JBRARY NIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA BAN DIEGO TYPES OF GREAT LITERATURE TYPES OF GREAT LITERATURE CHOSEN BY PERCY HAZEN HOUSTON, PH.D. DEPARTMENT OF ENGLISH, UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, SOUTHERN BRANCH AND JOHN KESTER BONNELL, PH.D. LATE PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH, GOUCHER COLLEGE GARDEN CITY NEW YORK DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 1927 COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY ALL RIGHTS RESERVED PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATE* AT THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, CARPEN CITT, N. Y. PREFACE "I cannot be interested in life; I care nothing for human beings and their ideas and emotions." No one ever says just that. And yet that is just what is implied whenever any one says, as young people frequently say, " I am not interested in literature." The intended implication is, of course, that the speaker is not interested in literature but is interested in life, in people. But literature is life: life reflected in a crystal mirror, life not of the passing crowd merely, but of many epochs and of various lands, the teeming life, the many-colored character of man. Through it one may know ultimately some of the greatest minds that the race has produced, and through it, consequently, one's exper- ience of life and human nature may be enriched as through no other means. Literature, moreover, is one of the supreme achievements by which a nation shows its greatness. When all else that counted for greatness has returned to dust and obliv- ion, that nation is called great and famous which has left the mark of its spirit upon posterity through great literature. Why does Europe still reverence the ancient Greeks? Why do English speaking people remember with pride "The spacious times of great Elizabeth"? The answer is found in the poets. Such thoughts as these impelled the editors of this book when they ransacked the ages for proper representatives of the several types of literature. Their problem was, within the covers of one volume, to supply an opportunity for direct acquaintance with masterpieces. To avoid elaborate historical outlines and critical entanglements, while at the same time ranging free from the cramping limits of periods and lands, they de- cided to present the material grouped according to types. The drama, the novel, and the short story are omitted because it is felt, on the one hand, that they cannot so well be represented by excerpts as some other types, and on the other hand, that they are far more readily accessible to the general reader. This book is an introduction. It does not pretend to be an Aladdin's cave of in- exhaustible treasure, nor yet a completely representative selection of the world's literary gems. It is, rather, a gate, that gives upon the main highways of letters. The editors have sought in each of the several types to present what is excellent and representative ; but they have sought, also, to present selections that would command the enthusiasm of impatient youth. They have kept in mind the generous spirit of those who are interested less in letters than in life. It is hoped that each reader will find at least one of the main highways leading from this gate sufficiently attractive to pursue beyond it. ANNAPOLIS, 28 June, 1919. CONTENTS I. EPIC AND ROMANCE HCMER Iliad, VI 3 Odyssey, XXI, XXII (part). ... 12 VIRGIL ^Eneid, II 26 DANTE Inferno, VIII, IX 42 MILTON Paradise Lost, I, II 47 BEOWULF Episode of Grendel's Mother ... 66 THE SONG OF ROLAND Death of the Peers at Roncesvalles. . 71 NlBELUNGENLIED Episodes of Siegfried and Kriemhild . 76 MALORY The Death of Arthur 93 II. NARRATIVE POETRY BURNS Tarn O'Shanter 101 BYRON Don Juan, Canto II (the shipwreck) . 103 TENNYSON The Last Fight of the "Revenge" . .118 BROWNING Herv6 Riel 120 ARNOLD Sohrab and Rustum 122 LANIER The Revenge of Hamish 136 III. THE BALLAD The Popular Ballad Edws.rd 139 The Three Ravens 140 Thomas Rymer 140 Sir Patrick Spens 141 Bonny Barbara Allan 141 Johnie Armstrong 142 The Daemon Lover 143 Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne . . 144 Modern Imitations of the Ballad KEATS La Belle Dame Sans Merci .... 147 ROSSETTI Sister Helen 147 IV. LYRIC POETRY FAGS ANONYMOUS Jolly Good Ale and Old 152 SIDNEY Sonnet XXXI 152 PEELE Fair and Fair, and Twice so Fair . . 152 DRAYTON The Ballad of Agincourt .... 153 SHAKESPEARE Songs, and Sonnets 154 WOTTON Character of a Happy Life . . . . 15$ D F KKER The Happy Heart 158 BEN JONSON Song to Celia 158 Hymn to Diana 158 JOHN FLETCHER Melancholy 159 WITHER The Lover's Resolution 159 HERRICK Upon Julia's Clothes 159 To the Virgins to Make Much of Time. 160 To Daffodils 160 An Ode for Ben Jonson 160 SHIRLEY The Glories of Our Blood and State . 160 WALLER Go, Lovely Rose 161 MILTON Sonnet (On His Blindness) .... 161 SUCKLING The Constant Lover 161 Why So Pale and Wan 161 LOVELACE To Lucasta, on Going to the Wars . . 162 To Althea, from Prison ..... 162 VAUGHAN The World 162 DRYDEN Alexander's Feast 163 GRAY Elegy Written in a Country Church- yard 165 BURNS Highland Mary 167 Bonnie Doon 168 Scots WhaHae 168 A Man's a Man for a' That . . . . 168 Lines to John Lapraik 169 To a Mouse ........ 169 vu Vlll CONTENTS WORDSWORTH PAGK The Prelude, from Book I .... 170 Tintern Abbey 171 The Solitary Reaper 173 Ode to Duty 173 Character of the Happy Warrior . . 174 Westminster Bridge 175 It is a Beauteous Evening, Calm and Free 175 The World is Too Much with Us . .175 COLERIDGE Kubla Khan 176 LAMB Old Familiar Faces 176 LANDOR Rose Aylmer 177 On his Seventy-fifth Birthday . . . 177 CAMPBELL Ye Mariners of England 177 The Battle of the Baltic 178 Hohenlinden 178 CUNNINGHAM A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea . . 179 PROCTER ("BARRY CORNWALL") The Sea 179 BYRON She Walks in Beauty 180 SHELLEY To a Skylark 180 Ode to the West Wind 181 The Indian Serenade 183 Ozymandias 183 KEATS Ode on a Grecian Urn 183 Ode to a Nightingale 184 To Autumn 185 Hymn to Pan (from Endymion, I) . . 186 On First Looking into Chapman's Homer 187 HOOD The Bridge of Sighs ...... 187 EMERSON Days 189 LONGFELLOW Sonnets (on Dante) 189 POE To Helen 190 Israfel 190 The City in the Sea 190 The Raven 191 The Haunted Palace 193 TENNYSON The Lotos-Eaters 194 Ulysses 197 Lyrics from "The Princess" . . . 198 Lyrics from "In Memoriam" . . . 109 Ode on the Death of the Duke of Well- ington 200 Lyric from "Maud" 204 Crossing the Bar 204 BROWNING My Last Duchess 205 Meeting at Night 205 Parting at Morning 206 Home-Thoughts from the Sea . . . 206 The Bishop Orders his Tomb . . . 206 Andrea Del Sarto 206 Rabbi Ben Ezra 212 Prospice 214 Epilogue of Asolando 215 WHITMAN Captain, My Captain 215 ARNOLD Dover Beach 216 SWINBURNE Choruses from " Atalanta in Calydon" . 216 In the Water 218 HENLEY Invictus 219 KIPLING Recessional 219 McCRAE In Flanders Fields 219 BROOKE The Soldier 220 SEEGER 1 Have a Rendezvous with Death . 220 V. HISTORY HERODOTUS Marathon, Thermopylae, Salamis . . 221 THUCYDIDES The Peloponnesian War: Funeral Ora- tion of Pericles, The Corcyraean Revolution 241 TACITUS The Annals: from the "Reign of Nero" 248 GIBBON Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire: Siege, Assault, and Final Conquest of Constantinople 254 CARLYLE French Revolution: Chapters from Books V and VI 269 MACAULAY Frederick the Great: the Treachery of Frederick 280 The History of England: Torrington and Tourville 284 PARKMAN The Conspiracy of Pontiac: Chapters VII, VIII, IX 289 GREEN A Short History of the English People: Portrait of Elizabeth .... 302 VI. BIOGRAPHY PLUTARCH Themistocles 310 FULLER The Holy State, Book II, Chapter xxii: The Life of Sir Francis Drake. . 323 CONTENTS BOSWELL PAG E The Life of Samuel Johnson: First Meeting with Johnson, Johnson's Interview with the King, Johnson's Conversations, Dinner with John Wilkes 327 FRANKLIN Autobiography: Concerning Militia and the Founding of a College, Public Subscriptions, Improving City Streets 347 VII. LETTERS JOHNSON 358 FRANKLIN 358 LAMB 359 BYRON 364 MAZZINI 365 LINCOLN 368 CARLYLE 368 STEVENSON 369 VIII. ORATIONS PLATO The Apology of Socrates BURKE At the Trial of Warren Hastings DANTON Dare, Dare Again, Always Dare . WEBSTER In Reply to Hayne MACAULAY On the Reform Bill MAZZINI To the Young Men of Italy .... GARIBALDI To His Soldiers CAVOUR Rome as the Capital of United Italy . LINCOLN The "House Divided Against Itself" . The Speech at Gettysburg .... The Second Inaugural 385 387 388 397 401 402 403 405 406 407 IX. ESSAYS MONTAIGNE *AGK Of Repentance 408, BACON Of Truth, Of Adversity, Of Riches, Of Youth and Age, Of Negotiating, Of Studies 414 SWTJFT Abolishing of Christianity .... 420 A Modest Proposal 427 ADDISON The Object of The Spectator, Thoughts in Westminster Abbey, The Fine ^ Lady's Journal 432 BURKE Reflections on the French Revolution . 438 LAMB Poor Relations, Grace Before Meat, The Convalescent 448 SCHOPENHAUER On Thinking for Oneself 45$ CARLYLE Past and Present, Book III, Chapters x, xi, and xiii 463 EMERSON Self-Reliance 476 SATNTE-BEUVE What Is a Classic? 484 POE The Philosophy of Composition. . . 491 RUSKTJST Life and Its Arts 498 ARNOLD Sweetness and Light, Hebraism and Hellenism 508 HUXLEY The Method of Scientific Investigation 526 JAMES The Moral Equivalent of War . . . 530 STEVENSON jEs Triplex 538 EPIC AND ROMANCE HOMER When many centuries have passed over a civilization, and its cities have disappeared like a mist on the horizon, with all their monuments, their ships, their stately buildings of brass and stone then there might be nothing left by which that civilization could be remembered, if it were not for the poets. For songs have proved themselves the most enduring things on this earth. Thus, in the mighty epics of ancient Greece, the Iliad and the Odyssey, we have preserved for us the Greek life of about three thousand years ago. Through these poems we know the heart of ancient Greece and what manner of men her heroes were. Whether or not Homer was, as tradition held, an old blind singer who wandered from place to place chanting his stories of the fall of Troy and of the voyagings of the wise Odysseus, need not concern us. The significant thing is that these poems have profoundly influenced European literature, both ancient and modern, and through literature have touched the lives of all western peoples; that they are not only the most ancient national epics, but also the greatest. THE ILIAD The Iliad is the epic narrative of the expedition of the Greeks against the city of Troy to recover Helen, wife of Menelaus, who had been seduced and abducted by Paris, the son of Priam, king of Troy. The story of the golden apple thrown by Discord among the goddesses at the wedding feast of Thetis, the quarrel between Hera, Pallas Athena, and Aphrodite over who was the fairest with a right to posses- sion of the apple, their request that Paris should make the decision, and his awarding of it to Aphrodite, her rewarding him with the love of Helen fairest of women, his stealing of her from the hearthstone of Menelaus, the gathering of the chieftains of Greece to his aid these preliminaries to the story are told elsewhere or incidentally in the poem. The poem itself opens in the ninth year of the siege with a quarrel between Agamemnon, leader of the Greek host, and the greatest of the Greek warriors, Achilles, over the spoils of war, and the retirement of the latter to his tent to sulk among his people. He is in the end forced into active fighting only by the death of his beloved friend Patroclus who had disguised himself in the armor of the great warrior in order to hearten the Greek host. Achilles avenges him by slaying Hector, the Trojan chieftain, and dragging his body behind his chariot about the walls of the city. Throughout the mighty succession of battles, the heroes, aided by the gods from high Olympus, contend for the mastery of the field. The translation (1864) is by Edward, Earl of Derby. BOOK VI ARGUMENT THE battle is continued. The Trojans being closely pursued, Hector by the advice of Helenus enters Troy, and recommends it to Hecuba to go in solemn procession to the temple of Minerva; she with the matrons goes accordingly. Hector takes the opportunity to find out Paris, and exhorts him to return to the field of battle. An interview succeeds between Hector and Andromache, and Paris, having armed himself in the meantime, comes up with Hector at the close of it, when they sally from the gate together. THE Gods had left the field, and o'er the plain Hither and thither surg'd the tide of war, As couch'd th' opposing chiefs their brass- tipp'd spears, Midway 'twixt Simois' and Scamander's streams. First through the Trojan phalanx broke his way The son of Telamon, the prop of Greece, The mighty Ajax; on his friends the light Of triumph shedding, as Eusorus' son He smote, the noblest of the Thracian bands, Valiant and strong, the gallant Acamas. Full in the front, beneath the plumed helm, The sharp spear struck, and crashing through the bone, TYPES OF GREAT LITERATURE The warrior's eyes were clos'd in endless night. Next valiant Diomed Axylus slew, The son of Teuthranes, who had his home In fair Arisba; rich in substance he, And lov'd of all; for, dwelling near the road, He op'd to all his hospitable gate; But none of all he entertain'd was there To ward aside the bitter doom of death: There fell they both, he and his charioteer, Calesius, who athwart the battle-field His chariot drove; one fate o'er took them both. Then Dresus and Opheltius of their arms Euryalus despoil'd; his hot pursuit ^Esepus next, and Pedasus assail'd, Brothers, whom Abarbarea, Naiad nymph, To bold Bucolion bore; Buco!ion, son Of great Laomedon, his eldest born, Though bastard: he upon the mountain side, On which his flocks he tended, met the nymph, And of their secret loves twin sons were born; Whom now at once Euryalus of strength And life depriv'd, and of their armour stripp'd. By Polypcetes' hand, in battle strong, Was slain Astyalus; Pidutes fell, Chief of Percote, by Ulysses' spear; And Teucer godlike Aretaon slew. Antilochus, the son of Nestor, smote With gleaming lance Ablerus; Elatus By Agamemnon, King of men, was slain, Who dwelt by Satnois' widely-flowing stream, Upon the lofty heights of Pedasus. By Le'itus was Phylacus in flight O'erta'en; Eurypylus Melanthius slew. Then Menelaus, good in battle, took Adrastus captive; for his horses, scar'd And rushing wildly o'er the plain, amid The tangled tamarisk scrub his chariot broke, Snapping the pole; they with the flying crowd Held city-ward their course ; he from the car Hurl'd headlong, prostrate lay beside the wheel, Prone on his face in dust; and at his side, Poising his mighty spear, Atrides stood. Adrastus clasp'd his knees, and suppliant cried, "Spare me, great son of Atreus! for my life Accept a price; my wealthy father's house A goodly store contains of brass, and gold, And well- wrought iron; and of these he fain Would pay a noble ransom, could he hear That in the Grecian ships I yet surviv'd." His words to pity mov'd the victor's breast; Then had he bade his followers to the ships The captive bear; but running up in haste, Fierce Agamemnon cried in stern rebuke; "Soft-hearted Menelaus, why of life So tender? Hath thy house receiv'd in- deed Nothing but benefits at Trojan hands? Of that abhorred race, let not a man Escape the deadly vengeance of our arms ; No, not the infant in its mother's womb; No, nor the fugitive; but be they all, They and their city, utterly destroy'd, Uncar'd for, and from mem'ry blotted out." Thus as he spoke, his counsel, fraught with death, His brother's purpose chang'd: he with hi3 hand Adrastus thrust aside, whom with his lance Fierce Agamemnon through the loins transfix'd; And, as he roll'd in death, upon his breast Planting his foot, the ashen spear with- drew. Then loudly Nestor shouted to the Greeks: "Friends, Grecian heroes, ministers of Mars! Loiter not now behind, to throw yourselves Upon the prey, and bear it to the ships: Let all your aim be now to kill; anon Ye may at leisure spoil your slaughter'd foes." With words like these he fir'd the blood of all. Now had the Trojans by the warlike Greeks In coward flight within their walls been driv'n; But to ^Eneas and to Hector thus The son of Priam, Helenus, the EPIC AND ROMANCE Of all the Trojan seers, address'd his speech: "^Eneas, and thou Hector, since on you, Of all the Trojans and the Lycian hosts, Is laid the heaviest burthen, for that ye Excel alike in council and in fight, Stand here awhile, and moving to and fro On ev'ry side, around the gates exhort The troops to rally, lest they fall disgrac'd, Flying for safety to their women's arms, And foes, exulting, triumph in their shame. Their courage thus restor'd, worn as we are, We with the Greeks will still maintain the fight, For so, perforce, we must; but, Hector, thou Haste to the city; there our mother find, Both thine and mine; on Ilium's topmost height By all the aged dames accompanied, Bid her the shrine of blue-ey'd Pallas seek; Unlock the sacred gates; and on the knees Of fair-hair'd Pallas place the fairest robe In all the house, the amplest, best es- teem'd; And at her altar vow to sacrifice Twelve yearling kine that never felt the goad, So she have pity on the Trojan state, Our wives, and helpless babes, and turn away The fiery son of Tydeus, spearman fierce, The Minister of Terror; bravest he, In my esteem, of all the Grecian chiefs; For not Achilles' self, the prince of men, Though Goddess-born, such dread inspir'd; so fierce His rage; and with his prowess none may vie." He said, nor uncomplying, Hector heard His brother's counsel; from his car he leap'd In arms upon the plain; and brandish'd high His jav'lins keen, and moving to and fro The troops encourag'd, and restor'd the fight. Rallying they turn'd, and fac'd again the Greeks : These ceas'd from slaughter, and in turn gave way, Deeming that from the starry Heav'n some God Had to the rescue come; so fierce they turn'd. Then to the Trojans Hector calPd aloud: "Ye valiant Trojans, and renown'd Allies, Quit you like men; remember now, brave friends, Your wonted valor; I to Ilium go To bid our wives and rev'rend Elders raise To Heav'n their pray'rs, with vows of hecatombs." Thus saying, Hector of the glancing helm Turn'd to depart; and as he mov'd along, The black bull's-hide his neck and ankles smote, The outer circle of his bossy shield. Then Tydeus' son, and Glaucus, in the midst, Son of Hippolochus, stood forth to fight; But when they near were met, to Glaucus first The valiant Diomed his speech address'd: "Who art thou, boldest man of mortal birth? For in the glorious conflict heretofore I ne'er have seen thee; but in daring now Thou far surpasses! all, who hast not fear'd To face my spear; of most unhappy sires The children they, who my encounter meet. But if from Heav'n thou com'st, and art indeed A God, I fight not with the heav'nly powers. Not long did Dryas' son, Lycurgus brave, Survive, who dar'd th' Immortals to defy: He, 'mid their frantic orgies, in the groves Of lovely Nyssa, put to shameful rout The youthful Bacchus' nurses ; they, in fear, Dropp'd each her thyrsus, scatter'd by the hand Of fierce Lycurgus, with an ox-goad arm'd. Bacchus himself beneath the ocean wave In terror plung'd, and, trembling, refuge found In Thetis' bosom from a mortal's threats: The Gods indignant saw, and Saturn's son Smote him with blindness; nor surviv'd he long, Hated alike by all th' immortal Gods. TYPES OF GREAT LITERATURE I dare not then the blessed Gods oppose; But be thou mortal, and the fruits of earth Thy food, approach, and quickly meet thy doom." To whom the noble Glaucus thus replied: "Great son of Tydeus, why my race en- quire? The race of man is as the race of leaves: Of leaves, one generation by the wind Is scatter 'd on the earth; another soon In spring's luxuriant verdure bursts to light. So with our race; these flourish, those de- cay. But if thou wouldst in truth enquire and learn The race I spring from, not unknown of men; There is a city, in the deep recess Of pastoral Argos, Ephyre by name: There Sisyphus of old his dwelling had, Of mortal men the craftiest; Sisyphus, The son of ^Eolus; to him was born Glaucus; and Glaucus in his turn begot Bellerophon, on whom the Gods bestow'd The gifts of beauty and of manly grace. But Prcetus sought his death; and, mightier far, From all the coasts of Argos drove him forth, To Prcetus subjected by Jove's decree. For him the monarch's wife, Antsea, nurs'd A madd'ning passion, and to guilty love Would fain have tempted him; but fail'd to move The upright soul of chaste Bellerophon. With lying words she then address'd the King: 'Die, Prcetus, thou, or slay Bellerophon, Who basely sought my honor to assail.' The King with anger listen'd to her words; Slay him he would not; that his soul ab- horr'd; But to the father of his wife, the King Of Lycia, sent him forth, with tokens charg'd Of dire import, on folded tablets trac'd Pois'ning the monarch's mind, to work his death. To Lycia, guarded by the Gods, he went; But when he came to Lycia, and the streams Of Zanthus, there with hospitable rites The King of wide-spread Lycia welcom'd him. Nine days he feasted him, nine oxen slew; But with the tenth return of rosy morn He question'd him, and for the tokens- ask'd He from his son-in-law, from Prcetus, bore. The tokens' fatal import understood, He bade him first the dread Chimaera slay; A monster, sent from Heav'n, not human born, With head of lion, and a serpent's tail, And body of a goat ; and from her mouth There issued flames of fiercely-burning fire : Yet her, confiding in the Gods, he slew. Next, with the valiant Solymi he fought, The fiercest fight that e'er he undertook. Thirdly, the women-warriors he o'erthrew, The Amazons; from whom returning home, The King another stratagem devis'd; For, choosing out the best of Lycia's sons, He set an ambush ; they return'd not home, For all by brave Bellerophon were slain. But, by his valor when the King perceiv'd His heav'nly birth, he entertain'd him well; Gave him his daughter; and with her the half Of all his royal honors he bestow'd: A portion too the Lycians meted out, Fertile in corn and wine, of all the state The choicest land, to be his heritage. Three children there to brave Bellerophon Were born; Isander, and Hippolochus, Laodamia last, belov'd of Jove, The Lord of counsel; and to him she bore Godlike Sarpedon of the brazen helm. Bellerophon at length the wrath incurr'd Of all the Gods; and to th' Aleian plain Alone he wander'd; there he wore away His soul, and shunn'd the busy haunts of men. Insatiate Mars his son Isander slew In battle with the valiant Solymi: His daughter perish'd by Diana's wrath. I from Hippolochus my birth derive: To Troy he sent me, and enjoin'd me oft To aim at highest honors, and surpass My comrades all; nor on my father's name Discredit bring, who held the foremost place In Ephyre, and Lycia's wide domain. EPIC AND ROMANCE Such is my race and such the blood I boast." He said; and Diomed rejoicing heard: His spear he planted in the fruitful ground, And thus with friendly words the chief address'd: "By ancient ties of friendship are we bound; For godlike CEneus in his house receiv'd For twenty days the brave Bellerophon; They many a gift of friendship inter- chang'd. A belt, with crimson glowing, GEneus gave; Bellerophon, a double cup of gold, Which in my house I left when here I came. Of Tydeus no remembrance I retain; For yet a child he left me, when he fell With his Achaians at the gates of Thebes. So I in Argos am thy friendly host; Thou mine in Lycia, when I thither come: Then shun we, ev'n amid the thickest fight, Each other's lance; enough there are for me Of Trojans and their brave allies to kill, As Heav'n may aid me, and my speed of foot; And Greeks enough there are for thee to slay, If so indeed thou canst; but let us now Our armor interchange, that these may know What friendly bonds of old our houses join." Thus as they spoke, they quitted each his car; Clasp'd hand in hand, and plighted mutual faith. Then Glaucus of his judgment Jove de- priv'd, His armor interchanging, gold for brass, A hundred oxen's worth for that of nine. Meanwhile, when Hector reach'd the oak beside The Scaean gate, around him throng'd the wives Of Troy, and daughters, anxious to enquire The fate of children, brothers, husbands, friends; He to the Gods exhorted all to pray, For deep the sorrows that o'er many hung. But when to Priam's splendid house he came, With polish'd corridors adorn'd within Were fifty chambers, all of polish'd stone, Plac'd each by other; there the fifty sons Of Priam with their wedded wives repos'd; On th' other side, within the court were built Twelve chambers, near the roof, of polish'd stone, Plac'd each by other; there the sons-in-law Of Priam with their spouses chaste repos'd; To meet him there his tender mother came, And with her led the young Laodice, Fairest of all her daughters; clasping then His hand, she thus address'd him: "Why, my son, Why com'st thou here, and leav'st the battle-field? Are Trojans by those hateful sons of Greece, Fighting around the city, sorely press'd? And com'st thou, by thy spirit mov'd, to raise, On Ilium's heights, thy hands in pray'r to Jove? But tarry till I bring the luscious wine, That first to Jove, and to th' Immortals all, Thou mayst thine ofif'ring pour; then with the draught Thyself thou mayst refresh; for great the strength Which gen'rous wine imparts to men who toil, As thou hast toil'd, thy comrades to pro- tect." To whom great Hector of the glancing helm: "No, not for me, mine honor'd mother, pour The luscious wine, lest thou unnerve my limbs, And make me all my wonted prowess lose. The ruddy wine I dare not pour to Jove With hands unwash'd; nor to the cloud- girt son Of Saturn may the voice of pray'r ascend From one with blood bespatter'd and defil'd. Thou, with the elder women, seek the shrine Of Pallas; bring your gifts; and on the knees Of fair-hair'd Pallas place the fairest robe 8 TYPES OF GREAT LITERATURE In all the house, the amplest, best es- teem'd; And at her altar vow to sacrifice Twelve yearling kine, that never felt the goad; So she have pity on the Trojan state, Our wives, and helpless babes; and turn away The fiery son of Tydeus, spearman fierce, The Minister of Terror; to the shrine Of Pallas thou; to Paris I, to call If haply he will hear; would that the earth Would gape and swallow him! for great the curse That Jove through him hath brought on men of Troy, On noble Priam, and on Priam's sons. Could I but know that he were in his grave, Methinks my sorrows I could half forget." He said: she, to the house returning, sent Th' attendants through the city, to collect The train of aged suppliants; she mean- while Her fragrant chamber sought, wherein were stor'd Rich garments, by Sidonian women work'd, Whom godlike Paris had from Sidon brought, Sailing the broad sea o'er, the selfsame path By which the high-born Helen he convey'd. Of these, the richest in embroidery, The amplest, and the brightest, as a star Refulgent, plac'd with care beneath the rest, The Queen her off'ring bore to Pallas' shrine: She went, and with her many an ancient dame. But when the shrine they reach'd on Ilium's height, Theano, fair of face, the gates unlock'd, Daughter of Cisseus, sage Antenor's wife, By Trojans nam'd at Pallas' shrine to serve. They with deep moans to Pallas rais'd their hands; But fair Theano took the robe, and plac'd On Pallas' knees, and to the heav'nly Maid, Daughter of Jove, she thus address'd her pray'r: "Guardian of cities, Pallas, awful Queen, Goddess of Goddesses, break thou the spear Of Tydeus' son ; and grant that he himself Prostrate before the Scaean gates may fall ; So at thine altar will we sacrifice Twelve yearling kine, that never felt the goad, If thou have pity on the state of Troy, The wives of Trojans, and their helpless babes." Thus she; but Pallas answer 'd not her pray'r. While thus they call'd upon the heav'nly Maid, Hector to Paris' mansion bent his way; A noble structure, which himself had built Aided by all the best artificers Who in the fertile realm of Troy were known; With chambers, hall, and court, on Ilium's height, Near to where Priam's self and Hector dwelt. There enter'd Hector, well belov'd of Jove ; And in his hand his pond'rous spear he bore, Twelve cubits long; bright flash'd the weapon's point Of polish'd brass, with circling hoop of gold. There in his chamber found he whom he sought, About his armor busied, polishing His shield, his breastplate, and his bended bow. While Argive Helen, 'mid her maidens plac'd, The skilful labors of their hands o'er- look'd. To him thus Hector with reproachful words: "Thou dost not well thine anger to in- dulge; In battle round the city's lofty wall The people fast are falling; thou the cause That fiercely thus around the city burns The flame of war and battle; and thyself Wouldst others blame, who from the fight should shrink. Up, ere the town be wrapp'd in hostile fires." EPIC AND ROMANCE To whom in answer godlike Paris thus: "Hector, I own not causeless thy rebuke; Yet will I speak; hear thou and under stand ; 'Twas less from anger with the Trojan host, And fierce resentment, that I here re- main'd, Than that I sought my sorrow to indulge; Yet hath my wife, ev'n now, with soothing words Urg'd me to join the battle; so, I own, 'Twere best; and Vict'ry changes oft her side. Then stay, while I my armor don; or thou Go first: I, following, will o'ertake thee soon." He said: but Hector of the glancing helm Made answer none; then thus with gentle tones Helen accosted him: "Dear brother mine, (Of me, degraded, sorrow-bringing, vile !) Oh that the day my mother gave me birth Some storm had on the mountains cast me forth! Or that the many-dashing ocean's waves Had swept me off, ere all this woe were wrought ! Yet if these evils were of Heav'n ordain'd, Would that a better man had call'd me wife; A sounder judge of honor and disgrace: For he, thou know'st, no firmness hath of mind, Nor ever will; a want he well may rue. But come thou in, and rest thee here awhile, Dear brother, on this couch; for travail sore Encompasseth thy soul, by me impos'd, Degraded as I am, and Paris' guilt; On whom this burthen Heav'n hath laid, that shame On both our names through years to come shall rest." To whom great Hector of the glancing helm: "Though kind thy wish, yet, Helen, ask me not To sit or rest; I cannot yield to thee: For to the succour of our friends I haste, Who feel my loss, and sorely need my aid. But thou thy husband rouse, and let him speed, That he may find me still within the walls. For I too homeward go; to see once more My household, and my wife, and infant child: For whether I may e'er again return, I know not, or if Heav'n have so decreed, That I this day by Grecian hands should fall." Thus saying, Hector of the glancing helm Turn'd to depart; with rapid step he reach'd His own well-furnish'd house, but found not there His white-arm'd spouse, the fair Andro- mache. She with her infant child and maid the while Was standing, bath'd in tears, in bitter grief, On Ilium's topmost tower: but when her Lord Found not within the house his peerless wife, Upon the threshold pausing, thus he spoke: "Tell me, my maidens, tell me true, which way Your mistress went, the fair Andromache; Or to my sisters, or my brothers' wives? Or to the temple where the fair-hair'd dames Of Troy invoke Minerva's awful name? " To whom the matron of his house re- plied: " Hector, if truly we must answer thee, Not to thy sisters, nor thy brothers' wives, Nor to the temple where the fair-hair'd dames Of Troy invoke Minerva's awful name, But to the height of Ilium's topmost tow'r Andromache is gone; since tidings came The Trojan force was overmatch'd, and great The Grecian strength: whereat, like one distract, She hurried to the walls, and with her took, Borne in the nurse's arms, her infant child." So spoke the ancient dame; and Hector straight 10 TYPES OF GREAT LITERATURE Through the wide streets his rapid steps retrac'd. But when at last the mighty city's length Was travers'd, and the Scaean gates were reach'd Whence was the outlet to the plain, in haste Running to meet him came his priceless wife, Eetion's daughter, fair Andromache; Eetion, who from Thebes Cilicia sway'd, Thebes, at the foot of Places' wooded heights. His child to Hector of the brazen helm Was giv'n in marriage: she it was who now Met him, and by her side the nurse, who bore, Clasp'd to her breast, his all unconscious child, Hector's lov'd infant, fair as morning star; Whom Hector call'd Scamandrius, but the rest Astyanax, in honor of his sire, The matchless chief, the only prop of Troy. Silent he smil'd as on his boy he gaz'd: But at his side Andromache, in tears, Hung on his arm, and thus the chief ad- dress'd: "Dear Lord, thy dauntless spirit will work thy doom: Nor hast thou pity on this thy helpless child, Or me forlorn, to be thy widow soon: For thee will all the Greeks with force combin'd Assail and slay: for me, 'twere better far, Of thee bereft, to lie beneath the sod; Nor comfort shall be mine, if thou be lost, But endless grief; to me nor sire is left, Nor honor 'd mother; fell Achilles' hand My sire Eetion slew, what time his arms The populous city of Cilicia raz'd, The lofty-gated Thebes; he slew indeed, But stripp'd him not; he reverenc'd the dead; And o'er his body, with his armor burnt, A mound erected; and the mountain nymphs, The progeny of aegis-bearing Jove, Planted around his tomb a grove of elms. There were sev'n brethren in my father's house; All in one day they fell, amid their herds And fleecy flocks, by fierce Achilles' hand. My mother, Queen of Places' wooded height, Brought with the captives here, he soon releas'd For costly ransom; but by Dian's shafts She, in her father's house, was stricken down. But, Hector, thou to me art all in one, Sire, mother, brethren! thou, my wedded love! Then pitying us, within the tow'r remain, Nor make thy child an orphan, and thy wife A hapless widow; by the fig-tree here Array thy troops; for here the city wall, Easiest of access, most invites assault. Thrice have their boldest chiefs this point assail'd, The two Ajaces, brave Idomeneus, Th' Atridae both, and Tydeus' warlike son, Or by the prompting of some Heav'n- taught seer, Or by their own advent'rous courage led." To whom great Hector of the glancing helm: "Think not, dear wife, that by such thoughts as these My heart has ne'er been wrung; but I should blush To face the men and long-rob'd dames of Troy, If, like a coward, I could shun the fight. Nor could my soul the lessons of my youth So far forget, whose boast it still has been In the fore-front of battle to be found, Charg'd with my father's glory and mine own. Yet hi my inmost soul too well I know, The day must come when this our sacred Troy, And Priam's race, and Priam's royal self, Shall in one common ruin be o'erthrown. But not the thoughts of Troy's impending fate, Nor Hecuba's nor royal Priam's woes, Nor loss of brethren, numerous and brave, By hostile hands laid prostrate in the dust, So deeply wring my heart as thoughts of thee, Thy days of freedom lost, and led away EPIC AND ROMANCE ii A weeping captive by some brass-clad Greek; Haply in Argos, at a mistress' beck, Condemn'd to ply the loom, or water draw From Hypereia's or Messeis' fount, Heart-wrung, by stern necessity con- strain'd. Then they who see thy tears perchance may say, 'Lo! this was Hector's wife, who, when they fought On plains of Troy, was Ilium's bravest chief.' Thus may they speak; and thus thy grief renew For loss of him, who might have been thy shield To rescue thee from slav'ry's bitter hour. Oh may I sleep in dust, ere be condemn'd To hear thy cries, and see thee dragg'd away!" Thus as he spoke, great Hector stretch'd his arms To take his child; but back the infant shrank, Crying, and sought his nurse's shelt'ring breast, Scar'd by the brazen helm and horse-hair plume, That nodded, fearful, on the warrior's crest. Laugh'd the fond parents both, and from his brow Hector the casque remov'd, and set it down, All glitt'ring, on the ground; then kiss'd his child, And danc'd him in his arms; then thus to Jove And to th' Immortals all address'd his pray'r: "Grant, Jove, and all ye Gods, that this my son May be, as I, the foremost man of Troy, For valor fam'd, his country's guardian King; That men may say, 'This youth surpasses far His father,' when they see him from the fight, From slaughter'd foes, with bloody spoils of war Returning, to rejoice his mother's heart ! " Thus saying, in his mother's arms he plac'd His child; she to her fragrant bosom clasp'd, Smiling through tears; with eyes of pitying love Hector beheld, and press'd her hand, and thus Address'd her "Dearest, wring not thus my heart! For till my day of destiny is come, No man may take my life; and when it comes, Nor brave nor coward can escape that day. But go thou home, and ply thy household cares, The loom and distaff, and appoint thy maids Their sev'ral tasks; and leave to men of Troy And, chief of all to me, the toils of war." Thus as he spoke, his horsehair-plumed helm Great Hector took; and homeward turn'd his wife With falt'ring steps, and shedding scalding tears. Arriv'd at valiant Hector's well-built house, Her maidens press'd around her; and in all Arose at once the sympathetic grief. For Hector, yet alive, his household mourn'd, Deeming he never would again return, Safe from the fight, by Grecian hands un- harm'd. Nor linger 'd Paris in his lofty halls; But donn'd his armor, glitt'ring o'er with brass, And through the city pass'd with bounding steps. As some proud steed, at well-filPd manger fed, His halter broken, neighing, scours the plain, And revels in the widely-flowing stream To bathe his sides; then tossing high his head, While o'er his shoulders streams his ample mane, Light borne on active limbs, in conscious pride, 12 TYPES OF GREAT LITERATURE To the wide pastures of the mares he flies; So Paris, Priam's son, from Ilium's height, His bright arms flashing like the gorgeous sun, Hasten'd, with boastful mien, and rapid step. Hector he found, as from the spot he turn'd Where with his wife he late had converse held; Whom thus the godlike Paris first ad- dress'd: "Too long, good brother, art thou here detain'd, Impatient for the fight, by my delay; Nor have I timely, as thou bad'st me, come." To whom thus Hector of the glancing helm: "My gallant brother, none who thinks aright Can cavil at thy prowess in the field; For thou art very valiant; but thy will Is weak and sluggish; and it grieves my heart, When from the Trojans, who in thy behalf Such labors undergo, I hear thy name Coupled with foul reproach! But go we now! Henceforth shall all be well, if Jove permit That from our shores we chase th' invading Greeks, And to the ever-living Gods of Heav'n In peaceful homes our free libations pour." THE ODYSSEY The Odyssey is the story of the sea-wanderings of Odysseus (Ulysses) after the fall of Troy, and of the coming home of this much-enduring hero to his island kingdom of Ithaca. During his many years' absence, his wife the Queen, Penelope, type of perfect wifeliness has been besieged by numerous and arrogant suitors, who, scorning the youthful son, Telemachus, make free with the house and pos- sessions of Odysseus, and urge Penelope to regard her husband as dead, and to marry one of them. The Hero comes to his home in the guise of an humble stranger; he has made himself known to his son, and has been recognized by his old nurse and his faithful dog, but is unknown to the suitors and to Penelope. In this passage the climax of the story is reached, and Odysseus triumphs over his enemies. The translation is that of William Cowper (1731-1800), published in 1791. BOOK XXI \ ARGUMENT PENELOPE proposes to the suitors a contest with the bow, herself the prize. They prove un- able to bend the bow; when Ulysses having with some difficulty possessed himself of it, manages it with the utmost ease, and dis- patches his arrow through twelve rings erected for the trial. MINERVA now, Goddess casrulean-eyed, Prompted Icarius' daughter, the discrete Penelope, with bow and rings to prove Her suitors in Ulysses' courts, a game Terrible in conclusion to them aS. First, taking in her hand the brazen key Well-forged, and fitted with an iv'ry grasp, Attended by the women of her tram She sought her inmost chamber, the recess In which she kept the treasures of her Lord, His brass, his gold, and steel elaborate. Here lay his stubborn bow, and quiver filPd With num'rous shafts, a fatal store. That bow He had received and quiver from the hand Of godlike Iphitus Eurytides, Whom, in Messenia, in the house he met Of brave Orsilochus. Ulysses came Demanding payment of arrearage due From all that land; for a Messenian fleet Had borne from Ithaca three hundred sheep, With all their shepherds; for which cause, ere yet Adult, he voyaged to that distant shore, Deputed by his sire, and by the Chiefs Of Ithaca, to make the just demand. But Iphitus had thither come to seek Twelve mares and twelve mule colts which he had lost, A search that cost him soon a bloody death. For, coming to the house of Hercules The valiant task-performing son of Jove. He perish'd there, slam by his cruel host EPIC AND ROMANCE Who, heedless of heav'n's wrath, and of the rights Of his own board, first fed, then slaughter'd him; For in his house the mares and colts were hidden. He, therefore, occupied in that concern, Meeting Ulysses there, gave him the bow Which, erst, huge Eurytus had borne, and which Himself had from his dying sire received. Ulysses, hi return, on him bestowed A spear and sword, pledges of future love And hospitality; but never more They met each other at the friendly board, For, ere that hour arrived, the son of Jove Slew his own guest, the godlike Iphitus. Thus came the bow into Ulysses' hands, Which, never in his gallant barks he bore To battle with him (though he used it oft In times of peace), but left it safely stored At home, a dear memorial of his friend. Soon as, divinest of her sex [Penelope], arrived At that same chamber, with her foot she press'd The oaken threshold bright, on which the hand Of no mean architect had stretch'd the line, Who had erected also on each side The posts on which the splendid portals hung, She loos'd the ring and brace, then intro- duced The key, and aiming at them from with- out, Struck back the bolts. The portals, at that stroke, Sent forth a tone deep as the pastur'd bull's, And flew wide open. She, ascending, next, The elevated floor on which the chests That held her own fragrant apparel stood, With lifted hand aloft took down the bow In its embroider'd bow-case safe enclosed. Then, sitting there, she lay'd it on her knees, Weeping aloud, and drew it from the case. Thus weeping over it long time she sat. Till satiate, at the last, with grief and tears Descending by the palace steps she sought Again the haughty suitors, with the bow Elastic, and the quiver in her hand Replete with pointed shafts, a deadly store. Her maidens, as she went, bore after her A coffer fill'd with prizes by her Lord, Much brass and steel; and when at length she came, Loveliest of women, where the suitors sat, Between the pillars of the stately dome Pausing, before her beauteous face she held Her lucid veil, and by two matrons chaste Supported, the assembly thus address'd. Ye noble suitors hear, who rudely haunt This palace of a Chief long absent hence, Whose substance ye have now long tune consumed, Nor palliative have yet contrived, or could, Save your ambition to make me a bride Attend this game to which I call you forth. Now suitors! prove yourselves with this huge bow Of wide-renown'd Ulysses; he who draws Easiest the bow, and who his arrow sends Through twice six rings, he takes me to his home, And I must leave this mansion of my youth Plenteous, magnificent, which, doubtless, oft I shall remember even in my dreams. So saying, she bade Eumaeus lay the bow Before them, and the twice six rings of steel. He wept, received them, and obey'd; nor wept The herdsman less, seeing the bow which erst His Lord had occupied; when at their tears Indignant, thus, Antinoiis began. Ye rural drones, whose purblind eyes see not Beyond the present hour, egregious fools! Why weeping trouble ye the Queen, too much Before afflicted for her husband lost? Either partake the banquet silently, Or else go weep abroad, leaving the bow, That stubborn test, to us; for none, I judge, None here shall bend this polish'd bow with ease, TYPES OF GREAT LITERATURE Since in this whole assembly I discern None like Ulysses, whom myself have seen And recollect, though I was then a boy. He said, but in his heart, meantime, the hope Cherish'd, that he should bend, himself, the bow, And pass the rings; yet was he destin'd first Of all that company to taste the steel Of brave Ulysses' shaft, whom in that house He had so oft dishonor'd, and had urged So oft all others to the like offence. Amidst them, then, the sacred might arose Of young Telemachus, who thus began. Saturnian Jove questionless hath de- prived Me of all reason. My own mother, fam'd For wisdom as she is, makes known to all Her purpose to abandon this abode And follow a new mate, while, heedless, I Trifle and laugh as I were still a child. But come, ye suitors! since the prize is such, A woman like to whom none can be found This day in all Achaia; on the shores Of sacred Pylus; in the cities proud Of Argos or Mycenae; or even here In Ithaca; or yet within the walls Of black Epirus; and since this yourselves Know also, wherefore should I speak her praise? Come then, delay not, waste not time in vain Excuses, turn not from the proof, but bend The bow, that thus the issue may be known. I also will, myself, that task essay; And should I bend the bow, and pass the rings, Then shall not my illustrious mother leave Her son forlorn, forsaking this abode To follow a new spouse, while I remain Disconsolate, although of age to bear, Successful as my sire, the prize away. So saying, he started from his seat, cast off His purple cloak, and lay'd his sword aside, Then fix'd, himself, the rings, furrowing the earth By line, and op'ning one long trench for all, And stamping close the glebe. Amaze- ment seized All present, seeing with how prompt a skill He executed, though untaught, his task. Then, hasting to the portal, there he stood. Thrice, struggling, he essay'd to bend the bow, And thrice desisted, hoping still to draw The bow-string home, and shoot through all the rings. And now the fourth time striving with full force He had prevail'd to string it, but his sire Forbad his eager efforts by a sign. Then thus the royal youth to all around Gods! either I shall prove of little force Hereafter, and for manly feats unapt, Or I am yet too young, and have not strength To quell the aggressor's contumely. But come (For ye have strength surpassing mine) try ye The bow, and bring this contest to an end. He ceas'd, and set the bow down on the floor, Reclining it against the shaven panels smooth That lined the wall; the arrow next he placed, Leaning against the bow's bright-polish'd horn, And to the seat, whence he had ris'n, re- turn'd. Then thus Eupithes' son, Antinoiis spake. My friends! come forth successive from the right, Where he who ministers the cup begins. So spake Antinoiis, and his counsel pleased. Then, first, Leiodes, (Enop's son, arose. He was their soothsayer, and ever sat Beside the beaker, inmost of them all. To him alone, of all, licentious deeds Were odious, and, with indignation fired, He witness'd the excesses of the rest. He then took foremost up the shaft and bow, And, station'd at the portal, strove to bend But bent it not, fatiguing, first, his hands Delicate and uncustom'd to the toil. EPIC AND ROMANCE He ceased, and the assembly thus bespake. My friends, I speed not; let another try; For many Princes shall this bow of life Bereave, since death more eligible seems, Far more, than loss of her, for whom we meet Continual here, expecting still the prize. Some suitor, haply, at this moment, hopes That he shall wed whom long he hath desired, Ulysses' wife, Penelope; let him Essay the bow, and, trial made, address His spousal offers to some other fair Among the long-stoled Princesses of Greece, This Princess leaving his, whose proffer'd gifts Shall please her most, and whom the Fates ordain. He said, and set the bow down on the floor, Reclining it against the shaven panels smooth That lined the wall; the arrow, next, he placed, Leaning against the bow's bright-polish'd horn, And to the seat whence he had ris'n re- turn'd. Then him Antinoiis, angry, thus reproved. What word, Leiodes, grating to our ears Hath scap'd thy lips? I hear it with dis- dain. Shall this bow fatal prove to many a Prince, Because thou hast, thyself, too feeble proved To bend it? no. Thou wast not born to bend The unpliant bow, or to direct the shaft, But here are nobler who shall soon prevail. He said, and to Melanthius gave com- mand, The goat-herd. Hence, Melanthius, kin- dle fire; Beside it place, with fleeces spread, a form Of ^length commodious; from within pro- cure A large round cake of suet next, with which When we have chafed and suppled the tough bow Before the fire, we will again essay To bend it, and decide the doubtful strife. He ended, and Melanthius, kindling fire Beside it placed, with fleeces spread, a form Of length commodious; next, he brought a cake Ample and round of suet from within, With which they chafed the bow, then tried again To bend, but bent it not ; superior strength To theirs that task required. Yet two, the rest In force surpassing, made no trial yet, Antinoiis, and Eurymachus the brave. Then went the herdsman and the swine- herd forth Together; after whom, the glorious Chief Himself the house left also, and when all Without the court had met, with gentle speech Ulysses, then, the faithful pair address'd. Herdsman! and thou, Eumaeus! shall I keep A certain secret close, or shall I speak Outright? my spirit prompts me, and I will. What welcome should Ulysses at your hands Receive, arriving suddenly at home, Some God his guide; would ye the suitors aid, Or would ye aid Ulysses? answer true. Then thus the chief intendant of his herds. Would Jove but grant me my desire, to see Once more the Hero, and would some kind Pow'r, Restore him, I would shew thee soon an arm Strenuous to serve him, and a dauntless heart'. Eumaeus, also, fervently implored The Gods in pray'r, that they would render back Ulysses to his home. He, then, convinced Of their unfeigning honesty, began. Behold him! I am he myself, arrived After long suffrings in the twentieth year ! I know how welcome to yourselves alone Of all my train I come, for I have heard None others praying for my safe return. I therefore tell you truth; should heav'n subdue The suitors under me, ye shall receive i6 TYPES OF GREAT LITERATURE Each at my hands a bride, with lands and house Near to my own, and ye shall be thence- forth Dear friends and brothers of the Prince my son. Lo! also this indisputable proof That ye may know and trust me. View it here. It is the scar which in Parnassus erst (Where with the sons I hunted of renown'd Autolycus) I from a boar received. So saying, he stripp'd his tatters, and unveil'd The whole broad scar; then, soon as they had seen And surely recognized the mark, each cast His arms around Ulysses, wept, embraced And press'd him to his bosom, kissing oft His brows and shoulders, who as oft their hands And foreheads kiss'd, nor had the setting sun Beheld them satisfied, but that himself Ulysses thus admonished them, and said. Cease now from tears, lest any, coming forth, Mark and report them to our foes within. Now, to the hall again, but one by one, Not all at once, I foremost, then your- selves, And this shall be the sign. Full well I know That, all unanimous, they will oppose Deliv'ry of the bow and shafts to me; But thou (proceeding with it to my seat), Eumaeus, noble friend! shalt give the bow Into my grasp; then bid the women close The massy doors, and should they hear a groan Or other noise made by the Princes shut Within the hall, let none set step abroad, But all work silent. Be the palace-door Thy charge, my good Philcetius! key it fast Without a moment's pause, and fix the brace. He ended, and, returning to the hall, Resumed his seat; nor stay'd his servants long Without, but follow'd their illustrious Lord. Eurymachus was busily employ'd Turning the bow, and chafing it before The sprightly blaze, but, after all, could find No pow'r to bend it. Disappointment wrung A groan from his proud heart, and thus he said. Alas! not only for myself I grieve, But grieve for all. Nor, though I mourn the loss Of such a bride, mourn I that loss alone, (For lovely Grecians may be found no few In Ithaca, and in the neighbor isles) But should we so inferior prove at last To brave Ulysses, that no force of ours Can bend his bow, we are for ever shamed. To whom Antinoiis, thus, Euphites' son. Not so; (as even thou art well-assured Thyself, Eurymachus!) but Phoebus claims This day his own. Who then, on such a day, Would strive to bend it? Let it rather rest. And should we leave the rings where now they stand, I trust that none ent'ring Ulysses' house Will dare displace them. Cup-bearer, attend! Serve all with wine, that, first, libation made, We may religiously lay down the bow. Command ye too Melanthius, that he drive Hither the fairest goats of all his flocks At dawn of day, that burning first, the thighs To the ethereal archer, we may make New trial, and decide, at length, the strife. So spake Antinoiis, and his counsel pleased. The heralds, then, pour'd water on their hands, While youths crown'd high the goblets which they bore From right to left, distributing to all. When each had made libation, and had drunk Till well sufficed, then, artful to effect His shrewd designs, Ulysses thus began. Hear, ye suitors of the illustrious Queen, My bosom's dictates. But I shall entreat EPIC AND ROMANCE Chiefly Eurymachus and the godlike youth Antinoiis, whose advice is wisely giv'n. Tamper no longer with the bow, but leave The matter with the Gods, who shall de- cide The strife to-morrow, fav'ring whom they will. Meantime, grant me the polish'd bow, that I May trial make among you of my force, If I retain it still in like degree As erst, or whether wand'ring and defect Of nourishment have worn it all away. He said, whom they with indignation heard Extreme, alarm'd lest he should bend the bow, And sternly thus Antinoiis replied. Desperate vagabond! ah wretch de- prived Of reason utterly! art not content? Esteem'st it not distinction proud enough To feast with us the nobles of the land? None robs thee of thy share, thou wit- nessest Our whole discourse, which, save thyself alone, No needy vagrant is allow'd to hear. Thou art befool'd by wine, as many have been, Wide-throated drinkers, unrestrain'd by rule. Wine in the mansion of the mighty Chief Pirithoiis, made the valiant Centaur mad, Eurytion, at the Lapithsean feast. He drank to drunkenness, and being drunk, Committed great enormities beneath Pirithoiis' roof, and such as fill'd with rage The Hero-guests, who therefore by his feet Dragg'd him right through the vestibule, amerced Of nose and ears, and he departed thence Provoked to frenzy by that foul disgrace. Whence war between the human kind arose And the bold Centaurs but he first in- curred By his ebriety that mulct severe. Great evil, also, if thou bend the bow, To thee I prophesy; for thou shalt find Advocate or protector none in all This people, but we will dispatch thee hence Incontinent on board a sable bark To Echetus, the scourge of human kind, From whom is no escape. Drink then in peace, And contest shun with younger men than thou. Him answer'd, then, Penelope discrete. Antinoiis! neither seemly were the deed Nor just, to maim or harm whatever guest Whom here arrived Telemachus receives. Canst thou expect, that should he even prove Stronger than ye, and bend the massy bow, He will conduct me hence to his own home, And make me his own bride? No such design His heart conceives, or hope; nor let a dread So vain the mind of any overcloud Who banquets here, since it dishonors me. So she; to whom Eurymachus reply 'd, Offspring of Polybus. O matchless Queen ! Icarius' prudent daughter! none suspects That thou wilt wed with him; a mate so mean Should ill become thee; but we fear the tongues Of either sex, lest some Achaian say Hereafter (one inferior far to us), Ah! how unworthy are they to compare With him whose wife they seek! to bend his bow Pass'd all their pow'r, yet this poor vaga- bond, Arriving from what country none can tell, Bent it with ease, and shot through all the rings. So will they speak, and so shall we be shamed. Then answer, thus, Penelope return'd. No fair report, Eurymachus, attends Their names or can, who, riotous as ye, The house dishonor, and consume the wealth Of such a Chief. Why shame ye thus yourselves ? The guest is of athletic frame, well form'd, And large of limb; he boas tshim also sprung i8 TYPES OF GREAT LITERATURE From noble ancestry. Come then con- sent Give him the bow, that we may see the proof; For thus I say, and thus will I perform; Sure as he bends it, and Apollo gives To him that glory, tunic fair and cloak Shall be his meed from me, a javelin keen To guard him against men and dogs, a sword Of double edge, and sandals for his feet, And I will send him whither most he would. Her answer'd then prudent Telemachus. Mother the bow is mine; and, save my- self, No Greek hath right to give it, or refuse. None who hi rock-bound Ithaca possess Dominion, none in the steed-pastured isles Of Elis, if I chose to make the bow His own for ever, should that choice con- trol. But thou into the house repairing, ply Spindle and loom, thy province, and enjoin Diligence to thy maidens; for the bow Is man's concern alone, and shall be mine Especially, since I am master here. She heard astonish'd, and the prudent speech Reposing of her son deep in her heart, Withdrew; then mounting with her female train To her superior chamber, there she wept Her lost Ulysses, till Minerva bathed With balmy dews of sleep her weary lids. And now the noble swine-herd bore the bow Toward Ulysses, but with one voice all The suitors, clamorous, reproved the deed, Of whom a youth, thus, insolent ex- claim'd. Thou clumsy swine-herd, whither bear'st the bow, Delirious wretch? the hounds that thou hast train'd Shall eat thee at thy solitary home Ere long, let but Apollo prove, at last, Propitious to us, and the Pow'rs of heav'n. So they, whom hearing he replaced the bow Where erst it stood, terrified at the sound Of such loud menaces; on the other side Telemachus as loud assail'd his ear. Friend! forward with the bow; or soon repent That thou obey'dst the many. I will else With huge stones drive thee, younger as I am, Back to the field. My strength surpasses thine. I would to heav'n that I in force excell'd As far, and prowess, every suitor here! So would I soon give rude dismission hence To some, who live but to imagine harm. He ceased, whose words the suitors laughing heard. And, for their sake, in part their wrath resign'd Against Telemachus ; then through the hall Eumaeus bore, and to Ulysses' hand Consign'd the bow; next, summoning abroad The ancient nurse, he gave her thus in charge. It is the pleasure of Telemachus, Sage Euryclea! that thou key secure The doors; and should you hear, per- chance, a groan Or other noise made by the Princes shut Within the hall, let none look, curious, forth, But each in quietness pursue her work. So he; nor flew his words useless away, But she, incontinent, shut fast the doors. Then, noiseless, sprang Philcetius forth, who closed The portals also of the palace-court. A ship-rope of ^Egyptian reed, it chanced, Lay in the vestibule; with that he braced The doors securely, and re-entring fill'd Again his seat, but watchful, eyed his Lord. He, now, assaying with his hand the bow, Made curious trial of it ev'ry way, And turn'd it on all sides, lest haply worms Had in its master's absence drill'd the horn. Then thus a suitor to his next remark'd. He hath an eye, methinks, exactly skill'd In bows, and steals them; or perhaps, at home, Hath such himself, or feels a strong desire To make them; so inquisitive the rogue EPIC AND ROMANCE Adept in mischief, shifts it to and fro! To whom another, insolent, replied. I wish him like prosperity in all His efforts, as attends his effort made On this same bow, which he shall never bend. So they; but when the wary Hero wise Had made his hand familiar with the bow Poising it and examining at once As when in harp and song adept, a bard Unlab'ring strains the chord to a new lyre, The twisted entrails of a sheep below With fingers nice inserting, and above, With such facility Ulysses bent His own huge bow, and with his right hand play'd The nerve, which in its quick vibration sang Clear as the swallow's voice. Keen an- guish seized The suitors, wan grew ev'ry cheek, and Jove Gave him his rolling thunder for a sign. That omen, granted to him by the son Of wily Saturn, with delight he heard. He took a shaft that at the table-side Lay ready drawn; but in his quiver's womb The rest yet slept, by those Achaians proud To be, ere long, experienced. True he lodg'd The arrow on the centre of the bow, And, occupying still his seat, drew home Nerve and notch'd arrow-head; with stedfast sight He aimed and sent it; right through all the rings From first to last the steel-charged weapon flew Issuing beyond, and to his son he spake. Thou need'st not blush, young Prince, to have received A guest like me ; neither my arrow swerved, Nor labor 'd I long time to draw the bow; My strength is unimpair'd, not such as these In scorn affirm it. But the waning day Calls us to supper, after which succeeds Jocund variety, the song, the harp, With all that heightens and adorns the feast. He said, and with his brows gave him the sign. At once the son of the illustrious Chief Slung his keen faulchion, grasp'd his spear, and stood Arm'd bright for battle at his father's side. BOOK XXII ARGUMENT ULYSSES, with some little assistance from Tele- machus, Eumaeus and Philcetius, slays all the suitors THEN, girding up his rags, Ulysses sprang With bow and full-charged quiver to the door; Loose on the broad stone at his feet he pour'd His arrows, and the suitors, thus, bespake. This prize, though difficult, hath been achieved. Now for another mark which never man Struck yet, but I will strike it if I may, And if Apollo make that glory mine. He said, and at Antinoiis aimed direct A bitter shaft; he, purposing to drink, Both hands advanced toward the golden cup Twin-ear'd, nor aught suspected death so nigh. For who, at the full banquet, could suspect That any single guest, however brave, Should plan his death, and execute the blow? Yet him Ulysses with an arrow pierced Full in the throat, and through his neck behind Started the glitt'ring point. Aslant he droop'd; Down fell the goblet; through his nostrils flew The spouted blood, and spurning with his foot The board, he spread his viands in the dust. Confusion, when they saw Antinoiis fall'n, Seized all the suitors; from the thrones they sprang, Flew ev'ry way, and on all sides explored The palace-walls, but neither sturdy lance As erst, nor buckler could they there dis- cern, 30 TYPES OF GREAT LITERATURE Then, furious, to Ulysses thus they spake. Thy arrow, stranger, was ill-aimed; a man Is no just mark. Thou never shalt dispute Prize more. Inevitable death is thine. For thou hast slain a Prince noblest of all In Ithaca, and shalt be vultures' food. Various their judgments were, but none believed That he had slain him wittingly, nor saw Th' infatuate men fate hov'ring o'er them all. Then thus Ulysses, louring dark, replied. O dogs ! not fearing aught my safe return From Ilium, ye have shorn my substance close, Lain with my women forcibly, and sought, While yet I lived, to make my consort yours, Heedless of the inhabitants of heav'n Alike, and of the just revenge of man. But death is on the wing; death for you all. He said; their cheeks all faded at the sound, And each with sharpen'd eyes search'd ev'ry nook For an escape from his impending doom. Till thus, alone, Eurymachus replied. If thou indeed art he, the mighty Chief Of Ithaca return'd, thou hast rehears'd With truth the crimes committed by the Greeks Frequent, both in thy house and in thy field. But he, already, who was cause of all, Lies slain, Antinoiis, he thy palace fill'd With outrage, not solicitous so much To win the fan- Penelope, but thoughts Far diff'rent framing, which Saturnian Jove Hath baffled all; to rule, himself, supreme In noble Ithaca, when he had kill'd By an insidious stratagem thy son. But he is slain. Now therefore, spare thy own, Thy people; public reparation due Shall sure be thine, and to appease thy wrath For all the waste that, eating, drinking here We have committed, we will yield thee, each. Full twenty beeves, gold paying thee beside And brass, till joy shall fill thee at the sight, However just thine anger was before. To whom Ulysses, frowning stern, re- plied. Eurymachus, would ye contribute each His whole inheritance, and other sums Still add beside, ye should not, even so, These hands of mine bribe to abstain from blood, Till ev'ry suitor suffer for his wrong. Ye have your choice. Fight with me, or escape (Whoever may) the terrors of his fate, But ye all perish, if my thought be true. He ended, they with trembling knees and hearts All heard, whom thus Eurymachus ad- dress'd. To your defence, my friends! for respite none Will he to his victorious hands afford, But, arm'd with bow and quiver, will dis- patch Shafts from the door till he have slain us all. Therefore to arms draw each his sword oppose The tables to his shafts, and all at once Rush on him; that, dislodging him at least From portal and from threshold, we may give The city on all sides a loud alarm, So shall this archer soon have shot his last. Thus saying, he drew his brazen faul- chion keen Of double edge, and with a dreadful cry Sprang on him; but Ulysses with a shaft In that same moment through his bosom driv'n Transfix'd his liver, and down dropp'd his sword. He, staggering around his table, fell Convolv'd in agonies, and overturn'd Both food and wine; his forehead smote the floor; Woe fill'd his heart, and spurning with his heels His vacant seat, he shook it till he died. Then, with his faulchion drawn, Amphi- nomus EPIC AND ROMANCE 21 Advanced to drive Ulysses from the door, And fierce was his assault; but, from be- hind, Telemachus between his shoulders fix'd A brazen lance, and urged it through his breast. Full on his front, with hideous sound, he fell. Leaving the weapon planted in his spine Back flew Telemachus, lest, had he stood Drawing it forth, some enemy, perchance, Should either pierce him with a sudden thrust Oblique, or hew him with a downright edge. Swift, therefore, to his father's side he ran, Whom reaching, in wing'd accents thus he said. My father! I will now bring thee a shield, An helmet, and two spears; I will enclose Myself in armor also, and will give Both to the herdsmen and Eumaeus arms Expedient now, and needful for us all. To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied. Run ; fetch them, while I yet have arrows left, Lest, single, I be justled from the door. He said, and, at his word, forth went the Prince, Seeking the chamber where he had secured The armor. Thence he took four shields, eight spears, With four hair-crested helmets, charged with which He hasted to his father's side again, And, arming first himself, furnish'd with arms His two attendants. Then, all clad alike In splendid brass, beside the dauntless Chief Ulysses, his auxiliars firm they stood. He, while a single arrow unemploy'd Lay at his foot, right-aiming, ever pierced Some suitor through, and heaps on heaps they fell. But when his arrows fail'd the royal Chief, His bow reclining at the portal's side Against the palace-wall, he slung, himself, A four-fold buckler on his arm, he fix'd A casque whose crest wav'd awful o'er his brows On his illustrious head, and fill'd his gripe With two stout spears, well-headed, both, with brass. There was a certain postern in the wall At the gate-side, the customary pass Into a narrow street, but barr'd secure. Ulysses bade his faithful swine-herd watch That egress, station'd near it, for it own'd One sole approach; then Agelalis loud Exhorting all the suitors, thus exclaim'd. Oh friends, will none, ascending to the door Of yonder postern, summon to our aid The populace, and spread a wide alarm? So shall this archer soon have shot his last. To whom the keeper of the goats replied, Melanthius. Agelaiis! Prince renown'd! That may not be. The postern and the gate Neighbor too near each other, and to force The narrow egress were a vain attempt; One valiant man might thence repulse us all. But come myself will furnish you with arms Fetch'd from above; for there, as I sup- pose, (And not elsewhere) Ulysses and his son Have hidden them, and there they shall be found. So spake Melanthius, and, ascending, sought Ulysses' chambers through the winding stairs And gall'ries of the house. Twelve buck- lers thence He took, as many spears, and helmets bright As many, shagg'd with hair, then swift re- turn'd And gave them to his friends. Trembled the heart Of brave Ulysses, and his knees, at sight Of his opposers putting armor on, And shaking each his spear; arduous in- deed Now seem'd his task, and in wing'd ac- cents brief Thus to his son Telemachus he spake. Either some woman of our train con- trives Hard battle for us, furnishing with arms 22 TYPES OF GREAT LITERATURE The suitors, or Melanthius arms them all. Him answer'd then Telemachus discrete. Father, this fault was mine, and be it charged On none beside; I left the chamber-door Unbarr'd, which, more attentive than myself, Their spy perceived. But haste, Eumaeus, shut The chamber-door, observing well, the while, If any women of our train have done This deed, or whether, as I more suspect, Melanthius, Dolius' son, have giv'n them arms. Thus mutual they conferr'd; meantime, again Melanthius to the chamber flew in quest Of other arms. Eumaeus, as he went, Mark'd him, and to Ulysses thus he spake. Laertes' noble son, for wiles renown'd! Behold, the traitor, whom ourselves sup- posed, Seeks yet again the chamber ! Tell me plain, Shall I, should I superior prove in force, Slay him, or shall I drag him thence to thee, That he may suffer at thy hands the doom Due to his treasons perpetrated oft Against thee, here, even in thy own house? Then answer thus Ulysses shrewd re- turn'd. I, with Telemachus, will here immew The lordly suitors close, rage as they may. Ye two, the while, bind fast Melanthius' hands And feet behind his back, then cast him bound Into the chamber, and (the door secured) Pass underneath his arms a double chain, And by a pillar's top weigh him aloft Till he approach the rafters, there to en- dure, Living long time, the mis'ries he hath earned. He spake; they prompt obey'd; together both They sought the chamber, whom the wretch within Heard not, exploring ev'ry nook for arms. They watching stood the door, from which, at length, Forth came Melanthius, bearing in one hand A casque, and in the other a broad shield Time-worn and chapp'd with drought, which in his youth Warlike Laertes had been wont to bear. Long time neglected it had lain, till age Had loosed the sutures of its bands. At once Both, springing on him, seized and drew him hi Forcibly by his locks, then cast him down Prone on the pavement, trembling at his fate. With painful stricture of the cord his hands They bound and feet together at his back, As their illustrious master had enjoined, Then weigh'd him with a double chain( aloft By a tall pillar to the palace-roof, And thus, deriding him, Eumaeus spake. Now, good Melanthius, on that fleecy bed Reclined, as well befits thee, thou wilt watch All night, nor when the golden dawn for- sakes The ocean stream, will she escape thine eye, But thou wilt duly to the palace drive The fattest goats, a banquet for thy friends. So saying, he left him in his dreadful sling. Then, arming both, and barring fast the door, They sought brave Laertiades again. And now, courageous at the portal stood Those four, by numbers in the interior house Opposed of adversaries fierce hi arms, When Pallas, in the form and with the voice Approach'd of Mentor, whom Laertes' son Beheld, and joyful at the sight, exclaim'd. Help, Mentor! help now recollect a friend And benefactor, born when thou wast born. So he, not unsuspicious that he saw Pallas, the heroine of heav'n. Meantime The suitors filTd with menaces the dome, EPIC AND ROMANCE And Agelaiis, first, Damastor's son, In accents harsh rebuked the Goddess thus. Beware, O Mentor! that he lure thee not To oppose the suitors and to aid himself. For thus will we. Ulysses and his son Both slain, in vengeance of thy purpos'd deeds Against us, we will slay thee next, and thou With thy own head shalt satisfy the wrong Your force thus quell'd in battle, all thy wealth Whether in house or field, mingled with his, We will confiscate, neither will we leave Or son of thine, or daughter in thy house Alive, nor shall thy virtuous consort more Within the walls of Ithaca be seen. He ended, and his words with wrath inflamed Minerva's heart the more; incensed, she turn'd Towards Ulysses, whom she thus reproved. Thou neither own'st the courage nor the force, Ulysses, now, which nine whole years thou showd'st At Ilium, waging battle obstinate For high-born Helen, and in horrid fight Destroying multitudes, till thy advice At last lay'd Priam's bulwark'd city low. Why, in possession of thy proper home And substance, mourn'st thou want of pow'r t'oppose The suitors? Stand beside me, mark my deeds, And thou shalt own Mentor Alcimides A valiant friend, and mindful of thy love. She spake; nor made she victory as yet Entire his own, proving the valor, first, Both of the sire and of his glorious son, But, springing in a swallow's form aloft, Perch'd on a rafter of the splendid roof. Then, Agelaiis animated loud The suitors, whom Eurynomus also roused, Amphimedon, and Demoptolemus, And Polyctorides, Pisander named, And Polybus the brave; for noblest far Of all the suitor-chiefs who now survived And fought for life were these. The bow had quell'd And shafts, in quick succession sent, the rest. Then Agelaiis, thus, harangued them all. We soon shall tame, O friends, this warrior's might, Whom Mentor, after all his airy vaunts Hath left, and at the portal now remain Themselves alone. Dismiss not therefore, all, Your spears together, but with six alone Assail them first; Jove willing, we shall pierce Ulysses, and subduing him, shall slay With ease the rest; their force is safely scorn'd. He ceas'd; and, as he bade, six hurl'd the spear Together; but Minerva gave them all A devious flight; one struck a column, one The planks of the broad portal, and a third Flung right his ashen beam pond'rous with brass Against the wall. Then (ev'ry suitor's spear Eluded) thus Ulysses gave the word Now friends! I counsel you that ye dismiss Your spears at them, who, not content with past Enormities, thirst also for our blood. He said, and with unerring aim, all threw Their glitt'ring spears. Ulysses on the ground Stretch 'd Demoptolemus; Euryades Fell by Telemachus; the swine-herd slew Elatus ; and the keeper of the beeves Pisander; in one moment all alike Lay grinding with their teeth the dusty floor. Back flew the suitors to the farthest wall, On whom those valiant four advancing, each Recover'd, quick, his weapon from the dead. Then hurl'd the desp'rate suitors yet again Their glitt'ring spears but Pallas gave to each A frustrate course; one struck a column. one The planks of the broad portal, and a third Flung full his ashen beam against the wall. 34 TYPES OF GREAT LITERATURE Yet pierced Amphimedon the Prince's wrist, But slightly, a skin-wound, and o'er his shield Ctesippus reach'd the shoulder of the good Eumseus, but his glancing weapon swift O'erflew the mark, and fell. And now the four, Ulysses, dauntless Hero, and his friends All hurl'd their spears together in return, Himself Ulysses, city-waster Chief, Wounded Eurydamas; Ulysses' son Amphimedon; the swine-herd Polybus; And in his breast the keeper of the beeves Ctesippus, glorying over whom, he cried. Oh son of Polytherses! whose delight Hath been to taunt and jeer, never again Boast foolishly, but to the Gods commit Thy tongue, since they are mightier far than thou. Take this a compensation for thy pledge Of hospitality, the huge ox-hoof, Which while he roam'd the palace, begging alms, Ulysses at thy bounteous hand received. So gloried he; then, grasping still his spear, Ulysses pierced Damastor's son, and, next, Telemachus, enforcing his long beam Sheer through his bowels and his back, transpierced Leiocritus; he prostrate smote the floor. Then, Pallas from the lofty roof held forth Her host-confounding ^Egis o'er their heads, With'ring their souls with fear. They through the hall Fled, scatter'd as an herd, which rapid- wing'd The gad-fly dissipates, infester fell Of beeves, when vernal suns shine hot and long. But, as when bow-beak'd vultures crooked- claw'd Stoop from the mountains on the smaller fowl; Terrified at the toils that spread the plain The flocks take wing, they, darting from above, Strike, seize, and slay, resistance or escape Is none, the fowler's heart leaps with de- light, So they, pursuing through the spacious hall The suitors, smote them on all sides, their heads Sounded beneath the sword, with hideous groans The palace rang, and the floor foamed with blood. Then flew Leiodes to Ulysses' knees, Which clasping, in wing'd accents thus h( cried. I clasp thy knees, Uiysses ! on respect My suit, and spare me! Never have word Injurious spoken, or injurious deed Attempted 'gainst the women of thr house, But others, so transgressing, oft forbad. Yet they abstain'd not, and a dreadful fate Due to their wickedness have, therefore, found. But I, their soothsayer alone, must fall, Though unoffending; such is the return By mortals made for benefits received ! To whom Ulysses, louring dark, replied. Is that thy boast? Hast thou indeed for these The seer's high office fill'd? Then, doubt- less, oft Thy pray'r hath been that distant far might prove The day delectable of my return, And that my consort might thy own be- come To bear thee children; wherefore thee I doom To a dire death which thou shalt not avoid. So saying, he caught the faulchion from the floor Which Agelaiis had let fall, and smote Leiodes, while he kneel'd, athwart his neck So suddenly, that ere his tongue had ceased To plead for life, his head was in the dust. But Phemius, son of Terpius, bard divine, Who, through compulsion, with his song regaled The suitors, a like dreadful death escaped. Fast by the postern, harp in hand, he stood, Doubtful if, issuing, he should take his seat Beside the altar of Hercaean Jove, EPIC AND ROMANCE Where oft Ulysses offer'd, and his sire, Fat thighs of beeves or whether he should haste, An earnest suppliant, to embrace his knees. That course, at length, most pleased him; then, between The beaker and an argent-studded throne He grounded his sweet lyre, and seizing fast The Hero's knees, him, suppliant, thus address'd. I clasp thy knees, Ulysses! oh respect My suit, and spare me. Thou shalt not escape Regret thyself hereafter, if thou slay Me, charmer of the woes of Gods and men. Self-taught am I, and treasure in my mind Themes of all argument from heav'n in- spired, And I can sing to thee as to a God. Ah, then, behead me not. Put ev'n the wish Far from thee! for thy own beloved son Can witness, that not drawn by choice, or driv'n By stress of want, resorting to thine house I have regaled these revellers so oft, But under force of mightier far than I. So he; whose words soon as the sacred might Heard of Telemachus, approaching quick His father, thus, humane, he interposed. Hold, harm not with the vengeful faul- chion's edge This blameless man; and we will also spare Medon the herald, who hath ever been A watchful guardian of my boyish years, Unless Philcetius have already slain him, Or else Eumaeus, or thyself, perchance, Unconscious, in the tumult of our foes. He spake, whom Medon hearing (for he lay Beneath a throne, and in a new-stript hide Enfolded, trembling with the dread of death) Sprang from his hiding-place, and casting off The skin, flew to Telemachus, embraced His knees, and in wing'd accents thus exclaim'd. Prince ! I am here oh, pity me ! repress Thine own, and pacify thy father's wrath, That he destroy not me, through fierce revenge Of their iniquities who have consumed His wealth, and, in their folly scorn'd his son. To whom Ulysses, ever-wise, replied, Smiling complacent. Fear not; my own son Hath pleaded for thee. Therefore (taught thyself That truth) teach others the superior worth Of benefits with injuries compared. But go ye forth, thou and the sacred bard, That ye may sit distant in yonder court From all this carnage, while I give com- mand, Myself, concerning it, to those within. He ceas'd; they going forth, took each his seat Beside Jove's altar, but with careful looks Suspicious, dreading without cease the sword. Meantime Ulysses search'd his hall, in quest Of living foes, if any still survived Unpunish'd; but he found them all alike Welt'ring in dust and blood; num'rous they lay Like fishes when they strew the sinuous shore Of Ocean, from the gray gulph drawn aground In nets of many a mesh; they on the sands Lie spread, athirst for the salt wave, til] hot The gazing sun dries all their life away; So lay the suitors heap'd. 26 TYPES OF GREAT LITERATURE PUBLIUS VIRGILIUS MARO (B. C. 70-19) THE ^ENEID The noble story of the flight of ^Eneas with his companions from the sack of Troy, of their perilous voyage to Carthage, where they were entertained by Queen Dido, of ^Eneas's desertion of her at the bidding of Jupiter through his messenger Mercury, of his journey to Italy and the wars that ensued be- fore he could fulfill his destiny in founding the city of Rome, is told in this great national epic of the Roman race. For beauty of phrase and loftiness of spirit the poem is quite unrivalled. Book II, which is here given, is the hero's own account, told to Dido, of the sacking of Troy by the victorious Greeks and his escape from the burning city. The translation is by John Dryden, and was first published in 1697. BOOK II ARGUMENT /NEAS relates how the city of Troy was taken after a ten years' siege, by the treachery of Sinon, and the stratagem of a wooden horse. He declares the fix'd resolution he had taken not to survive the rums of his country, and the various adventures he met with in the defense of it. At last, having been before advis'd by Hector's ghost, and now by the appearance of his mother Venus, he is prevail'd upon to leave the town, and settle his household gods in another country. In order to this, he carries off his father on his shoulders, and leads his little son by the hand, his wife following him behind. When he comes to the place ap- pointed for the general rendezvouze, he finds a great confluence of people, but misses his wife, whose ghost afterward appears to him, and tells him the land which was design'd for him. ALL were attentive to the godlike man, When from his lofty couch he thus began: " Great queen, what you command me to relate Renews the sad remembrance of our fate: An empire from its old foundations rent. And ev'ry woe the Trojans underwent; A peopled city made a desert place: All that I saw, and part of which I was: Not ev'n the hardest of our foes could hear, Nor stern Ulysses tell without a tear. And now the latter watch of wasting night, And setting stars, to kindly rest invite; But, since you take such int'rest in our woe, And Troy's disastrous end desire to know, I will restrain my tears, and briefly tell What in our last and fatal night befell. " By destiny compell'd, and in despair, The Greeks grew weary of the tedious war, And by Minerva's aid a fabric rear'd, Which like a steed of monstrous height appear'd: The sides were plank'd with pine; they feign'd it made For their return, and this the vow they paid. Thus they pretend, but in the hollow side Selected numbers of their soldiers hide: With inward arms the dire machine they load, And iron bowels stuff the dark abode. In sight of Troy lies Tenedos, an isle (While Fortune did on Priam's empire smile) Renown'd for wealth; but, since, a faith- less bay, Where ships expos'd to wind and weather lay. There was their fleet conceal' d. We thought, for Greece Their sails were hoisted, and our fears re- lease. The Trojans, coop'd within then- walls so long, Unbar their gates, and issue in a throng, Like swarming bees, and with delight sur- vey The camp deserted, where the Grecians lay: The quarters of the sev'ral chiefs the show'd; Here Phcenix, here Achilles, made abode; Here join'd the battles; there the na^ rode. Part on the pile their wond'ring eyes em- EPIC AND ROMANCE 27 The pile by Pallas rais'd to ruin Troy. Thymoetes first ('t is doubtful whether hir'd, Or so the Trojan destiny requir'd) Mov'd that the ramparts might be broken down, Tc lodge the monster fabric in the town. But Capys, and the rest of sounder mind, The fatal present to the flames design'd, Or to the wat'ry deep; at least to bore The hollow sides, and hidden frauds ex- plore. The giddy vulgar, as their fancies guide, With noise say nothing, and in parts di- vide. Laocoon, follow'd by a num'rous crowd, Ran from the fort, and cried, from far, aloud: '0 wretched countrymen! what fury reigns? What more than madness has possess'd your brains? Think you the Grecians from your coasts are gone? And are Ulysses' arts no better known? This hollow fabric either must inclose, Within its blind recess, our secret foes; Or 't is an engine rais'd above the town, T' o'erlook the walls, and then to batter down. Somewhat is sure design'd, by fraud or force : Trust not their presents, nor admit the horse.' Thus having said, against the steed he threw His forceful spear, which, hissing as it flew, Pierc'd thro' the yielding planks of jointed wood, And trembling in the hollow belly stood. The sides, transpierc'd, return a rattling sound, And groans oi Greeks inclos'd come issuing thro' the wound. And, had not Heav'n the fall of Troy de- sign'd, Or had not men been fated to be blind, Enough was said and done t' inspire a better mind. Ihen had our lances pierc'd the treach'rous wood, And Ilian tow'rs and Priam's empire stood. Meantime, with shouts, the Trojan shep- herds bring A captive Greek, in bands, before the king; Taken, to take; who made himself their prey, T ' impose on their belief, and Troy betray; Fix'd on his aim, and obstinately bent To die undaunted, or to circumvent. About the captive, tides of Trojans flow; All press to see, and some insult the foe. Now hear how well the Greeks their wiles disguis'd; Behold a nation in a man compris'd. Trembling the miscreant stood, unarm'd and bound; He star'd, and roll'd his haggard eyes around, Then said: 'Alas! what earth remains, what sea Is open to receive unhappy me? What fate a wretched fugitive attends, Scorn'd by my foes, abandon'd by my friends?' He said, and sigh'd, and cast a rueful eye: Our pity kindles, and our passions die. We cheer the youth to make his own de- fense, And freely tell us what he was, and whence : What news he could impart, we long to know, And what to credit from a captive foe. "His fear at length dismiss'd, he said: 'Whate'er My fate ordains, my words shall be sin- cere: I neither can nor dare my birth disclaim; Greece is my country, Sinon is my name. Tho' plung'd by Fortune's pow'r in misery, 'Tis not in Fortune's pow'r to make me lie. If any chance has hither brought the name Of Palamedes, not unknown to fame, Who suffer'd from the malice of the times, Accus'd and sentenc'd for pretended crimes, Because these fatal wars he would prevent; Whose death the wretched Greeks too late lament Me, then a boy, my father, poor and bare Of other means, committed to his care, His kinsman and companion hi the war. 28 TYPES OF GREAT LITERATURE While Fortune favor'd, while his arms sup- port The cause, and ruFd the counsels, of the court, I made some figure there; nor was my name Obscure, nor I without my share of fame. But when Ulysses, with fallacious arts, Had made impression in the people's hearts, And forg'd a treason in my patron's name (I speak of things too far divulg'd by fame), My kinsman fell. Then I, without sup- port, In private mourn'd his loss, and left the court. Mad as I was, I could not bear his fate With silent grief, but loudly blam'd the state, And curs'd the direful author of my woes. 'T was told again; and hence my ruin rose. I threaten'd, if indulgent Heav'n once more Would land me safely on my native shore, His death with double vengeance to re- store. This mov'd the murderer's hate; and soon ensued Th' effects of malice from a man so proud. Ambiguous rumors thro' the camp he spread, And sought, by treason, my devoted head; New crimes invented; left unturn'd no stone, To make my guilt appear, and hide his own; Till Calchas was by force and threat'ning wrought But why why dwell I on that anxious thought? If on my nation just revenge you seek, And 't is t'appear a foe, t' appear a Greek; Already you my name and country know; Assuage your thirst of blood, and strike the blow: My death will both the kingly brothers please, And set insatiate Ithacus at ease.' This fair unfmish'd tale, these broken starts, Rais'd expectations in our longing hearts: Unknowing as we were in Grecian arts. His former trembling once again renew'd, With acted fear, the villain thus pursued: '"Long had the Grecians (tir'd with fruitless care, And wearied with an unsuccessful war) Resolv'd to raise the siege, and leave the town; And, had the gods permitted, they had gone; But oft the wintry seas and southern winds Withstood their passage home, and chang'd their minds. Portents and prodigies their souls amaz'd; But most, when this stupendous pile was rais'd: Then flaming meteors, hung in air, were seen, And thunders rattled thro' a sky serene. Dismay'd, and fearful of some dire event, Eurypylus t' enquire their fate was sent. He from the gods this dreadful answer brought: "O Grecians, when the Trojan shores you sought, Your passage with a virgin's blood was bought: So must your safe return be bought again, And Grecian blood once more atone the main." The spreading rumor round the people ran; All fear'd, and each believ'd himself the man. Ulysses took th' advantage of their fright; Call'd Calchas, and produc'd in open sight: Then bade him name the wretch, ordain'd by fate The public victim, to redeem the state. Already some presag'd the dire event, And saw what sacrifice Ulysses meant. For twice five days the good old seer with- stood Th' intended treason, and was dumb blood, Till, tir'd with endless clamors and pursuit Of Ithacus, he stood no longer mute; But, as it was agreed, pronounc'd that I Was destin'd by the wrathful gods to die. All prais'd the sentence, pleas'd the storir should fall On one alone, whose fury threaten'd all. EPIC AND ROMANCE 29 The dismal day was come; the priests prepare Their leaven'd cakes, and fillets for my hair. I foflow'd nature's laws, and must avow I broke my bonds and fled the fatal blow. Hid in a weedy lake all night I lay, Secure of safety when they sail'd away. But now what further hopes for me re- main, To see my friends, or native soil, again; My tender infants, or my careful sire, Whom they returning will to death re- quire; Will perpetrate on them their first design, And take the forfeit of their heads for mine? Which, O! if pity mortal minds can move, If there be faith below, or gods above, If innocence and truth can claim desert, Ye Trojans, from an injur'd wretch avert.' "False tears true pity move; the king commands To loose his fetters, and unbind his hands: Then adds these friendly words: 'Dismiss thy fears; Forget the Greeks; be mine as thou wert theirs. But truly tell, was it for force or guile, Or some religious end, you rais'd the pile? ' Thus said the king. He, full of fraudful arts, This well-invented tale for truth imparts: 'Ye lamps of heav'n!' he said, and lifted high His hands now free, 'thou venerable sky! Inviolable pow'rs, ador'd with dread! Ye fatal fillets, that once bound this head! Ye sacred altars, from whose flames I fled! Be all of you adjur'd; and grant I may, Without a crime, th' ungrateful Greeks betray, Reveal the secrets of the guilty state, And justly punish whom I justly hate! But you, O king, preserve the faith you gave, If I, to save myself, your empire save. The Grecian hopes, and all th' attempts they made, Were only founded on Minerva's aid. But from the time when impious Diomede, And false Ulysses, that inventive head, Her fatal image from the temple drew, The sleeping guardians of the castle slew, Her virgin statue with their bloody hands Polluted, and profan'd her holy bands; From thence the tide of fortune left their shore, And ebb'd much faster than it flow'd be- fore: Their courage languish'd, as their hopes decay 'd; And Pallas, now averse, refus'd her aid. Nor did the goddess doubtfully declare Her alter'd mind and alienated care. When first her fatal image touch'd the ground, She sternly cast her glaring eyes around, That sparkled as they roll'd, and seem'd to threat: Her heav'nly limbs distill'd'a briny sweat. Thrice from the ground she leap'd, was seen to wield Her brandish'd lance, and shake her horrid shield. Then Calchas bade our host for flight pre- pare, And hope no conquest from the tedious war, Till first they sail'd for Greece; with pray'rs besought Her injur'd pow'r, and better omens brought. And now their navy plows the wat'ry mam, Yet soon expect it on your shores again, With Pallas pleas'd; as Calchas did or- dain. But first, to reconcile the blue-ey'd maid For her stol'n statue and her tow'r be- tray'd, Warn'd by the seer, to her offended name We rais'd and dedicate this wondrous frame, So lofty, lest thro' your forbidden gates It pass, and intercept our better fates: For, once admitted there, our hopes are lost; And Troy may then a new Palladium boast; For so religion and the gods ordain, That, if you violate with hands profane Minerva's gift, your town in flames shall burn, TYPES OF GREAT LITERATURE (Which omen, O ye gods, on Graecia turn!) But if it climb, with your assisting hands, The Trojan walls, and hi the city stands; Then Troy shall Argos and Mycenae burn, And the reverse of fate on us return.' " With such deceits he gain'd their easy hearts, Too prone to credit his perfidious arts. What Diomede, nor Thetis' greater son, A thousand ships, nor ten years' siege, had done False tears and fawning words the city won. "A greater omen, and of worse portent, Did our unwary minds with fear torment, Concurring to produce the dire event. Laocoon, Neptune's priest by lot that year, With solemn pomp then sacrific'd a steer; When, dreadful to behold, from sea we spied Two serpents, rank'd abreast, the seas divide, And smoothly sweep along the swelling tide. Their flaming crests above the waves they show; Their bellies seem to burn the seas below; Their speckled tails advance to steer their course, And on the sounding shore the flying billows force. And now the strand, and now the plain they held; Their ardent eyes with bloody streaks were fill'd; Their nimble tongues they brandish'd as they came, And lick'd their hissing jaws, that sputter'd flame. We fled amaz'd; their destin'd way they take, And to Laocoon and his children make; And first around the tender boys they wind, Then with their sharpen'd fangs their limbs and bodies grind. The wretched father, running to their aid With pious haste, but vain, they next in- vade; Twice round his waist then: winding vol- umes roll'd; And twice about his gasping throat they fold, The priest thus doubly chok'd, their crests divide, And tow'ring o'er his head in triumph ride. With both his hands he labors at the knots; His holy fillets the blue venom blots; His roaring fills the flitting air around. Thus, when an ox receives a glancing wound, He breaks his bands, the fatal altar flies, And with loud bellowings breaks the yield- ing skies. Their tasks perform'd, the serpents quit their prey, And to the tow'r of Pallas make their way: Couch'd at her feet, they lie protected there By her large buckler and protended spear. Amazement seizes all; the gen'ral cry Proclaims Laocoon justly doom'd to die, Whose hand the will of Pallas had with- stood, And dar'd to violate the sacred wood. All vote t' admit the steed, that vows be paid And incense offer'd to th' offended maid. A spacious breach is made; the town lies bare; Some hoisting-levers, some the wheels pre- pare And fasten to the horse's feet; the rest With cables haul along th' unwieldy beast. Each on his fellow for assistance calls; At length the fatal fabric mounts the walls, Big with destruction. Boys with chaplets crown'd, And choirs of virgins, sing and dance around. Thus rais'd aloft, and then descending down, It enters o'er our heads, and threats the town. O sacred city, built by hands divine! O valiant heroes of the Trojan line! Four times he struck: as oft the clashing sound Of arms was heard, and inward groans re- bound. Yet, mad with zeal, and blinded with our fate, We haul along the horse in solemn state; EPIC AND ROMANCE Then place the dire portent within the tow'r. Cassandra cried, and curs'd th' unhappy hour; Foretold our fate; but, by the god's de- cree, All heard, and none believ'd the prophecy. With branches we the fanes adorn, and waste, In jollity, the day ordain'd to be the last. Meantime the rapid heav'ns roll'd down the light, And on the shaded ocean rush'd the night; Our men, secure, nor guards nor sentries held, But easy sleep their weary limbs com- pell'd. The Grecians had embark'd their naval pow'rs From Tenedos, and sought our well-known shores, Safe under covert of the silent night, lAnd guided by th' imperial galley's light; When Sinon, favor'd by the partial gods, Unlock'd the horse, and op'd his dark abodes; Restor'd to vital air our hidden foes, Who joyful from their long confinement rose. Tysander bold, and Sthenelus their guide, And dire Ulysses down the cable slide: Then Thoas, Athamas, and Pyrrhus haste; Nor was the Podalirian hero last, Nor injur'd Menelaiis, nor the fam'd Epeiis, who the fatal engine fram'd. A nameless crowd succeed; their forces join T' invade the town, oppress'd with sleep and wine. Those few they find awake first meet their fate; Then to their fellows they unbar the gate. " 'T was in the dead of night, when sleep repairs Our bodies worn with toils, our minds with cares, When Hector's ghost before my sight ap- pears: A bloody shroud he seem'd, and bath'd in tears; Such as he was, when, by Pelides slain, Thessalian coursers dragg'd him o'er the plain. Swol'n were his feet, as when the thongs were thrust Thro' the bor'd holes; his body black with dust; Unlike that Hector who return'd from toils Of war, triumphant, in ^Eacian spoils, Or him who made the fainting Greeks re- tire, And launch'd against their navy Phrygian fire. His hah- and beard stood stiffen'd with his gore; And all the wounds he for his country bore Now stream'd afresh, and with new purple ran. I wept to see the visionary man, And, while my trance continued, thus began: '0 light of Trojans, and support of Troy, Thy father's champion, and thy country's joy! O, long expected by thy friends! from whence Art thou so late return'd for our defense? Do we behold thee, wearied as we are With length of labors, and with toils oi war? After so many fun'rals of thy own Art thou restor'd to thy declining town? But say, what wounds are these? What new disgrace Deforms the manly features of thy face? : "To this the specter no reply did frame. But answer'd to the cause for which he came, And, groaning from the bottom of his breast, This warning in these mournful words ex- press'd: 'O goddess-born! escape, by timely flight. The flames and horrors of this fatal night. The foes already have possess'd the wall; Troy nods from high, and totters to her fall. Enough is paid to Priam's royal name, More than enough to duty and to fame. If by a mortal hand my father's throne Could be defended, 't was by mine alone. Now Troy to thee commends her future state, And gives her gods companions of thy fate: TYPES OF GREAT LITERATURE From their assistance happier walls ex- pect, Which, wand'ring long, at last thou shalt erect.' He said, and brought me, from their blest abodes, The venerable statues of the gods, With ancient Vesta from the sacred choir, The wreaths and relics of th' immortal fire. "Now peals of shouts come thund'ring from afar. Cries, threats, and loud laments, and min- gled war: The noise approaches, tho' our palace stood Aloof from streets, encompass'd with a wood. Louder, and yet more loud, I hear th' alarms Of human cries distinct, and clashing arms. Fear broke my slumbers; I no longer stay, But mount the terrace, thence the town survey, And hearken what the frightful sounds convey. Thus, when a flood of fire by wind is borne, Crackling it rolls, and mows the standing corn; Or deluges, descending on the plains, Sweep o'er the yellow year, destroy the pains Of lab'ring oxen and the peasant's gains; Unroot the forest oaks, and bear away Flocks, folds, and trees, an undistinguish'd prey: The shepherd climbs the cliff, and sees from far The wasteful ravage of the wat'ry war. Then Hector's faith was manifestly clear 'd, And Grecian frauds in open light appear'd. The palace of Dei'phobus ascends In smoky flames, and catches on his friends. Ucalegon burns next: the seas are bright With splendor not their own, and shine with Trojan light. New clamors and new clangors now arise, The sound of trumpets mix'd with fighting cries. With frenzy seiz'd. I run to meet th 3 alarms, Resolv'd on death, resolv'd to die in arms. But first to gather friends, with them t' op pose (If fortune favor'd) and repel the foes; Spurr'd by my courage, by my country fir'd, With sense of honor and revenge inspir'd. "Pantheus, Apollo's priest, a sacred name, Had scap'd the Grecian swords, and pass'd the flame: With relics loaden, to my doors he fled, And by the hand his tender grandson led. ' What hope, O Pantheus? whither can we run? Where make a stand? and what may yet be done? ' Scarce had I said, when Pantheus, with a groan: 'Troy is no more, and Ilium was a town! The fatal day, th' appointed hour, is come, When wrathful Jove's irrevocable doom Transfers the Trojan state to Grecian hands. The fire consumes the town, the foe com- mands; And armed hosts, an unexpected force, Break from the bowels of the fatal horse. Within the gates, proud Sinon throws about The flames; and foes for entrance press without, With thousand others, whom I fear to name, More than from Argos or Mycenae came. To sev'ral posts their parties they divide; Some block the narrow streets, some scour the wide: The bold they kill, th' unwary they sur- prise; Who fights finds death, and death finds him. who flies. The warders of the gate but scarce main- tain Th' unequal combat, and resist in vain.' "I heard; and Heav'n, that well-born souls inspires, Prompts me thro' lifted swords and rising fires To run where clashing arms and clamor calls, And rush undaunted to defend the walls, Ripheus and Iph'itus by my side engage, EPIC AND ROMANCE 33 For valor one renown'd, and one for age. Dymas and Hypanis by moonlight knew My motions and my mien, and to my party drew; With young Corcebus, who by love was led To win renown and fair Cassandra's bed, And lately brought his troops to Priam's aid, Forewarn'd in vain by the prophetic maid. Whom when I saw resolv'd in arms to fall, And that one spirit animated all: 'Brave souls!' said I, 'but brave, alas! in vain Come, finish what our cruel fates ordain. You see the desp'rate state of our affairs, And heav'n's protecting pow'rs are deaf to pray'rs. The passive gods behold the Greeks defile Their temples, and abandon to the spoil Their own abodes: we, feeble few, conspire To save a sinking town, involv'd in fire. Then let us fall, but fall amidst our foes: Despair of life the means of living shows.' So bold a speech incourag'd their desire Of death, and added fuel to their fire. "As hungry wolves, with raging appe- tite, Scour thro' the fields, nor fear the stormy night Their whelps at home expect the promis'd food, And long to temper their dry chaps in blood So rush'd we forth at once; resolv'd to die, Resolv'd, in death, the last extremes to try. We leave the narrow lanes behind, and dare Th' unequal combat in the public square: Night was our friend; our leader was despair. What tongue can tell the slaughter of that night? What eyes can weep the sorrows and affright? An ancient and imperial city falls; The streets are fill'd with frequent funerals; Houses and holy temples float in blood, And hostile nations make a common flood. Not only Trojans fall; but, in their turn, The vanquish'd triumph, and the victors mourn. Ours take new courage from despair and night: Confus'd the fortune is, confus'd the fight. All parts resound with tumults, plaints, and fears; And grisly Death in sundry shapes ap- pears. Androgeos fell among us, with his band, Who thought us Grecians newly come to land. 'From whence,' said he, 'my friends, this long delay? You loiter, while the spoils are borne away: Our ships are laden with the Trojan store; And you, like truants, come too late ashore.' He said, but soon corrected his mistake, Found, by the doubtful answers which we make: Amaz'd, he would have shunn'd th' un- equal fight; But we, more num'rous, intercept his flight. As when some peasant, in a bushy brake, Has with unwary footing press'd a snake; He starts aside, astonish'd, when he spies His rising crest, blue neck, and rolling eyes; So from our arms surpris'd Androgeos flies. In vain; for him and his we compass'd round, Possess'd with fear, unknowing of the ground, And of their lives an easy conquest found. Thus Fortune on our first endeavor smil'd. Corcebus then, with youthful hopes be- guil'd, Swoln with success, and of a daring mind, This new invention fatally design'd. 'My friends,' said he, 'since Fortune shows the way, 'Tis fit we should th' auspicious guide obey. For what has she these Grecian arms bestow'd, But their destruction, and the Trojans' good? Then ehange we shields, and their devices bear: Let fraud supply the want of force in war. They find us arms.' This said, himself he dress'd 34 TYPES OF GREAT LITERATURE In dead Androgeos' spoils, his upper vest, His painted buckler, and his plumy crest. Thus Ripheus, Dymas, all the Trojan train, Lay down their own attire, and strip the skin. Mix'd with the Greeks, we go with ill presage, Flatter'd with hopes to glut our greedy rage; Unknown, assaulting whom we blindly meet, And strew with Grecian carcasses the street. Thus while their straggling parties we defeat, Some to the shore and safer ships retreat; And some, oppress'd with more ignoble fear, Remount the hollow horse, and pant in secret there. "But, ah! what use of valor can be made, When heav'n's propitious pow'rs refuse their aid! Behold the royal prophetess, the fair Cassandra, dragg'd by her dishevel'd hair, Whom not Minerva's shrine, nor sacred bands, In safety could protect from sacrilegious hands: On heav'n she cast her eyes, she sigh'd, she cried 'T was all she could her tender arms were tied. So sad a sight Corcebus could not bear; But, fir'd with rage, distracted with de- spair, Amid the barb'rous ravishers he flew: Our leader's rash example we pursue. But storms of stones, from the proud tem- ple's height, Pour down, and on our batter'd helms alight: We from our friends receiv'd this fatal blow, Who thought us Grecians, as we seem'd in show. They aim at the mistaken crests, from high; And ours beneath the pond'rous ruin lie. Then, mov'd with anger and disdain, to see Their troops dispers'd, the royal virgin free, The Grecians rally, and their pow'rs unite, With fury charge us, and renew the fight. The brother kings with Ajax join their force, And the whole squadron of Thessalian horse. "Thus, when the rival winds their quar- rel try, Contending for the kingdom of the sky, South, east, and west, on airy coursers borne; The whirlwind gathers, and the woods are torn: Then Nereus strikes the deep; the billows rise, And, mix'd with ooze and sand, pollute the skies. The troops we squander'd first again ap- pear From sev'ral quarters, and enclose the rear. They first observe, and to the rest betray, Our diff'rent speech; our borrow'd arms survey. Oppress'd with odds, we fall; Corcebus first, At Pallas' altar, by Peneleus pierc'd. Then Ripheus follow'd, in th' unequal fight; Just of his word, observant of the right: Heav'n thought not so. Dymas their fate attends, With Hypanis, mistaken by their friends. Nor, Pantheus, thee, thy miter, nor the bands Of awful Phcebus, sav'd from impious hands. Ye Trojan flames, your testimony bear, What I perform'd, and what I suffer'd there; No sword avoiding in the fatal strife, Expos'd to death, and prodigal of life! Witness, ye heav'ns! I live not by my fault: I strove to have deserv'd the death I sought. But, when I could not fight, and would have died, Borne off to distance by the growing tide, Old Iphitus and I were hurried thence, EPIC AND ROMANCE With Pelias wounded, and without de- fense. New clamors from th' invested palace ring: We run to die, or disengage the king. So hot th' assault, so high the tumult rose, While ours defend, and while the Greeks oppose, As all the Dardan and Argolic race Had been contracted in that narrow space; Or as all Ilium else were void of fear, And tumult, war, and slaughter, only there. Their targets in a tortoise cast, the foes, Secure advancing, to the turrets rose: Some mount the scaling ladders; some, more bold, Swerve upwards, and by posts and pillars hold; Their left hand gripes their bucklers in th' ascent, While with the right they seize the battle- ment. From their demolish'd tow'rs the Trojans throw Huge heaps of stones, that, falling, crush the foe; And heavy beams and rafters from the sides (Such arms their last necessity provides) And gilded roofs, come tumbling from on high, The marks of state and ancient royalty. The guards below, fix'd in the pass, attend The charge undaunted, and the gate de- fend. Renew'd in courage with recover'd breath, A second time we ran to tempt our death, To clear the palace from the foe, succeed The weary living, and revenge the dead. "A postern door, yet unobserv'd and free, Join'd by the length of a blind gallery, To the king's closet led: a way well known To Hector's wife, while Priam held the throne, Thro' which she brought Astyanax, un- seen, To cheer his grandsire and his grandsire's queen. Thro' this we pass, and mount the tow'r, from whence With unavailing arms the Trojans make defense. From this the trembling king had oft de- scried The Grecian camp, and saw their navy ride. Beams from its lofty height with swords we hew, Then, wrenching with our hands, th' as- sault renew; And, where the rafters on the columns meet, We push them headlong with our arms and feet. The lightning flies not swifter than the fall, Nor thunder louder than the ruin'd wall: Down goes the top at once; the Greeks be- neath Are piecemeal torn, or pounded into death. Yet more succeed, and more to death are sent; We cease not from above, nor they below relent. Before the gate stood Pyrrhus, threat'ning loud, With glitt'ring arms conspicuous in the crowd. So shines, renew'd in youth, the crested snake, Who slept the winter in a thorny brake, And, casting off his slough when spring returns, Now looks aloft, and with new glory burns ; Restor'd with pois'nous herbs, his ardent sides Reflect the sun; and rais'd on spires he rides; High o'er the grass, hissing he rolls along, And brandishes by fits his forky tongue. Proud Periphas, and fierce Automedon, His father's charioteer, together run To force the gate; the Scyrian infantry Rush on in crowds, and the barr'd passage free. Ent'ring the court, with shouts the skies they rend; And flaming firebrands to the roofs ascend. Himself, among the foremost, deals his blows, And with his ax repeated strokes bestows On the strong doors; then all their should- ers ply, TYPES OF GREAT LITERATURE Till from the posts the brazen hinges fly. He hews apace; the double bars at length Yield to his ax and unresisted strength. A mighty breach is made: the rooms con- ceal'd Appear, and all the palace is reveal'd; The halls of audience, and of public state, And where the lonely queen in secret sate. Arm'd soldiers now by trembling maids are seen, With not a door, and scarce a space, be- tween. The house is fill'd with loud laments and cries, And shrieks of women rend the vaulted skies; The fearful matrons run from place to place, And kiss the thresholds, and the posts em- brace. The fatal work inhuman Pyrrhus plies, And all his father sparkles in his eyes; Nor bars, nor fighting guards, his force sus- tain: The bars are broken, and the guards are slain. In rush the Greeks, and all the apartments fill; Those few defendants whom they find, they kill. Not with so fierce a rage the foaming flood Roars, when he finds his rapid course with- stood; Bears down the dams with unresisted sway, And sweeps the cattle and the cots away. These eyes beheld him when he march'd between The brother kings: I saw th' unhappy queen, The hundred wives, and where old Priam stood, To stain his hallow'd altar with his blood. The fifty nuptial beds (such hopes had he, So large a promise, of a progeny), The posts, of plated gold, and hung with spoils, Fell the reward of the proud victor's toils. Where'er the raging fire had left a space, The Grecians enter and possess the place. "Perhaps you may of Priam's fate en- quire. He, when he saw his regal town on fire, His ruin'd palace, and his ent'ring foes, On ev'ry side inevitable woes, In arms, disus'd, invests his limbs, de- cay'd, Like them, with age; a late and useless aid. His feeble shoulders scarce the weight sustain; Loaded, not arm'd, he creeps along with pain, Despairing of success, ambitious to be slain! Uncover'd but by heav'n, there stood in view An altar; near the hearth a laurel grew, Dodder'd with age, whose boughs encom- pass round The household gods, and shade the holy ground. Here Hecuba, with all her helpless train Of dames, for shelter sought, but sought in vain. Driv'n like a flock of doves along the sky, Their images they hug, and to their altars fly. The queen, when she beheld her trembling lord, And hanging by his side a heavy sword, 'What rage,' she cried, 'has seiz'd my hus- band's mind? What arms are these, and to what use de- sign'd? These tunes want other aids! Were Hec- tor here, Ev'n Hector now in vain, like Priam, would appear. With us, one common shelter thou shalt find, Or in one common fate with us be join'd.' She said, and with a last salute embrac'd The poor old man, and by the laurel plac'd. Behold! Polites, one of Priam's sons, Pursued by Pyrrhus, there for safety runs. Thro' swords and foes, amaz'd and hurt, he flies Thro' empty courts and open galleries. Him Pyrrhus, urging with his lance, pur- sues, And often reaches, and his thrusts renews. The youth, transfix'd, with lamentable cries, Expires before his wretched parent's eyes: EPIC AND ROMANCE 37 Whom gasping at his feet when Priam saw, The fear of death gave place to nature's law; And, shaking more with anger than with age, 'The gods,' said he, 'requite thy brutal rage! As sure they will, barbarian, sure they must, If there be gods in heav'n, and gods be just Who tak'st in wrongs an insolent delight; With a son's death t' infect a father's sight. Not he, whom thou and lying fame con- spire To call thee his not he, thy vaunted sire, Thus us'd my wretched age: the gods he fear'd, The laws of nature and of nations heard . He cheer'd my sorrows, and, for sums of gold, The bloodless carcass of my Hector sold; Pitied the woes a parent underwent, And sent me back in safety from his tent.' "This said, his feeble hand a javelin threw, Which, flutt'ring, seem'd to loiter as it flew: Just, and but barely, to the mark it held, And faintly tinkled on the brazen shield. "Then Pyrrhus thus: ' Go thou from me to fate, And to my father my foul deeds relate. Now die!' With that he dragg'd the trembling sire, Slidd'ring thro' clotter'd blood and holy mire, (The mingled paste his murder'd son had made,) Haul'd from beneath the violated shade, And on the sacred pile the royal victim laid. His right hand held his bloody fauchion bare, His left he twisted in his hoary hair ; Then, with a speeding thrust, his heart he found: The lukewarm blood came rushing thro' the wound, And sanguine streams distain'd the sacred grouvid. Thus Priam fell, and shar'd one common fate With Troy in ashes, and his ruin'd state: He, who the scepter of all Asia sway'd, Whom monarchs like domestic slaves obey'd. On the bleak shore now lies th' abandon'd king, A headless carcass, and a nameless thing. "Then, not before, I felt my cruddleJ blood Congeal with fear, my hair with horror stood: My father's image fill'd my pious mind, Lest equal years might equal fortune find. Again I thought on my forsaken wife, And trembled for my son's abandon'd life. I look'd about, but found myself alone, Deserted at my need! My friends were gone. Some spent with toil, some with despair oppress'd, Leap'd headlong from the heights; the flames consum'd the rest. Thus, wand'ring in my way, without a guide, The graceless Helen hi the porch I spied Of Vesta's temple; there she lurk'd alone; Muffled she sate, and, what she could, un- known: But, by the flames that cast their blaze around, That common bane of Greece and Troy I found. For Ilium burnt, she dreads the Trojan sword; More dreads the vengeance of her injur'd lord; Ev'n by those gods who refug'd her ab- horr'd. Trembling with rage, the strumpet I regard, Resolv'd to give her guilt the due reward : 'Shall she triumphant sail before the wind, And leave in flames unhappy Troy be- hind? Shall she her kingdom and her friends review, In state attended with a captive crew, While unreveng'd the good old Priam falls, TYPES OF GREAT LITERATURE And Grecian fires consume the Trojan walls? For this the Phrygian fields and Xanthian flood Were swell'd with bodies, and were drunk with blood? 'T is true, a soldier can small honor gain, And boast no conquest, from a woman slain : Yet shall the fact not pass without ap- plause, Of vengeance taken in so just a cause; The punish'd crime shall set my soul at ease, And murm'ring manes of my friends appease.' Thus while I rave, a gleam of pleasing light Spread o'er the place; and, shining heav'nly bright, My mother stood reveal'd before my sight. Never so radiant did her eyes appear; Not her own star confess'd a light so clear: Great in her charms, as when on gods above She looks, and breathes herself into their love. She held my hand, the destin'd blow to break; Then from her rosy lips began to speak: 'My son, from whence this madness, this neglect Of my commands, and those whom I pro- tect? Why this unmanly rage? Recall to mind Whom you forsake, what pledges leave behind. Look if your helpless father yet survive, Or if Ascanius or Creiisa live. Around your house the greedy Grecians err; And these had perish'd in the nightly war, But for my presence and protecting care. Not Helen's face, nor Paris, was in fault; But by the gods was this destruction brought. Now cast your eyes around, while I dis- solve The mists and films that mortal eyes in- volve, Purge from your sight the dross, and make you see The shape of each avenging deity. Enlighten'd thus, my just commands ful- fil, Nor fear obedience to your mother's will. Where yon disorder'd heap of ruin lies, Stones rent from stones; where clouds of dust arise Amid that smother Neptune holds his place, Below the wall's foundation drives his mace, And heaves the building from the solid base. Look where, in arms, imperial Juno stands Full in the Scaean gate, with loud com- mands, Urging on shore the tardy Grecian bands. See! Pallas, of her snaky buckler proud, Bestrides the tow'r, refulgent thro' the cloud: See! Jove new courage to the foe supplies, And arms against the town the partial deities. Haste hence, my son; this fruitless labor end: Haste, where your trembling spouse and sire attend: Haste; and a mother's care your passage shall befriend.' She said, and swiftly vanish'd from my sight, Obscure in clouds and gloomy shades of night. I look'd, I listen'd; dreadful sounds I hear; And the dire forms of hostile gods appear. Troy sunk in flames I saw (nor could pre- vent), And Ilium from its old foundations rent; Rent like a mountain ash, which dar'd the winds, And stood the sturdy strokes of lab 'ring hinds. About the roots the cruel ax resounds; The stumps are pierc'd with oft-repeated wounds: The war is felt on high; the nodding crown Now threats a fall, and throws the leafy honors down. To their united force it yields, tho' late, And mourns with mortal groans th' ap- proaching fate: The roots no more their upper load sus- tain; EPIC AND ROMANCE 39 But down she falls, and spreads a ruin thro' the plain. "Descending thence, I scape thro' foes and fire: Before the goddess, foes and flames retire. Arriv'd at home, he, for whose only sake, Or most for his, such toils I undertake, The good Anchises, whom, by timely flight, I purpos'd to secure on Ida's height, Refus'd the journey, resolute to die And add his fun'rals to the fate of Troy, Rather than exile and old age sustain. ' Go you, whose blood runs warm in ev'ry vein. Had Heav'n decreed that I should life en- joy* Heav'n had decreed to save unhappy Troy. 'T is, sure, enough, if not too much, for one, Twice to have seen our Ilium overthrown. Make haste to save the poor remaining crew, And give this useless corpse a long adieu. These weak old hands suffice to stop my breath; At least the pitying foes will aid my death, To take my spoils, and leave my body bare: As for my sepulcher, let Heav'n take care. 'T is long since I, for my celestial wife Loath'd by the gods, have dragg'd a ling- 'ring life; Since ev'ry hour and moment I expire, Blasted from heav'n by Jove's avenging fire.' This oft repeated, he stood fix'd to die: Myself, my wife, my son, my family, Intreat, pray, beg, and raise a doleful cry 'What, will he still persist, on death re- solve, And in his ruin all his house involve!' He still persists his reasons to maintain; Our pray'rs, our tears, our loud laments, are vain. "Urg'd by despair, again I go to try The fate of arms, resolv'd in fight to die: 'What hope remains, but what my death must give? Can I, without so dear a father, live? You term it prudence, what I baseness call: Could such a word from such a parent fall? If Fortune please, and so the gods or- dain, That nothing should of ruin'd Troy re- main, And you conspire with Fortune to be slain, The way to death is wide, th' approaches near: For soon relentless Pyrrhus will appear, Reeking with Priam's blood the wretch who slew The son (inhuman) in the father's view, And then the sire himself to the dire altar drew. goddess mother, give me back to Fate; Your gift was undesir'd, and came too late ! Did you, for this, unhappy me convey Thro' foes and fires, to see my house a prey? Shall I my father, wife, and son behold, Welt'ring in blood, each other's arms in- fold? Haste ! gird my sword, tho' spent and over- come: 'T is the last summons to receive our doom. 1 hear thee, Fate; and I obey thy call! Not unreveng'd the foe shall see my fall. Restore me to the yet unfinish'd fight: My death is wanting to conclude the night.' Arm'd once again, my glitt'ring sword I wield, While th' other hand sustains my weighty shield, And forth I rush to seek th' abandon'd field. I went; but sad Creiisa stopp'd my way, And cross the threshold in my passage lay, Embrac'd my knees, and, when I would have gone, Shew'd me my feeble sire and tender son: ' If death be your design, at least,' said she, 'Take us along to share your destiny. If any farther hopes in arms remain, This place, these pledges of your love, maintain. To whom do you expose your father's life, Your son's, and mine, your now forgotten wife!' While thus she fills the house with clam'r- ous cries. TYPES OF GREAT LITERATURE Our hearing is diverted by our eyes: For, while I held my son, in the short space Betwixt our kisses and our last embrace; Strange to relate, from young lulus' head A lambent flame arose, which gently spread Around his brows, and on his temples fed. Amaz'd, with running water we prepared To quench the sacred fire, and slake his hair; But old Anchises, vers'd in omens, rear'd His hands to heav'n, and this request pre- ferr'd: ' If any vows, almighty Jove, can bend Thy will; if piety can pray'rs commend, Confirm the glad presage which thou art pleas'd to send.' Scarce had he said, when, on our left, we hear A peal of rattling thunder roll in air: There shot a streaming lamp along the sky, Which on the winged lightning seem'd to fly; From o'er the roof the blaze began to move, And, trailing, vanish'd hi th' Idaean grove. It swept a path in heav'n, and shone a guide, Then in a steaming stench of sulphur died. "The good old man with suppliant hands implor'd The gods' protection, and their star ador'd. 'Now, now,' said he, 'my son, no more de- lay! I yield, I follow where Heav'n shews the way. Keep, O my country gods, our dwelling place, And guard this relic of the Trojan race, This tender child! These omens are your own, And you can yet restore the ruin'd town. At least accomplish what your signs fore- show: I stand resign'd, and am prepar'd to go.' "He said. The crackling flames appear on high, And driving sparkles dance along the sky. With Vulcan's rage the rising winds con- spire, And near our palace roll the flood of fire. 'Haste, my dear father ('t is no time to wait), And load my shoulders with a willing freight. Whate'er befalls, your life shall be my care; One death, or one deliv'rance, we will share. My hand shall lead our little son; and you, My faithful consort, shall our steps pursue. Next, you, my servants, heed my strict commands : Without the walls a ruin'd temple stands, To Ceres hallow'd once; a cypress nigh Shoots up her venerable head on high, By long religion kept; there bend your feet, And in divided parties let us meet. Our country gods, the relics, and the bands, Hold you, my father, in your guiltless hands: In me 't is impious holy things to bear, Red as I am with slaughter, new from wa*, Till in some living stream I cleanse t^e guilt Of dire debate, and blood in battle spilt.' Thus, ord'ring all that prudence could pro- vide, I clothe my shoulders with a lion's hide And yellow spoils; then, on my bending back, The welcome load of my dear father take; While on my better hand Ascanius hung, And with unequal paces tripp'd along. Creiisa kept behind; by choice we stray Thro' ev'ry dark and ev'ry devious way. I, who so bold and dauntless, just before, The Grecian darts and shock of lances bore, At ev'ry shadow now am seiz'd with fear, Not for myself, but for the charge I bear; Till, near the ruin'd gate arriv'd at last, Secure, and deeming all the danger past, A frightful noise of trampling feet we hear. My father, looking thro' the shades, with fear, Cried out: 'Haste, haste, my son, the foes are nigh; Their swords and shining armor I descry.' Some hostile god, for some unknown of- fense, EPIC AND ROMANCE Had sure bereft my mind of better sense; For, while thro' winding ways I took my flight, And sought the shelter of the gloomy night, Alas! I lost Creiisa: hard to tell If by her fatal destiny she fell, Or weary sate, or wander 'd with affright; But she was lost for ever to my sight. I knew not, or reflected, till I meet My friends, at Ceres' now deserted seat. We met: not one was wanting; only she Deceiv'd her friends, her son, and wretched me. "What mad expressions did my tongue refuse! Whom did I not, of gods or men, accuse! This was the fatal blow, that pain'd me more Than all I felt from ruin'd Troy before. Stung with my loss, and raving with de- spair, Abandoning my now forgotten care, Of counsel, comfort, and of hope bereft, My sire, my son, my country gods I left. In shining armor once again I sheathe My limbs, not feeling wounds, nor fearing death. Then headlong to the burning walls I run, And seek the danger I was forc'd to shun. I tread my former tracks; thro' night ex- plore Each passage, ev'ry street I cross'd before. All things were full of horror and affright, And dreadful ev'n the silence of the night. Then to my father's house I make repair, With some small glimpse of hope to find her there. Instead of her, the cruel Greeks I met; The house was fill'd with foes, with flames beset. Driv'n on the wings of winds, whole sheets of fire, Thro' air transported, to the roofs aspire. From thence to Priam's palace I resort, And search the citadel and desert court. Then, unobserv'd, I pass by Juno's church: A guard of Grecians had possess'd the porch; There Phoenix and Ulysses watch the prey, And thither all the wealth of Troy convey: The spoils which they from ransack'd houses brought, And golden bowls from burning altars caught, The tables of the gods, the purple vests, The people's treasure, and the pomp of priests. A rank of wretched youths, with pinion'd hands, And captive matrons, in long order stands . Then, with ungovern'd madness, I pro- claim, Thro' all the silent street, Creiisa's name: Creiisa still I call; at length she hears, And sudden thro' the shades of night ap- pears Appears, no more Creiisa, nor my wife, But a pale specter, larger than the life. Aghast, astonish'd, and struck dumb with fear, I stood; like bristles rose my stiff en'd hair. Then thus the ghost began to soothe my grief: 'Nor tears, nor cries, can give the dead relief. Desist, my much-lov'd lord, t' indulge your pain; You bear no more than what the gods ordain. My fates permit me not from hence to fly; Nor he, the great controller of the sky. Long wand'ring ways for you the pow'rs decree; On land hard labors, and a length of sea. Then, after many painful years are past, On Latium's happy shore you shall be cast, Where gentle Tiber from his bed beholds The flow'ry meadows, and the feeding folds. There end your toils; and there your fates provide A quiet kingdom, and a royal bride: There fortune shall the Trojan line restore, And you for lost Creiisa weep no more. Fear not that I shall watch, with servile shame, Th' imperious looks of some proud Grecian dame; Or, stooping to the victor's lust, disgrace My goddess mother, or my royal race. And now, farewell! The parent of the gods TYPES OF GREAT LITERATURE Restrains my fleeting soul in her abodes: I trust our common issue to your care.' She said, and gliding pass'd unseen in air. I strove to speak: but horror tied my tongue; And thrice about her neck my arms I flung, And, thrice deceiv'd, on vain embraces hung. Light as an empty dream at break of day, Or as a blast of wind, she rush'd away. "Thus having pass'd the night in fruit- less pain, I to my longing friends return again, Amaz'd th' augmented number to behold, Of men and matrons mix'd, of young and old; A wretched exiPd crew together brought, With arms appointed, and with treasure fraught, Resolv'd, and willing, under my command, To run all hazards both of sea and land. The Morn began, from Ida, to display Her rosy cheeks; and Phosphor led the day: Before the gates the Greci'ans took their post, And all pretense of late relief was lost. I yield to Fate, unwillingly retire, And, loaded, up the hill convey my sire." DANTE ALIGHIERI Dante Alighieri is usually regarded as one of the greatest poets who have ever written in any language or at any time within the knowledge of civilized man. In poetic power, uniformity of excellence, and extent of fame only Shakespeare and Homer equal him, and nobody is credited with being his superior. He was born in Florence, Italy, in 1265, and he died in Ravenna in 1321. He was a member of a family of some slight prominence, and this, together with his marriage to a woman who had influential con- nections, and his native ability and reputation as a poet, enabled him to take a conspicuous part in the politics of Florence and to rise to be one of its chief magistrates. He was, however, falsely accused of corruption in office, and he spent the last nineteen years of his life as an exile with a price on his head. Partly as a result of his burning indignation at the treachery and baseness of the politicians who had traduced him and, in his opinion, were ruining Italy and undermining civilization, and partly because of his profoundly religious nature, he produced during the wanderings imposed by his exile the work on which his fame as a world poet largely depends. He called it Dante Alighieri's "Comedy," because it had a happy ending; but admiring posterity has added the term "Divine" to his title, to indicate its superlative excellence. The "Divine Comedy" is a very complex work. It is the story of a journey made by Dante, while he was still alive, through Hell, Purgatory, and Paradise. The opportunity to make this journey in or- der that he might learn the nature of sin and avoid it, was secured for Dante by the intervention of a certain Beatrice who had known him on earth before her death and ascension to Heaven. She secured divine permission to have the spirit of Virgil lead him through Hell and Purgatory, and she herself conducted him through Paradise. Hell, according to Dante, is a hollow cone with its apex in the centre of the earth, and nine circles around its sides in which the damned suffer according to the degree of their guilt. Near the top are the shiners who have yielded to natural impulses: lust, gluttony, avarice, anger. Then come sins by which the human intellect is perverted and made an instrument of evil, that is, voluntary sins, as the others are more or less involuntary. The first of these have violence as their foundation, and include : heresy, tyranny, self-destruction, and insensate covetousness. Finally, in the two lowest circles are the basest of all sins, those of which fraud and malice are the instigation, and cunning and treachery the means of accomplishment. Such sinners are: seducers, flatterers, simonists, diviners, grafters, hypocrites, thieves, false counsellors, sowers of dissension, and forgers. In the lowest circle of all are murderers, first those who have betrayed their country, then those who have killed their friends or hosts, and finally those who have murdered their benefactors. Purgatory is a mountain in the Southern Hemisphere, with its summit directly opposite Jerusalem and its base washed by an ocean that covers the whole southern half of the earth. Around the sides of this mountain run seven terraces in which repentant sinners are purged of the Seven Deadly Sins: Pride, Envy, Anger, Sloth, Avarice, Gluttony, and Lust. On the top of the mountain is the Earthly Paradise, in which beneficent worldly activity is symbolically depicted. Paradise is a series of ten circular heavens, each of which revolves around the earth as its center, for Dante followed the Ptolomaic system of astronomy, which regarded the sun as a planet moving around the earth. These heavens are: those of the Moon, Mercury, Venus, the Sun, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, the Fixed Stars, the Primum Mobile or revolving sphere which imparts motion to all the others within it, and finally, the spaceless and motionless Empyrean in which God dwells. EPIC AND ROMANCE 43 THE INFERNO The selection here given is from the "Inferno," and it deals with the increasing difficulty and danger Dante and Virgil encounter as they go deeper and deeper into Hell. In order to appreciate Dante at all intelligently, it is necessary to recognize that the chief significance of his work is figurative. He is gen- erally thought of as remarkable for the power of imagination he displays by which he makes the unreal seem real, and while he does display great power and skill in this respect, his main success lies in his having made his poem an analysis of human life and an exhaustive description of moral experiences. His poem tells us that the human being whose mind is impelled by lust, torn by anger, impeded by weak- ness of character, or distorted by malice, is in Hell just as effectively as the sinners he so graphically and convincingly describes; that the person who has suffered for his sins and is trying to overcome them has both anguish and joy like the inmates of his Purgatory; and that those who have attained to peace of mind and faith in the goodness and ultimate justness of the Creator's plans are in Heaven, enjoying delights no less sweet than those he pictures. The allegory of the selection here translated is not easy to make clear without considerable explana- tion. Virgil typifies reason, and reason enables us to contemplate sin without becoming its victim. Reason also abhors anger and violence, hence Virgil's treatment of Filippo Argenti. It, however, takes something more than reason to enable a person to come closely enough in contact with sin to understand it and yet not become addicted to it. This something is a good fortune so unusual as to seem the direct intervention of Heaven, and it is this that the angel that opens the City of Dis typifies. Medusa is despair, for it is impossible to perceive the full wickedness of the human heart without being frozen into hopelessness; reason therefore bids us avert our gaze from wanton evil, lest we despair. This seems to be the main teaching that is "hidden behind the curtain of the verses strange," about which, however, endless volumes have been written. Translations of Dante are very numerous, but none as yet has been very successful. The usual criticism is that they do not present Dante so much as they do his translator, and this translation there- fore attempts to be as literal as is consistent with smoothness, for Dante is never rough from necessity, though he often is from choice. This translation is also in verse, because nobody can get an idea of a poem in verse by reading it in prose. It does not, however, contain any rhyme words, and each line corresponds to the line it renders in the original, except for very slight occasional variations. It is hoped in this way that two things at least will be conveyed by the translation: first, Dante's thought in approxi- mately the order and language in which he expressed it, and second, the fact that that thought is con- veyed in metrical language and in rhyme. [This note and the translation have been made by Sidney A. Gunn, a member of the Department of English and Curator of the United States Naval Academy.] CANTO VIII CONTINUING, I say that long before To that high tower's foot we had drawn nigh, Our eyes went carefully its summit o'er; Because two flames placed there we could descry, And from so far another's answer flit That hardly could we catch it with the eye. I, turning to the ocean of all wit, Said: "What says this? and what has just replied That other flame? and who does it trans- mit?" And he to me: "Above the filthy tide Already thou can'st see him they attend, Unless the marsh's smoke it from thee hide." Cord never yet did arrow from it send Which made its way so quickly through the ah", As I beheld a tiny shallop wend Its way and towards us o'er the waters fare Which but a single oarsman did contain Who cried: "Now cruel spirit, art thou there?" "O Phlegyas, Phlegyas, thou dost cry in vain This time," exclaimed to him thereat my sage. "Thou'lt have us but while o'er the swamp we're ta'en." As one who hears about a great outrage Against himself, and then doth it resent, So acted Phlegyas in his swollen rage. Then down into the bark my master went, And after him he made me enter too; And I alone had weight 'neath which it bent. 44 TYPES OF GREAT LITERATURE As quickly as the boat received us two, It started forth and with its ancient prow Cut deeper far than it was wont to do. While we were passing o'er the stagnant slough, A shade, that full of slime rose from the deep, Cried: "Soul here ere thy time, pray who art thou? " "Although I come, the place shall not me keep," I said, "but who art thou thus foul?" and he: "Thou seest I am one of those who weep." And I to him: "May tears and mourning be, Accursed spirit, evermore thy share, For though so foul thou yet art known to me." Then both his hands towards the boat he bare, But him my watchful guide at once re- pressed, And said: " Unto the other dogs repair." Then me with both his arms he to him pressed, And kissing me: "Disdainful soul," he said, " May she by whom thou wert conceived be blest. A life of brutal arrogance he led; His name no goodness into honor brings, And this such fury in his shade has bred. How many who themselves think mighty kings Shall here be as the swine are in the mire, About whose name the vilest memory clings." And I: "My master, much do I desire To see him plunged within this filthy swill, Before we from the gloomy lake retire." And he to me: " Before the shore there will Be visible, thou shalt be satisfied; For such a wish 'tis proper to fulfil." Soon after that I saw to him applied Such torments by the muddy people there, That for it since I God have glorified. "At Filippo Argenti," everywhere They cried, and that shade Florentine irate Began himself with his own teeth to tear. We left, and I'll no more of him relate. But now a wailing struck upon my ear Which made me open-eyed, intent, await. My master said: "My son, now draweth near That city which the name of Dis ac- quires, With all its crowds, and citizens aus- tere." "Master," said I, "already mosques and spires Yonder within its walls seem red to be, As if they all were issuing from fires." "The fire eternal," he said unto me, "Which kindles them within, red makes them gleam Within this lower hell, as thou can'st see." Fosses we entered now of depth extreme, Which moat all round that city desolate, Whose walls to me did made of iron seem. But not until we made a circuit great Came we to where the boatman loudly cried: "Now get ye forth, for yonder is the gate." Upon the walls I thousands there descried Whom heaven rained down, who thus in anger spoke: "Who is he, who, although he has not died, Goes thus throughout the kingdom of dead folk?" My master wise thereat a signal made That he would secret speech with them invoke. Then, with their mighty scorn somewhat allayed, They said: "Come thou alone, but send him back Who comes within this realm so un- afraid. Alone let him retrace that reckless track, If so he can, for thou shalt here remain Who him hath guided through this region black." EPIC AND ROMANCE Think, reader, whether fear did o'er me reign, When I heard speak like this that cursed corps; For here I thought ne'er to return again! "0 guide beloved who hast seven times and more Secure me rendered and me safely won From perils that arose to whelm me o'er, Leave me not here," I said, " thus all un- done, And if the passage further is denied, Let us retrace at once the path begun." Then said that lord who unto me was guide : "Fear not that we this passage must forego; No one can take what one so great sup- plied. But wait me here, and feed they spirits low With hopes of better fortunes that im- pend, For thee I leave not in the world below." Thus then went forth and left me to attend, My father kind, and I remained in fear While yes and no did in my head con- tend. The words he offered them I could not hear, But long they did not there with him await ; For, rushing back again in mad career, Our adversaries quickly shut the gate Upon my leader, who outside forlorn Came back to me with slow and solemn gait. His eyes were on the ground; his brows were shorn Of boldness, and he murmured, with a sigh, "Who shuts me from the house where spirits mourn?" And then to me: "Though I in anger cry, Do thou not fear, The test I will sustain, Whatever hindrance they within may try. Not new to them is this defiance vain. Once at a gate less secret they it tried; One that does yet without a bar remain. O'er it the dead inscription thou descried. And now this side of it descends the slope, Passing the circles through without a guide, One who for us the city there shall ope." CANTO DC THAT color fear my countenance had stained, When I beheld my leader turning back, In him more quickly his new tint re- strained. He stopped, as if to listen, in the track; For little was the distance one could see Through fog so heavy and through air so black. "Yet in the fight we must win victory," He said; "if not . . . when guar- anteed such aid. Till some one comes how long it seems tome!" I well perceived how he a cover made For his beginning with what last he said, Which different sense from his first words conveyed. But none the less his language made me dread, Because, perhaps in what he broke off so, A meaning worse than his intent I read. "Within this dreary shell thus far below, Comes ever spirit of the first degree, Whose only pain is hope cut off to know?" Thus questioned I, and: "Rarely," an- swered he, " Is it that any one of us goes through This region that is now traversed by me. Down once before was I this way, 'tis true, Here conjured by insensate Erichtho, Who spirits back into their bodies drew. Not long was I of flesh denuded so, When she made me to pass within that wall To draw a shade from Judas' ring below. That is the lowest, blackest spot of all, And farthest from the Heaven that round all flies. I know the way, therefore thy faith re- call. That marsh from which the putrid smells arise TYPES OF GREAT LITERATURE All round this doleful city here is spread, Which entrance, lacking wrath, to us denies." And more he spoke, but from my mind it fled, Because my eyes entirely me drew Towards the lofty tower of summit red, Where all at once had risen up to view Three hellish furies all besmeared with gore, Who female members had and actions too. The greenest hydras they as girdles wore, And tiny snakes with horns had they for hair, Which matted was their cruel brows before. And he, that they were handmaids well aware Of her who of eternal plaints is queen, Said: "Look thou on the fell Erynnis there! Megaera is upon the left hand seen; Alecto on the right wails, of the rest; Tesiphone is she who is between." They with their nails all madly tore the breast, And beat themselves, and uttered shrieks so high That near the poet I in terror pressed. "Bring here Medusa him to petrify," They all cried out, directing down their sight; "Theseus' attack we passed too lightly by." "Turn thou around and close thy eyelids tight, For if the Gorgon comes and thou her see, There will be no returning to the light." Thus spoke my master, and himself then he Turned me around, nor left me to ar- range, But with his hands o'er mine blindfolded me. O ye whose minds corruption does not change, Observe the teaching which itself doth hide Beneath the curtain of these verses strange! And now there came across the turbid tide A crashing that aroused a wild affray Which caused the shore to quake on either side. 'Twas just as when a wind-storm makes its way, Impetuous from heats' adversity, Which strikes the forest, and without a stay, The branches strips, breaks down, and teareth free; With dust before it, on it proudly flies And makes the wild beasts and the shepherds flee. "Direct thy sight," he said, and loosed my eyes, "So that the ancient foam thy vision know, There yonder where the acrid vapors rise!" Just as the frogs before their serpent foe Rush through the water in disrupted shoals, Till on the ground each one is squatting low, So I saw many thousand ruined souls Fleeing from one who at the passage there Was crossing o'er the Styx with unwet soles. Back from his face he thrust the heavy air, His left hand pushing forward as he went, And weary seemed he solely from this care. Well I perceived that he from Heaven was sent, And turned to Virgil, who by signs made plain That I be still and stand before him bent. Ah, how intense to me seemed his disdain ! He came unto the gate, and with a wand He opened it, for naught did him re- strain. "O heavenly outcasts, O despised band," He then began upon the awful sill, "What you impells to this defiant stand? Wherefore do you rebel against the will Which nothing from its object e'er abates, EPIC AND ROMANCE 47 And which so often has increased your ill? What profits it to butt against the fates? Your Cerberus for that, you well have learned, The hair still on his throat and chin awaits." And then back by the filthy path he turned, Nor spoke to us, but all the air he bore Of one whom other cares impelled and burned Than those of them then standing him before. Then towards the city we our steps dis- posed, Secure after the sacred words once more, And entered there with no one who op- posed. But I who wished exceedingly to see The state a fortress such as that en- closed, When I was in looked round me thoroughly And saw a mighty plain stretch all around, With sorrow filled and wicked agony. Just as at Aries the Rhone is stagnant found, And as at Pola to Quarnaro near, Where Italy's confines are washed and bound, The tombs uneven make the plain appear; So here on every side it was the same, Excepting that the mode was more severe : For 'mid the tombs were scattered tongues of flame By which they were with heat so fully seared That hotter iron doth no craft e'er claim. They all their covers open had upreared, And from them did such lamentations rise That sad and wounded they indeed ap- peared. And I: "My Master, what folk is it lies Entombed within these chests, who in this way Themselves make evident by mournful sighs?" And he to me: "Arch heretics are they With followers of every sect, and more Than thou believest do these tombs down weigh. In this place like with like is covered o'er, And more and less hot are the monu- ments." Then we our steps towards the right hand bore Between the torments and high battle- ments. JOHN MILTON (1608-1674) Milton, after Shakespeare the chief glory of English literature, is one of the world's greatest poets. His chief work, "Paradise Lost," though not strictly true to the epic type since it concerns no national hero is the great English epic that stands in our literature as Homer's "Eiad" and "Odyssey" stand in Greek, and Virgil's "/Eneid" in Latin. It is the story of the temptation and fall of man; the twelfth and last book concludes with the expulsion of Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden. It was written when the poet was poor, past middle life, and blind, in order, as he himself tells us, to assert Eternal Providence, And justify the ways of God to men. PARADISE LOST BOOK I ARGUMENT THIS First Book proposes, first in brief, the whole subject, Man's disobedience, and the loss thereupon of Paradise, wherein he was placed : then touches the prime cause of his fall, the serpent, or rather Satan in the serpent; who, revolting from God, and drawing to his side many legions of angels, was, by the command of God, driven out of heaven, with all his crew, into the great deep. Which action passed over, the poem hastens into the midst of things, presenting Satan, with his angels, now fallen into hell, described here, not in the center (for heaven and earth may be sup- posed as yet not made, certainly not yet ac- cursed), but in a place of utter darkness, fit- liest called Chaos: here Satan with his angels, lying on the burning lake, thunderstruck and TYPES OF GREAT LITERATURE astonished, after a certain space recovers, as from confusion, calls up him who next in order and dignity lay by him. They confer of their miserable fall; Satan awakens all his legions, who lay till then in the same manner con- founded. They rise; their numbers; array of battle; their chief leaders named, according to the idols known afterwards in Canaan and the countries adjoining. To these Satan directs his speech, comforts them with hope yet of re- gaining heaven, but tells them lastly of a new world and new kind of creature to be created, according to an ancient prophecy, or report, in heaven for, that the angels were long before this visible creation, was the opinion of many ancient fathers. To find out the truth of this prophecy, and what to determine thereon, he refers to a full council. What his associates thence attempt. Pandemonium, the palace of Satan, rises, suddenly built out of the deep: the infernal peers there sit in council. OF MAN'S first disobedience, and the fruit Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste Brought death into the world, and all our woe, With loss of Eden, till one greater Man Restore us, and regain the blissful seat, Sing, heavenly Muse, that on the secret top Of Oreb, or of Sinai, did'st inspire That shepherd, who first taught the chosen seed, In the beginning how the heavens and earth Rose out of chaos: or, if Sion hill Delight thee more, and Siloa's brook that flowed Fast by the oracle of God, I thence Invoke thy aid to my adventurous song, That with no middle flight intends to soar Above the Aonian mount, while it pursues Things unattempted yet in prose or rime. And chiefly thou, O Spirit, that dost prefer Before all temples the upright heart and pure, Instruct me, for thou know'st; thou from the first Wast present, and, with mighty wings out- spread, Dove-like, sat'st brooding on the vast abyss, And mad'st it pregnant: what in me is dark, Illumine; what is low, raise and support; That to the height of this great argument I may assert eternal Providence, And justify the ways of God to men. Say first for heaven hides nothing from thy view, Nor the deep tract of hell say first, what cause Moved our grand Parents, in that happy state, Favored of Heaven so highly, to fall off From their Creator, and transgress his will For one restraint, lords of the world besides. Who first seduced them to that foul revolt? The infernal Serpent; he it was, whose guile, t Stirred up with envy and revenge, deceived The mother of mankind; what time his pride Had cast him out from heaven, with all his host Of rebel angels; by whose aid, aspiring To set himself in glory above his peers, He trusted to have equaled the Most High, If he opposed; and, with ambitious aim Against the throne and monarchy of God, Raised impious war in heaven, and battle proud, With vain attempt. Him the Almighty Power Hurled headlong flaming from the ethereal sky, With hideous ruin and combustion, down To bottomless perdition; there to dwell In adamantine chains and penal fire, Who durst defy the Omnipotent to arms. Nine times the space that measures day and night To mortal men, he with his horrid crew Lay vanquished, rolling in the fiery gulf, Confounded, though immortal. But his doom Reserved him to more wrath; for now the thought Both of lost happiness and lasting pahi Torments him; round he throws his baleful eyes, That witnessed huge affliction and dismay, Mixed with obdurate pride, and steadfast hate. At once, as far as angels' ken, he views The dismal situation waste and wild. EPIC AND ROMANCE A dungeon horrible, on all sides round, As one great furnace, flamed; yet from those flames No light ; but rather darkness visible Served only to discover sights of woe, Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace And rest can never dwell; hope never comes That comes to all ; but torture without end Still urges, and a fiery deluge, fed With ever-burning sulphur unconsumed. Such place eternal justice had prepared For those rebellious; here their prison or- dained In utter darkness, and their portion set As far removed from God and light of heaven, As from the center thrice to the utmost pole. O, how unlike the place from whence they feU! There the companions of his fall, o'er- whelmed With floods and whirlwinds of tempestuous fire, He soon discerns; and weltering by his side C/ne next himself in power, and next in crime, Long after known in Palestine, and named Beelzebub. To whom the arch-enemy. And thence in heaven called Satan, with bold words Breaking the horrid silence, thus began: "If thou beest he but O, how fall'n! how changed From him who, in the happy realms of light, Clothed with transcendent brightness, didst outshine Myriads, though bright! If he, whom mutual league, United thoughts and counsels, equal hope And hazard in the glorious enterprise, Joined with me once, now misery hath joined In equal ruin; into what pit thou seest From what height fall'n, so much the stronger proved He with his thunder: and till then who knew The force of those dire arms? Yet not for those, Nor what the potent victor in his rage Can else inflict, do I repent or change, Though changed hi outward luster, that fixed mind, And high disdain from sense of injured merit, That with the Mightiest raised me to contend, And to the fierce contention brought along Innumerable force of spirits armed, That durst dislike his reign, and, me pre- ferring His utmost power with adverse power op- posed In dubious battle on the plains of heaven, And shook his throne. What though the field be lost? All is not lost; the unconquerable will, And study of revenge, immortal hate, And courage never to submit or yield, And what is else not to be overcome; That glory never shah 1 his wrath or might Extort from me. To bow and sue for grace With suppliant knee, and deify his power Who from the terror of this arm so late Doubted his empire that were low in- deed, That were an ignominy, and shame be- neath This downfall; since, by fate, the strength of gods, And this empyreal substance, cannot fail: Since, through experience of this great event, In arms not worse, in foresight much ad- vanced, We may with more successful hope resolve To wage by force or guile eternal war, Irreconcilable to our grand foe, Who now triumphs, and, in the excess of joy Sole reigning, holds the tyrannyof heaven." So spake the apostate angel, though in pain, Vaunting aloud, but racked with deep de- spair And him thus answered soon his bold com- peer: "O prince, O chief of many-throned jaowers,. TYPES OF GREAT LITERATURE That led the embattled seraphim to war Under thy conduct, and in dreadful deeds Fearless, endangered heaven's perpetual King, And put to proof his high supremacy, Whether upheld by strength, or chance, or fate; Too well I see, and rue the dire event, That with sad overthrow, and foul defeat, Hath lost us heaven, and all this mighty host In horrible destruction laid thus low, As far as gods and heavenly essences Can perish : for the mind and spirit remain Invincible, and vigor soon returns, Though all our glory extinct, and happy state Here swallowed up in endless misery. But what if he our Conqueror (whom I now Of force believe Almighty, since no less Than such could have o'erpowered such force as ours) Have left us this our spirit and strength entire. Strongly to suffer and support our pains, That we may so suffice his vengeful ire, Or do him mightier service as his thralls By right of war, whate'er his business be, Here in the heart of hell to work in fire, Or do his errands, in the gloomy deep? What can it then avail, though yet we feel Strength undiminished, or eternal being To undergo eternal punishment?" Whereto with speedy words the arch- fiend replied: " Fallen cherub, to be weak is miserable, Doing or suffering; but of this be sure, To do aught good never will be our task, But ever to do ill our sole delight, As being the contrary to his high will Whom we resist. If then his providence Out of our evil seek to bring forth good, Our labor must be to pervert that end, And out of good still to find means of evil, Which of ttimes may succeed, so as perhaps Shall grieve him, if I fail not, and disturb His inmost counsels from their destined aim. But see, the angry Victor hath recalled His ministers of vengeance and pursuit Back to the gates of heaven; the sulphur- ous hail, Shot after us in storm, o'erblown, hath laid The fiery surge, that from the precipice Of heaven received us falling; and the thunder, Winged with red lightning and impetuous rage, Perhaps hath spent his shafts, and ceases now To bellow through the vast and boundless deep. Let us not slip the occasion, whether scorn Or satiate fury yield it from our foe. Seest thou yon dreary plain, forlorn and wild, The seat of desolation, void of light, Save what the glimmering of these livid flames Casts pale and dreadful? Thither let us tend From off the tossing of these fiery waves; There rest, if any rest can harbor there; And, re-assembling our afflicted powers, Consult how we may henceforth most of- fend Our enemy; our own loss how repair; How overcome this dire calamity; What reinforcement we may gain from hope; If not, what resolution from despair." Thus Satan, talking to his nearest mate, With head uplif t above the wave, and eyes That sparkling blazed; his other parts be- sides Prone on the flood, extended long and large, Lay floating many a rood; in bulk as huge As whom the fables name of monstrous size, Titanian, or Earth-born, that warred on Jove; Briareos or Typhon, whom the den By ancient Tarsus held; or that sea-beast Leviathan, which God of all his works Created hugest that swim the ocean stream. Him, haply, slumbering on the Norway foam, The pilot of some small night-foundered skiff, Deeming some island, oft, as seamen tell, EPIC AND ROMANCE With fixed anchor in his scaly rind Moors by his side under die lee, while night Invests the sea, and wished morn delays: So stretched out huge in length the arch- fiend lay Chained on the burning lake: nor ever thence Had risen, or heaved his head; but that the will And high permission of all-ruling Heaven Left hun at large to his own dark designs; /That with reiterated crimes he might Heap on himself damnation, while he sought Evil to others; and, enraged, might see How all his malice served but to bring forth Infinite goodness, grace, and mercy, shown On man by him seduced; but on himself Treble confusion, wrath, and vengeance poured. Forthwith upright he rears from off the pool His mighty stature; on each hand the flames, Driven backward, slope their pointing spires, and rolled In billows, leave i' the midst a horrid vale. Then with expanded wings he steers his flight Aloft, incumbent on the dusky air, That felt unusual weight; till on dry land He lights, if it were land that ever burned With solid, as the lake with liquid fire; And such appeared in hue, as when the force Of subterranean wind transports a hill Torn from Pelorus, or the shattered side Of thundering Etna, whose combustible And fuelled entrails thence conceiving fire, Sublimed with mineral fury, aid the winds, And leave a singed bottom, all involved Wil* stench and smoke: such resting found the sole Ol unblest feet. Him followed his next mate: Both glorying to have 'scaped the Stygian flood, As gods, and by their own recovered strength, Not by the sufferance of supernal power. "Is this the region, this the soil, the clime," Said then the lost archangel, " this the seat That we must change for heaven; this mournful gloom For that celestial light? Be it so, since he, Who now is Sovereign, can dispose and bid What shall be right: farthest from him is best, Whom reason hath equaled, force hath made supreme Above his equals. Farewell, happy fields, Where joy for ever dwells! Hail, horrors! hail Infernal world! and thou profoundest hell, Receive thy new possessor one who brings A mind not to be changed by place or time: The mind is its own place, and in itself Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven. What matter where, if I be still the same, And what I should be; all but less than he Whom thunder hath made greater? Here at least We shall be free: the Almighty hath not built Here for his envy, will not drive us hence: Here we may reign secure, and, in my choice, To reign is worth ambition, though in hell; Better to reign in hell, than serve in heaven. But wherefore let we then our faithful friends, The associates and co-partners of our loss, Lie thus astonished on the oblivious pool, And call them not to share with us their part In this unhappy mansion; or once more With rallied arms to try what may be yet Regained in heaven, or what more lost in hell?" So Satan spake, and him Beelzebub Thus answered: "Leader of those armies bright, Which, but the Omnipotent, none could have foiled, If once they hear that voice, their liveliest pledge Of hope in fears and dangers, heard so oft In worst extremes, and on the perilous edge TYPES OF GREAT LITERATURE Of battle when it raged, in all assaults Their surest signal, they will soon resume New courage and revive; though now they lie Groveling and prostrate on yon lake of fire, As we erewhile, astounded and amazed; No wonder, fall'n such a pernicious height." He scarce had ceased, when the superior fiend Was moving toward the shore: his ponder- ous shield Ethereal temper, massy, large, and round, Behind him cast; the broad circumference Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views At evening, from the top of Fesole, Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands, Rivers, or mountains, in her spotty globe. His spear, to equal which the tallest pine Hewn on Norwegian hills, to be the mast Of some great admiral, ivere but a wand, He walked with, to support uneasy steps Over the burning marl, not like those steps On heaven's azure, and the torrid clime Smote on him sore besides, vaulted with fire: Nathless he so endured, till on the beach Of that inflamed sea he stood, and called His legions, angel forms, who lay en- tranced, Thick as autumnal leaves, that strew the brooks In Vallombrosa, where the Etrurian shades, High over-arched, embower; or scattered sedge Afloat, when with fierce winds Orion armed Hath vexed the Red Sea coast, whose waves o'erthrew Busiris and his Memphian chivalry, While with perfidious hatred they pursued The sojourners of Goshen, who beheld From the safe shore their floating carcasses And broken chariot- wheels; so thick be- strewn, Abject and lost lay these, covering the flood, Under amazement of their hideous change. He called so loud, that all the hollow deep Of hell resounded. "Princes, potentates, Warriors, the flower of heaven, once yours, now lost, If such astonishment as this can seize Eternal spirits; or have ye chosen this place After the toil of battle to repose Your wearied virtue, for the ease you find To slumber here, as in the vales of heaven? Or in this abject posture have ye sworn To adore the Conqueror? who now beholds Cherub and seraph rolling in the flood With scattered arms and ensigns, till anon His swift pursuers from heaven-gates dis- cern The advantage, and descending, tread UL down Thus drooping, or with linked thunder- bolts Transfix us to the bottom of this gulf? Awake, arise, or be for ever fall'n!" They heard, and were abashed, and up they sprung Upon the wing; as when men, wont to watch On duty, sleeping found by whom they dread, Rouse and bestir themselves ere well awake. Nor did they not perceive the evil plight In which they were, or the fierce pains not feel; Yet to their general's voice they soon obeyed, Innumerable. As when the potent rod Of Amram's son, in Egypt's evil day, Waved round the coast, up called a pitchy cloud Of locusts, warping on the eastern wind, That o'er the realm of impious Pharaoh hung Like night, and darkened all the land of Nile: So numberless were those bad angels seen Hovering on wing under the cope of hell, 'Twixt upper, nether, and surrounding fires; Till, at a signal given, the uplifted spear Of their great sultan waving to direct Their course, in even balance down they light EPIC AND ROMANCE On the firm brimstone, and fill all the plain: A multitude like which the populous north Poured never from her frozen loins, to pass Rhine or the Danube, when her barbarous sons Came like a deluge on the south and spread Beneath Gibraltar to the Libyan sands. Forthwith from every squadron and each band The heads and leaders thither haste where stood Their great commander; godlike shapes and forms Excelling human; princely dignities; And powers that erst in heaven sat on thrones, Though of their names in heavenly records now Be no memorial; blotted out and rased By their rebellion from the books of life. Nor had they yet among the sons of Eve Got them new names; till, wandering o'er the earth, Through God's high sufferance, for the trial of man, By falsities and lies the greater part Of mankind they corrupted to forsake God their Creator, and the invisible Glory of him that made them, to trans- form Oft to the image of a brute, adorned With gay religions, full of pomp and gold, And devils to adore for deities: Then were they known to men by various names, And various idols through the heathen world. Say, Muse, their names then known, who first, who last, Roused from the slumber on that fiery couch, At their great emperor's call, as next in worth, Came singly where he stood on the bare strand, While the promiscuous crowd stood yet aloof. The chief were those who from the pit of hell, Roaming to seek their prey on earth, durst fix Their seats long after next the seat of God, Then- altars by his altar, gods adored Among the nations round, and durst abide Jehovah thundering out of Sion, throned Between the cherubim; yea, often placed Within his sanctuary itself their shrines, Abominations; and with cursed things His holy rites and solemn feasts profaned, And with their darkness durst affront his light. First, Moloch, horrid king, besmeared with blood Of human sacrifice, and parents' tears; Though, for the noise of drums and tim- brels loud, Their children's cries unheard, that passed through fire To his grim idol. Hun the Ammonite Worshipped in Rabba and her watery plain, In Argob and in Basan, to the stream Of utmost Arnon. Nor content with such Audacious neighborhood, the wisest heart Of Solomon he led by fraud to build His temple right against the temple of God, On that opprobrious hill; and made his grove The pleasant valley of Hinnom, Tophet thence And black Gehenna called, the type of hell. Next, Chemos, the obscene dread of Moab's sons, From Aroer to Nebo, and the wild Of southmost Abarim; in Hesebon And Horonaim, Seon's realm, beyond The flowery dale of Sibma clad with vines, And Eleale to the asphaltic pool; Peor his other name, when he enticed Israel in Sittim, on their march from Nile, To do him wanton rites, which cost them woe. Yet thence his lustful orgies he enlarged Even to that hill of scandal, by the grove Of Moloch homicide: lust hard by hate; Till good Josiah drove them thence to hell. With these came they who, from the bor- dering flood Of old Euphrates to the brook that parts Egypt from Syrian ground, had general names 54 TYPES OF GREAT LITERATURE Of Baalim and Ashtaroth; those male, These feminine; for spirits, when they please, Can either sex assume, or both; so soft And uncompounded is their essence pure; Not tied or manacled with joint or limb, Nor founded on the brittle strength of bones, Like cumbrous flesh; but, in what shape they choose, Dilated or condensed, bright or obscure, Can execute their aery purposes, And works of love or enmity fulfil. For those the race of Israel oft forsook Their living Strength, and unfrequented left His righteous altar, bowing lowly down To bestial gods; for which their heads as low Bowed down in battle, sunk before the spear Of despicable foes. With these in troop Came Astoreth, whom the Phenicians called Astarte, queen of heaven, with crescent horns; To whose bright image nightly by the moon Sidonian virgins paid their vows and songs; In Sion also not unsung, where stood Her temple on the offensive mountain, built By that uxorious king, whose heart, though large, Beguiled by fair idolatresses, fell To idols foul. Thammuz came next be- hind, Whose annual wound in Lebanon allured The Syrian damsels to lament his fate In amorous ditties all a summer's day; While smooth Adonis from his native rock Ran purple to the sea, supposed with blood Of Thammuz yearly wounded; the love- tale Infected Sion's daughters with like heat; Whose wanton passions in the sacred porch Ezekiel saw, when, by the vision led, His eye surveyed the dark idolatries Of alienated Judah. Next came one Who mourned in earnest, when the captive ark Maimed his brute image, head and hands lopped off In his own temple, on the grunsel edge, Where he fell flat, and shamed his wo* shippers; Dagon his name, sea-monster, upward man And downward fish; yet had his temple high Reared in Azotus, dreaded through the coast Of Palestine, in Gath and Ascalon, And Accaron and Gazar's frontier bounds. Him followed Rimmon, whose delightful seat Was fair Damascus, on the fertile banks Of Abbana and Pharphar, lucid streams. He also 'gainst the house of God was bold * A leper once he lost, and gained a king; Ahaz his sottish conqueror, whom he drew God's altar to disparage and displace For one of Syrian mode, whereon to burr His odious offerings, and adore the gods Whom he had vanquished. After these appeared A crew who, under names of old renown, Osiris, Isis, Orus, and their train, With monstrous shapes and sorceries abused Fanatic Egypt and her priests, to seek Their wandering gods disguised in brutish forms Rather than human. Nor did Israel 'scape The infection, when their borrowed gold composed The caff in Oreb; and the rebel king Doubled that sin in Bethel and in Dan, Likening his Maker to the grazed ox Jehovah, who in one night, when he passed From Egypt marching, equaled with one stroke Both her first-born and all her bleating gods. Belial came last, than whom a spirit more lewd Fell not from heaven, or more gross to love Vice for itself; to him no temple stood, Or altar smoked; yet who more oft than he In temples and at altars, when the priest Turns atheist, as did Eli's sons, who filled With lust and violence the house of God? In courts and palaces he also reigns, EPIC AND ROMANCE 5S And in luxurious cities, where the noise Of riot ascends above their loftiest towers, And injury and outrage: and when night Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons Of Belial, flown with insolence and wine. Witness the streets of Sodom, and that night In Gibeah, when the hospitable door Exposed a matron, to avoid worse rape. These were the prime in order and in might: The rest were long to tell, though far re- nowned, The Ionian gods of Ja van's issue held Gods, yet confessed later than heaven and earth, Their boasted parents: Titan, heaven's first-born With his enormous brood, and birthright seized By younger Saturn; he from mightier Jove, His own and Rhea's son, like measure found; So Jove usurping reigned: these first in Crete And Ida known, thence on the snowy top Of cold Olympus ruled the middle air, Their highest heaven; or on the Delphian cliff, Or in Dodona, and through all the bounds Of Doric land : or who with Saturn old Fled over Adria to the Hesperian fields, And o'er the Celtic roamed the utmost isles. All these and more came flocking, but with looks Downcast and damp; yet such wherein ap- peared Obscure some glimpse of joy, to have found their chief Not in despair, to have found themselves not lost In loss itself; which on his countenance cast Like doubtful hue; but he, his wonted pride Soon recollecting, with high words, that bore Semblance of worth, not substance, gently raised Their fainting courage, and dispelled their fears. Then straight commands that at the war- like sound Of trumpets loud and clarions be upreared His mighty standard; that proud honor claimed Azazel as his right, a cherub tall; Who forthwith from the glittering staff un- furled The imperial ensign; which, full high ad- vanced, Shone like a meteor, streaming to the wind, With gems and golden luster rich em- blazed, Seraphic arms and trophies, all the while Sonorous metal blowing martial sounds: At which the universal host up-sent A shout, that tore hell's concave, and be- yond Frighted the reign of Chaos and old Night. All hi a moment through the gloom were seen Ten thousand banners rise into the air, With orient colors waving; with them rose A forest huge of spears; and thronging helms Appeared, and serried shields in thick array Of depth immeasurable; anon they move In perfect phalanx to the Dorian mood Of flutes and soft recorders; such as raised To height of noblest temper heroes old Arming to battle, and instead of rage, Deliberate valor breathed, firm and un- moved With dread of death to flight or foul re- treat; Nor wanting power to mitigate and 'suage With solemn touches troubled thoughts, and chase Anguish, and doubt, and fear, and sorrow, and pain From mortal or immortal minds. Tkus they, Breathing united force, with fixed thought, Moved on in silence, to soft pipes, that charmed Their painful steps o'er the burnt soil: and now Advanced in view they stand; a horrid front Of dreadful length and dazzling arms, in guise TYPES OF GREAT LITERATURE Of warriors old with ordered spear and shield, Awaiting what command their mighty chief Had to impose: he through the armed files Darts his experienced eye, and soon tra- verse The whole battalion views, their order due, Their visages and stature as of gods; Their number last he sums. And now his heart Distends with pride, and hardening in his strength Glories: for never since created man Met such embodied force as, named with these, Could merit more than that small infantry Warred on by cranes: though all the giant brood Of Phlegra with the heroic race were joined That fpught at Thebes and Ilium, on each side Mixed with auxiliar gods; and what re- sounds In fable or romance of Uther's son Begirt with British and Armoric knights; And all who since, baptized or infidel, Jousted in Aspramont, or Montalban, Damascus, or Morocco, or Trebizond, Or whom Biserta sent from Afric shore, When Charlemagne with all his peerage fell By Fontarabbia. Thus far these beyond Compare of mortal prowess, yet observed Their dread commander; he, above the rest In shape and gesture proudly eminent, Stood like a tower; his form had yet not lost All its original brightness; nor appeared Less than archangel ruined, and the excess Of glory obscured: as when the sun, new risen, Looks through the horizontal misty air Shorn of his beams, or from behind the moon, In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds On half the nations, and with fear of change Perplexes monarchs. Darkened so, yet shone Above them all the archangel; but his face Deep scars of thunder had entrenched; and care Sat on his faded cheek; but under brows Of dauntless courage, and considerate pride Waiting revenge; cruel his eye, but cast Signs of remorse and passion, to behold The fellows of his crime, the followers rather (Far other once beheld in bliss), con- demned For ever now to have their lot in pain; Millions of spirits for his fault amerced Of heaven, and from eternal splendors flung For his revolt; yet faithful how they stood, Their glory withered; as when heaven's fire Hath scathed the forest oaks, or mountain pines, With singed top their stately growth, though bare, Stands on the blasted heath. He now pre- pared To speak; whereat their doubled ranks they bend From wing to whig, and half enclose him round With all his peers: attention held them mute. Thrice he essayed, and thrice, in spite ot scorn, Tears, such as angels weep, burst forth; at last Words, interwove with sighs, found out their way. "O myriads of immortal spirits! powers Matchless, but with the Almighty; and that strife Was not inglorious, though the event was dire, As this place testifies, and this dire change, Hateful to utter! but what power of mind, Foreseeing or presaging, from the depth Of knowledge, past or present, could have feared How such united force of gods, how such As stood like these, could ever know re- pulse? For who can yet believe, though after loss, That all these puissant legions, whose exile EPIC AND ROMANCE 57 Hath emptied heaven, shall fail to reascend Self -raised, and repossess their native seat? For me, be witness all the host of heaven, If counsels different, or dangers shunned By me, have lost our hopes. But he who reigns Monarch in heaven, till then as one secure Sat on this throne upheld by old repute, Consent or custom; and his regal state Put forth at full, but still his strength con- cealed, Which tempted our attempt, and wrought our fall. Henceforth his might we know, and know our own; So as not either to provoke, or dread New war, provoked; our better part re- mains, To work in close design, by fraud or guile, What force effected not; that he no less At length from us may find, who over- comes By force, hath overcome but half his foe. Space may produce new worlds; whereof so rife There went a fame in heaven that he ere long Intended to create, and therein plant A generation, whom his choice regard Should favor equal to the sons of heaven: Thither, if but to pry, shall be perhaps Our first eruption; thither, or elsewhere; For this infernal pit shall never hold Celestial spirits in bondage, nor the abyss Long under darkness cover. But these thoughts Full counsel must mature; peace is de- spaired ; For who can think submission? War, then, war, Open or understood, must be resolved." He spake; and, to confirm his words, outflew Millions of flaming swords, drawn from the thighs Of mighty cherubim; the sudden blaze Far round illumined hell; highly they raged Against the Highest, and fierce with grasped arms Clashed on their sounding shields the din of war, Hurling defiance toward the vault of heaven. There stood a hill not far, whose grisly top Belched fire and rolling smoke; the rest en- tire Shone with a glossy scurf, undoubted sign That in his womb was hid metallic ore, The work of sulphur. Thither, winged with speed, A numerous brigade hastened: as when bands Of pioneers, with spade and pickaxe armed, Forerun the royal camp, to trench a field, Or cast a rampart. Mammon led them on : Mammon, the least erected spirit that fell From heaven; for even in heaven his looks and thoughts Were always downward bent, admiring more The riches of heaven's pavement, trodden gold, Than aught, divine or holy, else enjoyed In vision beatific; by him first Men also, and by his suggestion taught, Ransacked the center, and with impious hands Rifled the bowels of their mother earth For treasures, better hid. Soon had his crew Opened into the hill a spacious wound, And digged out ribs of gold. Let none ad- mire That riches grow in hell; that soil may best Deserve the precious bane. And here let those Who boast in mortal things, and wonder- ing tell Of Babel, and the works of Memphian kings, Learn how their greatest monuments of fame, And strength and art, are easily outdone By spirits reprobate, and in an hour What in an age they with incessant toil And hands innumerable scarce perform. Nigh on the plain, in many cells prepared, That underneath had veins of liquid fire Sluiced from the lake, a second multitude With wondrous art founded the massy ore. TYPES OF GREAT LITERATURE Severing each kind, and scummed the bul- lion dross; A third as soon had formed within the ground A various mold, and from the boiling cells, By strange conveyance, filled each hollow nook, As hi an organ, from one blast of wind, To many a row of pipes the sound-board breathes. Anon, out of the earth a fabric huge Rose like an exhalation, with the sound Of dulcet symphonies and voices sweet, Built like a temple, where pilasters round Were set, and Doric pillars overlaid With golden architrave; nor did there want Cornice or frieze, with bossy sculptures graven: The roof was fretted gold. Not Babylon, Nor great Alcairo, such magnificence Equaled in all their glories, to enshrine 'Belus or Serapis their gods, or seat Their kings, when Egypt with Assyria strove In wealth and luxury. The ascending pile Stood fixed her stately height: and straight the doors, Opening their brazen folds, discover, wide Within, her ample spaces, o'er the smooth And level pavement; from the arched roof, Pendent by subtle magic, many a row Of starry lamps and blazing cressets, fed With naphtha and asphaltus, yielded light As from a sky. The hasty multitude Admiring entered; and the work some praise, And some the architect: his hand was known In heaven by many a towered structure high Where sceptered angels held their resi- dence, And sat as princes; whom the supreme King Exalted to such power, and gave to rule, Each in his hierarchy, the orders bright. Nor was his name unheard or unadored In ancient Greece; and in Ausonian land Men called him Mulciber; and how he fell From heaven they fabled, thrown by angry Jove Sheer o'er the crystal battlements: from morn To noon he fell, from noon to dewy eve, A summer's day; and with the setting sun Dropped from the zenith like a falling star, On Lemnos, th' ^Egean isle: thus they re- late, Erring; for he with this rebellious rout Fell long before; nor aught availed hinv now To have built in heaven high towers; nor did he 'scape By all his engines, but was headlong sent With his industrious crew to build in hell. Meanwhile, the winged heralds, by com- mand Of sovereign power, with awful ceremony And trumpet's sound, throughout the host proclaim A solemn council, forthwith to be held At Pandemonium, the high capital Of Satan and his peers: their summons called From every band and squared regiment By place or choice the worthiest; they anon, With hundreds and with thousands, troop- ing came, Attended; all access was thronged; the gates And porches wide, but chief the spacious hall (Though like a covered field, where cham- pions bold Wont ride in armed, and at the soldan's chair Defied the best of paynim chivalry To mortal combat, or career with lance), Thick swarmed, both on the ground and in the air, Brushed with the hiss of rustling wings. As bees In spring-time, when the sun with Taurus rides, Pour forth their populous youth about the hive In clusters; they among fresh dews and flowers Fly to and fro, or on the smoothed plank. The suburb of their straw-built citadel, New rubbed with balm, expatiate, and confer EPIC AND ROMANCE 59 Their state affairs; so thick the aery crowd Swarmed and were straitened; till, the sig- nal given, Behold a wonder! They, but now who seemed In bigness to surpass earth's giant sons, Now less than smallest dwarfs, in narrow room Throng numberless, like that Pygmean race Beyond the Indian mount, or faery elves, Whose midnight revels, by a forest side Or fountain, some belated peasant sees, Or dreams he sees, while over head the moon Sits arbitress, and nearer to the earth Wheels her pale course; they, on their mirth and dance Intent, with jocund music charm his ear; At once with joy and fear his heart re- bounds. Thus incorporeal spirits to smallest forms Reduced their shapes immense, and were at large, Though without number still, amidst the hall Of that infernal court. But far within, And in their own dimensions, like them- selves, The great seraphic lords and cherubim In close recess and secret conclave sat; A thousand demi-gods on golden seats Frequent and full. After short silence then, And summons read, the great consult be- gan. BOOK II ARGUMENT THE consultation begun, Satan debates whether another battle be to be hazarded for the re- covery of Heaven: some advise it, others dissuade. A third proposal is preferred, men- tioned before by Satan to search the truth of that prophecy or tradition in Heaven con- cerning another world, and another kind of creature, equal, or not much inferior, to them- selves, about this time to be created. Their doubt who shall be sent on this difficult search; Satan, their chief, undertakes alone the voy- age; is honored and applauded. The council thus ended, the rest betake them several ways and to several employments, as their inclina- tions lead them, to entertain the time till Satan return. He passes on his journey to Hell-gates; finds them shut, and who sat there to guard them; by whom at length they are opened, [and discover to him the great gulf between Hell and Heaven. With what diffi- culty he passes through, directed by Chaos, the Power of that place, to the sight of this new World which he sought. HIGH on a throne of royal state, which far Outshone the wealth of Ormus and of Ind, Or where the gorgeous East, with richest hand, Showers on her kings barbaric pearl and gold, Satan exalted sat, by merit raised To that bad eminence; and, from despair Thus high uplifted beyond hope, aspires Beyond thus high, insatiate to pursue Vain war with Heaven; and, by success un- taught, His proud imaginations thus displayed: "Powers and dominions, deities of heaven; For since no deep within her gulf can hold Immortal vigor, though oppressed and fallen, I give not heaven for lost. From this de- scent Celestial virtues rising, will appear More glorious and more dread than from no fall, And trust themselves to fear no second fate. Me, though just right, and the fixed laws of heaven, Did first create your leader; next, free choice, With what besides, in council or in fight, Hath been achieved of merit; yet this loss, Thus far at least recovered, hath much more Established in a safe unenvied throne, Yielded with full consent. The happier state In heaven, which follows dignity, might draw Envy from each inferior; but who here Will envy whom the highest place exposes Foremost to stand against the Thunderer's aim, Your bulwark, and condemns to greatest share 6o TYPES OF GREAT LITERATURE Of endless pain? Where there is then no good For which to strive, no strife can grow up there From faction; for none sure will claim in hell Precedence; none whose portion is so small Of present pain, that with ambitious mind Will covet more. With this advantage, then, To union, and firm faith, and firm accord, More than can be in heaven, we now re- turn To claim our just inheritance of old. Surer to prosper than prosperity Could have assured us; and, by what best way, Whether of open war or covert guile, We now debate: who can advise, may speak." He ceased; and next him Moloch, scep- tered king, Stood up, the strongest and the fiercest spirit That fought in heaven, now fiercer by despair. His trust was with the Eternal to be deemed Equal hi strength; and rather than be less, Cared not to be at all; with that care lost Went all his fear: of God, or hell, or worse, He recked not; and these words thereafter spake: "My sentence is for open war: of wiles, More unexpert, I boast not; them let those Contrive who need, or when they need, not now. For, while they sit contriving, shall the rest, Millions that stand in arms, and longing wait The signal to ascend, sit lingering here Heaven's fugitives, and for their dwelling place Accept this dark, opprobrious den of shame, The prison of his tyranny who reigns By our delay? No, let us rather choose, Armed with hell-flames and fury, all at once, O'er heaven's high towers to force resist- less way, Turning our tortures into horrid arms Against the torturer; when, to meet the noise Of his almighty engine, he shall hear Infernal thunder; and, for lightning, see Black fire and horror shot with equal rage Among his angels; and his throne itself Mixed with Tartarean sulphur, and strange fire, His own invented torments. But perhaps The way seems difficult and steep to scale With upright wing against a higher foe. Let such bethink them, if the sleepy drench Of that forgetful lake benumb not still, That in our proper motion we ascend Up to our native seat ; descent and fall To us is adverse. Who but felt of late, When the fierce foe hung on our broken rear Insulting, and pursued us through the deep, With what compulsion and laborious flight We sunk thus low? The ascent is easy then; The event is feared; should we again pro- voke Our stronger, some worse way his wrath may find To our destruction; if there be in hell Fear to be worse destroyed; what can be worse Than to dwell here, driven out from bliss, condemned In this abhorred deep to utter woe; Where pain of unextinguishable fire Must exercise us without hope of end, The vassals of his anger, when the scourge Inexorable, and the torturing hour, Calls us to penance? More destroyed than thus, We should be quite abolished, and expire. What fear we, then? what doubt we to in- cense His utmost ire? which, to the height en- raged, Will either quite consume us, and reduce To nothing this essential (happier far Than miserable to have eternal being), Or, if our substance be indeed divine, And cannot cease to be, we are at worst On this side nothing; and by proof we feel Our power sufficient to disturb his heaven, EPIC AND ROMANCE 61 And with perpetual inroads to alarm, Though inaccessible, his fatal throne; Which, if not victory, is yet revenge." He ended frowning, and his look de- nounced Desperate revenge, and battle dangerous To less than gods. On the other side up- rose Belial, in act more graceful and humane; A fairer person lost not heaven ; he seemed For dignity composed, and high exploit: But all was false and hollow, though his tongue Dropt manna, and could make the worse appear The better reason, to perplex and dash Maturest counsels: for his thoughts were low: To vice industrious, but to nobler deeds Timorous and slothful; yet he pleased the ear, And with persuasive accent thus began: " I should be much for open war, O peers, As not behind in hate; if what was urged Main reason to persuade immediate war, Did not dissuade me most, and seem to cast Ominous conjecture on the whole success When he who most excels in fact of arms, In what he counsels and in what excels Mistrustful, grounds his courage on despair And utter dissolution as the scope Of all his aim, after some dire revenge. First, what revenge? The towers of heaven are filled With armed watch, that render all access Impregnable; oft on the bordering deep Encamp their legions; or, with obscure wing, Scout far and wide into the realm of night, Scorning surprise. Or could we break our way By force, and at our heels all hell should rise With blackest insurrection, to confound Heaven's purest light; yet our great enemy, All incorruptible, would on his throne Sit unpolluted, and the ethereal mold, Incapable of stain, would soon expel Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire, Victorious. Thus repulsed, our final hope Is flat despair: we must exasperate The Almighty Victor to spend all his rage, And that must end us; that must be our cure, To be no more. Sad cure! for who would lose, Though full of pain, this intellectual being, Those thoughts that wander through eter- nity, To perish rather, swallowed up and lost In the wide womb of uncreated night, Devoid of sense and motion? And who knows, Let this be good, whether our angry foe Can give it, or will ever? how he can, Is doubtful; that he never will, is sure. Will he, so wise, let loose at once his ire Belike through impotence, or unaware, To give his enemies their wish, and end Them in his anger whom his anger saves To punish endless? ' Wherefore cease we then?' Say they who counsel war. 'We are de- creed, Reserved, and destined to eternal woe; Whatever doing, what can we suffer more, What can we suffer worse? ' Is this then worst, Thus sitting, thus consulting, thus in arms? What, when we fled amain, pursued, and struck With heaven's afflicting thunder, and be- sought The deep to shelter us? this hell then seemed A refuge from those wounds; or when we lay Chained on the burning lake? that sure was worse. What if the breath that kindled those grim fires, Awaked, should blow them into sevenfold rage, And plunge us in the flames? or, from above, Should intermitted vengeance arm again His red right hand to plague us? What if all Her stores were opened, and this firmament Of hell should spout her cataracts of fire, Impendent horrors, threatening hideous fall One day upon our heads; while we, per- haps, 62 TYPES OF GREAT LITERATURE Designing or exhorting glorious war, Caught in a fiery tempest, shall be hurled Each on his rock transfixed, the sport and prey Of racking whirlwinds; or for ever sunk Under yon boiling ocean, wrapt in chains; There to converse with everlasting groans, Unrespited, unpitied, unreprieved, Ages of hopeless end? This would be worse. War, therefore, open or concealed, alike My voice dissuades; for what can force or guile With him, or who deceive his mind, whose eye Views all things at one view? He from heaven's height All these our motions vain sees and de- rides: Not more almighty to resist our might, Than wise to frustrate all our plots and wiles. Shall we then live thus vile, the race of heaven Thus trampled, thus expelled, to suffer here Chains and these torments? Better these than worse, By my advice; since fate inevitable Subdues us, and omnipotent decree, The victor's will. To suffer, as to do, Our strength is equal, nor the law unjust That so ordains; this was at first resolved, If we were wise, against so great a foe Contending, and so doubtful what might faU. I laugh, when those who at the spear are bold And venturous, if that fail them, shrink and fear What yet they know must follow, to en- dure Exile, or ignominy, or bonds, or pain, The sentence of their conqueror; this is now Our doom; which if we can sustain and bear, Our supreme foe in time may much remit His anger; and perhaps, thus far removed, Not mind us not offending, satisfied With what is punished; whence these rag- ing fires Will slacken, if his breath stir not their flames. Our purer essence then will overcome Their noxious vapor; or, inured, not feel; Or, changed at length, and to the place conformed In temper and in nature, will receive Familiar the fierce heat, and void of pain; This horror will grow mild, this darkness light; Besides what hope the never-ending flight Of future days may bring, what chance, what change Worth waiting; since our present lot ap- pears For happy though but ill, for ill not worst, If we procure not to ourselves more woe." Thus Belial, with words clothed in reason's garb, Counseled ignoble ease, and peaceful sloth, Not peace; and after him thus Mammon spake: "Either to disenthrone the King of heaven We war, if war be best, or to regain Our own right lost: him to unthrone we then May hope, when everlasting fate shall yield To fickle chance, and Chaos judge the strife: The former, vain to hope, argues as vain The latter; for what place can be for us Within heaven's bound, unless heaven's Lord supreme We overpower? Suppose he should relent, And publish grace to all, on promise made Of new subjection; with what eyes could we Stand in his presence humble, and receive Strict laws imposed, to celebrate his throne With warbled hymns, and to his Godhead sing Forced hallelujahs, while he lordly sits Our envied sovereign, and his altar breathes Ambrosial odors and ambrosial flowers, Our servile offerings? This must be our task In heaven, this our delight; how wearisome Eternity so spent, in worship paid To whom we hate ! Let us not then pursue By force impossible, by leave obtained EPIC AND ROMANCE Unacceptable, though in heaven, our state Of splendid vassalage; but rather seek Our own good from ourselves, and from our own Live to ourselves, though in this vast re- cess, Free, and to none accountable, preferring Hard liberty before the easy yoke Of servile pomp. Our greatness will ap- pear Then most conspicuous, when great things of small, Useful of hurtful, prosperous of adverse, We can create; and in what place soe'er Thrive under evil, and work ease out of pain, Through labor and endurance. This deep world Of darkness do we dread? How oft amidst Thick clouds and dark doth heaven's all- ruling Sire Choose to reside, his glory unobscured, And with the majesty of darkness round Covers his throne; from whence deep thun- ders roar, Mustering their rage, and heaven resem- bles hell! As he our darkness, cannot we his light Imitate when we please? This desert soil Wants not her hidden luster, gems and gold; Nor want we skill or art, from whence to raise Magnificence; and what can heaven show more? Our torments also may in length of time Become our elements; these piercing fires As soft as now severe, our temper changed Into their temper; which must needs re- move The sensible of pain. All things invite To peaceful counsels, and the settled state Of order, how in safety best we may Compose our present evils, with regard Of what we are, and where; dismissing quite All thoughts of war. Ye have what I ad- vise." He scarce had finished, when such mur- mur filled The assembly, as when hollow rocks re- tain The sound of blustering winds which all night long Had roused the sea, now with hoarse ca- dence lull Seafaring men o'er-watched, whose bark by chance Or pinnace anchors in a craggy bay After the tempest: such applause was heard As Mammon ended, and his sentence pleased, Advising peace; for such another field They dreaded worse than hell; so much the fear Of thunder and the sword of Michael Wrought still within them, and no less desire To found this nether empire, which might rise By policy, and long process of time, In emulation opposite to heaven. Which when Beelzebub perceived, than whom, Satan except, none higher sat, with grave Aspect he rose, and in his rising seemed A pillar of state; deep on his front en- graven Deliberation sat, and public care; And princely counsel in his face yet shone, Majestic, though in ruin; sage he stood. With Atlantean shoulders fit to bear The weight of mightiest monarchies; his look Drew audience and attention still as night Or summer's noontide air, while thus he spake : " Thrones and imperial powers, offspring of heaven, Ethereal virtues! or these titles now Must we renounce, and, changing style, be called Princes of hell, for so the popular vote Inclines, here to continue and build up here A growing empire; doubtless, while we dream, And know not that the King of heaven hath doomed This place our dungeon; not our safe re- treat TYPES OF GREAT LITERATURE Beyond his potent arm; to live exempt From heaven's high jurisdiction, in new league Banded against his throne, but to remain In strictest bondage, though thus far re- moved, Under the inevitable curb, reserved His captive multitude; for he, be sure, In height or depth, still first and last will reign Sole king, and of his kingdom lose no part By our revolt, but over hell extend His empire, and with iron scepter rule Us here, as with his golden those in heaven. What sit we then projecting peace and war? War hath determined us, and foiled with loss Irreparable; terms of peace yet none Vouchsafed or sought; for what peace will be given To us enslaved but custody severe, And stripes, and arbitrary punishment Inflicted? and what peace can we return, But to our power hostility and hate, Untamed reluctance, and revenge, though slow, Yet ever plotting how the Conqueror least May reap his conquest, and may least re- joice In doing what we most in suffering feel? Nor will occasion want, nor shall we need With dangerous expedition to invade Heaven, whose high walls fear no assault or siege, Or ambush from the deep. What if we find Some easier enterprise? There is a place (If ancient and prophetic fame hi heaven Err not), another world, the happy seat Of some new race, called Man, about this time To be created like to us, though less In power and excellence, but favored more Of him who rules above; so was his will Pronounced among the gods; and by an oath That shook heaven's whole circumference confirmed. Thither let us bend all our thoughts, to learn What creatures there inhabit, of what mold Or substance, how endued, and what their power, And where their weakness, how attempted best, By force or subtlety. Though heaven be shut, And heaven's high Arbitrator sit secure In his own strength, this place may lie exposed, The utmost border of his kingdom, left To their defense who hold it ; here perhaps Some advantageous act may be achieved By sudden onset ; either with hell-fire To waste his whole creation, or possess All as our own, and drive, as we were driven, The puny habitants; or, if not drive, Seduce them to our party, that their God May prove their foe, and with repenting hand Abolish his own works. This would sur- pass Common revenge, and interrupt his joy In our confusion, and our joy upraise In his disturbance, when his darling sons, Hurled headlong to partake with us, shall curse Their frail original and faded bliss, Faded so soon. Advise, if this be worth Attempting, or to sit in darkness here Hatching vain empires." Thus Beelzebub Pleaded his devilish counsel, first devised By Satan, and in part proposed : for whence But from the author of all ill could spring So deep a malice, to confound the race Of mankind in one root, and earth with hell To mingle and involve, done all to spite The great Creator? But their spite still serves His glory to augment. The bold design Pleased highly those infernal states, and joy Sparkled in all their eyes: with full assent They vote: whereat his speech he thu< re- news: "Well have ye judged, well ended long debate, Synod of gods, and, like to what ye are, Great things resolved, which from the lowest deep Will once more lift us up, in spite of fate. EPIC AND ROMANCE Nearer our ancient seat: perhaps in view Of those bright confines, whence, with neighboring arms, And opportune excursion, we may chance Re-enter heaven; or else in some mild zone Dwell, not unvisited of heaven's fair light, Secure ; and at the brightening orient beam Purge off this gloom ; the soft delicious air, To heal the scar of these corrosive fires, Shall breathe her balm. But first, whom shall we send In search of this new world? whom shall we find Sufficient? who shall tempt with wandering feet The dark, unbottomed, infinite abyss, And through the palpable obscure find out His uncouth way, or spread his aery flight, Upborne with indefatigable wings, Over the vast abrupt, ere he arrive The happy isle? What strength, what art, can then Suffice, or what evasion bear him safe Through the strict senteries and stations thick Of angels watching round? Here he had need All circumspection, and we now no less Choice in our suffrage; for, on whom we send, The weight of all, and our last hope relies." This said, he sat; and expectation held His look suspense, awaiting who appeared To second, or oppose, or undertake The perilous attempt: but all sat mute, Pondering the danger with deep thoughts; and each In other's countenance read his own dis- may, Astonished: none among the choice and prime Of those heaven-warring champions could be found So hardy as to proffer or accept, Alone, the dreadful voyage; till at last Satan, whom now transcendent glory raised Above his fellows, with monarchal pride, Conscious of highest worth, unmoved thus spake : "O progeny of heaven! empyreal thrones! With reason hath deep silence and demur Seized us, though undismayed. Long is the way And hard, that out of hell leads up to light; Our prison strong; this huge convex of fire, Outrageous to devour, immures us round Ninefold; and gates of burning adamant, Barred over us, prohibit all egress. These passed, if any pass, the void pro- found Of unessential night receives him next, Wide-gaping, and with utter loss of being Threatens him plunged in that abortive gulf. If thence he 'scape into whatever world Or unknown region, what remains him less Than unknown dangers and as hard es- cape? But I should ill become this throne, O peers, And this imperial sovereignty, adorned With splendor, armed with power, if aught proposed And judged of public moment, in the shape Of difficulty or danger, could deter Me from attempting. Wherefore do I assume These royalties, and not refuse to reign, Refusing to accept as great a share Of hazard as of honor, due alike To him who reigns, and so much to him due Of hazard more, as he above the rest High honored sits? Go, therefore, mighty powers, Terror of heaven, though fallen; intend at home (While here shall be our home) what best may ease The present misery, and render hell More tolerable; if there be cure or charm To respite, or deceive, or slack the pain Of this ill mansion; intermit no watch Against a wakeful foe, while I abroad Through all the coasts of dark destruction seek Deliverance for us all: this enterprise None shall partake with me." Thus say- ing, rose The monarch, and prevented all reply; 66 TYPES OF GREAT LITERATURE Prudent, lest from his resolution raised Others among the chief might offer now (Certain to be refused) what erst they feared; And, so refused, might in opinion stand His rivals; winning cheap the high repute Which he through hazard huge must earn. But they Dreaded not more the adventure than his voice Forbidding; and at once with him they rose. Their rising all at once was as the sound Of thunder heard remote. Towards him they bend With awful reverence prone; and as a god Extol him equal to the Highest in heaven. Nor failed they to express how much they praised That for the general safety he despised 'His own: for neither do the spirits damned Lose all their virtue; lest bad men should boast Their specious deeds on earth, which glory excites Or close ambition varnished o'er with zeal. Thus they their doubtful consultations dark Ended, rejoicing in their matchless chief. As when from mountain-tops the dusky clouds Ascending, while the north wind sleeps, o'erspread Heaven's cheerful face, the louring element Scowls o'er the darkened landscape snow or shower; If chance the radiant sun, with farewell sweet, Extend his evening beam, the fields revive, The birds their notes renew, and bleating herds Attest their joy, that hill and valley rings. O shame to men ! devil with devil damned Firm concord holds, men only disagree Of creatures rational, though under hope Of heavenly grace; and, God proclaiming peace, Yet live in hatred, enmity, and strife Among themselves, and levy cruel wars, Wasting the earth, each other to destroy: As if (which might induce us to accord) Man had not hellish foes enough besides, That day and night for his destruction wait. (1667). BEOWULF Beowulf (composed in its present form about 900 A. D.), is the epic poem of the Anglo-Saxon race, the materials for which had been brought from its original Germanic home. Beowulf, with fourteen companions, sails to Denmark to offer his help to King Hrothgar, whose hall has for years been ravaged by a sea-monster named Grendel. After an evening of feasting, Beowulf and his friends are left in the hall alone, Grendel enters, and there follows a fearful struggle between the monster and Beowulf, whose grip is equal to that of thirty men. The monster escapes but leaves his arm, torn from the shoulder, in his conqueror's grasp. The next day, all unexpectedly, the mother of Grendel, seeking revenge for the death of her son, invades the hall and devours one of the Danish thanes. Beowulf pursues her with his sword and shield to the bottom of the sea where he finally slays her after a severe combat. The latter half of the poem recounts the hero's fifty years' reign over his people and his death in defense of his land from the terror of a dragon. This, in substance, is the heroic poem which reveals to us the habits of our ancestors, their manner of living, then- ideals of hospitality and generosity and honor to their women. The episode of the com- bat with GrendePs dam is given below. BEOWULF AND GRENDEL'S MOTHER* XIX GRENDEL'S mother cometh to avenge her son. She seizes jEschere in Heorot. THEN they sank to sleep. But one paid dearly for his evening rest, as had often From Beowulf, translated out of the Old English by the publishers, Messrs. Newson and Company. happened when Grendel occupied that gold-hall and wrought evil till his end came, death for his sins. It now became evident to men that, though the foe was dead, there yet lived for a long time after the fierce combat, an avenger Grendel's mother. The witch, woman-monster, brooded over her woes, she who was Chauncey Brewster Tinker, Ph. D. Used by permission of EPIC AND ROMANCE doomed to dwell among the terrors of the waters, in the cold streams, from the time when Cain slew with the sword his only brother, his own father's son, then he departed, banished, marked with murder, fleeing from the joys of men and dwelt in the wilderness. From him there woke to life many Fate-sent demons. One of these was Grendel, a fierce wolf, full of hatred. But he had found at Heorot a man on the watch, waiting to give him battle. Then the monster grappled with him, but Beo- wulf bethought him of his mighty strength, the gift of God, and in Him as the Al- mighty he trusted for favor, for help and succor; in this trust he overcame the fiend, laid low that spirit of hell. Then Grendel, enemy to mankind, went forth joyless to behold the abode of death. But his mother, still wroth and ravenous, deter- mined to go a sad journey to avenge the death of her son; and she came to Heorot, where the Ring-Danes lay asleep about the hall. Straightway terror fell upon the heroes once again when Grendel's mother burst in upon them. But the fear was less than in the time of Grendel, even as the strength of maids, or a woman's rage in war, is less than an armed man's, what time the hilted sword, hammer- forged, stained with blood, cleaves with its keen blade the boar on the foeman's helmet. There above the benches in the hall the hard-edged sword was drawn, and many a shield upreared, fast in the hand; none thought of helm or broad corslet when the terror got hold of him. She was in haste, for she was discovered; he wished to get thence with her life. Of a sudden she clutched one of the heroes, and was off to the fen. The mighty war- rior, the famed hero whom the hag mur- dered in his sleep, was the dearest to Hrothgar of all the men in his band of comrades between the seas. Beowulf was not there; for another lodging-place had been assigned to the mighty Geat after the giving of treasure. A cry arose in Heorot. All in its gore she had taken the well-known arm; sorrow was renewed again in the dwellings. No good exchange was that which cost both peoples the lives of friends. Then the old king, the hoary warrior, was sad at heart when he learned that his chief thane had lost his life, that his dear- est friend was dead. Straightway Beo- wulf, the hero blessed with victory, was brought to the bower; the prince, the noble warrior, went at daybreak with his com- rades to where the prudent king was wait- ing to know if perchance the Almighty would ever work a happy change for him, after the tidings of woe. And the hero, famed in war, went o'er the floor with his band of thanes, while loud the hall resounded, to greet the wise lord of the Ingwines; he asked if his night had been restful, as he had wished. XX HSOTHGAR lamenteth for ^Eschere. He tells Beowulf of the monster and her haunt. HROTHGAR, defence of the Scyldings, spoke: "Ask not after bliss, sorrow is renewed in the hall for the Danish people. ^Eschere is dead, Yrmenlaf 's elder brother, my councilor and my adviser, who stood by me, shoulder to shoulder, when we warded our heads in battle, while hosts rushed together and helmets crashed. Like ^Eschere should every noble be, an excellent hero. He was slain in Heorot by a restless destroyer. "I know not whither the awful monster, exulting over her prey, has turned her homeward steps, rejoicing in her fill. She has avenged the strife in which thou slewest Grendel yesternight, grappling fiercely with him, for that he too long had wasted and destroyed my people. He fell in battle, forfeiting his life, and now an- other is come, a mighty and a deadly foe, thinking to avenge her son. She has carried the feud further; wherefore it may well seem a heavy woe to many a thane who grieveth in spirit for his treasure-giver. Low lies the hand which did satisfy all your desires. "I have heard the people dwelling in my land, hall-rulers, say that they had often seen two such mighty stalkers of the marches, spirits of otherwhere, haunting 68 TYPES OF GREAT LITERATURE the moors. One of them, as they could know full well, was like unto a woman; the other miscreated being, in the image of man wandered in exile (save that he was larger than any man), whom in the olden tune the people named Grendel. They know not if he ever had a father among the spirits of darkness. They dwell in a hidden land amid wolf-haunted slopes and savage fen-paths, nigh the wind-swept cliffs where the mountain-stream falleth, shrouded in the mists of the headlands, its flood flowing underground. It is not far thence in measurement of miles that the mere lieth. Over it hang groves in hoary whiteness; a forest with fixed roots bend- eth over the waters. There in the night- tide is a dread wonder seen, a fire on the flood! There is none of the children of men so wise that he knoweth the depths thereof. Although hard pressed by hounds, the heath-ranging stag, with mighty horns, may seek out that forest, driven from afar, yet sooner will he yield up life and breath upon the bank than hide his head within its waters. Cheerless is the place. Thence the surge riseth, wan to the clouds, when the winds stir up foul weather, till the air thicken and the heavens weep. "Now once again help rests with thee alone. Thou knowest not yet the spot, the savage place where thou mayst find the sinful creature. Seek it out, if thou dare. I will reward thee, as I did afore- time with olden treasures and with twisted gold, if thou get thence alive." XXI THEY track Grendel's mother to the mere. Beo- wulf slayeth a sea-monster. THEN spoke Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow: " Sorrow not, thou wise man. It is better for a man to avenge his friend than mourn exceedingly. Each of us must abide the end of the worldly life, wherefore let him who may win glory ere he die; thus shall it be best for a warrior when life is past. Arise, O guardian of the kingdom, let us straightway go and look upon the tracks of Grendel's dam. I promise thee this: she shall not escape to the covert, nor to the bosom of the earth, nor to the bottom of the sea, go where she will. This day do thou bear in patience every woe of thine, as I expect of thee." Then the old man sprang up and thanked God, the mighty Lord, for what that man had said. And they bridled Hrothgar's horse, a steed with wavy mane. The wise prince rode out in stately wise, and a troop of warriors marched forth with their shields. Footprints were clearly to be seen along the forest-path, her track across the lands. She had gone forth, right over the murky moor, and borne away lifeless that best of thanes, who with Hrothgar ruled the hall. And the offspring of princes went over steep and rocky slopes and narrow ways; straight lonely passes, an unknown course; over sheer cliffs where were many haunts of the sea-monsters. He, with a few pru- dent men, went on before to view the spot, until he suddenly came upon moun- tain-trees o'er-hanging the gray rock, a cheerless wood. Beneath it lay a water, bloody and troubled. All the Danes, all the friends of the Scyldings, each hero and many a thane, were sad at heart and had to suffer sore distress; for there upon the sea-cliff they found the head of ^schere. The waters were seething with blood and hot gore; the people looked upon it. At times the horn sang out an eager battle-lay. All the troop sat down. They saw in the water many of the serpent kind, strange dragons swimming the deep. Likewise they saw sea-monsters lying along the headland-slopes, serpents and wild beasts, who oft at morning-tide make a journey, fraught with sorrow, over the sail-road. They sped away, bitter and swollen with wrath, when they heard the sound, the song of the battle-horn. But the lord of the Geats with bow and arrow took the life of one of them, as it buffeted the waves, so that the hard shaft pierced the vitals; he was then the slower in his swimming on the sea, for death seized him. Straightway he was hard pressed with the sharp-barbs of the boar-spears, fiercely at- EPIC AND ROMANCE 6g tacked, and drawn up on the cliff, a won- drous wave-tosser. The men looked on the strange and grisly beast. Then Beowulf girded him with noble armor; he took no thought for his life. His byrnie, hand-woven, broad, and of many colors, was to search out the deeps. This armor could well protect his body so that the grip of the foe could not harm his breast, nor the clutch of the angry beast do aught against his life. Moreover, the white helmet guarded his head, e'en that which was to plunge into the depths of the mere, passing through the tumult of the waters; it was all decked with gold, en- circled with noble chains, as the weapon- smith wrought it in the days of yore; wondrously he made it, and set it about with boar-figures so that no brand nor battle-sword could bite it. Nor was that the least of his mighty aids which Hrothgar's spokesman lent him in his need; the name of the hilted sword was Hrunting, and it was one of the great- est among the olden treasures; its blade was of iron, stained with poison-twigs, hardened with the blood of battle; it had never failed any man whose hand had wielded it in the fight, any who durst go on perilous adventures to the field of battle; it was not the first time that it had need to do high deeds. Surely when the son of Ecglaf, strong in his might, lent that weapon to a better swordsman, he did not remember what he had said when drunk with wine; for, himself he durst not risk his life beneath the warring waves and do a hero's deeds; there he lost the glory, the fame of valor. It was not so with the other when he had armed him for the fight. XXII BEOWULF bids farewell to Hrothgar and plunges into the mere. The monster seizes upon him. They fight. THEN spoke Beowulf, son of Ecgtheow: " Remember, thou great son of Healf dene, wise chieftain, gracious friend of men, now that I am ready for this exploit, what we two spoke of aforetime; that, if I must needs lose my life for thee, thou wouldst ever be as a father to me when I was gone hence. Guard thou my thanes, my own comrades, if the fight take me, and do thou also send unto Hygelac the treasures that thou gavest me, beloved Hrothgar. Then, when the son of Hrethel, lord of the Geats, shall look upon that treasure, he may behold and see by the gold that I found a bountiful benefactor, and en- joyed these gifts while I might. And do thou let Unferth, that far-famed man, have the old heirloom, the wondrous wavy sword of tempered blade. I will win glory with Hrunting, or death shall take me." After these words the lord of the Weder- Geats boldly made haste; he would await no answer, but the surging waters swal- lowed up the warrior. It was the space of a day ere he got sight of the bottom. Soon the blood-thirsty creature, she who had lived for a hundred seasons, grim and greedy, in the waters' flow, found that one was there from above seeking out the abode of monsters. She seized upon the warrior and clutched him with her horrid claws; nevertheless she did no harm to his sound body, for the ringed armor girt him round about, so that she could not pierce the byrnie, the linked coat of mail, with her hateful fingers. Then the mere-wolf, when she came to the bottom, bore the ring-prince to her dwelling, so that he could nowise wield his weapons, brave though he was; for many monsters came at him, many a sea-beast with awful tusks broke his battle-sark, the evil creatures pressed him hard. Then the hero saw that he was in some dreadful hall, where the water could not harm him a whit; the swift clutch of the current could not touch him, because of the roofed hall. He saw a fire-light, a gleam- ing flame brightly shining. Then the hero got sight of the mighty mere-woman the she-wolf of the deep. He made at her fiercely with his war-sword. His hand did not refuse the blow, so that the ringed blade sang out a greedy war-song on her head. But the stranger found that the gleaming sword would make no wound, TYPES OF GREAT LITERATURE would do no harm to her life; so the blade failed the prince in his need. It had afore- time endured many a hard fight, had often cleft the helmet and the byrnie of the doomed; this was the first time that the precious treasure ever failed of its glory. Yet the kinsman of Hygelac, heedful of great deeds, was steadfast of purpose, not faltering in courage. Then the angry warrior threw from him the carved sword, strong and steel-edged, studded with jewels, and it lay upon the ground. He trusted to his strength, to the mighty grip of his hand. So must a brave man do when he thinketh to win lasting praise; he taketh no thought for his life. Then the lord of the War-Geats, shrink- ing not from the fight, seized Grendel's mother by the shoulder, and full of wrath, the valiant in battle threw his deadly foe so that she fell to the floor. Speedily she paid him his reward again with fierce grapplings and clutched at him, and being exhausted, he stumbled and fell, he, the champion, strongest of warriors. Then she leaped and sat upon him, and drew her dagger, broad and brown-edged, to avenge her son, her only offspring. But on his shoulder lay his woven coat of mail; it saved his life, barring the entrance against point and blade. Thus the son of Ecgtheow, the chief of the Geats, would have perished 'neath the sea-bottom, had not his battle-byrnie, his hard war-corslet, been of aid to him, and Holy God, the wise Lord, brought victory to pass, the King of heaven easily adjudging it aright. Thereafter he stood up again. XXIII BEOWULF lays hold upon a giant sword and slays the evil beast. He finds Grendel's dead body and cuts off the head, an:i swims up to his thanes upon the shore. They go back to Heorot. THEN he saw among the armor a vic- torious blade, an old sword of the giant- age, keen-edged, the glory of warriors; it was the choicest of weapons, save that it was larger than any other man was able to carry into battle, good, and splendidly wrought, for it was the work of the giants. And the warrior of the Scyldings seized the belted hilt; savage and angry, he drew forth the ring-sword, and, hopeless of life, smote so fiercely that the hard sword caught her by the neck, breaking the ring- bones; the blade drove right through her doomed body, and she sank upon the floor. The sword was bloody; the hero exulted in his deed. The flame burst forth; light filled the place, even as when the candle of heaven is shining brightly from the sky. He gazed about the place and turned him to the wall; the thane of Hygelac, angry and resolute, lifted the great weapon by the hilt. The blade was not worthless to the warrior, for he wished to repay Grendel straightway for the many attacks which he had made upon the West-Danes, oftener far than once, what time he slew Hroth- gar's hearth-companions in their slumber and devoured fifteen of the sleeping Danes and carried off as many more, a horrid prey. The fierce warrior had given him his reward, insomuch that he now saw Grendel lying lifeless in his resting-place, spent with his fight, so deadly had the combat been for him in Heorot. The body bounded far when it suffered a blow after death, a mighty sword-stroke. Thus he smote off the head. Soon the prudent men who were watch- ing the mere with Hrothgar saw that the surging waves were all troubled, and the water mingled with blood. The old men, white-haired, talked together of the hero, how they thought that the prince would never come again to their great lord, exult- ant in victory; for many believed that the sea-wolf had rent him in pieces. Then came the ninth hour of the day. The bold Scyldings left the cliff, the boun- teous friend of men departed to his home. But the strangers sat there, sick at heart, and gazed upon the mere; they longed but did not ever think to see their own dear lord again. Meanwhile the sword, that war-blade, being drenched with blood, began to waste away in icicles of steel; it melted won- drously away, like ice when the Father EPIC AND ROMANCE looseneth the frost, unwindeth the ropes that bind the waves; He who ruleth the times and seasons, He is a God of right- eousness. The lord of the Weder-Geats took no treasure from that hall, although he saw much there, none save the head, and the hilt bright with gold; the blade had mel- ted, the graven sword had burned away, so hot had been the blood, so venomous the strange spirit that had perished there. Soon he was swimming off, he who had survived the onset of his foes; he dived up through the water. The surging waves were cleansed, the wide expanse where that strange spirit had laid down her life and the fleeting days of this world. And the defence of seamen came to land, stoutly swimming; he rejoiced in his sea- spoil, the great burden that he bore with him. And his valiant band of thanes went unto him, giving thanks to God; they rejoiced in their chief, for that they could see him safe and sound. Then they quickly loosed helm and byrnie from the valiant man. The mere grew calm, but the water 'neath the clouds was discolored with the gore of battle. They set forth along the foot-path glad at heart; the men, kingly bold, measured the earth-ways, the well-known roads. They bore away the head from the sea- cliff, a hard task for all those men, great- hearted as they were; four of them must needs bear with toil that head of Grendel upon a spear to the gold-hall. And forth- with the fourteen Geats, bold and warlike, came to the hall, and their brave lord in their midst trod the meadows. And the chief of the thanes, the valiant man crowned with glory, the warrior brave in battle, went in to greet Hrothgar. And Grendel's head was borne by the hair into the hall where the men were drinking, an awful sight for the heroes and the lady too. The people gazed upon that wondrous spectacle. THE SONG OF ROLAND The heroic tale of the rearguard action of Roland, Oliver, and their following, against the Saracen hordes in the pass of Roncesvalles, the blowing of Roland's mighty horn the sound of which penetrated to the host of Charlemagne on the other side of the mountains, the death of the Paladins, and the vengeance of their master, grew out of legendary stories, or sagas, of the early struggles by the Frankish peoples against the onrush of the Moors from the south which finally saved Europe from Mahommedan domina- tion. This is the heroic background of the history of the nation of France. It is interesting to note that at the Battle of Hastings, in 1066, Taillefer, the Norman minstrel, marched ahead of the invading army singing the lines of this poem as a kind of defiance of the Anglo-Saxon host. On another occasion, dur- ing the dark days of the siege of Paris in 1871, an attempt was made to revive in the hearts of the de- fenders of the city the martial strains of their national epic as a means of patriotic endurance to the end. The translation has been prepared by Percy Hazen Houston. THE DEATH OF THE PEERS AT RONCESVALLES OLIVER feeling that his wound is mortal, hasteneth the more to vengeance. Full knightly he bears himself in the great press, shivering lances and crushing shields, and he severeth shoulders and arms and feet. Vull well might he who beholdeth now now he smote down the Saracen foe, leav- ing body piled upon body, recall great deeds of prowess. Nor forgetteth he the cry of Charles, "Montjoie," and he giveth it full loud and clear. Then saith he unto Roland, his friend and peer, "Sir comrade, ride thou close by, for full well I wot that to our great dolor shall we be divided." Then Roland looketh upon Oliver full well in the face. Pale he is and ghastly, discolored and bloodless, and the bright blood floweth from his corslet gushing to the earth. " O God ! " cried he. " I know what will come to pass, Sir comrade, for thy valiance hath come to woe, and never more shall thy peer be upon this earth. Oh, sweet France, how hast thou been overcome, and great loss from this will come unto the Emperor." And when he ceased, he swooned upon his horse. TYPES OF GREAT LITERATURE Now Roland has swooned upon his horse, and Oliver draweth so nigh unto death that nor here nor there, far nor near, knoweth he a mortal man from another, and when his comrade presseth close unto him, with great force smiteth he his helmet of gold, so that he cleaveth it to the nasal, but touching not the head. At such a blow Roland looketh up full well amazed and asketh with great gentleness, "Sir comrade, hast thou done this knowingly? For wottest thou not I am Roland whom thou lovest full well and in no way hast thou a quarrel with me?" Then saith Oliver, "Full well I wot it is thee I hear , speak, but I see thee not. God the Lord seeth thee. Was it indeed thee I smote? I pray thy pardon!" And Roland made reply: "No hurt has befallen me and I forgive thee here and before God." At this word the one to the other bent with love, and in this wise made they their farewell. Now Oliver felt that death drew nigh unto him, his eyes turned within his head, nor had he sight nor hearing any more. He dismounted from his horse and found for his head a pillow upon the soft earth. Aloud he uttered his mea culpa, the while he held both hands joined together up to heaven and prayed God that he receive him into Paradise; nor failed he to call benedictions upon Charles and France and his comrade Roland first before all men. Then sank his body, his head bent low, and he lay stretched out on the ground. Dead was he, the Count, and there was an end to his stay among mortal men. Full sore did Roland weep and make great moan for the baron, and never had man been so dolorous upon this earth. When Count Roland saw his friend how that he lay stretched at length and his face to the ground, full tenderly did he make moan: "Sir comrade, thy strength hath brought thee woe! Together have we been many long years and days, and well I wot that never hast thou wronged me, nor have I in any way betrayed thee. Since thou art dead, woe is it that I live." At this word he swooned upon his horse whom men call Veillantif, nor might fall wherever he might turn so fast was he held by his stirrups of gold. Then it befell when Roland was re- stored from his swoon and his senses had returned unto him, he was full well aware of the ruin on all sides. Dead are the Franks; perished are they all save the Archbishop and Walter del Hum only, who had returned from the mountain where he gave battle to the hosts of Spain, and where the heathen won and his men all were overcome. To the valley he came whether he would or no and then called he unto Roland that he would seek his aid: "Oh! gentle Count, brave knight, where art thou? Never know I fear when thou art nigh. I am Walter, the same who vanquished Maelgut nephew of Droon, the ancient and white of hair. I was wont to follow thee in deeds of chivalry. Now my lance is shivered and my shield pierced, and my coat of mail is battered and hacked and in my body are eight thrusts of spear. Full well I wot that I shall die, but dearly have I sold my life." Then did Roland become aware of the knight, and spurring his steed he came toward him. Of great sorrow was Roland and full of anger, so that in the thick of the fray he began to slay, and of those of Spain twenty did he smite down, and Walter six, and the Archbishop to the number of five. Then said the heathen: "Fearful and fell are these men. Heed ye well, lords, that they make not their escape and alive ! Fell is he who meeteth them not and recreant he who letteth them escape! Then did the hue and cry begin again so that from all sides came they back into the fray. A most noble warrior was Count Ro- land, Walter del Hum a valiant cavalier, and proved and well tried was the Arch- bishop, and never would one leave the other. Together in the great press do they smite down the Paynims. The Saracens to the number of a thousand leapt from their steeds, while there were still forty thousand in their saddles; yet truly they dared not approach too near but hurled their lances and their swords EPIC AND ROMANCE 73 and their darts and sharp javelins. At the first onset slew they Walter, pierced the Archbishop's helm and brake hauberk and wounded his head, so that he was rent in the body by four lances. Great pity it was that the Archbishop should fall. When Turpin of Rheims felt himself smitten to earth and his body pierced by four lances, swiftly uprose the baron. And now when Roland saw him, he would go to his aid, but he cried: "Not yet am I overcome; let vassals yield only with life." Then drew he Almace, his sword of steel, and in the thick of the press he lay about him more than a thousand strokes. In sooth it was said by Charles the Em- peror that he spared none and there around him he found bodies to the number of four hundred, some wounded and some struck down and lying on the plain, some whose heads had been severed from their bodies. So saith the geste and Giles, he who was on the field, the same for whom God worked miracles: and in the cell at Laon wrote he the manuscript, and he who wots not this wots nothing at all. Count Roland fought full nobly nor did he heed his body burning and bathed in sweat and in his head were great pain and torture since when he first sounded his horn and his temple burst. But of Charles's coming was he fain to know and he drew his horn of ivory and fully he sounded it. The Emperor stopped full short and listened: "Lords," quoth he, "it goeth full sore. Full hardly shall Roland, my nephew, escape death; I hear his horn as that of a dying man. Let him who would reach the field ride fast, and sound your trumpet everywhere throughout the host." Sixty thousand horns resounded on high and echoed in the hills and rebounded in the valleys; so that the Paynims heard it; it is no jest, and one saith to another, " Charles is at hand." Then quoth the heathen: "The Em- peror cometh, wherefore the men of France sound their trumpets, and if Charles come, no hope will there be left unto us; yet indeed if Roland live, we must fight again and Spain our country have we lost." Four hundred do battle together, and the bravest in the field, and full fierce and terrible they press upon Roland that he feels it greater than he can endure. Now when Count Roland saw that they drew near, such strength and might came unto him that yield would he not while breath remained in his body. He sat upon his horse whom men call Veillantif and urged him well with spurs of fine gold so that they rode together upon the heathen host, and the Archbishop Turpin rode at his side. Said one to the other, "Save thyself, friend. The trumpets of France have we heard, and Charles the mighty monarch approacheth." Now Count Roland had never loved coward nor the proud of spirit nor evil of heart nor knight who had not proved himself true vassal; and upon Archbishop Turpin he cried: " Sir, on foot art thou, and I mounted on horseback, and for thy love therefore will I dismount and together will we share good and ill, nor will I leave thee for any living man. Thus will we return their assault and shall no sword smite better than Durendal." "Base is he," quoth the Archbishop, "who faileth to smite, for that Charles cometh to avenge us so well." And the heathen cried: "So were we born to ill. Fearful is this day that has dawned, for that we have lost our lords and peers, and Charles the great baron cometh with his mighty host. We hear the trumpets of the host of France, and full loud is the cry of 'Montjoie.' So great is the might of Roland that he cannot be vanquished by any man; therefore let us fling our mis- siles against him and fall back." Where- upon they hurled their darts and their spears and feathered missiles. Roland's buckler was battered and pierced ind his mail ripped and broken, yet did they not enter into his body. Thirty times did they pierce Veillantif, and he fell dead from under the Count. Then did the Paynims flee and leave him, and Count Roland remained on foot alone. And the Paynims fled in great rage and fear, and toward Spain returned they as they had come. Not now could Count Roland pursue, for that he had lost his 74 TYPES OF GREAT LITERATURE steed Veillantif, and whether he would or no he had fallen on his feet. Then went he to see if perchance he might aid the Archbishop. He unlaced his helmet of gold from his head, and undid the white corslet over his breast and into strips tore his undergarment that he might staunch the great wounds of the Arch- bishop. Against his heart he held him embraced and laid him full tenderly upon the green grass, and thus gently spake unto him: "Ah! gentle sir, let me now take farewell; our comrades whom we loved so greatly have gone to their death, yet it behooves us not that we should leave them. I fain would seek them that I may lay them before thee in seeming fashion." Quoth the Archbishop: "Go and return betimes as the field is thine and mine, thanks be to God." And so Roland turned away and alone went he over the field, over valley and hill did he search. Gerin found he and Gerier that was his comrade in arms, and Berangier and Otho, and Anseis and Samson, and he found Gerard-the-Old of Rousillon. One by one he bore the barons and laid them before the Arch- bishop, and in a row before his knees he put them. The Archbishop could not but weep as he raised his hand in benediction. Then said he: "Alas for you, my lord! And may God the glorious receive you into his mercy! In Paradise may you repose on blessed flowers! My own death cometh and it giveth me great anguish that I may never see my Emperor more." Once again did Roland return that he might search the field. Oliver his com- rade he found and to his heart he pressed him. With what strength there yet re- mained to him he bore him to the Arch- bishop; upon a buckler he laid him beside the rest, and the Archbishop assoiled and blessed them, and his grief waxed strong and he had great pity. And then said Roland: "Oliver, fair comrade, son wert thou to the noble Duke Renier, he who held the marches of Genoa and Rivier; and there was no better cavalier for the breaking of spears or piercing of shields or for the smiting or the putting to flight of the proud or for the giving of counsel to the good." When Count Roland saw his peers and Oliver whom he so loved lying dead, he was filled with great dolor and his face was discolored from much weeping; and so great was his grief that no longer was he able to stand upon his feet, whether he would or no he fell to the ground in a swoon. "Alas for thee, baron," cried the Archbishop. When the Archbishop saw how that Roland had swooned, he felt the greatest dolor that ever he had felt before. Then did he extend his hand and grasp the horn that was of ivory. In the valley was a spring, and he would fain go thither that he might bring water unto Roland; and with a great effort was he able to rise and set off full slow and falteringly, but such weakness came upon him that he could go no farther. So much was the blood that he had lost that no strength had he left; wherefore when he had gone but the distance of a rood his heart failed him, so that he fell with his face to the ground and mortal anguish seized upon him. Count Roland, when he had regained his senses, with great effort raised himself and looked about him; upon the green grass beyond his companions saw he the noble baron, the Archbishop, whom God ordained in his name, sink upon the earth. He looked up to Heaven, extended his two hands, and uttered his mea culpa and prayed God that he would indeed grant him Paradise. Turpin died and in the service of Charles, and wit ye well that both in battles and by fair sermons did he never cease to do battle with the heathen. God grant him his benediction ! Count Roland saw the Archbishop upon the ground and that his bowels burst from his body and his brains gushed from his forehead. Upon his breast did Roland cross his white hands and then, according to the custom of his country, full pitifully did he make moan: "Ah! gentle lord, knight of a noble race, to the glorious King of Heaven do I recommend thee to- day, and well I wot that never more will EPIC AND ROMANCE 75 man serve Him as thou hast served Him nor more willingly. Not since the time of the Apostles hath there been such a prophet to uphold the law of the Chris- tians and to draw men unto it. Hence- forth may thy soul wot not of grief or torment and may the Gate of Paradise be opened unto it. Roland felt that his death drew nigh; his brain oozed forth by either ear; there- fore did he pray for his peers that God might call them, and for himself did he implore the angel Gabriel. That he might be reproached for naught, did he with one hand grasp the horn of ivory and with the other Durendal his sword. As far as the shot of a crossbow in fallow land did he advance toward Spain. There were four steps of marble near unto the crest of a hillock, under two fair trees, and there it is that he fell back upon the grass as his death approached. Now where Count Roland had swooned the mountains were high and full tall the trees, and there were four steps of glisten- ing marble. And in the meanwhile a Saracen had been watching him, and he it was who feigned death and lay among the others. He had smeared his body with blood and his visage. Handsome was he and full strong and of great courage so that in his pride he would do a deed of mortal folly, and he rose and laid his hand upon the body and the arms of Roland and cried: "The nephew of Charles is van- quished and this sword will I carry into Arabia." Forthwith he seized it and then lay hold of the beard of Roland. Then was the Count roused by the pain so that his senses returned unto him. Now no sooner had Roland felt that his sword had been taken from him than he opened his eyes and spake: "Well I wot that thou art not of ours." With the horn of ivory which he held and which he would never let go, did he smite the foe full upon the helmet. The horn, adorned with precious gems and gold, crushed through steel and head and bones, and made the eyes that they fell from his head, and threw him back dead at Roland's fret. Then cried he: " Vile man, who hath made thee so bold that thou wouldst lay hand upon me, whether right or no? No man shall hear it said but shall deem thee mad. Now is my horn of ivory broken, and the crystal and the gold have fallen from it." Roland felt that death pressed closely upon him and he rose to his feet as quickly as he might; his countenance had lost all its color. He grasped his sword Durendal all unsheathed, and seeing a brown rock before him, ten blows did he smite it, so great was his anger and chagrin. Then did the steel grate but it broke not nor splintered. "Blessed Mary," cried the Count, "aid me now! Ah! Durendal, my good sword, alack for thee! For now I die and no more shall have to do with thee; with thee have I won many battles and conquered broad lands the which are held by Charles of the white beard! Whilst I live shalt thou not be borne away, that thou mayest never belong to him who would flee before an- other. How brave a warrior hath borne thee for many a long day! Never more 1 will there be another and such as he in France, the blessed land." Roland struck upon the hard rock, and then did the steel grate but brake not nor splintered. Now when the count saw that he might not break his sword, did he make moan unto himself: "Ah, Durendal, how clear and white thou art, how thou dost flash and glisten in the sun ! Charles was in Maurienne valley, and from Heaven God bade him by his angel that he give thee unto a Count and chieftain of his host, and then did the gentle king, the most noble warrior, gird it on me. With thee did I conquer Anjou and Brittany, Poitou and Maine, with thee I gained Normandy the free, Provence and Aqui- taine, and Lombardy and the whole of Romagna; with thee I overcame Bavaria and all of Flanders and Bulgaria and Po- land, Constantinople of which he holds the fealty, and Saxony, of which he is sov- ereign; for him did I conquer Scotland and Ireland and England, the which he holds as his own domain. How many countries, how many lands, have I won, that Charles of the white beard might hold them in fee! TYPES OF GREAT LITERATURE For this sword do I suffer sore and am in great torment; sooner would I die than leave it to the heathen host. Lord God, our Father, let not this shame come unto France!" Now Roland feels that death is upon him and that it descends from his head unto his heart, and he couches himself close by a pine tree and upon the green grass, and his face is upon the ground. Beneath him does he place his horn of ivory and his sword, and turns toward Spain, as if he would fain have it that Charlemagne and all his knights might tell how that the noble count died as seeming a con- queror. His sins doth he confess once and again, and that they might be re- quited doth he offer his glove unto God. Roland f eeleth that his hour is come, and ha lieth on the crest of a hill and turneth toward Spain. With one hand doth he beat his heart. "God, I invoke thy power and my sins do I confess, great and small, which I have committed from the hour in which I was born unto this day when it is that death overtakes me." Then doth he stretch out unto God his right glove, and the angel of Heaven de- scendeth unto him. Count Roland lay under a pine tree and his face was turned toward Spain. Many things would he fain recall: how many lands he had won to the honor of sweet France, the men of his lineage, Charle- magne his lord, who had reared him hi his hall, and the men of France of whom he had great love. At this he could not but weep and sigh, but forget himself did he not, and he composed himself and prayed forgiveness of God. " God, the truth, thou who liest not, who hast raised Lazarus from the dead, who hast preserved Daniel from the lions, save my soul from all the perils brought unto it by the sins which I have committed in this my life!" His right glove he offered unto God, and the Holy Saint Gabriel took it from his hand. His head fell upon his arm, and, his hands joined, passed he unto his end. Then did God send unto him his cherubim and Saint Michael of the Peril of the Sea, and Saint Gabriel came with them also, and together did they bear the soul of the Count into Paradise. THE NIBELUNGENLIED* This ancient German epic, composed in its present form probably early in the twelfth century, repre- sents the accumulation of the rich store of legends out of the dim mythological past which accompanied the vast Germanic migrations that finally overwhelmed the Empire of Rome. The poem falls into two parts. The first relates the coming of the young warrior Siegfried with the magic hoard of the Nibelungs to the land of Burgundy where he wins the lovely Kriemhild to wife. But before the wedding he aids his friend Gunther to win the warrior-queen Brunhild, queen of Iceland, by surpassing her in three games. By wearing an invisible cloak he is able to come to the help of his friend and overcomes the warlike queen, taking from her her ring and girdle, thus rendering her power- less before her lord. Later, just before the celebration of the double wedding, the two queens engage in a quarrel over a question of precedence, and Kriemhild boasts her possession of the magic ring and girdle. Brunhild, maddened, induces Hagen to kill Siegfried after she has learned of one vulnerable spot on the hero's body where a linden leaf had fallen as he was bathing in the blood of a dragon. The second part, which may be entitled Kriemhild 's revenge, is, unlike the first part of the story, sombre and tragic. For thirteen years the grief-stricken queen mourns her lord. Then for thirteen years she lives as the wife of Attila, king of Hungary. At the end of that time she invites the Burgun- dians (who are now called Nibelungs) to a great festival at her court. In spite of forebodings they go, never to return. In a dramatic conclusion, the whole army is slain, their bodies thrown out of the window, and the hall set on fire. Kriemhild herself cuts off Hagen's head with Siegfried's sword Balming and in turn is slain by one of the Hungarians. Thus perish the whole race of Nibelungs, and with them is lost forever the secret of their great hoard. *These selections are from "The Fall of the Niebelungs," translated by Margaret Armour; published in the Everyman's Library by Messrs. E. P. Button and Company, New York, EPIC AND ROMANCE 77 It is interesting to note that this great primitive epic, like the Song of Roland, served to revive the spirits of a people at a time of national crisis. This time it was the revolt of liberal Germans from the despotism of Napoleon, inaugurating the liberal movement in Germany which was destined to be crushed by the Prussian king when he rejected the resolutions of the Diet of Frankfort in 1848. The most notable modern treatment of this story is to be found in Richard Wagner's operatic cycle, "The Ring of the Nibelungs." EPISODES OF SIEGFRIED AND KRIEMHILD KRIEMHILD AND lo! the fair one appeared, like the dawn from out the dark clouds. And he that had borne her so long in his heart was no more aweary, for the beloved one, his sweet lady, stood before him in her beauty. Bright jewels sparkled on her garments, and bright was the rose-red of her hue, and all they that saw her pro- claimed her peerless among maidens. As the moon excelleth in light the stars shining clear from the clouds, so stood she, fair before the other women, and the hearts of the warriors were uplifted. The cham- berlains made way for her through them that pressed in to behold her. And Sieg- fried joyed, and sorrowed likewise, for he said in his heart, "How should I woo such as thee? Surely it was a vain dream; yet I were liefer dead than a stranger to thee." Thinking thus he waxed oft white and red; yea, graceful and proud stood the son of Sieglind, goodliest of heroes to be- hold, as he were drawn on parchment by the skill of a cunning master. And the knights fell back as the escort commanded, and made way for the high-hearted women, and gazed on them with glad eyes. Many a dame of high degree was there. Said bold Sir Gernot, the Burgundian, then, "Gunther, dear brother, unto the' gentle knight, that hath done thee service, show honor now before thy lieges. Of this counsel I shall never shame me. Bid Siegfried go before my sister, that the maiden greet him. Let her, that never greeted knight, go toward him. For this shall advantage us, and we shall win the good warrior for ours." Then Gunther's kinsmen went to the knight of the Netherland, and said to him, "The king bids thee to the court that his sister may greet thee, for he would do thee honor." It rejoiced Siegfried that he was to look upon Uta's fair child, and he forgot his sorrow. She greeted him mild and maidenly, and her color was kindled when she saw before her the high-minded man, and she said, "Welcome, Sir Siegfried, noble knight and good." His courage rose at her words, and graceful, as beseemed a knight, he bowed himself before her and thanked her. And love that is mighty constrained them, and they yearned with their eyes in secret. I know not whether, from his great love, the youth pressed her white hand, but two love-desirous hearts, I trow, had else done amiss. Nevermore, in summer or in May, bore Siegfried in his heart such high joy, as when he went by the side of her whom he coveted for his dear one. And many a knight thought, "Had it been my hap to walk with her, as I have seen him do, or to lie by her side, certes, I had suffered it gladly! Yet never, truly, hath warrior served better to win a queen." From what land soever the guests came, they were ware only of these two. And she was bidden kiss the hero. He had never had like joy before hi this world. Said the King of Denmark then, "By reason of this high greeting many good men lie low, slain by the hand of Siegfried, the which hath been proven to my cost. God grant he return not to Denmark!" Then they ordered to make way for fair Kriemhild. Valiant knights in stately array escorted her to the minster, where she was parted from Siegfried. She went thither followed by her maidens; and so rich was her apparel that the other women, for all their striving, were as naught beside her, for to glad the eyes of heroes she was born. Scarce could Siegfried tarry till they had sung mass, he yearned so to thank her for his gladness, and that she whom he TYPES OF GREAT LITERATURE bore in his heart had inclined her desire toward him, even as his was to her, which was meet. Now when Kriemhild was come forth to the front of the minster, they bade the warrior go to her again, and the damsel began to thank him, that before all others he had done valiantly. And she said, "Now, God requite thee, Sir Siegfried, for they tell me thou hast won praise and honor from all knights." He looked on the maid right sweetly, and he said, "I will not cease to serve them. Never, while I live, will I lay head on pillow, till I have brought their desire to pass. For love of thee, dear lady, I will do this." And every day of twelve, in the sight of all the people, the youth walked by the side of the maiden as she went to the court. So they showed their love to the knight. HOW THE QUEENS QUARRELLED ONE day, before vespers, there arose in the court of the castle a mighty din of knights that tilted for pastime, and the folk ran to see them. The queens sat together there, thinking each on a doughty warrior. Then said fair Kriemhild, "I have a husband of such might that all these lands might well be bis." But Brunhild answered, "How so? If there lived none other save thou and he, our kingdom might haply be his, but while Gunther is alive it could never be." But Kriemhild said, "See him there. How he surpasseth the other knights, as the bright moon the stars! My heart is uplifted with cause." Whereupon Brunhild answered, "How- so valiant thy husband, comely and fair, thy brother Gunther excelleth him, for know that he is the first among kings." But Kriemhild said, "My praise was not idle; for worshipful is my husband in many things. Trow it, Brunhild. He is, at the least, thy husband's equal." "Mistake me not hi thine anger, Kriem- hild. Neither is my word idle; for they both said, when I saw them first, and the king vanquished me in the sports, and on knightly wise won my love, that Siegfried was his man. Wherefore I hold him for a vassal, since I heard him say it." Then Kriemhild cried, "Evil were my lot if that were true. How had my brothers given me to a vassal to wife? Prithee, of thy courtesy, cease from such discourse." "That will I not," answered Brunhild. "Thereby should I lose many knights that, with him, owe us homage." Whereat fair Kriemhild waxed very wroth. "Lose them thou must, then, for any service he will do thee. He is nobler even than Gunther, my noble brother. Wherefore, spare me thy foolish words. I wonder, since he is thy vassal, and thou art so much mightier than we, that for so long time he hath failed to pay tribute. Of a truth thine arrogancy irketh me." "Thou vauntest thyself too high," cried the queen; "I would see now whether thy body be holden in like honor with mine." Both the women were angry. Kriemhild answered, "That shalt thou see straightway. Since thou hast called Siegfried thy vassal, the knights of both kings shall see this day whether I dare enter the minster before thee, the queen. For I would have thee know that I am noble and free, and that my husband is of more worship than thine. Nor will I be chidden by thee. To-day thou shalt see thy vassals go at court before the Burgundian knights, and me more honored than any queen that ever wore a crown." Fierce was the wrath of the women. "If thou art no vassal," said Brunhild, " thou and thy women shall walk separate from my train when we go to the minster." And Kriemhild answered, "Be it so." "Now adorn ye, my maidens," said Siegfried's wife, "that I be not shamed. If ye have rich apparel, show it this day. She shall take back what her mouth hath spoken.'* She needed not to bid twice; they sought out their richest vesture, and dames and damsels were soon arrayed. EPIC AND ROMANCE 79 Then the wife of the royal host went forth with her attendants. Fair to heart's desire were clad Kriemhild and the for