No. CLXXV.

Cursory Remarks on the Odyssey, on Pope's Translation, Mr. Spence's Essay, &c.

It is generally agreed, that the Odyssey is inferior to the Iliad. It is thought by Longinus, as well as by other critics, to have been the production of Homer's old age, when it may reasonably be supposed the ardour of his genius was in some degree abated. "In the Odyssey," says that critic, "he may be justly said to resemble the setting sun, whose grandeur still remains without the original heat of his beams. Like the ocean, whose very shores when deserted by the tide, mark out how wide it sometimes flows; so Homer's genius, when ebbing into all those fabulous and incredible ramblings of Ulysses, show plainly how sublime it once had been. I am speaking of old age, but it is the

old age of Homer.

It is certain, that if the Odyssey is not to be placed in the same rank with the Iliad, so neither ought it to obtain so low a class as to be overlooked and disregarded. It has, however, been neglected by the moderns, and they who have been able to repeat the Iliad, have scarcely deigned to read the Odyssey. Every school boy is acquainted with the anger of Achilles and its consequences, while he neither knows nor is solicitous to learn the adventures of the wise Ulysses: though wisdom it may be supposed, would be commonly a better model for his imitation than valour.

An ingenious writer has endeavoured to vindicate the Odyssey from the neglect in which it has long

That

customs has hitherto prevented our public schools from substituting it in the room of the Iliad. the Iliad should be neglected is not indeed to be wished, but that it should engross our whole attention, to the utter exclusion of the Odyssey, is certainly unreasonable.

The Iliad presents us with a rough prospect, like that of high mountains, craggy rocks, and foaming cataracts; while the Odyssey exhibits a softer scene, and suggests ideas similar to those which arise from the landscape, where all is mild, serene, and beautiful. The one is like the pictures of Poussin, the other like those of Claude Lorain. A reader admires the Iliad, but he loves the Odyssey.

The works of Homer appeared so early in the world, and since their appearance have been so frequently praised and illustrated, that at this late period it is not necessary to add to the general panegyric. Suffice it to recommend the perusal of a few authors, which may clear the way to the study of the Odyssey. Among these, are the papers in the Adventurer on this subject, Pope's Notes to his Translation, and above all, Mr. Spence's very elegant and ingenious Essay. As to the Translation itself, it abounds with faults and absurdities. Without derogating from the merit of Pope as an original poet, we may venture to pronounce his Odyssey a paraphrase, rather than a just translation of Homer. The copy no more resembles the picture, than the portrait on a sign post usually resembles the personage intended to be exhibited. The chief beauty of Homer is simplicity, which, in the Translation, is sacrificed to a gaudy glare and artificial embellishments. As a poem considered by itself, it has many beautiful passages; but as a translation, it is perhaps unworthy the reputation it

To censure so celebrated a name might appear arrogant in an individual, were he not supported by many and judicious critics. Mr. Spence, whose opinion is decisive, and, instar omnium, points out defects in Pope's Translation which could never have escaped so great a poet but from haste and weariness. In this work, Pope was assisted by inferior writers; but as the whole is published under his name, he will ever be answerable for its faults. The translation of the Iliad, though a very excellent model of versification, exhibits not a just picture of the simple, yet magnificient, Mæonian.

Mr. Spence's Essay, at the same time that it will exhibit the deformities of the Translation, will inspire a taste for the beauties of the original; and, indeed, the general remarks, which are interspersed with the greatest judgment and elegance, will contribute to teach a just method of criticism in almost every species of poetry.

He was

Mr. Spence was a truly classical writer. no less amiable in his manners than pleasing in his productions. That he chiefly wrote in dialogue is to be lamented: for that form, where the persons are fictitious, has seldom been approved in England, though it has often succeeded in France.

No. CLXXVI.

Thoughts on the Edipus Tyrannus of Sophocles, and several Circumstances respecting the Grecian Drama.

Of the three Greek dramatic poets, Sophocles is the most celebrated; and of the productions of Sophocles, the Edipus Tyrannus is the most ex

zeilen. It has stood the test of the severest critiCISIL The untaes of time, place, and action, are ivically preserved: and while the Tragedy satisdes the cride, who judges it by the laws of Aristotle, i pieuses the common reader and spectator, who forms his opinion from the feelings of his nature. Never was there a tale more affecting than that of Cdipus, and never was it told more pathetically than by Sophocles. Many a tear has it excited from an Athenian audience, whose hearts were ever finely susceptible of the sentiments of humanity: but the best translation of it would not equally please in a modern theatre. Many other causes of its failure may be assigned, besides that simplicity, artlessness, and incomplexity of fable, which the taste of the moderns is too much vitiated to relish.

In the first place, it must be considered, that every original composition must lose something of its beauty from the best translation. It is a common remark, that the spirit of an author, like that of some essences, evaporates by transfusion. Foreign manners, and foreign customs, are seldom understood by a common audience, and as seldom approved. The majority of an English audience are unacquainted with ancient learning, and can take no pleasure in the representation of men and things which have not fallen under their notice. Add to this, that they love to see Tragedies formed on their own histories, or on histories in which they are in some manner nearly interested. When Shakspeare's Historical Dramas are represented, they feel as Englishmen in every event; they take part with their Edwards and Henries, as friends and fellow countrymen; they glory in their successes, and sympathize with their misfortunes. To a similar circumstance may part

this tragedy of Sophocles, be attributed; for Edipus was king of a neighbouring country, with which the Athenians were always intimately connected either in war or peace.

These considerations should teach us to content ourselves with admiring Sophocles in the closet, without attempting to obtrude him on the stage, which must always accommodate itself to the taste of the times, whether unreasonable or just, consistent or capricious.

In truth, the warmest admirer of ancient Greek poetry must acknowledge a barrenness of invention in the choice of subjects. The Trojan war, and the misfortunes of the Theban king, are almost the only sources from which those great masters of composition, Homer, Eschylus, Euripides, and Sophocles, have derived their subject matter. They have, indeed, embellished these little parts of history with all the fire of imagination and melody of poetry; but is it not strange, that in a country like Greece, where the restless spirit of military virtue was continually forming noble designs, and achieving glorious exploits, the poets could discover no illustrious deed worthy of being painted in neverfading colours, but the worn out stories of a wooden horse, and a Sphinx's riddle? It is difficult for an age like the present, which hungers and thirsts after novelty, to conceive that an audience could sit with patience during the recital of a story which all must have heard a thousand times; especially as it was unadorned with the meretricious artifices of players, with thunder and lightning, hail and rain, tolling bells, and tinsel garments.

But the sameness of the story in the Grecian poets became agreeable to the audience, through that veneration which every thing that bears a mark