of testing every thing in a practical way. 
 Common sense becomes our standard, as well in litera- 
 ture as in every thing else ; and ideas which are inap- 
 preciable by this, are rejected as misguiding visions. 
 Distinctness, certainty, precision, are qualities essential 
 to the perfection of English thinking. For this rea- 
 son it is, that a large part of the metaphysics of 
 Germany, which pervades their poetry as well as 
 their philosophy, — and which is founded on the the- 
 ory that we obtain ideas by powers transcending the 
 senses, and hence called transcendental, — is rejected, 
 as learned mysticism, by the great mass of English and 
 American readers. There are some among us, indeed, 
 who profess to fathom the depths of German mysti- 
 cism ; but they are generally those persons who have
 
 GERMAN LITERATURE. 289 
 
 not " drank deep of tlic Pierian spring ; " those to 
 whose twilight fancy the ghosts and shades of ideas are 
 as real as ideas themselves. If we add to this class 
 those who use old words in new senses, and who 
 thus contrive to make a show of learning, while they 
 bewilder their intellects, we shall doubtless embrace 
 the largest portion of those among us who profess to 
 be the peculiar admirers of German literature. 
 
 We do not by any means intend to speak dispara- 
 gingly of the literature of Germany. In many things 
 the German scholars are leading the world. In works 
 which require diligence, patience, and investigation, 
 they surpass all others : but in mental philosophy we 
 prefer Locke to Kant ; and in poetry we place Shak- 
 spere before Goethe. The average standard of Eng- 
 lish mind, as displayed in the highest walks of litera- 
 ture, is as much above that of Germany, as the genius 
 of the bard of Avon is superior to that of the author of 
 Wilhelm Meister. 
 
 XVII. — Q5
 
 LITERATURE OE HOLLAND. 
 
 The remnants of a remote antiquity, in the annals 
 of Holland, are few and scattered. It has always 
 been a country, the dispositions and habits of whose 
 people have been as quiet as its inland waters, yet 
 easily affected by external circumstances ; too weak 
 to be the arbiter of its own fate, and too closely 
 hemmed in by mightier nations, not to feel every 
 shock which agitated them. The ebb and flow of its 
 political vicissitudes have swept away most of its 
 ■national traditions. Of all the Teutonic branches, the 
 Netherlanders have preserved the smallest portion of 
 the old popular literature. The interest of inquiry 
 into the early compositions of the Low Countries is 
 almost wholly philological. The works of imagination 
 that have come down to us in this language have little 
 ■poetry ; the ethical writers have little philosophy ; and 
 ihe historical records have little authority. 
 
 Down to a certain period, the language of Holland 
 ■and Flanders was the same. The close connection 
 wllh France, growing out of similarity of religion and 
 geographical contact, has gradually undermined thp 
 language of Belgium ; and to such a degree has the 
 French established itself, that, throughout a great por- 
 tion of the southern Netherlands, it is deemed a degra-
 
 LITERATURE OF HOLLAND. 291 
 
 dation to read the old Dutch authors ; while many 
 Flemings have denied even the existence of a national 
 tongue, employing French for all the purposes of 
 social conversation and correspondence, and disdaining 
 the use of the Flemish, except towards servants. Re- 
 specting the Dutch language, we need only observe 
 that it is akin to the German. 
 
 The more celebrated among the Dutch authors 
 have written in Latin. Their Latin prose writers ob- 
 tained a high reputation, and excited an extensive 
 influence in Europe. But their poets were unknown, 
 and we may add, little worthy of notice. Latin was 
 the tongue of science ; and as all mankind have a much 
 deeper interest in the development of facts than in the 
 exercise of the imaginative powers, minds of the highest 
 order will rather aim to instruct than amuse the world. 
 But as respects poetry, the fancy does not easily 
 clothe itself in the garb of a foreign language, how- 
 ever profoundly studied. Song is the natural breath- 
 ing of the mind, and can hardly wear any other gar- 
 ment than that of the habitual thoughts. 
 
 The remnants of old Dutch poetry are more ancient 
 than any thing which exists in French, though not of so 
 remote a date as some of our fragments of Anglo- 
 Saxon antiquity. The Rymhybel — or Rhyme-Bible — 
 of Jakob Van Mac riant, who was born in 1235, is one 
 of the earliest and most curious things in the Dutch 
 language. lie wrote also the Mirror of History, Flow- 
 ers of Nature, and other works. His diction is re- 
 markably pure. Various writers distinguished them- 
 selves during the two following centuries ; and at the 
 outbreak of the reformation, Anna Byns, who wrote
 
 292 LITERATURE OF HOLLAND. 
 
 against the Lutheran heresies, was lauded as the 
 Sappho of her day. But of all the old Dutch poets, 
 the only one tliat can be said to have attained general 
 notoriety, even in his own country, is Vondel. He 
 was born at Cologne, but educated in Holland. He 
 has been called a Shakspere of a lower order, over- 
 flowing equally with beauties and defects. He lived 
 to the age of ninety-one, and developed, with far 
 greater success than any of his predecessors, the 
 varied powers of the Dutch language ; and his author- 
 ity, more than any other, has recommended the Alex- 
 andrian verse to general adoption in Holland. Vondel 
 has been judged of rather by extracts, which are in 
 every body's mouth in Holland, than by any entire 
 piece of composition, or by the whole of his writings ; 
 and undoubtedly he would sink very low, if the test 
 of criticism were applied to the mass of his works. 
 Contemporary with Vondel was Jacob Cats, also a 
 highly popular poet. We must not omit Jan Van 
 Gorp, who wrote a book to prove that Adam and Eve 
 spoke no language in Paradise but Dutch. 
 
 In the sentimentality of the old versifiers, there is 
 little poetry, but there is sometimes much wisdom, and 
 they frequently bring the sanctions and requirements 
 of religion to bear upon the every-day pursuits of life 
 in emphatic rhymes, which leave a deep impression 
 on the mind. No language has so vast a collection 
 of moral aphoi'isms as the Dutch. Books of emblems, 
 once so popular in the religious world, exist among 
 the Dutch in countless varieties ; and volumes like that 
 of which Izaak Walton's Complete Angler may be 
 called a piscatorial specimen, garnished and adorned
 
 LITERATURE OF HOLLAND. 293 
 
 with moralizations and amatory verses, occupy the 
 whole field of literature. 
 
 The great men of the sixteenth and seventeenth 
 century, who throw such a splendor over the literature 
 of Holland, are seldom connected in our thoughts with 
 the country to which they belong. They write in 
 Latin, the learned language of Europe, not that of 
 their native land. When we hear of Erasmus, Grotius, 
 Boerhaave, Vossius, the Elzevirs, Spinoza, Barla;us, 
 and Arminius, the associations of the place of their 
 birth, or of their abode, seem scarcely in any way 
 linked with their illustrious names. In fact, the old 
 and absurd practice of Latinizing, or Ilcllenizing, their 
 surnames, seems to complete the business of taking 
 away all their nationality from these authors. The 
 persecuted Protestants, whom the revocation of the 
 Edict of Nantes led to settle in Holland, while they 
 brought with them virtue, knowledge, and industry, 
 brought, too, their aflcction for the language of their 
 country, and its influence was much increased by the 
 eminent abilities which distinguished many of those 
 illustrious refugees. Bayle and Saurin, especially, 
 excited the attention of the European world ; and the 
 very prohibition of their writings by the vain-glorious 
 Louis XIV. gave them additional recommendation. 
 This happened at an era when very few eminent Hol- 
 landers were upon the public stage. Their hatred 
 towards Louis and the profligate women of his court 
 was a feeling very congenial to the Dutch, and they 
 easily fell into the footsteps of those who gave elo- 
 quence to their antipathies ; and thus the French school 
 established its dominion over the whole of the Nether- 
 25*
 
 294 LITERATURE OF HOLLAND. 
 
 lands. The country was deluged with a flood of 
 translations, imitations, and adaptations, from the French 
 drama ; and the result was, the introduction of a false 
 and foreign taste, and the destruction of all nationality 
 in literature. As a curiosity in this way, we may men- 
 tion the translation of Fcnelon's Telemachus, by a 
 writer of great fame and authority in his day, but now 
 forgotten — Feitama. He spent twenty years upon it, 
 and the completion of the work was announced with a 
 flourish of trumpets sufficient to have shaken the walls 
 of Jericho. This delusion was soon dissipated. 
 
 The " Beggars " of Van Haren, a collection of odes, is 
 one of the most popular of Dutch works. Cornelia Lau- 
 nay, Elizabeth Wolff, and Agatha Deken, wrote poems 
 and romances which exhibit happy pictures of manners. 
 But the best national novels are those of Loosjes, which 
 are very numerous, and contain accurate delineations of 
 Dutch society. Bellamy, a poet who died young, pro- 
 duced a ballad which is perhaps the most touching nar- 
 rative in the literature of the country. It is of a beloved 
 maiden, born at her mother's death ; bred up amidst the 
 tears and kisses of her father ; prattling thoughtlessly 
 about her mother ; the admiration of every one for beauty, 
 cleverness, and virtue ; gentle as the moon shining on 
 the downs. Her name was to be seen written again 
 and again in the sands by the Zeeland youths, and 
 scarcely a beautiful flower bloomed but was gathered 
 for her. In Zeeland, when the south winds of 
 summer blow, there comes also a delicate fish which 
 hides itself in the sand, and which is dug out as a lux- 
 ury by the young people. It is the time of sport and 
 gayety; and they venture far — far, over the flat
 
 LITERATURE OF HOLLAND. 295 
 
 coast, into the sea. The boys drag the girls among the 
 waves ; and Roosie, the maiden, was so dragged, not- 
 withstanding many remonstrances. "A kiss! a kiss! 
 or you go farther!" She flies — he follows her, both 
 laughing. "Into the sea! into the sea!" cry all their 
 companions. He pushes her on : it is deeper and 
 deeper. She shrieks — she sinks — they sink together ! 
 The sands were faithless ; there was no succor ; the 
 waves rolled over them ; — there weis stillness and 
 death. The terrified playmates looked — 
 
 " All silently they looked again, — 
 
 And silently sped home ; 
 And every heart was bursting then, 
 
 But every tongue was dumb. 
 
 And still and stately o'er the wave 
 The mournful moon arose, • 
 
 Flinging pale beams upon the grave 
 Where they in peace repose. 
 
 The wind glanced o'er the voiceless sea, 
 The billows kissed the strand ; 
 . And one sad dirge of misery 
 Filled all the mourning land." 
 
 Tollens, a living poet, is said to be the most popular 
 in Holland ; but our limits will allow us only to add 
 the following specimen from Borger, who died a few 
 years since. 
 
 Ode on the Rhine. 
 
 " In the Borean regions stormy 
 
 There's silence ; battling hail and rain 
 
 Are hushed : the calm Rhine rolls before me, 
 Unfettered from its winter chain.
 
 2d6 LITERATURE OK HOLLAND. 
 
 Its streams their ancient channels water, 
 And thousand joyous peasants bring 
 The flowery offerings of the spring 
 
 To thee, Mount Gothard's princely daughter. 
 Monarch of streams, from Alpine brow, 
 
 Who, rushing, whelm'st with inundations, 
 
 Or, sovereign-like, divid'st the nations. 
 Lawgiver, all-imperial thou ! 
 
 I have had days like thine unclouded, 
 Days passed upon thy pleasant shore ; 
 
 My heart sprang up in joy unshrouded ; 
 Alas ! it springs to joy no more. 
 
 My fields of green, my humble dwelling. 
 Which love made beautiful and bright 
 To me, to her, — my soul's delight, — 
 
 Seemed monarchs' palaces excelling, 
 When in our little happy bower, 
 
 Qr 'neath the starry vault at even, 
 
 We walked in love, and talked of heaven. 
 And poured forth praises for our dower. 
 
 But now — 1 could my hairs well number, 
 
 But not the tears my eyes which wet : 
 The Rhine will to their cradle-slumber 
 
 Roll back its waves ere I forget — 
 Forget the blow that twice hath riven 
 
 The crown of glory from my head. 
 
 God ! 1 have trusted — duty-led ; 
 'Gainst all rebellious thoughts have striven, 
 
 And strive — and call thee Father still ; 
 Say all thy will is wisest, kindest; 
 Tet twice the burden that thou bindest 
 
 Is heavy : 1 obey thy will ! 
 
 At Katwyk, where the silenced billow 
 
 Thee welcomes, Rhine, to her own breast; 
 
 There, with the damp sand for her pillow, 
 I laid my treasure in its nest.
 
 LITERATURE OF HOLLAND, 297 
 
 My tears shall with thy waters blend them ; 
 
 Receive those briny tears from me ; 
 
 And when exhaled from the vast sea, 
 To her own grave in dew-drops send them — 
 
 A heavenly fall of love for her. 
 Old Rliine ! tliy waves 'gainst sorrow steel them, 
 
 no ! man's miseries — thou canst feel them — 
 Then be my grief's interpreter; 
 
 And greet the babe which cartlfs green bosom 
 Had but received, when she who bore 
 
 That lovely, undeveloped blossom 
 
 Was struck by death — the bud — tlie flower. 
 
 1 forced my daugliter's tomb — her mother 
 Bade me — and laid the slumbering child 
 Upon that bosom undefiled. 
 
 Where — where could 1 have found another 
 So dear, so pure P 'Twas wrong to mourn. 
 
 When those so loving slept delighted, , 
 
 Should 1 divide what God united ? 
 — I laid them in a common urn. 
 
 There are who call this earth a palace 
 
 Of Eden, who on roses go. 
 I would not drink again life's chalice, 
 
 Nor tread again its paths of woe. 
 I joy at day's decline ; the morrow 
 
 Is welcome. In its fearful flight, 
 
 I count, and count, with calm delight, 
 My five-and-thirty years of sorrow 
 
 Accomplisiiod. Like this river, years 
 Roll on. — Press, tombstone, my departed 
 Lightly, and o'er the broken-hearted 
 
 Fling your cold shield, and veil his tears." 
 
 Notwithstanding a formidable catalogue of names 
 which the literature of Holland offers to us, it is easy
 
 298 LITER^.TURE OF HOLLAND. 
 
 to perceive that the Dutch have fallen into the very 
 natural error of exaggerating the number and the 
 merits of their great men. In the criticisms which oc- 
 casionally appear in Holland, it is amusing to see a 
 multitude of these obscure writers classed with the 
 master spirits of the world. Yet many a man 
 whose name has hardly passed the borders of the 
 Netherlands exerts a great influence in that country ; 
 c.nd whoever stamps his character upon society de- 
 serves the attention both of the critic and the phi- 
 losopher.
 
 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 The history of the English language, which seems 
 destined to overspread the earth, is to be found in the 
 history of the people from whom it has sprung. The 
 original Britons were Celts — of the same stock as 
 the ancient Gauls, of France. When Caesar invaded 
 their island about half a century before the Christian 
 era, all the British islands were chiefly inhabited by 
 this race. They were, for the most part, rude and 
 fierce. A small portion were addicted to agriculture, 
 and had made some advance in the first arts of civili- 
 zation ; but the greater portion were savages, either 
 naked, or half clad in skins, and living nearly in the 
 same condition as the Indians of our own continent. 
 
 After a bloody resistance, the inhabitants of Britain 
 yielded to the Roman arms, and for four hundred 
 years they remained the submissive subjects of the 
 queen of nations. During this period, Ireland con- 
 tinued in a state of wild independence, not a Roman 
 soldier ever having set his foot on the shores of the 
 " Emerald Isle." In the fifth century, Rome fell 
 before its northern invaders, and the same waves that 
 overwhelmed the south of Europe were at last felt in 
 Britain. The Scots, who had not been thoroughly sub- 
 jugated by the imperial generals, began immediately
 
 300 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 to annoy Iheir southern neighbors, who had sunk into 
 imbecility. The latter sought the aid of the formi- 
 dable warriors of the north, and they, nothing loath, 
 landed upon the coast A. D. 449. 
 
 This first body of Northmen that established them- 
 selves in England, were of a tribe called Jutes^ and were 
 led by the famous Hengist and Horsa. About thirty 
 years after, other tribes, called Saxons, arrived, and in 
 527, a considerable number of the same general stock, 
 denominated Angles, made settlements in the coun- 
 try. Though the people who made these succes- 
 sive invasions were of different tribes, they were all of 
 the Scandinavian branch of the Germanic or Teu- 
 tonic family, and are known in history under the gen- 
 eral name of Saxons. The name of England came 
 from the Angles ; and as the basis of the English na- 
 tion is derived from the Saxons generally, and espe- 
 cially from the particular tribes just mentioned, the 
 English people are said to be of Anglo-Saxon descent. 
 
 In the ninth century, the Danes, at that time a for- 
 midable nation of sea rovers, made several incursions 
 into England, and for more than a century continued 
 to harass the country. They even conquered the 
 greater part of it, and furnished several kings, of whom 
 Canute is the most celebrated. 
 
 The Saxons regained their ascendency in 1041 ; but 
 in 1066, William, Duke of Normandy, invaded the 
 country, and, in the decisive battle of Hastings, re- 
 moved every obstacle to the throne. He now ruled 
 with a high hand ; he introduced the French language 
 into all public acts and laws ; and made it alike that of 
 the court and of refined society. He bestowed a mul-
 
 ENGLISH LITERATURE 301 
 
 titude of large estates upon his French followers, who 
 now constituted the nobility ; and these, of course, gave 
 currency and fashion to their native tongue. 
 
 The language of the common people, at this period, 
 was mainly Saxon, but mixed with many words de- 
 rived from the Britons, Romans, and Danes, whose 
 blood was mingled, in greater or less proportion, with 
 the great mass of the nation. England at this period, 
 and for some considerable time after, presented the 
 singular spectacle of a nation of whom the great body 
 spoke a tongue radically and gcncrically distinct from 
 that of the wealthy and i-efmed, and even of the clergy. 
 An old writer of this period complains that, at the 
 schools, the children of the common people were 
 obliged to construe their lessons into French ; and 
 Scott, in his admirable historical novel of Ivanhoc, 
 represents a swineherd as grumbling that, while the 
 names of animals used for food were Saxon, so long 
 as they were living, yet, as soon as dressed, and 
 ready to gratify the palate, the Frenchman comes in, 
 and claims them as his own, by giving them French 
 designations. The instances of this, cited by the 
 sturdy Englishman, arc, that hog becomes pork ; ox, 
 ieef ; sheep, mutton ; and calf, veal. 
 
 The process in respect to the English language, 
 from this period, was to extend and establish the original 
 Saxon, into which, however, there was a constant filtra- 
 tion of French words and idioms. It may be inter- 
 esting to observe, as far as we are able, the state of our 
 mother tongue about this time, and to note not only 
 the extremely rude aspect which it then bore, but how 
 great is the mutation it has undergone in the space of 
 xvir. — 26
 
 303 ENGLISH LITfiRATTTEE. 
 
 a few hundred yenrs. Robert of Glocester, in the 
 Chronicle which bears his name, affords us the earhest 
 specimen of what may be strictly called English. We 
 take a few lines from his account of the battle of 
 Evesham, written in 1280, fifteen years after the 
 event : — 
 
 " Sir Simon, the old, com the Monendai iwis. 
 To a toun biside Wircetre, that Kenreseie ihote is. 
 The Tiwesday, to Evesham he wende the morweninge, 
 And there lie let him and is fole'prestes massen singe, 
 And thozte to wende northward, is sone vor to mete. 
 Ac the king nolde a vot, bote he dined other ete. 
 And Sir Simon the zonge and his ost at Alcestre were, 
 And nolde thanne wende a vot, ar hii dinede there." 
 
 The following is a copy of a song, written about the 
 same period, and is the earliest in which the notes are 
 found attached : — 
 
 " Sumer is icumen in, 
 Lhude sing cuccu ; 
 Groweth sed. 
 And bloweth med. 
 And springth the wde nu ; 
 
 Sing cuccu. 
 
 Awe bleteth after lomb, 
 Lhouth after calve cu ; 
 Bulluc sterteth, 
 Bucke uerteth, 
 Murie sing cuccu, 
 
 Cuccu, cuccu. 
 
 Well singes thee cuccu, 
 Ne swik nauer nu. 
 
 Sing cuccu nu; sing cuccu. 
 
 Sing cuccu ; sing cuccu nu."
 
 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 303 
 
 The earliest English love-song which the researches 
 of Wliarton discovered, and which he places before 
 or about the year 1200, is contained, with other verses 
 apparently of the same antiquity, in the Harleian MSS. 
 It begins — 
 
 " Jilow, northern wynd, 
 
 Sent thou me my swetynge ; 
 
 Blow, northern wynd, 
 Blow, blow, blow ; " 
 
 is full of alliteration, and has a burden, or chorus. 
 
 In Edward III.'s reign, we have a greater choice both 
 in prose and poetry. — We give a specimen from a 
 translation of the Psalter, written apparently very soon 
 after Edward's accession : — 
 
 Ps. I. 
 
 " Sell biern that noght is gan 
 
 In the rede of wicked man. 
 
 And in strete of sinfull noght he stode, 
 
 Ne sat in setel of storme ungode ; 
 
 Bot in lagh of lau'd his will bei n ? 
 
 And his lagh think he, night an dai. 
 
 And ols his live swa sal it be, 
 
 Als it fares bi a tre, 
 
 That stremes of waters set es ncre, 
 
 That gives his fruit m time of yhere ; 
 
 And lef of him todreue ne sal. 
 
 What swa he does sal sounde full al." 
 
 From Sir John Mandeville's Travels, written in 1356, 
 we make an extract in relation to Mahomet, which is 
 not less curious for the thought than the expression : — 
 
 " And zee schuU vnderstonde that Machamote was born 
 ia Arabyc, that was first a pore knave that kept cameles,
 
 304 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 that wenten witli marchantes for marchandize ; and so befell 
 that he went with the niarchandes into Egipt, and ther were 
 thanne Cristene in the partyes. And at the desartes of 
 Arabye, he wente in to a chapell wher a eremite duelte. And 
 whan he entred in to the chapell, that was but a lytill and 
 a low thing, and had but a lityl dor' and a low ; than the 
 entree began to wexe so gret, and so large, and so high, as 
 though it had be of a gret mynstr, or the zate of a paleys. 
 And this was the first myracle, the Sarazins seyn, that Ma- 
 chomete dide in his zouthe. After, began he for to weie 
 wyse and rich, and he was a gret astronomer, and after, he 
 was gouernour and prince of the lond of Corrodane, and he 
 gouerned it full wisely in such manero, that whan the prince 
 was ded, he toke the lady to wyfe, that highte Gadrige, 
 And Machomete fell often in the grete sikeness that men 
 calle the fallynge euyll. Wherfore the lady was full sory 
 that eure sche toke him to husbonde. But Machomete made 
 hire to beleeve that all tymes when he fell so, Gabriel the 
 angel cam for to speke with him, and for the grete light and 
 brightnesse of the angell, he myghte not susteyne him from 
 fallynge. And therefore the Sarazines seyn that Gabriel 
 cam often to speke with him. This Machomete regned in 
 Arabye, the zeer of our Lord Jhesu Crist sixe hundred and 
 ten, and was of the generacion of Ysmael." 
 
 In 1349, a dreadful pestilence visited England, and 
 fell with desolating effect upon the clergy, who had 
 hitherto been the chief educators of youth. As before 
 stated, they spoke French, and probably as well ia 
 obedience to the policy of government, as their own 
 taste, they gave a preference to that language. In 
 consequence, however, of so many having died by the 
 plague, other masters began to teach in the seminaries. 
 By degrees a change was effected ; and in 1385, an 
 instructor named Cornwall, for the first time, intro- 
 duced English as the language of his school. The
 
 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 305 
 
 following specimen is taken from the Vision of Pierce 
 Ploughman, written in 1362, and shows the state of 
 the language about this period : — 
 
 " In a somcr season, when sot was the sunne, 
 
 I shope me into shroubs, as 1 a shepe were ; 
 
 In habyte as an herniet, unholy of werkes, 
 
 Went wyde in thys world wonders to here ; 
 
 And on a May morning, on Malverne hilles, 
 
 Me befel a ferl}', of a fayry me thought. 
 
 I was wery of wandering, and went me to rest 
 
 Under a brode bank, by a bourne side, 
 
 And as 1 lay, and lened, and lokcd on the water, 
 
 1 slombred into a sleping, it swyzcd so mery." 
 
 The celebrated John Wicklif finished his translation 
 of the Bible in 1382. The Old Testament was never 
 published ; but from the New, which was printed after 
 his death, we make the following e.vtract : — 
 
 " But in o day of the woke ful eerli thei camon to the 
 grave, and broughten swete smelling spices that thei hadden 
 arayed. And thei founden the stoon turnyd awey fro the 
 grave. And thei geden in, and founden not the bodi of the 
 Lord Jhesus. And it was don the while thei weren as- 
 tonyed in thought of this thing, lo, twey men stodeen bisidis 
 hem in schynyng cloth. And whanne thei dredden and 
 bowiden her semblaunt into erthe, thei seiden to hem, 
 what seeken ye him that lyueth, with deede men .' lie is 
 not here : but he is risun : haue ye minde how he spak to 
 you whanne he was yit in Golilee, and soide for it belioueth 
 manncs sone to be bitakun into the hondis of sinful men; 
 and to be crucifyed ; and the thridde day to rise agen .' " 
 
 John Gowcr, professor of law, and chief justice of 
 common pleas, in England, was born in 1320, and his 
 works were published in 1483. The following is an 
 extract from his " Confessio Amantis : " — 
 T 26*
 
 306 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 " In a croniq I fynde thus, 
 How that Caius Fabricius 
 Wich whilome was consul of Rome, 
 By whome the lawes yede and come, 
 Whan the Sampnitees to him brouht 
 A somme of golde, and hym by souht 
 To done hem fauoure in the lawe, 
 Towarde the golde he gan him drawe . 
 Whereof, in alle mennes loke, 
 A part into his honde he tooke, 
 Wich to his mouthe in alle haste 
 He put it for to smelle and taste, 
 And to his ihe, and to his ere, 
 But he ne fonde no comfort there. 
 And thanne he began it to despise. 
 And tolde vnto hem in this wise : 
 ' 1 not what is with golde to thryve, 
 Whan none of alle my wittes fyve 
 Fynt savour ne delight ther inne ; 
 So is it bot a nyce synne 
 Of golde to ben to coveitous ; 
 Bot he is riche an glorious 
 Wich hath in his subieccion 
 The men wich in possession 
 Ben riche of golde, and by this skile, 
 For he may alda}', whan he wille. 
 Or be him leef, or be him loth, 
 Justice don vppon hem bothe." 
 
 We now approach a period in which our language 
 acquired greater polish, and began to assume its pres- 
 ent form ; but before we proceed farther, we shall 
 notice some of the old ballads, which must be regarded 
 as interesting memorials of the days in which they 
 were composed, and indications of the spirit which 
 animated the breasts of our remote ancestors. Though 
 of a rude, inartificial character, they are marked with
 
 ENGLISH LITERATTJHE. 307 
 
 a homely truth, and innocent directness, which speak 
 of a time when poets wrote because they had some- 
 thing to say, In contrast to our own time, when men 
 have something to say because they must write. 
 
 It appeal's that the several northern tribes who settled 
 in England were attended by their bards, who united 
 the characters of poet and minstrel, composing verses, 
 and rehearsing them, generally with the use of a harp, 
 and often with mimicry and acting. These gained 
 ready access to the houses of the great, hung about 
 the camps, and found their way into the courts of kings. 
 
 Among the Danish and Saxon races, these bards were 
 called Scalds, as before stated; and such was the 
 renown in which they were held, that their powers 
 were attributed to divine inspiration. The skill and 
 station of the minstrel declined towards the middle 
 ages, and he was no longer held in so high estimation ; 
 but the harpers still continued to wander from place to 
 place; and such was the entertainment they afforded, 
 that the word glee was the common designation of 
 their art. The favor still bestowed upon these persons, 
 in the time of Alfred, is sufficiently evinced by the 
 fact that, in the disguise of an itinerant minstrel, that 
 prince found ready access to the Danish camp. 
 
 We need not further trace the custom to which we 
 allude, as enough has been said to show in what way 
 many of the old English ballads had their origin. Of 
 course there are none now extant of so great antiquity 
 as the period of which we have been speaking ; but as 
 the minstrels continued even down to the time of Eliz- 
 abeth, we see that to them we are indebted for most 
 of those which are now extant. The themes which
 
 OW ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 these bards delighted to celebrate, were feats of arms, 
 and the adventures attendant upon the gentle pas- 
 sion. We therefore find that the ancient rhymes are 
 mainly devoted to these topics — which in every age 
 have touched the sympathies of mankind. 
 
 One of the most celebrated of British ballads is that 
 of Chevy Chace. The poem under this name which 
 is generally known, and which begins as follows, — 
 
 " God prosper long our noble king, 
 
 Our lives and safetyes all ! — 
 A woefull hunting once there did 
 
 In Chevy Chace befall ! " &c., 
 
 is not the original one, but of comparatively modern 
 date. The most ancient, and doubtless the first, was 
 written, according to the custom of that day, in contin- 
 uous lines, like prose, and began thus : — 
 
 The first Fit. 
 
 " The Pers6 owt of Northombarland ! — 
 
 And a vowe to God mayd he, 
 That he wolde hunte in the mountayns 
 
 Of Chyviat within dayes thre, 
 In the manyer of doughte Dogles, 
 
 And all that ever with him be," &c. 
 
 There has been no little antiquarian research to dis- 
 cover the historical event celebrated by this famous 
 ballad ; and though the subject is still involved in 
 doubt, the story itself is sufficiently clear. The battle 
 had its origin in the rivalry of the Percies and Doug- 
 lases for honor in arms. Their castles and lands lay on
 
 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 309 
 
 the border ; their pennons often met on the marches ; 
 their war-cries were raised, either in hostility or defi- 
 ance, when the border riders assembled ; and though 
 the chiefs of those haughty names had encountered on 
 fields of battle, this seemed to stimulate rather than 
 satisfy their desire of glory. In the spirit of those 
 chivalrous times, Percy made a vow that he would 
 enter Scotland, take his pleasure in the border woods 
 for three summer days, and slay, at his will, the deer 
 on the domains of his rival. " Tell him," said Doug- 
 las, when the vaunt was reported, " tell him he will 
 find one day more than enough." Into Scotland, with 
 fifteen hundred chosen archers and greyhounds for the 
 chase, Percy marched accordingly, at the time " when 
 yeomen win their hay." The dogs ran, the arrows 
 flew, and great was the slaughter among the bucks of 
 the border. As Percy stood and gazed at "a hundred 
 dead fallow-deer," and "harts of grice," and tasted 
 wine, and venison hastily cooked under the greenwood 
 tree, lie said to his men, " Douglas vowed he would 
 meet me here ; but since he is not come, and we have 
 fulfilled our promise, let us begone." With that, one 
 of his squires exclaimed — 
 
 " ' Lo, yonder doth Earl Douglas come, 
 
 Hi3 men in armor brigiit; 
 Full twenty hundred chosen spears, 
 
 All marching in our sight; — 
 
 All men of pleasant Teviot Dale, 
 
 Fast by the River Tweed.' 
 ' O, cease your sport,' Earl Percy said, 
 
 • And take your bows with speed.' "
 
 310 ENGLISH LITEEATUEE. 
 
 It was, indeed, high time to quit the chase of the 
 deer, and feel that their bowstrings were unchafed and 
 serviceable, for stern work was at hand. The coming 
 of the Scots is announced with a proper minstrel 
 flourish : — 
 
 " Earl Douglas, on his milk-white steed, 
 
 Most like a baron bold, 
 Rode foremost of his company, 
 
 Whose armor shone like gold. 
 
 ' Show me,' said he, ' whose men you be 
 
 That hunt so boldly here ; 
 That without my consent do chase. 
 
 And kill my fallow-deer.' " 
 
 To this haughty demand, the first man that made 
 answer was Percy himself. He replied, " We choose 
 not to say whose men we are ; but we will risk our 
 best blood to slay these fallow-deer." " By St. Bride, 
 then, one of us shall die ! " exclaimed Douglas, in 
 anger. " I know thee : thou art an earl as well as 
 myself, and a Percy too; so set thy men aside, for 
 they have done me no offence. Draw thy sword, and 
 let us settle this feud ourselves ! " and he sprang to the 
 ground as he spoke. " Be he accursed," replied 
 Percy, " who says nay to this ! " and he drew his 
 sword also. 
 
 The battle now began in earnest, and a terrible 
 slaughter ensued on both sides. It was a contest of 
 foot to foot, and hand to hand ; and finally the two 
 leaders met, and, after a desperate struggle, Douglas 
 fell. Percy was himself soon after slain ; but the 
 conflict did not close with the death of the chiefs. The
 
 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 311 
 
 battle began at break of day. Douglas and Percy are 
 supposed to have fallen in the afternoon ; but squires 
 and grooms carried on the contention till the sun was 
 set ; and even when the evening bell rang, it was 
 scarcely over. "Of twenty hundred Scottish spears," 
 says the English version of the ballad, " scarce fifty- 
 five did flee." " Of fifteen hundred English spears," 
 says the northern edition, " went home but fifty-three." 
 So both nations claim the victory ; but in an older 
 copy, the minstrel leaves it undecided ; though Frois- 
 sart, in the account which he drew from kniglits of 
 both lands, says that the Scotch were the conquerors. 
 On both sides, the flower of the border chivalry were 
 engaged. The warlike names of Lovel, Heron, Wed- 
 dington, Liddel, Ratcliffe, and Egcrton, were sulTering 
 on the side of the Pcrcics ; while with Douglas fell 
 Montgomery, Scott, Swinton, Johnstone, Maxwell, and 
 Stewart of Dalwinton. The pennon and spear of 
 Percy were carried, with Montgomery's body, to the 
 castle of Eglinton ; and it is said that when a late Duke 
 of Northumberland requested their restoration, tho 
 Earl of Eglinton replied, "There is as good lea-land 
 here as on Chevy Chace. Let Percy come and lake 
 them." 
 
 " We shall not attempt," says the Penny Magazine, 
 "to vindicate our admiration of this ballad, by quoting 
 the praise of Sidney, the criticism of Addison, or the 
 commendation of Scott ; there are, we believe, few 
 memories without a portion of it. We have heard it 
 quoted by the dull as well as by the bright; by the 
 learned as well as by the illiterate ; nay, we once 
 heard an accomplished lady sing it to the harp ; while
 
 312 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 the greatest genius of our isle since the days of 
 Milton witnessed its beauty by his tears. Nor was it 
 alone the heroism and chivalry of the ballad which called 
 forth such testimony ; it contains bits of tenderness 
 which our painters as well as our poets have felt : — 
 
 ' Next day did many widows come, 
 
 Their husbands to bewail ; 
 They washed their wounds in brinish tears, 
 
 But all woiild not prevail. 
 
 Their bodies, bathed in purple gore, 
 
 They bore with them away ; 
 And kist them dead a thousand times. 
 
 Ere they were clad in clay.' " 
 
 Among the more celebrated of the ancient English 
 ballads, we may name the Children in the Wood, 
 Robin Hood,* Sir Cauline, the Childe of Elle, Robin 
 Goodfellow, Sir Andrew Barton, King Edward and 
 the Tanner of Tamworth, &c. There are still many 
 others, of various degrees of merit, most of them pos- 
 sessing the sterling qualities which characterize the 
 productions of those bygone days. 
 
 The ballads of Scotland, many of which, being set to 
 music, have come down to our time, are of a more 
 tender character than most of those above cited. The 
 larger portion have undergone great smoothing and 
 polishing, and in many cases the original form is en- 
 tirely lost. There are a few, however, that are of 
 admitted antiquity, and display a delicacy and depth 
 of feeling which seem in strange contrast to the 
 
 * For an account of Robin Hood, see Curiosities of Hu- 
 man Nature.
 
 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 313 
 
 rude limes in which ihey were composed. The fol- 
 lowing ancient lyric, still sung to one of the sweetest 
 airs ever composed, is marked with a rustic simplicity 
 well suited to the subject : — 
 
 The Ew-Buglits, 31arioii. 
 
 " Will ze gac to the ew-bughts, Marion, 
 
 And wear in the shcip wi inee ? 
 The sun shines sweit, my Marion, 
 
 But nae half sao sweit as tliee. 
 O, Marion 's a bonnie lass ; 
 
 And the blyth blinks in her ce ; 
 And fan wad I marrie Marion, 
 
 Gin Marion wad marrie mee. 
 
 Thcirc's gowd in zour garters, Marion ; 
 
 And siller on zour white hauss-bane : * 
 Fou faine wad I kiss my Marion 
 
 At eene, quhan I cum hame. 
 Theire's braw lads in Earnslaw, Marion, 
 
 Quha gape, and glowr wi' their ee. 
 At kirk, quhan they sec my Marion ; 
 
 Bot nane of them lues like mee. 
 
 I've nine milk ewes, my Marion, 
 
 A cow and a brawncy quay ; 
 Ise gie tham au to my Marion, 
 
 Just on her bridal day. 
 And zees get a grein sey apron. 
 
 And waistcote o' London brown ; 
 And wow bot ze will be vaporing 
 
 Quhane'er ze gang to the toan. 
 
 Ime yong and stout, my Marion ; 
 None dance like mee on the greine ; 
 
 • Hau88-banc, i. e. the neck-bone. 
 XVH.— 'J7
 
 314 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 And gin ze forsake me, Marion, 
 
 Ise een gae draw up wi' Jeane. 
 Sae put on zour pearlins, Marion, 
 
 And kirtle oth' cramasie, 
 And sune as my chin has nae haire on, 
 
 1 sail cum west and see zee." 
 
 We cannot pursue this part of our subject farther 
 than to say, that the love of the Scotch • for their an- 
 cient ballads is fully justified by the excellence of 
 their composition ; yet we suspect they owe their 
 longevity in a great degree to the music with which 
 they have been long associated. There is no ear so 
 simple or so refined as not to be charmed with 
 Scottish melodies ; and it enhances our admiration 
 to know that many of them, which touch the finest 
 cords of the heart, were composed centuries ago, 
 among a people in many respects in the rudest state 
 of barbarism. We need only add, that the Scottish 
 minstrelsy at the present day, including alike the 
 poetry and music, presents by far the finest and most 
 characteristic collection of national song in the world. 
 
 We now turn to follow the progress of English 
 literature, in its development, from the middle of the 
 fourteenth century. Chaucer, born in 1328, is often 
 denominated the father of English poetry. He was 
 probably educated at the University of Cambridge, and 
 enjoyed during his life the patronage of John of Gaunt, 
 Duke of Lancaster, whose sister-in-law he married, 
 and through whose influence he obtained the favor 
 both of King Edward III., and his successor, Richard 
 II. His prosperity was clouded for a short time, during 
 the early part of Richard's reign, by his connection
 
 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 315 
 
 with the followers of Wicklif; but his old age was 
 passed in uninterrupted ease. He was interred in 
 Westminster Abbey. • 
 
 Chaucer excels in the description both of human 
 character and of natural scenery. His delineations 
 of character and manners are distinguished for their 
 rich numor, and for their minute and graphic portrait- 
 ures. They seem like pictures drawn from real life, 
 rather than inventions of fancy. His descriptions of 
 natural objects are fresh and beautiful. His poetry 
 sometimes exhibits sublimity and true pathos. Yet its 
 moral tendency is too generally sensual and degraded ; 
 insomuch that we may rejoice, notwithstanding its 
 various excellence, that its obsolete dialect, and its 
 frequently tedious prolixity, remove it from the perusal 
 of any persons whose taste and moral principles arc 
 not firmly established, or whose susceptible m.nds 
 might be injured by its influence. 
 
 As the reader may be curious to see a specimen of 
 Chaucer's poetry, as he wrote it, and not in its mod- 
 ernized orthography, we annex a specimen, descrip- 
 tive of the " clerk," from his " Canterbury Tales : " — • 
 
 " A clerk there was of Oxenforde also, 
 Tliat unto logike Iiaddc long ygo. 
 As lene was his hors as is a rake, 
 And he was not right fat, I undertake ; 
 But lokcd holwe, and thcrto soberly. 
 Ful tiiredbarc was overest courtepy, 
 For he haddo getcn him yet no benefice : 
 No was nought worldly to have an office ; 
 For him was lever han at his beddcs bed, 
 Twenty bokes clothed in blakc or red,
 
 316 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 Of Aristotle, and his philosophic, 
 
 Then robes riche, or fidel, or sautrie. 
 
 But all be that he was a philosophre, 
 
 Zet had he but litcl golde in cofre : 
 
 But all that he might of his frcndes hente 
 
 On bokes and on Icrning, he it spente, 
 
 And besily gan for the soules praie, 
 
 Of hem that yave him wherwith to scolaie. 
 
 Of studie toke he most eure and hede ; 
 
 Not a word spake he more than was nede, 
 
 And that was said in form and reverence, 
 
 And short, and quike, and full of high sentence : 
 
 Touring in moral vertue was his speche, 
 
 And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly teche." 
 
 Between Chaucer and Spenser a long interval of 
 barrenness elapsed ; yet we may state that, during this 
 period, William Caxtori first introduced the art of print- 
 ing into England — an event which took place in 1474. 
 He established his press near Westminster Abbey, and 
 first printed the Dictes and Notable Wyse Sayenges 
 of the Phylosophers, &c. The state of the public taste 
 during Caxton's time may be inferred from the titles of 
 the principal books he printed, which were as follows : 
 Pilgrimage of the Soul ; Liber Festivalis, or Directions 
 for keeping Feasts all the Year ; Quatuor Sermones ; 
 the Golden Legend ; the Art and Craft to know and 
 to die ; the Life of St. Catharine of Sens ; a Book 
 of divers Ghostly Matters ; the History of Troy ; 
 Life of Jason ; Godfrey of Boloyn ; the Knight of 
 the Tower ; a Book of the noble Histories of King 
 Arthur ; the Book of Feats of Arms ; Renard the 
 Fox ; Fables of Esop, &c. Many of these were trans- 
 lated by Caxton from the French, and all together
 
 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 317 
 
 show that the age was one which craved a strange 
 mixture of devotion and romance. 
 
 It IS a curious fact, that the century after the art 
 of printing was introduced into England was one in 
 which the cause of literature, general education, 
 and morals, seemed at a parti«ularly low ebb. Roger 
 Ascham, the tutor of Queen Elizabeth, tells ua 
 that, although the English court did contain fair ex- 
 amples for youth to follow, yet they were " like fair 
 marks in the field, out of a man's reach too far to 
 shoot at well ; " while the generality of persons found 
 there were the worst of characters. " Some private 
 letters of the time of Elizabeth," says the historian, 
 " which have been printed, describe the court as a 
 place where there was little godliness and exercise of 
 religion, and where all enormities reigned in the 
 highest degree." But what is more important for 
 our present purpose to observe is, "that the learning 
 which existed in this age, however remarkably it may 
 have shone forth in particular instances, was by no 
 means generally difi'iiscd, even among the higher 
 classes ; while the generality of the lower, and many 
 even of the middle classes, remained to the end of the 
 period almost wholly uneducated and illiterate. The 
 father of Shakspcre, an alderman of Stratford, appears 
 to have been unable to write his name ; and probably, 
 throughout the community, for one man that was 
 scholar enough to subscribe his signature, there were 
 a dozen who could only make their marks. With all 
 the advancement the country had made in many re- 
 spects, it may be doubted if popular education was 
 farther extended at the close of the reign of Elizabeth 
 27*
 
 318 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 than it was at the commencement of that of her father 
 or her grandfather. Even the length of time that 
 printing had now been at work, and the multiplication 
 of books that must have taken place, had probably but 
 very little, if at all, extended knowledge, and the 
 habit of reading, among tfie mass of the people." 
 
 But notwithstanding this lamentable condition of 
 society, the time was rapidly approaching when the 
 foundation was to be laid for great advancement in 
 every branch of human knowledge, for the improve- 
 ment of the English language, and the lasting eleva- 
 tion and expansion of the English mind. The great 
 mstruments of this development soon appeared upon 
 the stage of action ; and among them we may mention 
 Edmund Spenser, who was born at London, in 1553, 
 of an ancient and honorable family, and was educated 
 at the University of Cambridge. He was the friend of 
 Sir Philip Sidney ; and through his influence, together 
 with that of his other patrons, Lord Grey and the Earl 
 of Leicester, obtained from Queen Elizabeth, in 1582, 
 a large grant of land in Ireland. His residence there 
 was romantic and pleasant. He was visited in his re- 
 treat by Sir Walter Raleigh, to whom he recited his 
 poetical compositions, and by whom he was accom- 
 panied to London, introduced to Queen Elizabeth, and 
 persuaded immediately to publish the first books of the 
 Fairy Queen. In 1597 he was compelled by an Irish 
 rebellion to fly from his house ; and in the hurry and 
 confusion, one of his children, being unfortunately left 
 behind, perished in its conflagration. He died in 
 London, two years after this melancholy event, broken- 
 hearted, it is supposed, and comparatively poor.
 
 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 319 
 
 Spenser displays in his poetry an invention almost 
 boundless, and a fancy extremely exuberant and gor- 
 geous. His versification is rich, flowing, and harmo- 
 nious, to a degree which, perhaps, no succeeding poet 
 has surpassed. His imagery is luxuriant and romantic. 
 In personification and allegoiy he is occasional!)' sub- 
 lime. His poetry is sweet in its sentiment, enchanting 
 in its melody, and exceedingly delightful for the vein 
 of pensive tenderness and pathos which runs through 
 the whole of it. 
 
 The moral tendency of the Fairy Queen may be 
 learned from the nature of its leading purpose, which 
 was, in the words of the poet, that of " fashioning a 
 gentleman of noble person in virtuous and gentle disci- 
 pline." This object he accomplishes by exhibiting 
 twelve diflercnt knights, each of which, in the partic- 
 ular adventure allotted to him, proves an example of 
 some different virtue — as of holiness, temperance, jus- 
 tice, chastity ; and has one complete book assigned to 
 him, of which he is the hero. Besides these individ- 
 ual examples, he exhibits Prince Arthur as his princi- 
 pal or general hero, in whose character he professes to 
 portray " the image of a brave knight perfectea in 
 the twelve private moral virtues." From this cele- 
 brated pocrf we copy a brief extract, which describes 
 the cell of a hypocritical hermit : — 
 
 " A little lowly hermitage it was, 
 
 Down in a dale, hard l)y a forest's side, 
 Far from resort of people, that did pass 
 
 In travel to and fro ; a little wide, 
 
 There was a holy chapel edified, 
 Wherein tlie hermit duly wont to say 
 
 His holy things each morn and eventide ;
 
 320 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 Thereby a crystal stream did gently play, 
 Which from a sacred fountain welled forth away. 
 
 Arrived there, the little house they fill, 
 
 Ne look for entertainment, where none was ; 
 Rest is their feast, and all things at their will ; 
 
 The noblest mind the best contentment has. 
 
 With fair discourse the evening so they pass ; 
 For that old man of pleasing words had store, 
 
 And well could file his tongue as smooth as glass. 
 He told of saints and popes, and evermore 
 He strowed an Ave-Mary after and before. 
 
 The drooping night thus creepeth on them fast; 
 
 And the sad humor loading their eyelids, 
 As messenger of Morpheus, on them cast 
 
 Sweet slumbering dew, the which to sleep them bids. 
 
 Unto their lodgings then his guests he rids ; 
 Where, when all drowned in deadly sleep he finds, 
 
 He to his study goes ; and there amidst 
 His magic books, and arts of sundry kinds. 
 He seeks out mighty charms to trouble sleepy minds." 
 
 Shakspere,* who was not only the greatest dramatist 
 of modern times, but whose intellect seems to tower 
 above that of other great men as IMont Blanc lifts its 
 snowy forehead over the surrounding Alps, was born 
 at Stratford upon Avon, in 1564. His genius is thus 
 briefly but happily delineated by Dryden : " He was 
 the man who, of all modern, and perhaps all ancient 
 poets, had the largest and most comprehensive soul. 
 All the images of nature were still present to him ; and 
 he drew them, not laboriously, but luckily ; when he 
 
 * For a full account of Shakspere, Bacon, and Milton, see 
 Famous Men of Modern Times.
 
 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 321 
 
 describes any thing, you more tlian sec it, you feel it 
 too. Those wlio accuse him to have wanted learning 
 give hioi the greater commendation. He was naturally 
 learned. He needed not the spectacles of books to 
 read nature ; he looked inwards and found her there." 
 
 Another great man, who looms up in the distance of 
 three centuries, and still exercises an influence upon 
 mankind scarcely inferior to that of Shakspere, was 
 Francis Bacon, born at London in 1561. He was a 
 courtier and chancellor; and, though he was degraded 
 from this office for corrupt practices, his works breathe 
 a spirit of virtue and wisdom, and his philosophy 
 abounds in deep and important truth. His style of 
 writing, even when treating of the most abstruse sub- 
 jects, is rich and harmonious, and seems to possess the 
 power of strewing the paths of science with the flowers 
 and perfumes of poetry. 
 
 After the lapse of half a century, another great 
 name appears on the lists of fame — and one which, 
 taken in all its aspects, is more than any other the 
 glory of England. This is Milton, the author of Par- 
 adise Lost. As a poet, he ranks with Shakspere and 
 Homer ; and as a man, he rises to the loftiness of his 
 own sublime intellect. He was not faultless ; but in a 
 life of peculiar trials — in the midst of persecutions, 
 poverty, and blindness — he displayed a magnanimity of 
 soul, to which human nature has aflurded few parallels. 
 
 We have now reached a period when the English 
 language had become the depository of the works of 
 Spenser, Shakspere, Bacon, and Milton, and when it 
 had received nearly its present form. Though the 
 ortliography of Shakspere differed from that of the 
 u
 
 322 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 
 
 present day, his language was that of our own time. 
 The reader will find little in the writbgs of Milton, 
 so far as the vehicle of thought is concerned, to dis- 
 tinguish them from the productions of Scott and 
 Macau] ey. 
 
 Having given a brief history of the origin and prog- 
 ress of English literature from its beginning to its 
 maturity, we must draw our sketch to a close. The 
 time of Queen Anne, signalized by the writings of 
 Pope, Prior, Steele, Swift, Addison, Arbuthnot, Con- 
 greve, and other great men, is denominated the Au- 
 gustan age of English literature ; but from that period 
 to the present hour, a constant succession of bril- 
 liant names has been added to the annals of letters. 
 In our own century, Scott, Byron, Campbell, Mackin- 
 tosh, — now no more, — and Jeffrey, Macauley, 
 Moore, and Dickens, still living, — have marked the 
 age as one of peculiar richness in its literary pro- 
 ductions. 
 
 If we regard the whole body of living British liter- 
 ature, we may safely pronounce it as the noblest mon- 
 ument of intellectual and moral greatness which any 
 nation has hitherto produced; and as sharers in the 
 blood and language of Britain, we may participate in 
 the honest pride which such a consideration is fitted to 
 excite. While indulging this sentiment, let us reflect 
 that pure Christianity, stern morality, and manly dig- 
 nity, are the soul of English literature, however some 
 of its productions may breathe another spirit ; and that 
 we, who enjoy such sources of instruction in our mother 
 tongue, though peculiarly blessed, are under peculiar 
 responsibilities to use our privileges aright.
 
 IRISH LITERATURE. 
 
 The mass of the Irish nation are the lineal descend- 
 ants of the Celtic emigrants who first peopled the 
 " Green and Weeping Island." * Partaking of the 
 characteristics of their ancestry, they are of a lively 
 and imaginative cast — a fact remarkably displayed 
 in their legends, their superstitions, and their popular 
 poetry. The art of poetry appeans to have been culti- 
 vated from early antiquity, and it is a curious fact that 
 rhyme is an Irish invention. As early as the fifth cen- 
 tury, the use of rhyme was familiar among the Irish, 
 as well in their vernacular verses as those which they 
 wrote in Latin. It may be remarked here, that poetry-, 
 in its infant state, is seldom separated from music, and 
 that in Ireland many of the early fiocms appear to have 
 been sung, and accompanied by the harp, or emit. 
 In some very ancient verses, on the death of Columba, 
 preserved in the " Annals of the Four Masters," wc 
 find allusion to this: " Like a song of the cruit, with- 
 out joy, is the sound that follows our master to the 
 tomb ! " This passage reminds us of Ossian ;f and it 
 
 * For a skotch of tlio early history of Ireland, and a notice 
 of her bardic legends, sec Lights and S/iadows of European 
 History. 
 
 t Few literary questions have excited more angry discua*
 
 324 IKISII LITliliATURE. 
 
 is curious to remarlc that the very poems which Mac- 
 pherson pretends were Hteral translations of ancient 
 
 sion tlian that of the authenticity of the Ossianic poems. 
 Macpherson was a Scotchman, born in 1738. He first at- 
 tracted public attention by the publication of the above- 
 mentioned poems, which he declared to be translations of 
 Erse songs, which he had collected among the Highlands of 
 Scotland. Soon after their publication. Dr. Johnson boldly 
 declared them to be an imposition, so far as they claimed to 
 be founded upon ancient manuscripts. Macpherson replied 
 in an angry letter ; and Johnson retorted, challenging the 
 Scotchman to produce the manuscripts which he professed 
 to have translated. These, however, were not forthcoming, 
 though the author continued to maintain the truth of his 
 statement. He seems to have obtained the confidence of the 
 public ; for he was made a member of parliament, and ob- 
 tained a lucrative office from the government ; and when he 
 died, in 1796, he was buried in Westminster Abbey. 
 
 After Macpherson's death, the question of the origin of 
 the Ossianic poems continued to be warmly discussed. The 
 national pride of Scotland was enlisted in their favor, and, 
 among other eminent Scotchmen who maintained their 
 authenticity, were Lord Karnes, Arthur Young, and Dr. Blair. 
 The subject, however, has undergone a thorough sifting, 
 and it is proved, beyond a doubt, that the poems of Ossian 
 were written by Macpherson, in imitation of some ancient 
 fracrments, found among the Highlands, and that the story of 
 their translation from Erse originals was a groundless fiction. 
 
 These compositions, notwithstanding the scandalous false- 
 hood connected with their history, are among the most 
 beautiful productions of our language. In sweetness and 
 melody of style, they are almost unrivalled. It is said that 
 Bonaparte seemed as much delighted with them as was 
 Alexander with the Iliad ; and we can easily imagine that 
 the wild, spasmodic fancy of the Corsican might sympathize 
 with the giant feats and ghostly combats of the Celtic heroes, 
 dimly shadowed forth by the pretended "son of Fingal."
 
 lEISH LITERATURE. 325 
 
 Erse songs, gathered from the western borders of 
 Scotland, were, in fact, suggested by Irish poems, 
 well ascertained to have been composed in the eleventh 
 and twelfth centuries. It is true, indeed, that frag- 
 ments of these songs were current among the Gaelic in- 
 habitants of the Hebrides and the western Highlands ; 
 but the people of these portions of Scotland were but 
 the descendants of Irish emigrants. These kept up a 
 constant intercourse with Ireland, and, adopting the 
 popular poetry of the latter country, made these bor- 
 rowed lyrics familiar as their own. But Ireland claims 
 their paternity ; and authentic history has restored them 
 to their birthplace. 
 
 The popular legends of the Irish eminently display 
 the imaginative character of the people. In these, the 
 fairies largely participate, seeming in Ireland to per- 
 form even more extraordinary feats than in merry 
 England. The banshee, a pure Irish invention, is a 
 nondescript being, supposed to be attached to particular 
 families, and to take a lively interest in their welfare. 
 There arc few ancient houses in Ireland unprovided 
 with this domestic spirit. It gives notice of impending 
 calamity, and a death in the family is always foretold 
 by the wailings of this ill-omened affacht. As, in 
 England, the old-fashioned witch was more common 
 than the wizard, so the banshee is usually of the witch's 
 gender ; though sometimes, for extraordinary purposes, 
 it appears to be of the other sex. This formidable 
 being seems to fill the fancies of the lower Irish. Even 
 those who come to this country can hardly shake off 
 its imaginary visitations. It is an actor in many of the 
 popular legends of Ireland, and a large part of the 
 XVII.— 28
 
 336 IRISH LITERATURE. 
 
 common incidents of life arc more or less attributed to 
 its agency. In short, the Irisii seem to have a power 
 of imagination which connects every object and inci- 
 dent with the supernatural. Whatever is mysterious is 
 referred to the banshee ; whatever is uncertain belongs 
 to St. Patrick, St. Brigid, or some other saint. It is 
 curious to observe tliat, througli most of these Irish 
 legends and superstitions, there seems to be a percep- 
 tion of poetical justice, which gives success to virtue 
 and ill fortune to vice. 
 
 It would take us entirely beyond our proper limits 
 to go at large into the field of Irish literature ; we 
 mean that which is strictly Irish, and of a date anterior 
 to the period in which the learning of Ireland sought 
 expression in the English tongue : much less can we 
 go into an examination of the numerous and rich con- 
 tributions which Irish genius has made to English lit- 
 erature. A few brief notices must be all that can be 
 bestowed upon these fruitful themes. 
 
 Various as are the monuments to which Ireland can 
 point, as mute evidences of her antiquity, she boasts a 
 more striking proof in the living language of her 
 people — in that most genuine, if not only existing, 
 dialect of the oldest of all European tongues, and 
 which, by whatever name it may be called, was the 
 vehicle of the first knowledge that dawned upon Eu- 
 rope. In the still written and spoken dialect of this 
 primeval language, Ireland also possesses a monument 
 of literary antiquity which " no cavil can reach, and 
 no doubts disturb." That the Irish were acquainted 
 with letters before the time of St. Patrick, appears to 
 be evident, though the art of writing was doubtless in a
 
 IRISH LITERATURE. 327 
 
 rude state, and confined to the learned or Druidical 
 class. Their materials appear to have been tablets 
 formed of the wood of the beech, upon which they 
 wrote with an iron pencil, or stylus. 
 
 The position of Ireland in respect to other countries, 
 at this period, should be borne in mind. Neither the 
 arts nor the arms of Rome ever reached this island. 
 From the earliest periods of authentic history down to 
 the invasion of the Danes, embracing a period of 
 nearly a thousand years, Ireland remained in a state 
 of seclusion ; her kings wrestling among themselves, 
 but her green turf bearing the impress of no foreign 
 master. Whatever light, therefore, might exist, was 
 kindled from native fire. Yet it is to be remarked 
 that, from the establishment of the Christian religion 
 by St. Patrick, there was a gradual progress in learn- 
 ing until Ireland became the most illuminated spot on 
 the broad map of Europe. Passing over the names of 
 Columbkill, Killian, and other distinguished Irish 
 scholars of the si.\th and seventh centuries, we come 
 to Virgilius, who flourished about the year 750. He 
 was not only distinguished for his learning, but for his 
 dispute with the English missionary Boniface, over 
 whom he signally triumphed. Some ignorant priest 
 having been in the habit of using bad Latin in admin- 
 istering baptism, Boniface commanded Virgilius to 
 perform the ceremony over again. This he resisted, 
 and Boniface appealed to the pope, who had the good 
 sense to decide in favor of the former. Boniface, thus 
 rebuked, became the enemy of Virgilius, and waited 
 for an opportunity to seek revenge. At length the 
 latter, having some glimmering notion of the spherical
 
 328 IRISH LITERATURE. 
 
 form of the eartli, and having intimated a belief in the 
 existence of antipodes, was accused by Boniface of 
 heresy, and again brought before the pope. From 
 this accusation he found means of clearing himself, 
 and was soon after elevated to the see of Salzburg, in 
 Germany. 
 
 We must pass over the names of Clement, Albinus, 
 and Dungal, — all of whom appear to have been emi- 
 nent men, and to have obtained the favorable notice 
 of Charlemagne, — and come to Donatus, bishop of 
 Fiesole. Of the writings of this distinguished indi- 
 vidual we give the following extract, from a translation 
 in O'Halloran's History. It is the more pertinent, as 
 it recognizes the distinction which Ireland at this time 
 enjoyed, for her advance in learning.* 
 
 " Far westward lies an isle of ancient fame, 
 By nature blessed, and Scotia is her name 
 Enrolled in books ; exhaustless is her store 
 Of veiny silver and of golden ore ; 
 Her fruitful soil forever teems with wealth, 
 With gems her waters, and her air with health. 
 Her verdant fields with milk and honey flow ; 
 Her woolly fleeces vie with virgin snow ; 
 Her waving furrows float with bearded corn. 
 And arts and arms her envied sons adorn." 
 
 But by far the most remarkable man sent forth 
 during these ages, was the learned and subtle John 
 Scotus, who flourished about the year 850. Such was 
 
 * In explanation of one passage, it may be necessary to 
 say that Scotia, or Scotland, was the designation of Ireland 
 for several centuries after the arrival of the Scotic or Mile- 
 sian colony.
 
 IBISH LITERATURE. 329 
 
 the success of his social and intellectual powers, that 
 Charles the Bald of France made him the companion 
 of his most secluded and familiar hours. His writings 
 are the most I'emarkable productions of the time, and 
 exerted a powerful influence upon the theology of this 
 and the subsequent age. In addition to his immense 
 European reputation as a scholar and metaphysician, 
 we may remark that he appears to have been, in his 
 intellectual and social qualities, a perfect representative 
 of the genuine Irish character, in all its various and 
 versatile combinations. Possessing humor and imagi- 
 nation, with powers of shrewd and deep reasoning, he 
 yet lavished both these gifts imprudently, exhibiting, 
 on almost all subjects, every power but that of discre- 
 tion. His life, in its social relations, seems to have 
 been marked by the same characteristic anomalies ; 
 for, while the simplicity of his mind and manners, and 
 the festive play of his wit, endeared him to his private 
 friends, the daring heterodoxy of his written opinions 
 alarmed and alienated the public, and made him at 
 least as much feared as admired. 
 
 Such are a few of those stars which arose from 
 Ireland, and attracted the attention of Europe during 
 that long period when impending darkness was brood- 
 ing over the rest of the world. It is remarkable that, 
 when all beside was shadowed with ignorance and 
 gloom, Ireland was the seat of knowledge, and the 
 focal point of science. In the eighth century, its 
 reputation was so well established, that it was con- 
 sidered the mart of learning, to which the scholars 
 from every part of Europe were attracted. It was in 
 those days that, if a sage were missing, it was said of 
 28*
 
 330 IRISH LITERATURE. 
 
 him, " He has gone to Ireland to perfect himself in 
 scholarship." On this subject I need but add, that it 
 was during the eighth century, that what has been 
 called the scholastic philosophy originated, from the 
 eminent divines which the monasteries of Ireland 
 poured forth. 
 
 In confirmation of the views here taken, we may 
 offer the testimony of Dr. Leland. Where he is speak- 
 ing of the period in which the early preachers of the 
 gospel visited Ireland, he says, — 
 
 " Christianity, as then taught, although it could not 
 eradicate, at least restrained, the national vices. A 
 numerous body of ecclesiastics, secular and regular, 
 quickly swarmed over the whole country ; frequently 
 became umpires between contending chieftains ; and 
 when they could not confine them within the bounds 
 of reason and religion, at least terrified them by de- 
 nouncing vengeance against their excesses. An ig- 
 norant people listened to their tales of pretended mir- 
 acles with a religious horror. In the midst of everj.' 
 provincial contest, every domestic strife, they were 
 sacred and inviolate. They soon learned to derive 
 their own emolument from the public veneration. The 
 infant church was every where amply endowed, and 
 the prayers of holy men repaid by large donations. 
 Some of the oldest remains of Irish literature inform 
 us, that the people were taught to dedicate the first- 
 born of all cattle to the church, as a matter of indis- 
 pensable obligation. But if the clergy thus acquired 
 riches, they applied them to the noblest purposes. 
 The monks, says Mr. O'Connor, fixed their habitations 
 in deserts, which they cultivated with their own hands.
 
 IRISH LITERATURE. 331 
 
 and rendered the most delightful spots in the kingdom. 
 These deserts became cities ; and it is remarkable 
 enough, that to the monks we owe so useful an insti- 
 tution in Ireland, as bringing great numbers together 
 into one civil community. 
 
 "A conflux of foreigners to this retired island, at a 
 time when Europe was in ignorance and confusion, 
 gave peculiar lustre to this seat of learning ; nor is it 
 improbable or surprising that seven thousand students 
 studied at Armagh, agreeably to the accounts of Irish 
 writers, thougli the seminary of Armagh was but one 
 of those numerous colleges erected in Ireland. But 
 the labors of the Irish clcrg)' were not confined to 
 their own country. Their missionaries wore sent to 
 the Continent. They converted heathens ; they con- 
 firmed believers ; they erected convents ; they estab- 
 lished schools of learning; they taught the use of 
 letters to the Saxons and Normans ; they converted 
 the Picts by the preaching of Columbkill, one of their 
 renowned ecclesiastics. Burgundy, Germany, and 
 other countries, received their instructions ; and Eu- 
 rope with gratitude confessed the superior knowledge, 
 the piety, the zeal, the purity of the ' Island of SainLs.' " 
 
 Such is the abstract given by Dr. Leland in his pre- 
 liminary discourse on the introduction and establish- 
 ment of Christianity. 
 
 But we approach a period when the sun of Irish 
 literature was destined to a long eclipse. The hordes 
 of northern robbers, passing under the general name 
 of Danes, now began their irruptions ; and for more 
 than two centuries they continued to harass and des- 
 olate Ireland. They were finally expelled ; but the
 
 332 lEISH LITERATURE. 
 
 nation was so wasted and impoverished, that Henry II, 
 made an easy conquest of a portion of the island, and 
 commenced that dominion of the EngUsh crown which 
 has ever since been continued. Under this despotism, 
 for nearly five hundred years Ireland was the victim 
 of unrelenting oppression. It was not until after the 
 rebellion of 1688, and the desolating attainders and 
 confiscations which followed, that a reprieve was given 
 to this unhappy country by the English government. 
 But at last the course of British policy seemed to be 
 ameliorated, and the country rose superior to the cruel 
 pressure of former political inflictions. It had now the 
 bustle and activity of a parliament ; and its educated 
 gentry, residing upon their estates, exerted their in- 
 fluence for the improvement of the people. The rapid 
 advances which were made under these circumstances 
 were little short of miraculous. It was then that the 
 light of national genius, concentrating its long-scattered 
 rays to a point, and shining steadily from its proper 
 focus, threw out those sparks of moral lustre 
 
 " which give 
 Light to a world, and make a nation live." 
 
 It was then that the powerful collision of active, ardent, 
 and energetic minds produced that brilliant burst of 
 talent, which for nearly a century flung over the polit- 
 ical darkness of Ireland a splendor to which her strug- 
 gles and her misfortunes served only to give a stronger 
 relief and more brilliant effect. It was then that, after 
 ages of mental depression, the Irish intellect broke out, 
 when none expected or were prepared for the splendid 
 irruption. It was during this remarkable period, that
 
 IRISH LITERATURE. 333 
 
 such names as Steele, Goldsmith, Sheridan, Swift, 
 Curran, Grattan, and Burke, rose from Ireland, and 
 swept like coruscations of light over the sky. Nor 
 were these luminaries followed by a total eclipse. It is 
 true that the Union came like a cloud to chill the spirit 
 of the nation ; to divest it of even the semblance of 
 independence ; to deprive its metropolis of its wonted 
 attraction ; and to induce the wealthy proprietors to 
 seek a residence in other lands. But, in spite of this 
 plunder of her rights and her liberty, Ireland has still 
 continued to add to her list of great names, though 
 from this period they are merged in the history of the 
 United Kingdom.
 
 334 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE. 
 
 Wb have already remarked that, in the United States, we 
 have not yet a distinct class of persons who devote them- 
 selves to literature, as a vocation. If we except those who 
 are connected with the periodical press, and whose design is 
 to make the art of writing subservient to business, — it may 
 be stated that those among us who have acquired literary 
 reputation, have been, with few exceptions, men trained to 
 some active profession, and to whom literary composition is 
 an accident or an episode. The spirit of society is, of ne- 
 cessity, in a country like ours, where every thing around 
 beckons to a life of action and enterprise, commercial. For- 
 tune-making inspires every bosom, or, if there be any unoc- 
 cupied corner, it is filled with political aspirations. All is 
 motion, action, energy. In this ruffled tide there is no se- 
 cluded and quiet spot, where the Muses may build their 
 temple. A merely literary man, unless he be a foreigner, is 
 a note out of tune in our society. No other than money- 
 getting professions can be held in high respect among us. 
 
 There is another fact to be noticed here. Our language is 
 English ; and the productions of the London press are as 
 familiar to us as to the people of Great Britain. An Amer- 
 ican writer, breathing no literary atmosphere — sustained 
 and inspired by no habitual communion with kindred spirits 
 — brings his works into competition with those of the master- 
 spirits of the old world. These are judged by comparison with 
 theirs. Their literary tribunals, habitually hostile and con- 
 tumelious, furnish his law3'er, court, and jury. Thus, though 
 we have achieved our political independence, we are, as to
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE. 335 
 
 literature, in a state of colonial vaasakgc. Our fathers 
 resisted the transfer of Americans to EngWnd for trial ; but 
 our books are subjected to this process, and the American 
 public hold no otiicr than English verdicts to bo of author- 
 ity in such matters 
 
 It may be also noticed that, as English copyright laws do 
 rtot extend to this country, English books are published by 
 any one who pleases, free of charge. The consequence is. 
 that our own authors are obliged to write in competition 
 with a gratuitous introduction of foreign authorship. Amer- 
 ican authors are situated very much as American manufac- 
 turers would be, if British goods were freely given away in 
 this country. 
 
 Under such discouragements, which exist in the nature 
 of things, and which seem to admit of no hasty remedy — it 
 is not strange that we have neither a literary spirit nor a 
 national literature. Considering all the circumstances, we 
 have done more than could have been reasonably expected. 
 A few years since, a leading British review sneoringly asked, 
 
 — " Who reads an American book .' " We may reply that 
 on the London Catalogue of metropolitan publications, 
 there are nearly five hundred American boohs ; and it might 
 be added, as an evidence of the meanness of publishers, and 
 the prejudices of society in England, that many of these 
 books are entirely stripped of any thing to indicate their 
 American origin, and arc palmed ofl' as English produc- 
 tions. 
 
 They embrace every variety of subject, and furnish 
 highly respectable specimens in every walk of literature. 
 In spite of all discouragements — overcoming every obstacle 
 
 — the names of Sprague, Dana, Bryant, Longfellow, Wil- 
 lis, as poets; Irving, as an essayist; Cooper and Sedgwick, 
 as novelists; Sparks, Prescott, and Bancroft, as historians; 
 Webster, as a writer on political philoso])liy ; Story, as a 
 jurist ; Dwight, as a theologian ; Channing, as a rhetorician 
 
 — and many others — are known to fame on both sides of the 
 Atlantic. 
 
 Our space docs not admit of an extended discussion of the
 
 336 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE. 
 
 subject undor notice ; nor need we present specimens, A 
 illustration of the past or present condition of American lit- 
 erature. Mr. Griswold's volume, entitled American Poetry, 
 will furnish the reader a fair view of what our country ham 
 done in this department; and though we must admit that 
 it has produced no great poets, yet we may challenge 
 comparison with England in the lighter effusions of the 
 muse, to which species only, has American genius been 
 earnestly directed.
 
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