and death; their complaints and lamentations; their appetites indulged, to all manner of excess; their adulteries, their fetters, their amorous commerce with the human species; and from immortai parents derived a mortal offspring.*

"Can you claim the wreath of fame for one who thus sullies the dignity of epic poetry, by making the gods more abandoned, more profligate, weak and unsteady than men? Who summons them from their ethereal seats in every trifling emergency? Who converts his heroes into cowards and garrulous old women, and makes his wise men fools?"

"I see," answered the rhapsodist, "that you are one of those unsuccessful poets who are envious of the opening buds of Homer's laurel-you are thrown into the shade by the lustre of those rays which now begin to shine around his tomb, and you would strive to dim their splendour. But the bright beam of his glory is coming on, and I need not the gift of prophecy to predict, that in many ages after this, his fame, which but now appears like a meteor twinkling in the horizon, to relieve the obscurity of the night, will shine resplendent as a star of the first magritude.

"You say he wants judgment to conduct an epic poem. But does he not display his wisdom by ascribing every thing to the source from which it is derived? Are not all our passions and propensities instilled into our bosoms by the all pervading influence of the gods? And was it not the duty of the poet to inculcate that reverence for them which we ought to feel? But whatever he wants in judgment, and perhaps his discretion sometimes slumbers, is amply supplied by his intuitive and luxuriant genius. His eye excursive rolls over the boundless expanse of the heavens, or descends to describe the transactions of the sublunary world. Yet he disgusts us not with the mean and the familiar: like a skilful provider, he selects the choicest viands, and lavishes them with no unsparing hand.

"Every art must have a commencement, and every inception must, in some degree, be imperfect. The age of Homer was

*This last passage is translated from Cicero's first book, De Natura Deorum. Plato expelled Homer from his imaginary Commonwealth on account of the viciousness of his Theology.

rude, and its taste, as well as its manners, was uncultivated. By comparing the period at which he wrote, with the present time, we shall find that we have made a rapid progress in improvement; and yet I doubt whether we can exhibit so wonderful a genius. None of our poets have caught so fervid a flame to illumine their conceptions as that which he respired. And even with this model before our eyes, no one evinces such maturity of judgment and such excellence of execution.

"Homer seems, as in a concert of music, to have sung all the different parts which can possibly be introduced into poetry; and to have surpassed all his cotemporary poets in the very art in which each of them excelled. He is more noble and lofty in his language than Orpheus; his verse is sweeter than the melody of Hesiod, and in other respects he has excelled the rest. The subject he treats is the Trojan story, in which fortune had collected, and as it were displayed, all the virtues both of the Greeks and the barbarous nations: there he has represented wars of all kinds: sometimes of men against men, and sometimes opposed to horses: sometimes against walls and rivers, and sometimes even against gods and goddesses. He has likewise represented peace in all her attractions, and discord in all her horrors; he has described dances and songs, and loves and feasts; he has taught what belongs to agriculture, and has marked the seasons which are fit for the several rural toils; he has sung of navigation, and of the art of working metals by fire, and has painted the different figures and manners of men: he has given the soundest lessons in government, and has inculcated the purest principles of morality. All this, I think, Homer has done in a wonderful and almost supernatural manner, and those who are not in love with him are not in* their senses."*

The animation of this zealous defender of the character of Homer, produced in my mind a train of reflections upon his life and profession.

To poverty we are not less indebted for the songs of olden time,

* Instead of inserting a laboured defence of Homer in this place, I thought the reader might be more pleased with the opinion of an older author. This last passage, therefore, is taken from Philostra. Heroicks. 11.

than for many of those of a modern date. The historian of Troy could find no sympathizing heart to cheer his grief and adminis ter to his wants. This compelled him to resort to the profession of an AOIAO, or strolling bard, a character well known in those days. It was the policy of the Egyptian law to interdict all music, as tending to enervate the mind, and poetry, her sister art, was so shackled by the prescriptions of authority, as to droop her head. But in Greece, where the very genius of the government expands the mind, and the climate inspires the fancy, they lifted their enchanting voices, and sung such airs as the gods might not disdain to hear. This passion for poetry gave rise to the profession of which I speak. In those day-dreams which imagination sometimes inspires, I have contemplated the Aordos, strolling from town to town, free from care, unrestrained by the discipline of the laws, and uncontrouled by the power of the magistrate; eliciting tears from the tender, and commanding the homage of the wealthysuch a man have I wished to be.

We are told by Hecatæus, who lived not long after Homer, that an Αοιδος must know Πολλα θελκυηρία, many soothing tales, to win the ear: his subjects must be egya Avdgavre TE BEWTE the deeds Avdęwvte τε θεωτε of gods and men, for their's it is

Θεοίσι τε καὶ Ανδρων ποισι Αείδειν.

To mortals and immortals both to sing.

That Homer was of this profession, all historical testimony concurs in avouching: but it is more particularly declared in his own hymn to Latona and her offspring, whose feast was held at Delos, and was attended by a vast concourse of people from Ionia and the adjacent isles.

"HAIL YE HEAVENLY POWERS," exclaims the poet," whose praises I delight to sing; let my name be remembered in the ages that are rolling on: and when the weary traveller reclines in our porticos, and inquires who is the sweetest among the singers of the flowing verse, who strikes the harp at your banquets, and whose song steals most pleasantly upon your delighted ears? Then do ye, Powers who inspired me, make answer—it is the blind man who dwells in Chios-his songs are sweeter than all that can be sung." When the bard entered a house, he was greeted with welcome words by the host. In the words of Homer himself, he gladly

received the bard divine to cheer him with a song. His wearied limbs were placed upon a couch, where his thirst was allayed, and food was liberally supplied. Next he bathed, and after he had drunk some Myλindea aivov, heart cheering wine, he was called upon to contribute his mite towards the general entertainment. Then the bard pours a libation to Jupiter Hospitalis, and sings to his generous entertainer:

I know thou lov'st a brimming measure,

And art a kindly cordial host;

But let me drink and fill at pleasure,

Thus I enjoy the liquor most.

Then he attunes his harp-his voice is raised, and they feel that benignant influence which is powerful to banish grief-to assuage the angry passions, and to cast a pleasing oblivion over all those causes of discontent and distress which strew the rugged path of life with thorns. After suffering the wants of hunger-having been pressed down by fatigue, while he vainly strove to shelter his body from the pitiless blast, how joyful is it to experience a cordial reception and find a lavish banquet! The heart of the bard, alive to every impression, is warmed to the enthusiasm of genius. He opens his whole soul in strains of poetic inspiration. The boldest metaphors sparkle in his vivid verse, and figures dart through his lines with a rapidity and splendour that defy the feeble grasp of criticism.

Certainly the most beautiful madness and amiable passion, is when the love of the muses seizes upon a soft and sensible mind: it is then that it exalts the soul, throws the votary into extacies, and bursts out into hymns and songs or other strains of poesy, and at once celebrate the high achievements of ancient times, and instruct the generations to come. This is so certain, that whoever be be that pretends to the favours of the muse, without partaking of this madness, from an opinion, perhaps, that art alone is sufficient to make a poet, he may assure himself that he will fail in his character: his work will be lame, and while the productions of the inspired poetic train are read and admired, his sober performance will sink into oblivion.*

VOL. X.

*This last passage is from Plato in Phædro.

3

My reflections were interrupted by the laughter of a group of young men who were amusing themselves with a sort of enigmatical questions or griphical* amusements, so incongruous, that it seemed impossible for the liveliest ingenuity to reconcile their apparent contradictions. One of these wits asked what that is which is very large at its birth, and also in old age, but very small when at maturity? The various answers which he received, increased the diversion, and the reiterated peals of laughter that followed each unsuccessful attempt, almost prevented any one from proposing another solution. At length a happy thought relieved our curiosity. It was a shadow, which was large in the morning and evening, and diminutive at mid-day. Another said, "there are two sisters who continually beget each other." These parents, children, and sisters, we learnt were day and night.† A third asked-" what is that which is found at once on the earth, in the sea, and in the heavens? He, after many ludicrous responses, was answered, "the dog-the serpent-the bear"-names which have been given to certain constellations.

Those who offered solutions which they could not justify, were obliged to pay some forfeit.

In the evening I reminded Anacreon of the dispute about Homer, which we had heard, and asked him why he had never selected some eventful epoch in the history of his country, and endeavoured to record it with the dignity of epic narrative.

"I have often thought," he replied, " that the epic poet stands upon a more lofty ground than the amatory enthusiast, for he interests both the judgment and the feelings, whereas we make our appeal only to the heart. If but a single bosom respond in the voice of sympathy, we are satisfied, and listen to the censure of critics with the most frigid apathy. It is true, that the epic writer addresses not only those who surround him, but is heard by dis

* Griph, from γρίφος, which signifies a net. This classical and diverting pastime has continued to the present time. There is no doubt of its having been known among the ancients. Suid. in 7p. Schol. Aristophin Vesp. v. 20. Theodect. ap Athen. lib. 20, 20, &c.

Blackstone has remarked the tenacity with which games of childhood are preserved by successive generations.

+ These words are feminine in the Greek language.