The American Library of Art, Literature and Song

'Tis said that some are far too nice,

Too over-proud, to take advice;

I only pray you to think twice

Before you quit dominion:

The more your looks, your lips, express,
The more you sigh, he'll sigh the less:
Till he proposed I'd ne'er confess-
At least, that's my opinion,

My opinion;

At least, that's my opinion.

CHARLES SWAIN.

THE STOLEN INTERVIEW; OR, THE BLIND MOTHER.

FROM THE FRENCH OF PIERRE JEAN DE BERANGER.

DAUGHTER, as you spin your wool

Let my words attention claim;

I know your heart-the little fool-
Goes pit-a-pat at Colin's name.
Distrust his coaxing tales, my dear;
Though blind and old I'm ever near,
And naught escapes my watchful ear.
Heigh ho! how heavily you sighed!
Colin's a faithful swain, I trow.
Why open you the casement wide?
Lizette, Lizette, you spin not now!

'Tis very close and warm, you say;

But to the window-niche your seat Have you not drawn, Lizette, I pray,

To change with Colin glances sweet? Don't blame me that so much I scold: Youth ever is one-half too bold; I've proved this world is false and cold." Strict duty's line is soon stepped o'er;

Love binds us fast-we can't tell how.

HOMER.

poems are

OMER is at least the name, if | proved an Asiatic Greek well versed in the nothing more, of the greatest dialect of his day and presenting in his two poet of antiquity-the first epics the best specimens of the highly cultiof the illustrious line of sing- vated Ionic. Thus the literary period is ers, or minstrels, who presented in two marvellous epics the language, the poetry, the history, the art and the beautiful mythology of Greece when the morning dews clustered upon her brow. The Iliad shows us a part of the siege of Troy, and the Odyssey tells the story of the wanderings of Odysseus, or Ulysses, from that siege to his home in the little sea-girt isle of Ithaca."

Of the period and personality of Homer there is great doubt. The Greek Lives of him are notoriously fictitious, and we are left to conjecture in a range of time from 1100 to 850 B. C. Herodotus, who lived about the middle of the fifth century before Christ, makes him the contemporary of Hesiod at the later date. Among the nine cities which have contended for the honor of giving him birth, Smyrna seems to have the strongest claim, if there be any valid claim: a local legend declares him to be the offspring of a river and a nymph; which may, indeed, be only a poetical way of eulogizing his Muse.

In the latest period since the days of Wolf and Niebuhr a school of German crities has denied Homer's personality entirely, but English scholars have enlisted themselves on the other side, declaring him to be

fixed, and internal evidence declares the
identity of the poet. Against this view, the
German scholars maintain that his
the work of many hands and the development
of a long period; that for centuries they ex-
isted only in the memories and on the lips
of rhapsodists, many of whom, being poets
as well as reciters and contending for prizes
at the games, would alter, improve and add
to what they recited. To this it may be
answered that there was a law of Athens
requiring the Homeric poems to be read pub-
licly-" with prompting "-whenever the fes-
tival of the Panathenæa, or festival in honor
of Minerva, was celebrated. This law is at
variance with the theory of the German
critics. Again, the critics assert that Ho-
mer was only an eponym for the ancestor
of the Homeride of Chios. Leaving the
critics to disagree, the world is glad that
it has these precious works, and that they
had a chief author whom we are all satis-
fied to call Homer. His poems have been
translated into all civilized languages. The
principal versions in English are those of
Chapman, Pope, Cowper, Earl Derby and
William Cullen Bryant. While, perhaps,
all the others are nearer to the Greek in
delicate points of scholarship, the delightful
tinkling of Pope's pentameter couplet has
caused it to be the most popular.

HAT, goddess, this unusual Now, since her presence glads our mansion,

favor draws?

All hail and welcome, what

soe'er the cause;

Till now a stranger, in a happy hour

Approach and taste the dain

ties of the bower."

High on a throne with stars

of silver graced, And various artifice, the queen she placed,

A footstool at her feet, then, calling, said, "Vulcan, draw near; 'tis Thetis asks your

aid."

say

For such desert what service can I pay.
Vouchsafe, O Thetis! at our board to share
The genial rites and hospitable fare,
While I the labors of the forge forego
And bid the roaring bellows cease to blow."

Then from his anvil the lame artist rose; Wide with distorted legs oblique he goes, And stills the bellows, and, in order laid, Locks in their chests his instruments of trade; Then with a sponge the sooty workman dressed His brawny arms embrowned and hairy

breast.

With his huge sceptre graced, and red attire,

"Thetis," replied the god, "our powers may Came halting forth the sovereign of the fire; The monarch's steps two female forms uphold,

claim

An ever-dear, an ever-honored name.

When my proud mother hurled me from the That moved and breathed in animated gold, skyTo whom was voice and sense and science given

My awkward form, it seems, displeased her

eye

She and Eurynome my griefs redressed
And soft received me on their silver breast.
Even then these arts employed my infant

thought:

Of works divine: such wonders are in heaven!

On these supported, with unequal gait
He reached the throne where pensive Thetis

sate;

Chains, bracelets, pendants, all their toys, I There placed beside her on the shining frame,

wrought.

Nine years kept secret in the dark abode Secure I lay, concealed from man and god: Deep in a caverned rock my days were led ; The rushing ocean murmured o'er my head.

He thus addressed the silver-footed dame:

"Thee welcome, goddess! What occasion calls

So long a stranger-to these honored walls?

'Tis thine, fair Thetis, the command to lay, And Vulcan's joy and duty to obey."

To whom the mournful mother thus replies (The crystal drops stood trembling in her eyes):

"O Vulcan say, was ever breast divine
So pierced with sorrows, so o'erwhelmed, as
mine?

Of all the goddesses, did Jove prepare
For Thetis only such a weight of care-
I, only I, of all the watery race,
By force subjected to a man's embrace,
Who, sinking now with age and sorrow, pays
The mighty fine imposed on length of days?
Sprung from my bed, a godlike hero came-
The bravest, sure, that ever bore the name;
Like some fair plant beneath my careful
hand

He grew, he flourished, and he graced the land.

To Troy I sent him, but his native shore Never—ahı, never!—shall receive him more; Even while he lives he wastes with secret

woe,

Nor I, a goddess, can retard the blow. Robbed of the prize the Grecian suffrage

gave,

The king of nations forced his royal slave: For this he grieved, and till the Greeks oppressed

Required his arm he sorrowed unredressed. Large gifts they promise, and their elders

send;

In vain he arms not, but permits his friend His arms, his steeds, his forces, to employ ; He marches, combats, almost conquers Troy; Then, slain by Phoebus-Hector had the

name

At once resigns his armor, life and fame.

But thou, in pity, by my prayer be won: Grace with immortal arms this short-lived son,

And to the field in martial pomp restore,
To shine with glory till he shines no more."

To her the artist-god: "Thy griefs resign,
Secure what Vulcan can is ever thine.
Oh, could I hide him from the Fates as well,
Or with these hands the cruel stroke repel,
As I shall forge most envied arms, the gaze
Of wondering ages and the world's amaze !"

Thus having said, the father of the fires
To the black labors of his forge retires.
Soon as he bade them blow the bellows turned
Their iron mouths, and where the furnace
burned

Resounding breathed; at once the blast expires,

And twenty forges catch at once the fires. Just as the god directs, now loud, now low, They raise a tempest or they gently blow; In hissing flames huge silver bars are rolled, And stubborn brass and tin and solid gold; Before, deep-fixed, the eternal anvils stand; The ponderous hammer loads his better hand, His left with tongs turns the vexed metal round,

And thick, strong strokes the doubling vaults rebound.

Then first he formed the immense and solid. shield.

Rich various artifice emblazed the field;
Its utmost verge a threefold circle bound;
A silver chain suspends the massy round;
Five ample plates the broad expanse com-

pose,

And godlike labors on the surface rose.

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The American Library of Art, Literature and Song, 第 2 卷