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Ellison, and the Online\nDistributed Proofing Team\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nNATIONAL EPICS\n\nBy Kate Milner Rabb\n\n1896\n\n\n\nTO MY MOTHER.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nThis volume is intended for an introduction to the study of the epics.\nWhile the simplicity and directness of the epic style seem to make such a\nbook unnecessary, the fact that to many persons of literary tastes some of\nthese great poems are inaccessible, and that to many more the pleasure of\nexploring for themselves \"the realms of gold\" is rendered impossible by\nthe cares of business, has seemed sufficient excuse for its being. Though\nthe beauty of the original is of necessity lost in a condensation of this\nkind, an endeavor has been made to preserve the characteristic epithets,\nand to retain what Mr. Arnold called \"the simple truth about the matter of\nthe poem.\" It is believed that the sketch prefacing each story, giving\nbriefly the length, versification, and history of the poem, will have its\nvalue to those readers who have not access to the epics, and that the\nselections following the story, each recounting a complete incident, will\ngive a better idea of the epic than could be formed from passages\nscattered through the text.\n\nThe epic originated among tribes of barbarians, who deified departed\nheroes and recited legends in praise of their deeds. As the hymn\ndeveloped, the chorus and strophe were dropped, and the narrative only was\npreserved. The word \"epic\" was used simply to distinguish the narrative\npoem, which was recited, from the lyric, which was sung, and from the\ndramatic, which was acted.\n\nAs the nation passed from childhood to youth, the legends of the hero that\neach wandering minstrel had changed to suit his fancy, were collected and\nfused into one by some great poet, who by his power of unification made\nthis written epic his own.\n\nThis is the origin of the Hindu epics, the \"Iliad\" and the \"Odyssey,\" the\n\"Kalevala,\" the \"Shah-Nameh,\" \"Beowulf,\" the \"Nibelungen Lied,\" the \"Cid,\"\nand the \"Song of Roland.\"\n\nThe conditions for the production of the primitive epic exist but once in\na nation's growth. Its later epics must be written on subjects of national\nimportance, chosen by the poet, who arranges and embellishes his material\naccording to the rules of the primitive epic. To this class belong the\n\"Aeneid,\" the \"Jerusalem Delivered,\" and the \"Lusiad.\" Dante's poem is\nbroader, for it is the epic of mediaeval Christianity. Milton likewise\nsought \"higher argument\" than\n\n  \"Wars, hitherto the only argument\n      Heroic deemed,\"\n\nand crystallized the religious beliefs of his time in \"Paradise Lost.\"\n\nThe characteristics both of the primitive and the modern epic are their\nuniform metre, simplicity of construction, concentration of action into a\nshort time, and the use of episode and dialogue. The main difference lies\nin the impersonality of the primitive epic, whose author has so skillfully\nhidden himself behind his work that, as some one has said of Homer, \"his\nheroes are immortal, but his own existence is doubtful.\"\n\nAlthough the historical events chronicled in the epics have in every case\nbeen so distorted by the fancy of the poets that they cannot be accepted\nas history, the epics are storehouses of information concerning ancient\nmanners and customs, religious beliefs, forms of government, treatment of\nwomen, and habits of feeling.\n\nConstructed upon the noblest principles of art, and pervaded by the\neternal calm of the immortals, these poems have an especial value to us,\nwho have scarcely yet realized that poetry is an art, and are feverish\nfrom the unrest of our time. If by the help of this volume any reader be\nenabled to find a portion of the wisdom that is hidden in these mines, its\npurpose will have been accomplished.\n\nMy thanks are due to Mr. John A. Wilstach for the use of selections from\nhis translation of the \"Divine Comedy;\" to Prof. J. M. Crawford, for the\nuse of selections from his translation of the \"Kalevala;\" to Henry Holt &\nCo., for the use of selections from Rabillon's translation of \"La Chanson\nde Roland;\" to Roberts Brothers, for the use of selections from Edwin\nArnold's \"Indian Idylls;\" to Prof. J. C. Hall, for the use of selections\nfrom his translation of \"Beowulf;\" and to A. C. Armstrong & Son, for the\nuse of selections from Conington's Translation of the \"Aeneid.\" The\nselections from the \"Iliad\" and the \"Odyssey\" are used with the permission\nof and by special arrangement with Houghton, Mifflin & Co., publishers of\nBryant's translations of the \"Iliad\" and the \"Odyssey.\" Special thanks are\ndue to Miss Eliza G. Browning of the Public Library of Indianapolis, to\nMiss Florence Hughes of the Library of Indiana University, and to Miss\nCharity Dye, of Indianapolis.\n\nK. M. R.\n\nINDIANAPOLIS, IND., September, 1896.\n\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\nTHE HINDU EPIC: THE RAM\u00c2Y\u00c2NA\n\nTHE HINDU EPIC: THE MAH\u00c2-BH\u00c2RATA\n\nTHE GREEK EPIC: THE ILIAD\n\nTHE GREEK EPIC: THE ODYSSEY\n\nTHE FINNISH EPIC: THE KALEVALA\n\nTHE ROMAN EPIC: THE AENEID\n\nTHE SAXON EPIC: BEOWULF\n\nTHE GERMAN EPIC: THE NIBELUNGEN LIED\n\nTHE FRENCH EPIC: THE SONG OF ROLAND\n\nTHE PERSIAN EPIC: THE SHAH-NAMEH\n\nTHE SPANISH EPIC: THE POEM OF THE CID\n\nTHE ITALIAN EPIC: THE DIVINE COMEDY\n\nTHE ITALIAN EPIC: THE ORLANDO FURIOSO\n\nTHE PORTUGUESE EPIC: THE LUSIAD\n\nTHE ITALIAN EPIC: THE JERUSALEM DELIVERED\n\nTHE ENGLISH EPIC: PARADISE LOST\n\nTHE ENGLISH EPIC: PARADISE REGAINED\n\n\n\n\nSELECTIONS.\n\n\nFROM THE R\u00c2M\u00c2YANA:                        TRANSLATOR\n  The Descent of the Ganges ...          _Milman_\n  The Death of Yajnadatta ...                \"\n\nFROM THE MAH\u00c2-BH\u00c2RATA:\n  S\u00e2vitr\u00ee; or, Love and Death ...        _Arnold_\n  The Great Journey ...                      \"\n\nFROM THE ILIAD:\n  Helen at the Scaean Gates ...          _Bryant_\n  The Parting of Hector and Andromache ...   \"\n\nFROM THE ODYSSEY:\n  The Palace of Alcino\u00fcs ...             _Bryant_\n  The Bending of the Bow ...                 \"\n\nFROM THE KALEVALA:\n  Ilmarinen's Wedding Feast ...          _Crawford_\n  The Birth of the Harp ...                  \"\n\nFROM THE AENEID:\n  Nisus and Euryalus ...                 _Conington_\n\nFROM BEOWULF:\n  Grendel's Mother ...                   _Hall_\n\nFROM THE NIBELUNGEN LIED:\n  How Brunhild was received at Worms ... _Lettsom_\n  How Margrave R\u00fcdeger was slain  ...        \"\n\nFROM THE SONG OF ROLAND:\n  The Horn ...                           _Rabillon_\n  Roland's Death  ...                        \"\n\nFROM THE SHAH-NAMEH:\n  The Rajah of India sends a Chessboard\n  to Nushirvan                           _Robinson_\n  Zal and Rudabeh                            \"\n\nFROM THE POEM OF THE CID:\n  Count Raymond and My Cid               _Ormsby_\n  My Cid's Triumph                           \"\n\nFROM THE DIVINE COMEDY:\n  Count Ugolino                          _Wilstach_\n  Buonconte di Montefeltro                   \"\n  Beatrice descending from Heaven            \"\n  The Exquisite Beauty of Beatrice           \"\n\nFROM THE ORLANDO FURIOSO:\n  The Death of Zerbino                   _Rose_\n\nFROM THE LUSIAD:\n  Inez de Castro                         _Mickle_\n  The Spirit of the Cape                     \"\n\nFROM THE JERUSALEM DELIVERED:\n  Sophronia and Olindo                   _Wiffen_\n\nFROM PARADISE LOST:\n  Satan\n  Apostrophe to Light\n\nFROM PARADISE REGAINED:\n  The Temptation of the Vision of the Kingdoms of the Earth\n\n\n\n\nNATIONAL EPICS.\n\n\n\nTHE R\u00c2M\u00c2YANA.\n\n\n  \"He who sings and hears this poem continually has attained to the\n  highest state of enjoyment, and will finally be equal to the gods.\"\n\n\nThe R\u00e2m\u00e2yana, the Hindu Iliad, is variously ascribed to the fifth, third,\nand first centuries B.C., its many interpolations making it almost\nimpossible to determine its age by internal evidence. Its authorship is\nunknown, but according to legend it was sung by Ku\u00e7a and Lava, the sons of\nRama, to whom it was taught by Valmiki. Of the three versions now extant,\none is attributed to Valmiki, another to Tuli Das, and a third to Vyasa.\n\nIts historical basis, almost lost in the innumerable episodes and\ngrotesque imaginings of the Hindu, is probably the conquest of southern\nIndia and Ceylon by the Aryans.\n\nThe R\u00e2m\u00e2yana is written in the Sanskrit language, is divided into seven\nbooks, or sections, and contains fifty thousand lines, the English\ntranslation of which, by Griffith, occupies five volumes.\n\nThe hero, Rama, is still an object of worship in India, the route of his\nwanderings being, each year, trodden by devout pilgrims. The poem is not a\nmere literary monument,--it is a part of the actual religion of the Hindu,\nand is held in such reverence that the mere reading or hearing of it, or\ncertain passages of it, is believed to free from sin and grant his every\ndesire to the reader or hearer.\n\n\n\n\nBIBLIOGRAPHY AND CRITICISM, THE R\u00c2M\u00c2YANA.\n\n\nG. W. Cox's Mythology and Folklore, 1881, p. 313;\n\nJohn Dowson's Classical Dictionary of Hindu Mythology, Religion,\nGeography, History, and Literature, 1879;\n\nSir William Jones on the Literature of the Hindus (in his Works, vol. iv.);\n\nMaj.-Gen. Vans Kennedy's Researches into Hindu Mythology, 1831;\n\nJames Mill's History of British India, 1840, vol. ii., pp. 47-123;\n\nF. Max M\u00fcller's Ancient Sanskrit Literature, 1859;\n\nE. A. Reed's Hindu Literature, 1891, pp. 153-271;\n\nAlbrecht Weber's History of Indian Literature, 1878, pp. 191-195;\n\nJ. T. Wheeler's History of India, 4 vols., 1876, vol. ii.;\n\nSir Monier Williams's Indian Wisdom, 1863, Indian Epic Poetry, 1863;\n\nArticle on Sanskrit Literature in Encyclop\u00e6dia Britannica;\n\nR. M. Gust's The R\u00e2m\u00e2yana: a Sanskrit Epic (in his Linguistic and Oriental\nEssays, 1880, p. 56);\n\nT. Goldstuecker's R\u00e2m\u00e2yana (in his Literary Remains, 1879, vol. i.,\np. 155);\n\nC. J. Stone's Cradleland of Arts and Creeds, 1880, pp. 11-21;\n\nAlbrecht Weber's On the R\u00e2m\u00e2yana, 1870; Westminster Review,\n1849, vol. 1., p. 34;\n\nJ. C. Oman's Great Indian Epics, 1874, pp. 13-81.\n\n\n\n\nSTANDARD ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS, THE R\u00c2M\u00c2YANA.\n\n\nThe R\u00e2m\u00e2yana, Tr. by R. T. H. Griffith, 5 vols., 1870-1874 (Follows Bombay\ned., Translated into metre of \"Lady of the Lake\");\n\nExtracts from the R\u00e2m\u00e2yana, Tr. by Sir William Jones (in his Works,\nvol. 13);\n\nIliad of the East, F. Richardson, 1873 (Popular translations of a set of\nlegends from the R\u00e2m\u00e2yana);\n\nThe R\u00e2m\u00e2yana translated into English Prose, edited and published by\nNaumatha Nath Dutt, 7 vols., Calcutta, 1890-1894.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE R\u00c2M\u00c2YANA.\n\n\nBrahma, creator of the universe, though all powerful, could not revoke a\npromise once made. For this reason, Ravana, the demon god of Ceylon, stood\non his head in the midst of five fires for ten thousand years, and at the\nend of that time boldly demanded of Brahma as a reward that he should not\nbe slain by gods, demons, or genii. He also requested the gift of nine\nother heads and eighteen additional arms and hands.\n\nThese having been granted, he began by the aid of his evil spirits, the\nRakshasas, to lay waste the earth and to do violence to the good,\nespecially to the priests.\n\nAt the time when Ravana's outrages were spreading terror throughout the\nland, and Brahma, looking down from his throne, shuddered to see the\nmonster he had gifted with such fell power, there reigned in Ayodhya, now\nthe city of Oude, a good and wise raja, Dasaratha, who had reigned over\nthe splendid city for nine thousand years without once growing weary. He\nhad but one grief,--that he was childless,--and at the opening of the\nstory he was preparing to make the great sacrifice, Asva-medha, to\npropitiate the gods, that they might give him a son.\n\nThe gods, well pleased, bore his request to Brahma in person, and\nincidentally preferred a request that he provide some means of destroying\nthe monster Ravana that was working such woe among their priests, and\ndisturbing their sacrifices.\n\nBrahma granted the first request, and, cudgeling his brains for a device\nto destroy Ravana, bethought himself that while he had promised that\nneither gods, genii, nor demons should slay him, he had said nothing of\nman. He accordingly led the appealing gods to Vishnu, who proclaimed that\nthe monster should be slain by men and monkeys, and that he would himself\nbe re-incarnated as the eldest son of Dasaratha and in this form compass\nthe death of Ravana.\n\nIn course of time, as a reward for his performance of the great sacrifice,\nfour sons were born to Dasaratha, Rama by Kausalya, his oldest wife,\nBharata, whose mother was Kaikeyi, and twin sons, Lakshmana and Satrughna,\nwhose mother was Sumitra.\n\nRama, the incarnation of Vishnu, destined to destroy Ravana, grew daily in\ngrace, beauty, and strength. When he was but sixteen years old, having\nbeen sent for by a sage to destroy the demons who were disturbing the\nforest hermits in their religious rites, he departed unattended, save by\nhis brother Lakshmana and a guide, into the pathless forests, where he\nsuccessfully overcame the terrible Rakshasa, Tarika, and conveyed her body\nto the grateful sage.\n\nWhile he was journeying through the forests, destroying countless\nRakshasas, he chanced to pass near the kingdom of Mithila and heard that\nits king, Janaka, had offered his peerless daughter, Sita, in marriage to\nthe man who could bend the mighty bow of Siva the destroyer, which, since\nits owner's death, had been kept at Janaka's court.\n\nRama at once determined to accomplish the feat, which had been essayed in\nvain by so many suitors. When he presented himself at court Janaka was at\nonce won by his youth and beauty; and when the mighty bow, resting upon an\neight-wheeled car, was drawn in by five thousand men, and Rama without\napparent effort bent it until it broke, he gladly gave him his beautiful\ndaughter, and after the splendid wedding ceremonies were over, loaded the\nhappy pair with presents to carry back to Ayodhya.\n\nWhen Dasaratha, who had attended the marriage of his son at Mithila,\nreturned home, he began to feel weary of reigning, and bethought himself\nof the ancient Hindu custom of making the eldest son and heir apparent a\nYuva-Raja,--that is appointing him assistant king. Rama deserved this\nhonor, and would, moreover, be of great assistance to him.\n\nHis happy people received the announcement of his intention with delight;\nthe priests approved of it as well, and the whole city was in the midst of\nthe most splendid preparations for the ceremony, when it occurred to\nDasaratha that all he lacked was the congratulations of his youngest and\nfavorite wife, Kaikeyi, on this great event. The well-watered streets and\nthe garlanded houses had already aroused the suspicions of\nKaikeyi,--suspicions speedily confirmed by the report of her maid. Angered\nand jealous because the son of Kausalya and not her darling Bharata, at\nthat time absent from the city, was to be made Yuva-Raja, she fled to the\n\"Chamber of Sorrows,\" and was there found by the old Raja.\n\nThough Kaikeyi was his youngest and most beautiful wife, her tears,\nthreats, and entreaties would have been of no avail had she not recalled\nthat, months before, the old Raja, in gratitude for her devoted nursing\nduring his illness, had granted her two promises. She now demanded the\nfulfilment of these before she would consent to smile upon him, and the\nconsent won, she required him, first, to appoint Bharata Yuva-Raja; and,\nsecond, to exile Rama for fourteen years to the terrible forest of\nDandaka.\n\nThe promise of a Hindu, once given, cannot be revoked. In spite of the\ngrief of the old Raja, of Kausalya, his old wife, and of all the people,\nwho were at the point of revolt at the sudden disgrace of their favorite\nprince, the terrible news was announced to Rama, and he declared himself\nready to go, to save his father from dishonor.\n\nHe purposed to go alone, but Sita would not suffer herself to be thus\ndeserted. Life without him, she pleaded, was worse than death; and so\neloquent was her grief at the thought of parting that she was at last\npermitted to don the rough garment of bark provided by the malicious\nKaikeyi.\n\nThe people of Ayodhya, determined to share the fate of their favorites,\naccompanied them from the city, their tears laying the dust raised by\nRama's chariot wheels. But when sleep overcame them, Rama, Sita, and\nLakshmana escaped from them, dismissed their charioteer, and, crossing the\nGanges, made their way to the mountain of Citra-kuta, where they took up\ntheir abode.\n\nNo more beautiful place could be imagined. Flowers of every kind,\ndelicious fruits, and on every side the most pleasing prospects, together\nwith perfect love, made their hermitage a paradise on earth. Here the\nexiles led an idyllic existence until sought out by Bharata, who, learning\nfrom his mother on his return home the ruin she had wrought in the Raj,\nhad indignantly spurned her, and hastened to Dandaka. The old Raja had\ndied from grief soon after the departure of the exiles, and Bharata now\ndemanded that Rama should return to Ayodhya and become Raja, as was his\nright, as eldest son.\n\nWhen Rama refused to do this until the end of his fourteen years of exile,\nBharata vowed that for fourteen years he would wear the garb of a devotee\nand live outside the city, committing the management of the Raj to a pair\nof golden sandals which he took from Rama's feet. All the affairs of state\nwould be transacted under the authority of the sandals, and Bharata, while\nruling the Raj, would pay homage to them.\n\nSoon after the departure of Bharata the exiles were warned to depart from\ntheir home on Citra-kuta and seek a safer hermitage, for terrible\nrakshasas filled this part of the forest. They accordingly sought the\nabode of Atri the hermit, whose wife Anasuya was so pleased with Sita's\npiety and devotion to her husband that she bestowed upon her the crown of\nimmortal youth and beauty. They soon found a new abode in the forest of\nPancarati, on the banks of the river Godavari, where Lakshmana erected a\nspacious bamboo house.\n\nTheir happiness in this elysian spot was destined to be short-lived. Near\nthem dwelt a horrible rakshasa, Surpanakha by name, who fell in love with\nRama. When she found that he did not admire the beautiful form she assumed\nto win him, and that both he and Lakshmana laughed at her advances, she\nattempted to destroy Sita, only to receive in the attempt a disfiguring\nwound from the watchful Lakshmana. Desiring revenge for her disfigured\ncountenance and her scorned love, she hastened to the court of her brother\nRavana, in Ceylon, and in order to induce him to avenge her wrongs, dwelt\nupon the charms of the beautiful wife of Rama.\n\nSome days after, Sita espied a golden fawn, flecked with silver, among the\ntrees near their home. Its shining body, its jewel-like horns, so\ncaptivated her fancy that she implored Rama, if possible, to take it alive\nfor her; if not, at least to bring her its skin for a couch. As Rama\ndeparted, he warned Lakshmana not to leave Sita for one moment; he would\nsurely return, since no weapon could harm him. In the depths of the forest\nthe fawn fell by his arrow, crying as it fell, \"O Sita! O Lakshmana!\" in\nRama's very tones.\n\nWhen Sita heard the cry she reproached Lakshmana for not going to his\nbrother's aid, until he left her to escape her bitter words. He had no\nsooner disappeared in the direction of the cry than a hermit appeared and\nasked her to minister unto his wants.\n\nSita carried him food, bathed his feet, and conversed with him until, able\nno longer to conceal his admiration for her, he revealed himself in his\ntrue form as the demon god of Ceylon.\n\nWhen she indignantly repulsed him he seized her, and mounting his chariot\ndrove rapidly towards Ceylon.\n\nWhen Rama and Lakshmana returned home, soon after, they found the house\nempty. As they searched through the forest for traces of her they found a\ngiant vulture dying from wounds received while endeavoring to rescue the\nshrieking Sita. Going farther, they encountered the monkey king Sugriva\nand his chiefs, among whom Sita had dropped from the chariot her scarf and\nornaments.\n\nSugriva had been deposed from his kingdom by his brother Bali, who had\nalso taken his wife from him. Rama agreed to conquer Bali if Sugriva would\nassist in the search for Sita; and, the agreement made, they at once\nmarched upon Kishkindha, together slew Bali, and gained possession of the\nwealthy city and the queen Tara. They were now ready to search for the\nlost Sita.\n\nIn his quest through every land, Hanuman, the monkey general, learned from\nthe king of the vultures that she had been carried to Ceylon. He\nimmediately set out for the coast with his army, only to find a bridgeless\nocean stretching between them and the island. Commanding his soldiers to\nremain where they were, Hanuman expanded his body to enormous proportions,\nleaped the vast expanse of water, and alighted upon a mountain, from which\nhe could look down upon Lanka, the capital city of Ceylon. Perceiving the\ncity to be closely guarded, he assumed the form of a cat, and thus,\nunsuspected, crept through the barriers and examined the city. He found\nthe demon god in his apartments, surrounded by beautiful women, but Sita\nwas not among them. Continuing his search, he at last discovered her, her\nbeauty dimmed by grief, seated under a tree in a beautiful asoka grove,\nguarded by hideous rakshasas with the faces of buffaloes, dogs, and swine.\n\nAssuming the form of a tiny monkey, Hanuman crept down the tree, and\ngiving her the ring of Rama, took one from her. He offered to carry her\naway with him, but Sita declared that Rama must himself come to her\nrescue. While they were talking together, the demon god appeared, and,\nafter fruitless wooing, announced that if Sita did not yield herself to\nhim in two months he would have her guards \"mince her limbs with steel\"\nfor his morning repast.\n\nIn his rage, Hanuman destroyed a mango grove and was captured by the\ndemon's guards, who were ordered to set his tail on fire. As soon as this\nwas done, Hanuman made himself so small that he slipped from his bonds,\nand, jumping upon the roofs, spread a conflagration through the city of\nLanka.\n\nHe leaped back to the mainland, conveyed the news of Sita's captivity to\nRama and Sugriva, and was soon engaged in active preparations for the\ncampaign.\n\nAs long as the ocean was unbridged it was impossible for any one save\nHanuman to cross it. In his anger at being so thwarted, Rama turned his\nweapons against it, until from the terrified waves rose the god of the\nocean, who promised him that if Nala built a bridge, the waves should\nsupport the materials as firmly as though it were built on land.\n\nTerror reigned in Lanka at the news of the approach of Rama. Vibishana,\nRavana's brother, deserted to Rama, because of the demon's rage when he\nadvised him to make peace with Rama. Fiercely fought battles ensued, in\nwhich even the gods took part, Vishnu and Indra taking sides with Rama,\nand the evil spirits fighting with Ravana.\n\nAfter the war had been carried on for some time, with varying results, it\nwas decided to determine it by single combat between Ravana and Rama. Then\neven the gods were terrified at the fierceness of the conflict. At each\nshot Rama's mighty bow cut off a head of the demon, which at once grew\nback, and the hero was in despair until he remembered the all-powerful\narrow given him by Brahma.\n\nAs the demon fell by this weapon, flowers rained from heaven upon the\nhappy victor, and his ears were ravished with celestial music.\n\nTouched by the grief of Ravana's widows, Rama ordered his foe a splendid\nfuneral, and then sought the conquered city.\n\nSita was led forth, beaming with happiness at finding herself re-united to\nher husband; but her happiness was destined to be of short duration. Rama\nreceived her with coldness and with downcast eyes, saying that she could\nno longer be his wife, after having dwelt in the zenana of the demon. Sita\nassured him of her innocence; but on his continuing to revile her, she\nordered her funeral pyre to be built, since she would rather die by fire\nthan live despised by Rama. The sympathy of all the bystanders was with\nSita, but Rama saw her enter the flames without a tremor. Soon Agni, the\ngod of fire, appeared, bearing the uninjured Sita in his arms. Her\ninnocence thus publicly proved by the trial by fire, she was welcomed by\nRama, whose treatment she tenderly forgave.\n\nThe conquest made, the demon destroyed, and Sita restored, Rama returned\nin triumph to Ayodhya, and assumed the government. The city was\nprosperous, the people were happy, and for a time all went well. It was\nnot long, however, before whispers concerning Sita's long abode in Ceylon\nspread abroad, and some one whispered to Rama that a famine in the country\nwas due to the guilt of Sita, who had suffered the caresses of the demon\nwhile in captivity in Ceylon. Forgetful of the trial by fire, forgetful of\nSita's devotion to him through weal and woe, the ungrateful Rama\nimmediately ordered her to the forest in which they had spent together the\nhappy years of their exile.\n\nWithout a murmur the unhappy Sita, alone and unbefriended, dragged herself\nto the forest, and, torn with grief of body and spirit, found the\nhermitage of Valmiki, where she gave birth to twin sons, Lava and Ku\u00e7a.\nHere she reared them, with the assistance of the hermit, who was their\nteacher, and under whose care they grew to manhood, handsome and strong.\n\nIt chanced about the time the youths were twenty years old, that Rama, who\nhad grown peevish and disagreeable with age, began to think the gods were\nangered with him because he had killed Ravana, who was the son of a\nBrahman. Determined to propitiate them by means of the great sacrifice, he\ncaused a horse to be turned loose in the forest. When his men went to\nretake it, at the end of the year, it was caught by two strong and\nbeautiful youths who resisted all efforts to capture them. In his rage\nRama went to the forest in person, only to learn that the youths were his\ntwin sons, Lava and Ku\u00e7a. Struck with remorse, Rama recalled the\nsufferings of his wife Sita, and on learning that she was at the hermitage\nof Valmiki, ordered her to come to him, that he might take her to him\nagain, having first caused her to endure the trial by fire to prove her\ninnocence to all his court.\n\nSita had had time to recover from the love of her youth, and the prospect\nof life with Rama, without the _couleur de rose_ of youthful love, was\nnot altogether pleasant. At first, she even refused to see him; but\nfinally, moved by the appeals of Valmiki and his wife, she clad herself in\nher richest robes, and, young and beautiful as when first won by Rama, she\nstood before him. Not deigning to look in his face, she appealed to the\nearth. If she had never loved any man but Rama, if her truth and purity\nwere known to the earth, let it open its bosom and take her to it. While\nthe armies stood trembling with horror, the earth opened, a gorgeous\nthrone appeared, and the goddess of earth, seated upon it, took Sita\nbeside her and conveyed her to the realms of eternal happiness, leaving\nthe too late repentant Rama to wear out his remaining years in shame and\npenitence.\n\n\n\n\nSELECTIONS FROM THE R\u00c2M\u00c2YANA.\n\nTHE DESCENT OF THE GANGES.\n\n\nSagara, an early king of Ayodhya, had sixty thousand sons, whom he sent\nout one day to recover a horse that had been designed for the great\nsacrifice, but had been stolen by a rakshasa. Having searched the earth\nunsuccessfully, they proceeded to dig into the lower regions.\n\n  Cloven with shovel and with hoe, pierced by axes and by spades,\n  Shrieked the earth in frantic woe; rose from out the yawning shades\n  Yells of anguish, hideous roars from the expiring brood of hell,--\n  Serpents, giants, and asoors, in the deep abyss that dwell.\n  Sixty thousand leagues in length, all unweary, full of wrath,\n  Through the centre, in their strength, clove they down their hellward\n    path.\n  And downward dug they many a rood, and downward till they saw aghast,\n  Where the earth-bearing elephant stood, ev'n like a mountain tall and\n    vast.\n  'T is he whose head aloft sustains the broad earth's forest-clothed\n    round,\n  With all its vast and spreading plains, and many a stately city crowned.\n  If underneath the o'erbearing load bows down his weary head, 't is then\n  The mighty earthquakes are abroad, and shaking down the abodes of men.\n  Around earth's pillar moved they slowly, and thus in humble accents\n    blest\n  Him the lofty and the holy, that bears the region of the East.\n  And southward dug they many a rood, until before their shuddering sight\n  The next earth-bearing elephant stood, huge Mahapadmas' mountain height.\n  Upon his head earth's southern bound, all full of wonder, saw they rest.\n  Slow and awe-struck paced they round, and him, earth's southern\n    pillar, blest.\n  Westward then their work they urge, king Sagara's six myriad race,\n  Unto the vast earth's western verge, and there in his appointed place\n  The next earth-bearing elephant stood, huge Saumanasa's mountain crest;\n  Around they paced in humble mood, and in like courteous phrase addrest,\n  And still their weary toil endure, and onward dig until they see\n  Last earth-bearing Himapandure, glorying in his majesty.\n\n_At last they reach the place where Vishnu appears with the horse. A flame\nissues from the mouth of the indignant deity and destroys the six myriad\nsons of Sagara, The adventure devolves on their brother Ansuman, who\nachieves it with perfect success. He is permitted to lead away the horse,\nbut the ashes of his brothers cannot be purified by earthly water; the\ngoddess Ganga must first be brought to earth, and having undergone\nlustration from that holy flood, the race of Sagara are to ascend to\nheaven. Brahma at last gives his permission to Ganga to descend. King\nBhagiratha takes his stand on the top of Gokarna, the sacred peak of\nHimavan (the Himalaya), and here_--\n\n  Stands with arms outstretch'd on high, amid five blazing fires, the one\n  Towards each quarter of the sky, the fifth the full meridian sun.\n  Mid fiercest frosts on snow he slept, the dry and withered leaves his\n    food,\n  Mid rains his roofless vigil kept, the soul and sense alike subdued.\n  High on the top of Himavan the mighty Mashawara stood;\n  And \"Descend,\" he gave the word to the heaven-meandering water--\n  Full of wrath the mandate heard Himavan's majestic daughter.\n  To a giant's stature soaring and intolerable speed,\n  From heaven's height down rushed she, pouring upon Siva's sacred head,\n  Him the goddess thought in scorn with her resistless might to sweep\n  By her fierce waves overborne, down to hell's remotest deep.\n\n  Down on Sankara's holy head, down the holy fell, and there,\n  Amid the entangling meshes spread, of his loose and flowing hair,\n  Vast and boundless as the woods upon the Himalaya's brow,\n  Nor ever may the struggling floods rush headlong to the earth below.\n  Opening, egress was not there, amid those winding, long meanders.\n  Within that labyrinthine hair, for many an age, the goddess wanders.\n\n_By the penances of the king, Siva is propitiated, and the stream, by\nseven channels, finds its way to the plains of India_.\n\n  Up the Raja at the sign upon his glittering chariot leaps,\n  Instant Ganga the divine follows his majestic steps.\n  From the high heaven burst she forth first on Siva's lofty crown,\n  Headlong then, and prone to earth thundering rushed the cataract down,\n  Swarms of bright-hued fish came dashing; turtles, dolphins in their\n    mirth,\n  Fallen or falling, glancing, flashing, to the many-gleaming earth.\n  And all the host of heaven came down, spirits and genii, in amaze,\n  And each forsook his heavenly throne, upon that glorious scene to gaze.\n  On cars, like high-towered cities, seen, with elephants and coursers\n    rode,\n  Or on soft swinging palanquin, lay wondering each observant god.\n  As met in bright divan each god, and flashed their jewell'd vestures'\n    rays,\n  The coruscating aether glow'd, as with a hundred suns ablaze.\n  And with the fish and dolphins gleaming, and scaly crocodiles and\n    snakes,\n  Glanc'd the air, as when fast streaming the blue lightning shoots and\n    breaks:\n  And in ten thousand sparkles bright went flashing up the cloudy spray,\n  The snowy flocking swans less white, within its glittering mists at\n    play.\n  And headlong now poured down the flood, and now in silver circlets\n    wound,\n  Then lake-like spread all bright and broad, then gently, gently flowed\n    around,\n  Then 'neath the caverned earth descending, then spouted up the boiling\n    tide,\n  Then stream with stream harmonious blending, swell bubbling up and\n    smooth subside.\n  By that heaven-welling water's breast, the genii and the sages stood,\n  Its sanctifying dews they blest, and plung'd within the lustral flood.\n  Whoe'er beneath the curse of heaven from that immaculate world had fled,\n  To th' impure earth in exile driven, to that all-holy baptism sped;\n  And purified from every sin, to the bright spirit's bliss restor'd,\n  Th' ethereal sphere they entered in, and through th' empyreal mansions\n    soar'd.\n  The world in solemn jubilee beheld those heavenly waves draw near,\n  From sin and dark pollution free, bathed in the blameless waters clear.\n  Swift king Bhagiratha drave upon his lofty glittering car,\n  And swift with her obeisant wave bright Ganga followed him afar.\n                                        _Milman's Translation._\n\n\n\n\nTHE DEATH OF YAJNADATTA.\n\n\nThe Raja Dasaratha was compelled to banish his favorite son Rama,\nimmediately after his marriage to Sita, because his banishment was\ndemanded by the Raja's wife Kaikeyi, to whom he had once promised to grant\nany request she might make. His grief at the loss of his son is described\nin this selection.\n\n  Scarce Rama to the wilderness had with his younger brother gone,\n  Abandoned to his deep distress, king Dasaratha sate alone.\n  Upon his sons to exile driven when thought that king, as Indra bright,\n  Darkness came o'er him, as in heaven when pales th' eclipsed sun his\n    light.\n  Six days he sate, and mourned and pined for Rama all that weary time.\n  At midnight on his wandering mind rose up his old forgotten crime.\n  His queen, Kausalya, the divine, addressed he, as she rested near:\n  \"Kausalya, if thou wakest, incline to thy lord's speech thy ready ear.\n  Whatever deed, or good or ill, by man, O blessed queen, is wrought.\n  Its proper fruit he gathers still, by time to slow perfection brought.\n  He who the opposing counsel's weight compares not in his judgment cool,\n  Or misery or bliss his fate, among the sage is deemed a fool.\n  As one that quits the Amra bower, the bright Palasa's pride to gain\n  Mocked by the promise of its flower, seeks its unripening fruit in vain,\n  So I the lovely Amra left for the Palasa's barren bloom,\n  Through mine own fatal error 'reft of banished Rama, mourn in gloom.\n  Kausalya! in my early youth by my keen arrow, at his mark\n  Aimed with too sure and deadly truth, was wrought a deed most fell and\n    dark.\n  At length, the evil that I did, hath fallen upon my fated head,\n  As when on subtle poison hid an unsuspecting child hath fed;\n  Even as that child unwittingly hath made the poisonous fare his food,\n  Even so, in ignorance by me was wrought that deed of guilt and blood.\n  Unwed wert thou in virgin bloom, and I in youth's delicious prime,\n  The season of the rains had come,--that soft and love enkindling time.\n  Earth's moisture all absorbed, the sun through all the world its warmth\n    had spread,\n  Turned from the north, its course begun, where haunt the spirits of the\n    dead:\n  Gathering o'er all the horizon's bound on high the welcome clouds\n    appeared,\n  Exulting, all the birds flew round,--cranes, cuckoos, peacocks, flew and\n    veered.\n  And all down each wide-watered shore the troubled, yet still limpid\n    floods,\n  Over their banks began to pour, as o'er them hung the bursting clouds.\n  And, saturate with cloud-born dew, the glittering verdant-mantled earth,\n  The cuckoos and the peacocks flew, disputing as in drunken mirth.--\n\n  \"In such a time, so soft, so bland, oh beautiful! I chanced to go.\n  With quiver and with bow in hand, where clear Sarayu's waters flow,\n  If haply to the river's brink at night the buffalo might stray,\n  Or elephant, the stream to drink,--intent my savage game to slay.\n  Then of a water cruse, as slow it filled, the gurgling sound I heard,\n  Nought saw I, but the sullen low of elephant that sound appeared.\n  The swift well-feathered arrow I upon the bowstring fitting straight,\n  Towards the sound the shaft let fly, ah, cruelly deceived by fate!\n  The winged arrow scarce had flown, and scarce had reached its destined\n    aim,\n  'Ah me, I'm slain,' a feeble moan in trembling human accents came.\n  'Ah, whence hath come this fatal shaft against a poor recluse like me,\n  Who shot that bolt with deadly craft,--alas! what cruel man is he?\n  At the lone midnight had I come to draw the river's limpid flood,\n  And here am struck to death, by whom? ah whose this wrongful deed of\n    blood?\n  Alas! and in my parents' heart, the old, the blind, and hardly fed,\n  In the wild wood, hath pierced the dart, that here hath struck their\n    offspring dead.\n  Ah, deed most profitless as worst, a deed of wanton useless guilt:\n  As though a pupil's hand accurs'd his holy master's blood had spilt.\n  But not mine own untimely fate,--it is not that which I deplore.\n  My blind, my aged parents' state--'tis their distress afflicts me more.\n  That sightless pair, for many a day, from me their scanty food have\n    earned;\n  What lot is theirs when I'm away, to the five elements returned?\n  Alike, all wretched they, as I--ah, whose this triple deed of blood?\n  For who the herbs will now supply,--the roots, the fruit, their\n    blameless food?'\n  My troubled soul, that plaintive moan no sooner heard, so faint and low,\n  Trembled to look on what I'd done, fell from my shuddering hand my bow.\n  Swift I rushed up, I saw him there, heart-pierced, and fallen the stream\n    beside,\n  The hermit boy with knotted hair,--his clothing was the black deer's\n    hide.\n  On me most piteous turned his look, his wounded breast could scarce\n    respire,\n  And these the words, O queen, he spoke, as to consume me in his ire:\n  'What wrong, O Kshatriya, have I done, to be thy deathful arrow's aim,\n  The forest's solitary son, to draw the limpid stream I came.\n  Both wretched and both blind they lie, in the wildwood all destitute,\n  My parents, listening anxiously to hear my home-returning foot.\n  By this, thy fatal shaft, this one, three miserable victims fall,\n  The sire, the mother, and the son--ah why? and unoffending all.\n  How vain my father's life austere, the Veda's studied page how vain,\n  He knew not with prophetic fear his son would fall untimely slain.\n  But had he known, to one as he, so weak, so blind, 't were bootless all,\n  No tree can save another tree by the sharp hatchet marked to fall.\n  But to my father's dwelling haste, O Raghu's son, lest in his ire\n  Thy head with burning curse he blast, as the dry forest tree the fire.\n  Thee to my father's lone retreat will quickly lead yon onward path,\n  Oh, haste his pardon to entreat, or ere he curse thee in his wrath.\n  Yet first that gently I may die, draw forth the barbed steel from hence,\n  Allay thy fears, no Brahmin I, not thine of Brahmin blood the offence.\n  My sire, a Brahmin hermit he, my mother was of Sudra race.'\n  So spake the wounded boy, on me while turned his unreproaching face.\n  As from his palpitating breast I gently drew the mortal dart,\n  He saw me trembling stand, and blest that boy's pure spirit seemed to\n    part.\n  As died that holy hermit's son, from me my glory seemed to go,\n  With troubled mind I stood, cast down t' inevitable endless woe.\n  That shaft that seemed his life to burn like serpent venom, thus drawn\n    out,\n  I, taking up his fallen urn, t' his father's dwelling took my route.\n  There miserable, blind, and old, of their sole helpmate thus forlorn,\n  His parents did these eyes behold, like two sad birds with pinions\n    shorn.\n  Of him in fond discourse they sate, lone, thinking only of their son,\n  For his return so long, so late, impatient, oh by me undone.\n  My footsteps' sound he seemed to know, and thus the aged hermit said,\n  'O Yajnadatta, why so slow?--haste, let the cooling draught be shed.\n  Long on the river's cooling brink hast thou been sporting in thy joy.\n  Thy mother's fainting spirits sink in fear for thee; but thou, my boy,\n  If aught to grieve thy gentle heart thy mother or thy sire do wrong,\n  Bear with us, nor, when next we part, on the slow way thus linger long,\n  The feet of those that cannot move, of those that cannot see the eye,\n  Our spirits live but in thy love,--oh wherefore, dearest, no reply?'\n\n  \"My throat thick swollen with bursting tears, my power of speech that\n    seemed to choke,\n  With hands above my head, my fears breaking my quivering voice, I spoke:\n  The Kshatriya Dasaratha I, O hermit sage, 't is not thy son!\n  Most holy ones, unknowingly a deed of awful guilt I've done.\n  With bow in hand I took my way along Sarayu's pleasant brink,\n  The savage buffalo to slay, or elephant come down to drink.\n\n  \"A sound came murmuring to my ear,--'twas of the urn that slowly filled,\n  I deemed some savage wild-beast near,--my erring shaft thy son had\n    killed.\n  A feeble groan I heard, his breast was pierced by that dire arrow keen:\n  All trembling to the spot I pressed, lo there thy hermit boy was seen.\n  Flew to the sound my arrow, meant the wandering elephant to slay,\n  Toward the river brink it went,--and there thy son expiring lay.\n  The fatal shaft when forth I drew, to heaven his parting spirit soared,\n  Dying he only thought of you, long, long, your lonely lot deplored.\n  Thus ignorantly did I slay your child beloved, O hermit sage!\n  Turn thou on me, whose fated day is come, thy all-consuming rage!'\n  He heard my dreadful tale at length, he stood all lifeless, motionless;\n  Then deep he groaned, and gathering strength, me the meek suppliant did\n    address.\n  'Kshatriya, 't is well that thou hast turned, thy deed of murder to\n    rehearse,\n  Else over all thy land had burned the fire of my wide-wasting curse.\n  If with premeditated crime the unoffending blood thou 'dst spilt,\n  The Thunderer on his throne sublime had shaken at such tremendous guilt.\n  Against the anchorite's sacred head, hadst, knowing, aimed thy shaft\n    accursed,\n  In th' holy Vedas deeply read, thy skull in seven wide rents had burst.\n  But since, unwitting, thou hast wrought that deed of death, thou livest\n    still,\n  O son of Taghu, from thy thought dismiss all dread of instant ill.\n  Oh lead me to that doleful spot where my poor boy expiring lay,\n  Beneath the shaft thy fell hand shot, of my blind age the staff, the\n    stay.\n  On the cold earth 'twere yet a joy to touch my perished child again,\n  (So long if I may live) my boy in one last fond embrace to strain\n  His body all bedewed with gore, his locks in loose disorder thrown,\n  Let me, let her but touch once more, to the dread realm of Yama gone.'\n  Then to that fatal place I brought alone that miserable pair;\n  His sightless hands and hers I taught to touch their boy that slumbered\n    there.\n  Nor sooner did they feel him lie, on the moist herbage coldly thrown,\n  But with a shrill and feeble cry upon the body cast them down.\n  The mother as she lay and groaned, addressed her boy with quivering\n    tongue,\n  And like a heifer sadly moaned, just plundered of her new-dropped young:\n\n  \"'Was not thy mother once, my son, than life itself more dear to thee?\n  Why the long way thou hast begun, without one gentle word to me?\n  One last embrace, and then, beloved, upon thy lonely journey go!\n  Alas! with anger art thou moved, that not a word thou wilt bestow?'\n\n  \"The miserable father now with gentle touch each cold limb pressed,\n  And to the dead his words of woe, as to his living son addressed:\n  'I too, my son, am I not here?--thy sire with thy sad mother stands;\n  Awake, arise, my child, draw near, and clasp each neck with loving\n    hands.\n  Who now, 'neath the dark wood by night, a pious reader shall be heard?\n  Whose honeyed voice my ear delight with th' holy Veda's living word?\n  The evening prayer, th' ablution done, the fire adored with worship\n    meet,\n  Who now shall soothe like thee, my son, with fondling hand, my aged\n    feet?\n  And who the herb, the wholesome root, or wild fruit from the wood shall\n    bring?\n  To us the blind, the destitute, with helpless hunger perishing?\n  Thy blind old mother, heaven-resigned, within our hermit-dwelling lone,\n  How shall I tend, myself as blind, now all my strength of life is gone?\n  Oh, stay, my child, oh. Part not yet, to Yama's dwelling go not now,\n  To-morrow forth we all will set,--thy mother and myself and thou:\n  For both, in grief for thee, and both so helpless, ere another day,\n  From this dark world, but little loath, shall we depart, death's easy\n    prey!\n  And I myself, by Yama's seat, companion of thy darksome way,\n  The guerdon to thy virtues meet from that great Judge of men will pray.\n  Because, my boy, in innocence, by wicked deed thou hast been slain,\n  Rise, where the heroes dwell, who thence ne'er stoop to this dark world\n  again.\n  Those that to earth return no more, the sense-subdued, the hermits wise,\n  Priests their sage masters that adore, to their eternal seats arise.\n  Those that have studied to the last the Veda's, the Vedanga's page,\n  Where saintly kings of earth have passed, Nahusa and Yayati sage;\n  The sires of holy families, the true to wedlock's sacred vow;\n  And those that cattle, gold, or rice, or lands, with liberal hands\n    bestow;\n  That ope th' asylum to th' oppressed, that ever love, and speak the\n    truth;\n  Up to the dwellings of the blest, th' eternal, soar thou, best-loved\n    youth.\n  For none of such a holy race within the lowest seat may dwell;\n  But that will be his fatal place by whom my only offspring fell.'\n\n  \"So groaning deep, that wretched pair, the hermit and his wife, essayed\n  The meet ablution to prepare, their hands their last faint effort made.\n  Divine, with glorious body bright, in splendid car of heaven elate,\n  Before them stood their son in light, and thus consoled their helpless\n    state:\n  'Meed of my duteous filial care, I've reached the wished for realms of\n    joy;\n  And ye, in those glad realms, prepare to meet full soon your dear-loved\n    boy.\n  My parents, weep no more for me, yon warrior monarch slew me not,\n  My death was thus ordained to be, predestined was the shaft he shot.'\n  Thus as he spoke, the anchorite's son soared up the glowing heaven afar,\n  In air his heavenly body shone, while stood he in his gorgeous car.\n  But they, of that lost boy so dear the last ablution meetly made,\n  Thus spoke to me that holy seer, with folded hands above his head.\n  'Albeit by thy unknowing dart my blameless boy untimely fell,\n  A curse I lay upon thy heart, whose fearful pain I know too well.\n  As sorrowing for my son I bow, and yield up my unwilling breath,\n  So, sorrowing for thy son shalt thou at life's last close repose in\n    death.'\n  That curse dread sounding in mine ear, to mine own city forth I set,\n  Nor long survived that hermit seer, to mourn his child in lone regret.\n  This day that Brahmin curse fulfilled hath fallen on my devoted head,\n  In anguish for my parted child have all my sinking spirits fled.\n  No more my darkened eyes can see, my clouded memory is o'ercast,\n  Dark Yama's heralds summon me to his deep, dreary realm to haste.\n  Mine eye no more my Rama sees, and grief-o'erborne, my spirits sink,\n  As the swoln stream sweeps down the trees that grow upon the crumbling\n    brink.\n  Oh, felt I Rama's touch, or spake one word his home-returning voice,\n  Again to life I should awake, as quaffing nectar draughts, rejoice,\n  But what so sad could e'er have been, celestial partner of my heart,\n  As Rama's beauteous face unseen, from life untimely to depart?\n  His exile in the forest o'er, him home returned to Oude's high town,\n  Oh happy those, that see once more, like Indra from the sky come down.\n  No mortal men, but gods I deem,--moonlike, before whose wondering sight\n  My Rama's glorious face shall beam, from the dark forest bursting\n    bright.\n  Happy that gaze on Rama's face with beauteous teeth and smile of love,\n  Like the blue lotus in its grace, and like the starry king above.\n  Like to the full autumnal moon, and like the lotus in its bloom,\n  That youth who sees returning soon,--how blest shall be that mortal's\n    doom.\"\n  Dwelling in that sweet memory, on his last bed the monarch lay,\n  And slowly, softly seemed to die, as fades the moon at dawn away.\n  \"Ah, Rama! ah, my son!\" thus said, or scarcely said, the king of men,\n  His gentle hapless spirit fled in sorrow for his Rama then,\n  The shepherd of his people old at midnight on his bed of death,\n  The tale of his son's exile told, and breathed away his dying breath.\n                                         _Milman's Translation._\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE MAH\u00c2-BH\u00c2RATA.\n\n\n\"It is a deep and noble forest, abounding in delicious fruits and fragrant\nflowers, shaded and watered by perennial springs.\"\n\nThough parts of the Mah\u00e2-Bh\u00e2rata, or story of the great war, are of great\nantiquity, the entire poem was undoubtedly collected and re-written in the\nfirst or second century A. D. Tradition ascribes the Mah\u00e2-Bh\u00e2rata to the\nBrahman Krishna Dwaipayana Vyasa.\n\nThe Mah\u00e2-Bh\u00e2rata, unlike the R\u00e2m\u00e2yana, is not the story of some great\nevent, but consists of countless episodes, legends, and philosophical\ntreatises, strung upon the thread of a single story. These episodes are\ncalled Upakhyanani, and the five most beautiful are called, in India, the\nfive precious stones.\n\nIts historical basis is the strife between the Aryan invaders of India and\nthe original inhabitants, illustrated in the strife between the sons of\nthe Raja Pandu and the blind Raja, Dhrita-rashtra, which forms the main\nstory of the poem.\n\nThough marred by the exaggerations peculiar to the Hindu, the poem is a\ngreat treasure house of Indian history, and from it the Indian poets,\nhistorical writers, and philosophers have drawn much of their material.\n\nThe Mah\u00e2-Bh\u00e2rata is written in the Sanskrit language; it is the longest\npoem ever written, its eighteen cantos containing two hundred thousand\nlines.\n\nIt is held in even higher regard than the R\u00e2m\u00e2yana, and the reading of it\nis supposed to confer upon the happy reader every good and perfect gift.\n\n\n\n\nBIBLIOGRAPHY AND CRITICISM, THE MAH\u00c2-BH\u00c2RATA.\n\n\nG.W. Cox's Mythology and Folklore, 1881, p. 313;\n\nJohn Dowson's Classical Dictionary of Hindu Mythology, Religion,\nGeography, History, and Literature, 1879;\n\nF. Max M\u00fcller's Ancient Sanskrit Literature, 1859 (Introduction);\n\nE. A. Reed's Hindu Literature, 1891, pp. 272-352;\n\nAlbrecht Weber's History of Indian Literature, 1878, pp. 184-191;\n\nJ. T. Wheeler's History of India, 4 vols., 1876, vol. ii.;\n\nJ. C. Oman's Great Indian Epics, 1874, pp. 87-231;\n\nT. Goldstuecker's Hindu Epic Poetry; the Mah\u00e2-Bh\u00e2rata Literary Remains,\n1879, (vol. ii., pp. 86-145);\n\nM. Macmillan's Globe-trotter in India, 1815, p. 193;\n\nJ. Peile's Notes on the Tales of Nala, 1882;\n\nC. J. Stone's Cradle-land of Arts and Creeds, 1880, pp. 36-49;\n\nH. H. Wilson's Introduction to the Mah\u00e2-Bh\u00e2rata and a Translation of three\nExtracts (in his Works, vol. iii., p. 277); Westminster Review, 1868, vol.\nxxxiii., p. 380.\n\n\n\n\nSTANDARD ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS, THE MAH\u00c2-BH\u00c2RATA.\n\n\nThe Mah\u00e2-Bh\u00e2rata, Selections from the Tr. by Sir Edwin Arnold, in his\nIndian Poetry, 1886; in his Indian Idylls, 1883;\n\nNala and Damayanti and other Poems, Tr. from the Mah\u00e2-Bh\u00e2rata by\nH. H. Milman, (his translation of the Story of Nala is edited with notes by\nMonier Williams, 1879);\n\nMetrical translations from Sanskrit writers by John Muir, 1879, pp. 13-37;\n\nLast Days of Krishna, Tr. from the Mah\u00e2-Bh\u00e2rata Price (Oriental\nTranslation Fund: Miscellaneous Translations);\n\nThe Mah\u00e2-Bh\u00e2rata, an English Prose Translation with notes, by Protap\nChandra Roy, Published in one hundred parts, 1883-1890;\n\nAsiatic Researches, Tr. by H. H. Wilson, from the Mah\u00e2-Bh\u00e2rata vol. xv.,\np. 101;\n\nTranslations of episodes from the Mah\u00e2-Bh\u00e2rata, in Scribner's Monthly,\n1874, vol. vii., p. 385;\n\nInternational Review, vol. x., pp. 36, 297; Oriental Magazine, Dec., 1824,\nMarch, Sept., 1825, Sept., 1826.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE MAH\u00c2-BH\u00c2RATA.\n\n\nLong ago there dwelt in India two great Rajas who were brothers, the Raja\nPandu and the blind Raja, Dhritarashtra. The former had five noble sons\ncalled the Pandavas, the eldest of whom was Yudhi-sthira, the second\nBhima, the third Arjuna, and the youngest, twin sons, Nakalu and Sahadeva.\nAll were girted in every way, but Arjuna was especially noble in form and\nfeature.\n\nThe blind Raja had a family of one hundred sons, called the Kauravas from\ntheir ancestor, Kura. The oldest of these was Duryodhana, and the bravest,\nDhusasana.\n\nBefore the birth of Pandu's sons, he had left his kingdom in charge of\nDhrita-rashtra, that he might spend his time in hunting in the forests on\nthe slopes of the Himalayas. After his death Dhrita-rashtra continued to\nrule the kingdom; but on account of their claim to the throne, he invited\nthe Pandavas and their mother to his court, where they were trained,\ntogether with his sons, in every knightly exercise.\n\nThere was probably jealousy between the cousins from the beginning, and\nwhen their teacher, Drona, openly expressed his pride in the wonderful\narchery of Arjuna, the hatred of the Kauravas was made manifest. No\ndisturbance occurred, however, until the day when Drona made a public\ntournament to display the prowess of his pupils.\n\nThe contests were in archery and the use of the noose and of clubs. Bhima,\nwho had been endowed by the serpent king with the strength of ten thousand\nelephants, especially excelled in the use of the club, Nakalu was most\nskillful in taming and driving the horse, and the others in the use of the\nsword and spear. When Arjuna made use of the bow and the noose the\nplaudits with which the spectators greeted his skill so enraged the\nKauravas that they turned the contest of clubs, which was to have been a\nfriendly one, into a degrading and blood-shedding battle. The spectators\nleft the splendid lists in sorrow, and the blind Raja determined to\nseparate the unfriendly cousins before further harm could come from their\nrivalry.\n\nBefore this could be done, another event increased their hostility. Drona\nhad agreed to impart to the Kauravas and the Pandavas his skill in\nwarfare, on condition that they would conquer for him his old enemy, the\nRaja of Panchala. On account of their quarrel the cousins would not fight\ntogether, and the Kauravas, marching against the Raja, were defeated. On\ntheir return, the Pandavas went to Panchala, and took the Raja prisoner.\n\nAfter Yudhi-sthira had been appointed Yuva-Raja, a step Dhrita-rashtra was\ncompelled by the people of Hastinapur to take, the Kauravas declared that\nthey could no longer remain in the same city with their cousins.\n\nA plot was laid to destroy the Pandavas, the Raja's conscience having been\nquieted by the assurances of his Brahman counsellor that it was entirely\nproper to slay one's foe, be he father, brother, or friend, openly or by\nsecret means. The Raja accordingly pretended to send his nephews on a\npleasure-trip to a distant province, where he had prepared for their\nreception a \"house of lac,\" rendered more combustible by soaking in\nclarified butter, in which he had arranged to have them burned as if by\naccident, as soon as possible after their arrival.\n\nAll Hastinapur mourned at the departure of the Pandavas, and the princes\nthemselves were sad, for they had been warned by a friend that\nDhrita-rashtra had plotted for their destruction. They took up their abode\nin the house of lac, to which they prudently constructed a subterranean\noutlet, and one evening, when a woman with five sons attended a feast of\ntheir mother's, uninvited, and fell into a drunken sleep, they made fast\nthe doors, set fire to the house, and escaped to the forest. The bodies of\nthe five men and their mother were found next day, and the assurance was\nborne to Hastinapur that the Pandavas and their mother Kunti had perished\nby fire.\n\nThe five princes, with their mother, disguised as Brahmans, spent several\nyears wandering through the forests, having many strange adventures and\nslaying many demons. While visiting Ekachakra, which city they freed from\na frightful rakshasa, they were informed by the sage Vyasa that Draupadi,\nthe lovely daughter of the Raja Draupada of Panchala, was going to hold a\nSvayamvara in order to select a husband. The suitors of a princess\nfrequently attended a meeting of this sort and took part in various\nathletic contests, at the end of which the princess signified who was most\npleasing to her, usually the victor in the games, by hanging around his\nneck a garland of flowers.\n\nVyasa's description of the lovely princess, whose black eyes were large as\nlotus leaves, whose skin was dusky, and her locks dark and curling, so\nexcited the curiosity of the Pandavas that they determined to attend the\nSvayamvara. They found the city full of princes and kings who had come to\ntake part in the contest for the most beautiful woman in the world. The\ngreat amphitheatre in which the games were to take place was surrounded by\ngold and jewelled palaces for the accommodation of the princes, and with\nplatforms for the convenience of the spectators.\n\nAfter music, dancing, and various entertainments, which occupied sixteen\ndays, the contest of skill began. On the top of a tall pole, erected in\nthe plain, was placed a golden fish, below which revolved a large wheel.\nHe who sent his arrow through the spokes of the wheel and pierced the eye\nof the golden fish was to be the accepted suitor of Draupadi.\n\nWhen the princes saw the difficulty of the contest, many of them refused\nto enter it; as many tried it only to fail, among them, the Kaurava\nDuryodhana. At last Arjuna, still in his disguise, stepped forward, drew\nhis bow, and sent his arrow through the wheel into the eye of the golden\nfish.\n\nImmediately a great uproar arose among the spectators because a Brahman\nhad entered a contest limited to members of the Kshatriya, or warrior\nclass. In the struggle which ensued, however, Arjuna, assisted by his\nbrothers, especially Bhima, succeeded in carrying off the princess, whose\nfather did not demur.\n\nWhen the princes returned to their hut they went into the inner room and\ninformed their mother that they had brought home a prize. Supposing that\nit was some game, she told them it would be well to share it equally. The\nmother's word was law, but would the gods permit them to share Draupadi?\nTheir troubled minds were set at rest by Vyasa, who assured them that\nDraupadi had five different times in former existences besought Siva for a\ngood husband. He had refused her requests then, but would now allow her\nfive husbands at once. The princes were well satisfied, and when the Raja\nDraupada learned that the Brahmans were great princes in disguise, he\ncaused the five weddings to be celebrated in great state.\n\nNot satisfied with this, the Raja at once endeavored to make peace between\nthe Pandavas and their hostile cousins, and succeeded far enough to induce\nDhrita-rashtra to cede to his nephews a tract of land in the farthest part\nof his kingdom, on the river Jumna, where they set about founding a most\nsplendid city, Indra-prastha.\n\nHere they lived happily with Draupadi, conquering so many kingdoms and\naccumulating so much wealth that they once more aroused the jealousy of\ntheir old enemies, the Kauravas. The latter, knowing that it would be\nimpossible to gain the advantage of them by fair means, determined to\nconquer them by artifice, and accordingly erected a large and magnificent\nhall and invited their cousins thither, with a great show of friendliness,\nto a gambling match.\n\nThe Pandavas knew they would not be treated fairly, but as such an\ninvitation could not be honorably declined by a Kshatriya, they went to\nHastinapur. Yudhi-sthira's opponent was Shakuni, the queen's brother, an\nunprincipled man, by whom he was defeated in every game.\n\nYudhi-sthira staked successively his money, his jewels, and his slaves;\nand when these were exhausted, he continued to play, staking his kingdom,\nhis brothers, and last of all his peerless wife, Draupadi.\n\nAt this point, when the excitement was intense, the brutal Dhusasana\ncommanded Draupadi to be brought into the hall, and insulted her in every\nway, to the great rage of the helpless Pandavas, until Dhrita-rashtra,\naffrighted by the evil omens by which the gods signified their\ndisapproval, rebuked Dhusasana for his conduct, and giving Draupadi her\nwish, released her husbands and herself and sent them back to their\nkingdom.\n\nTo prevent the Pandavas from gaining time to avenge their insult, the\nKauravas induced their father to invite their cousins to court to play a\nfinal game, this time the conditions being that the losing party should go\ninto exile for thirteen years, spending twelve years in the forest and the\nthirteenth in some city. If their disguise was penetrated by their enemies\nduring the thirteenth year, the exile was to be extended for another\nthirteen years.\n\nThough they knew the outcome, the Pandavas accepted the second invitation,\nand in consequence again sought the forest, not departing without the most\nterrible threats against their cousins.\n\nIn the forest of Kamyaka, Yudhi-sthira studied the science of dice that he\nmight not again be defeated so disastrously, and journeyed pleasantly from\none point of interest to another with Draupadi and his brothers, with the\nexception of Arjuna, who had sought the Himalayas to gain favor with the\ngod Siva, that he might procure from him a terrible weapon for the\ndestruction of his cousins.\n\nAfter he had obtained the weapon he was lifted into the heaven of the god\nIndra, where he spent five happy years. When he rejoined his wife and\nbrothers, they were visited by the god Krishna and by the sage Markandeya,\nwho told them the story of the creation and destruction of the universe,\nof the flood, and of the doctrine of Karma, which instructs one that man's\nsufferings here below are due to his actions in former and forgotten\nexistences. He also related to them the beautiful story of how the\nPrincess S\u00e2vitr\u00ee had wedded the Prince Satyavan, knowing that the gods had\ndecreed that he should die within a year; how on the day set for his death\nshe had accompanied him to the forest, had there followed Yama, the awful\ngod of death, entreating him until, for very pity of her sorrow and\nadmiration of her courage and devotion, he yielded to her her husband's\nsoul.\n\nNear the close of the twelfth year of their exile, the princes, fatigued\nfrom a hunt, sent Nakalu to get some water from a lake which one had\ndiscovered from a tree-top. As the prince approached the lake he was\nwarned by a voice not to touch it, but thirst overcoming fear, he drank\nand fell dead. The same penalty was paid by Sahadeva, Arjuna, and Bhima,\nwho in turn followed him. Yudhi-sthira, who went last, obeyed the voice,\nwhich, assuming a terrible form, asked the king questions on many subjects\nconcerning the universe. These being answered satisfactorily, the being\ndeclared himself to be Dharma, the god of justice, Yudhi-sthira's father,\nand in token of his affection for his son, restored the princes to life,\nand granted them the boon of being unrecognizable during the remaining\nyear of their exile.\n\nThe thirteenth year of their exile they spent in the city of Virata, where\nthey entered the service of the Raja,--Yudhi-sthira as teacher of\ndice-playing, Bhima as superintendent of the cooks, Arjuna as a teacher of\nmusic and dancing to the ladies, Nakalu as master of horse, and Sahadeva\nas superintendent of the cattle. Draupadi, who entered the service of the\nqueen, was so attractive, even in disguise, that Bhima was forced to kill\nthe queen's brother, Kechaka, for insulting her. This would have caused\nthe Pandavas' exile from Virata had not their services been needed in a\nbattle between Virata and the king of the Trigartas.\n\nThe Kauravas assisted the Trigartas in this battle, and the recognition,\namong the victors, of their cousins, whose thirteenth year of exile was\nnow ended, added to the bitterness of their defeat.\n\nTheir exile over, the Pandavas were free to make preparations for the\ngreat war which they had determined to wage against the Kauravas. Both\nparties, anxious to enlist the services of Krishna, sent envoys to him at\nthe same time. When Krishna gave them the choice of himself or his armies,\nArjuna was shrewd enough to choose the god, leaving his hundreds of\nmillions of soldiers to swell the forces of the Kauravas.\n\nWhen their preparations were completed, and the time had come to wreak\nvengeance on their cousins, the Pandavas were loath to begin the conflict.\nThey seemed to understand that, war once declared, there could be no\ncompromise, but that it must be a war for extinction. But the Kauravas\nreceived their proposals of peace with taunts, and heaped insults upon\ntheir emissary.\n\nWhen the Pandavas found that there was no hope of peace, they endeavored\nto win to their side Karna, who was really a son of Kunti, and hence their\nhalf-brother, though this fact had not been made known to him until he had\nlong been allied with the Kauravas. In anticipation of this war, the gods,\nby a bit of trickery, had robbed Karna of his god-given armor and weapons.\nHowever, neither celestial artifice, the arguments of Krishna, nor the\nentreaties of Kunti were able to move Karna from what he considered the\npath of duty, though he promised that while he would fight with all his\nstrength, he would not slay Yudhi-sthira, Bhima, and the twins.\n\nThe forces of the two armies were drawn up on the plain of Kuruk-shetra.\nThe army of the Kauravas was under the command of the terrible Bhishma,\nthe uncle of Pandu and Dhrita-rashtra, who had governed the country during\nthe minority of Pandu.\n\nEach side was provided with billions and billions of infantry, cavalry,\nand elephants; the warriors were supplied with weapons of the most\ndangerous sort. The army of the Kauravas was surrounded by a deep trench\nfortified by towers, and further protected by fireballs and jars full of\nscorpions to be thrown at the assailants.\n\nAs night fell, before the battle, the moon's face was stained with blood,\nearthquakes shook the land, and the images of the gods fell from their\nplaces.\n\nThe next morning, when Arjuna, from his chariot, beheld the immense army,\nhe was appalled at the thought of the bloodshed to follow, and hesitated\nto advance. Krishna insisted that it was unnecessary for him to lament,\nsetting forth his reasons in what is known as the Bhagavat-gita, the\ndivine song, in which he said it was no sin to slay a foe, since death is\nbut a transmigration from one form to another. The soul can never cease to\nbe; who then can destroy it? Therefore, when Arjuna slew his cousins he\nwould merely remove their offensive bodies; their souls, unable to be\ndestroyed, would seek other habitations. To further impress Arjuna,\nKrishna boasted of himself as embodying everything, and as having passed\nthrough many forms. Faith in Krishna was indispensable, for the god placed\nfaith above either works or contemplation. He next exhibited himself in\nhis divine form to Arjuna, and the warrior was horror-stricken at the\nterrible divinity with countless arms, hands, and heads, touching the\nskies. Having been thus instructed by Krishna, Arjuna went forth, and the\neighteen days' battle began.\n\nThe slaughter was wholesale; no quarter was asked or given, since each\nside was determined to exterminate the other. Flights of arrows were\nstopped in mid-air by flights of arrows from the other side. Great maces\nwere cut in pieces by well-directed darts. Bhima, wielding his great club\nwith his prodigious strength, wiped out thousands of the enemy at one\nstroke, and Arjuna did the same with his swift arrows. Nor were the\nKauravas to be despised. Hundreds of thousands of the Pandavas' followers\nfell, and the heroic brothers were themselves struck by many arrows.\n\nEarly in the battle the old Bhishma was pierced by so many arrows that,\nfalling from his chariot, he rested upon their points as on a couch, and\nlay there living by his own desire, until long after the battle.\n\nAfter eighteen days of slaughter, during which the field reeked with blood\nand night was made horrible by the cries of the jackals and other beasts\nof prey that devoured the bodies of the dead, the Kauravas were all slain,\nand the five Pandavas, reconciled to the blind Raja, accompanied him back\nto Hastinapur, where Yudhi-sthira was crowned Raja, although the Raj was\nstill nominally under the rule of his old uncle.\n\nYudhi-sthira celebrated his accession to the throne by the performance of\nthe great sacrifice, which was celebrated with the utmost splendor. After\nseveral years the unhappy Dhrita-rashtra retired with his wife to a jungle\non the banks of the Ganges, leaving Yudhi-sthira in possession of the\nkingdom. There the Pandavas visited him, and talked over the friends who\nhad fallen in the great war. One evening the sage Vyasa instructed them to\nbathe in the Ganges and then stand on the banks of the river. He then went\ninto the water and prayed, and coming out stood by Yudhi-sthira and called\nthe names of all those persons who had been slain at Kuruk-shetra.\nImmediately the water began to foam and boil, and to the great surprise\nand terror of all, the warriors lost in the great battle appeared in their\nchariots, at perfect peace with one another, and cleansed of all earthly\nstain. Then the living were happy with the dead; long separated families\nwere once more united, and the hearts that had been desolate for fifteen\nlong years were again filled with joy. The night sped quickly by in tender\nconversation, and when morning came, all the dead mounted into their\nchariots and disappeared. Those who had come to meet them prepared to\nleave the river, but with the permission of Vyasa, the widows drowned\nthemselves that they might rejoin their husbands.\n\nNot long after his return to Hastinapur, Yudhi-sthira heard that the old\nRaja and his wife had lost their lives in a jungle-fire; and soon after\nthis, tidings came to him of the destruction of the city of the Yadavas,\nthe capital of Krishna, in punishment for the dissipation of its\ninhabitants.\n\nYudhi-sthira's reign of thirty-six years had been a succession of gloomy\nevents, and he began to grow weary of earth and to long for the blessings\npromised above. He therefore determined to make the long and weary\npilgrimage to Heaven without waiting for death. According to the\nMah\u00e2-Bh\u00e2rata, the earth was divided into seven concentric rings, each of\nwhich was surrounded by an ocean or belt separating it from the next\nannular continent. The first ocean was of salt water; the second, of the\njuice of the sugar-cane; the third, of wine; the fourth, of clarified\nbutter; the fifth, of curdled milk; the sixth, of sweet milk; the seventh,\nof fresh water. In the centre of this vast annular system Mount Meru rose\nto the height of sixty-four thousand miles.\n\nUpon this mountain was supposed to rest the heaven of the Hindus, and\nthither Yudhi-sthira proposed to make his pilgrimage. His brothers and\ntheir wife Draupadi insisted on going with him, for all were equally weary\nof the world. Their people would fain have accompanied them, but the\nprinces sent them back and went unaccompanied save by their faithful dog.\nThey kept on, fired by their high resolves, until they reached the long\nand dreary waste of sand that stretched before Mount Meru. There Draupadi\nfell and yielded up her life, and Yudhi-sthira, never turning to look\nback, told the questioning Bhima that she died because she loved her\nhusbands better than all else, better than heaven. Next Sahadeva fell,\nthen Nakalu, and afterwards Arjuna and Bhima. Yudhi-sthira, still striding\non, informed Bhima that pride had slain the first, self-love the second,\nthe sin of Arjuna was a lie, and Bhima had loved too well the good things\nof earth.\n\nFollowed by the dog, Yudhi-sthira pushed across the barren sand until he\nreached the mount and stood in the presence of the god. Well pleased with\nhis perseverance, the god promised him the reward of entering into heaven\nin his own form, but he refused to go unless the dog could accompany him.\nAfter vainly attempting to dissuade him, the god allowed the dog to assume\nits proper form, and lo! it was Dharma, the god of justice, and the two\nentered heaven together.\n\nBut where were Draupadi and the gallant princes, her husbands?\nYudhi-sthira could see them nowhere, and he questioned only to learn that\nthey were in hell. His determination was quickly taken. There could be no\nheaven for him unless his brothers and their wife could share it with him.\nHe demanded to be shown the path to hell, to enter which he walked over\nrazors, and trod under foot mangled human forms. But joy of joys! The\nlotus-eyed Draupadi called to him, and his brothers cried that his\npresence in hell brought a soothing breeze that gave relief to all the\ntortured souls.\n\nYudhi-sthira's self-sacrifice sufficiently tested, the gods proclaimed\nthat it was all but an illusion shown to make him enjoy the more, by\ncontrast, the blisses of heaven. The king Yudhi-sthira then bathed in the\ngreat river flowing through three worlds, and, washed from all sins and\nsoils, went up, hand in hand with the gods, to his brothers, the Pandavas,\nand\n\n  \"Lotus-eyed and loveliest Draupadi,\n   Waiting to greet him, gladdening and glad.\"\n\n\n\n\nSELECTIONS FROM THE MAH\u00c2-BH\u00c2RATA.\n\nS\u00c2VITRI, OR LOVE AND DEATH.\n\n\nThe beautiful princess S\u00e2vitri of her own choice wedded the prince\nSatyavan, son of a blind and exiled king, although she knew that he was\ndoomed by the gods to die within a year. When the year was almost gone,\nshe sat for several days beneath a great tree, abstaining from food and\ndrink, and imploring the gods to save him from death. On the fateful day\nshe accompanied him to the forest to gather the sacred wood for the\nevening sacrifice. As he struck the tree with the axe he reeled in pain,\nand exclaiming, \"I cannot work!\" fell fainting.\n\n  Thereon that noble lady, hastening near.\n  Stayed him that would have fallen, with quick arms;\n  And, sitting on the earth, laid her lord's head\n  Tenderly in her lap. So bent she, mute,\n  Fanning his face, and thinking 't was the day--\n  The hour--which Narad named--the sure fixed date\n  Of dreadful end--when, lo! before her rose\n  A shade majestic. Red his garments were,\n  His body vast and dark; like fiery suns\n  The eyes which burned beneath his forehead-cloth;\n  Armed was he with a noose, awful of mien.\n  This Form tremendous stood by Satyavan,\n  Fixing its gaze upon him. At the sight\n  The fearful Princess started to her feet.\n  Heedfully laying on the grass his head,\n\n  Up started she, with beating heart, and joined\n  Her palms for supplication, and spake thus\n  In accents tremulous: \"Thou seem'st some God;\n  Thy mien is more than mortal; make me know\n  What god thou art, and what thy purpose here.\"\n\n  And Yama said (the dreadful god of death):\n  \"Thou art a faithful wife, O S\u00e2vitr\u00ee,\n  True to thy vows, pious, and dutiful;\n  Therefore I answer thee. Yama I am!\n  This Prince thy lord lieth at point to die;\n  Him will I straightway bind and bear from life;\n  This is my office, and for this I come.\"\n\n  Then S\u00e2vitr\u00ee spake sadly: \"It is taught\n  Thy messengers are sent to fetch the dying;\n  Why is it, Mightiest, thou art come thyself?\"\n\n  In pity of her love, the Pityless\n  Answered--the King of all the Dead replied:\n  \"This was a Prince unparalleled, thy lord;\n  Virtuous as fair, a sea of goodly gifts,\n  Not to be summoned by a meaner voice\n  Than Yama's own: therefore is Yama come.\"\n\n  With that the gloomy God fitted his noose\n  And forced forth from the Prince the soul of him--\n  Subtile, a thumb in length--which being reft,\n  Breath stayed, blood stopped, the body's grace was gone,\n  And all life's warmth to stony coldness turned.\n  Then, binding it, the Silent Presence bore\n  Satyavan's soul away toward the South.\n\n  But S\u00e2vitr\u00ee the Princess followed him;\n  Being so bold in wifely purity,\n  So holy by her love; and so upheld,\n  She followed him.\n\n                     Presently Yama turned.\n  \"Go back,\" quoth he. \"Pay for him funeral dues.\n  Enough, O S\u00e2vitr\u00ee, is wrought for love;\n  Go back! Too far already hast thou come.\"\n\n  Then S\u00e2vitr\u00ee made answer: \"I must go\n  Where my lord goes, or where my lord is borne;\n  Naught other is my duty. Nay, I think,\n  By reason of my vows, my services,\n  Done to the Gurus, and my faultless love,\n  Grant but thy grace, I shall unhindered go.\n  The sages teach that to walk seven steps\n  One with another, maketh good men friends;\n  Beseech thee, let me say a verse to thee:--\n\n  _\"Be master of thyself, if thou wilt be\n  Servant of Duty. Such as thou shall see\n  Not self-subduing, do no deeds of good\n  In youth or age, in household or in wood.\n  But wise men know that virtue is best bliss,\n  And all by some one way may reach to this.\n  It needs not men should pass through orders four\n  To come to knowledge: doing right is more\n  Than any learning; therefore sages say\n  Best and most excellent is Virtue's way.\"_\n\n  Spake Yama then: \"Return! yet I am moved\n  By those soft words; justly their accents fell,\n  And sweet and reasonable was their sense.\n  See now, thou faultless one. Except this life\n  I bear away, ask any boon from me;\n  It shall not be denied.\"\n\n                              S\u00e2vitr\u00ee said:\n  \"Let, then, the King, my husband's father, have\n  His eyesight back, and be his strength restored,\n  And let him live anew, strong as the sun.\"\n\n  \"I give this gift,\" Yama replied. \"Thy wish,\n  Blameless, shall be fulfilled. But now go back;\n  Already art thou wearied, and our road\n  Is hard and long. Turn back, lest thou, too, die.\"\n\n  The Princess answered: \"Weary am I not,\n  So I walk near my lord. Where he is borne,\n  Thither wend I. Most mighty of the Gods,\n  I follow wheresoe'er thou takest him.\n  A verse is writ on this, if thou wouldst hear:--\n\n  _\"There is naught better than to be\n  With noble souls in company:\n  There is naught better than to wend\n  With good friends faithful to the end.\n  This is the love whose fruit is sweet,\n  Therefore to bide within is meet.\"_\n\n  Spake Yama, smiling: \"Beautiful! thy words\n  Delight me; they are excellent, and teach\n  Wisdom unto the wise, singing soft truth.\n  Look, now! Except the life of Satyavan,\n  Ask yet another--any--boon from me.\"\n\n  S\u00e2vitr\u00ee said: \"Let, then, the pious King,\n  My husband's father, who hath lost his throne,\n  Have back the Raj; and let him rule his realm\n  In happy righteousness. This boon I ask.\"\n\n  \"He shall have back the throne,\" Yama replied,\n  \"And he shall reign in righteousness: these things\n  Will surely fall. But thou, gaining thy wish,\n  Return anon; so shalt thou 'scape sore ill.\"\n\n  \"Ah, awful God! who hold'st the world in leash,\"\n  The Princess said, \"restraining evil men,\n  And leading good men--even unconscious--there,\n  Where they attain, hear yet those famous words:--\n\n  _\"The constant virtues of the good are tenderness and love\n  To all that lives--in earth, air, sea--great, small--below, above;\n  Compassionate of heart, they keep a gentle thought for each,\n  Kind in their actions, mild in will, and pitiful of speech;\n  Who pitieth not, he hath not faith; full many an one so lives,\n  But when an enemy seeks help, a good man gladly gives.\"_\n\n  \"As water to the thirsty,\" Yama said,\n  \"Princess, thy words melodious are to me.\n  Except the life of Satyavan, thy lord,\n  Ask one boon yet again, for I will grant.\"\n\n  Answer made S\u00e2vitr\u00ee: \"The King, my sire,\n  Hath no male child. Let him see many sons\n  Begotten of his body, who may keep\n  The royal line long regnant. This I ask.\"\n\n  \"So shall it be,\" the Lord of Death replied;\n  \"A hundred fair preservers of his race\n  Thy sire shall boast. But this wish being won,\n  Return, dear Princess; thou hast come too far.\"\n\n  \"It is not far for me,\" quoth S\u00e2vitr\u00ee,\n  \"Since I am near my husband; nay, my heart\n  Is set to go as far as to the end;\n  But hear these other verses, if thou wilt:--\n\n  _\"By that sunlit name thou bearest,\n  Thou, Vaivaswata! art dearest;\n  Those that as their Lord proclaim thee,\n  King of Righteousness do name thee:\n  Better than themselves the wise\n  Trust the righteous. Each relies\n  Most upon the good, and makes\n  Friendship with them. Friendship takes\n  Fear from hearts; yet friends betray,\n  In good men we may trust alway.\"_\n\n  \"Sweet lady,\" Yama said, \"never were words\n  Spoke better; never truer heard by ear;\n  Lo! I am pleased with thee. Except this soul,\n  Ask one gift yet again, and get thee home.\"\n\n  \"I ask thee then,\" quickly the Princess cried,\n  \"Sons, many sons, born of my body; boys;\n  Satyavan's children; lovely, valiant, strong;\n  Continuers of their line. Grant this, kind God.\"\n\n  \"I grant it,\" Yama answered; \"thou shalt bear\n  These sons thy heart desireth, valiant, strong.\n  Therefore go back, that years be given thee.\n  Too long a path thou treadest, dark and rough.\"\n\n  But sweeter than before, the Princess sang:--\n\n  _\"In paths of peace and virtue\n  Always the good remain;\n  And sorrow shall not stay with them,\n  Nor long access of pain;\n  At meeting or at parting\n  Joys to their bosom strike;\n  For good to good is friendly,\n  And virtue loves her like.\n  The great sun goes his journey\n  By their strong truth impelled;\n  By their pure lives and penances\n  Is earth itself upheld;\n  Of all which live and shall live\n  Upon its hills and fields,\n  Pure hearts are the protectors,\n  For virtue saves and shields.\n\n  \"Never are noble spirits\n  Poor while their like survive;\n  True love has gems to render,\n  And virtue wealth to give.\n  Never is lost or wasted\n  The goodness of the good;\n  Never against a mercy,\n  Against a right, it stood;\n  And seeing this, that virtue\n  Is always friend to all,\n  The virtuous and true-hearted,\n  Men their protectors call.\"_\n\n  \"Line for line, Princess, as thou sangest so,\"\n  Quoth Yama, \"all that lovely praise of good,\n  Grateful to hallowed minds, lofty in sound,\n  And couched in dulcet numbers--word by word--\n  Dearer thou grew'st to me. O thou great heart,\n  Perfect and firm! ask any boon from me,--\n  Ask an incomparable boon!\"\n\n                              She cried\n  Swiftly, no longer stayed: \"Not Heaven I crave,\n  Nor heavenly joys, nor bliss incomparable,\n  Hard to be granted, even by thee; but him,\n  My sweet lord's life, without which I am dead;\n  Give me that gift of gifts! I will not take\n  Aught less without him,--not one boon--no praise,\n  No splendors, no rewards,--not even those sons\n  Whom thou didst promise. Ah, thou wilt not now\n  Bear hence the father of them and my hope!\n  Make thy free word good; give me Satyavan\n  Alive once more.\"\n\n  And thereupon the God--\n  The Lord of Justice, high Vaivaswata--\n  Loosened the noose and freed the Prince's soul,\n  And gave it to the lady, saying this,\n  With eyes grown tender: \"See, thou sweetest queen\n  Of women, brightest jewel of thy kind!\n  Here is thy husband. He shall live and reign\n  Side by side with thee, saved by thee,--in peace\n  And fame and wealth, and health, many long years,\n  For pious sacrifices world-renowned.\n  Boys shalt thou bear to him, as I did grant,--\n  Kshatriya kings, fathers of kings to be,\n  Sustainers of thy line. Also thy sire\n  Shall see his name upheld by sons of sons,\n  Like the immortals, valiant, M\u00e2lavas.\"\n\n                          ARNOLD: _Indian Idylls._\n\n\n\n\nFROM \"THE GREAT JOURNEY.\"\n\n\nThe shadow of the Great War hung over King Yudhi-sthira, whose reign was\none long succession of gloomy events, culminating in the death of the\nblind Raja and his wife in a jungle fire, and the destruction of the\ncapital city of Krishna because of the dissipation of its inhabitants.\n\n  On tidings of the wreck of Vrishni's race,\n  King Yudhi-sthira of the Pandavas\n  Was minded to be done with earthly things,\n  And to Arjuna spake: \"O noble prince,\n  Time endeth all; we linger, noose on neck,\n  Till the last day tightens the line, and kills.\n  Let us go forth to die, being yet alive.\"\n  And Kunti's son, the great Arjuna, said:\n  \"Let us go forth! Time slayeth all.\n  We will find Death, who seeketh other men.\"\n  And Bhimasena, hearing, answered: \"Yea,\n  We will find Death!\" and Sahadev cried: \"Yea!\"\n  And his twin brother Nakalu; whereat\n  The princes set their faces for the Mount.\n\n         *       *       *       *       *\n\n  So ordering ere he went, the righteous King\n  Made offering of white water, heedfully,\n  To Vasudev, to Rama, and the rest,--\n  All funeral rites performing; next he spread\n  A funeral feast....\n\n  And all the people cried, \"Stay with us, Lord!\"\n  But Yudhi-sthira knew his time was come,\n  Knew that life passes and that virtue lasts,\n  And put aside their love....\n\n  So, with farewells\n  Tenderly took of lieges and of lords,\n  Girt he for travel with his princely kin,\n  Great Yudhi-sthira, Dharma's royal son.\n  Crest-gem and belt and ornaments he stripped\n  From off his body, and for broidered robe\n  A rough dress donned, woven of jungle bark;\n  And what he did--O Lord of men!--so did\n  Arjuna, Bhima, and the twin-born pair,\n  Nakalu with Sahadev, and she,--in grace\n  The peerless,--Draupadi. Lastly those six,--\n  Thou son of Bharata!--in solemn form\n  Made the high sacrifice of Naishtiki,\n  Quenching their flames in water at the close;\n  And so set forth, midst wailing of all folk\n  And tears of women, weeping most to see\n  The Princess Draupadi--that lovely prize\n  Of the great gaming, Draupadi the Bright--\n  Journeying afoot; but she and all the five\n  Rejoiced because their way lay heavenward.\n\n  Seven were they, setting forth,--Princess and King,\n  The King's four brothers and a faithful dog.\n  Those left Hastinapur; but many a man,\n  And all the palace household, followed them\n  The first sad stage: and ofttimes prayed to part,\n\n  Put parting off for love and pity, still\n  Sighing, \"A little farther!\" till day waned;\n  Then one by one they turned.\n\n         *       *       *       *       *\n\n                                 Thus wended they,\n  Pandu's five sons and loveliest Draupadi,\n  Taking no meat and journeying due east,\n  On righteousness their high hearts fed, to heaven\n  Their souls assigned; and steadfast trod their feet--\n  By faith upborne--past nullah ran, and wood,\n  River and jheel and plain. King Yudhi-sthir\n  Walked foremost, Bhima followed, after him\n  Arjuna, and the twin-born brethren next,\n  Nakalu with Sahadev; in whose still steps--\n  O Best of Bharat's offspring!--Draupadi,\n  That gem of women paced, with soft dark face,--\n  Clear-edged like lotus petals; last the dog\n  Following the Pandavas.\n\n         *       *       *       *       *\n\n                      While yet those heroes walked,\n  Now to the northward banding, where long coasts\n  Shut in the sea of salt, now to the north,\n  Accomplishing all quarters, journeyed they;\n  The earth their altar of high sacrifice,\n  Which these most patient feet did pace around\n  Till Meru rose.\n\n                    At last it rose! These Six,\n  Their senses subjugate, their spirits pure,\n  Wending along, came into sight--far off\n  In the eastern sky--of awful Himavat;\n  And midway in the peaks of Himavat,\n  Meru, the mountain of all mountains, rose,\n  Whose head is heaven; and under Himavat\n  Glared a wide waste of sand, dreadful as death.\n\n  Then, as they hastened o'er the deathly waste,\n  Aiming for Meru, having thoughts at soul\n  Infinite, eager,--lo! Draupadi reeled,\n  With faltering heart and feet; and Bhima turned,\n  Gazing upon her; and that hero spake\n  To Yudhi-sthira: \"Master, Brother, King!\n  Why doth she fail? For never all her life\n  Wrought our sweet lady one thing wrong, I think.\n  Thou knowest; make us know, why hath she failed?\"\n\n  Then Yudhi-sthira answered: \"Yea, one thing.\n  She loved our brothers better than all else,--\n  Better than Heaven: that was her tender sin,\n  Fault of a faultless soul: she pays for that.\"\n\n  So spake the monarch, turning not his eyes,\n  Though Draupadi lay dead,--striding straight on\n  For Meru, heart-full of the things of Heaven,\n  Perfect and firm. But yet a little space\n  And Sahadev fell down; which Bhima seeing,\n  Cried once again: \"O King, great Madri's son\n  Stumbles and sinks. Why hath he sunk?--so true,\n  So brave and steadfast, and so free from pride!\"\n\n  \"He was not free,\" with countenance still fixed,\n  Quoth Yudhi-sthira; \"he was true and fast\n  And wise; yet wisdom made him proud; he hid\n  One little hurt of soul, but now it kills.\"\n\n  So saying, he strode on, Kunti's strong son,\n  And Bhima; and Arjuna followed him,\n  And Nakalu and the hound; leaving behind\n  Sahadev in the sands. But Nakalu,\n  Weakened and grieved to see Sahadev fall--\n  His dear-loved brother--lagged and stayed; and then\n  Prone on his face he fell, that noble face\n  Which had no match for beauty in the land,--\n  Glorious and godlike Nakalu! Then sighed\n  Bhima anew: \"Brother and Lord! the man\n  Who never erred from virtue, never broke\n  Our fellowship, and never in the world\n  Was matched for goodly perfectness of form\n  Or gracious feature,--Nakalu has fallen!\"\n\n  But Yudhi-sthira, holding fixed his eyes,--\n  That changeless, faithful, all-wise king,--replied:\n  \"Yea, but he erred! The god-like form he wore\n  Beguiled him to believe none like to him,\n  And he alone desirable, and things\n  Unlovely, to be slighted. Self-love slays\n  Our noble brother. Bhima, follow! Each\n  Pays what his debt was.\"\n\n                            Which Arjuna heard,\n  Weeping to see them fall; and that stout son\n  Of Pandu, that destroyer of his foes,\n  That Prince, who drove through crimson waves of war,\n  In old days, with his milk-white chariot-steeds,\n  Him, the arch hero, sank! Beholding this,--\n  The yielding of that soul unconquerable,\n\n  Fearless, divine, from Sakra's self derived,\n  Arjuna's--Bhima cried aloud: \"O King!\n  This man was surely perfect. Never once,\n  Not even in slumber, when the lips are loosed,\n  Spake he one word that was not true as truth.\n  Ah, heart of gold! why art thou broke? O King!\n  Whence falleth he?\"\n\n                        And Yudhi-sthira said,\n  Not pausing: \"Once he lied, a lordly lie!\n  He bragged--our brother--that a single day\n  Should see him utterly consume, alone,\n  All those his enemies,--which could not be.\n  Yet from a great heart sprang the unmeasured speech,\n  Howbeit a finished hero should not shame\n  Himself in such a wise, nor his enemy,\n  If he will faultless fight and blameless die:\n  This was Arjuna's sin. Follow thou me!\"\n\n  So the King still went on. But Bhima next\n  Fainted, and stayed upon the way, and sank;\n  But, sinking, cried behind the steadfast Prince:\n  \"Ah, Brother, see! I die! Look upon me,\n  Thy well beloved! Wherefore falter I,\n  Who strove to stand?\"\n\n                          And Yudhi-sthira said:\n  \"More than was well the goodly things of earth\n  Pleased thee, my pleasant brother! Light the offence\n  And large thy spirit; but the o'erfed soul\n  Plumed itself over others. Pritha's son,\n  For this thou fallest, who so near didst gain.\"\n\n  Thenceforth alone the long-armed monarch strode,\n  Not looking back,--nay, not for Bhima's sake,--\n  But walking with his face set for the Mount;\n  And the hound followed him,--only the hound.\n\n  After the deathly sands, the Mount! and lo!\n  Sakra shone forth,--the God,--filling the earth\n  And Heavens with the thunders of his chariot wheels.\n  \"Ascend,\" he said, \"with me, Pritha's great son!\"\n  But Yudhi-sthira answered, sore at heart\n  For those his kinsfolk, fallen on the way:\n  \"O Thousand-eyed, O Lord of all the gods,\n  Give that my brothers come with me, who fell!\n  Not without them is Swarga sweet to me.\n  She too, the dear and kind and queenly,--she\n  Whose perfect virtue Paradise must crown,--\n  Grant her to come with us! Dost thou grant this?\"\n\n  The God replied: \"In Heaven thou shalt see\n  Thy kinsmen and the Queen--these will attain--\n  And Krishna. Grieve no longer for thy dead,\n  Thou chief of men! their mortal coverings stripped,\n  These have their places; but to thee, the gods\n  Allow an unknown grace: thou shalt go up,\n  Living and in thy form, to the immortal homes.\"\n\n  But the King answered: \"O thou wisest One,\n  Who know'st what was, and is, and is to be,\n  Still one more grace! This hound hath ate with me,\n  Followed me, loved me; must I leave him now?\"\n\n  \"Monarch,\" spake Indra, \"thou art now as we,--\n  Deathless, divine; thou art become a god;\n  Glory and power and gifts celestial,\n  And all the joys of heaven are thine for aye:\n  What hath a beast with these? Leave here thy hound.\"\n\n  Yet Yudhi-sthira answered: \"O Most High,\n  O Thousand-Eyed and Wisest! can it be\n  That one exalted should seem pitiless?\n  Nay, let me lose such glory: for its sake\n  I cannot leave one living thing I loved.\"\n\n  Then sternly Indra spake: \"He is unclean,\n  And into Swarga such shall enter not.\n  The Krodhavasha's wrath destroys the fruits\n  Of sacrifice, if dog defile the fire.\n  Bethink thee, Dharmaraj; quit now this beast!\n  That which is seemly is not hard of heart.\"\n\n  Still he replied: \"'Tis written that to spurn\n  A suppliant equals in offence to slay\n  A twice-born; wherefore, not for Swarga's bliss\n  Quit I, Mahendra, this poor clinging dog,--\n  So without any hope or friend save me.\n  So wistful, fawning for my faithfulness;\n  So agonized to die, unless I help\n  Who among men was called steadfast and just.\"\n\n  Quoth Indra: \"Nay, the altar flame is foul\n  Where a dog passeth; angry angels sweep\n  The ascending smoke aside, and all the fruits\n  Of offering, and the merit of the prayer\n  Of him whom a hound toucheth. Leave it here!\n  He that will enter Heaven must enter pure.\n  Why didst thou quit thy brethren on the way,\n  And Krishna, and the dear-loved Draupadi,\n  Attaining firm and glorious to this Mount\n  Through perfect deeds, to linger for a brute?\n  Hath Yudhi-sthira vanquished self, to melt\n  With one pure passion at the door of bliss?\n  Stay'st thou for this, who did not stay for them,--\n  Draupadi, Bhima?\"\n\n                     But the King yet spake:\n  \"'T is known that none can hurt or help the dead.\n  They, the delightful ones, who sank and died.\n  Following my footsteps, could not live again\n  Though I had turned--therefore I did not turn;\n  But could help profit, I had stayed to help.\n  There be four sins, O Sakra, grievous sins:\n  The first is making suppliants despair,\n  The second is to slay a nursing wife,\n  The third is spoiling Brahmans' goods by force,\n  The fourth is injuring an ancient friend.\n  These four I deem not direr than the crime,\n  If one, in coming forth from woe to weal,\n  Abandon any meanest comrade then.\"\n\n  Straight as he spake, brightly great Indra smiled;\n  Vanished the hound, and in its stead stood there\n  The Lord of Death and Justice, Dharma's self!\n  Sweet were the words which fell from those dread lips,\n  Precious the lovely praise: \"O thou true King,\n  Thou that dost bring to harvest the good seed\n  Of Pandu's righteousness; thou that hast ruth\n  As he before, on all which lives!--O Son!\n\n  \"Hear thou my word! Because thou didst not mount\n  This car divine, lest the poor hound be shent\n  Who looked to thee, lo! there is none in heaven\n  Shall sit above thee, King! Bharata's son!\n  Enter thou now to the eternal joys,\n  Living and in thy form. Justice and Love\n  Welcome thee, Monarch! thou shalt throne with us!\"\n                         ARNOLD: _Indian Idylls_.\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE ILIAD.\n\n\nThe Iliad, or story of the fall of Ilium (Troy), is supposed to have been\nwritten by Homer, about the tenth century B. C. The legendary history of\nHomer represents him as a schoolmaster and poet of Smyrna, who while\nvisiting in Ithaca became blind, and afterwards spent his life travelling\nfrom place to place reciting his poems, until he died in Ios. Seven\ncities, Smyrna, Chios, Colophon, Ithaca, Pylos, Argos, and Athens, claimed\nto be his birthplace.\n\nIn 1795, Wolf, a German scholar, published his \"Prolegomena,\" which set\nforth his theory that Homer was a fictitious character, and that the Iliad\nwas made up of originally unconnected poems, collected and combined by\nPisistratus.\n\nThough for a time the Wolfian theory had many advocates, it is now\ngenerally conceded that although the stories of the fall of Troy were\ncurrent long before Homer, they were collected and recast into one poem by\nsome great poet. That the Iliad is the work of one man is clearly shown by\nits unity, its sustained simplicity of style, and the centralization of\ninterest in the character of Achilles.\n\nThe destruction of Troy, for a time regarded as a poetic fiction, is now\nbelieved by many scholars to be an actual historical event which took\nplace about the time of the \u00c6olian migration.\n\nThe whole story of the fall of Troy is not related in the Iliad, the poem\nopening nine years after the beginning of the war, and closing with the\ndeath of Hector.\n\nThe Iliad is divided into twenty-four books, and contains nineteen\nthousand four hundred and sixty-five lines.\n\nAs a work of art the Iliad has never been excelled; moreover, it possesses\nwhat all works of art do not,--\"the touches of things human\" that make it\nours, although the centuries lie between us and its unknown author, who\ntold his stirring story in such swift-moving verses, with such touches of\npathos and humor, and with such evident joy of living. Another evidence of\nthe perfection of Homer's art is that while his heroes are perfect types\nof Greeks and Trojans, they are also typical men, and for that reason,\nstill keep their hold upon us. It is this human interest, simplicity of\nstyle, and grandeur of treatment that have rendered Homer immortal and his\nwork imperishable.\n\n\n\n\nBIBLIOGRAPHY AND CRITICISM, THE ILIAD.\n\nM. Arnold's Essay on Homer, 1876, pp. 284-425;\n\nH. Bonitz's Origin of the Homeric Poems, tr. 1880;\n\nR. C. Jebb's Introduction to Homer, 1887;\n\nF. B. Jevons's History of Greek Literature, 1886, pp. 7-17;\n\nA. Lang's Homer and the Epic, 1893;\n\nW. Leaf's Companion to the Iliad for English Readers, 1892;\n\nJ. A. Symonds's Studies in Greek Poets, ed. 3, 1893.\n\n\n\n\nSTANDARD ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS, THE ILIAD.\n\nThe Iliad, Tr. into English blank verse by W. C. Bryant, 2 vols., 1871\n(Primitive in spirit, like Homer. Union of literalness with simplicity);\n\nThe Iliad, Tr. according to the Greek with introduction and notes by\nGeorge Chapman [1615], Ed. 2, 2 vols., 1874 (Written in verse. Pope says a\ndaring and fiery spirit animates this translation, something like that in\nwhich one might imagine Homer would have written before he came to years\nof discretion);\n\nThe Iliad, Tr. by William Cowper (Very literal and inattentive to melody,\nbut has more of simple majesty and manner of Homer than Pope);\n\nThe Iliad, rendered into English blank verse by the Earl of Derby, 2\nvols., 1864;\n\nThe Iliad, Tr. by Alexander Pope, with notes by the Rev. T. W. A. Buckley,\nn. d. (Written in couplets. Highly ornamented paraphrase).\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE ILIAD.\n\n\nFor nine years a fleet of one thousand one hundred and eighty-six ships\nand an army of more than one hundred thousand Greeks, under the command of\nAgamemnon, lay before King Priam's city of Troy to avenge the wrongs of\nMenelaus, King of Sparta, and to reclaim Helen, his wife, who had been\ncarried away by Priam's son Paris, at the instigation of Venus.\n\nThough they had not succeeded in taking Troy, the Greeks had conquered\nmany of the surrounding cities. From one of these, Agamemnon had taken as\nhis share of the booty Chryseis, the beautiful daughter of the priest\nChryses; and when her father had come to ransom her, he had been insulted\nand driven away by the king. Chryses had prayed to Apollo for revenge, and\nthe god had sent upon the Greeks a pestilence which was slaying so many\nthousands that a meeting was called to consult upon what to do to check\nthe plague and conciliate the god.\n\nCalchas the seer had declared that the plague was sent because of the\ndetention of Chryseis, and Agamemnon, though indignant with the priest,\nannounced that he would send her back to save his army from destruction.\n\"Note, however,\" said he, \"that I have now given up my booty. See that I\nam recompensed for what I lose.\"\n\nThen rose the leader of the Myrmidons, swift-footed Achilles, in his\nwrath, and denounced Agamemnon for his greediness.\n\n\"Thou hast ever had thy share and more of all the booty, and thou knowest\nwell that there is now no common store from which to give thee spoil. But\nwait until Troy town is sacked, and we will gladly give thee three and\nfourfold thy recompense.\"\n\nThe angry Agamemnon declared that if he were not given the worth of what\nhe had lost he would seize the maidens of Ajax and Ulysses, or Achilles'\nmaid, Briseis.\n\nAchilles was beside himself with rage. He had not come to Troy to\ncontribute to Agamemnon's glory. He and his followers had long borne the\nbrunt of battle only to see the largest share of booty given to Agamemnon,\nwho lay idle in his ships. Sooner than endure longer such indignity he\nwould return home to Phthia.\n\n\"Go!\" replied Agamemnon. \"I detest thee and thy ways. Go back over the sea\nand rule over thy Myrmidons. But since Phoebus has taken away my maid, I\nwill carry off thy prize, thy rosy-cheeked Briseis, that thou may'st learn\nthat I am indeed king.\"\n\nWarned by Pallas Athene, Achilles took his hand from his sword hilt, and\ncontented himself with telling Agamemnon that he would see the day when he\nwould fret to think he had driven Achilles from the Grecian ranks.\n\nThough the persuasive orator, Nestor, endeavored to make peace between the\nchiefs, Agamemnon could not be softened. As soon as the black ship bearing\nChryseis set sail, he sent his unwilling men to where Achilles sat by his\ntent, beside the barren deep, to take the fair Briseis, whom Achilles\nordered to be led forth to them. Then the long days dragged by in the tent\nwhere the chief sat eating his heart out in idleness, while his men\nengaged in athletic sports, and the rest of the Greeks fought before Troy.\n\nBoth armies, worn out with indecisive battles, gladly hailed Hector's\nproposal that a combat between Paris and Menelaus should decide the war.\n\nAs the armies stood in silence, watching the preparations for the combat,\nHelen, summoned by Iris, left her room in Priam's palace, where she was\nweaving among her maidens, and, robed and veiled in white, and shedding\ntears at the recollection of her former home and husband, went down to the\nScaean gates, where sat Priam and the men too old for war. When they saw\nbright-haired Helen they whispered among themselves that it was little\nwonder that men warred for her sake, so fair was she, so like unto the\ndeathless goddesses.\n\nIn response to Priam's tender greeting she seated herself beside him and\npointed out the Greek heroes,--Agamemnon, ruler over wide lands, crafty\nUlysses, and the mighty Ajax; but she strained her eyes in vain for a\nsight of her dearly loved brothers, Castor and Pollux, not knowing that\nthey already lay dead in pleasant Lacedaemon.\n\nIn the single combat between Paris and Menelaus, the spear of the Greek\nwas fixed in Paris's buckler, and his sword was shivered on his helmet\nwithout injury to the Trojan. But, determined to overcome his hateful foe,\nMenelaus seized Paris by the helm and dragged him towards the Grecian\nranks. Great glory would have been his had not the watchful Venus loosed\nthe helm and snatched away the god-like Paris in a cloud. While the Greeks\ndemanded Helen and her wealth as the price of Menelaus's victory,\nPandarus, prompted by Pallas, broke the truce by a shot aimed at Menelaus,\nand the battle soon raged with greater fury than before.\n\nDiomed, having received new strength and courage from Pallas, rushed madly\nover the field, falling upon the affrighted Trojans like a lion in the\nsheepfold; then, made more presumptuous by his success, and forgetful of\nthe few years promised the man who dares to meet the gods in battle, the\narrogant warrior struck at Venus and wounded her in the wrist, so that,\nshrieking with pain, she yielded \u00c6neas to Apollo, and fled to Olympus.\n\nPerceiving that the Trojans were unable to withstand the fury of Diomed,\nassisted as he was by Pallas and Juno, Hector hastened homeward to order a\nsacrifice to Pallas that she might look with more favor upon their cause.\n\nHaving instructed his mother to lay her richest robe on Pallas's shrine,\nHector sought his wife, the white-armed Andromache, and their babe,\nAstyanax. Andromache entreated Hector to go forth no more to battle, to\nlose his life and leave their babe fatherless; but Hector, upon whom the\ncares of war sat heavily, bade her a tender farewell, and kissing the\nbabe, returned with Paris to the field.\n\nIncited by Pallas and Apollo, Helenus suggested to his brother Hector that\nhe should challenge the bravest of the Greeks to single combat. The lot\nfell to Ajax the Greater, and the two mighty heroes contested with spears\nand stones until twilight fell, and they were parted by a herald.\n\nThat night the Greeks feasted, and when, the next morning, a Trojan\nmessenger offered them the treasures of Helen if they would withdraw from\nTroy, and proposed a truce, they indignantly rejected the offer, declaring\nthat they would not even accept Helen herself, but agreed upon a truce in\nwhich to bury the dead.\n\nWhen the battle was renewed, Jupiter forbade the gods to take part.\nOpposed by no celestial foes, the Trojans were this day successful, and\nhaving pursued the Greeks to the ships, sat all night, full of hope,\naround their thousand watch fires, waiting for the morn.\n\nIn the Grecian camp, however, a different scene was being enacted.\nDisheartened by their defeat, Agamemnon proposed that the armies give up\nthe siege and return to Greece.\n\nAngry at his weakness, Diomed thus reproached him:--\n\n\"The gods have granted thee high rank and rule, but thou hast no\nfortitude. Return if thou desirest. Still enough long-haired Achaians will\nremain to take the city. If they desire to go as well, at least Sthenelus\nand I will remain until Troy is ours. We have the gods with us.\"\n\nAt the suggestion of Nestor a banquet was spread, and after the hunger of\nall was appeased, the peril of the Greeks was discussed in the Council of\nthe Elders. Here Nestor showed Agamemnon that the trouble began at the\nhour when he drove Achilles from their ranks by appropriating Briseis.\n\nIll fortune had humbled the haughty Agamemnon, and he confessed that he\nhad done wrong. \"For this wrong, however,\" said he, \"I am ready to make\nample amends. Priceless gifts I will send to Achilles: seven tripods, six\ntalents of pure gold, twenty shining caldrons, twelve steeds, seven\ndamsels, among them Briseis; not only this, when Priam's citadel falls, he\nshall be the first to load his galley down with gold and silver and with\nTrojan maidens. Better yet, I will unite him to me by the ties of\nmarriage. I will give him my daughter for a wife, and with her for a dower\nwill go seven cities near the sea, rich in flocks and herds. Then let him\nyield, and join us in taking Troy.\"\n\nJoyfully the messengers--Ajax, Ulysses, and the aged Phoenix, carefully\ninstructed by Nestor--set forth on their embassy. As they neared the tents\nof the Myrmidons their ears were struck by the notes of a silver harp\ntouched by Achilles to solace him in his loneliness. His friend Patroclus\nsat beside him in silence. Achilles and Patroclus greeted the messengers\nwarmly, mingled the pure wine, and spread a feast for them. This over,\nUlysses, at a nod from Ajax, drank to Achilles' health, and then told him\nof the sore need of the Greeks, pressed by the Trojans. If he did not come\nto their aid, he whose very name frightened the enemy, the time would\nsurely come when he would greatly lament his idleness.\n\nAchilles' passion, the greater for its fifteen days' repression, burst\nforth in his reply: \"I will say what I have in my heart,\" he cried, \"since\nconcealment is hateful to me. What thanks does the victor in countless\nbattles gain? He and the idler are equally honored, and die the same\ndeath. Many nights' slumber have I lost on the battle field; many cities\nhave I conquered, abroad and here upon the Trojan coast, and of the spoil,\nthe greater part has gone to Agamemnon, who sat idle in his fleet; yet\nfrom me, who suffered much in fighting, he took my prize, my dearly loved\nBriseis; now let him keep her. Let him learn for himself how to conquer\nHector,--this Hector, who, when I went out against him, was afraid to\nleave the shelter of the Scaean gates. To-morrow, if you but watch, you\nwill see my galleys sailing upon the Hellespont on our return to Phthia.\nEvil was the hour in which I left its fertile coasts for this barren\nshore, where my mother Thetis foretold I should win deathless renown but\nbitter death.\n\n\"Tell Agamemnon that I will never wed a child of his. On my return to\nPhthia my father will select a bride for me with whom, on his broad\nfields, I can live the life I have dreamed of.\"\n\nThe entreaties of the aged Phoenix, who had helped to rear Achilles, and\nhis arguments against his mercilessness, were of no avail; neither were\nthe words of Ajax. However, he at last sent the message that he would\nremain by the sea watching the course of the war, and that he would\nencounter Hector whenever he approached to set fire to the galleys of the\nMyrmidons.\n\nThat night sleep did not visit the eyes of Agamemnon. Long he reflected on\nthe reply of Achilles, and wondered at the watch fires on the plain before\nTroy. The other chiefs were likewise full of anxiety, and when Nestor\noffered a reward to any one who would go as a spy to the Trojan camp,\nDiomed quickly volunteered. Selecting the wary Ulysses as his companion,\nhe stole forth to where the Trojans sat around their camp fires. The pair\nintercepted and slew Dolon the spy, and finding Rhesus and his Thracian\nband wrapped in slumber, slew the king with twelve of his chiefs, and\ncarried away his chariot and horses.\n\nEncouraged by this bold deed, the Greeks went forth to battle the next\nmorning. Fortune still favored the Trojans, however, and many Greeks fell\nby the hand of Hector, until he was checked by Ulysses and Diomed. In the\nfight, Agamemnon was wounded, and Diomed, Ulysses, and Machaon. And when\nAchilles from his tent saw the physician borne back from battle wounded,\nin the chariot of Nestor, he sent Patroclus to inquire of his injury.\nNestor sent word that Ulysses, Agamemnon, Diomed, Machaon, and Eurypylus\nwere wounded; perhaps these tidings would induce Achilles to forget his\ngrievances, and once more go forth to battle. If not, he urged Patroclus\nto beseech Achilles to permit him, Patroclus, to go forth with the\nMyrmidons, clad in Achilles' armor, and strike terror to the hearts of the\nTrojans.\n\nThe Trojans, encouraged by their success, pushed forward to the trench\nwhich the Greeks had dug around the wall thrown up before the ships, and,\nleaving their chariots on the brink, went on foot to the gates. After a\nlong struggle,--because the Trojans could not break down the wall and the\nGreeks could not drive back the Trojans,--Hector seized a mighty stone, so\nlarge that two men could scarcely lift it, and bearing it in one hand,\nbattered the bolted gates until they gave way with a crash; and the\nTrojans sprang within, pursuing the affrighted Greeks to the ships.\n\nFrom the heights of Olympus the gods kept a strict watch on the battle;\nand as soon as Neptune discovered that Jove, secure in the belief that no\ndeity would interfere with the successful Trojans, had turned away his\neyes, he went to the aid of the Greeks. Juno, also, furious at the sight\nof the Greeks who had fallen before the mighty Hector, determined to turn\nthe attention of Jove until Neptune had had an opportunity to assist the\nGreeks. Jove sat upon the peaks of Mount Ida, and thither went Juno, after\nrendering herself irresistible by borrowing the cestus of Venus. Jove,\ndelighted with the appearance of his wife, and still further won by her\ntender words and caresses, thought no longer of the armies fighting at the\nGrecian wall.\n\nGreat was his anger when, after a time, he again looked towards Troy and\nsaw that Neptune had employed his time in aiding the Greeks, and that\nHector had been wounded by Ajax. By his orders Neptune was quickly\nrecalled, Hector was healed by Apollo, and the Trojans, strengthened again\nby Jupiter, drove back the Greeks to the ships, and attempted to set fire\nto the fleet.\n\nSeeing the Greeks in such desperate straits, Achilles at last gave his\nconsent that Patroclus should put on his armor, take his Myrmidons, and\ndrive the Trojans from the ships, stipulating, however, that he should\nreturn when this was done, and not follow the Trojans in their flight to\nTroy.\n\nThe appearance of the supposed Achilles struck fear to the hearts of the\nTrojans, and Patroclus succeeded in driving them from the fleet and in\nslaying Sarpedon. Intoxicated by his success, he forgot Achilles' warning,\nand pursued the fleeing Trojans to the walls of Troy. The strength of the\nTrojans was not sufficient to cope with that of Patroclus; and Troy would\nhave been taken had not Apollo stood upon a tower to thrust him down each\ntime he attempted to scale the walls. At last Hector and Patroclus\nencountered each other, and fought furiously. Seeing the peril of Hector,\nApollo smote Patroclus's helmet off, broke his spear, and loosed his\nbuckler. Still undaunted, the hero fought until he fell, and died with the\nboasting words of Hector in his ears.\n\nSpeedily the swift-footed Antilochus conveyed to Achilles the tidings of\nhis friend's death. Enveloped in \"a black cloud of sorrow,\" Achilles\nrolled in the dust and lamented for his friend until warned by Iris that\nthe enemy were about to secure Patroclus's body. Then, without armor,--for\nHector had secured that of Patroclus and put it on,--he hastened to the\ntrench, apart from the other Greeks, and shouted thrice, until the men of\nTroy, panic-stricken, fell back in disorder, and the body of his friend\nwas carried away by the triumphant Greeks.\n\nThrough the long night the Achaians wept over Patroclus; but deeper than\ntheir grief was the sorrow of Achilles, for he had promised Menoetius to\nbring back his son in honor, laden with spoils, and now the barren coast\nof Troy would hold the ashes of both. Then Achilles made a solemn vow not\nto celebrate the funeral rites of Patroclus until he brought to him the\nhead and arms of Hector, and had captured on the field twelve Trojan\nyouths to slaughter on his funeral pile. The hated Hector slain and\nPatroclus's funeral rites celebrated, he cared not for the future. The\nfate his mother had foretold did not daunt him. Since, by his own folly,\nhis dearest friend had been taken from him, the sooner their ashes rested\ntogether the better. If he was not to see the rich fields of Phthia, his\nwas to be, at least, a deathless renown.\n\nTo take the place of the arms which Hector had taken from Patroclus,\nVulcan, at Thetis's request, had fashioned for Achilles the most beautiful\narmor ever worn by man. Brass, tin, silver, and gold composed the bright\ncorselet, the solid helm, and the wondrous shield, adorned with such\npictures as no mortal artist ever wrought.\n\nAfter having feasted his eyes on this beautiful armor, whose clanking\nstruck terror even to the hearts of the Myrmidons, Achilles sought out the\nGreeks and Agamemnon, and in the assembly acknowledged his fault. \"Let\nthese things belong to the dead past,\" said he. \"My wrath is done. Let us\nnow stir the long-haired Greeks to war.\"\n\n\"Fate, not I, was the cause of our trouble,\" replied Agamemnon. \"The\ngoddess of discord created the dissension, that At\u00e9 who troubled even the\ngods on Olympus until expelled by Jupiter. But I will make amends with\nliberal gifts.\"\n\nPeace having been made between the chiefs, Achilles returned to his tent\nwithout partaking of the banquet spread by Agamemnon, as he had vowed not\nto break his fast until he had avenged his friend. Agamemnon's gifts were\ncarried to the tents of Achilles by the Myrmidons, and with them went\nBriseis, who, when she saw the body of Patroclus, threw herself upon it\nand wept long for the one whose kindness to her--whose lot had been sorrow\nupon sorrow--she could never forget. All the women mourned, seemingly for\nPatroclus, really for their own griefs. Achilles likewise wept, until,\nstrengthened by Pallas, he hastened to put his armor on and urge the\nGreeks to battle.\n\nAs he mounted his chariot he spoke thus to his fleet steeds, Xanthus and\nBalius: \"Bring me back when the battle is over, I charge you, my noble\nsteeds. Leave me not on the field, as you left Patroclus.\"\n\nThen Xanthus, with the long-flowing mane, endowed with power of speech by\nJuno, thus spake: \"This day, at least, we will bring thee home, Achilles;\nbut the hour of thy death is nigh, and, since the fates have decreed it,\nwe could not save thee, were we swift as the winged winds. Nor was it\nthrough fault of ours that Patroclus fell.\"\n\nAngry at the reminder of his doom, Achilles drove hurriedly to the field,\ndetermined to fight until he had made the Trojans sick of war.\n\nKnowing that the war was drawing rapidly to a close, Jupiter gave\npermission to the gods to take part in it, and a terrible combat ensued.\nJuno, Pallas, Neptune, Hermes, and Vulcan went to the fleet of the Greeks,\nwhile Mars, Apollo, Diana, Latona, Venus, and Xanthus arrayed themselves\nwith the Trojans. When the gods joined in the combat and Neptune shook the\nearth and Jupiter thundered from above, there was such tumult in the air\nthat even the dark god of the underworld was terrified. In the battle of\nthe gods, Apollo encountered Neptune, Pallas fought against Mars, Diana\nand Juno opposed each other, Hermes was pitted against Latona, and Xanthus\nor Scamander, the river god, strove against Vulcan. It was not long before\nJupiter's fear was realized, and the mortals needed the aid of the gods.\n\u00c6neas, encouraged by Apollo to confront Achilles, was rescued only by the\nintervention of Neptune, who, remembering that it was the will of fate\nthat \u00c6neas should be spared to perpetuate the Dardan race, snatched him\naway in a cloud, although he was himself aiding the Greeks.\n\nMad with rage and spattered with blood, Achilles pursued the flying\nTrojans about the plain, sparing none except the twelve youths who were to\nbe butchered on the funeral pile of Patroclus. He stood in the river,\nfilling it with slaughtered bodies until, indignant at the insults offered\nhim, the river god Scamander caused his waters to rush after Achilles so\nthat he fled for his life. Far across the plain it chased him, and was\nonly stopped by the fires of Vulcan, summoned by Juno.\n\nBy an artifice of Apollo, Achilles was decoyed away from the gates of Troy\nlong enough to allow the Trojans to enter. Hector, however, stayed\nwithout, unmoved by the prayers of Priam and Hecuba. Too late he saw his\nerror in not heeding the advice of Polydamas to keep within the walls\nafter the re-appearance of Achilles; he feared the reproaches of the\nTrojan warriors and dames, and determined to meet his fate, whatever it\nmight be. Even death at the hands of Achilles would be preferable to the\ninsults and reproaches that might await him within the walls.\n\nWhen he saw Achilles approach in his god-given armor, fear seized the\nnoble Hector, and he fled from his enemy. Thrice around the walls he fled,\nAchilles pursuing, and the gods looked down from heaven in sorrow, for,\naccording to the decrees of fate, Hector must fall this day by the hand of\nAchilles. To hasten the combat, Pallas assumed the form of Hector's\nbrother Deiphobus, and stood by his side, encouraging him to turn and meet\nhis foe.\n\nHector soon perceived the deception, but boldly faced Achilles, who sprang\nat him, brandishing his awful spear. Quickly stooping, Hector avoided the\nweapon and hurled his spear at Achilles. It was an unequal conflict. The\narmor of Achilles was weapon proof, and Pallas stood at his elbow to\nreturn to him his weapons. Achilles knew well the weak spots in his old\narmor worn by Hector, and selecting a seam unguarded by the shield, he\ngave Hector a mortal wound, and insulted him as he lay dying at his feet.\n\nTears and wailing filled the city as the Trojans watched the combat; and\ndespair fell upon them when they saw the body of Hector fastened to the\nchariot of Achilles and dragged thrice around the Trojan walls. From her\nchamber where she sat weaving, unaware of the mortal combat waged before\nthe walls, Andromache came forth to see great Hector fallen and his corpse\ninsulted by his enemy.\n\nWhile Priam sat in his palace with dust strewn on his head, and the\nwailings of the women filled the streets of Troy, the Greeks were\nhastening to their camps to celebrate the funeral rites of Patroclus,\nwhose body had been saved from corruption by Thetis. A massive funeral\npile was constructed of wood brought from the forests on Mount Ida. The\nchiefs in their chariots and thousands of men on foot followed the body of\nPatroclus. The comrades of the dead warrior cut off their long hair and\nstrewed it on the dead, and Achilles sheared his yellow hair and placed\nthe locks in Patroclus's hands. He had suffered the flowing curls to grow\nlong because of a vow made by his father to the river Sperchius that he\nwould sacrifice these locks to him on his son's return home, a useless\nvow, since now he was to lose his life by this dark blue sea.\n\nNext the sacrifice was offered, many fatlings of the flock, and countless\noxen, noble steeds, dogs, jars of honey, and lastly the bodies of the\ntwelve Trojan youths were heaped upon the fire.\n\nAfter the flames had consumed the pile, Achilles and his friends quenched\nthe ashes with red wine, and gathered the bones of Patroclus in a golden\nvase which Achilles commanded his friends not to bury until he, too, fell\nbefore Troy, that their ashes might be mingled and buried under one mound\nby the remaining Greeks.\n\nAfter the funeral rites were celebrated, the funeral games were held, in\nwhich the warriors vied with each other in chariot racing, boxing,\nwrestling, foot racing, throwing the spear, and archery.\n\nSo ended the funeral of Patroclus, and the gods, looking down from heaven,\nsorrowed for Hector, whose corpse Achilles was treating with such\nindignity, intending that the dogs should destroy it. The gods had kept\nthe body unstained, and now they determined to soften Achilles' heart,\nthat he might restore it to Priam.\n\nIris descended from heaven, and standing at the side of Priam as he sat\nwith dust-strewn head, in his palace halls, gave him Jove's command that\nhe should take gifts and visit Achilles, to ransom Hector's body. Heeding\nnot the prayers of Hecuba, Priam gathered together whatever was most\nchoice, talents of pure gold, beautiful goblets, handsome robes and\ntunics, and seating himself in his polished car, drawn by strong-hoofed\nmules, set forth unaccompanied save by an aged herald. Above him soared\nJove's eagle, in token of the god's protection.\n\nPriam had not gone far when he met Mercury in the guise of a Greek youth,\nwho guided him unseen through the slumbering Greek lines to the tent of\nAchilles.\n\nThe hero was just finishing his repast when the old king entered, fell on\nhis knees, kissed the cruel hands that had slain so many of his sons, and\nprayed him to give up the body of his loved Hector in return for the\nransom he had brought with him. Achilles, recognizing the fact that Priam\nhad made his way there uninjured only by the assistance and protection of\nsome god, and touched by the thought of his own aged father, whom he\nshould never again gladden by his return to Phthia, granted the request,\nand bade Priam seat himself at the table and banquet with him. He also\ngranted a twelve days' truce for the celebration of the funeral rites of\nHector, and then invited Priam to pass the night in his tent. Warned by\nMercury, Priam rose early in the morning, and, unseen by the Greeks,\nconveyed Hector's body back to Troy.\n\nWhen the polished car of Priam entered the city of Troy, great were the\nlamentations and wailings over the body of Hector. Hecuba and Andromache\nvied with each other in the bitterness of their grief, and Helen lamented\nbecause the only friend she had in Troy had departed, and no one who\nremained would be kind to her.\n\nDuring the twelve days granted as a truce, wood was brought from Ida, and\nthe funeral rites of Hector were celebrated as befitted the son of a great\nking.\n\n\n\n\nSELECTIONS FROM THE ILIAD.\n\nHELEN AT THE SCAEAN GATES.\n\n\nParis, moved by the reproaches of Hector, proposed that the nine years'\nindecisive war be settled by single combat between himself and Menelaus,\nthe victor to take Helen and the treasure. Greeks and Trojans agreed to\nthis proposition, and the tidings of the approaching combat were borne to\nHelen by Iris.\n\n  In the heart of Helen woke\n  Dear recollections of her former spouse\n  And of her home and kindred. Instantly\n  She left her chamber, robed and veiled in white,\n  And shedding tender tears; yet not alone,\n  For with her went two maidens,--Aethra, child\n  Of Pitheus, and the large-eyed Clymene.\n  Straight to the Scaean gates they walked, by which\n  Pantho\u00fcs, Priam, and Thymoetes sat,\n  Lampus and Clytius, Hicetaon sprung\n  From Mars, Antenor and Ucalegon,\n  Two sages,--elders of the people all.\n  Beside the gates they sat, unapt, through age,\n  For tasks of war, but men of fluent speech,\n  Like the cicadas that within the wood\n  Sit on the trees and utter delicate sounds.\n  Such were the nobles of the Trojan race\n  Who sat upon the tower. But when they marked\n  The approach of Helen, to each other thus\n  With winged words, but in low tones, they said:--\n\n  \"Small blame is theirs, if both the Trojan knights\n  And brazen-mailed Achaians have endured\n  So long so many evils for the sake\n  Of that one woman. She is wholly like\n  In feature to the deathless goddesses.\n  So be it: let her, peerless as she is,\n  Return on board the fleet, nor stay to bring\n  Disaster upon us and all our race.\"\n\n  So spake the elders. Priam meantime called\n  To Helen: \"Come, dear daughter, sit by me.\n  Thou canst behold thy former husband hence,\n  Thy kindred and thy friends. I blame thee not;\n  The blame is with the immortals who have sent\n  These pestilent Greeks against me. Sit and name\n  For me this mighty man, the Grecian chief,\n  Gallant and tall. True, there are taller men;\n  But of such noble form and dignity\n  I never saw: in truth, a kingly man.\"\n\n  And Helen, fairest among women, thus\n  Answered: \"Dear second father, whom at once\n  I fear and honor, would that cruel death\n  Had overtaken me before I left,\n  To wander with thy son, my marriage bed,\n  And my dear daughter, and the company\n  Of friends I loved. But that was not to be;\n  And now I pine and weep. Yet will I tell\n  What thou dost ask. The hero whom thou seest\n  Is the wide-ruling Agamemnon, son\n  Of Atreus, and is both a gracious king\n  And a most dreaded warrior. He was once\n  Brother-in-law to me, if I may speak--\n  Lost as I am to shame--of such a tie.\"\n\n  She said, the aged man admired, and then\n  He spake again: \"O son of Atreus, born\n  Under a happy fate, and fortunate\n  Among the sons of men! A mighty host\n  Of Grecian youths obey thy rule. I went\n  To Phrygia once,--that land of vines,--and there\n  Saw many Phrygians, heroes on fleet steeds,\n  The troops of Otreus, and of Mygdon, shaped\n  Like one of the immortals. They encamped\n  By the Sangarius. I was an ally;\n  My troops were ranked with theirs upon the day\n  When came the unsexed Amazons to war.\n  Yet even there I saw not such a host\n  As this of black-eyed Greeks who muster here.\"\n  Then Priam saw Ulysses, and inquired:--\n  \"Dear daughter, tell me also who is that,\n  Less tall than Agamemnon, yet more broad\n  In chest and shoulders. On the teeming earth\n  His armor lies, but he, from place to place,\n  Walks round among the ranks of soldiery,\n  As when the thick-fleeced father of the flocks\n  Moves through the multitude of his white sheep.\"\n  And Jove-descended Helen answered thus:--\n  \"That is Ulysses, man of many arts,\n  Son of Laertes, reared in Ithaca,\n  That rugged isle, and skilled in every form\n  Of shrewd device and action wisely planned.\"\n  Then spake the sage Antenor: \"Thou hast said\n  The truth, O lady. This Ulysses once\n  Came on an embassy, concerning thee,\n  To Troy with Menelaus, great in war;\n  And I received them as my guests, and they\n  Were lodged within my palace, and I learned\n  The temper and the qualities of both.\n  When both were standing 'mid the men of Troy,\n  I marked that Menelaus's broad chest\n  Made him the more conspicuous, but when both\n  Were seated, greater was the dignity\n  Seen in Ulysses. When they both addressed\n  The council, Menelaus briefly spake\n  In pleasing tones, though with few words,--as one\n  Not given to loose and wandering speech,--although\n  The younger. When the wise Ulysses rose,\n  He stood with eyes cast down, and fixed on earth,\n  And neither swayed his sceptre to the right\n  Nor to the left, but held it motionless,\n  Like one unused to public speech. He seemed\n  An idiot out of humor. But when forth\n  He sent from his full lungs his mighty voice,\n  And words came like a fall of winter snow,\n  No mortal then would dare to strive with him\n  For mastery in speech. We less admired\n  The aspect of Ulysses than his words.\"\n  Beholding Ajax then, the aged king\n  Asked yet again: \"Who is that other chief\n  Of the Achaians, tall, and large of limb,--\n  Taller and broader-chested than the rest?\"\n  Helen, the beautiful and richly-robed,\n  Answered: \"Thou seest the might Ajax there,\n  The bulwark of the Greeks. On the other side,\n  Among his Cretans, stands Idomeneus,\n  Of godlike aspect, near to whom are grouped\n  The leaders of the Cretans. Oftentimes\n  The warlike Menelaus welcomed him\n  Within our palace, when he came from Crete.\n  I could point out and name the other chiefs\n  Of the dark-eyed Achaians. Two alone,\n  Princes among their people, are not seen,--\n  Castor the fearless horseman, and the skilled\n  In boxing, Pollux,--twins; one mother bore\n  Both them and me. Came they not with the rest\n  From pleasant Lacedaemon to the war?\n  Or, having crossed the deep in their goodships,\n  Shun they to fight among the valiant ones\n  Of Greece, because of my reproach and shame?\"\n  She spake; but they already lay in earth\n  In Lacedaemon, their dear native land.\n\n                            _Bryants Translation, Book III._\n\n\n\n\nTHE PARTING OF HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE.\n\n\nThe single combat between Paris and Menelaus broke up in a general battle\nunfavorable to the Trojans, and Hector returned to Troy to order the\nTrojan matrons to sacrifice to Pallas. He then sought his dwelling to\ngreet his wife and child, but learned from one of the maids that\nAndromache, on hearing that the Greeks were victorious, had hastened to\nthe city walls with the child and its nurse,\n\n  Hector left in haste\n  The mansion, and retraced his way between\n  The rows of stately dwellings, traversing\n  The mighty city. When at length he reached\n  The Scaean gates, that issue on the field,\n  His spouse, the nobly-dowered Andromache,\n  Came forth to meet him,--daughter of the prince\n  E\u00ebtion, who among the woody slopes\n  Of Placos, in the Hypoplacian town\n  Of Theb\u00e8, ruled Cilicia and her sons,\n  And gave his child to Hector great in arms.\n  She came attended by a maid, who bore\n  A tender child--a babe too young to speak--\n  Upon her bosom,--Hector's only son,\n  Beautiful as a star, whom Hector called\n  Scamandrius, but all else Astyanax,--\n  The city's lord,--since Hector stood the sole\n  Defence of Troy. The father on his child\n  Looked with a silent smile. Andromache\n  Pressed to his side meanwhile, and, all in tears,\n  Clung to his hand, and, thus beginning, said:--\n\n  \"Too brave! thy valor yet will cause thy death.\n  Thou hast no pity on thy tender child\n  Nor me, unhappy one, who soon must be\n  Thy widow. All the Greeks will rush on thee\n  To take thy life. A happier lot were mine,\n  If I must lose thee, to go down to earth,\n  For I shall have no hope when thou art gone,--\n  Nothing but sorrow. Father have I none,\n  And no dear mother. Great Achilles slew\n  My father when he sacked the populous town\n  Of the Cilicians,--Theb\u00e8 with high gates.\n  'T was there he smote E\u00ebtion, yet forbore\n  To make his arms a spoil; he dared not that,\n  But burned the dead with his bright armor on,\n  And raised a mound above him. Mountain-nymphs,\n  Daughters of aegis-bearing Jupiter,\n  Came to the spot and planted it with elms.\n  Seven brothers had I in my father's house,\n  And all went down to Hades in one day.\n  Achilles the swift-footed slew them all\n  Among their slow-paced bullocks and white sheep.\n  My mother, princess on the woody slopes\n  Of Placos, with his spoils he bore away,\n  And only for large ransom gave her back.\n  But her Diana, archer-queen, struck down\n  Within her father's palace. Hector, thou\n  Art father and dear mother now to me,\n  And brother and my youthful spouse besides.\n  In pity keep within the fortress here,\n  Nor make thy child an orphan nor thy wife\n  A widow. Post thine army near the place\n  Of the wild fig-tree, where the city-walls\n  Are low and may be scaled. Thrice in war\n  The boldest of the foe have tried the spot,--\n  The Ajaces and the famed Idomeneus,\n  The two chiefs born to Atreus, and the brave\n  Tydides, whether counselled by some seer\n  Or prompted to the attempt by their own minds.\"\n\n  Then answered Hector, great in war: \"All this\n  I bear in mind, dear wife; but I should stand\n  Ashamed before the men and long-robed dames\n  Of Troy, were I to keep aloof and shun\n  The conflict, coward-like. Not thus my heart\n  Prompts me, for greatly have I learned to dare\n  And strike among the foremost sons of Troy,\n  Upholding my great father's fame and mine;\n  Yet well in my undoubting mind I know\n  The day shall come in which our sacred Troy,\n  And Priam, and the people over whom\n  Spear-bearing Priam rules, shall perish all.\n  But not the sorrows of the Trojan race,\n  Nor those of Hecuba herself, nor those\n  Of royal Priam, nor the woes that wait\n  My brothers many and brave,--who all at last,\n  Slain by the pitiless foe, shall lie in dust,--\n  Grieve me so much as thine, when some mailed Greek\n  Shall lead thee weeping hence, and take from thee\n  Thy day of freedom. Thou in Argos then\n  Shalt at another's bidding ply the loom,\n  And from the fountain of Messeis draw\n  Water, or from the Hypereian spring,\n  Constrained unwilling by thy cruel lot.\n  And then shall some one say who sees thee weep,\n  'This was the wife of Hector, most renowned\n  Of the horse-taming Trojans, when they fought\n  Around their city.' So shall some one say,\n  And thou shalt grieve the more, lamenting him\n  Who haply might have kept afar the day\n  Of thy captivity. O let the earth\n  Be heaped above my head in death before\n  I hear thy cries as thou art borne away!\"\n  So speaking, mighty Hector stretched his arms\n  To take the boy; the boy shrank crying back\n  To his fair nurse's bosom, scared to see\n  His father helmeted in glittering brass,\n  And eying with affright the horsehair plume\n  That grimly nodded from the lofty crest.\n  At this both parents in their fondness laughed;\n  And hastily the mighty Hector took\n  The helmet from his brow and laid it down\n  Gleaming upon the ground, and, having kissed\n  His darling son and tossed him up in play,\n  Prayed thus to Jove and all the gods of heaven:--\n  \"O Jupiter and all ye deities,\n  Vouchsafe that this my son may yet become\n  Among the Trojans eminent like me,\n  And nobly rule in Ilium. May they say,\n  'This man is greater than his father was!'\n  When they behold him from the battle-field\n  Bring back the bloody spoil of the slain foe,--\n  That so his mother may be glad at heart.\"\n  So speaking, to the arms of his dear spouse\n  He gave the boy; she on her fragrant breast\n  Received him, weeping as she smiled. The chief\n  Beheld, and, moved with tender pity, smoothed\n  Her forehead gently with his hand, and said:--\n  \"Sorrow not thus, beloved one, for me.\n  No living man can send me to the shades\n  Before my time; no man of woman born,\n  Coward or brave, can shun his destiny.\n\n  But go thou home, and tend thy labors there,--\n  The web, the distaff,--and command thy maids\n  To speed the work. The cares of war pertain\n  To all men born in Troy, and most to me.\"\n  Thus speaking, mighty Hector took again\n  His helmet, shadowed with the horsehair plume,\n  While homeward his beloved consort went,\n  Oft looking back, and shedding many tears.\n  Soon was she in the spacious palace-halls\n  Of the man-queller Hector. There she found\n  A troop of maidens,--with them all she shared\n  Her grief; and all in his own house bewailed\n  The living Hector, whom they thought no more\n  To see returning from the battle-field,\n  Safe from the rage and weapons of the Greeks.\n                          _Bryant's Translation, Book VI._\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE ODYSSEY.\n\n  \"The surge and thunder of the Odyssey.\"\n\n\nThe Odyssey relates the adventures of Ulysses on his return to Ithaca\nafter the Trojan war.\n\nIt consists of twenty-four books, the first four of which are sometimes\nknown as the Telemachia, because Telemachus is the principal figure.\n\nThe difference in style of the Iliad and Odyssey has caused some critics\nto assert that the latter is not the work of Homer; this is accounted for,\nhowever, by the difference of subject, and it is probable that the\nOdyssey, though of a later date, is the work of the same hand, \"the work\nof Homer's old age,--an epic bathed in a mellow light of sunset.\"\n\nIf the Odyssey alone had come down to us, its authorship would have passed\nunquestioned, for the poem is so compact, its plot so carefully planned\nand so skilfully carried out, that there can be no doubt that it is the\nwork of one hand.\n\nThe Odyssey is as great a work of art as the Iliad, and is even more\npopular; for the Odyssey is a domestic romance, and as such appeals to a\nlarger audience than a tale of war alone,--the romance of the wandering\nUlysses and the faithful Penelope. Interwoven with it are the ever-popular\nfairy tales of Ulysses's wanderings and descriptions of home life. It is\nmarked by the same pagan enjoyment of life, the same freshness and charm\nthat lend enchantment to the Iliad.\n\n\n\n\nBIBLIOGRAPHY AND CRITICISM, THE ODYSSEY.\n\n\nF. B. Jevons's History of Greek Literature, 1886, pp. 17-25;\n\nA. Lang's Homer and the Epic, 1893, chaps. 8-13;\n\nJ. A. Symonds's Studies of the Greek Poets, ed. 3, 1893;\n\nJ. E. Harrison's Myths of the Odyssey in Art and Literature, 1882;\n\nW. J. Stillman's On the Track of Ulysses, 1888;\n\nF. W. Newman's The Authorship of the Odyssey (in his Miscellanies, vol.\nv.);\n\nJ. Spence's Essay on Pope's Translation of the Odyssey, 1837.\n\n\n\n\nSTANDARD ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS, THE ODYSSEY.\n\n\nThe Odyssey, Tr. into English blank verse by W. C. Bryant, 2 vols., 1871;\n\nThe Odyssey, Tr. according to the Greek, with introduction and notes by\nGeorge Chapman, ed. 2, 2 vols., 1874;\n\nThe Odyssey, Tr. by William Cowper;\n\nThe Odyssey, Tr. by G. H. Palmer, 1894 (prose);\n\nThe Odyssey, Tr. by Alexander Pope, with notes by Rev. T. W. A. Buckley,\nn. d.;\n\nThe Odyssey, Tr. by S. H. Butcher and A. Lang, 1879 (prose).\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE ODYSSEY.\n\n\nAfter the fall of Troy, Agamemnon returned to Argos, where he was\ntreacherously slain by Aegisthus, the corrupter of his wife; Menelaus\nreached Sparta in safety, laden with spoil and reunited to the beautiful\nHelen; Nestor resumed the rule of Pylos, but Ulysses remained absent from\nIthaca, where his wife Penelope still grieved for him, though steadfast in\nher belief that he would return. One hundred and fourteen suitors, princes\nfrom Dulichium, Samos, Zacynthus, and Ithaca, determined to wed Penelope\nthat they might obtain the rich possessions of Ulysses, spent their time\nin revelling in his halls and wasting his wealth, thinking in this way to\nforce Penelope to wed some one of them.\n\nPenelope, as rich in resources as was her crafty husband, announced to\nthem that she would wed when she had woven a funeral garment for Laertes,\nthe father of Ulysses. During the day she wove industriously, but at night\nshe unravelled what she had done that day, so that to the expectant\nsuitors the task seemed interminable. After four years her artifice was\nrevealed to the suitors by one of her maids, and she was forced to find\nother excuses to postpone her marriage. In the mean time, her son\nTelemachus, now grown to manhood, disregarded by the suitors on account of\nhis youth, and treated as a child by his mother, was forced to sit\nhelpless in his halls, hearing the insults of the suitors and seeing his\nrich possessions wasted.\n\nHaving induced Jove to end the sufferings of Ulysses, Pallas caused Hermes\nto be dispatched to Calypso's isle to release the hero, while she herself\ndescended to Ithaca in the guise of Mentes. There she was received\ncourteously by the youth, who sat unhappy among the revellers. At a table\napart from the others, Telemachus told the inquiring stranger who they\nwere who thus wasted his patrimony.\n\n\"Something must needs be done speedily,\" said Mentes, \"and I shall tell\nthee how to thrust them from thy palace gates. Take a ship and go to Pylos\nto inquire of the aged and wise Nestor what he knows of thy father's fate.\nThence go to Menelaus, in Sparta; he was the last of all the mailed Greeks\nto return home. If thou hear encouraging tidings, wait patiently for a\nyear. At the end of that time, if thy father come not, celebrate his\nfuneral rites, let thy mother wed again, and take immediate steps for the\ndestruction of the suitor band. Thou art no longer a child; the time has\ncome for thee to assert thyself and be a man.\"\n\nTelemachus, long weary of inactivity, was pleased with this advice, and at\nonce announced to the incredulous suitors his intention of going to learn\nthe fate of his father. A boat was procured and provided with a crew by\nthe aid of Pallas, and provisioned from the secret store-room guarded by\nthe old and faithful servant Eurycleia. From among the treasures of\nUlysses--garments, heaps of gold and brass, and old and delicate\nwines--Telemachus took sweet wine and meal to be conveyed to the ship at\nnight, and instructing Eurycleia not to tell his mother of his absence\nuntil twelve days had passed, he departed as soon as sleep had overcome\nthe suitors. Pallas, in the guise of Mentor, accompanied him.\n\nHis courage failed him, however, as they approached the shore of Pylos,\nwhere Nestor and his people were engaged in making a great sacrifice to\nNeptune. \"How shall I approach the chief?\" he asked. \"Ill am I trained in\ncourtly speech.\"\n\nBut, encouraged by Pallas, he greeted the aged Nestor, and after he and\nhis companion had assisted in the sacrifice and partaken of the banquet\nthat followed, he revealed his name and asked for tidings of his, father,\nboldly and confidently, as befitted the son of Ulysses. The old king could\ntell him nothing, however. After Troy had fallen, a dissension had rent\nthe camp, and part of the Greeks had remained with Agamemnon, part had\nsailed with Menelaus. Sailing with Menelaus, Nestor had parted with Diomed\nat Argos, and had sailed on to Pylos. Since his return he had heard of the\ndeath of Agamemnon, and of the more recent return of Menelaus, but had\nheard no tidings of Ulysses, who had remained with Agamemnon.\nTo Menelaus he advised Telemachus to go, warning him, however, not to\nremain long away from Ithaca, leaving his home in the possession of rude\nand lawless men.\n\nIn a car provided by Nestor and driven by his son, Pisistratus, Telemachus\nreached Sparta after a day and a night's rapid travel, and found Menelaus\ncelebrating the nuptial feast of his daughter Hermione, betrothed at Troy\nto the son of Achilles, and his son Megapenthes, wedded to the daughter of\nAlector. The two young men were warmly welcomed, and were invited to\npartake of the banquet without being asked their names. After the feast\nthey wondered at the splendor of the halls of gold, amber, and ivory, the\npolished baths, and the fleecy garments in which they had been arrayed;\nbut Menelaus assured them that all his wealth was small compensation to\nhim for the loss of the warriors who had fallen before Troy, and above\nall, of the great Ulysses, whose fate he knew not. Though Telemachus's\ntears fell at his father's name, Menelaus did not guess to whom he spoke,\nuntil Helen, entering from her perfumed chamber, saw the likeness between\nthe stranger and the babe whom Ulysses had left when he went to Troy, and\ngreeted their guest as Telemachus.\n\nThen they sat in the splendid hall and talked of Troy,--Menelaus broken by\nhis many toils, Helen beautiful as when she was rapt away by Paris,\nweaving with her golden distaff wound with violet wool, and the two young\nmen, who said little, but listened to the wondrous tale of the wanderings\nof Menelaus. And they spoke of Ulysses: of the times when he had proved\nhis prudence as well as his craft; of his entering Troy as a beggar and\nrevealing the Achaian plots to Helen; of how he had prevented their\nbreaking out of the wooden horse too soon. Then the king told of his\ninterview with the Ancient of the Deep, in which he had learned the fate\nof his comrades; of Agamemnon's death, and of the detention of Ulysses on\nCalypso's isle, where he languished, weeping bitterly, because he had no\nmeans of escape.\n\nThis information gained, Telemachus was anxious to return home; but his\nhost detained him until he and Helen had descended to their fragrant\ntreasure-chamber and brought forth rich gifts,--a double cup of silver and\ngold wrought by Vulcan, a shining silver beaker, and an embroidered robe\nfor his future bride.\n\nMercury, dispatched by Jove, descended to the distant isle of Calypso, and\nwarned the bright-haired nymph, whom he found weaving in her charmed\ngrotto, that she must let her mortal lover go or brave the wrath of the\ngods. The nymph, though loath to part with her lover, sought out the\nmelancholy Ulysses, where he sat weeping beside the deep, and giving him\ntools, led him to the forest and showed him where to fell trees with which\nto construct a raft. His labor finished, she provided the hero with\nperfumed garments, a full store of provisions, and saw him set forth\njoyfully upon the unknown deep.\n\nFor seventeen days his journey was a prosperous one; but on the eighteenth\nday, just as the land of the Ph\u00e6acians came in sight. Neptune returned\nfrom Ethiopia, and angry at what the gods had contrived to do in his\nabsence, determined to make the hero suffer as much as possible before he\nattained the promised end of his troubles.\n\nSoon a great storm arose and washed Ulysses from the raft. Clinging to its\nedge, buffeted here and there by the angry waves, he would have suffered\ndeath had not a kind sea nymph urged him to lay aside his heavy garments,\nleave the raft, and binding a veil that she gave him about his chest, swim\nto the land of the Ph\u00e6acians. The coast was steep and rocky, but he found\nat last a little river, and swimming up it, landed, and fell asleep among\nsome warm heaps of dried leaves.\n\nThe Ph\u00e6acians were a people closely allied to the gods, to whom they were\nvery dear. They had at one time been neighbors of the Cyclops, from whose\nrudeness they had suffered so much that they were compelled to seek a\ndistant home. They were a civilized people, who had achieved great results\nas sailors, having remarkably swift and well-equipped ships.\n\nTo the Princess Nausicaa, beautiful as a goddess, Pallas appeared in a\ndream the night that Ulysses lay sleeping on the isle, warning her that\nsince her wedding day was near at hand, when all would need fresh\ngarments, it was fitting that she should ask her father's permission to\ntake the garments of the household to the river side to wash them.\n\nNausicaa's father willingly granted his permission, and ordered the strong\ncar in which to carry away the soiled garments. A hamper of food and a\nskin of wine were added by her mother, as the princess climbed into the\nchariot and drove towards the river, followed by her maids.\n\nWhen the garments had been washed in the lavers hollowed out by the river\nside, and the lunch had been eaten, the maids joined in a game of ball.\nJoyous they laughed and frolicked, like Dian's nymphs, until they roused\nthe sleeper under the olive-trees on the hillside.\n\nAll save Nausicaa fled affrighted as he came forth to speak to them,\ncovered with sea foam, his nakedness hidden only by a leafy branch woven\nround his waist; but she, strengthened by the goddess, heard his story,\nand provided him with clothing and materials for the bath. When he\nappeared, cleansed from the sea foam, and made more handsome by the art of\nPallas, Nausicaa's pity was changed to admiration, and she wished that she\nmight have a husband like him.\n\nFood and wine were set before the hero, and while he refreshed himself the\ndried clothes were folded and placed in the cart. As the princess prepared\nto go she advised the stranger to follow the party until they reached a\ngrove outside the city, and to remain there until she had time to reach\nher father's palace, lest some gossip should connect Nausicaa's name with\nthat of a stranger. She told him how to find her father's palace, and\ninstructed him to win the favor of her mother, that he might be received\nwith honor and assisted on his homeward way.\n\nUlysses obeyed, and when he reached the city gates was met by Pallas, in\nthe guise of a virgin with an urn. She answered his questions, directed\nhim to the palace, and told him to throw himself first at the feet of\nQueen Arete, who was looked on by the people as if she were a goddess.\nWrapped in a cloud by Pallas, the unseen Ulysses admired the spacious\nhalls of Alcino\u00fcs. Walls of brass supported blue steel cornices, golden\ndoors guarded by gold and silver mastiffs opened into the vast hall, along\nwhich were ranged thrones covered with delicately woven mantles, for which\nthe Ph\u00e6acian women were famous.\n\nAround the palace lay a spacious garden filled with pear, pomegranate,\nfig, and apple trees, that knew no change of season, but blossomed and\nbore fruit throughout the year. Perennially blooming plants scattered\nperfume through the garden kept fresh by water from two sparkling\nfountains.\n\nAs Ulysses knelt at the feet of Arete, the cloud enveloping him fell away,\nand all were astonished at the sight of the stranger imploring protection.\nArete received Ulysses with favor, and Alcino\u00fcs was so pleased with him\nthat he offered him his daughter in marriage, if he was unmarried, a\npalace and riches if he would remain on the island, and a safe passage\nhome if he desired to leave them. The king then invited the chiefs of the\nisle to a great banquet in honor of his guest. At this banquet Demodocus,\nthe blind minstrel, sang so touchingly of the heroes of the Trojan war\nthat Ulysses was moved to tears, a fact observed by the king alone. After\nthe feast the guests displayed their strength in athletic games; and\nUlysses, provoked by the taunts of the ill-bred Euryalus, cast a broader,\nheavier quoit than had yet been used far beyond the mark. The Ph\u00e6acians\nwere amazed, and the king confessed that his people were weak in athletic\nsports but excelled in the dance,--a statement to which Ulysses readily\nagreed when he saw the beautiful and graceful dance of the princes\nLaodamas and Halius to the music of Demodocus's silver harp.\n\nWhen the games were over, all the chiefs presented Ulysses with garments\nand with talents of gold, for the reception of which Arete gave a\nbeautiful chest. As he corded up the chest, and stepped forth to the\nbanquet, refreshed from the bath, Nausicaa, standing beside a pillar, bade\nhim farewell.\n\n\"Remember, in thy native land, O stranger, that thou owest thy life to\nme.\"\n\nWhen they sat again in the banqueting hall, Ulysses besought Demodocus to\nsing again of the fall of Troy; but when the minstrel sang of the strategy\nof the wooden horse which wrought the downfall of Troy, the hero was again\nmelted to tears,--and this time his host, unable to repress his curiosity,\nasked him to reveal his name and history.\n\n\"Thou hast spoken, O king, and I proceed to tell the story of my\ncalamitous voyage from Troy; for I am Ulysses, widely known among men for\nmy cunning devices. Our first stop was among the Ciconians, whose city we\nlaid waste. Here, in spite of my warning, my men tarried to drink red wine\nuntil the Ciconians had had time to recruit their forces, and, attacking\nus, slew six men from each galley. When we who survived reached the land\nof the lotus-eaters, some of my men ate of the sweet plant, after which a\nman thinks never more of wife, or friends, or home; and it was with the\nutmost difficulty that we succeeded in dragging them to the ships.\n\n\"At the Cyclopean land I myself, with a few of my men, disembarked, and\nwent up to seek the inhabitants and conciliate them with gifts of food and\nwine. The Cyclops were huge one-eyed giants who did not cultivate the\nland, had no government, and cared nought for the gods. The first cave to\nwhich we came was empty, and we went in to await the arrival of the owner,\nappeasing our appetites, meanwhile, with some of his cheeses. Presently he\narrived, and after he had closed up the entrance of the cave with a huge\nstone, and had milked his goats, he questioned us as to who we were. Our\nstory told, he seized two of my companions, dashed their heads against the\nrocks, and devoured them. The next morning, after devouring two others, he\ndrove out his flocks, leaving us shut up in the huge cave. All that day I\nrevolved plans for his destruction and our escape; and at last, drawing\nlots with my companions to determine who should assist me, I determined,\nwith their aid, to bore out his great eye with a huge olive-wood stick\nthat I found in the cave. We spent the day sharpening it and hardening it\nin the fire, and at night hid it under a heap of litter. Two more of my\nmen made his evening meal, after which I plied him with the wine I had\nbrought, until, softened by the liquor, he inquired my name, assuring me\nthat as return for my gift, he would devour me last. My name, I told him,\nwas Noman.\n\n\"As soon as he had fallen into a drunken slumber I put the stake to heat,\nand, strengthening the courage of my men, I drew it forth and plunged it\ninto his eye. Steadily we spun it round until the monster, screaming with\npain, drew it forth, crying to the other Cyclops to come to his aid. When\nthey, from without, questioned who hurt him, he replied, 'Noman destroyeth\nme by guile.' 'If it is \"Noman,\"' said they, departing, 'it must be Jove.\nThen pray to Neptune.'\n\n\"During the night I tied together the rams, three and three with osier\ntwigs, and instructed my comrades, as he drove them out, to cling under\nthe middle one. I hid myself under the fleecy belly of a huge ram, the\nfinest of the flock. He touched their backs as he drove them out, but he\ndid not penetrate my cunning, and we all escaped. After we had driven the\nflock on board, however, and had pushed out our galley, I could not\nforbear a taunting shout, at which he hurled a huge fragment of rock after\nus, just missing our galley.\n\n\"With Aeolus, King of the Winds, we remained a month, reciting the events\nconnected with the fall of Troy. So pleased was the king with my story,\nthat on our departure he presented me with a bag tied up with a silver\ncord, which contained the adverse winds. One day, as I slumbered, my\nunhappy sailors, suspecting some treasure concealed therein, opened it,\nand we were immediately blown back to Aeolus's isle, from which he,\nenraged at our folly, indignantly drove us.\n\n\"At the land of the Laestrygonians all our galleys were lost and our men\ndevoured by the cannibal inhabitants, with the exception of my own ship,\nwhich by good fortune I had moored without the harbor. Overcome with\ngrief, we rowed wearily along until we arrived at the land of Circe. With\ncaution born of experience, we drew lots to see who should venture into\nthe unknown isle. The lot fell to Eurylochus, who, with twenty-two brave\nmen, went forward to the fair palace of Circe, around which fawned tamed\nmountain lions and wolves. Within sat the bright haired goddess, singing\nwhile she threw her shuttle through the beautiful web she was weaving.\n\n\"All the men entered the palace at her invitation but Eurylochus, who,\nsuspecting some guile, remained without. He saw his comrades led within,\nseated upon thrones and banqueted; but no sooner was the feast over, than\nshe touched them with her wand, and transformed them into swine that she\ndrove scornfully to their cells.\n\n\"Eurylochus hastened back to our ships with the sorrowful tidings. As soon\nas grief had permitted him to tell the story, I flung my sword over my\nshoulders and hastened away to the palace. As I entered the valley, not\nfar from the palace, I was met by a youth, none save the Argus-queller\nhimself, who revealed to me Circe's guile, and presented me with a plant,\nthe moly, which would enable me to withstand her charms.\n\n\"The goddess received me kindly, seated me upon a throne, and invited me\nto feast with her. After the feast she struck me with her wand, as she had\ndone my comrades, ordering me to go to my sty; but when I remained\nunchanged, she perceived that her guest was Ulysses, whose coming had long\nbeen foretold to her.\n\n\"Softened by her entreaties, I sheathed my sword, after having made her\npromise to release my friends and do us no further harm. Then the others\nwere called from the ships, and we banqueted together.\n\n\"Time passed so happily on Circe's isle that we lingered a whole year,\nuntil, roused by the words of my friends, I announced my intended\ndeparture, and was told by Circe that I must first go to the land of the\ndead to get instructions as to my future course from Tiresias. Provided\nwith the proper sacrifices by Circe, we set sail for the land of the\nCimmerians, on the confines of Oceanus. The sacrifices having been duly\nperformed, the spirits appeared,--Elpenor, my yet unburied comrade, whose\nbody lay on Circe's isle, my own dead mother, and the Theban seer,\nTiresias, with his golden wand. 'Neptune is wroth with thee,' he said,\n'but thou mayst yet return if thou and thy comrades leave undisturbed the\ncattle of the Sun. If thou do not, destruction awaits thee. If thou escape\nand return home it will be after long journeyings and much suffering, and\nthere thou wilt slay the insolent suitor crew that destroy thy substance\nand wrong thy household.' After Tiresias had spoken I lingered to speak\nwith other spirits,--my mother, Ajax, Antiope, Agamemnon, Achilles,\nPatroclus, and Antilochus. Having conversed with all these, we set sail\nfor Circe's isle, and thence started again on our homeward voyage.\n\n\"Circe had instructed me to stop the ears of my men with wax as we\napproached the isle of the Sirens, and to have myself tied to the boat\nthat I might not leap into the ocean to go to the beautiful maidens who\nsang so entrancingly. We therefore escaped without adding our bones to\nthose on the isle of the Sirens, and came next to Scylla and Charybdis.\nCharybdis is a frightful whirlpool. The sailor who steers too far away in\nhis anxiety to escape it, is seized by the six arms of the monster Scylla\nand lifted to her cavern to be devoured. We avoided Charybdis; but as we\nlooked down into the abyss, pale with fear, six of my comrades were seized\nby Scylla and snatched up to her cave.\n\n\"As we neared the Island of the Sun I told my comrades again of the\nwarning of Tiresias, and begged them to sail past without stopping. I was\nmet, however, by the bitterest reproaches, and at last consented to a\nlanding if they would bind themselves by a solemn oath not to touch the\ncattle of the Sun. They promised, but when adverse winds prolonged our\nstay and food became scarce, fools, madmen, they slew the herds, and in\nspite of the terrible omens, the meat lowing on the spits, the skins\ncrawling, they feasted for six days. When, on the seventh, the tempest\nceased and we sailed away, we went to our destruction. I alone was saved,\nclinging to the floating timbers for nine long days, until on the tenth I\nreached Calypso's isle, Ogygia, where, out of love for me, the mighty\ngoddess cherished me for seven years.\"\n\nThe Ph\u00e6acians were entranced by this recital, and in addition to their\nformer gifts, heaped other treasures upon the \"master of stratagems\" that\nhe might return home a wealthy man. The swift ship was filled with his\ntreasures, and after the proper sacrifices and long farewells, the\nchieftain embarked. It was morn when the ship arrived in Ithaca, and\nUlysses, worn out from his long labors, was still asleep. Stopping at the\nlittle port of Phorcys, where the steep shores stretch inward and a\nspreading olive-tree o'ershadows the grotto of the nymphs, the sailors\nlifted out Ulysses, laid him on the ground, and piling up his gifts under\nthe olive-tree, set sail for Ph\u00e6acia. But the angry Neptune smote the\nship as it neared the town and changed it to a rock, thus fulfilling an\nancient prophecy that Neptune would some day wreak his displeasure on the\nPh\u00e6acians for giving to every man who came to them safe escort home.\n\nWhen Ulysses awoke he did not recognize the harbor, and thinking that he\nhad been treated with deceit, he wept bitterly. Thus Pallas, in the guise\nof a young shepherd, found him, and showed him that it was indeed his own\ndear land. She helped him to conceal his treasures in the grotto, and told\nhim that Telemachus was even now away on a voyage of inquiry concerning\nhim, and his wife was weeping over his absence and the insolence of the\nsuitors. But he must act with caution. To give him an opportunity to lay\nhis plans for the destruction of these men without being recognized, she\nchanged him to a beggar, wrinkled and old, and clad in ragged, soiled\ngarments. Then directing him to the home of his old herdsman, she hastened\nto warn Telemachus to avoid the ship the suitors had stationed to destroy\nhim on his way home.\n\nThe old Eumaeus was sitting in his lodge without whose hedge lay the many\nsties of swine that were his care. He greeted the beggar kindly, and\nspread food before him, lamenting all the while the absence of his noble\nmaster and the wickedness of the suitors. Ulysses told him that he was a\nwanderer who had heard of his master, and could speak surely of his\nreturn. Though Eumaeus regarded this as an idle speech spoken to gain food\nand clothing, he continued in his kindness to his guest.\n\nTo this lodge came Telemachus after the landing of his ship, that he might\nfirst hear from Eumaeus the news from the palace,--Telemachus, who had\ngrown into sudden manliness from his experience among other men. He also\nwas kind to the beggar, and heard his story. While he remained with the\nbeggar, Eumaeus having gone to acquaint Penelope of her son's return,\nPallas appearing, touched the beggar with her golden wand, and Ulysses,\nwith the presence of a god, stood before his awed and wondering son.\n\nLong and passionate was their weeping as the father told the son of his\nsufferings, and the son told of the arrogance of the one hundred and\nfourteen suitors.\n\n\"There are we two with Pallas and her father Jove against them,\" replied\nhis father. \"Thinkest thou we need to fear with two such allies?\"\n\nOn the day after Telemachus's return, Ulysses, accompanied by Eumaeus,\nvisited the palace. No one recognized him except his old dog, Argus, long\nneglected and devoured by vermin, who, at the sound of his master's voice,\ndrew near, wagged his tail, and fell dead.\n\nAccording to their carefully laid plans, Telemachus feigned not to know\nhis father, but sent to the beggar some food. Ulysses asked the same of\nthe suitors, but was repulsed with taunts and insults, Antino\u00fcs, the most\ninsolent, striking him with a footstool.\n\nTo Penelope, weaving in her chamber, was carried the story of the beggar\nat whom the abhorred Antino\u00fcs had thrown a stool, and she sent for him to\nask if he had tidings of Ulysses. He refused to go to her, however, until\nthe suitors had withdrawn for the night; and as he sat among the\nrevellers, he caught the first glimpse of his wife, as she came down among\nher maids, to reproach her son for exposing himself to danger among the\nsuitors, and for allowing the beggar to be injured.\n\nWhen darkness fell and the hall was deserted, Telemachus, with the\nassistance of his father, removed all the weapons from the walls. After\nTelemachus had retired to his chamber, Penelope came down, and sitting\nupon her ivory throne conversed with the beggar, questioning him about his\nstory until he was driven to invent tales that seemed like truth, and\nasking about her husband while the tears ran down her fair cheeks. By a\ngreat effort Ulysses kept his tears from falling as he beheld his wife\nweeping over him; he assured her that her husband would soon return, but\nhe would accept no clothing as a reward for his tidings. The aged\nEurycleia, who was called forth to wash his feet, came near betraying her\nmaster when she recognized a scar made by a wild boar's tusk, but he\nthreatened her into silence. Soon after, Penelope and her maids withdrew,\nand left Ulysses to meditate vengeance through the night.\n\nThe next morning, when the suitors again sat in the banquet-hall, Penelope\ndescended to them and declared that she had determined to give her hand to\nthe one of the suitors who could draw the great bow of Ulysses and send\nthe arrow through twelve rings set on stakes planted in the ground. Up to\nthe polished treasure-chamber she went, and took down the great bow given\nto Ulysses by Iphitus. As she took it from its case her tears fell, but\nshe dried them and carried it and the steel rings into the hall. Gladly\nUlysses hailed this hour, for he knew the time had come when he should\ndestroy the suitor band. That morn many omens had warned him, and he had\nrevealed himself to his faithful men, Eumaeus, and Philoetius the\nmaster-herdsman, that they might assist him. Telemachus, though astonished\nat his mother's decision, first took the bow; if he succeeded in bending\nit, his mother would not have to leave her home. He would have bent the\nbow at the fourth attempt had not his father's glance warned him to yield\nit to the suitors.\n\nAlthough the bow was rubbed and softened with oil, all failed in their\nattempts to draw it; and when the beggar asked to be allowed to try, their\nwrath burst forth. What shame would be theirs if the beggar succeeded in\ndoing that in which they had failed! But Telemachus, who asserted his\nrights more day by day, insisted that the beggar should try to bend the\nbow, if he so desired. Sending his mother and her maids to their bower, he\nwatched his father as he easily bent the mighty bow, snapped the cord with\na sound at which the suitors grew pale, and sent the arrow through the\nrings. Then casting aside his rags, the supposed beggar sprang upon the\nthreshold, and knowing that by his orders, Eumaeus, Philoetius, and\nEurycleia had secured the portals so that escape was impossible, he sent\nhis next shaft through the throat of Antino\u00fcs. \"Dogs! ye thought I never\nwould return! Ye dreaded not the gods while ye devoured my substance and\npursued my wife! Now vengeance is mine! Destruction awaits you all!\"\n\nToo late Eurymachus sprang up and besought the monarch to grant them their\nlives if they made good their waste and returned to their homes. Ulysses\nhad brooded too long over his injuries; his wife and son had suffered too\nmany years from their persecutions for him to think of mercy. Eurymachus\nfell by the next brass-tipped shaft, and for every arrow in the quiver a\nsuitor lay dead until the quiver was empty. Then Telemachus, Philoetius,\nand Eumaeus, provided with weapons and armor, stood forth with Ulysses,\nand withstood the suitors until all were slain, save Medon the herald and\nPhemius the minstrel, for both of whom Telemachus pleaded, since they had\nbeen coerced by the others. Giving the destruction of the false\nserving-maids to his three assistants, Ulysses ordered the hall to be\ncleansed, and after greeting his faithful servants and weeping with them,\nsent Eurycleia up to the bower to tell Penelope that her master had at\nlast arrived.\n\nPenelope was too fearful of deceit to believe instantly that the beggar\nsitting beside the lofty column was her husband, though as she looked at\nhim wonderingly, she sometimes fancied that she saw Ulysses, and again\ncould not believe that it was he. So long was she silent that Telemachus\nreproached her for her hardness of heart; but Ulysses, better guessing the\ndifficulty, ordered that all should take the bath and array themselves in\nfresh garments while the harper played gay melodies, that those passing\nshould not guess the slaughter that had occurred, but should fancy that a\nwedding was being celebrated. When Ulysses again appeared, refreshed and\nhandsomely attired, Penelope, still uncertain, determined to test his\nknowledge of her chamber. \"Bear out the bed made by his own hands,\" she\ncommanded Eurycleia, \"that he may rest for the night.\"\n\n\"Who has dared move my bed?\" cried Ulysses; \"the couch framed upon the\nstump of an olive-tree, round which I built a stone chamber! I myself\ncunningly fitted it together, and adorned it with gold, silver, and\nivory.\"\n\nThen Penelope, who knew that no one save herself, Ulysses, and one\nhandmaiden had ever seen the interior of that chamber, fell on his neck\nand welcomed the wanderer home. \"Pray, be not angry with me, my husband.\nMany times my heart has trembled lest some fraud be practised on me, and I\nshould receive a stranger to my heart.\"\n\nWelcome as land to the shipwrecked mariner was Ulysses to Penelope. Both\nwept as he held her in his arms, and the rosy-fingered morn would have\nfound them thus, weeping, with her fair, white arms encircling his neck,\nhad not Pallas prolonged the night that he might relate to her the story\nof his wanderings. Then, happy in their reunion, the years of sorrow all\nforgotten, sleep overcame them. At dawn, bidding a brief farewell to his\nwife, Ulysses went forth to visit his father, and settle as best he might\nthe strife which he knew would result from the slaughter of the suitors.\n\nAfter Ulysses' mother had died of grief at the prolonged absence of her\nson, Laertes passed his days wretchedly in a little habitation remote from\nthe palace. There Ulysses found him and made himself known; and there he,\nLaertes, Telemachus, the aged Dolius, and his six sons faced the people\nwho had been roused to battle by the speech of Eupeithes, whose son\nAntino\u00fcs had been the first of the suitors to fall by the hand of Ulysses.\nNot heeding the warning of the herald Medon that the suitors had been\nslain justly, they attacked Ulysses and his handful of followers.\n\nEupeithes fell first by the spear of Laertes, and a great slaughter would\nhave ensued, had not the combatants been silenced by the voice of Pallas,\nwho commanded all strife to cease. Frightened by this divine command, the\nenemy fled; and Pallas, descending in the form of Mentor, plighted a\ncovenant between them that Ulysses might live peacefully among them the\nremainder of his life.\n\n\n\n\nSELECTIONS FROM THE ODYSSEY.\n\nTHE PALACE OF ALCINO\u00dcS.\n\n\nUlysses, having been directed by Nausicaa, reached the gate of the city,\nand was there met by Pallas in the guise of a maiden with an urn, who\ninstructed him how to approach the king and queen. He passed through the\ntown, wrapped in a cloud by Pallas, and paused on the threshold of\nAlcino\u00fcs's palace.\n\n            For on every side beneath\n  The lofty roof of that magnanimous king\n  A glory shone as of the sun or moon.\n  There from the threshold, on each side, were walls\n  Of brass that led towards the inner rooms,\n  With blue steel cornices. The doors within\n  The massive building were of gold, and posts\n  Of silver on the brazen threshold stood,\n  And silver was the lintel, and above\n  Its architrave was gold; and on each side\n  Stood gold and silver mastiffs, the rare work\n  Of Vulcan's practised skill, placed there to guard\n  The house of great Alcino\u00fcs, and endowed\n  With deathless life, that knows no touch of age.\n  Along the walls within, on either side,\n  And from the threshold to the inner rooms,\n  Were firmly planted thrones on which were laid\n  Delicate mantles, woven by the hands\n  Of women. The Ph\u00e6acian princes here\n  Were seated; here they ate and drank, and held\n  Perpetual banquet. Slender forms of boys\n  In gold upon the shapely altars stood,\n  With blazing torches in their hands to light\n  At eve the palace guests; while fifty maids\n  Waited within the halls, where some in querns\n  Ground small the yellow grain; some wove the web\n  Or twirled the spindle, sitting, with a quick\n  Light motion, like the aspen's glancing leaves.\n  The well-wrought tissues glistened as with oil.\n  As far as the Ph\u00e6acian race excel\n  In guiding their swift galleys o'er the deep,\n  So far the women in their woven work\n  Surpass all others. Pallas gives them skill\n  In handiwork and beautiful design.\n  Without the palace-court and near the gate,\n  A spacious garden of four acres lay.\n  A hedge enclosed it round, and lofty trees\n  Flourished in generous growth within,--the pear\n  And the pomegranate, and the apple-tree\n  With its fair fruitage, and the luscious fig\n  And olive always green. The fruit they bear\n  Falls not, nor ever fails in winter time\n  Nor summer, but is yielded all the year.\n  The ever-blowing west-wind causes some\n  To swell and some to ripen; pear succeeds\n  To pear; to apple, apple, grape to grape,\n  Fig ripens after fig. A fruitful field\n  Of vines was planted near; in part it lay\n  Open and basking in the sun, which dried\n  The soil, and here men gathered in the grapes,\n  And there they trod the wine-press. Farther on\n  Were grapes unripened yet, which just had cast\n  The flower, and others still which just began\n  To redden. At the garden's furthest bound\n  Were beds of many plants that all the year\n  Bore flowers. There gushed two fountains: one of them\n  Ran wandering through the field; the other flowed\n  Beneath the threshold to the palace-court,\n  And all the people filled their vessels there.\n  Such were the blessings which the gracious gods\n  Bestowed on King Alcino\u00fcs and his house.\n           _Bryant's Translation, Book VII._\n\n\n\n\nTHE BENDING OF THE BOW.\n\n\nPenelope, weary of the importunities of the suitors, determined to end the\ncontest by giving them the bow of Ulysses and allowing the one who could\nsuccessfully send the arrow through the steel rings to become her husband.\nHaving announced her intention, she ascended the stairs to the treasure\nchamber, where the bow was kept.\n\n  Now when the glorious lady reached the room,\n  And stood upon the threshold, wrought of oak\n  And polished by the workman's cunning hand,\n  Who stretched the line upon it, and set up\n  Its posts, and hung its shining doors, she loosed\n  With a quick touch the thong that held the ring,\n  Put in the key, and with a careful aim\n  Struck back the sounding bolts. As when a bull\n  Roars in the field, such sound the beautiful doors,\n  Struck with the key, gave forth, and instantly\n  They opened to her. Up the lofty floor\n  She stepped, where stood the coffer that contained\n  The perfumed garments. Reaching forth her hand,\n  The queen took down the bow, that hung within\n  Its shining case, and sat her down, and laid\n  The case upon her knees, and, drawing forth\n  The monarch's bow, she wept aloud. As soon\n  As that new gush of tears had ceased to fall,\n  Back to the hall she went, and that proud throng\n  Of suitors, bearing in her hand the bow\n  Unstrung, and quiver, where the arrows lay\n  Many and deadly. Her attendant maids\n  Brought also down a coffer, where were laid\n  Much brass and steel, provided by the king\n  For games like these. The glorious lady then,\n  In presence of the suitors, stood beside\n  The columns that upheld the stately roof.\n  She held a lustrous veil before her cheeks,\n  And while on either side of her a maid\n  Stood modestly, bespake the suitors thus:--\n\n  \"Hear, noble suitors! ye who throng these halls,\n  And eat and drink from day to day, while long\n  My husband has been gone; your sole excuse\n  For all this lawlessness the claim ye make\n  That I become a bride. Come then, for now\n  A contest is proposed. I bring to you\n  The mighty bow that great Ulysses bore.\n  Whoe'er among you he may be whose hand\n  Shall bend this bow, and send through these twelve rings\n  An arrow, him I follow hence, and leave\n  This beautiful abode of my young years,\n  With all its plenty,--though its memory,\n  I think, will haunt me even in my dreams.\"\n\n  She spake, and bade the master of the swine,\n  The good Eumaeus, place the bow and rings\n  Of hoary steel before the suitor train.\n  In tears he bore the bow and laid it down.\n  The herdsman also wept to see again\n  His master's bow.\n\n         *       *       *       *       *\n\n  He (Telemachus) spake and, rising, from his shoulders took\n  The purple cloak, and laid the trenchant sword\n  Aside; and first he placed the rings of steel\n  In order, opening for them in the ground\n  A long trench by a line, and stamping close\n  The earth around them. All admired the skill\n  With which he ranged them, never having seen\n  The game before. And then he took his place\n  Upon the threshold, and essayed the bow;\n  And thrice he made the attempt, and thrice gave o'er,\n  Yet hoping still to draw the cord, and send\n  An arrow through the rings. He would have drawn\n  The bow at the fourth trial, but a nod\n  Given by his father caused him to forbear,\n  Though eager for the attempt.\n\n         *       *       *       *       *\n\n         ... And then Eupeithes' son,\n  Antino\u00fcs, to the crowd of suitors said:--\n\n  \"Rise one by one, my friends, from right to left.\n  Begin where he begins who pours the wine.\"\n  So spake Antino\u00fcs, and the rest approved.\n  Then rose Leiodes, son of Oenops, first.\n  He was their seer, and always had his seat\n  Beside the ample bowl. From deeds of wrong\n  He shrank with hatred, and was sore incensed\n  Against the suitors all. He took the bow\n  And shaft, and, going to the threshold, stood\n  And tried the bow, yet bent it not; it galled\n  His hands, for they were soft, and all unused\n  To such a task.\n\n          ... The swineherd went\n  Forward along the hall, and, drawing near\n  The wise Ulysses, gave into his hands\n  The bow.\n\n         *       *       *       *       *\n\n          ... but when the wary chief\n  Had poised and shrewdly scanned the mighty bow,\n  Then, as a singer, skilled to play the harp,\n  Stretches with ease on its new fastenings\n  A string, the twisted entrails of a sheep,\n  Made fast at either end, so easily\n  Ulysses bent that mighty bow. He took\n  And drew the cord with his right hand; it twanged\n  With a clear sound as when a swallow screams.\n  The suitors were dismayed, and all grew pale.\n  Jove in loud thunder gave a sign from heaven.\n  The much-enduring chief, Ulysses, heard\n  With joy the friendly omen, which the son\n  Of crafty Saturn sent him. He took up\n  A winged arrow, that before him lay\n  Upon a table drawn; the others still\n  Were in the quiver's womb; the Greeks were yet\n  To feel them. This he set with care against\n  The middle of the bow, and toward him drew\n  The cord and arrow-notch, just where he sat,\n  And aiming opposite, let fly the shaft.\n  He missed no ring of all; from first to last\n  The brass-tipped arrow threaded every one.\n  Then to Telemachus Ulysses said:--\n\n  \"Telemachus, the stranger sitting here\n  Hath not disgraced thee. I have neither missed\n  The rings, nor found it hard to bend the bow;\n  Nor has my manly strength decayed, as these\n  Who seek to bring me to contempt pretend;\n  And now the hour is come when we prepare\n  A supper for the Achaians, while the day\n  Yet lasts, and after supper the delights\n  Of song and harp, which nobly grace a feast.\"\n\n  He spake, and nodded to Telemachus,\n  His well-beloved son, who girded on\n  His trenchant sword, and took in hand his spear,\n  And, armed with glittering brass for battle, came\n  And took his station by his father's seat.\n\n  Then did Ulysses cast his rags aside,\n  And, leaping to the threshold, took his stand\n  On its broad space, with bow and quiver filled\n  With arrows. At his feet the hero poured\n  The winged shafts, and to the suitors called:--\n\n  \"That difficult strife is ended. Now I take\n  Another mark, which no man yet has hit.\n  Now I shall see if I attain my aim,\n  And, by the aid of Phoebus, win renown.\"\n\n  He spake; and, turning, at Antino\u00fcs aimed\n  The bitter shaft--Antino\u00fcs, who just then\n  Had grasped a beautiful two-eared cup of gold,\n  About to drink the wine. He little thought\n  Of wounds and death; for who, when banqueting\n  Among his fellows, could suspect that one\n  Alone against so many men would dare,\n  However bold, to plan his death, and bring\n  On him the doom of fate? Ulysses struck\n  The suitor with the arrow at the throat.\n  The point came through the tender neck behind,\n  Sideways he sank to earth; his hand let fall\n  The cup; the dark blood in a thick warm stream\n  Gushed from the nostrils of the smitten man.\n  He spurned the table with his feet, and spilled\n  The viands; bread and roasted meats were flung\n  To lie polluted on the floor. Then rose\n  The suitors in a tumult, when they saw\n  The fallen man; from all their seats they rose\n  Throughout the hall, and to the massive walls\n  Looked eagerly; there hung no buckler there,\n  No sturdy lance for them to wield. They called\n  Then to Ulysses with indignant words:--\n\n  \"Stranger! in evil hour hast thou presumed\n  To aim at men; and thou shalt henceforth bear\n  Part in no other contest. Even now\n  Is thy destruction close to thee. Thy hand\n  Hath slain the noblest youth in Ithaca.\n  The vultures shall devour thy flesh for this.\"\n\n  So each one said; they deemed he had not slain\n  The suitor wittingly; nor did they see,\n  Blind that they were, the doom which in that hour\n  Was closing round them all. Then with a frown\n  The wise Ulysses looked on them, and said:--\n\n  \"Dogs! ye had thought I never would come back\n  From Ilium's coast, and therefore ye devoured\n  My substance here, and offered violence\n  To my maid-servants, and pursued my wife\n  As lovers, while I lived. Ye dreaded not\n  The gods who dwell in the great heaven, nor feared\n  Vengeance hereafter from the hands of men;\n  And now destruction overhangs you all.\"\n\n  He spake, and all were pale with fear, and each\n  Looked round for some escape from death.\n\n    _Bryant's Translation, Books XXI., XXII_.\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE KALEVALA.\n\n\"Songs preserved from distant ages.\"\n\n\nThe national epic of Finland, the Kalevala, or Place of Heroes, stands\nmidway between the purely epical structure, as exemplified in Homer, and\nthe epic songs of certain nations.\n\nIt is a purely pagan epic, and from its complete silence as to Finland's\nneighbors, the Russians, Germans, and Swedes, it is supposed to date back\nat least three thousand years.\n\nThe first attempt to collect Finnish folk-song was made in the seventeenth\ncentury by Palmsk\u00f6ld and Peter B\u00e4ng. In 1733, Maxenius published a volume\non Finnish national poetry, and in 1745 Juslenius began a collection of\nnational poems. Although scholars saw that these collected poems were\nevidently fragments of a Finnish epic, it remained for two physicians,\nZacharias Topelius and Elias L\u00f6nnrot, to collect the entire poem.\nTopelius, though confined to his bed by illness for eleven years, took\ndown the songs from travelling merchants brought to his bedside. His\ncollections were published in 1822 and 1831. L\u00f6nnrot travelled over\nFinland, collecting the songs, which he published, arranged in epical\nform, in 1835. A revised edition was published in 1849.\n\nThe Kalevala consists of fifty parts, or runes, containing twenty-two\nthousand seven hundred and ninety-three lines. Its historical foundation\nis the contests between the Finns and the Lapps.\n\nIts metre is the \"eight syllabled trochaic with the part-line echo,\"\nalliteration also being used, a metre familiar to us through Longfellow's\n\"Hiawatha.\"\n\nThe labors of a Wolf are not necessary to show that the Kalevala is\ncomposed of various runes or lays, arranged by a compiler. Topelius and\nL\u00f6nnrot were conscientious collectors and compilers, but they were no\nHomers, who could fuse these disconnected runes into one great poem. The\nKalevala recites many events in the lives of different heroes who are not\ntypes of men, like Rama, or Achilles, or Ulysses, but the rude gods of an\nalmost savage people, or rather, men in the process of apotheosis, all\nalike, save in the varying degrees of magic power possessed by each.\n\nThe Finnish lays are interesting to us because they are the popular songs\nof a people handed down with few changes from one generation to another;\nbecause they would have formed the material for a national epic if a great\npoet had arisen; because of their pictures of ancient customs, and\nparticularly the description of the condition of women, and because of\ntheir frequently beautiful descriptions of nature. But because they are\nsimply runes \"loosely stitched together\" we can regard them only with\ninterest and curiosity, not with admiration.\n\n\n\n\nBIBLIOGRAPHY AND CRITICISM, THE KALEVALA.\n\n\nAndrew Lang's Homer and the Epic, pp. 412-419;\n\nAndrew Lang's Kalevala, or the Finnish National Epic (in his Custom and\nMyth), 1885, pp. 156-179;\n\nC. J. Billson's Folk-songs, comprised in the Finnish Kalevala, Folk-Lore,\n1895, vi. pp. 317-352;\n\nF. C. Cook's Kalevala, Contemporary, 1885, xlvii., pp. 683-702;\n\nPreface of J. M. Crawford's Translation of the Kalevala, 1891.\n\n\n\n\nSTANDARD ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS, THE KALEVALA.\n\n\nThe Kalevala, Tr. by J. M. Crawford, 2 vols., 1891;\n\nThe Kalevala, Tr. by W. F. Kirby, through the German translation of\nSchiefner;\n\nSelections from the Kalevala, Tr. from a German version by J. A. Porter,\nwith an introduction and analysis of the Poem, 1868.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE KALEVALA.\n\n\nWainamoinen was born upon the ocean after his mother, Ilmatar, daughter of\nthe illimitable Ether, had floated upon its surface for more than seven\nhundred years. During this time Ilmatar had created the islands, the\nrocks, and the continents. After eight years of swimming through the\nocean, studying his surroundings, Wainamoinen left the waters and swam to\na barren promontory, where he could rest himself on dry land and study the\nsun, the moon, and the starry skies. At last he called to him\nPellerwoinen, that the slender youth might scatter seeds broadcast upon\nthe island, sowing in their proper places the birch, the alder, the\nlinden, the willow, the mountain ash, and the juniper. It was not long\nuntil the eyes of the sower were gladdened by the sight of trees rising\nabove the hitherto barren soil.\n\nBut as Wainamoinen cast his eyes over the place he perceived that the oak,\nthe tree of heaven, was wanting. The acorn planted in the sterile soil\ndeveloped not until Tursas, the giant, arose from the ocean, burned some\nmeadow grasses, and raking together the ashes, planted therein the acorn,\nfrom which soon sprang up a mighty oak-tree whose branches hid the sun\nrays and the starlight.\n\nThe oak-tree must be felled if the land was to prosper, but who could fell\nit? \"Help me, Kap\u00e9, daughter of the Ether, help me, my ancient mother, to\nuproot this terrible tree that shuts out the sunshine,\" cried Wainamoinen.\n\nStraightway arose from the ocean a little being clad in copper,--cap,\nboots, gloves, and belt. He was no longer than a man's forefinger, and the\nblade of the hatchet at his belt was but a finger's breadth. \"Art thou\ndivine, or human?\" queried Wainamoinen. \"Tell me who thou art. Thou surely\nhast the bearing of a hero, though so small. But thou must be of the race\nof the pygmies, and therefore useless.\"\n\n\"I came here to fell the oak,\" replied the pygmy. \"I am a god and a hero\nfrom the tribes that rule the ocean.\"\n\n\"Never canst thou lop the branches of this mighty tree,\" replied\nWainamoinen.\n\nAs he spoke, the pygmy became a giant; with one step he left the ocean,\nand stood piercing the clouds with his head. He whetted his hatchet on the\ngreat rocks, and with three steps reached the tree; with four blows felled\nit. The trunk fell eastward, its tops westward, the leaves to the south,\nthe hundred branches to the north. Full of magic power were the parts of\nthis tree, and happy was he who possessed himself of some part of it.\n\nThen vegetation flourished, the birds sang happily in the trees, and all\nwas well except that barley was wanting. On the ocean strand Wainamoinen\ndiscovered the barley seed; and, advised by the birds how to plant it, was\nsoon gratified by the sight of the growing barley. His next act was to\nclear the forest; but he left the slender birch for the birds to nest in,\nthus winning the gratitude of the silver-voiced singers.\n\nIn the land of Kalevala, Wainamoinen passed many happy years, and the fame\nof his wonderful songs of wit and wisdom spread even to the land of the\nLapps, in the dismal north, where lived Youkahainen, a young minstrel.\nAgainst the advice of his parents, the youth, filled with jealousy,\nvisited Kalevala, to hold a singing contest with Wainamoinen.\n\nHe proudly displayed his wisdom to the old minstrel, who laughed at it as\n\"women's tales and children's wisdom,\" and when Youkahainen declared in\nsong that he was present at the creation, Wainamoinen called him the\nprince of liars, and himself began to sing. As he sang, the copper-bearing\nmountains, the massive rocks and ledges, trembled, the hills re-echoed,\nand the very ocean heaved with rapture. The boaster stood speechless,\nseeing his sledge transformed into reed grass and willows, his beautiful\nsteed changed to a statue, his dog to a block of stone, and he himself\nfast sinking in a quicksand. Then comprehending his folly, he begged his\ntormentor to free him. Each precious gift he offered for a ransom was\nrefused, until he named his beautiful sister Aino. Wainamoinen, happy in\nthe promise of Aino for a wife, freed the luckless youth from his\nenchantment, and sent him home.\n\nAino's mother was rejoiced to hear that her daughter had been promised to\nthe renowned Wainamoinen; but when the beautiful girl learned that she was\ntied by her brother's folly to an old man, she wandered weeping through\nthe fields. In vain her mother and father sought to console her; she wept\nfor her vanished childhood, for all her happiness and hope and pleasure\nforever gone. To console her daughter, the mother told her of a store of\nbeautiful ornaments that she herself had worn in girlhood; they had been\ngiven her by the daughters of the Moon and Sun,--gold, ribbons, and\njewels. Beautifully arrayed in these long-concealed ornaments, Aino\nwandered through the fields for many days, bewailing her sad fate. On the\nfourth day, she laid her garments on the sea shore, and swam out to the\nstanding rock, a little distance from the shore. No sooner had she\nclambered on the rainbow-colored rock than it turned and fell to the\nbottom of the sea, carrying with it the weeping maiden, chanting a\nfarewell to her family. The fleet and haughty hare bore the news of her\ndeath to the household, where her unfortunate mother sat weeping, urging\nother mothers never to force their daughters to wed against their choice.\nThe tears that rolled down her cheeks formed three streamlets, that,\ngrowing larger, became torrents with foaming cataracts. From the cataracts\ntowered three pillared rocks upon which rose three hillocks, and upon each\nhillock sprang a birch-tree. On the summit of each tree sat a golden bird\nsinging; and the first sang, for three moons, his song of \"Love! O Love!\"\nthe second called for six moons, \"Suitor! Suitor!\" but the third bird sang\nforever his sad song of \"Consolation! Consolation!\"\n\nWainamoinen was deeply grieved when he heard of the fate of the lovely\nAino, and he at once went to angle in the deep where dwelt the mermaids,\nthe daughters of Wellamo.\n\nAfter he had fished many days in vain, he caught a wondrous salmon, larger\nand more beautiful than he had ever before caught. But as he took out his\nsilver knife to cut it, the fish sprang from his hand into the deep,\ntelling him that it was Aino who had thus come to him, and whom he had now\nlost forever by his stupidity. Then indeed the song of the golden bird\nseemed sad to Wainamoinen, and he was disconsolate until his mother spoke\nto him from her grave: \"My son, go north and seek thy wife. Take not a\nsilly Lapp, but choose one of the daughters of Suomi.\"\n\nQuickly Wainamoinen prepared for his journey, and mounted his magic steed,\nthat galloped over the plains of Kalevala and crossed the waste of blue\nsea-water as though it were land.\n\nBut the envious Youkahainen was informed of the journey, and had prepared\na cruel cross-bow and three poisoned arrows. In spite of the protests of\nhis mother, he waited for the hero and shot at him three times. The third\narrow struck Wainamoinen's horse, which sank to the bottom of the ocean,\nleaving the hapless rider struggling in the water. \"Seven summers must he\ntread the waves,\" chuckled Youkahainen; \"eight years ride the billows.\"\n\nFor six days Wainamoinen floated on the waters; then he was rescued by a\nhuge eagle that carried him on its back to Pohyola, the dismal Sariola,\nand left him on a barren promontory, where he bemoaned his unhappy fate.\nHere he was found by Louhi, the toothless dame of Pohyola, who took him\nhome and fed him. Then she promised to provide him with a sledge that he\nmight journey safely home if he would forge for her the Sampo, a magical\njewel that gave success to its possessor. If he could make her this, she\nwould also give him her daughter in marriage. \"I cannot forge the Sampo,\nbut if thou wilt help me to my distant country I will send thee my brother\nIlmarinen, the blacksmith, who can forge for thee the magic Sampo, and win\nthy beautiful daughter.\"\n\nLouhi provided a sledge and horse, and as Wainamoinen seated himself she\nwarned him, as he journeyed, not to look upward before nightfall, or some\ngreat misfortune would befall him.\n\nThe maiden of the Rainbow, beautiful daughter of Pohyola, was sitting on\nthe rainbow weaving, and Wainamoinen, hearing the whizzing of the loom,\nforgot the warning, and, looking up, was filled with love for the maiden.\n\n\"Come to me,\" he cried.\n\n\"The birds have told me,\" she replied, \"that a maiden's life, as compared\nto a married woman's, is as summer to coldest winter. Wives are as dogs\nenchained in kennels.\"\n\nWhen Wainamoinen further besought her, she told him that she would\nconsider him a hero when he had split a golden hair with edgeless knives\nand snared a bird's egg with an invisible snare. When he had done these\nthings without difficulty, she demanded that he should peel the sandstone,\nand cut her a whipstick from the ice without making a splinter. This done,\nshe commanded that he should build her a boat from the fragments of her\ndistaff, and set it floating without the use of his knee, arm, hand, or\nfoot to propel it.\n\nWhile Wainamoinen was engaged in this task, Hisi, the god of evil, caused\nhim to cut his knee with the axe. None of his charms availed to stanch the\nblood, so he dragged himself to his sledge and sought the nearest village.\nIn the third cottage he found a graybeard, who caused two maids to dip up\nsome of the flowing blood, and then commanded Wainamoinen to sing the\norigin of iron. The daughters of Ukko the Creator had sprinkled the\nmountains with black, white, and red milk,--from this was formed iron.\nFire caught the iron and carried it to its furnace, and later Ilmarinen\nworked the unwilling metal into various articles. As he sought something\nto harden it, Hisi's bird, the hornet, dropped poison into the water; and\nthe iron dipped into it, formed the hard steel, which, angry because it\ncould not be broken, cut its brother, and vowed that it would ever cause\nman's blood to flow in torrents.\n\nThe old man then addressed the crimson stream flowing from the wound, and\nprayed to mighty Ukko to stop it.\n\nWhen it ceased to flow at his prayer, he sent forth his son to gather\nvarious charmed plants, steep them, and make a magic balsam. After many\nattempts the son was successful; and the balsam, applied to Wainamoinen's\nwound, healed it immediately.\n\nWainamoinen returned home and sought Ilmarinen, who refused to go north to\nforge the Sampo. Inducing his brother to climb a lofty fir-tree to bring\ndown the Moon and the Bear he had conjured there, the wizard caused a\ngreat storm-wind to arise and blow Ilmarinen to the woodlands of Pohyola.\n\nThere the blacksmith at once set up a forge, and after four days' work saw\nthe Sampo rising from the furnace, its many colored lid rocking and\ngrinding, every day, many measures of meal.\n\nJoyfully Louhi received the magic Sampo and locked it in a secret chamber\nunder the copper-bearing mountains. But when Ilmarinen asked for the hand\nof the Rainbow Maid, he was refused. \"Never shall I, in my lifetime, say\nfarewell to maiden freedom.\" So the blacksmith was compelled to return\nalone to Wainola.\n\nWhile Ilmarinen was forging the Sampo and Wainamoinen was building the\nmagic boat, Lemminkainen, or Ahti, the reckless wizard, king of the\nislands, was longing for a bride from Ehstland. In spite of his mother's\nentreaties, Lemminkainen went to Ehstland, and when he found it was\nimpossible to gain the favor of Kylliki, the Sahri maid of beauty, he\ncarried her off by force in his sledge. She became reconciled to him when\nhe promised that he would never go to battle, and she in turn vowed that\nshe would not visit the village dances. They lived happily together until\nLemminkainen tarried late at the fishing one evening, and Kylliki went to\nthe village dance. When Lemminkainen returned, his sister told him of\nKylliki's broken vow; and in spite of the prayers of his mother and wife,\nthe hero declared that he would break his promise and go to war. To the\nNorthland he would go, and win another wife. \"When my brush bleeds, then\nyou may know that misfortune has overtaken me,\" he said angrily, flinging\nhis hairbrush at the wall.\n\nThrough many dangers he passed unscathed by the aid of his magic, until he\nstood in the halls of Louhi and asked for her daughter, the Rainbow\nMaiden.\n\n\"First bring me the wild moose from the Hisi-fields and forests,\" said\nLouhi.\n\nFrom Kauppi, able smith, Lemminkainen procured the wondrous snow-shoes;\nbut Hisi, who heard the boasts of the hero, fashioned a wild moose that\nran so rapidly that Lemminkainen could not overtake it, but broke his\nsnow-shoes in the race. He besought Ukko and the mistress of the forest\nand her king, and at last, with their aid, the moose was captured and led\nhome to Louhi.\n\n\"Now bridle the flaming horse of Hisi,\" said she.\n\nThe mighty stallion stood on the Hisi mountain, breathing fire and smoke.\nWhen the hero saw him he prayed to Ukko, \"Let the hail and icy rain fall\nupon him.\" His prayer was granted; and, going forward, Lemminkainen prayed\nthe steed to put its head into the golden head-stall, promising to treat\nit with all gentleness. Then he led it to the courts of Sariola.\n\n\"Now kill for me the swan that swims in Tuoni, the black death-river. One\nshot only canst thou have. If thou succeed, then mayst thou claim thy\nbride.\"\n\nWhen Lemminkainen entered Pohyola he had slain all his opponents but one\nblind shepherd, whom he spared because he despised his helplessness. This\nobject of his scorn was waiting for him, and when Lemminkainen approached\nthe river he fell by a shot from the enemy, regretting, as he died, that\nhe had not asked his mother's advice before attempting to reach Tuoni.\n\nNasshut, the shepherd, threw the hero's body into the river, where it was\nseized and cut in pieces by the son of Tuoni.\n\nAt home the mother and wife awaited anxiously tidings of their hero. When\nthey saw blood trickling from the brush, the mother could wait no longer,\nbut at once set out for the dreary Northland. After repeated threats, she\nwrested from Louhi the fact that her son had gone to Tuoni; from the Sun\nshe learned his fate.\n\nQuickly seeking Ilmarinen, the mother bade him forge for her a mighty\nrake. With this she raked the deep death-river, collected the pieces of\nthe hero, bound them together with the aid of the goddess Suonetar, and\nmaking a balsam, the materials for which were brought her by the bee, she\nhealed her hero son, comforted him, and led him back to Kalevala.\n\nIn the mean time, Wainamoinen, who was building his boat for the Rainbow\nMaid, found that he had forgotten three magic words with which to fasten\nin the ledges and complete the boat's forecastle.\n\nAfter examining in vain the mouths of the wild animals, he sought the dead\nhero Wipunen, forced open his jaws, and accidentally fell into his mouth.\nWipunen quickly swallowed him; but Wainamoinen, setting up a forge in his\nbody, caused him such discomfort that the giant was glad to give his\ninformation, and get rid of his unwelcome visitor. Having thus learned the\nsecrets of the ages, and among them the three magic words, Wainamoinen\nhastened home and finished his boat.\n\nThe boat builded, he at once set out for the Northland to woo the Rainbow\nMaid. The boat was bedecked with silver and gold, and the linen sails were\nblue, white, and scarlet. The sails were merely for ornament, however, for\nthe boat moved over the ocean without the aid of oars or sails.\nWainamoinen's departure from Kalevala was observed by Anniki, the sister\nof Ilmarinen, who at once told her brother. With her assistance, Ilmarinen\ncleansed the black from his ruddy countenance, and jumping into his\nsledge, was soon on the way to Sariola. The approach of the heroes was\nperceived by Louhi. \"Daughter,\" said she, \"the old man brings thee a boat\nfull of treasures; take him. Do not wed the empty-handed youth.\"\n\n\"Thy advice is good, but I will not take it. The young man shall be my\nhusband.\"\n\nWhen Wainamoinen was refused in spite of his gifts, Louhi addressed\nherself to Ilmarinen, and set him, in turn, three tasks: to plough the\nserpent field of Hisi, to muzzle Tuoni's bear, and to catch the pike of\nMana, in the river of Tuoni.\n\nWith the help of his sweetheart, Ilmarinen accomplished these tasks, and\nthe wedding day was set. Old Wainamoinen, heavy hearted, journeyed\nhomeward, and sent the edict to his people that in the future old men\nshould not go wooing, or strive with younger men.\n\nGreat preparations were made for the wedding feast; the mighty ox of\nKarjala was slain, and for the first time, beer was brewed in Pohyola.\nInvitations were sent to all the people of Pohyola and the tribes of\nKalevala, to all save Lemminkainen.\n\nWhen Ilmarinen returned for his bride, he was received with honor, and the\nwedding feast was merry. But when the time came to take the bride away,\nthe Rainbow Maid was unwilling, she who before had been so ready to go\nwith him. Many times had she been told of the miseries of the wife: her\nhusband's slave, her whole life one of service, one long endeavor to\nplease her husband's mother and father. After her lament, Osmatar, the\nBride-adviser, instructed her how to please her husband's family, and\nadmonished Ilmarinen to guard well his Bride of Beauty. Then the two set\nforth together, the Rainbow Maid shedding many tears at parting with her\nloved ones.\n\nThe bride and groom were received with joy by Ilmarinen's family, and old\nWainamoinen himself sang at the wedding feast.\n\nBut Lemminkainen was angry because he had received no invitation to the\nwedding, and in spite of his mother's advice, set out to make war against\nthe Lapps. He successfully overcame all the terrors that beset him, and\nreached Sariola, but was so coldly received there that, enraged at such\ntreatment, he slew his host, the landlord of Pohyola, and fled homeward to\nescape the hosts whom Louhi called to defend her.\n\nHis mother sent him to the isle of refuge to escape the northern hosts. In\nthe centre of the tenth ocean it rose, the refuge of his father; there he\nmust abide three years, and must take a vow not to fight again for sixty\nsummers.\n\nThe three years passed speedily on the happy isle, where dwelt many\nmaidens who admired the reckless hero, and he departed just in time to\nescape the swords of the jealous heroes of the isle. His ancient home was\nin ashes when he returned, his mother missing; but while he mourned for\nher, he chanced upon her, hiding from the Lapps in the forest. Again he\ndetermined to seek out his enemies and be revenged on them. Taking with\nhim his friend Tiera he sought the north, but was met by the Frost-Fiend\nand compelled to return.\n\nTo the house of Ilmarinen the blacksmith, was sold by Untamoinen a slave,\nKullervo. He was a giant who had done naught but evil, until in despair\nhis master sold him to the blacksmith. Kullervo, or Kullerwoinen, was made\na shepherd and sent forth with the flocks. But rage at the blacksmith's\nwife, who baked a stone in his bread on which he broke the magic knife of\nhis people, caused him to transform the flocks into wolves, who tore the\nRainbow Wife to pieces when she went to milk them.\n\nThen Kullerwoinen fled from the blacksmith, and set out to find his\ntribe-people, but on the way unknowingly corrupted his sister, and in\ndespair at his evil deeds, destroyed himself.\n\nIlmarinen was full of grief at the loss of his wife. Unhappy and restless,\nhe forged for himself a bride of gold; but the image failed to satisfy\nhim, and Wainamoinen, reproving him, forbade his people in the future to\nworship any graven image. Then the blacksmith again sought the north to\nwin the sister of his former bride, but was met with bitter reproaches for\nthe sorrow he had brought upon the family. Nevertheless, he seized the\nmaiden to carry her away, but she was so angry and so unhappy that he\nchanged her to a seagull and came home wifeless and sad.\n\nWainamoinen and Ilmarinen soon conceived the idea of going to the\nNorthland to win back the Sampo. On the way they allied to themselves the\nwizard Lemminkainen. As they approached the whirlpool near Pohyola, their\nvessel stuck on the shoulders of a great pike. When neither Lemminkainen\nnor Ilmarinen could slay it, Wainamoinen impaled it on his fire-sword, and\nthe three banqueted on the great fish. From its bones, Wainamoinen framed\nthe first harp. No one could win music from it but its creator; but when\nhe touched its strings and sang, the very trees danced about him, wild\nanimals lay in peace at his feet, and the hearts of men were ravished. As\nhis listeners wept at the strains, Wainamoinen's tears rolled down into\nthe ocean. Thence the duck brought them, changed to pearls, receiving for\na reward its beautiful coat. Such was the origin of sea-pearls.\n\nWhen Wainamoinen had put the inhabitants of Pohyola to sleep with his\nmagic music, the heroes found the Sampo with little difficulty, and bore\nit away from the copper mountain. But as they hastened home, the\ndiscordant voice of Lemminkainen, who sang for joy of their capture,\ncaused the crane to screech, and the bird's cry roused the people of\nPohyola. Louhi speedily discovered her loss, and started in pursuit of the\nheroes. In various ways she attacked them,--with war ships that were\nstopped by a reef conjured up by Wainamoinen, by a terrible storm, and by\na giant eagle that perched on their boat. In their struggle with her the\nSampo was broken and its fragments scattered on the ocean. Louhi left\nthem, uttering dire threats; and Wainamoinen, gathering up what fragments\nof the Sampo he could find, buried them where they would bring prosperity\nto his people.\n\nNow Wainamoinen longed to sing to his harp to rejoice the hearts of his\npeople, but the magic instrument had been lost in the storm conjured by\nLouhi. After raking the sea for it in vain, he constructed a new harp from\nthe birch-tree, and delighted the people with his songs.\n\nIn revenge for the theft of the Sampo, Louhi sent nine diseases upon\nWainamoinen's people,--colic, pleurisy, fever, ulcer, plague, consumption,\ngout, sterility, and cancer, the offspring of the fell Lowyatar; but by\nthe use of vapor baths and balsams Wainamoinen healed his people. Then\nLouhi sent Otso the Bear, the honey-eater, but he was slain by the hero,\nwho made a banquet of his flesh for the people. Enraged at her failures,\nshe stole the sun, moon, and fire, and left Kalevala in darkness. Ukko,\ntaking pity on his people, struck lightning from his fire-sword and gave\nthe fire-child to a virgin to be cared for. In an unguarded moment it\nsprang earthward, fell into the sea, and was swallowed by a fish, that, in\nthe agonies of torment, was swallowed by another. Wainamoinen went fishing\nwith Ilmarinen, and at last caught the gray pike,--found in it the trout,\nfound in the trout the whiting, and in the whiting the fireball. When he\nattempted to seize the fireball he burned his fingers, and dropped it.\nIlmarinen did likewise. Then the ball rolled rapidly away until\nWainamoinen caught it in an elm-tree, and took it home to gladden his\npeople. Still they were cheerless without the sun and moon, and\nWainamoinen was obliged to go to Louhi and compel her to give up the sun\nand moon. When he returned there was joy in Kalevala.\n\nIn the Northland dwelt a happy maiden, Mariatta, who, eating of the magic\nberry, as she wandered one day in the fields, bore by it a child which she\ncalled Flower. Her parents cast her off, and as no one would take her in,\nshe was compelled to go to the flaming steed of Hisi, in whose manger the\nchild was born. Once when she slumbered the child vanished, and she sought\nfor it in vain, until told by the sun that it was in Wainola, sleeping\namong the reeds and rushes.\n\nThe child grew in grace and beauty, but no priest would baptize him, all\nsaying that he was a wizard. Wainamoinen, too, counselled that he be\ndestroyed; but when the two weeks old babe lifted its head and reproached\nhim, saying that he had committed many follies but had been spared by his\npeople, Wainamoinen baptized him, and gave him the right to grow a hero\nand become a mighty ruler over Karyala.\n\nAs Wainamoinen grew feeble with the passing years, he built himself a boat\nof copper, and singing a plaintive song in which he said the people of\nSuomi would look forward to his return as a time of peace and plenty, he\nset forth, sailing through the dusk of evening to the fiery sunset, and\nanchored in the purple horizon, leaving behind him for an heritage his\nharp, his wondrous songs, and his wisdom sayings.\n\n\n\n\nSELECTIONS FROM THE KALEVALA.\n\nILMARINEN'S WEDDING FEAST.\n\n\nIlmarinen, the blacksmith, visited the Northland, won the Rainbow Maid,\nand successfully performed the tasks set by her mother Louhi. Great\npreparations were made in Pohyola for the wedding, and the coming of the\nbridegroom was anxiously expected.\n\n  Louhi, hostess of the Northland,\n  Ancient dame of Sariola,\n  While at work within her dwelling,\n  Heard the whips crack on the fenlands,\n  Heard the rattle of the sledges;\n  To the northward turned her glances,\n  Turned her vision to the sunlight,\n  And her thoughts ran on as follow:\n  \"Who are these in bright apparel,\n  On the banks of Pohya-waters,\n  Are they friends or hostile armies?\"\n\n  Then the hostess of the Northland\n  Looked again and well considered,\n  Drew much nearer to examine,\n  Found they were not hostile armies,\n  Found that they were friends and suitors;\n  In the midst was Ilmarinen,\n  Son in-law to ancient Louhi.\n\n  When the hostess of Pohyola\n  Saw the son-in-law approaching,\n  She addressed the words that follow:\n\n  \"I had thought the winds were raging,\n  That the piles of wood were falling,\n  Thought the pebbles in commotion,\n  Or perchance the ocean roaring;\n  Then I hastened nearer, nearer,\n  Drew still nearer and examined,\n  Found the winds were not in battle,\n  Found the piles of wood unshaken,\n  Found the ocean was not roaring,\n  Nor the pebbles in commotion;\n  Found my son-in-law was coming\n  With his heroes and attendants,\n  Heroes counted by the hundreds.\n\n  \"Should you ask of me the question,\n  How I recognized the bridegroom\n  Mid the host of men and heroes,\n  I should answer, I should tell you:\n  'As the hazel-bush in copses,\n  As the oak-tree in the forest,\n  As the moon among the planets;\n  Drives the groom a coal-black courser,\n  Running like a famished black-dog,\n  Flying like the hungry raven,\n  Graceful as the lark at morning,\n  Golden cuckoos, six in number,\n  Twitter on the birchen cross-bow;\n  There are seven blue-birds singing\n  On the racer's hame and collar.'\"\n\n  Noises hear they in the court-yard,\n  On the highway hear the sledges.\n  To the court comes Ilmarinen,\n  With his body-guard of heroes;\n  In the midst the chosen suitor,\n  Not too far in front of others,\n  Not too far behind his fellows.\n  Spake the hostess of Pohyola:\n\n  \"Hie ye hither, men and heroes,\n  Haste, ye watchers, to the stables,\n  There unhitch the suitor's stallion,\n  Lower well the racer's breast-plate,\n  There undo the straps and buckles,\n  Loosen well the shafts and traces,\n  And conduct the suitor hither,\n  Give my son-in-law good welcome!\"\n\n  Ilmarinen turned his racer\n  Into Louhi's yard and stables,\n  And descended from his snow-sledge\n  Spake the hostess of Pohyola:\n\n  \"Come, thou servant of my bidding,\n  Best of all my trusted servants,\n  Take at once the bridegroom's courser\n  From the shafts adorned with silver,\n  From the curving arch of willow,\n  Lift the harness trimmed in copper,\n  Tie the white-face to the manger,\n  Treat the suitor's steed with kindness,\n  Lead him carefully to shelter\n  By his soft and shining bridle,\n  By his halter tipped with silver;\n  Let him roll among the sand-hills,\n  On the bottoms soft and even,\n  On the borders of the snow-banks,\n  In the fields of milky color.\n  Lead the hero's steed to water,\n  Lead him to the Pohya-fountains,\n  Where the living streams are flowing,\n  Sweet as milk of human kindness,\n  From the roots of silvery birches,\n  Underneath the shade of aspens.\n\n  \"Feed the courser of the suitor,\n  With the sweetest corn and barley,\n  With the summer-wheat and clover,\n  In the caldron steeped in sweetness;\n  Feed him at the golden manger,\n  In the boxes lined with copper,\n  At my manger richly furnished,\n  In the warmest of the hurdles;\n  Tie him with a silk-like halter,\n  To the golden rings and staples,\n  To the hooks of purest silver,\n  Set in beams of birch and oak-wood;\n  Feed him on the hay the sweetest,\n  Feed him on the grains nutritious,\n  Give the best my barns can furnish.\n\n  \"Curry well the suitor's courser\n  With the curry-comb of fish-bone,\n  Brush his hair with silken brushes,\n  Put his mane and tail in order,\n  Cover well with silken blankets,\n  Blankets wrought in gold and silver,\n  Buckles forged from shining copper.\n\n  \"Come, ye small lads of the village,\n  Lead the suitor to my chambers,\n  With your auburn locks uncovered,\n  From your hands remove your mittens,\n  See if ye can lead the hero\n  Through the door without his stooping,\n  Lifting not the upper cross-bar,\n  Sinking not the oaken threshold,\n  Moving not the oaken casings,\n  Great the hero who must enter.\n\n  \"Ilmarinen is too stately,\n  Cannot enter through the portals,\n  Not the son-in-law and bridegroom,\n  Till the portals have been lengthened;\n  Taller by a head the suitor\n  Than the doorways of the mansion.\"\n  Quick the servants of Pohyola\n  Tore away the upper cross-bar,\n  That his cap might not be lifted;\n  Made the oaken threshold lower\n  That the hero might not stumble;\n  Made the birch-wood portals wider,\n  Opened full the door of welcome,\n  Easy entrance for the suitor.\n\n  Speaks the hostess of the Northland\n  As the bridegroom freely passes\n  Through the doorway of her dwelling:\n\n  \"Thanks are due to thee, O Ukko,\n  That my son-in-law has entered!\n  Let me now my halls examine;\n  Make the bridal chambers ready,\n  Finest linen on my tables,\n  Softest furs upon my benches,\n  Birchen flooring scrubbed to whiteness,\n  All my rooms in perfect order.\"\n\n  Then the hostess of Pohyola\n  Visited her spacious dwelling,\n  Did not recognize her chambers;\n  Every room had been remodelled,\n  Changed by force of mighty magic;\n  All the halls were newly burnished,\n  Hedgehog bones were used for ceilings,\n  Bones of reindeer for foundations,\n  Bones of wolverine for door-sills,\n  For the cross-bars bones of roebuck,\n  Apple-wood were all the rafters,\n  Alder-wood, the window casings,\n  Scales of trout adorned the windows,\n  And the fires were set in flowers.\n  All the seats were made of silver,\n  All the floors of copper-tiling,\n  Gold-adorned were all the tables,\n  On the floor were silken mattings,\n  Every fire-place set in copper,\n  Every hearth-stone cut from marble,\n  On each shelf were colored sea-shells,\n  Kalew's tree was their protection.\n\n  To the court-room came the hero,\n  Chosen suitor from Wainola,\n  These the words of Ilmarinen:\n\n  \"Send, O Ukko, health and pleasure\n  To this ancient home and dwelling,\n  To this mansion richly fashioned!\"\n  Spake the hostess of Pohyola:\n\n  \"Let thy coming be auspicious\n  To these halls of thee unworthy,\n  To the home of thy affianced,\n  To this dwelling lowly fashioned,\n  Mid the lindens and the aspens.\n\n  \"Come, ye maidens that should serve me,\n  Come, ye fellows from the village,\n  Bring me fire upon the birch-bark,\n  Light the fagots of the fir-tree,\n  That I may behold the bridegroom,\n  Chosen suitor of my daughter,\n  Fairy Maiden of the Rainbow,\n  See the color of his eyeballs,\n  Whether they are blue or sable,\n  See if they are warm and faithful.\"\n\n  Quick the young lads from the village\n  Brought the fire upon the birch-bark,\n  Brought it on the tips of pine-wood;\n  And the fire and smoke commingled\n  Roll and roar about the hero,\n  Blackening the suitor's visage,\n  And the hostess speaks as follows:\n\n  \"Bring the fire upon a taper,\n  On the waxen tapers bring it!\"\n\n  Then the maidens did as bidden,\n  Quickly brought the lighted tapers,\n  Made the suitor's eyeballs glisten,\n  Made his cheeks look fresh and ruddy;\n  Eyes were neither blue nor sable,\n  Sparkled like the foam of waters,\n  Like the reed-grass on the margin,\n  Colored as the ocean-jewels,\n  Iridescent as the rainbow.\n\n  \"Come, ye fellows from the hamlets,\n  Lead my son-in-law and hero\n  To the highest seat at table,\n  To the seat of greatest honor,\n  With his back upon the blue-wall,\n  Looking on my bounteous tables,\n  Facing all the guests of Northland.\"\n\n  Then the hostess of Pohyola\n  Served her guests in great abundance,\n  Richest drinks and rarest viands,\n  First of all she served the bridegroom;\n  On his platters honeyed biscuit,\n  And the sweetest river-salmon,\n  Seasoned butter, roasted bacon,\n  All the dainties of Pohyola.\n  Then the servants served the others,\n  Filled the plates of all invited\n  With the varied food of Northland.\n  Spake the hostess of Pohyola:\n\n  \"Come, ye maidens from the village,\n  Hither bring the beer in pitchers,\n  In the urns with double handles,\n  To the many guests in-gathered.\n  Ere all others, serve the bridegroom.\"\n\n  Thereupon the merry maidens\n  Brought the beer in silver pitchers\n  From the copper-banded vessels,\n  For the wedding guests assembled;\n  And the beer, fermenting, sparkled\n  On the beard of Ilmarinen,\n  On the beards of many heroes.\n\n  When the guests had all partaken\n  Of the wondrous beer of barley,\n  Spake the drink in merry accents\n  Through the tongues of the magicians,\n  Through the tongue of many a hero,\n  Through the tongue of Wainamoinen,\n  Famed to be the sweetest singer\n  Of the Northland bards and minstrels.\n\n         *       *       *       *       *\n\n  \"Grant, O Ukko, my Creator,\n  God of love, and truth, and justice,\n  Grant thy blessing on our feasting,\n  Bless this company assembled,\n  For the good of Sariola,\n  For the happiness of Northland!\n  May this bread and beer bring joyance,\n  May they come in rich abundance,\n  May they carry full contentment\n  To the people of Pohyola,\n  To the cabin and the mansion;\n  May the hours we spend in singing,\n  In the morning, in the evening,\n  Fill our hearts with joy and gladness!\n  Hear us in our supplications,\n  Grant to us thy needed blessings,\n  Send enjoyment, health, and comfort,\n  To the people here assembled,\n  To the host and to the hostess,\n  To the bride and to the bridegroom,\n  To the sons upon the waters,\n  To the daughters at their weavings,\n  To the hunters on the mountains,\n  To the shepherds in the fenlands,\n  That our lives may end in honor,\n  That we may recall with pleasure\n  Ilmarinen's magic marriage\n  To the Maiden of the Rainbow,\n  Snow-white virgin of the Northland.\"\n\n      _Crawford's Translation, Rune XXI._\n\n\n\n\nTHE BIRTH OF THE HARP.\n\n\nWainamoinen, Ilmarinen, and the wizard Lemminkainen started to the\nNorthland to win back the Sampo forged for Louhi by Ilmarinen. On the way\ntheir boat stuck on the shoulders of a great pike, which was killed by\nWainamoinen. The three then landed, ordered the pike to be cooked by the\nmaidens, and feasted until nothing remained of the fish but a heap of\nbones.\n\n  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,\n  Looked upon the pile of fragments,\n  On the fish-bones looked and pondered,\n  Spake these words in meditation:\n\n  \"Wondrous things might be constructed\n  From the relics of this monster,\n  Were they in the blacksmith's furnace,\n  In the hands of the magician,\n  In the hands of Ilmarinen.\"\n\n  Spake the blacksmith of Wainola:\n\n  \"Nothing fine can be constructed\n  From the bones and teeth of fishes\n  By the skilful forger-artist,\n  By the hands of the magician.\"\n  These the words of Wainamoinen:\n\n  \"Something wondrous might be builded\n  From these jaws, and teeth, and fish-bones;\n  Might a magic harp be fashioned,\n  Could an artist be discovered\n  That could shape them to my wishes.\"\n\n  But he found no fish-bone artist\n  That could shape the harp of joyance\n  From the relics of their feasting,\n  From the jaw-bones of the monster,\n  To the will of the magician.\n  Thereupon wise Wainamoinen\n  Set himself at work designing;\n  Quick became a fish-bone artist,\n  Made a harp of wondrous beauty,\n  Lasting joy and pride of Suomi.\n  Whence the harp's enchanting arches?\n  From the jaw-bones of the monster.\n  Whence the necessary harp-pins?\n  From the pike-teeth, firmly fastened.\n  Whence the sweetly singing harp-strings?\n  From the tail of Lempo's stallion.\n  Thus was born the harp of magic\n  From the mighty pike of Northland,\n  From the relics from the feasting\n  Of the heroes of Wainola.\n  All the young men came to view it,\n  All the aged with their children,\n  Mothers with their beauteous daughters,\n  Maidens with their golden tresses;\n  All the people on the islands\n  Came to view the harp of joyance,\n  Pride and beauty of the Northland.\n\n  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,\n  Let the aged try the harp-strings,\n  Gave it to the young magicians,\n  To the dames and to their daughters,\n  To the maidens, silver-tinselled,\n  To the singers of Wainola.\n  When the young men touched the harp-strings,\n  Then arose the notes of discord;\n  When the aged played upon it,\n  Dissonance their only music.\n  Spake the wizard, Lemminkainen:\n\n  \"O ye witless, worthless children,\n  O ye senseless, useless maidens,\n  O ye wisdom-lacking heroes,\n  Cannot play this harp of magic,\n  Cannot touch the notes of concord!\n  Give to me this thing of beauty,\n  Hither bring the harp of fish-bones,\n  Let me try my skillful fingers.\"\n  Lemminkainen touched the harp-strings,\n  Carefully the strings adjusted,\n  Turned the harp in all directions,\n  Fingered all the strings in sequence,\n  Played the instrument of wonder,\n  But it did not speak in concord,\n  Did not sing the notes of joyance.\n  Spake the ancient Wainamoinen:\n\n  \"There is none among these maidens,\n  None among these youthful heroes,\n  None among the old magicians,\n  That can play the harp of magic,\n  Touch the notes of joy and pleasure.\n  Let us take the harp to Pohya,\n  There to find a skillful player\n  That can touch the strings in concord.\"\n\n  Then they sailed to Sariola,\n  To Pohyola took the wonder,\n  There to find the harp a master.\n  All the heroes of Pohyola,\n  All the boys and all the maidens,\n  Ancient dames and bearded minstrels,\n  Vainly touched the harp of beauty.\n\n  Louhi, hostess of the Northland,\n  Took the harp-strings in her fingers;\n  All the youth of Sariola,\n  Youth of every tribe and station,\n  Vainly touched the harp of fish-bone;\n  Could not find the notes of joyance,\n  Dissonance their only pleasure;\n  Shrieked the harp-strings like the whirlwinds,\n  All the tones were harsh and frightful.\n\n         *       *       *       *       *\n\n  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,\n  The eternal wisdom-singer,\n  Laves his hands to snowy whiteness,\n  Sits upon the rock of joyance,\n  On the stone of song he settles,\n  On the mount of song he settles,\n  On the mount of silver clearness,\n  On the summit, golden colored,\n  Takes the harp by him created,\n  In his hands the harp of fish-bone,\n  With his knee the arch supporting,\n  Takes the harp-strings in his fingers,\n  Speaks these words to those assembled:\n\n  \"Hither come, ye Northland people,\n  Come and listen to my playing,--\n  To the harp's entrancing measures,\n  To my songs of joy and gladness.\"\n\n  Then the singer of Wainola\n  Took the harp of his creation,\n  Quick adjusting, sweetly tuning,\n  Deftly plied his skillful fingers\n  To the strings that he had fashioned.\n  Now was gladness rolled on gladness,\n  And the harmony of pleasure\n  Echoed from the hills and mountains;\n  Added singing to his playing,\n  Out of joy did joy come welling,\n  Now resounded marvellous music,\n  All of Northland stopped and listened.\n  Every creature in the forest,\n  All the beasts that haunt the woodlands\n  On their nimble feet came bounding,\n  Came to listen to his playing,\n  Came to hear his songs of joyance.\n  Leaped the squirrels from the branches,\n  Merrily from birch to aspen;\n  Climbed the ermines on the fences,\n  O'er the plains the elk deer bounded,\n  And the lynxes purred with pleasure;\n  Wolves awoke in far-off swamp-lands,\n  Bounded o'er the marsh and heather,\n  And the bear his den deserted,\n  Left his lair within the pine-wood,\n  Settled by a fence to listen,\n  Leaned against the listening gate-posts,\n  But the gate-posts yield beneath him;\n  Now he climbs the fir-tree branches\n  That he may enjoy and wonder,\n  Climbs and listens to the music\n  Of the harp of Wainamoinen.\n\n  Tapiola's wisest senior,\n  Metsola's most noble landlord,\n  And of Tapio, the people,\n  Young and aged, men and maidens,\n  Flew like red-deer up the mountains\n  There to listen to the playing,\n  To the harp of Wainamoinen.\n  Tapiola's wisest mistress,\n  Hostess of the glen and forest,\n  Robed herself in blue and scarlet,\n  Bound her limbs with silken ribbons,\n  Sat upon the woodland summit,\n  On the branches of a birch-tree,\n  There to listen to the playing,\n  To the high-born hero's harping,\n  To the songs of Wainamoinen.\n\n  All the birds that fly in mid-air\n  Fell like snow-flakes from the heavens,\n  Flew to hear the minstrel's playing,\n  Hear the harp of Wainamoinen.\n  Eagles in their lofty eyrie\n  Heard the songs of the enchanter;\n  Swift they left their unfledged young ones,\n  Flew and perched around the minstrel.\n  From the heights the hawks descended,\n  From the clouds down swooped the falcon,\n  Ducks arose from inland waters,\n  Swans came gliding from the marshes;\n  Tiny finches, green and golden,\n  Flew in flocks that darkened sunlight,\n  Came in myriads to listen,\n  Perched upon the head and shoulders\n  Of the charming Wainamoinen,\n  Sweetly singing to the playing\n  Of the ancient bard and minstrel.\n  And the daughters of the welkin,\n  Nature's well-beloved daughters,\n  Listened all in rapt attention;\n  Some were seated on the rainbow,\n  Some upon the crimson cloudlets,\n  Some upon the dome of heaven.\n\n  In their hands the Moon's fair daughters\n  Held their weaving-combs of silver;\n  In their hands the Sun's sweet maidens\n  Grasped the handles of their distaffs,\n  Weaving with their golden shuttles,\n  Spinning from their silver spindles,\n  On the red rims of the cloudlets,\n  On the bow of many colors.\n  As they hear the minstrel playing,\n  Hear the harp of Wainamoinen,\n  Quick they drop their combs of silver,\n  Drop the spindles from their fingers,\n  And the golden threads are broken,\n  Broken are the threads of silver.\n\n  All the fish in Suomi-waters\n  Heard the songs of the magician,\n  Came on flying fins to listen\n  To the harp of Wainamoinen.\n  Came the trout with graceful motions,\n  Water-dogs with awkward movements,\n  From the water-cliffs the salmon,\n  From the sea-caves came the whiting,\n  From the deeper caves the bill-fish;\n  Came the pike from beds of sea-fern,\n  Little fish with eyes of scarlet,\n  Leaning on the reeds and rushes,\n  With their heads above the surface;\n  Came to hear the harp of joyance,\n  Hear the songs of the enchanter.\n\n  Ahto, king of all the waters,\n  Ancient king with beard of sea-grass,\n  Raised his head above the billows,\n  In a boat of water-lilies,\n  Glided to the coast in silence,\n  Listened to the wondrous singing,\n  To the harp of Wainamoinen.\n  These the words the sea-king uttered:\n\n  \"Never have I heard such playing,\n  Never heard such strains of music,\n  Never since the sea was fashioned,\n  As the songs of this enchanter,\n  This sweet singer, Wainamoinen.\"\n\n  Satko's daughters from the blue-deep,\n  Sisters of the wave-washed ledges,\n  On the colored strands were sitting,\n  Smoothing out their sea-green tresses\n  With the combs of molten silver,\n  With their silver-handled brushes,\n  Brushes forged with golden bristles.\n  When they hear the magic playing,\n  Hear the harp of Wainamoinen,\n  Fall their brushes on the billows,\n  Fall their combs with silver handles\n  To the bottom of the waters,\n  Unadorned their heads remaining,\n  And uncombed their sea-green tresses.\n\n  Came the hostess of the waters,\n  Ancient hostess robed in flowers,\n  Rising from her deep sea-castle,\n  Swimming to the shore in wonder,\n  Listened to the minstrel's playing,\n  To the harp of Wainamoinen.\n  As the magic tones re-echoed,\n  As the singer's song outcircled,\n  Sank the hostess into slumber,\n  On the rocks of many colors,\n  On her watery couch of joyance,\n  Deep the sleep that settled o'er her.\n\n  Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel,\n  Played one day and then a second,\n  Played the third from morn to even.\n  There was neither man nor hero,\n  Neither ancient dame nor maiden,\n  Not in Metsola a daughter,\n  Whom he did not touch to weeping;\n  Wept the young and wept the aged,\n  Wept the mothers, wept the daughters,\n  At the music of his playing,\n  At the songs of the magician.\n      _Crawford's Translation, Runes XL.-XLI._\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE AENEID.\n\n\nThe Aeneid was written by Publius Vergilius Maro, commonly known as\nVergil, who was born at Andes, near Mantua, Oct. 15, 70 B. C., and died at\nBrundusium, Sept. 22, 19 B.C.\n\nHe was educated at Cremona, Milan, Naples, and Rome. When the lands near\nCremona and Mantua were assigned by Octavianus to his soldiers after the\nbattle of Philippi, Vergil lost his estates; but they were afterwards\nrestored to him through Asinius Pollio.\n\nHe became a favorite of Augustus, and spent part of his time in Rome, near\nhis patron, Maecenas, the emperor's minister.\n\nVergil's first work was the Bucolics, in imitation of Theocritus. His\nsecond work, the Georgics, treats of husbandry. The Aeneid relates the\nadventures of Aeneas, the legendary ancestor of the Romans.\n\nThe Aeneid is in twelve books, of which the first six describe the\nwanderings of Aeneas, and the last six his wars in Italy. Its metre is the\ndactyllic hexameter.\n\nVergil worked for eleven years on the poem, and considered it incomplete\nat his death.\n\nThe Aeneid tells the story of the flight of Aeneas from burning Troy to\nItaly, and makes him an ancestor of the Romans. With the story of his\nwanderings are interwoven praises of the Caesars and the glory of Rome.\n\nIt is claimed that because Vergil was essentially a poet of rural life, he\nwas especially fitted to be the national poet, since the Roman life was\nfounded on the agricultural country life. He also chose a theme which\nparticularly appealed to the patriotism of the Romans. For this reason,\nthe poem was immediately received into popular favor, and was made a\ntext-book of the Roman youths. It is often said of Vergil by way of\nreproach, that his work was an imitation of Homer, and the first six books\nof the Aeneid are compared to the Odyssey, the last six to the Iliad. But\nwhile Vergil may be accused of imitation of subject matter, his style is\nhis own, and is entirely different from that of Homer. There is a tender\ngrace in the Roman writer which the Greek does not possess. Vergil also\nlacks that purely pagan enjoyment of life; in its place there is a tender\nmelancholy that suggests the passing of the golden age. This difference of\ntreatment, this added grace and charm, which are always mentioned as\npeculiarly Vergil's own, united with his poetical feeling, and skill in\nversification, are sufficient to absolve him from the reproach of a mere\nimitator.\n\nThe Aeneid was greatly admired and imitated during the Middle Ages, and\nstill retains its high place in literature.\n\n\n\n\nBIBLIOGRAPHY AND CRITICISM, THE AENEID.\n\nR. W. Brown's History of Roman Classical Literature, n. d., pp. 257-265;\n\nJohn Alfred Church's Story of the Aeneid, 1886;\n\nDomenico Comparetti's Virgil in the Middle Ages, Tr. by Benecke, 1895;\n\nC. T. Cruttwell's Virgil (see his History of Roman Literature, n. d. pp.\n252-375);\n\nJohn Davis's Observations on the poems of Homer and Virgil, out of the\nFrench, 1672;\n\nJames Henry's Aeneidea: or Critical, Exegetical, and Aesthetical Remarks\non the Aeneis, 1873;\n\nJames Henry's Notes of Twelve Years' Voyage of Discovery in the first six\nBooks of the Aeneid, 1853;\n\nJ. W. Mackail's Virgil (see his Latin Literature, 1895, pp. 91-106);\n\nH. Nettleship's The Aeneid (see his Vergil, 1880, pp. 45-74);\n\nH. T. Peck and R. Arrowsmith's Roman Life in Latin Prose and Verse, 1894,\npp. 68-70;\n\nLeonhard Schmitz's History of Latin Literature, 1877, pp. 106-108;\n\nW. Y. Sellar's Roman Poets of the Augustan Age, Vergil, Ed. 2, 1883;\n\nW. S. Teuffel's Aeneis (see his History of Roman Literature, 1891, pp.\n434-439);\n\nJ. S. Tunison's Master Virgil, the author of the Aeneid, as he seemed in\nthe Middle Ages, 1888;\n\nRobert Y. Tyrrell's Virgil (see his Latin Poetry, 1895, pp. 126-161);\n\nA Forgotten Virtue, Macmillan, 1895, xii. 51-56, an article on the Aeneid,\n\"the epic of piety;\"\n\nScene of the last six books of the Aeneid, Blackwood, 1832, xxxii. 76-87;\n\nA. A. Knight's The Year in the Aeneid, Education, 1886, vi. 612-616;\n\nWilliam C. Cawton's The Underworld in Homer, Virgil, and Dante, Atlantic,\n1884, liv. 99-110.\n\n\n\n\nSTANDARD ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS, THE AENEID.\n\n\nThe Aeneid, Tr. by J. Conington, 1887;\n\nThe Aeneid, Tr. by C. P. Cranch, 1872;\n\nThe Aeneid, Tr. by John Dryden (1697), 1884;\n\nThe Aeneid, Tr. by William Morris, 1882;\n\nThe Aeneid, Tr. by W. S. Thornhill, 1886;\n\nThe Aeneid, Tr. by J. A. Wilstach, 1884;\n\nThe Aeneid, Tr. by J. W. Mackail, 1890.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE AENEID.\n\n\nFor many years the heroic Aeneas, who escaped from falling Troy to seek the\nshores of Italy, there to found the lofty walls of Rome, was tossed upon\nthe sea by the wrath of cruel Juno.\n\nThe fates foretold that these future Romans would overthrow a city dearer\nto her than Samos,--Carthage, founded by the Tyrians, opposite Italy, and\nfar from the Tiberine mouths. For this rich city Juno desired boundless\nrule,--hence her hatred of the Trojans. Moreover, she had not forgotten\nthe judgment of Paris, her slighted charms, and the supplanting of Hebe by\nGanymede.\n\nAfter having tossed the unhappy hero and his men over many seas, Juno,\nobserving their approach to Italy, hastened to Aeolia, where King Aeolus\nruled over the struggling winds and tempests, chained in vast caves.\n\nBribed by Juno, Aeolus sent forth a tempest that scattered the ships of\nAeneas, and would have destroyed them had it not been for the interposition\nof Neptune.\n\nSuspecting his sister's treachery, Neptune angrily dismissed the winds,\nand hastened to the relief of the Trojans. Cymotho\u00eb and Triton pushed the\nships from the rocks, he himself assisting with his trident. Then, driving\nover the rough waves in his chariot, he soothed the frenzy of the sea.\n\nThe wearied Aeneans speedily sought a harbor on the Libyan shore, a long\nand deep recess bordered by a dense grove. In the cliffs was a cave, with\nsweet waters and seats carved from the living rock,--the abode of the\nnymphs. Gathering here the seven ships that survived the fury of the\nstorm, Aeneas landed, and feasted with his comrades.\n\nThe next morning Aeneas, accompanied by his friend Achates, sallied forth\nfrom the camp at dawn, to learn, if possible, something of the land on\nwhich they had been thrown. They had gone but a little way in the depths\nof the forest when they met Aeneas's mother, Venus, in the guise of a\nSpartan maid, her bow hung from her shoulders, her hair flowing to the\nwind.\n\n\"Hast thou seen my sister?\" she inquired, \"hunting the boar, wrapped in a\nspotted lynx hide, her quiver at her back?\"\n\n\"Nay, we have seen no one,\" replied Aeneas. \"But what shall I call thee,\nmaiden? A goddess, a nymph? Be kind, I pray thee, and tell us among what\npeople we have fallen, that before thy altars we may sacrifice many a\nvictim.\"\n\n\"I am unworthy of such honors,\" Venus answered. \"This land is Libya, but\nthe town is Tyrian, founded by Dido, who fled hither from her brother\nPygmalion, who had secretly murdered her husband, Sichaeus, for his gold.\nTo Dido, sleeping, appeared the wraith of Sichaeus, pallid, his breast\npierced with the impious wound, and revealed to her her brother's crime,\nshowed where a hoard of gold was concealed, and advised her to leave the\ncountry.\n\n\"Gathering together a company of those who wished to flee from the tyrant,\nDido seized the ships, loaded them with the gold, and fled to Libya, where\nshe is now erecting the walls and towers of New Carthage. I would advise\nthee to hasten forward and seek our queen. If augury fail me not, I read\nfrom yonder flight of swans the return of thy missing ships and comrades.\"\n\nAs she turned to go, her neck shone with a rosy refulgence, ambrosial\nfragrance breathed from her, her robe flowed down about her feet and\nrevealed the goddess. As she vanished, her son stretched longing hands\nafter her. \"Ah, mother, why dost thou thus trifle with me? Why may not I\nclasp thy loved hands and exchange true words with thee?\"\n\nWrapped in a cloud by Venus, Aeneas and Achates mounted a hill that\noverlooked the city, and looked down wondering on the broad roofs and the\npaved streets of Carthage. The busy Tyrians worked like the bees in early\nsummer: some moving the immense masses of stone, some founding the\ncitadel, others laying off the sites for the law courts and sacred Senate\nHouse. \"O happy ye whose walls now rise!\" exclaimed Aeneas, as he and\nAchates mingled with the crowd, still cloud-wrapped, and entered the vast\ntemple built to Juno. Here Aeneas's fear fell from him; for as he waited\nfor the queen's coming, he saw pictured on the walls the fall of his own\ndear city, and wept as he gazed upon the white tents of Rhesus, and\nHector's disfigured body.\n\nAs he wept, the beautiful Dido entered, joyously intent on her great work,\nand, seating herself on her throne, proceeded to give laws to the Tyrians,\nand assign their work to them.\n\nSuddenly, to the amazement of Aeneas and Achates, in burst their lost\ncomrades, Antheus, Sergestus, Gyas, Cloanthus, and other Trojans,\ndemanding of Dido a reason for their rough reception. To whom the queen\nreplied:--\n\n\"Let fear desert your hearts; I, too, have suffered, and know how to aid\nthe unfortunate. And whither hath not the fame of Troy penetrated? I will\naid you in leaving this coast, or give you a home with me, treating you as\nI treat my Tyrians. Would only that Aeneas's self stood with you!\"\n\nThen burst Aeneas forth from his cloud-wrapping, made more beautiful by\nVenus, the purple bloom of youth on his face, joy in his eyes. \"Here am I,\nTrojan Aeneas, to render thanks to thee, divine Dido.\"\n\nDido, charmed with the hero, prepared a banquet for him in her splendid\nhall, curtained with rich drapery, and adorned with costly plate, whereon\nwere pictured the proud deeds of her ancestors. Hither came the Trojans\nwith gifts for Dido,--a rich robe stiff with gold embroidery, a veil\nembroidered with the yellow acanthus, ornaments of Helen, the sceptre of\nIlione, a pearl and gold necklace, and a double crown of gems and gold.\n\nBeside Achates tripped Cupid, for Venus, suspecting the craft of the\nTyrians, had hidden Ascanius on Mount Ida, and sent her own son in his\nguise, to complete Aeneas's conquest of Dido.\n\nAfter the feast was over, the great beakers were brought in and crowned\nwith garlands. Dido called for the beaker used by Belus and all his\ndescendants, and pouring a libation, drank to the happiness of the Trojan\nwanderers, and passed the cup around the board. Iopas, the long-haired\nminstrel, sang, and the night passed by in various discourse. Dido,\nforgetting Sichaeus, hung on the words of Aeneas, questioning him of Priam\nand Hector, and at last demanding the story of his wanderings.\n\n\"Thou orderest me, O queen, to renew my grief, the destruction of Troy by\nthe Greeks, which deeds I have seen, and a part of which I have been.\n\n\"Despairing of conquering Troy, the Greeks attempted to take it by\nstratagem. By the art of Pallas, they framed a heaven-high horse, within\nwhich were concealed picked men for our destruction. Leaving this behind\nthem, they sailed, ostensibly for home, in reality for Tenedos.\n\n\"When we supposed them gone we joyfully went forth to examine the deserted\ncamp and the giant horse. As we wondered at it, and Laoco\u00f6n, priest of\nNeptune, urged us to destroy it, a crowd of shepherds approached with a\nyouth whom they had found hiding in the sedges. His name was Sinon. He was\na Greek, but he was hated by Ulysses, and had fled to save his life. The\nGreeks had sailed home, he assured us, leaving the horse as a votive\noffering to Pallas. They had hoped that its great bulk would prevent the\nTrojans from taking it inside their walls, for once within the city, Troy\ncould never be taken.\n\n\"We Trojans were credulous, and Sinon's tale was plausible. To increase\nour belief in it, while Laoco\u00f6n was sacrificing a bull to Neptune, we saw\ncoming over the sea from Tenedos two huge serpents, their crimson crests\ntowering high, their breasts erect among the waves, their long folds\nsweeping over the foaming sea. As we fled affrighted, they seized the two\nsons of Laoco\u00f6n, twining their coils around the wretched boys; and when\ntheir father hastened to their aid, caught him in their huge coils,\nstaining his fillets with black blood. 'Laoco\u00f6n suffered for his crime,'\nwe said, when, the priest slain, the serpents crept to Pallas's altar, and\ncurled themselves around the feet of the goddess. Then joyfully we made a\nbreach in the walls, put rollers under the horse, and, with music and\ndancing, dragged it within the walls.\n\n\"That night as we lay sleeping after revelry and feasting, Sinon crept\ndown, opened the horse, and freed the men, who were soon joined by the\nother Greeks, returned from Tenedos.\n\n\"In a dream Hector's shade appeared to me, and, weeping, bade me fly.\n'Troy falls. Do thou go forth and save her household deities!' As I woke,\nsounds of battle penetrated to my palace halls, removed somewhat from the\ncity, and embowered in trees; and I rushed forth, forgetful of Hector's\nwarning. I saw the streets swimming in Trojan blood, Trojan women and\nchildren led captive, Cassandra dragged from her shrine. Enraged, I\ngathered a band and slew many Greeks. But when I saw the impious Pyrrhus\nenter the palace and slay Priam at the altar, I recognized the uselessness\nof my struggle, and turned to my home.\n\n\"Taking my old father Anchises on my back, and leading Iulus by the hand,\nI set forth, followed by my wife Creusa. But when I looked behind me at\nthe city gates, my wife was gone. Mad with despair, I rushed back to the\ncitadel, crying, 'Creusa! Creusa!' Our homestead was in flames, the\nstreets filled with Greeks; but as I roamed through the town, I met her\npallid shape. 'O husband, rage not against heaven's decrees! Happy days\nwill come for thee on the banks of the Tiber. Farewell, and love with me\nour boy!'\n\n\"Without the gates I was joined by other fugitives; and after the\ndeparture of the Greeks we built ships from the timbers of Mount Ida, and\nloading these with our household gods and a few spoils from the city, we\ndeparted to seek new homes.\n\n\"In Thrace, our first stopping-place, I learned that Polydore, Priam's\nson, who had been entrusted to the care of the Thracian king, had been\nslain by him for his gold, when the fortunes of Troy fell. We hastened to\nleave this accursed land, and sought Delos, only to be instructed by\nApollo that we must seek the home from which our forefathers had come.\nAnchises, who remembered the legends of our race, thought this must be\nCrete; so to Crete we sailed, and there laid the foundations of a city,\nonly to be driven thence by a plague and a threatened famine.\n\n\"In a dream my household gods instructed me that Dardanus, the founder of\nour race, had come from Hesperia, and thither we must bend our course.\nTempests drove us about the sea for three suns, until, on the fourth, we\nlanded at the isle of the Harpies,--loathsome monsters, half woman, half\nbird, who foul everything they touch. When we had slain the cattle and\nprepared to banquet, they drove us from the tables; and when attacked by\nus, uttered dire threats of future famine.\n\n\"At Epirus we heard that Andromache had wed Prince Helenus, who had\nsucceeded to the rule of Pyrrhus, two Trojans thus being united. As I\nlanded here, anxious to prove the truth of the rumor, I met Andromache\nherself in a grove near the town, sacrificing at an empty tomb dedicated\nto Hector. Pyrrhus had made her his slave after the fall of Troy, but\nafter he wedded Hermione, he had given her to Helenus, himself a slave.\nWhen Pyrrhus died, part of his realm fell to Helenus, and here the two had\nset up a little Troy.\n\n\"Helenus received us kindly, instructed us as to our route, and gave us\nrich gifts; and Andromache, remembering her dead Astyanax, wept over lulus\nas she parted with him.\n\n\"As we passed Sicily we took up a Greek, Achemenides, a companion of\nUlysses, who had been left behind, and had since been hiding in deadly\nterror from the Cyclops. We ourselves caught sight of the monster\nPolyphemus, feeling his way to the shore to bathe his wounded eye.\n\n\"Instructed by Helenus, we avoided Scylla and Charybdis, and reached\nSicily, where my father died. We were just leaving the island when the\nstorm arose that brought us hither. The rest thou knowest.\"\n\nThe guests departed from the banquet hall; but the unhappy Dido, consumed\nwith love, imparted her secret to her sister Anna.\n\n\"Why shouldst thou weep, sister dear? Why regret that thou hast at last\nforgotten Sichaeus? Contend not against love, but strive to unite Trojan\nand Tyrian. Winter comes on, and thou canst detain him while the sea rages\nand the winds are fierce and the rains icy.\"\n\nHer ambitious plans for her city forgotten, Dido wandered through the\nstreets, mad with love and unable to conceal her passion. She led \u00c6neas\namong the walls and towers, made feasts for him, and begged again and\nagain to hear the story of his wandering. At other times she fondled\nAscanius, leaving her youths undrilled, and the city works abandoned.\n\nPerceiving that Aeneas, well content, seemed to forget that his goal was\nHesperia, Mercury was dispatched by Jupiter to warn him to depart from\nCarthage.\n\n\"Why stoppest thou here?\" questioned the herald of the gods. \"If thou\ncarest not for thyself, think of Ascanius, thine heir. His must be the\nItalian realms, the Roman world.\"\n\nThe horror-stricken Aeneas stood senseless with fear. He longed to escape,\nbut how leave the unhappy Dido? Quickly calling his comrades, he commanded\nthem to fit out the fleet in silence, hoping to find a time when he could\nbreak the news to Dido gently.\n\nBut who can deceive a lover? Rumor bore the report to Dido, who, mad with\ngrief, reproached Aeneas. \"Perfidious one! didst thou think to escape from\nme? Does not our love restrain thee, and the thought that I shall surely\ndie when thou art gone? I have sacrificed all to thee; now leave me not\nlonely in my empty palace.\"\n\nAeneas remained untouched. He would ever retain the kindest memories of his\nstay in Carthage. He had never held out the hope of wedlock to her. A\nhigher power called him, and, bidden by Jove, he must depart, for\nAscanius's sake, to Italy.\n\nThe fainting Dido was carried to her palace, whence she could watch the\nhurried preparations for the departure. As she watched, life became\nintolerable to her. Pretending to her sister that she was preparing to\nperform a magic spell to release her from the bonds of love, she reared a\nmighty pyre in her court, wreathed it with funereal garlands, and placed\nthereon Aeneas's couch, garments, and sword. With her hair dishevelled, she\nthen invoked Hecate, and sprinkling Avernian water and poisons on it, and\ncasting thereon various love charms, she called the gods to witness that\nshe was determined to die. As the ships left the harbor, she tore her\nhair, one moment accusing herself because she had not torn Aeneas to pieces\nwhen in her power, at another vowing to follow him. Then, anxious to\nforget her grief, she mounted, the pyre, and threw herself on the sword of\nher faithless, lover.\n\nFar out at sea, the Aeneans, looking back, dimly guessed the meaning of the\nflames that brightened the stormy skies.\n\nContrary winds compelled Aeneas to seek harbor in Sicily. Its king,\nAcestes, was his friend, and there he had buried his father Anchises. A\nyear had elapsed since his death, and in honor of the anniversary, Aeneas\ninstituted funeral games, in which there were trials of skill in rowing,\nfoot-racing, archery, and boxing.\n\nWhile the spectators were applauding the feats of skill, the Trojan women,\nat the instigation of Juno, set fire to the ships, that they might compel\nAeneas to remain in Sicily. By Jupiter's aid, some of the vessels were\nsaved, and Aeneas, acting on the advice of Nautes, allowed the women and\nthose Trojans who so desired, to remain in Sicily, and himself marked out\nfor them the foundations of their city.\n\nWhile here Aeneas was urged by Anchises in a dream to visit the Cumaean\nSibyl, that, with her assistance, he might visit Elysium and talk with\nhim.\n\nIn the lofty temple, the Sibyl, inspired by the god, encouraged the hero.\n\"Success will at last be thine, and Juno will be won over to thee. But\ngreat labors must thou undergo.\"\n\nTo visit the underworld was no easy task, she assured him. \"The gates of\nDis stand open night and day; small trouble it is to descend thereto, but\nto retrace one's steps, and regain the upper air, there lies the toil.\"\nAeneas must first possess a golden branch to present to Proserpina, and\ncelebrate the funeral rites of his friend, Misenus, who yet lay unburied.\n\nWhile Aeneas worked in the forest, felling trees for Misenus's bier, the\ndoves of Venus descended and aided him to find the tree, from which he\nplucked the gleaming branch.\n\nAcross the Styx, past the dread Cerberus, Aeneas and the Sibyl went,\nthrough the abode of babes and those who died for deeds they did not do,\nand into the mourning fields, where the disappointed in love were hedged\nin with myrtle sprays. Here Aeneas descried Dido dimly through the clouds,\nand wept to see her fresh wound. Many were his protestations of his\nfaithfulness, and strong his declaration that he left her only at the\ncommand of the gods. But without raising her eyes, Dido turned coldly away\nto where her former husband returned her love for love. Past the chamber\nof torture, beyond Phlegethon, guarded by Tisiphone and Tartarus, in whose\ndepths the wicked were punished, they went, and entered the beautiful\nfields of Elysium, where Aeneas found his father.\n\nTo his son, Anchises explained that the souls that visited the underworld\nwere punished according to their deserts, and then sent into Elysium.\nCleansed there of all impurities, and with the memories of the past washed\nfrom them by Lethe, they again visited the world in another form. Pointing\nout a crowd that passed them, he indicated to Aeneas the illustrious men\nwho would make his race famous in Italy. First his son Silvius, born of\nLavinia, his Italian wife to be; Numitor, Romulus, the founder of Rome,\nCaesar, and greatest of all, Augustus Caesar, who would usher in the\ngolden age.\n\nComforted by the prophecies of Anchises, Aeneas sought the upper world, and\ncollecting his companions, set sail for the mouth of the Tiber.\n\nLatinus the king welcomed Aeneas, and received his proposals for his\ndaughter Lavinia's hand with favor, remembering an ancient prophecy that\nLavinia was to wed a foreign prince. But queen Amata, aroused by Juno,\ninsisted that Lavinia should be espoused to Turnus, chief of the\nRutulians. Stung by the fury Alecto, she stirred up the people until they\ndemanded that Latinus declare war against Aeneas; and when he hesitated,\nJuno herself threw open the gates of the temple of Janus.\n\nLeaving part of his forces in Latium with Ascanius, Aeneas, instructed in a\ndream by father Tiber, sailed up the river to Pallanteum, the future site\nof Rome, to gain the alliance of Evander, an Arcadian king unfriendly to\nTurnus.\n\nEvander, who was celebrating a solemn feast to Hercules, together with his\nonly son Pallas, and his senate, welcomed the warriors to his modest home,\npromised his alliance, and sent forth with Aeneas his son Pallas and four\nhundred knights. He also advised him to go to Argylla, whose people were\nstirred up against Turnus because he protected their tyrant king\nMezentius.\n\nWhile Aeneas was thus seeking allies, his troops in Latium had been\nattacked and besieged by Turnus, and were greatly in need of the hero's\naid. While the hosts of Turnus were sleeping after their drunken revelry,\nNisus proposed to his beloved Euryalus that they steal through the Latin\nline with messages to Aeneas. Their proposal was applauded by the elders,\nand Iulus, weeping, promised to cherish them forever for their courage.\n\nAs the youths passed among the sleeping Latins, the desire for slaughter\novercame them, and they slew Rhamnes, as he lay upon his gorgeous rugs,\nLamus, and many others, Euryalus taking Rhamnes's golden-studded belt and\nMessapus's helmet as booty. Unfortunately they had delayed too long in\nslaughter; as they neared the camp of Turnus, Volscens, returning with\nreinforcements, caught sight of the shining helmet of Euryalus. The youth,\nflying, became separated from Nisus, and was captured by the enemy. Nisus,\nwho returned to rescue his friend, sent weapon after weapon from his\nretreat, and when he saw Euryalus about to suffer death from Volscens,\nrushed forth to save him, only to fall dead upon the body of his\nslaughtered friend.\n\nAngry at the slaughter committed by Nisus and Euryalus, Turnus, on his\nreturn, attempted to scale the intrenchments. The fight raged fiercely\naround the walls and towers; but just as the victory seemed to be with\nTurnus, Aeneas returned with his Tuscan allies, effected a landing, and\nbegan to put the enemy to flight, slaying the tyrant Mezentius and his\nson.\n\nTurnus, hearing of the danger of his friend Lausus, at the hands of\nPallas, who had already wrought great slaughter, sought him out, amazing\nthe young warrior by his great size. Pallas faced him bravely; but while\nhis spear only grazed the shoulder of Turnus, the spear of the Rutulian\ncrushed the folds of iron, bronze, and hides, the corselet's rings of\nsteel, and buried itself in Pallas's breast.\n\nTurnus took the sword-belt from Pallas's body; but because of the merit of\nthe young warrior, yielded his body to the Arcadians to be carried to King\nEvander.\n\nEnraged at the death of his friend, Aeneas fought more fiercely. Especially\nanxious was he to meet Turnus; but Juno, determined, if possible, to save\nher favorite, decoyed Turnus off the battle-field by assuming the guise of\nAeneas.\n\nAfter a truce, during which the armies buried their dead, and the body of\nPallas was sent home to his father, the armies again came together, the\nLatins being reinforced by the Amazons, under the leadership of Camilla.\nCamilla had been reared by her father, the exile Metabus, and, early\ntrained to warlike pursuits, had consecrated herself to Diana. Beautiful\nas a goddess was she, and so light of foot that she could fly over the\ntops of the tallest wheat without harming the ears.\n\nWithin the walls of Latium there was quarrelling between the parties,\nDrances, leader of the peace party, accusing Turnus of bringing on and\ncontinuing the hostilities. The approach of Aeneas brought these disputes\nto an abrupt conclusion, and Camilla, with Turnus, hastened to battle.\nMany victims fell by Camilla's hand that day, as she rode about the field,\nher breast bare, her hand clasping her double battle-axe, before Aruns\nstruck her down and fled, frightened at his victory.\n\nIn Latium the unhappiness increased, and Turnus, enraged at the reproaches\nheaped upon him, declared that he would decide the war by single combat\nwith Aeneas. Latinus made no secret of his regret at having been compelled\nto break his compact with Aeneas; but Amata, still furious, raged against\nAeneas, and declared that she would die if he were made her son-in-law.\n\nThe preparations were made for the single combat, the sacrifices at the\naltars, the crowds assembled to witness the combat; but just as the kings\nwere solemnizing the agreement, Turnus's sister, Juturna, a river goddess,\nbeloved of Jupiter, renewed the hostilities that Turnus might be saved. A\nweapon hurled from the Latin ranks caused the indignant Trojans to rise in\narms, forgetful of the treaty, and the fight raged more fiercely than\nbefore.\n\nJuturna, fearful from Juno's words of the fate of Turnus, assumed the\nguise of Metiscus, his charioteer, and drove her brother over the field\nfar from the angry Aeneas, who, weary of waiting for Turnus, turned towards\nLatium. The frightened people rushed hither and thither, and the queen,\nseeing the approaching foe, the roofs in flames, and no troops of Turnus\nin sight, supposed the Rutulian dead, and hanged herself.\n\nIn the mean time, Turnus, remote from the fight, reproached his sister.\n\"Think'st thou not I recognized thee? Thy deceit is in vain. Is to die so\nwretched a thing? Let us go to the battle. At least, I will die not\nunworthy of my ancestry.\"\n\nAs he spoke, Saces, wounded and bleeding, rushed to him, imploring:\n\"Turnus, have pity on us; come to our rescue! The Latins call thee, the\nqueen is dead, the phalanxes crowd thick around the gates, while thou\ndrivest idly here.\"\n\nTurnus, amazed, confused, and shamed, saw flames consuming the towers of\nLatium.\n\n\"Now, sister, the fates control. Desist! It is too late, I will be shamed\nno more!\" Leaping from his chariot, he rushed forward, demanding that war\ncease in order that he and Aeneas might decide the battle in single combat.\n\nWhen Turnus's sword broke on the helmet of Aeneas,--the sword of his\ncharioteer, that he had seized by mistake instead of his own Styx-hardened\nblade,--he turned and fled, Aeneas pursuing.\n\nAbove, in Olympus, Jupiter and Juno quarrelled, as they watched the heroes\ncircling over the yellow sand.\n\n\"Give over thy enmity,\" said the omnipotent father. \"Thou hast caused the\ntreaty to be violated; even now thou hast made Juturna return the lost\nsword to Turnus--in vain. Grieve no more, and goad no longer these\nsuffering men of Troy.\"\n\nThen Juno yielded, stipulating only that the Trojans lay aside their\nancient name, that Latium remain Latium, and the future growth Roman.\n\nJuturna, warned by Jove's messenger, a bird of evil omen, tore her locks\nand beat her breast, regretting the gift of immortality conferred on her\nby Jove. Then wrapping her gray veil about her, she fled to her watery\nthrone that she might not see the death of her brother. The frightened\nTurnus, still fleeing from Aeneas, abandoned his sword and took up instead\na mighty rock, a landmark such as scarce six men could uplift.\n\nHurling this at Aeneas, he stood, his blood running chill, his eyes cast\ntowards the Rutuli, the town, and the spear of Aeneas, that, shrieking\nthrough the air, doom laden, wrecked his heavy shield and pierced his\nthigh.\n\n\"Mercy!\" he prayed. \"Fate hath given thee the advantage. Think, thou\nduteous son, of my old father, Daunus.\"\n\nAs Aeneas stood, softened, and ready to grant the request, the sword-belt\nof Pallas caught his eye.\n\n\"Shalt thou escape, decked out with Pallas's spoils? No, not I slay thee,\nbut Pallas! His hand immolates thee!\" As he spoke he plunged his sword in\nTurnus's breast.\n\nChilly death came, and the warrior's spirit fled, groaning to the shades.\n\n\n\n\nSELECTION FROM THE AENEID.\n\nNISUS AND EURYALUS.\n\n\nWhile Aeneas, finding the Latins hostile to him, sailed up the Tiber in\nsearch of allies, the troops he left behind under Ascanius were attacked\nby Turnus, and their slight fortifications besieged. They were sorely\npressed, and longed to be able to inform Aeneas of their need.\n\n  Nisus was guardian of the gate,\n  No bolder heart in war's debate,\n  The son of Hyrtacus, whom Ide\n  Sent, with his quiver at his side,\n  From hunting beasts in mountain brake\n  To follow in Aeneas' wake:\n  With him Euryalus, fair boy;\n  None fairer donned the arms of Troy;\n  His tender cheek as yet unshorn\n  And blossoming with youth new-born.\n  Love made them one in every thought:\n  In battle side by side they fought;\n  And now in duty at the gate\n  The twain in common station wait.\n  \"Can it be Heaven,\" said Nisus then,\n  \"That lends such warmth to hearts of men,\n  Or passion surging past control\n  That plays the god to each one's soul?\n  Long time, impatient of repose,\n  My swelling heart within me glows,\n  And yearns its energy to fling\n  On war, or some yet grander thing.\n  See there the foe, with vain hope flushed!\n  Their lights are scant, their stations hushed:\n  Unnerved by slumber and by wine\n  Their bravest chiefs are stretched supine.\n  Now to my doubting thought give heed\n  And listen where its motions lead.\n  Our Trojan comrades, one and all,\n  Cry loud, Aeneas to recall,\n  And where, they say, the men to go\n  And let him of our peril know?\n  Now if the meed I ask they swear\n  To give you--nay, I claim no share,\n  Content with bare renown--\n  Meseems, beside yon grassy heap\n  The way I well might find and keep,\n  To Pallanteum's town.\"\n  The youth returns, while thirst of praise\n  Infects him with a strange amaze:\n  \"Can Nisus aim at heights so great,\n  Nor take his friend to share his fate?\n  Shall I look on, and let you go\n  Alone to venture 'mid the foe?\n  Not thus my sire Opheltes, versed\n  In war's rude toil, my childhood nursed,\n  When Argive terror filled the air\n  And Troy was battling with despair:\n  Nor such the lot my youth has tried,\n  In hardship ever at your side,\n  Since, great Aeneas' liegeman sworn,\n  I followed Fortune to her bourne:\n  Here, here within this bosom burns\n  A soul that mere existence spurns,\n  And holds the fame you seek to reap,\n  Though bought with life, were bought full cheap.\"\n\n  \"Not mine the thought,\" brave Nisus said,\n  \"To wound you with so base a dread:\n  So may great Jove, or whosoe'er\n  Marks with just eyes how mortals fare,\n  Protect me going, and restore\n  In triumph to your arms once more.\n  But if--for many a chance, you wis,\n  Besets an enterprise like this--\n  If accident or power divine\n  The scheme to adverse end incline,\n  Your life at least I would prolong:\n  Death does your years a deeper wrong.\n  Leave me a friend to tomb my clay,\n  Rescued or ransomed, which you may;\n  Or, e'en that boon should chance refuse,\n  To pay the absent funeral dues.\n  Nor let me cause so dire a smart\n  To that devoted mother's heart,\n  Who, sole of all the matron train,\n  Attends her darling o'er the main,\n  Nor cares like others to sit down\n  An inmate of Acestes' town.\"\n  He answers brief: \"Your pleas are naught:\n  Firm stands the purpose of my thought:\n  Come, stir we: why so slow?\"\n  Then calls the guards to take their place,\n  Moves on by Nisus, pace with pace,\n  And to the prince they go.\n  All other creatures wheresoe'er\n  Were stretched in sleep, forgetting care:\n  Troy's chosen chiefs in high debate\n  Were pondering o'er the reeling state,\n  What means to try, or whom to speed\n  To show Aeneas of their need.\n  There stand they, midway in the field,\n  Still hold the spear, still grasp the shield:\n  When Nisus and his comrade brave\n  With eager tones admittance crave;\n  The matter high; though time be lost,\n  The occasion well were worth the cost,\n  Iulus hails the impatient pair,\n  Bids Nisus what they wish declare.\n  Then spoke the youth: \"Chiefs I lend your ears,\n  Nor judge our proffer by our years.\n  The Rutules, sunk in wine and sleep,\n  Have ceased their former watch to keep:\n  A stealthy passage have we spied\n  Where on the sea the gate opes wide:\n  The line of fires is scant and broke,\n  And thick and murky rolls the smoke.\n  Give leave to seek, in these dark hours,\n  Aeneas at Evander's towers,\n  Soon will you see us here again\n  Decked with the spoils of slaughtered men.\n  Nor strange the road: ourselves have seen\n  The city, hid by valleys green,\n  Just dimly dawning, and explored\n  In hunting all the river-board.\"\n  Out spoke Aletes, old and gray:\n  \"Ye gods, who still are Ilium's stay,\n  No, no, ye mean not to destroy\n  Down to the ground the race of Troy,\n  When such the spirit of her youth,\n  And such the might of patriot truth.\"\n  Then, as the tears roll down his face,\n  He clasps them both in strict embrace:\n  \"Brave warriors! what rewards so great,\n  For worth like yours to compensate?\n  From Heaven and from your own true heart\n  Expect the largest, fairest part:\n  The rest, and at no distant day,\n  The good Aeneas shall repay,\n  Nor he, the royal youth, forget\n  Through all his life the mighty debt.\"\n  \"Nay, hear me too,\" Ascanius cried,\n  \"Whose life is with my father's tied:\n  O Nisus! by the home-god powers\n  We jointly reverence, yours and ours,\n  The god of ancient Capys' line,\n  And Vesta's venerable shrine,\n  By these dread sanctions I appeal\n  To you, the masters of my weal;\n  Oh, bring me back my sire again!\n  Restore him, and I feel no pain.\n  Two massy goblets will I give;\n  Rich sculptures on the silver live;\n  The plunder of my sire,\n  What time he took Arisba's hold;\n  Two chargers, talents twain of gold,\n  A bowl beside of antique mould\n  By Dido brought from Tyre.\n  Then, too, if ours the lot to reign\n  O'er Italy by conquest ta'en,\n  And each man's spoil assign,--\n  Saw ye how Turnus rode yestreen,\n  His horse and arms of golden sheen?\n  That horse, that shield and glowing crest\n  I separate, Nisus, from the rest\n  And count already thine.\n  Twelve female slaves, at your desire,\n  Twelve captives with their arms entire,\n  My sire shall give you, and the plain\n  That forms Latinus' own domain.\n  But you, dear youth, of worth divine,\n  Whose blooming years are nearer mine,\n  Here to my heart I take, and choose\n  My comrade for whate'er ensues.\n  No glory will I e'er pursue,\n  Unmotived by the thought of you:\n  Let peace or war my state befall,\n  Thought, word, and deed, you share them all.\"\n  The youth replied: \"No after day\n  This hour's fair promise shall betray,\n  Be fate but kind. Yet let me claim\n  One favor, more than all you name:\n  A mother in the camp is mine,\n  Derived from Priam's ancient line:\n  No home in Sicily or Troy\n  Has kept her from her darling boy.\n  She knows not, she, the paths I tread;\n  I leave her now, no farewell said;\n  By night and this your hand I swear,\n  A parent's tears I could not bear.\n  Vouchsafe your pity, and engage\n  To solace her unchilded age:\n  And I shall meet whate'er betide\n  By such assurance fortified.\"\n  With sympathy and tender grief\n  All melt in tears, Iulus chief,\n  As filial love in other shown\n  Recalled the semblance of his own:\n  And, \"Tell your doubting heart,\" he cries,\n  \"All blessings wait your high emprise:\n  I take your mother for my own,\n  Creusa, save in name alone,\n  Nor lightly deem the affection due\n  To her who bore a child like you.\n  Come what come may, I plight my troth\n  By this my head, my father's oath,\n  The bounty to yourself decreed\n  Should favoring gods your journey speed,\n  The same shall in your line endure,\n  To parent and to kin made sure.\"\n  He spoke, and weeping still, untied\n  A gilded falchion from his side,\n  Lycaon's work, the man of Crete,\n  With sheath of ivory complete:\n  Brave Mnestheus gives for Nisus' wear\n  A lion's hide with shaggy hair;\n  Aletes, old in danger grown,\n  His helmet takes, and gives his own.\n  Then to the gates, as forth they fare,\n  The band of chiefs with many a prayer\n  The gallant twain attends:\n  Iulus, manlier than his years,\n  Oft whispering, for his father's ears\n  Full many a message sends:\n  But be it message, be it prayer,\n  Alike 'tis lost, dispersed in air.\n\n  The trenches past, through night's deep gloom\n  The hostile camp they near:\n  Yet many a foe shall meet his doom\n  Or ere that hour appear.\n  There see they bodies stretched supine,\n  O'ercome with slumber and with wine;\n  The cars, unhorsed, are drawn up high;\n  'Twixt wheels and harness warriors lie,\n  With arms and goblets on the grass\n  In undistinguishable mass.\n  \"Now,\" Nisus cried, \"for hearts and hands:\n  This, this the hour our force demands.\n  Here pass we: yours the rear to mind,\n  Lest hostile arm be raised behind;\n  Myself will go before and slay,\n  While carnage opes a broad highway.\"\n  So whispers he with bated breath,\n  And straight begins the work of death\n  On Rhamnes, haughty lord;\n  On rugs he lay, in gorgeous heap,\n  From all his bosom breathing sleep,\n  A royal seer by Turnus loved:\n  But all too weak his seer-craft proved\n  To stay the rushing sword.\n  Three servants next the weapon found\n  Stretched 'mid their armor on the ground:\n  Then Remus' charioteer he spies\n  Beneath the coursers as he lies,\n  And lops his downdropt head;\n  The ill-starred master next he leaves,\n  A headless trunk, that gasps and heaves:\n  Forth spouts the blood from every vein,\n  And deluges with crimson rain,\n  Green earth and broidered bed.\n  Then Lamyrus and Lamus died,\n  Serranus, too, in youth's fair pride:\n  That night had seen him long at play:\n  Now by the dream-god tamed he lay:\n  Ah, had his play but matched the night,\n  Nor ended till the dawn of light!\n  So famished lion uncontrolled\n  Makes havoc through the teeming fold,\n  As frantic hunger craves;\n  Mangling and harrying far and near\n  The meek, mild victims, mute with fear,\n  With gory jaws he raves.\n  Nor less Euryalus performs:\n  The thirst of blood his bosom warms;\n  'Mid nameless multitudes he storms,\n  Herbesus, Fadus, Abaris kills\n  Slumbering and witless of their ills,\n  While Rhoetus wakes and sees the whole,\n  But hides behind a massy bowl.\n  There, as to rise the trembler strove,\n  Deep in his breast the sword he drove,\n  And bathed in death withdrew.\n  The lips disgorge the life's red flood,\n  A mingled stream of wine and blood:\n  He plies his blade anew.\n  Now turns he to Messapus' band,\n  For there the fires he sees\n  Burnt out, while coursers hard at hand\n  Are browsing at their ease,\n  When Nisus marks the excess of zeal,\n  The maddening fever of the steel,\n  And checks him thus with brief appeal:\n  \"Forbear we now; 't will soon be day:\n  Our wrath is slaked, and hewn our way.\"\n  Full many a spoil they leave behind\n  Of solid silver thrice refined,\n  Armor and bowls of costliest mould\n  And rugs in rich confusion rolled.\n  A belt Euryalus puts on\n  With golden knobs, from Rhamnes won,\n  Of old by Caedicus 't was sent,\n  An absent friendship to cement,\n  To Remulus, fair Tibur's lord,\n  Who, dying, to his grandson left\n  The shining prize: the Rutule sword\n  In after days the trophy reft.\n  Athwart his manly chest in vain\n  He binds these trappings of the slain;\n  Then 'neath his chin in triumph laced\n  Messapus' helm, with plumage graced,\n  The camp at length they leave behind,\n  And round the lake securely wind.\n\n  Meanwhile a troop is on its way,\n  From Latium's city sped,\n  An offshoot from the host that lay\n  Along the host in close array,\n  Three hundred horsemen, sent to bring\n  A message back to Turnus, king,\n  With Volscens at their head.\n  Now to the camp they draw them nigh,\n  Beneath the rampart's height,\n  When from afar the twain they spy,\n  Still steering from the right;\n  The helmet through the glimmering shade\n  At once the unwary boy betrayed,\n  Seen in the moon's full light.\n  Not lost the sight on jealous eyes:\n  \"Ho! stand! who are ye?\" Volscens cries,\n  \"Whence come, or whither tend?\"\n  No movement deign they of reply,\n  But swifter to the forest fly,\n  And make the night their friend.\n  With fatal speed the mounted foes\n  Each avenue as with network close,\n  And every outlet bar.\n  It was a forest bristling grim\n  With shade of ilex, dense and dim:\n  Thick brushwood all the ground o'ergrew:\n  The tangled ways a path ran through,\n  Faint glimmering like a star.\n  The darkling boughs, the cumbering prey\n  Euryalus's flight delay:\n  His courage fails, his footsteps stray:\n  But Nisus onward flees;\n  No thought he takes, till now at last\n  The enemy is all o'erpast,\n  E'en at the grove, since Alban called,\n  Where then Latinus' herds were stalled:\n  Sudden he pauses, looks behind\n  In eager hope his friend to find:\n  In vain: no friend he sees.\n  \"Euryalus, my chiefest care,\n  Where left I you, unhappy? where?\n  What clue may guide my erring tread\n  This leafy labyrinth back to thread?\"\n  Then, noting each remembered track,\n  He thrids the wood, dim-seen and black.\n  Listening, he hears the horse-hoofs' beat,\n  The clatter of pursuing feet.\n  A little moment--shouts arise,\n  And lo! Euryalus he spies,\n  Whom now the foemen's gathered throng\n  Is hurrying helplessly along.\n  While vain resistance he essays,\n  Trapped by false night and treacherous ways.\n  What should he do? what force employ\n  To rescue the beloved boy?\n  Plunge through the spears that line the wood,\n  And death and glory win with blood?\n  Not unresolved, he poises soon\n  A javelin, looking to the Moon:\n  \"Grant, goddess, grant thy present aid,\n  Queen of the stars, Latonian maid,\n  The greenwood's guardian power;\n  If, grateful for success of mine,\n  With gifts my sire has graced thy shrine,\n  If e'er myself have brought thee spoil,\n  The tribute of my hunter's toil,\n  To ornament thy roof divine,\n  Or glitter on thy tower,\n  These masses give me to confound,\n  And guide through air my random wound.\"\n  He spoke, and hurled with all his might;\n  The swift spear hurtles through the night:\n  Stout Sulmo's back the stroke receives:\n  The wood, though snapped, the midriff cleaves.\n  He falls, disgorging life's warm tide,\n  And long-drawn sobs distend his side.\n  All gaze around: another spear\n  The avenger levels from his ear,\n  And launches on the sky.\n  Tagus lies pierced through temples twain,\n  The dart deep buried in his brain.\n  Fierce Volscens storms, yet finds no foe,\n  Nor sees the hand that dealt the blow,\n  Nor knows on whom to fly.\n  \"Your heart's warm blood for both shall pay,\"\n  He cries, and on his beauteous prey\n  With naked sword he sprang.\n  Scared, maddened, Nisus shrieks aloud:\n  No more he hides in night's dark shroud,\n  Nor bears the o'erwhelming pang:\n  \"Me, guilty me, make me your aim,\n  O Rutules! mine is all the blame;\n  He did no wrong, nor e'er could do;\n  That sky, those stars attest 't is true;\n  Love for his friend too freely shown,\n  This was his crime, and this alone.\"\n  In vain he spoke: the sword, fierce driven,\n  That alabaster breast had riven.\n  Down falls Euryalus, and lies\n  In death's enthralling agonies:\n  Blood trickles o'er his limbs of snow;\n  \"His head sinks gradually low\":\n  Thus, severed by the ruthless plough,\n  Dim fades a purple flower:\n  Their weary necks so poppies bow,\n  O'erladen by the shower.\n  But Nisus on the midmost flies,\n  With Volscens, Volscens in his eyes:\n  In clouds the warriors round him rise,\n  Thick hailing blow on blow:\n  Yet on he bears, no stint, no stay,\n  Like thunderbolt his falchion's sway:\n  Till as for aid the Rutule shrieks\n  Plunged in his throat the weapon reeks:\n  The dying hand has reft away\n  The life-blood of its foe.\n  Then, pierced to death, asleep he fell\n  On the dead breast he loved so well.\n\n  Blest pair! if aught my verse avail,\n  No day shall make your memory fail\n  From off the heart of time,\n  While Capitol abides in place,\n  The mansion of the Aeneian race,\n  And throned upon that moveless base\n  Rome's father sits sublime.\n      _Conington's Translation, Book IX_.\n\n\n\n\n\nBEOWULF.\n\n\nBeowulf, the only Anglo-Saxon epic preserved entire, was composed in\nsouthwest Sweden probably before the eighth century, and taken to England,\nwhere it was worked over and Christianized by the Northumbrian poets.\n\nIt is variously attributed to the fifth, seventh, and eighth centuries;\nbut the seventh is most probably correct, since the Higelac of the poem\nhas been identified with Chocilaicus of the \"Gesta Regum Francorum,\" a\nDanish king who invaded Gaul in the days of Theuderic, son of Clovis, and\ndied near the close of the sixth century.\n\nThe only manuscript of the poem in existence is thought to be of the tenth\ncentury. It is preserved in the British Museum. Since 1837 much interest\nhas been manifested in the poem, and many editions of it have been given\nto the public.\n\nBeowulf contains three thousand one hundred and eighty-four lines. It is\nwritten in alliterative verse. The lines are written in pairs, and each\nperfect line contains three alliterating words,--two in the first part,\nand one in the second.\n\nThe unknown writer of Beowulf cannot be praised for his skill in\ncomposition; the verse is rude, as was the language in which it was\nwritten. But it is of the greatest interest to us because of the pictures\nit gives of the everyday lives of the people whose heroic deeds it\nrelates,--the drinking in the mead-halls, the relation of the king to his\nwarriors, the description of the armor, the ships, and the halls. The\nheroes are true Anglo-Saxon types,--bold, fearless, ready to go to the\nassistance of any one in trouble, no matter how great the risk to\nthemselves; and as ready to drink mead and boast of their valor after the\nperil is over. In spite of the attempt to Christianize the poem, it is\npurely pagan; the most careless reader can discover the priestly\ninterpolations. And it has the greater value to us because it refused to\nbe moulded by priestly hands, but remained the rude but heroic monument of\nour Saxon ancestors.\n\n\n\n\nBIBLIOGRAPHY AND CRITICISM, BEOWULF.\n\n\nB. Ten Brink's Early English Literature, Tr. by Kennedy;\n\nS. A. Brooke's History of Early English Literature, 1892, p. 12;\n\nW. F. Collier's History of English Literature, p. 19;\n\nG. W. Cox and E. H. Jones's Popular Romances of the Middle Ages, 1871, pp.\n382-398; in 1880 ed. pp. 189-201;\n\nIsaac Disraeli's Amenities of Literature, i. 65-73;\n\nJ. Earle's Anglo-Saxon Literature;\n\nT. W. Hunt's Ethical Teaching in Beowulf (in his Ethical Teachings in Old\nEnglish Literature, 1892, pp. 66-77);\n\nH. Morley's English Writers, 1887, pp. 276-354;\n\nH. A. Taine's History of English Literature, 1886, i. 62;\n\nS. Turner's Anglo-Saxons, iii. 326; in ed. 3, i. 456;\n\nJ. Harrison's Old Teutonic Life in Beowulf (in the Overland Monthly, July,\n1894);\n\nF. A. March's The World of Beowulf (in Proceedings of American\nPhilological Association, 1882).\n\n\n\n\nSTANDARD ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS, BEOWULF.\n\n\nBeowulf, edition with English translation, notes and glossary by Thomas\nArnold, 1876;\n\nThe Deeds of Beowulf, 1892;\n\nBeowulf, Tr. by J. M. Garnett, 1882 (translated line for line);\n\nBeowulf, Tr. by J. L. Hall, 1892, metrical translation;\n\nBeowulf, Tr. by J. M. Kemble, with copious glossary, preface, and\nphilological notes, 2 vols., 1833-37;\n\nBeowulf translated into modern rhymes, by H. W. Lumsden, 1881;\n\nBeowulf, Tr. by Benjamin Thorpe, Literal translation, notes and glossary,\n1875.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF BEOWULF.\n\n\nA mighty man was Scyld, ruler of the Gar-Danes. From far across the\nwhale-path men paid him tribute and bore witness to his power. Beowulf was\nhis son, a youth endowed with glory, whose fame spread far and wide\nthrough all the Danish land.\n\nWhen the time came for Scyld to die he ordered his thanes to prepare the\nring-stemmed ship, laden with treasures, battle-weed, and swords, and\nplace him in the death-chamber. Laden with his people's gifts, and sailing\nunder a golden banner, he passed from sight, none knew whither.\n\nAfter him ruled Beowulf, and after him Healfdene,--brave warriors and kind\nmonarchs. When, after Healfdene's death, his son Hrothgar succeeded him,\nhis fame in war inclined all his kinsmen towards him, and he, too, became\na mighty monarch.\n\nTo the mind of Hrothgar it came to build a lordly mead-hall where he and\nhis men could find pleasure in feasting, drinking mead, and hearing the\nsongs of the minstrels. Heorot it was called, and when its high spires\nrose glistening in the air, all hailed it with delight.\n\nBut, alas! The joy in hall, the melody of the harp, and the shouts of the\nwarriors penetrated to the dismal fen where lay concealed the monster\nGrendel, descendant of sin-cursed Cain. At night came Grendel to the hall,\nfound sleeping the troop of warriors, and bore away in his foul hands\nthirty of the honored thanes. Great was the sorrow in Heorot when in the\nmorning twilight the deed of Grendel became known.\n\nFor twelve long winters did this sorrow continue; for so long a time was\nHrothgar plunged in grief; for so many years did this beautiful mead-hall,\ndestined for joyful things, stand idle.\n\nWhile thus the grief-stricken lord of the Scyldings brooded over his\nwrongs, and the people besought their idols vainly for aid, the tidings of\nGrendel's ravages were conveyed to the court of the Gothic king, Higelac,\nand thus reached the ears of a highborn thane, Beowulf. A strong man was\nhe, his grasp equal to that of thirty men.\n\nStraightway commanded he a goodly ship to be made ready, chose fifteen of\nhis bravest Goths, and swiftly they sailed over the swan-path to the great\nheadlands and bright sea-cliffs of the Scyldings.\n\nHigh on the promontory stood the guard of Hrothgar. \"What men be ye who\nhither come?\" cried he. \"Not foes, surely. Ye know no pass word, yet\nsurely ye come on no evil errand. Ne'er saw I a greater lord than he who\nleads the band. Who are ye?\"\n\n\"Higelac's man am I,\" answered the leader. \"Ecgtheow, my sire; my name,\nBeowulf. Lead me, I pray thee, to thy lord, for I have come over seas to\nfree him forever from his secret foe, and to lift the cloud that hangs\nover the stately mead-hall.\"\n\nOver the stone-paved streets the warder led the warriors, their armor\nclanking, their boar-tipped helmets sparkling, to the goodly hall, Heorot.\nThere were they warmly welcomed, for Hrothgar had known Beowulf's sire;\nthe fame of the young man's strength had also reached him, and he trusted\nthat in his strong grasp Grendel should die.\n\nAll took their seats on the mead-benches, and a thane passed from warrior\nto warrior, bearing the chased wine-cup. Sweet was the minstrel's song,\nand the warriors were happy in Heorot.\n\nBut Hunferd sat at the banquet, and envious of Beowulf's fame, taunted him\nwith his swimming match with Breca. \"Seven days and nights thou didst swim\nwith Breca; but he was stronger, and he won. Worse will befall thee, if\nthou dar'st this night await Grendel!\"\n\n\"Easy it is to brag of Breca's deeds when drunk with beer, friend\nHunferd!\" replied Beowulf. \"Seven days and nights I swam through the\nsea-water, slaying the monsters of the deep. Rough was the wave, terrible\nwere the water beasts; but I reached the Finnish land. Wert thou as brave\nas thou claim'st to be, Grendel would ne'er have wrought such havoc in thy\nmonarch's land.\"\n\nDecked with gold, Queen Waltheow passed through the hall, greeted the\nwarriors, and proffered the mead-cup to Beowulf, thanking God that she had\nfound an earl who would deliver them from their enemy.\n\nWhen dusky night fell over Heorot, the king uprose. \"To no other man have\nI ever entrusted this hall of gold. Have now and keep it! Great reward\nshall be thine if thou come forth alive!\"\n\nThe knights left in the lordly hall composed themselves for slumber, all\nsave Beowulf, who, unarmed, awaited the coming of Grendel.\n\nHe came, with wrathful step and eyes aflame, bursting open the iron bolts\nof the great door, and laughing at the goodly array of men sleeping before\nhim. On one he laid hands and drank his blood; then he clutched the\nwatchful Beowulf.\n\nNe'er had he found a foe like this! Fearful, he turned to flee to his home\nin the fen, but the grip of Beowulf forbade flight. Strongly was Heorot\nbuilded, but many a gilded mead-bench was torn from the walls as the two\ncombated within the hall. The sword blade was of no avail, and him must\nBeowulf bring to death by the strength of his grip alone. At last, with a\nscream that struck terror to every Dane's heart, the monster sprang from\nBeowulf and fled, leaving in the warrior's grasp his arm and shoulder.\nGreat was Beowulf's joy, for he knew that the wound meant death.\n\nWhen the king and queen came forth in the morning with their nobles and\nmaids, and saw the grisly arm of Grendel fastened upon the roof of Heorot,\nthey gave themselves up to rejoicing. Gifts were heaped upon Beowulf,--a\ngolden crest, a banner bright, a great and goodly sword and helm and\ncorselet, eight steeds with headstalls ornamented with gold plate, and a\nrichly decorated saddle. Nor were his comrades forgotten, but to each were\ngiven rich gifts.\n\nWhen the mead-hall had been cleansed and refitted, they gathered therein\nand listened to the song of the bard who told how Healfdene's knight,\nHn\u00e6f, smote Finn. The song over, the queen, crowned with gold, gave gifts\nto Beowulf, the liberator from the horrors of Grendel,--two armlets, a\nnecklace, raiment, and rings. When the drinking and feasting were over,\nthe king and Beowulf withdrew, leaving many earls to keep the hall. Little\nguessed they that one of them was that night doomed to die!\n\nThe haunt of Grendel was a mile-wide mere. Around it were wolf-haunted\ncliffs, windy promontories, mist-covered mountains. Close around the mere\nhung the woods, shrouding the water, which, horrible sight, was each night\ncovered with fire. It was a place accursed; near it no man might dwell;\nthe deer that plunged therein straightway died.\n\nIn a palace under the mere dwelt Grendel and his mother; she, a foul\nsprite, whom the peasants had sometimes seen walking with her son over the\nmeadows. From her dwelling-place she now came forth to avenge the death of\nher son, and snatched away from the group of sleeping Ring-Danes the good\n\u00c6schere, dearest of all his thanes to Hrothgar.\n\nLoud was Hrothgar's wailing when at morning Beowulf came forth from his\nbower.\n\n\"Sorrow not, O wise man,\" spake Beowulf. \"I fear not. I will seek out this\nmonster and destroy her. If I come not back it will at least be better\nthan to have lost my glory. She can never hide from me. I ween that I will\nthis day rid thee of thine enemy.\"\n\nAccompanied by Hrothgar, some of the Ring-Danes and his Goths, Beowulf\nsought the dismal mere, on whose brink they found the head of \u00c6schere.\nAmong the bloody waves swam horrible shapes, Nicors and sea-drakes, that\nfled at a blast of the war-horn. Beowulf slew one of the monsters, and\nwhile his companions were marvelling at the grisly form, he prepared\nhimself for the combat. His breast was guarded by a coat of mail woven\nmost cunningly; upon his head shone the gold-adorned helmet, and in his\nhand was Hunferd's sword, Hrunting, made of iron steeped in twigs of\nbitter poison, annealed in battle blood, and fearful to every foe.\n\n\"Hearken unto me, O Hrothgar,\" cried the hero. \"If I return not, treat\nwell my comrades and send my gifts to Higelac, that he may see the deed I\nhave accomplished, and the generous ring-lord I have gained among the\nScyldings.\" And without waiting for a reply, he leaped into the waves and\nwas lost to sight.\n\nThere was the monster waiting for him; and catching him in her grip, which\nbruised him not because of his strong mail-coat, she dragged him to her\ncave, in whose lighted hall he could see the horrible features of the\nwoman of the mere. Strong was Hrunting, but of no avail was its mighty\nblade against her. Soon he threw it down, and gripped her, reckless of\nperil. Once he threw her on the ground, but the second time she threw him,\nand drew her glaive to pierce his breast. Strong was the linked mail, and\nBeowulf was safe. Then his quick eye lighted on a sword,--a magic, giant\nsword; few men could wield it. Quickly he grasped it, and smote the neck\nof the sea-woman. Broken were the bone-rings, and down she fell dead. Then\nEcgtheow's son looked around the hall and saw the body of the dead\nGrendel. Thirsting to take his revenge, he smote him with his sword. Off\nflew the head; but when the red drops of blood touched the magic blade it\nmelted, leaving but the massive golden hilt in the hands of the hero.\nBeowulf took no treasure from the cave, but rose through the waves,\ncarrying only the head of the monster and the hilt of the sword.\n\nWhen Hrothgar and his men saw the mere red and boiling with blood they\ndeemed that Beowulf was dead, and departed to their citadel. Sorrowful sat\nthe comrades of Beowulf, waiting and hoping against hope for his\nreappearance. Up sprang they when they saw him, joyfully greeted him,\nrelieved him of his bloody armor, and conducted him to Hrothgar,\nbearing--a heavy task--the head of Grendel.\n\nWhen Hrothgar saw the hideous head and the mighty sword-hilt, whose\nhistory he read from its Runic inscriptions, he hailed Beowulf with joy,\nand proclaimed him the mightiest of men. \"But ever temper thy might with\nwisdom,\" advised the king, \"that thou suffer not the end of Heremod, or be\npunished as I have been, in this my spacious mead-hall.\"\n\nAfter a night's rest, Beowulf prepared to return to his country. Returning\nHrunting to Hunferd, he praised the sword, saying nothing of its failure\nin the fight. Then to Hrothgar: \"Farewell. If e'er thou art harried by\nfoes, but let me know,--a thousand fighting men I'll bring. Higelac, well\nI know, will urge me on to honor thee. If e'er thy son seeks Gothic halls,\nI will intercede and win friends for him.\"\n\nThe old king, weeping, bade Beowulf farewell. \"Peace be forever between\nthe Goths and the Gar-Danes; in common their treasures! May gifts be\ninterchanged between them!\"\n\nThe bark was filled with the gifts heaped upon Beowulf and his men; and\nthe warder, who had hailed them so proudly at their coming, now bade them\nan affectionate farewell. Over the swan-path sailed they, and soon reached\nthe Gothic coast, and landed their treasures.\n\nThen went Beowulf before Higelac and told him of his adventures. Higelac\nwas a mighty king; lofty his house and hall, and fair and gentle was his\nwife, Hygd. To him, after he had related his adventures, Beowulf presented\nthe boar-head crest, the battle-mail and sword, four of the steeds, and\nmuch treasure, and upon the wise and modest Hygd bestowed he the wondrous\nnecklace given him by Waltheow. So should a good thane ever do!\n\nThere had been a time when Beowulf was accounted a sluggish knight, but\nnow the land rang with his glory.\n\nWhen Higelac died and Hardred was slain, Beowulf succeeded to the throne,\nand for fifty years ruled the people gloriously.\n\nAt this time a great fire-drake cherished a vast hoard in a cave on a high\ncliff, difficult of access, and known to few men. Thither one day fled a\nthrall from his master's wrath, and saw the hoard buried by some weary\nwarrior, and now guarded by the dragon. While the drake slept, the thrall\ncrept in and stole a cup as a peace-offering to his master.\n\nWhen the drake awoke, he scented the foot-prints of the foe, and\ndiscovered his loss. When even was come, he hastened to wreak his revenge\non the people, spewing out flames of fire, and laying waste the land.\n\nFar and near were the lands of the Goths devastated, and ere long, tidings\nwere borne to Beowulf that his great hall, his gift seat, was destroyed by\nfire. Saddened, and fearing that he had in some way angered God, he turned\nhis mind to vengeance, and girded on his armor. A stout shield of iron he\ntook, knowing that the dragon's fiery breath would melt the wood, and with\nforeboding of his fate, bade farewell to his hearth-mates. \"Many times\nhave I battled, great deeds have I done with sword and with hand-grip; now\nmust I go forth and battle with hand and sword against the hoard-keeper.\"\n\nCommanding the men who had accompanied him to remain upon the hillside,\nleaving him to combat with the dragon alone, Beowulf went proudly forward,\nshouting his battle-cry. Out rushed the dragon, full of deadly hate. His\nfiery breath was stronger than the king had deemed it. Stroke upon stroke\nhe gave his enemy, who continued to cast forth his death-fire, so that\nBeowulf stood girt with flames.\n\nFrom afar, among the watching thanes, Wiglaf saw his monarch's peril.\n\"Comrades,\" he cried, \"do you remember our promises to our king? Was it\nfor this he stirred us up to glorious deeds? Was it for this he heaped\ngifts upon us? Let us go to his rescue. It is not right that we should see\nour lord fall, and bear away our shields untouched!\"\n\nRushing forward, he cried, \"Beowulf, here am I! Now strike for thy life!\nThou hast said that thou never wouldst let thy fame depart from thee!\"\n\nAgain the dragon came forth; again it enveloped its foeman in flames. The\nlinden shield of Wiglaf burned in his hands, and he sought shelter behind\nBeowulf's shield of iron. Again and again Wiglaf smote the monster, and\nwhen the flames burnt low, Beowulf seized his dirk and pierced the dragon\nso that he fell dead.\n\nThe dragon lay dead, but Beowulf felt the poison in his wounds and knew\nthat he had not long to live. He commanded Wiglaf to bring forth the\ntreasure that he might gaze upon the hoard,--jewel work and twisted\ngold,--that he had wrested from the fire-drake.\n\nThe den was filled with rings of gold, cups, banners, jewels, dishes, and\nthe arms of the old owner of the treasure. All these did Wiglaf bear forth\nto his lord, who surveyed them, and uttered thanks to his Maker, that he\ncould win such a treasure. Then, turning to Wiglaf, he said, \"Now I die.\nBuild for me upon the lofty shore a bright mound that shall ever remind my\npeople of me. Far in the distance their ships shall descry it, and they\nshall call it Beowulf's mound.\" Then, giving his arms to Wiglaf, he bade\nhim enjoy them. \"Thou art the last of our race. All save us, fate-driven,\nare gone to doom. Thither go I too.\"\n\nBitterly did Wiglaf denounce his comrades when he saw them steal from\ntheir hiding-places. \"Well may it be said of you that he who gave you your\narms threw them away. No thanks deserve ye for the slaughter of the\ndragon! I did my little, but it was not in my power to save my kinsman.\nToo few helpers stood about him! Now shall your kin be wanting in gifts.\nVoid are ye of land-rights! Better is it for an earl to die than to live\nwith a blasted name!\"\n\nSorrowful were the people when they heard of the death of Beowulf. Full\nwell they knew with what joy the tidings would be hailed by their enemies,\nwho would hasten to harry the land, now that their great leader was gone.\nThe Frisians, the Merovingians, the Franks, the Swedes,--all had their\ngrievances, which they would hasten to wreak on the Goths when they\nlearned that the dreaded king was gone. Dreary would be the land of the\nGoths; on its battle-fields the wolves would batten; the ravens would call\nto the eagles as they feasted on the slain.\n\nStraight to the Eagle's Nest went the band, and found their dead monarch;\nthere, too, lay the loathsome fire-drake, full fifty feet long, and\nbetween them the great hoard, rust-eaten from long dwelling in the earth.\nEver had that hoard brought ill with it.\n\nDown from the cliff they thrust the dragon into the deep, and carried\ntheir chief to Hronesness. There they built a lofty pile, decked it with\nhis armor, and burned thereon the body of their glorious ruler. According\nto his wish, they reared on the cliff a broad, high barrow, surrounded it\nwith a wall, and laid within it the treasure. There yet it lies, of little\nworth to men!\n\nThen around the barrow rode twelve of the bravest, boldest nobles,\nmourning their king, singing his praises, chanting a dirge, telling of his\nglorious deeds, while over the broad land the Gothic folk lamented the\ndeath of their tender prince, their noble king, Beowulf.\n\n\n\n\nSELECTION FROM BEOWULF.\n\nGRENDEL'S MOTHER.\n\n\nThere was great rejoicing in Heorot when Beowulf slew Grendel, and at\nnight the earls again slept in the hall as they had not dared to do since\nthe coming of the fiend. But Grendel's mother came to avenge her son's\ndeath and slew \u00c6schere, a favorite liegeman of Hrothgar's. In the morning,\nBeowulf, who had slept in another part of the palace, was sent for and\ngreeted Hrothgar, unaware of his loss.\n\n  Hrothgar rejoined, helm of the Scyldings:\n  \"Ask not of joyance! Grief is renewed to\n  The folk of the Danemen. Dead is \u00c6schere,\n  Yrmenlaf's brother, older than he,\n  My true-hearted counsellor, trusty adviser,\n  Shoulder-companion, when fighting in battle\n  Our heads we protected, when troopers were clashing,\n  And heroes were dashing; such an earl should be ever,\n  An erst-worthy atheling, as \u00c6schere proved him.\n  The flickering death-spirit became in Heorot\n  His hand-to-hand murderer; I cannot tell whither\n  The cruel one turned, in the carcass exulting,\n  By cramming discovered. The quarrel she wreaked then,\n  The last night igone Grendel thou killedst\n  In grewsomest manner, with grim-holding clutches,\n  Since too long he had lessened my liege-troop and wasted\n  My folk-men so foully. He fell in the battle\n  With forfeit of life, and another has followed,\n  A mighty crime-worker, her kinsman avenging,\n  And henceforth hath 'stablished her hatred unyielding,\n  As it well may appear to many a liegeman,\n  Who mourneth in spirit the treasure-bestower,\n  Her heavy heart-sorrow; the hand is now lifeless\n  Which availed yon in every wish that you cherished.\n  Land-people heard I, liegemen, this saying,\n  Dwellers in halls, they had seen very often\n  A pair of such mighty march-striding creatures,\n  Far-dwelling spirits, holding the moorlands:\n  One of them wore, as well they might notice,\n  The image of woman, the other one wretched\n  In guise of a man wandered in exile,\n  Except that he was huger than any of earthmen;\n  Earth-dwelling people entitled him Grendel\n  In days of yore; they knew not their father,\n  Whe'r ill-going spirits any were borne him\n  Ever before. They guard the wolf-coverts,\n  Lands inaccessible, wind-beaten nesses,\n  Fearfullest fen-deeps, where a flood from the mountains\n  'Neath mists of the nesses netherward rattles,\n  The stream under earth: not far is it henceward\n  Measured by mile-lengths that the mere-water standeth,\n  Which forests hang over, with frost-whiting covered,\n  A firm-rooted forest, the floods overshadow.\n  There ever at night one an ill-meaning portent\n  A fire-flood may see; 'mong children of men\n  None liveth so wise that wot of the bottom;\n  Though harassed by hounds the heath-stepper seek for,\n  Fly to the forest, firm-antlered he-deer,\n  Spurred from afar, his spirit he yieldeth,\n  His life on the shore, ere in he will venture\n  To cover his head. Uncanny the place is:\n  Thence upward ascendeth the surging of waters,\n  Wan to the welkin, when the wind is stirring\n  The weathers unpleasing, till the air groweth gloomy,\n  And the heavens lower. Now is help to be gotten\n  From thee and thee only! The abode thou know'st not,\n  The dangerous place where thou'rt able to meet with\n  The sin-laden hero: seek if thou darest!\n  For the feud I will fully fee thee with money,\n  With old-time treasure, as erstwhile I did thee,\n  With well-twisted jewels, if away thou shalt get thee.\"\n\n  Beowulf answered, Ecgtheow's son:\n  \"Grieve not, O wise one! for each it is better,\n  His friend to avenge than with vehemence wail him;\n  Each of us must the end-day abide of\n  His earthly existence; who is able accomplish\n  Glory ere death! To battle-thane noble\n  Lifeless lying, 't is at last most fitting.\n  Arise, O king, quick let us hasten\n  To look at the footprint of the kinsman of Grendel!\n  I promise thee this now: to his place he'll escape not,\n  To embrace of the earth, nor to mountainous forest,\n  Nor to depths of the ocean, wherever he wanders.\n  Practice thou now patient endurance\n  Of each of thy sorrows, as I hope for thee soothly!\"\n  Then up sprang the old one, the All-Wielder thanked he,\n  Ruler Almighty, that the man had outspoken.\n  Then for Hrothgar a war-horse was decked with a bridle,\n  Curly-maned courser. The clever folk-leader\n  Stately proceeded: stepped then an earl-troop\n  Of linden-wood bearers. Her foot-prints were seen then\n  Widely in wood-paths, her way o'er the bottoms,\n  Where she far-away fared o'er fen-country murky,\n  Bore away breathless the best of retainers\n  Who pondered with Hrothgar the welfare of country.\n  The son of the athelings then went o'er the stony,\n  Declivitous cliffs, the close-covered passes,\n  Narrow passages, paths unfrequented,\n  Nesses abrupt, nicker-haunts many;\n  One of a few of wise-mooded heroes,\n  He onward advanced to view the surroundings,\n  Till he found unawares woods of the mountain\n  O'er hoar-stones hanging, holt-wood unjoyful;\n  The water stood under, welling and gory.\n  'T was irksome in spirit to all of the Danemen,\n  Friends of the Scyldings, to many a liegeman\n  Sad to be suffered, a sorrow unlittle\n  To each of the earlmen, when to \u00c6schere's head they\n  Came on the cliff. The current was seething\n  With blood and with gore (the troopers gazed on it).\n  The horn anon sang the battle-song ready.\n  The troop were all seated; they saw 'long the water then\n  Many a serpent, mere-dragons wondrous\n  Trying the waters, nickers a-lying\n  On the cliffs of the nesses, which at noonday full often\n  Go on the sea-deeps their sorrowful journey,\n  Wild-beasts and worm-kind; away then they hastened\n  Hot-mooded, hateful, they heard the great clamor,\n  The war-trumpet winding. One did the Geat-prince\n  Sunder from earth-joys, with arrow from bowstring,\n  From his sea-struggle tore him, that the trusty war-missile\n  Pierced to his vitals; he proved in the currents\n  Less doughty at swimming whom death had off-carried.\n  Soon in the waters the wonderful swimmer\n  Was straitened most sorely and pulled to the cliff-edge;\n  The liegemen then looked on the loath-fashioned stranger.\n  Beowulf donned then his battle-equipments,\n  Cared little for life; inlaid and most ample,\n  The hand-woven corselet which could cover his body,\n  Must the wave-deeps explore, that war might be powerless\n  To harm the great hero, and the hating one's grasp might\n  Not peril his safety; his head was protected\n  By the light-flashing helmet that should mix with the bottoms,\n  Trying the eddies, treasure-emblazoned,\n  Encircled with jewels, as in seasons long past\n  The weapon-smith worked it, wondrously made it,\n  With swine-bodies fashioned it, that thenceforward no longer\n  Brand might bite it, and battle-sword hurt it.\n  And that was not least of helpers in prowess\n  That Hrothgar's spokesman had lent him when straitened;\n  And the hilted hand-sword was Hrunting entitled,\n  Old and most excellent 'mong all of the treasures;\n  Its blade was of iron, blotted with poison,\n  Hardened with gore; it failed not in battle\n  Any hero under heaven in hand who it brandished,\n  Who ventured to take the terrible journeys,\n  The battle-field sought; not the earliest occasion\n  That deeds of daring 't was destined to 'complish.\n  Ecglaf's kinsman minded not soothly,\n  Exulting in strength, what erst he had spoken\n  Drunken with wine, when the weapon he lent to\n  A sword-hero bolder; himself did not venture\n  'Neath the strife of the currents his life to endanger,\n  To fame-deeds perform; there he forfeited glory,\n  Repute for his strength. Not so with the other\n  When he, clad in his corselet, had equipped him for battle.\n\n  Beowulf spoke, Ecgtheow's son:\n  \"Recall now, oh, famous kinsman of Healfdene,\n  Prince very prudent, now to part I am ready,\n  Gold-friend of earl-men, what erst we agreed on,\n  Should I lay down my life in lending thee assistance,\n  When my earth-joys were over, thou wouldst evermore serve me\n  In stead of a father; my faithful thanemen,\n  My trusty retainers, protect thou and care for,\n  Fall I in battle: and, Hrothgar belov\u00e8d,\n  Send unto Higelac the high-valued jewels\n  Thou to me hast allotted. The lord of the Geatmen\n  May perceive from the gold, the Hrethling may see it\n  When he looks on the jewels, that a gem-giver found I\n  Good over-measure, enjoyed him while able.\n  And the ancient heirloom Unferth permit thou,\n  The famed one to have, the heavy-sword splendid,\n  The hard-edged weapon; with Hrunting to aid me,\n  I shall gain me glory, or grim death shall take me.\"\n  The atheling of Geatmen uttered these words and\n  Heroic did hasten, not any rejoinder\n  Was willing to wait for; the wave-current swallowed\n  The doughty-in-battle. Then a day's-length elapsed ere\n  He was able to see the sea at its bottom.\n  Early she found then who fifty of winters\n  The course of the currents kept in her fury,\n  Grisly and greedy, that the grim one's dominion\n  Some one of men from above was exploring.\n  Forth did she grab them, grappled the warrior\n  With horrible clutches; yet no sooner she injured\n  His body unscathed: the burnie out-guarded,\n  That she proved but powerless to pierce through the armor,\n  The limb-mail locked, with loath-grabbing fingers.\n  The sea-wolf bare then, when bottomward came she,\n  The ring-prince homeward, that he after was powerless.\n  (He had daring to do it) to deal with his weapons,\n  But many a mere-beast tormented him swimming,\n  Flood-beasts no few with fierce-biting tusks did\n  Break through his burnie, the brave one pursued they.\n  The earl then discovered he was down in some cavern\n  Where no water whatever anywise harmed him,\n  And the clutch of the current could not come anear him,\n  Since the roofed-hall prevented; brightness a-gleaming\n  Fire-light he saw, flashing, resplendent.\n  The good one saw then the sea-bottom's monster,\n  The mighty mere-woman; he made a great onset\n  With weapon-of-battle, his hand not desisted\n  From striking, that war-blade struck on her head then\n  A battle-song greedy. The stranger perceived then\n  The sword would not bite, her life would not injure,\n  But the falchion failed the folk prince when straitened:\n  Erst had it often onsets encountered,\n  Oft cloven the helmet, the fated one's armor:\n  'T was the first time that ever the excellent jewel\n  Had failed of its fame. Firm-mooded after,\n  Not heedless of valor, but mindful of glory,\n  Was Higelac's kinsman; the hero-chief angry\n  Cast then his carved-sword covered with jewels\n  That it lay on earth, hard and steel-pointed;\n  He hoped in his strength, his hand-grapple sturdy.\n  So any must act whenever he thinketh\n  To gain him in battle glory unending,\n  And is reckless of living. The lord of the War-Geats\n  (He shrank not from battle) seized by the shoulder\n  The mother of Grendel; then mighty in struggle\n  Swung he his enemy, since his anger was kindled,\n  That she fell to the floor. With furious grapple\n  She gave him requital early thereafter,\n  And stretched out to grab him; the strongest of warriors\n  Faint-mooded stumbled, till he fell in his traces,\n  Foot-going champion. Then she sat on the hall-guest\n  And wielded her war-knife wide-bladed, flashing,\n  For her son would take vengeance, her one only bairn.\n  His breast-armor woven bode on his shoulder;\n  It guarded his life, the entrance defended\n  'Gainst sword-point and edges. Ecgtheow's son there\n  Had fatally journeyed, champion of Geatmen,\n  In the arms of the ocean, had the armor not given,\n  Close-woven corselet, comfort and succor,\n  And had God most holy not awarded the victory,\n  All-knowing Lord; easily did heaven's\n  Ruler most righteous arrange it with justice;\n  Uprose he erect ready for battle.\n\n  Then he saw 'mid the war-gems a weapon of victory,\n  An ancient giant-sword, of edges a-doughty,\n  Glory of warriors: of weapons 't was choicest,\n  Only 't was larger than any man else was\n  Able to bear in the battle-encounter,\n  The good and splendid work of the giants.\n  He grasped then the sword-hilt, knight of the Scyldings,\n  Bold and battle-grim, brandished his ring-sword,\n  Hopeless of living, hotly he smote her,\n  That the fiend-woman's neck firmly it grappled,\n  Broke through her bone-joints, the bill fully pierced her\n  Fate-curs\u00e8d body, she fell to the ground then:\n  The hand-sword was bloody, the hero exulted.\n  The brand was brilliant, brightly it glimmered,\n  Just as from heaven gemlike shineth\n  The torch of the firmament. He glanced 'long the building,\n  And turned by the wall then, Higelac's vassal\n  Raging and wrathful raised his battle-sword\n  Strong by the handle. The edge was not useless\n  To the hero-in-battle, but he speedily wished to\n  Give Grendel requital for the many assaults he\n  Had worked on the West-Danes not once, but often,\n  When he slew in slumber the subjects of Hrothgar,\n  Swallowed down fifteen sleeping retainers\n  Of the folk of the Danemen, and fully as many\n  Carried away, a horrible prey.\n  He gave him requital, grim-raging champion,\n  When he saw on his rest-place weary of conflict\n  Grendel lying, of life-joys bereav\u00e8d,\n  As the battle at Heorot erstwhile had scathed him;\n  His body far bounded, a blow when he suffered,\n  Death having seized him, sword-smiting heavy,\n  And he cut off his head then. Early this noticed\n  The clever carles who as comrades of Hrothgar\n  Gazed on the sea-deeps, that the surging wave-currents\n  Were mightily mingled, the mere-flood was gory:\n  Of the good one the gray-haired together held converse,\n  The hoary of head, that they hoped not to see again\n  The atheling ever, that exulting in victory\n  He'd return there to visit the distinguished folk-ruler:\n  Then many concluded the mere-wolf had killed him.\n  The ninth hour came then. From the ness-edge departed\n  The bold-mooded Scyldings; the gold-friend of heroes\n  Homeward betook him. The strangers sat down then\n  Soul-sick, sorrowful, the sea-waves regarding:\n  They wished and yet weened not their well-loved friend-lord\n  To see any more. The sword-blade began then,\n  The blood having touched it, contracting and shrivelling\n  With battle-icicles; 't was a wonderful marvel\n  That it melted entirely, likest to ice when\n  The Father unbindeth the bond of the frost and\n  Unwindeth the wave-bands, He who wieldeth dominion\n  Of time and of tides: a truth-firm Creator.\n  Nor took he of jewels more in the dwelling,\n  Lord of the Weders, though they lay all around him,\n  Than the head and the handle handsome with jewels;\n  The brand early melted, burnt was the weapon:\n  So hot was the blood, the strange-spirit poisonous\n  That in it did perish. He early swam off then\n  Who had bided in combat the carnage of haters,\n  Went up through the ocean; the eddies were cleansed,\n  The spacious expanses, when the spirit from farland\n  His life put aside and this short-lived existence.\n  The seamen's defender came swimming to land then\n  Doughty of spirit, rejoiced in his sea-gift,\n  The bulky burden which he bore in his keeping.\n  The excellent vassals advanced then to meet him,\n  To God they were grateful, were glad in their chieftain,\n  That to see him safe and sound was granted them.\n  From the high-minded hero, then, helmet and burnie\n  Were speedily loosened: the ocean was putrid,\n  The water 'neath welkin weltered with gore.\n  Forth did they fare, then, their footsteps retracing,\n  Merry and mirthful, measured the earth-way,\n  To highway familiar: men very daring\n  Bare then the head from the sea-cliff, burdening\n  Each of the earlmen, excellent-valiant.\n  Four of them had to carry with labor\n  The head of Grendel to the high towering gold-hall\n  Upstuck on the spear, till fourteen most-valiant\n  And battle-brave Geatmen came there going\n  Straight to the palace: the prince of the people\n  Measured the mead-ways, their mood-brave companion,\n  The atheling of earlmen entered the building,\n  Deed-valiant man, adorned with distinction,\n  Doughty shield-warrior, to address King Hrothgar:\n  Then hung by the hair, the head of Grendel\n  Was borne to the building, where beer-thanes were drinking,\n  Loth before earlmen and eke 'fore the lady:\n  The warriors beheld then a wonderful sight.\n         _J. L. Hall's Translation, Parts XXI.-XXIV._\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE NIBELUNGEN LIED.\n\n\nThe Nibelungen Lied, or Song of the Nibelungen, was written about the\nbeginning of the thirteenth century, though the events it chronicles\nbelong to the sixth or seventh century. The manuscript poem was discovered\nabout the middle of the eighteenth century.\n\nLachmann asserts that the Nibelungen Lied consists of twenty songs of\nvarious dates and authorship; other scholars, while agreeing that it is\nthe work of a single author, ascribe it variously to Conrad von\nKurenburger, Wolfram von Eschenbach, Heinrich von Ofterdingen, and Walther\nvon der Vogelweide.\n\nWhoever was its author, he was only a compiler of legends that were the\nproperty of the people for centuries, and are found in many other of the\npopular German epics of the Middle Ages.\n\nThe poem consists of thirty-nine adventures, containing two thousand four\nhundred and fifty-nine stanzas of four lines each. The action covers\nthirty years. It is based on material obtained from four sources: (1) The\nFrankish saga-cycle, whose hero is Siegfried; (2) the saga-cycle of\nBurgundy, whose heroes are G\u00fcnther, king of Worms, and his two brothers;\n(3) the Ostrogothic saga-cycle, whose hero is Dietrich of Bern; and (4)\nthe saga-cycle of Etzel, king of the Huns, with his allies and vassals.\n\nDietrich of Bern is supposed to be Theodoric of Italy, in exile at the\nHunnish court. Etzel is Attila the Hun, and G\u00fcnther, Gunducarius, king of\nthe Burgundians, who was destroyed by the Huns with his followers in the\nyear 436.\n\nThe Nibelungen Lied very much resembles the Iliad, not only in the\nuncertainty of its origin and the impersonality of its author, but also in\nits objectivity, its realism, the primitive passions of its heroes, and\nthe wondrous acts of valor performed by them. It contains many passages of\nwonderful beauty, and gives a striking picture of the social customs and\nthe religious belief of the time.\n\n\n\n\nBIBLIOGRAPHY AND CRITICISM, THE NIBELUNGEN LIED.\n\n\nMary Elizabeth Burt's Story of the German Iliad, 1892;\n\nThomas Carlyle's Nibelungen Lied (see his Miscellaneous Essays, 1869, vol.\niii., pp. 111-162);\n\nSir G. W. Cox and E. H. Jones's Nibelungen Lied (see their Tales of the\nTeutonic Lands, 1872, pp. 79-132);\n\nG. T. Dippold's Nibelungenlied (see his Great Epics of Mediaeval Germany,\n1882, pp. 1-117);\n\nWilliam T. Dobson's Nibelungenlied Epitomized (see his Classic Poets,\n1878);\n\nAuber Forestier's Echoes from Mistland, or the Nibelungen Lay Revealed,\nTr. by A. A. Woodward, 1877;\n\nJoseph Gostwick's and Robert Harrison's Nibelungenlied (see their Outlines\nof German Literature, n. d., pp. 16-24);\n\nHugh Reginald Haweis's Nibelungenlied (see his Musical Memories, 1887, pp.\n225-250);\n\nFrederick Henry Hedge's Nibelungenlied (see his Hours with the German\nClassics, 1887, pp. 25-55);\n\nJames K. Hosmer's Nibelungen Lied (see his Short History of German\nLiterature, 1891, pp. 23-77);\n\nJ. P. Jackson's Ring of the Nibelung, Cosmopolitan, 1888, vol. vi. pp.\n415-433;\n\nHenry W. Longfellow's Nibelungenlied (see his Poets and Poetry of Europe,\nnew ed., enlarged, 1882, pp. 217-227);\n\nJ. M. F. Ludlow's Lay and Lament of the Niblungs (see his Popular Epics of\nthe Middle Ages, 1865, pp. 105-183);\n\nE. Magnusson and William Morris's V\u00f6lsungs Saga, story of the V\u00f6lsungs and\nNiblungs, 1870;\n\nWilliam Morris's Story of Sigurd the Volsung and the Fall of the Niblungs,\n1887;\n\nF. Max M\u00fcller's Das Nibelungenlied (see his German Classics, new ed.,\n1893, vol. i., pp. 112-136);\n\nErnst Raupach's Nibelungen Treasure, a tragedy from the German with\nremarks, 1847;\n\nA. M. Richey's Teutonic and the Celtic Epic, Fraser's Magazine, 1874, vol.\nlxxxix., pp. 336-354;\n\nWilhelm Scherer's Nibelungenlied (see his History of German Literature,\n1893, vol. i., pp. 101-115);\n\nLeda M. Schoonamaker's Nibelungen Lied, Harper's Magazine, 1877, vol. lv.,\npp. 38-51;\n\nBayard Taylor's Nibelungen Lied (see his Studies in German Literature,\n1893, pp. 101-134);\n\nWilhelm Wagner's Nibelungenlied (see his Epics and Romances of the Middle\nAges, 1883, pp. 229-306);\n\nHenry Weber's The Song of the Nibelungen (see Weber and Jamieson,\nIllustrations of Northern Antiquities, 1874, pp. 167-213).\n\n\n\n\nSTANDARD ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS, THE NIBELUNGEN.\n\n\nThe Nibelungen Lied, Tr. by Alfred G. Foster Barham, 1887;\n\nThe Lay of the Nibelungers, Tr. into English text after Lachman's text by\nJonathan Birch, ed. 3, 1887;\n\nThe Nibelungenlied, Tr. by Joseph Gostwick (see his Spirit of German\nPoetry, 1843);\n\nThe Fall of the Nibelungers, Tr. by William Nanson Lettsom, ed. 2, 1874.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE NIBELUNGEN LIED.\n\n\nIn the beautiful city of Worms, in Burgundy, dwelt the maiden Kriemhild,\nsurpassing all others in beauty. Her father, long since dead, was Dancrat;\nher mother, Uta, and her three brothers,--G\u00fcnther, Gernot, and\nGiselher,--puissant princes whose pride it was to guard their lovely\nsister. Among the noble lords their liegemen were Hagan of Trony,\nDankwart, his brother, Ortwine of Metz, Eckewart, Gary, Folker, Rumolt the\nsteward, Sindolt the butler, and Humolt the chamberlain.\n\nThe peace of the beautiful Kriemhild was one night disturbed by a dream,\nin which she saw a young falcon that she had long reared with tender care\ntorn to pieces by two fierce eagles. When she confided this dream to her\nmother, the wise Uta declared that it meant that she would one day wed a\nfair prince threatened with a dreadful doom.\n\n\"Then I will never wed!\" cried Kriemhild. \"Better to forego the bliss thou\ntellest me attends only the wedded state than to taste the anguish\nforetold by my dream.\" Alas! little could she guess of what the future\nheld in store for her.\n\nIn the wide country of the Netherlands, in the city of Xanten, dwelt the\ngreat prince Siegmund and his wife Sieglind. Their kingdom was wide, their\nwealth great, but nothing gave them so much happiness as the renown of\ntheir glorious son Siegfried. Such mighty deeds of valor had he performed\nthat his fame was already world-wide, though he was but a youth. To Xanten\nthe fame of the peerless princess Kriemhild had penetrated, and the young\nprince declared to his parents his intention of seeking her out in\nBurgundy, and wooing her for his wife. All entreaties were in vain; with\nbut twelve companions, each fitted out with the most gorgeous vestments,\nby the care of the queen mother, the haughty prince advanced into\nBurgundy.\n\nKing G\u00fcnther, surprised at the sight of the splendidly attired strangers,\ncalled one after another of his knights to inform him who they were. None\nknew, until Hagan was at last called because he was familiar with the\nwarriors of every land. He did not know them. \"But,\" said he, \"though I\nhave never set eyes on him, I'll wager that is the noble Siegfried, the\nmighty warrior who slew the Nibelungers. Once, so I have heard the story,\nwhen he was riding alone, he saw the two kings Nibelung and Shilbung\ndividing the treasure of the Niblungs. They had just brought it out from\nthe cavern where it was guarded by the dwarf Albric, and they called\nSiegfried to come and divide it for them. The task was so great that he\ndid not finish it, and when the angry kings set upon him he slew them\nboth, their giant champions and chiefs, and then overcame the dwarf\nAlbric, and possessed himself of his wondrous cloud-cloak. So he is now\nlord of the Nibelungers and owner of the mighty treasure. Not only this,\nmy king; he once slew a poison-spitting dragon and bathed in its blood, so\nthat his skin is invulnerable. Treat the young prince with respect. It\nwould be ill-advised to arouse his hatred.\"\n\nWhile the king and his counsellors were admiring his haughty bearing,\nSiegfried and his followers advanced to the hall and were fittingly\nwelcomed. Siegfried haughtily declared that he had come to learn if\nG\u00fcnther's renown for knighthood was correct, and wished to fight with him,\nwith their respective kingdoms as stakes. G\u00fcnther had no desire to fight\nwith such a doughty warrior, and he hastened to soothe Siegfried's wrath\nwith gentle words, inviting him to remain as his guest.\n\nSo happy was Siegfried in the tourneys and games enjoyed by G\u00fcnther's\ncourt, that he remained in Worms for a year, and in all that time never\nset eyes on Kriemhild. How enraptured would he have been had he known that\nthe gentle maiden watched for him daily at her lattice, and came to long\nfor a glimpse of the handsome stranger!\n\nAt the end of the year tidings were brought to Worms that the Saxons, led\nby King L\u00fcdeger, and L\u00fcdegast, king of Denmark, were marching against\nBurgundy. The Burgundians were terrified at the news; but Siegfried,\ndelighted at the thought of war, begged G\u00fcnther to give him but a thousand\nBurgundians, in addition to the twelve comrades he had brought with him,\nand he would pledge himself to defeat, unaided, the presumptuous enemy.\nMany were the camps of the foe; full forty thousand were there mustered\nout to fight, but Siegfried quickly scattered them, slew many thousands,\nand took the two kings prisoners.\n\nHow joyful the melancholy Kriemhild became when the messenger bore to her\nthe glad tidings! Ruddy gold and costly garments he gained for his good\nnews.\n\nOn Siegfried's return he first met and loved Kriemhild. More blooming than\nMay, sweeter than summer's pride, she stood by the gallant warrior, who\ndared not yet to woo her. The twelve days of revel in celebration of the\nvictory were one long dream of bliss to the happy lovers.\n\nWhile Siegfried was still lingering at G\u00fcnther's court, tidings were\nbrought thither of the beauty, prowess, and great strength of Brunhild,\nQueen of Issland, and G\u00fcnther determined to go thither and woo her.\nSiegfried implored him not to go.\n\n\"Thou knowest not what thou must undertake,\" he said. \"Thou must take part\nin her contests, throw the javelin, throw the stone and jump after it, and\nif thou fail in even one of these three games thou must lose thy life and\nthat of thy companions.\"\n\nWhen Siegfried found that he could not move G\u00fcnther, he promised to go\nwith him and assist him, on condition that on their return G\u00fcnther would\ngive him the beautiful Kriemhild for his wife.\n\nAttired in the most splendid raiment, prepared by the willing fingers of\nKriemhild and her maids, G\u00fcnther, with only three companions, Siegfried,\nHagan, and Dankwart, set forth to Issland. Siegfried requested his\ncompanions to inform Brunhild that he was G\u00fcnther's man; and when she\nwelcomed him first, he himself told her to speak first to his master.\nThe little party was greatly impressed with the splendor of Brunhild's\nthree turreted palaces, and with the beauty and prodigious strength of the\nqueen. When they saw her huge golden shield, steel-studded, beneath whose\nweight four chamberlains staggered, and the immense javelin of the\nwar-like maid, the warriors trembled for their lives, all save Siegfried,\nwho, wrapped in his cloud-cloak, invisible to all, stood behind the\nbewildered G\u00fcnther.\n\n\"Give me thy buckler,\" he whispered. \"Now make but the motions, and I will\nhurl both spear and stone. But keep this a secret if thou wouldst save\nboth our lives.\"\n\nTo the surprise of every one G\u00fcnther won the games, and Brunhild,\nsurprised and mortified, ordered her followers to bow to her better, and\nreturned to the castle to make ready for the journey to Worms.\n\nSiegfried carried the tidings to Worms, and the bridal party was met and\nwelcomed at the banks of the Rhine by the Queen Uta, Kriemhild, and a\nlarge following. During the wedding feast, Siegfried reminded G\u00fcnther of\nhis promise, and the king, calling Kriemhild to him, affianced the two in\nthe presence of the company.\n\nWhen the suspicious Brunhild saw Siegfried sitting at the table of the\nking, she was angered, for she had been told that he was a vassal.\nAlthough she could get no satisfaction from G\u00fcnther, she suspected some\nsecret. When she and G\u00fcnther retired for the night she conquered him, tied\nhim hand and foot with her magic girdle, and hung him on the wall until\nmorning. G\u00fcnther, overcome with wrath and vexation, told his humiliation\nto Siegfried the next morning at the minster. \"Be comforted,\" said\nSiegfried. \"Tonight I will steal into thy chamber wrapped in my\nmist-cloak, and when the lights are extinguished I will wrestle with her\nuntil I deprive her of the magic ring and girdle.\"\n\nAfter some hesitation, G\u00fcnther assented, and Brunhild, supposing she was\nconquered by G\u00fcnther, yielded herself willingly to her husband and lost\nall her former strength. Siegfried carried away her girdle and ring and\ngave them to his wife, little suspecting what harm they would do him in\nthe years to come.\n\nThe wedding festivities over, Siegfried took his bride home to the\nNetherlands, where their arrival was celebrated with the greatest\nfestivities. Siegmund placed the crown on his son's head, and Siegfried\nand Kriemhild ruled happily over the kingdom for ten years, during which\ntime a son was born to them, christened G\u00fcnther for his uncle.\n\nDuring these years Brunhild had been fretting that the supposed vassal,\nSiegfried, had never come to pay homage to his king. At last, affecting a\ngreat longing to see Kriemhild once more, she induced G\u00fcnther to invite\nhis sister and her husband to visit them. This he did gladly, and on their\narrival many days were spent in feasting, merrymaking, and the tourney.\n\nBut one day, when the two queens were watching the tilting in the castle\ncourt, Kriemhild, excited by the victories of her husband, declared that\nSiegfried, because of his might, ought to be ruler of Burgundy. This\nangered Brunhild, who reproached the wife of a vassal for such\npresumption.\n\n\"My husband a vassal!\" exclaimed the indignant Kriemhild. \"He, ruler of\nthe Netherlands, who holds a higher place than my brother G\u00fcnther! I\ncannot endure thy insolence longer.\"\n\n\"I will see,\" said Brunhild, \"this very day whether thou receivest the\npublic respect and honor paid to me.\"\n\n\"I am ready for the test,\" responded Kriemhild, \"and I will show thee\nto-day, before our following, that I dare to enter the church before\nG\u00fcnther's queen.\"\n\nWhen the two queens met on the minster steps, and Brunhild declared that\nno vassaless should enter before her, Kriemhild reproached her for being\nthe leman of Siegfried, and displayed in proof the ring and girdle he had\ntaken from Brunhild. Rage and fury rendered Brunhild speechless. The kings\nwere summoned, and both denied the truth of Kriemhild's words. But the two\nqueens were now bitter enemies, and the followers of Brunhild, among them\nthe gloomy Hagan of Trony, were deeply angered at Siegfried and his queen.\nHagan laid a plot to destroy Siegfried, and G\u00fcnther, though at first\nunwilling, was at last induced to enter it.\n\nPretended messengers came to announce to G\u00fcnther that the Saxons again\nthreatened war against him. Siegfried proposed to take part in the war,\nand preparations were at once begun. Hagan, with pretended tenderness,\ntold Kriemhild of the coming danger, and asked her if her lord had a weak\nplace, that he might know and guard it for him. Kriemhild confided to him\nher husband's secret. When Siegfried was bathing in the dragon's blood, a\nleaf fell between his shoulders, and that spot was vulnerable. There she\nwould embroider a cross on his vesture that Hagan might protect him in the\nshock of battle.\n\nThe war was now abandoned and a great hunt undertaken. Gernot and\nGiselher, though they did not see fit to warn Siegfried, refused to take\npart in the plot and go to the hunt. Many a lion, elk, and boar fell by\nSiegfried's hand that day before the hunters were called together to the\nroyal breakfast; when they at last sat down in the flowery meadow the wine\nwas wanting, and the warriors were compelled to quench their thirst at a\nbrooklet near by.\n\n\"A race!\" cried the hero; and he, Hagan, and G\u00fcnther ran for the brook,\nSiegfried gaining it first. After the king had quenched his thirst,\nSiegfried threw down his arms and stooped to drink. Then Hagan, picking up\nhis ashen spear, threw it at the embroidered cross, and Siegfried fell in\nthe agonies of death, reproaching his traitorous friends whom he had\nserved so faithfully.\n\nTo add cruelty to cruelty, the vindictive Hagan placed the body of\nSiegfried outside Kriemhild's chamber door, where she would stumble over\nit as she went out to early mass next morning. Down she fell fainting when\nshe recognized her husband, and reviving, shrieked in her anguish,\n\"Brunhild planned it; Hagan struck the blow!\"\n\nHer grief was terrible to see. One moment the unhappy queen was accusing\nherself for revealing her husband's secret; again she was vowing revenge\nagainst Hagan, and at another time she reviled the traitorous G\u00fcnther.\n\nWhen her father-in-law Siegmund returned home, she would not go with him,\nbut remained near the body of her husband, under the protection of her\nbrothers Gernot and Giselher and in the company of her mother.\n\nKriemhild, living in joyless state in her lonely palace, was at last\ninduced to speak to G\u00fcnther and pardon him. The pardon granted, G\u00fcnther\nand Hagan at once plotted to have the Nibelungen hoard, Siegfried's\nmorning-gift to Kriemhild, brought to Worms. Never before was such a\ntreasure seen. Twelve huge wagons, journeying thrice a day, required four\nnights and days to carry it from the mountain to the bay. It consisted of\nnothing but precious stones and gold, and with it was the magic\nwishing-rod. It filled Kriemhild's towers and chambers to overflowing, and\nwon many friends for the queen, who distributed it liberally.\n\nWhen the envious Hagan could not induce G\u00fcnther to take the treasure from\nKriemhild, he selected a time when the king and his brothers were away\nfrom home, and seizing the treasure, cast it into the Rhine, hoping to get\nit again. In this he failed, so the great treasure was forever lost.\n\nThus ends the first part of the Lay of the Nibelungen. The second part is\nsometimes called the Need or Fall of the Nibelungen.\n\nWhile Kriemhild was bewailing her loss and revolving plans for revenge,\nEtzel, King of the Huns, who had heard of the charms of Siegfried's widow,\nsent the noble Margrave R\u00fcdeger into Burgundy with proposals for her hand.\n\nG\u00fcnther and his brothers begged Kriemhild to accept the offer; their\ncounsellors advised it; only the sage Hagan protested. He knew too well\nhow Kriemhild longed for revenge. \"When once she gets among the Huns, she\nwill make us rue the day,\" said he.\n\nBut the others laughed at Hagan's scruples. The land of the Huns was far\naway, and they need never set foot in it. Moreover, it was their duty to\nmake Kriemhild happy.\n\nMoved by the eloquence of R\u00fcdeger, Kriemhild consented to wed Etzel, and\nset out in great state to meet the king.\n\nShe was splendidly entertained along the way, tarried a short time at the\nhome of the Margrave R\u00fcdeger, and at Tulna met the great monarch Etzel,\nriding to meet her, among his hosts of Russians, Polacks, Greeks, and\nWallachians.\n\nThe splendid wedding-feast was held at Vienna. Kriemhild was received with\nthe greatest honor, and so lavish was she of the gold and jewels she had\nbrought with her, and so gracious to the attendant Huns, that every one\nloved her, and willingly worked her will.\n\nFor seven long years she and Attila lived happy together, and to them was\ngiven a son whom they christened Ortlieb. Then Kriemhild, still\nremembering her loss and the cruelties of her Burgundian relatives and\nfriends, bethought herself of her revenge.\n\nFeigning a great desire to see her brothers, she entreated Etzel to invite\nthem to visit her; and the king, not suspecting her fell purpose, and glad\nof an opportunity to welcome her friends, at once despatched messengers\nwith the invitation.\n\nThis time other counsellors besides Hagan mistrusted the queen, and\nadvised King G\u00fcnther and his brothers to decline the invitation. But the\nprinces grew angry at their advice; and Hagan, who could not endure to be\nlaughed at, set forth with them, accompanied with a great train of\nwarriors.\n\nThe Rhine was too swollen to ford, and Hagan was sent up the stream to\nfind a ferryman. As he looked for the boatman, he spied some mermaids\nbathing, and seizing their garments, would not restore them until they\ntold him what would befall the Burgundians in Hungary.\n\n\"Safe will you ride to Etzel's court, and safe return,\" said one, as he\nreturned the garments. But as he turned to go, another called: \"My aunt\nhas lied to thee that she might get back her raiment. Turn now, or you\nwill never live to see Burgundy. None save the chaplain will return in\nsafety.\"\n\nHagan went on gloomily and found the ferryman, who, proud and sullen,\nrefused to take the party across. Hagan slew him, and, returning with the\nboat, threw the unfortunate chaplain into the river, thinking by drowning\nhim to prove the mermaid's prophecy untrue. But the chaplain escaped to\nthe other side, and walked back to Burgundy. Then Hagan told the party of\nthe prophecy and they resolved to go on together, though they realized\nthat they were going to their doom.\n\nBecause of the slaughter of the ferryman, they were attacked by Gelfrat,\nthe ruler of the land; but he was overcome and slain by Dankwart.\n\nThe Margrave R\u00fcdeger received the travellers hospitably, and betrothed his\nfair daughter to Giselher. He then accompanied the Burgundians to Etzel's\ncourt.\n\nThe Burgundians suspected Kriemhild from the first. Giselher was the only\none of her brothers whom she kissed, and she and Hagan quarrelled over the\ntreasure at their first meeting.\n\nThey were warned by Eckewart, who had accompanied Kriemhild from Burgundy,\nand by Dietrich of Bern, an exile at the court of Etzel, who told them\nthat every morning since her stay in Hunland she had moaned and wailed for\nSiegfried. By Hagan's advice they all kept on their armor, telling Etzel\nthat it was the custom in their country to wear it for the first three\ndays.\n\nKriemhild's design was to destroy Hagan and spare her brothers. But Hagan,\non his guard, drove her warriors away from his room at night, and saved\nhimself at church from the jostling Hunnish lords, never, in the mean\ntime, sparing his insults to Kriemhild.\n\nThe Huns, who were devoted to their queen, were not slow in showing their\nanger at Hagan's treatment of her, and the ill feeling between the\nwarriors increased as the days passed by.\n\nAs the Burgundians sat at the banquet with Etzel and his wife, in burst\nDankwart, exclaiming that he had been attacked by Bloedel, who had slain\nall his followers.\n\n\"Be stirring, brother Hagan!\" he cried. \"Help me to avenge my wrongs!\"\n\nAt this moment the little prince Ortlieb had been brought into the hall\nand passed around among the guests.\n\n\"Let us drink to friendship with moody Kriemhild in king's wine!\" cried\nHagan, and with one blow of the sword sent the child's head in his\nmother's lap. Then arose a fearful clamor. Spear rang against shield, and\nthe cries of the fierce Huns mingled with the defiant shouts of the\nBurgundians.\n\nDietrich of Bern, leaping upon a bench, asked King G\u00fcnther, that, as a\nfriend to both parties, he might be permitted to withdraw from the hall\nwith his friends. When the Burgundians assented, he led forth the king and\nqueen. The same privilege was accorded to R\u00fcdeger.\n\nThen, while the terrible Folker guarded the door with his fiddle bow, one\nside of which was a trenchant sword, the battle began. The Burgundians\ntaunted the Huns with their weakness and cowardice until they ventured\ninto the hall and were cut down by Hagan and his desperate men. When\nevening fell the thousand and four who had entered the hall all lay dead\nby the hands of the Burgundians.\n\nWhen Kriemhild's offer to give her brothers their lives if they would\nsurrender Hagan was refused, she ordered fire to be set to the four\ncorners of the hall, thinking thus to drive them forth. But the burning\nrafters fell into the rivers of blood and were quenched, and the\nBurgundians derived new courage and strength from huge draughts of blood\nfrom their fallen foes.\n\nThen Kriemhild and Etzel, seeing how their Hunnish men had fallen, and\nperceiving that the Burgundians were in no wise injured by the fire,\nreproached the Margrave R\u00fcdeger that he did not enter the fight. In vain\nhe told them of his friendship with the princes; of the betrothal of his\ndaughter and Giselher. Kriemhild persisted in reminding him of the promise\nhe had made to serve her to her dying day. At last he reluctantly summoned\nhis men, and bidding farewell to his cruel king and queen, he entered the\nhall. Gladly was he welcomed by the Burgundians, who could not believe\nthat he came to do battle with them. He explained how he was forced to\nfight them, and amid the tears of both sides, he exchanged shields with\nHagan, whose buckler was broken. Then was the grim Hagan moved to tears,\nand he vowed not to touch R\u00fcdeger in the fight. Fearful was the clatter of\nshield and blade as R\u00fcdeger fought with Gernot, and fell at last by the\nblade he had himself given the prince.\n\nGreat was the wailing of the Huns when they saw the lifeless body of\nR\u00fcdeger, and deeply did Etzel regret the loss of the valiant and true\nmargrave.\n\nDietrich of Bern, who sat afar off, sent some of his best warriors under\nhis man Hildebrand, to inquire of the truth of the report of R\u00fcdeger's\ndeath. These fiery men disobeyed the orders of their master, and fought\nwith the Burgundians until none remained save G\u00fcnther and Hagan on one\nside, and Hildebrand on the other.\n\nWhen Dietrich heard of the slaughter of his followers, he was overcome\nwith sorrow, and himself sought the hall. He promised G\u00fcnther and Hagan\nthat if they would surrender, he would himself lead them back in safety to\nBurgundy; but to this they would not consent. By this time they were so\nworn out, however, from the long battle, that Dietrich easily overpowered\nthem and led them captive before Kriemhild, who promised to show them fair\ntreatment.\n\nBut Kriemhild's mind had become so warped by her desire for revenge, that\nshe could not think of mercy. She cast her prisoners into separate\ndungeons, and visiting Hagan first, demanded her treasure. \"But give it to\nme again, and thou shalt return living into Burgundy.\"\n\n\"Pray not to me, haughty queen,\" replied Hagan. \"I swore that while my\nlords were living I would ne'er tell where it lies. Thy prayer is thrown\naway.\"\n\nStraightway the savage Kriemhild ordered the head of G\u00fcnther to be struck\noff, and bearing it by the hair, she displayed it to Hagan, asking him now\nto tell her the secret.\n\n\"Now that all my lords are dead,\" said he, \"no one shall know, thou least\nof all, she-fiend!\"\n\nKriemhild, beside herself with grief and rage, snatched from him the sword\nBalmung that he had taken from Siegfried, and ever since carried, and\nraising it high with both hands, struck off the head of her hated enemy.\n\nAt this the grief of Etzel broke forth, and the aged Hildebrand, enraged\nto see a woman do such deeds, sprang upon Kriemhild and smote her to death\nwith his sword.\n\nBitterly wept King Etzel and Dietrich as they gazed on the corpses\nscattered round, and the disfigured body of the fair queen. Nothing\nremained for the Hunnish people but grief and woe.\n\nHere on earth pain ever follows in the steps of pleasure.\n\n\n\n\nSELECTIONS FROM THE NIBELUNGEN LIED.\n\nHOW BRUNHILD WAS RECEIVED AT WORMS.\n\n\nBrunhild, queen of Issland, was won by G\u00fcnther of Worms with the aid of\nSiegfried, whom G\u00fcnther sent forward to Worms to announce the coming of\nthe royal pair. Queen Uta and Princess Kriemhild, with many followers from\nthe Burgundian court, went forward to the Rhine to meet and welcome the\nroyal bridal party.\n\n  Beyond the Rhine King G\u00fcnther, with many a well-arm'd rank\n  And all his guests about him, rode towards the river's bank;\n  You might see by the bridle led forward many a maid.\n  Those, who were to receive them, were ready all array'd.\n\n  Soon as the men of Issland came to the shallops down,\n  And eke the Nibelungers, lieges of Siegfried's crown,\n  To th' other shore they hasten'd (busy was every hand)\n  Where them the friends of G\u00fcnther awaited on the strand.\n\n  Now hear, by wealthy Uta what a device was wrought.\n  Down with her from the castle a virgin train she brought,\n  That rode where she was riding in that procession bright;\n  So many a maid acquainted became with many a knight.\n\n  Kriemhild by the bridle the Margrave Gary led,\n  But only from the castle; then forward Siegfried sped,\n  And did that gentle service; fair was the blushing maid;\n  Full well for that thereafter the warrior she repaid.\n\n  Ortwine, the fearless champion, rode by Dame Uta's rein;\n  Knights and maids together follow'd, a social train.\n  At such a stately meeting, all must confess, I ween,\n  So many lovely ladies were ne'er together seen.\n\n  Full many a famous champion careering you might spy\n  (Ill there was sloth and idlesse) beneath fair Kriemhild's eye\n  E'en to the place of landing; by knights of fair renown\n  There many a high-born lady from steed was lifted down.\n\n  The king was now come over, and many a worthy guest.\n  Ah, before the ladies what spears were laid in rest!\n  How many went in shivers at every hurtling close!\n  Buckler clashed with buckler; ah, what a din arose!\n\n  Now might you see the ladies fast by the haven stand.\n  With his guests King G\u00fcnther debark'd upon the strand,\n  In his hand soft leading the martial maiden fair.\n  Then each on each flash'd radiance, rich robes and jewels rare.\n\n  With that the smiling Kriemhild forth stepp'd a little space,\n  And Brunhild and her meiny greeted with gentle grace,\n  Each with snowy fingers back her headband drew,\n  And either kiss'd the other lovingly and true.\n\n  Then spoke in courteous manner Kriemhild the fair and free,\n  \"In this our land, dear Brunhild, ever welcome be\n  To me and to my mother and all by us allow'd\n  For faithful friends and liegemen.\" Then each to th' other bow'd.\n\n  Next to greet Dame Brunhild approach'd Dame Uta too;\n  Oft she and oft her daughter their arms about her threw,\n  And on her sweet mouth lavish'd many a loving kiss.\n  Never was known a welcome so kind and frank as this.\n\n  Soon as Brunhild's women were all come to the strand,\n  Many a courtly warrior took by her lily hand\n  A lady fair, and gently her mincing steps upstay'd,\n  Now before Dame Brunhild stood many a noble maid.\n\n  'T was long before the greeting had gone through all the list.\n  On either part in plenty rosy mouths were kiss'd.\n  Still the two fair princesses were standing side by side,\n  A pair with love and rapture by longing warriors ey'd.\n\n  What erst had been but rumour, was now made clear to sight,\n  That nought had yet been witness'd so beautiful and bright\n  As those two lovely damsels; 't was plain to every eye;\n  None the slightest blemish in either form could spy.\n\n  Whoever look'd on women with but the sight for guide,\n  Such for her faultless beauty praised G\u00fcnther's, stately bride;\n  But those whose thoughts went deeper, and div'd into the mind,\n  Maintain'd that gentle Kriemhild left Brunhild far behind.\n\n  Now met the dames and damsels in friendly converse free;\n  Fair robes and fairer beauties were there in store to see;\n  Many a silk pavilion and many a gorgeous tent\n  The plain before the city fill'd in its whole extent.\n\n  King G\u00fcnther's kinsmen ceas'd not to press to that fair show.\n  And now was begg'd each princess from the sun to go\n  Close by, with their attendants, where shade was overhead.\n  By bold Burgundian warriors thither were they led.\n\n  Then clomb to horse the heroes, and scour'd the sounding field;\n  Many a joust was practis'd with order'd spear and shield;\n  Right well were prov'd the champions, and o'er the trampled plain,\n  As though the land were burning, the dust curl'd up amain.\n\n  So all before the ladies display'd their skill and force,\n  Nor doubt I that Sir Siegfried rode many a knightly course\n  Before the rich pavilions, and ever as he sped,\n  His thousand Nibelungers, a stately squadron, led.\n\n  Then came the knight of Trony by the good king's command;\n  In friendly wise he parted the jousters on the strand,\n  For fear the dust, now thick'ning, the ladies might molest.\n  Him with ready reverence obey'd each gentle guest.\n\n  Then spake the noble Gernot, \"Let each now rest his steed\n  Till the air be cooler, 't will then be ours to lead\n  These lovely ladies homeward e'en to the palace wide.\n  So keep yourselves all ready till it please the king to ride.\"\n\n  Thus ended was the tourney, and now the warriors went\n  To join the dames and damsels beneath each lofty tent,\n  And there in gentle converse their grace and favor sought;\n  So flew the hours in pastime till of riding home they thought.\n\n  Now as drew on the twilight, when cooler grew the air\n  And the sun was setting, they would not linger there,\n  But up rose lords and ladies to seek the castle high;\n  Many a fair dame was cherish'd by many a love-lit eye.\n\n  So on the fair they waited as from good knights is due.\n  Then hardy squires, hot spurring before the nobles' view,\n  After the country's custom rode for the prize of weed\n  As far as to the palace, where sprung the king from steed.\n\n  There too the proud queens parted, each taking thence her way.\n  Dame Uta and her daughter with their handmaids gay\n  Into a spacious chamber both together went.\n  There might you see on all sides the sound of merriment.\n\n  In hall the seats were order'd; the king would instant hie\n  With all his guests to table; beside him you might spy\n  His lovely bride, Queen Brunhild; her royal crown she wore\n  There in King G\u00fcnther's country; so rich was none before.\n\n  Seats were there plac'd unnumber'd with tables broad and good,\n  As is to us reported, full heap'd with costly food.\n  How little there was wanted that passes for the best!\n  There with the king was seated full many a noble guest.\n\n  The chamberlains of G\u00fcnther in ewers of ruddy gold\n  Brought to the guests the water; should you be ever told\n  That at a prince's table service was better done,\n  'T were labor lost to say so, 't would be believ'd by none.\n\n  Then, ere the lord of Rhineland touch'd the water bright,\n  Up to him, as befitted, went Siegfried the good knight,\n  And brought to his remembrance the promise made him there,\n  Ere yet afar in Issland he look'd on Brunhild fair.\n\n  Said he, \"You must remember what swore to me your hand,\n  That soon as Lady Brunhild were come into this land,\n  To me you 'd give your sister, your oaths now where are they?\n  On me throughout your journey much toil and travail lay.\"\n\n  \"Well did you to remind me,\" the noble king replied,\n  \"By what my hand has promis'd, I ever will abide,\n  And in this thing to serve you will do my best, my all.\"\n  Then sent he to beg Kriemhild to come into the hall.\n\n  Straight to the hall came Kriemhild begirt with many a maid,\n  When from the lofty staircase young Giselher thus said,\n  \"Send back your maidens, Kriemhild, this bus'ness is your own;\n  On this the king, our brother, would speak with you alone.\"\n\n  Then forward led was Kriemhild, as G\u00fcnther gave command,\n  Where stood the king, and round him from many a prince's land\n  Were noble knights unnumber'd; at once all silence kept;\n  At that same instant Brunhild had just to table stepp'd.\n\n  Thence came it she knew nothing of what was to be done.\n  Then to his gather'd kinsmen spoke Dancrat's royal son,\n  \"Help me to move my sister Siegfried for lord to take.\"\n  \"Such match,\" they all made answer, \"with honour she may make.\"\n\n  Then spoke the king to Kriemhild, \"Sister, I ask of thee\n  From an oath to set me by thy kindness free.\n  Thee to a knight I promis'd; if thou become his bride,\n  Thou 'lt do the will of G\u00fcnther, and show thy love beside.\"\n\n  Then spake the noble maiden, \"Dearest brother mine,\n  It needed not to ask me; whate'er command be thine,\n  I'll willingly perform it; so now, for thy sake,\n  Whom thou for husband giv'st me, fain I, my lord, will take.\"\n\n  With love and eke with pleasure redden'd Siegfried's hue;\n  At once to Lady Kriemhild he pledg'd his service true.\n  They bade them stand together in the courtly circle bright,\n  And ask'd her if for husband she took that lofty knight.\n\n  In modest maiden fashion she blush'd a little space,\n  But such was Siegfried's fortune and his earnest grace.\n  That not altogether could she deny her hand.\n  Then her for wife acknowledg'd the noble king of Netherland.\n\n  He thus to her affianc'd, and to him the maid,\n  Straight round the long-sought damsel in blushing grace array'd\n  His arms with soft emotion th' enamour'd warrior threw,\n  And kiss'd the high-born princess before that glitt'ring crew.\n                  _Lettsom's Translation, Tenth Adventure._\n\n\n\n\nHOW MARGRAVE R\u00dcDEGER WAS SLAIN.\n\n\nThe Margrave R\u00fcdeger did not take part in the battle fought in Etzel's\nhall between the Burgundians visiting the Hunnish court and the Huns,\nbecause of his friendship for the Burgundians, and the betrothal of his\ndaughter to Prince Giselher. Because of this, he was taunted by a Hun, who\nsaid to the queen that although R\u00fcdeger had accepted many favors from\nEtzel he did not fight for him. When the Hun fell dead under R\u00fcdeger's\nblow, Etzel reproached him for slaying one of his followers when he had\nneed of so many.\n\n  Then came the fair Queen Kriemhild; she too had seen full well\n  What from the hero's anger the luckless Hun befell;\n  And she too mourn'd it deeply; with tears her eyes were wet.\n  Thus spake she to R\u00fcdeger, \"How have we ever yet\n\n  \"Deserv'd that you, good R\u00fcdeger, should make our anguish more?\n  Now sure to me and Etzel you've promised o'er and o'er,\n  That you both life and honour would risk to do us right.\n  That you 're the flower of knighthood is own'd by every knight.\n\n  \"Now think upon the homage that once to me you swore,\n  When to the Rhine, good warrior, King Etzel's suit you bore,\n  That you would serve me ever to either's dying day.\n  Ne'er can I need so deeply, that you that vow should pay.\"\n\n  \"'T is true, right noble lady; in this we 're not at strife;\n  I pledg'd, to do you service, my honour and my life,\n  But my soul to hazard never did I vow.\n  I brought the princes hither, and must not harm them now.\"\n\n         *       *       *       *       *\n\n  With that, to beg and pray him the king began as well;\n  King and queen together both at his feet they fell.\n  Then might you the good margrave have seen full ill bestead,\n  And thus in bitterest anguish the faithful hero said:--\n\n  \"Woe's me the heaven-abandon'd, that I have liv'd to this!\n  Farewell to all my honours! woe for my first amiss!\n  My truth--my God-giv'n innocence--must they be both forgot?\n  Woe's me, O God in heaven! that death relieves me not!\"\n\n  Then thus bespake him Kriemhild, \"Right noble R\u00fcdeger,\n  Take pity on our anguish; thou see'st us kneeling here,\n  The king and me before thee; both clasp thy honour'd knees.\n  Sure never host yet feasted such fatal guests as these.\"\n\n  With that the noble margrave thus to the queen 'gan say,\n  \"Sure must the life of R\u00fcdeger for all the kindness pay,\n  That you to me, my lady, and my lord the king have done.\n  For this I'm doomed to perish, and that ere set of sun.\n\n  \"Full well I know, this morning my castles and my land\n  Both will to you fall vacant by stroke of foeman's hand,\n  And so my wife and daughter I to your grace commend,\n  And all at Bechelaren, each trusty homeless friend.\"\n\n         *       *       *       *       *\n\n  So to war the margrave under helmet strode;\n  Sharpest swords his meiny brandished as they rode;\n  Each in hand, bright-flashing, held his shield before.\n  That saw the dauntless minstrel, and seeing sorrow'd sore.\n\n  Then too was by young Giselher his lady's father seen\n  With helm laced as for battle. \"What,\" thought he, \"can he mean?\n  But nought can mean the margrave but what is just and right.\"\n  At the thought full joyous wax'd the youthful knight.\n\n  \"I know not what you trust in;\" thus the stern minstrel spake;\n  \"Where saw you warriors ever for reconcilement's sake\n  With helmets laced advancing, and naked swords in hand?\n  On us will earn Sir R\u00fcdeger his castles and his land.\"\n\n  Scarcely the valiant minstrel his words had utter'd all,\n  When the noble R\u00fcdeger was close before the hall.\n  His shield, well proved in battle, before his feet he laid,\n  But neither proffered service, nor friendly greeting made.\n\n  To those within he shouted, \"Look not for succor hence;\n  Ye valiant Nibelungers, now stand on your defence.\n  I'd fain have been your comrade; your foe I now must be.\n  We once were friends together; now from that bond I'm free.\"\n\n  \"Now God forbid,\" said G\u00fcnther, \"that such a knight as you\n  To the faith wherein we trusted, should ever prove untrue,\n  And turn upon his comrades in such an hour as this.\n  Ne'er can I think that R\u00fcdeger can do so much amiss.\"\n\n  \"I can't go back,\" said R\u00fcdeger, \"the deadly die is cast;\n  I must with you do battle; to that my word is pass'd.\n  So each of you defend him as he loves his life.\n  I must perform my promise; so wills King Etzel's wife.\"\n\n         *       *       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  \"Tarry yet a little, right noble R\u00fcdeger!\n  I and my lords a moment would yet with you confer;\n  Thereto hard need compels us, and danger gathering nigh;\n  What boot were it to Etzel though here forlorn we die?\n\n  \"I'm now,\" pursued Sir Hagan, \"beset with grievous care;\n  The shield that Lady Gotelind gave me late to bear,\n  Is hewn, and all-to broken by many a Hunnish brand.\n  I brought it fair and friendly hither to Etzel's land.\n\n  \"Ah! that to me this favour heaven would be pleas'd to yield,\n  That I might to defend me bear so well-prov'd a shield\n  As that, right noble R\u00fcdeger, before thee now display'd!\n  No more should I in battle need then the hauberk's aid.\"\n\n  \"Fain with the same I'd serve thee to th' height of thy desire,\n  But that I fear such proffer might waken Kriemhild's ire.\n  Still, take it to thee, Hagan, and wield it well in hand.\n  Ah! might'st thou bring it with thee to thy Burgundian land!\"\n\n  While thus with words so courteous so fair a gift he sped,\n  The eyes of many a champion with scalding tears were red,\n  'T was the last gift, that buckler, e'er given to comrade dear\n  By the lord of Bechelaren, the blameless R\u00fcdeger.\n\n  However stern was Hagan, and of unyielding mood,\n  Still at the gift he melted, which one so great and good\n  Gave in his last few moments, e'en on the eve of fight,\n  And with the stubborn warrior mourn'd many a noble knight.\n\n  \"Now God in heaven, good R\u00fcdeger, thy recompenser be!\n  Your like on earth, I'm certain, we never more shall see,\n  Who gifts so good and gorgeous to homeless wanderers give.\n  May God protect your virtue, that it may ever live!\n\n  \"Alas! this bloody bus'ness!\" Sir Hagan then went on,\n  \"We have had to bear much sorrow, and more shall have anon.\n  Must friend with friend do battle, nor heaven the conflict part?\"\n  The noble margrave answer'd, \"That wounds my inmost heart.\"\n\n  \"Now for thy gift I'll quit thee, right noble R\u00fcdeger!\n  What e'er may chance between thee and my bold comrades here,\n  My hand shall touch thee never amidst the heady fight,\n  Not e'en if thou shouldst slaughter every Burgundian knight.\"\n\n  For that to him bow'd courteous the blameless R\u00fcdeger.\n  Then all around were weeping for grief and doleful drear,\n  Since none th' approaching mischief had hope to turn aside.\n  The father of all virtue in that good margrave died.\n\n         *       *       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  What a fearful clatter of clashing blades there rang!\n  From shields beneath the buffets how the plates they sprang,\n  And precious stones unnumber'd rain'd down into the gore!\n  They fought so fell and furious as man will never more.\n\n  The lord of Bechelaren went slashing here and there,\n  As one who well in battle knew how himself to bear.\n  Well prov'd the noble R\u00fcdeger in that day's bloody fight,\n  That never handled weapon a more redoubted knight.\n\n         *       *       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  Loud o'er the din of battle stout Gernot shouted then,\n  \"How now, right noble R\u00fcdeger? not one of all my men\n  Thou 'lt leave me here unwounded; in sooth it grieves me sore\n  To see my friends thus slaughter'd; bear it can I no more.\n\n  \"Now must thy gift too surely the giver harm to-day,\n  Since of my friends so many thy strength has swept away.\n  So turn about and face me, thou bold and high-born man!\n  Thy goodly gift to merit, I'll do the best I can.\"\n\n  Ere through the press the margrave could come Sir Gernot nigh,\n  Full many a glittering mail-coat was stain'd a bloody die.\n  Then those fame-greedy champions each fierce on th' other leapt,\n  And deadly wounds at distance with wary ward they kept.\n\n  So sharp were both their broadswords, resistless was their dint,\n  Sudden the good Sir R\u00fcdeger through th' helmet hard as flint\n  So struck the noble Gernot, that forth the blood it broke;\n  With death the stern Burgundian repaid the deadly stroke.\n\n  He heaved the gift of R\u00fcdeger with both his hands on high,\n  And to the death though wounded, a stroke at him let fly\n  Right through both shield and morion; deep was the gash and wide.\n  At once the lord of Gotelind beneath the swordcut died.\n\n  In sooth a gift so goodly was worse requited ne'er.\n  Down dead dropp'd both together, Gernot and R\u00fcdeger.\n  Each slain by th' other's manhood, then prov'd, alas! too well.\n  Thereat first Sir Hagan furious wax'd and fell.\n\n  Then cried the knight of Trony, \"Sure we with ills are cross'd;\n  Their country and their people in both these chiefs have lost\n  More than they'll e'er recover;--woe worth this fatal day!\n  We have here the margrave's meiny, and they for all shall pay!\"\n\n  All struck at one another, none would a foeman spare.\n  Full many a one, unwounded, down was smitten there,\n  Who else might have 'scap'd harmless, but now, though whole and sound,\n  In the thick press was trampled, or in the blood was drown'd.\n\n  \"Alas! my luckless brother who here in death lies low!\n  How every hour I'm living brings some fresh tale of woe!\n  And ever must I sorrow for the good margrave too.\n  On both sides dire destruction and mortal ills we rue.\"\n\n  Soon as the youthful Giselher beheld his brother dead,\n  Who yet within were lingering by sudden doom were sped.\n  Death, his pale meiny choosing, dealt each his dreary dole.\n  Of those of Bechelaren 'scaped not one living soul.\n\n  King G\u00fcnther and young Giselher, and fearless Hagan too,\n  Dankwart as well as Folker, the noble knights and true,\n  Went where they found together out-stretched the valiant twain.\n  There wept th' assembled warriors in anguish o'er the slain.\n\n  \"Death fearfully despoils us,\" said youthful Giselher,\n  \"But now give over wailing, and haste to th' open air\n  To cool our heated hauberks, faint as we are with strife.\n  God, methinks, no longer, will here vouchsafe us life.\"\n\n  This sitting, that reclining, was seen full many a knight;\n  They took repose in quiet; around (a fearful sight!)\n  Lay R\u00fcdeger's dead comrades; all was hush'd and still;\n  From that long dreary silence King Etzel augur'd ill.\n\n  \"Alas for this half friendship!\" thus Kriemhild frowning spake,\n  \"If it were true and steadfast, Sir R\u00fcdeger would take\n  Vengeance wide and sweeping on yonder murderous band;\n  Now back he'll bring them safely to their Burgundian land.\n\n  \"What boot our gifts, King Etzel? was it, my lord, for this\n  We gave him all he asked us? The chief has done amiss.\n  He, who should have reveng'd us, will now a treaty make.\"\n  Thereto in answer Folker, the gallant minstrel, spake,\n\n  \"Not so the truth is, lady! the more the pity too!\n  If one the lie might venture to give a dame like you,\n  Most foully against the margrave you've lied, right noble queen!\n  Sore trick'd in that same treaty he and his men have been.\n\n  \"With such good will the margrave his king's commands obey'd,\n  That he and all his meiny dead on this floor are laid.\n  Now look about you, Kriemhild! for servants seek anew;\n  Well were you served by R\u00fcdeger; he to the death was true.\n\n  \"The fact if still you're doubting, before your eyes we'll bring.\"\n  'T was done e'en of set purpose her heart the more to wring.\n  They brought the mangled margrave, where Etzel saw him well.\n  Th' assembled knights of Hungary such utter anguish ne'er befell.\n\n  When thus held high before them they saw the margrave dead,\n  Sure by the choicest writer could ne'er be penn'd nor said\n  The woeful burst of wailing from woman and eke from man,\n  That from the heart's deep sorrow to strike all ears began.\n\n  Above his weeping people King Etzel sorrow'd sore;\n  His deep-voic'd wail resounded loud as the lion's roar\n  In the night-shaded desert; the like did Kriemhild too;\n  They mourn'd in heart for R\u00fcdeger, the valiant and the true.\n\n       _Lettsom's Translation, Thirty-seventh Adventure._\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE SONG OF ROLAND.\n\n\nThe Song of Roland is one of the many mediaeval romances that celebrate\nthe deeds of Charlemagne.\n\nThe oldest text now in existence was written about 1096, but the poem was\ncurrent in other forms long before this.\n\nThe author was a Norman, for the poem is written in the Norman dialect;\nbut it is uncertain whether the Turoldus or Th\u00e9roulde named in the last\nline of the poem, \"Thus endeth here the geste Turoldus sang,\" was the\nauthor, a copyist, or a _jongleur_.\n\nIt is said that Taillefer, the minstrel of Normandy, sang the Song of\nRoland at the battle of Hastings. \"Taillefer, who right well sang, mounted\non his rapid steed, went before them singing of Charlemagne, and of\nRoland, and Olivier, and of the vassals who died in Roncesvalles.\"\n\nThe only text of the poem now in existence is one of the thirteenth\ncentury, preserved in the Bodleian library at Oxford.\n\nOn the fifteenth of August, 778, in the valley of Roncesvalles, in the\nPyrenees, Charlemagne's rear guard, left under the command of Roland,\nPrefect of the Marches of Brittany, was attacked and slaughtered by a\nlarge army of Gascons.\n\nThis incident forms the historical basis of the poem; but the imagination\nof the poet has made of Charlemagne, then a young man, the old emperor,\nwith \"beard all blossom white,\" and transformed his Gascon foes to\nSaracens.\n\nThe Song of Roland is written in the heroic pentameter; it is divided into\n\"laisses,\" or stanzas, of irregular length, and contains about three\nthousand seven hundred and eight lines. It is written in the assonant, or\nvowel rhyme, that was universal among European nations in the early stage\nof their civilization.\n\nEach stanza ends with the word \"aoi,\" for which no satisfactory\ntranslation has yet been offered, although \"away\" and \"it is done\" have\nbeen suggested.\n\nThe author of the Song of Roland undertook, like Homer, to sing of one\ngreat event about which all the interest of the poem centres; but unlike\nHomer, his poem is out of all proportion, the long-drawn out revenge being\nin the nature of an anti-climax. The Song of Roland is a fair exponent of\nthe people among whom it originated. It contains no ornament; it is a\nstraightforward relation of facts; it lacks passion, and while it\ndescribes fearful slaughter, it never appeals to the emotions. Though the\nFrench army shed many tears, and fell swooning to the ground at the sight\nof the fearful slaughter at Roncesvalles, we are rather moved to smile at\nthe violence of their emotion than to weep over the dead, so little power\nhas the poet to touch the springs of feeling. However, there are passages\nin which the poem rises to sublimity, and which have been pronounced\nHomeric by its admirers.\n\n\n\n\nBIBLIOGRAPHY AND CRITICISM, THE SONG OF ROLAND.\n\n\nJ. Banquier's Bibliographie de la Chanson de Roland, 1877;\n\nT. Bulfinch's Legends of Charlemagne, 1863;\n\nSir G. W. Cox and E. H. Jones's Popular Romances of the Middle Ages, 1871,\npp. 320-347;\n\nL\u00e9on Gautier's Les \u00e9pop\u00e9es fran\u00e7aises, vol. i., 1878;\n\nJ. Malcolm Ludlow's Story of Roland (see his Popular Epics of the Middle\nAges, 1865, vol. i., pp. 362-427);\n\nGaston Paris's La po\u00e9sie \u00e9pique (see his Histoire po\u00e9tique de Charlemagne,\n1865, pp. 1-33);\n\nGaston Paris's Les Chansons de Gestes fran\u00e7aises (see his Histoire\npo\u00e9tique de Charlemagne, 1865, pp. 69-72);\n\nGeorge Saintsbury's The Chansons de Gestes (see his Short History of\nFrench Literature, 1892, pp. 10-25);\n\nHenri Van Laun's The Carlovingian Cycle (see his History of French\nLiterature, 1876, vol. i., pp. 141-148);\n\nAncient Literature of France, Quarterly Review, 1866, cxx. 283-323;\n\nThe Chanson de Roland, Westminster Review, 1873, c. 32-44;\n\nM. Hayden's The Chansons de Geste, Dublin Review, 1894, cxiv. 346-357;\n\nCharles Francis Keary's The Chansons de Geste:\nthe Song of Roland, Fraser's Magazine, 1881, civ. 777-789;\n\nJ. M. L.'s The Song of Roland, Macmillan's Magazine, 1862, vi. 486-501;\n\nAgnes Lambert's The oldest epic of Christendom, Nineteenth Century, 1882,\nxi. 77-101;\n\nAndrew Lang's The Song of Roland and the Iliad, National Review, 1892, xx.\n195-205;\n\nLegend of Roland, Encyclop\u00e6dia Britannica, vol. xx.;\n\nGustave Masson's The Chanson de Roland, Leisure Hour, 1877, xxvi. 618-620;\n\nThe Song of Roland, Catholic World, 1873 and 1874, xviii. 378-388,\n488-500;\n\nThe Song of Roland, Harper's Monthly, 1882, lxiv. 505-515;\n\nThe Month, 1880, xl. 515-527; Temple Bar, 1886, lxxviii. 534-540.\n\n\n\n\nSTANDARD ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS, THE SONG OF ROLAND.\n\n\nThe Song of Roland, as chanted before the Battle of Hastings by the\nMinstrel Taillefer, Tr. from the French translation of Vitet by Mrs. Anne\nCaldwell Marsh, 1854;\n\nThe Song of Roland, Tr. into English verse by John O'Hagan, ed. 2, 1883;\n\nLa Chanson de Roland, Tr. from the seventh ed. of L\u00e9on Gautier, by Leonce\nRabillon, 1885.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE SONG OF ROLAND.\n\n\nFor full seven years had Charlemagne tarried in Spain, and all the land\nlay conquered save the city of Saragossa. There, in an orchard, upon a\nterrace paved with blue marble, sat its king, Marsile, taking counsel with\nhis lords.\n\n\"No army have I,\" said the king; \"no people to array against the hosts of\nthe great emperor. Advise me, my lords, what I shall do to save ourselves\nfrom disgrace and shame.\"\n\nThe wily Blancandrin, wisest and greatest among the pagans, advanced\nbefore him. \"Where might cannot prevail, often craft gains the day. My\nlord, send gifts to mighty Carle. Drive forth a long train of camels; heap\nmany mules with gold; send chariots filled with precious gifts. Advise him\nthat on the day of Saint Michael's feast you will seek him at Aix, and\nthere become a Christian, and his vassal. Yea, even send hostages; my own\nson shall go, even though he lose his head. Then will Carle depart for\nFrance. The day set by you will come, but he will hear naught from us. The\nhostages' heads will fall. What of it? Better this than for us to lose\nforever Spain the fair.\"\n\nThe king, pleased with the craft of Blancandrin, dismissed his council,\nand ordered ten of his fiercest barons to seek Charlemagne at Cordova,\nbearing the olive-branch, and make the offer suggested by Blancandrin.\n\nCordova, filled with rich spoils, had been taken, and its surviving\ninhabitants given the choice of the sword or Christian baptism. Therefore\nthe happy emperor sat at his ease in a wide-spreading orchard. Around him\nstood Roland, Olivier, Samsun the duke, Anseis, Gefrei d'Anjou, and\nGerier. At least fifteen thousand French knights were diverting themselves\nwith different games in the beautiful orchard, where, under a pine-tree,\nthe great King of France sat upon a golden chair. His white hair and\nflowing white beard added majesty to his already majestic figure, so that\nthe olive-bearing messengers needed not to have great Carle pointed out to\nthem.\n\nThe emperor heard the message of Marsile in silence, and dismissing the\npagans for the night to a pavilion, called together in council his wisest\nbarons, Duke Ogier, Archbishop Turpin, Gerier, Roland, Olivier, a thousand\nFranks, among them Ganelon, the step-father of Roland, and laid before\nthem the message of Marsile.\n\n\"Rich gifts he offers me, but he demands that I return to France; thither\nwill he follow me, and at Aix will become a Christian and a vassal. A fair\npromise, but what is in his heart I cannot tell.\"\n\nAfter a moment's silence Roland stood forth.\n\n\"Sire, have no faith in the words of Marsile. When have we found aught but\ntreachery in the Saracen? For seven years I have been winning victories\nfor you here in Spain. Once before you yielded to such a message as this,\nfrom this same Marsile, and lost, in consequence, the heads of your Counts\nBazan and Bazile. War on as you have begun. Besiege his city! subdue\nSaragossa!\"\n\nThen strode forth the angry Ganelon. \"My king, this young hot-head is a\nfool; hearken not unto him. Accept the offer of Marsile, and lose no more\nlives by the foolhardiness of one who cares more for his own glory than\nfor human life.\"\n\nThe voice of the others, among them Duke Naimes, Charlemagne's wisest\ncounsellor and truest vassal, was with Ganelon. The emperor stroked his\nwhite beard. \"My lords, whom shall we send to meet Marsile at Saragossa?\"\n\n\"I will go,\" said Duke Naimes.\n\n\"Nay, I cannot spare you from my councils,\" replied the king.\n\n\"I am here!\" cried Roland.\n\n\"Not you! You are too hot-headed to venture into the court of the enemy!\"\ncried his friend Olivier. \"Let me go instead, sire!\"\n\n\"Nay!\" cried the king. \"Silence! Not one of the twelve peers sets his foot\nin the kingdom of the Moors.\"\n\n\"Then let my step-father go,\" suggested Roland. \"No wiser man than he can\nbe found.\"\n\n\"Come forward,\" said the king, as the Franks murmured assent, \"and receive\nthe staff and glove. The Franks have chosen you.\"\n\nGanelon rose, wrathful, casting off his fur robe. His eyes were gray, his\nface fierce, his form noble.\n\n\"This is Roland's work. I shall hate him forever, and Olivier, and the\ntwelve peers, because they love him. Ne'er shall I return; full well I\nknow it. If e'er I do, it will be to wreak vengeance on my enemy.\"\n\n\"Go!\" said the king. \"You have said enough!\"\n\nAs Ganelon went forward, full of rage, to receive the king's glove, it\nfell ere he touched it. \"A bad omen!\" exclaimed the French.\n\n\"Sirs, ye shall hear of this!\" said Ganelon.\n\nOn his way to Saragossa with the legates of Marsile, Ganelon laid the\nimpious plot that was to result in the destruction of Roland and the\npeers. It saved his life at Saragossa, where Marsile threatened to kill\nhim on reading Charlemagne's message. He explained carefully to the\nSaracens how the rear guard, left at Roncesvalles under the command of\nRoland and the twelve peers, could be destroyed by the pagan forces before\nthe knowledge of the battle could reach Charlemagne, and that, with these\nprops of his kingdom gone, the king's power would be so diminished that\nMarsile could easily hold out against him. Then the traitor hastened back\nto Cordova, laden with rich gifts.\n\nWhen Ganelon rode back, the emperor was preparing to return to sweet\nFrance. \"Barons,\" said Carle, \"whom shall I leave in charge of these deep\ndefiles and narrow passes?\"\n\n\"My step-son Roland is well able to take the command,\" said Ganelon; \"he\nyour nephew, whom you prize most of all your knights.\"\n\nRage filled the hearts of both Roland and Carle; but the word was spoken,\nand Roland must remain. With him remained the twelve peers, his friends,\nOlivier, his devoted comrade, the gallant Archbishop Turpin, and twenty\nthousand valiant knights.\n\nWhile Charlemagne's army toiled over the terrible gorges and high\nmountains into Gascony, the emperor, ever grieving over the untimely death\nhis nephew might meet in the defiles of Spain, down came the pagans, who\nhad been gathering on the high mountains and in the murky valleys,--emirs,\nsons of noble counts were they, brave as the followers of Charlemagne.\n\nWhen Olivier descried the pagan horde he at once exclaimed,--\n\n\"This is the work of Ganelon!\"\n\n\"Hush!\" replied Roland. \"He is my step-father. Say no more.\"\n\nThen Olivier, when from the hill he saw the one hundred thousand Saracens,\ntheir helmets bedecked with gold, their shields shining in the sun,\nbesought his friend to sound his horn, the olifant, and summon the king to\ntheir aid.\n\n\"Never will I so disgrace myself!\" exclaimed Roland. \"Never shall sweet\nFrance be so dishonored. One hundred thousand blows shall I give with my\nsword, my Durendal, and the Moors will fall and die!\"\n\nWhen Olivier found his pleading vain, he mounted his steed and rode with\nRoland to the front of the lines.\n\nLong was the fight and terrible. If gallantry and strength sat with the\ntwelve peers and their followers, they were with their opponents as well.\nNo sooner had Roland, or Olivier, or Turpin, or Engelier cleft the body of\na Moorish knight down to the saddle, than down fell a Christian, his\nhelmet broken, his hauberk torn by the lance of his dreaded foe. The\nnephew of Marsile fell by the hand of Roland, who taunted him as he lay in\ndeath; Olivier struck down Marsile's brother. \"A noble stroke!\" cried\nRoland.\n\n\"A baron's stroke!\" exclaimed the archbishop, as Samsun pierced the\nAlmazour with his lance and he fell dead. Olivier spurred over the field,\ncrushing the pagans and beating them down with his broken lance.\n\n\"Comrade, where is thy sword, thy Halteclere?\" called Roland to his\nfriend.\n\n\"Here, but I lack time to draw it,\" replied the doughty Olivier.\n\nMore than a thousand blows struck Turpin; the pagans fell by hundreds and\nby thousands, and over the field lay scattered those who would nevermore\nsee sweet France.\n\nMeanwhile, in France, hail fell and rain; the sky was vivid with lightning\nbolts. The earth shook, and the land lay in darkness at noonday. None\nunderstood the portent. Alas! it was Nature's grief at the death of Count\nRoland.\n\nWhen Roland perceived that in spite of their mighty efforts the passes\nwere still filled with heathen knights, and the French ranks were fast\nthinning, he said to Olivier, \"What think you if we call the king?\"\n\n\"Never!\" exclaimed Olivier. \"Better death now than shame!\"\n\n\"If I blow, Carle will hear it now and return. I shall blow my olifant,\"\ncried Roland.\n\n\"When I begged you to blow it,\" said Olivier, \"you refused, when you could\nhave saved the lives of all of us. You will show no valor if you blow it\nnow.\"\n\n\"Great is the strife,\" said Roland. \"I will blow that Carle may come.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said Olivier, \"if I return to France, I pledge you my word my\nsister Aude shall never be your wife. Your rashness has been the cause of\nour destruction. Now you shall die here, and here ends our friendship.\"\n\nAcross the field the archbishop spurred to reconcile the friends. \"Carle\nwill come too late to save our lives,\" said he, \"but he will reach the\nfield in time to preserve our mangled bodies and wreak vengeance on our\nfoes.\"\n\nRoland put his horn to his lips and blew with such force that his temples\nburst and the crimson blood poured forth from his mouth. Three times he\nsounded his horn, and each time the sound brought anguish to the heart of\nCarle, who heard it, riding thirty leagues away. \"Our men make battle!\"\ncried he; but this Ganelon hastened to deny, insisting that Roland was but\nhunting and blowing the horn, taking sport among the peers. But Duke\nNaimes exclaimed, \"Your nephew is in sore distress. He who would deceive\nyou is a traitor. Haste! Shout your war-cry, and let us return to the\nbattle-field. You yourself hear plainly his call for help!\"\n\nCommanding Ganelon to be seized and given to the scullions of his house to\nbe kept for punishment until his return, Carle ordered his men to arm and\nreturn to Roncesvalles, that they might, if possible, save the lives of\nthe noble peers. All the army wept aloud as they thought of the doom of\nRoland. High were the mountains, deep the valleys, swift the rushing\nstreams. The French rode on, answering the sound of the olifant; the\nemperor rode, filled with grief and rage; the barons spurred their horses,\nbut in vain.\n\nAfter Roland had sounded the horn he again grasped Durendal, and, mounted\non his horse Veillantif, scoured the battle-field, cutting down the\nheathen. But still their troops pressed him, and when he saw the Ethiopian\nband led by the uncle of Marsile, he knew his doom had come. Olivier,\nriding forth to meet the accursed band, received his death-wound from the\nKalif, but lived to cut his enemy down, and call Roland to him. Alas!\nsight had forsaken his eyes, and as he sat on his steed he lifted his\nbright sword Halteclere, and struck Roland a fearful blow that clove his\ncrest but did not touch his head. \"Was the blow meant for me, my comrade?\"\nasked Roland softly. \"Nay, I can see no more. God pity me! Pardon me, my\nfriend!\" and as the two embraced each other, Olivier fell dead.\n\nThen, in the agony of his grief, Roland fainted, sitting firm in his\nsaddle, and again recovering consciousness, became aware of the terrible\nlosses of the French. Only himself, the archbishop, and the gallant\nGaultier de l'Hum were left to defend the honor of the French. After\nGaultier fell, Roland, unassisted save by Turpin, who fought transfixed by\nfour spear shafts, put the enemy to flight. Feeling his death wounds,\nRoland besought Turpin to let him bring together the bodies of his fallen\ncomrades that they might receive the blessing of the archbishop. Weak and\ntrembling from loss of blood, Roland passed to and fro over the\ncorpse-bestrewn field, and gathered together his comrades: here, Gerin and\nGerier, Berengier and Otun; there, Anseis, Samsun, and Gerard de\nRoussillon, and last of all, his beloved Olivier, and placing them before\nthe knees of Turpin, he saw them receive his blessing.\n\nIn his great grief at the sight of the dead Olivier, Roland again fainted,\nand Turpin hastened to a little brook near by for water to revive him. But\nthe strain was too great for his already weakened body, and, when Roland\nrevived, it was to find the archbishop dead.\n\nThen Roland, realizing that his hour, too, had come, sought out a place in\nwhich to die. Upon a hill between two lofty trees, where was a marble\nterrace, he placed himself with his head towards the enemy's country; and\nthere a Saracen, who had feigned death to escape it, tried to wrest from\nhim his beloved Durendal.\n\nRoland crushed the pagan's head with his olifant, but now he was troubled,\nfor he feared that his sword would fall into other than Christian hands.\nIll could he bear to be parted from his beloved sword. Its golden hilt\ncontained rare relics,--a tooth of Saint Peter, blood, hair, and bones of\nother saints, and by the strength of these holy relics it had conquered\nvast realms. Ten and more mighty blows he struck with Durendal upon the\nhard rock of the terrace, in the endeavor to break it; but it neither\nbroke nor blunted. Then, counting over his great victories, he placed it\nand the olifant beneath him, and committed his soul to the Father, who\nsent down his angels to bear it to Paradise.\n\nWhen the French army, led by Charlemagne, found the passes heaped high\nwith the bodies of the dead and no living soul to tell the story of the\nslaughter, they wept, and many fell swooning to the earth. But the enraged\nCharlemagne, unwilling then to give time for mourning, spurred on his\nsoldiers, overtook the fleeing enemy, and drove them into the Ebro, so\nthat those who survived the sword, perished by the wave. Then, returning\nto the field of Roncesvalles, he wept over his beloved Roland and the\npeers.\n\nGreat was his grief; handfuls of hair he tore from his head, and many\ntimes wished that his soul were in Paradise, and his body beside that of\nRoland. He commanded that the hearts of Roland, Olivier, and Turpin be\ntaken from their bodies, wrapped, and inurned, and the bodies borne home\nin chariots. The bodies of the others were gathered together in one tomb,\nand assoiled and blessed by the priests who accompanied the army.\n\nAs Charlemagne prepared to start for France, he saw a new army\napproaching. The aged Emir Baligant, from Babylon, who had long ago been\nsummoned by Marsile, had just arrived in Saragossa, and hastened forth to\nmeet Charlemagne. The emir's army was countless, and Charlemagne's was\nweakened by its great loss. But the thought of the slaughtered peers\nspurred on the French, and with great Carle for their leader, they quickly\nput the pagans to flight.\n\nThe Franks pursued the enemy to Saragossa, where the wounded Marsile\nexpired on hearing of his defeat. The city was taken, its inhabitants\neither slain, or converted and baptized, and Queen Bramimunde taken to\nFrance to be won to the true faith by gentler means.\n\nWhen Charlemagne entered his stately palace at Aix, he was met by the fair\nlady Aude.\n\n\"Where is Roland, my betrothed?\"\n\nCarle wept, tearing his white beard.\n\n\"Thou askest of one who is no more. But in his place I will give thee my\nson. I can do no better.\"\n\n\"Nay, God forbid that I should live if Roland is dead;\" and so saying,\nAude, the beautiful, fell dead at the feet of the emperor.\n\nFrom all his lands Carle summoned men to Aix for the trial of Ganelon.\n\n\"Judge him according to the law, my barons,\" said the king. \"He lost me\ntwenty thousand of my Franks. My nephew Roland, Olivier, my twelve peers,\nhe sold.\"\n\n\"My king,\" pleaded Ganelon, \"call it not treason. I was ever loyal to you.\nI thought not of gain, but of revenge against my rebellious and haughty\nstep-son.\"\n\nThe sentiment of many was with Ganelon, and Pinabel offered to fight for\nhim against Thierri, the champion of the king. Thirty knights of his kin\ngave themselves as legal sureties of his pledge, and the combat began.\nPinabel was conquered and slain, and Ganelon was condemned to be torn to\npieces by wild horses. His thirty sureties were also compelled to suffer\ndeath.\n\nGanelon was punished; Bramimunde was made a Christian, and the emperor\nthought at last to have peace. But as night fell and he sought rest in his\nlofty room, Gabriel appeared to him.\n\n\"Summon thy hosts and march into Bire to succor King Vivien. The\nChristians look to thee for help.\"\n\nThe king wept and tore his beard. \"So troubled is my life!\" said he.\n\n\n\n\nSELECTIONS FROM THE SONG OF ROLAND.\n\nTHE HORN.\n\n\nThe Rear Guard of the French army, left behind at Roncesvalles, under\nRoland, was attacked by a great host of Moors. In the beginning of the\nbattle Olivier besought Roland to recall the emperor by blowing the\nolifant, whose sound could be heard for many leagues, but Roland refused.\nBut when he saw the overwhelming forces of the Moors, and the field strewn\nwith the corpses of the French, he resolved to blow the horn.\n\n  Seeing so many warriors fall'n around,\n  Roll\u00e1nd unto his comrade Olivier\n  Spoke thus: \"Companion fair and dear, for God\n  Whose blessing rests on you, those vassals true\n  And brave lie corses on the battle-field:\n  Look! We must mourn for France so sweet and fair,\n  From henceforth widowed of such valiant knights.\n  Carle, 'would you were amongst us, King and friend!\n  What can we do, say, brother Olivier,\n  To bring him news of this sore strait of ours!\"\n  Olivier answers: \"I know not; but this\n  I know; for us is better death than shame.\"\n                        Aoi.\n\n  Roll\u00e1nd says: \"I will blow mine olifant,\n  And Carle will hear it from the pass. I pledge\n  My word the French at once retrace their steps.\"\n  Said Olivier: \"This a great shame would be,\n  One which to all your kindred would bequeathe\n  A lifetime's stain. When this I asked of you,\n  You answered nay, and would do naught. Well, now\n  With my consent you shall not;--if you blow\n  Your horn, of valor true you show no proof.\n  Already, both your arms are drenched with blood.\"\n  Responds the count: \"These arms have nobly struck.\"\n                        Aoi.\n\n  \"The strife is rude,\" Roll\u00e1nd says; \"I will blow\n  My horn, that Carle may hear.\"--Said Olivier:\n  \"This would not courage be. What I desired,\n  Companion, you disdained. Were the king here,\n  Safe would we be, but yon brave men are not\n  To blame.\"--\"By this my beard,\" said Olivier,\n  \"I swear, if ever I see again sweet Aude,\n  My sister, in her arms you ne'er shall lie.\"\n                        Aoi.\n\n  Roll\u00e1nd asked Olivier--\"Why show to me\n  Your anger, friend?\"--\"Companion, yours the fault;\n  True courage means not folly. Better far\n  Is prudence than your valiant rage. Our French\n  Their lives have lost, your rashness is the cause.\n  And now our arms can never more give Carle\n  Their service good. Had you believed your friend,\n  Amongst us would he be, and ours the field,\n  The King Marsile, a captive or a corse.\n  Roll\u00e1nd, your valor brought ill fortune, nor\n  Shall Carle the great e'er more our help receive,\n  A man unequalled till God's judgment-day.\n  Here shall you die, and dying, humble France, . . .\n  This day our loyal friendship ends--ere falls\n  The Vesper-eve, dolorously we part!\"\n                        Aoi.\n\n  The archbishop heard their strife. In haste he drives\n  Into his horse his spurs of purest gold,\n  And quick beside them rides. Then chiding them,\n  Says: \"Sire Roll\u00e1nd, and you, Sire Olivier,\n  In God's name be no feud between you two;\n  No more your horn shall save us; nathless't were\n  Far better Carle should come and soon avenge\n  Our deaths. So joyous then these Spanish foes\n  Would not return. But as our Franks alight,\n  Find us, or slain or mangled on the field,\n  They will our bodies on their chargers' backs\n  Lift in their shrouds with grief and pity, all\n  In tears, and bury us in holy ground:\n  And neither wolves, nor swine, nor curs shall feed\n  On us--\" Replied Roll\u00e1nd: \"Well have you said.\"\n\n  Roll\u00e1nd raised to his lips the olifant,\n  Drew a deep breath, and blew with all his force.\n  High are the mountains, and from peak to peak\n  The sound re-echoes; thirty leagues away\n  'T was heard by Carle and all his brave compeers.\n  Cried the king: \"Our men make battle!\" Ganelon\n  Retorts in haste: \"If thus another dared\n  To speak, we should denounce it as a lie.\"\n                        Aoi.\n\n  The Count Roll\u00e1nd in his great anguish blows\n  His olifant so mightily, with such\n  Despairing agony, his mouth pours forth\n  The crimson blood, and his swol'n temples burst.\n  Yea, but so far the ringing blast resounds;\n  Carle hears it, marching through the pass, Naimes harks,\n  The French all listen with attentive ear.\n  \"That is Roll\u00e1nd's horn!\" Carle cried, \"which ne'er yet\n  Was, save in battle, blown!\" But Ganelon\n  Replies: \"No fight is there! you, sire, are old,\n  Your hair and beard are all bestrewn with gray,\n  And as a child your speech. Well do you know\n  Roll\u00e1nd's great pride. 'Tis marvellous God bears\n  With him so long. Already took he Noble\n  Without your leave. The pagans left their walls\n  And fought Roll\u00e1nd, your brave knight, in the field;\n  With his good blade he slew them all, and then\n  Washed all the plain with water, that no trace\n  Of blood was left--yea, oftentimes he runs\n  After a hare all day and blows his horn.\n  Doubtless he takes his sport now with his peers;\n  And who 'neath Heav'n would dare attack Roll\u00e1nd?\n  None, as I deem. Nay, sire, ride on apace;\n  Why do you halt? Still far is the Great Land.\"\n                        Aoi.\n\n  Roll\u00e1nd with bleeding mouth and temples burst,\n  Still, in his anguish, blows his olifant;\n  Carle hears it, and his Franks. The king exclaims:\n  \"That horn has a long breath!\" Duke Naimes replies:\n  \"Roll\u00e1nd it is, and in a sore distress,\n  Upon my faith a battle rages there!\n  A traitor he who would deceive you now.\n  To arms! Your war-cry shout, your kinsman save!\n  Plainly enough you hear his call for help.\"\n                        Aoi.\n\n  Carle orders all the trumpeters to sound\n  The march. The French alight. They arm themselves\n  With helmets, hauberks and gold-hilted swords,\n  Bright bucklers, long sharp spears, with pennons white\n  And red and blue. The barons of the host\n  Leap on their steeds, all spurring on; while through\n  The pass they march, each to the other says:\n  \"Could we but reach Roll\u00e1nd before he dies,\n  What deadly blows, with his, our swords would strike!\"\n  But what avails? Too late they will arrive.\n                        Aoi.\n\n  The ev'n is clear, the sun its radiant beams\n  Reflects upon the marching legions, spears,\n  Hauberks and helms, shields painted with bright flowers,\n  Gold pennons all ablaze with glitt'ring hues.\n  Burning with wrath the emperor rides on;\n  The French with sad and angered looks. None there\n  But weeps aloud. All tremble for Roll\u00e1nd.\n\n         *       *       *       *       *\n\n  The king commands Count Ganelon be seized\n  And given to the scullions of his house.\n  Their chief, named B\u00e8gue, he calls and bids: \"Guard well\n  This man as one who all my kin betrayed.\"\n  Him B\u00e8gue received, and set upon the count\n  One hundred of his kitchen comrades--best\n  And worst; they pluck his beard on lip and cheek;\n  Each deals him with his fist four blows, and falls\n  On him with lash and stick; they chain his neck\n  As they would chain a bear, and he is thrown\n  For more dishonor on a sumpter mule,\n  There guarded so until to Carle brought back.\n                        Aoi.\n\n  High are the mountains, gloomy, terrible,\n  The valleys deep, and swift the rushing streams.\n  In van, in rear, the brazen trumpets blow,\n  Answering the olifant. With angry look\n  Rides on the emp'ror; filled with wrath and grief,\n  Follow the French, each sobbing, each in tears,\n  Praying that God may guard Roll\u00e1nd, until\n  They reach the battle-field. With him what blows\n  Will they not strike! Alas? what boots it now?\n  Too late they are and cannot come in time.\n                        Aoi.\n\n  Carle in great anger rides--his snow-white beard\n  O'erspreads his breast-plate. Hard the barons spur,\n  For never one but inwardly doth rage\n  That he is far from their great chief, Roll\u00e1nd,\n  Who combats now the Saracens of Spain:\n  If wounded he, will one of his survive?\n  O God! What knights those sixty left by him!\n  Nor king nor captain better ever had....\n                        Aoi.\n                 _Rabillon's Translation._\n\n\n\n\nROLAND'S DEATH.\n\n\nWhen all the French lay dead upon the field except Roland and the\nArchbishop Turpin, Roland gathered together the bodies of his dead\ncomrades, the peers, that they might receive the archbishop's blessing. He\nthen fell fainting from grief, and aroused himself to find the archbishop\ndead also.\n\n  Roll\u00e1nd now feels his death is drawing nigh:\n  From both his ears the brain is oozing fast.\n  For all his peers he prays that God may call\n  Their souls to him; to the Angel Gabriel\n  He recommends his spirit. In one hand\n  He takes the olifant, that no reproach\n  May rest upon him; in the other grasps\n  Durendal, his good sword. Forward he goes,\n  Far as an arblast sends a shaft, across\n  A new-tilled ground and toward the land of Spain.\n  Upon a hill, beneath two lofty trees,\n  Four terraces of marble spread;--he falls\n  Prone fainting on the green, for death draws near.\n                        Aoi.\n\n  High are the mounts, and lofty are the trees.\n  Four terraces are there, of marble bright:\n  There Count Roll\u00e1nd lies senseless on the grass.\n  Him at this moment spies a Saracen\n  Who lies among the corpses, feigning death,\n  His face and body all besmeared with blood.\n  Sudden he rises to his feet, and bounds\n  Upon the baron. Handsome, brave, and strong\n  He was, but from his pride sprang mortal rage.\n  He seized the body of Roll\u00e1nd, and grasped\n  His arms, exclaiming thus: \"Here vanquished Carle's\n  Great nephew lies! This sword to Araby\n  I'll bear.\" He drew it; this aroused the count.\n                        Aoi.\n\n  Roll\u00e1nd perceived an alien hand would rob\n  Him of his sword; his eyes he oped; one word\n  He spoke: \"I trow, not one of us art thou!\"\n  Then with his olifant from which he parts\n  Never, he smites the golden studded helm,\n  Crushing the steel, the head, the bones; both eyes\n  Are from their sockets beaten out--o'erthrown\n  Dead at the baron's feet he falls;--\"O wretch,\"\n  He cries, \"how durst thou, or for good or ill,\n  Lay hands upon Roll\u00e1nd? Who hears of this\n  Will call thee fool. Mine olifant is cleft,\n  Its gems and gold all scattered by the blow.\"\n                        Aoi.\n\n  Now feels Roll\u00e1nd that death is near at hand\n  And struggles up with all his force; his face\n  Grows livid; Durendal, his naked sword,\n  He holds; beside him rises a gray rock\n  On which he strikes ten mighty blows through grief\n  And rage. The steel but grinds; it breaks not, nor\n  Is notched; then cried the count: \"Saint Mary, help!\n  O Durendal! Good sword! ill starred art thou!\n  Though we two part, I care not less for thee.\n  What victories together thou and I\n  Have gained, what kingdoms conquered, which now holds\n  White-bearded Carle! No coward's hand shall grasp\n  Thy hilt: a valiant knight has borne thee long,\n  Such as none shall e'er bear in France the Free!\"\n                        Aoi.\n\n  Roll\u00e1nd smites hard the rock of Sardonix;\n  The steel but grinds, it breaks not, nor grows blunt;\n  Then seeing that he cannot break his sword,\n  Thus to himself he mourns for Durendal:\n  \"O good my sword, how bright and pure! Against\n  The sun what flashing light thy blade reflects!\n  When Carle passed through the valley of Moriane,\n  The God of Heaven by his Angel sent\n  Command that he should give thee to a count,\n  A valiant captain; it was then the great\n  And gentle king did gird thee to my side.\n  With thee I won for him Anjou--Bretaigne;\n  For him with thee I won Poitou, le Maine\n  And Normandie the free; I won Provence\n  And Aquitaine, and Lumbardie, and all\n  The Romanie; I won for him Baviere,\n  All Flandre--Buguerie--all Puillanie,\n  Costentinnoble which allegiance paid,\n  And Saxonie submitted to his power;\n  For him I won Escoce and Galle, Irlande,\n  And Engleterre he made his royal seat;\n  With thee I conquered all the lands and realms\n  Which Carle, the hoary-bearded monarch, rules.\n  Now for this sword I mourn. . . . Far better die\n  Than in the hands of pagans let it fall!\n  May God, Our Father, save sweet France this shame!\"\n                        Aoi.\n\n  Upon the gray rock mightily he smites,\n  Shattering it more than I can tell; the sword\n  But grinds. It breaks not--nor receives a notch,\n  And upward springs more dazzling in the air.\n  When sees the Count Roll\u00e1nd his sword can never break,\n  Softly within himself its fate he mourns:\n  \"O Durendal, how fair and holy thou!\n  In thy gold-hilt are relics rare; a tooth\n  Of great Saint Pierre--some blood of Saint Basile,\n  A lock of hair of Monseigneur Saint Denis,\n  A fragment of the robe of Sainte-Marie.\n  It is not right that pagans should own thee;\n  By Christian hand alone be held. Vast realms\n  I shall have conquered once that now are ruled\n  By Carle, the king with beard all blossom-white,\n  And by them made great emperor and lord.\n  May thou ne'er fall into a cowardly hand.\"\n                        Aoi.\n\n  The Count Roll\u00e1nd feels through his limbs the grasp\n  Of death, and from his head ev'n to his heart\n  A mortal chill descends. Unto a pine\n  He hastens, and falls stretched upon the grass.\n  Beneath him lie his sword and olifant,\n  And toward the Heathen land he turns his head,\n  That Carle and all his knightly host may say:\n  \"The gentle count a conqueror has died. . . .\"\n  Then asking pardon for his sins, or great\n  Or small, he offers up his glove to God.\n                        Aoi.\n\n  The Count Roll\u00e1nd feels now his end approach.\n  Against a pointed rock, and facing Spain,\n  He lies. Three times he beats his breast, and says:\n  \"Mea culpa! Oh, my God, may through thy grace,\n  Be pardoned all my sins, or great or small,\n  Until this hour committed since my birth!\"\n  Then his right glove he offers up to God,\n  And toward him angels from high Heav'n descend.\n                        Aoi.\n\n  Beneath a pine Roll\u00e1nd doth lie, and looks\n  Toward Spain. He broods on many things of yore:\n  On all the lands he conquered, on sweet France,\n  On all his kinsmen, on great Carle his lord\n  Who nurtured him;--he sighs, nor can restrain\n  His tears, but cannot yet himself forget;\n  Recalls his sins, and for the grace of God\n  He prays: \"Our Father, never yet untrue,\n  Who Saint-Lazare raised from the dead, and saved\n  Thy Daniel from the lions' claws,--oh, free\n  My soul from peril, from my whole life's sins!\"\n  His right hand glove he offered up to God;\n  Saint Gabriel took the glove.--With head reclined\n  Upon his arm, with hands devoutly joined\n  He breathed his last. God sent his cherubim,\n  Saint-Raphael, _Saint Michiel del Peril_.\n  Together with them Gabriel came. All bring\n  The soul of Count Roll\u00e1nd to Paradise.\n                        Aoi.\n                _Rabillon's Translation_\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE SHAH-NAMEH.\n\n\nThe monarchs of ancient Persia made several attempts to collect the\nhistoric annals of their country, but both people and traditions were\nscattered by the Arabian conquest. The manuscript annals were carried to\nAbyssinia, thence to India, and were taken back to Persia just when the\nweakness of the conquerors was beginning to show itself. The various\nmembers of the Persian line, who had declared themselves independent of\ntheir conquerors, determined to rouse the patriotism of their countrymen\nby the recital of the stirring deeds of the warriors of old Persia.\n\nThe fame of Abul Kasin Mansur, born at Thus, in Khorasan, A. D. 920,\nreached Mahmoud of Ghaznin, who was searching for a poet to re-cast the\nannals of Persia. He called the poet to his court, and, on hearing him\nimprovise, called him Firdusi (the paradisiacal). The poet was intrusted\nwith the preparation of the Shah-Nameh, or Epic of Kings, for every one\nthousand distichs of which he was to receive a thousand pieces of gold. It\nhad been the dream of the poet's life to build a bridge and otherwise\nimprove his native town. He therefore asked that the payment be deferred\nuntil the completion of his work, that he might apply the entire sum to\nthese improvements. But when the poem was completed, after thirty years'\nlabor, the king, instigated by the slanders of the jealous prime minister,\nsent to the poet sixty thousand silver instead of gold dirhems. The\nenraged poet threw the silver to his attendants and fled from the country,\nleaving behind him an insulting poem to the sultan. He spent the remainder\nof his life at Mazinderan and Bagdad, where he was received with honor,\nand in his old age returned to Thus to die. Tradition relates that Mahmoud\nat last discovered the villainy of his minister, and sent the gold to\nThus. But the old poet was dead, and his daughter indignantly refused the\nmoney. Mahmoud then applied the sum to the improvements of the town so\nlong desired by Firdusi.\n\nThe Shah-Nameh is written in the pure old Persian, that Mohammed declared\nwould be the language of Paradise. In its sixty thousand couplets are\nrelated the deeds of the Persian kings from the foundation of the world to\nthe invasion by the Mohammedans; but it is of very little value as a\nhistorical record, the facts it purports to relate being almost lost among\nthe Oriental exaggerations of the deeds of its heroes.\n\nThe only complete translation in a foreign language is the elaborate\nFrench translation of Julius Mohl.\n\nThe Shah-Nameh is still popular in Persia, where it is said that even the\ncamel drivers are able to repeat long portions of it. Firdusi is sometimes\ncalled the Homer of the East, because he describes rude heroic times and\nmen, as did Homer; but he is also compared to Ariosto, because of his\nwealth of imagery. His heroes are very different from those to whom we\nhave been wont to pay our allegiance; but they fight for the same\nprinciples and worship as lovely maids, to judge from the hyperbole\nemployed in their description. The condensation of the Shah-Nameh reads\nlike a dry chronicle; but in its entirety it reminds one of nothing so\nmuch as a gorgeous Persian web, so light and varied, so brightened is it\nby its wealth of episode.\n\n\n\n\nBIBLIOGRAPHY AND CRITICISM, THE SHAH-NAMEH.\n\n\nSamuel Johnson's The Shah-Nameh, or Book of Kings (in his Oriental\nReligion, Persia, 1885, pp. 711-782);\n\nE. B. Cowell's Persian Literature, Firdusi (in Oxford Essays, 1885, pp.\n164-166);\n\nElizabeth A. Reed's Persian Literature, Ancient and Modern, 1893, pp.\n214-283.\n\n\n\n\nSTANDARD ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS, THE SHAH-NAMEH.\n\n\nThe Shah-Nameh, Tr. and abridged in prose and verse with notes and\nillustrations, by James Atkinson, 1832;\n\nAbbreviated version taken from a Persian abridgment, half prose, half\nverse; The Epic of Kings, Stories re-told from Firdusi, by Helen\nZimmern, 1882.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE SHAH-NAMEH.\n\n\nKaiumers was the first King of Persia, and against him Ahriman, the evil,\nthrough jealousy of his greatness, sent forth a mighty Deev to conquer\nhim. By this Deev, Saiamuk, the son of Kaiumers, was slain, and the king\nhimself died of grief at the loss of his son.\n\nHusheng, his grandson, who succeeded Kaiumers, was a great and wise king,\nwho gave fire to his people, taught them irrigation, instructed them how\nto till and sow, and gave names to the beasts. His son and successor,\nTahumers, taught his people the arts of spinning, weaving, and writing,\nand when he died left his throne to his son Jemschid.\n\nJemschid was a mighty monarch, who divided men into classes, and the years\ninto periods, and builded mighty walls and cities; but his heart grew\nproud at the thought of his power, and he was driven away from his land by\nhis people, who called Zohak to the throne of Iran.\n\nZohak, who came from the deserts of Arabia, was a good and wise young man\nwho had fallen into the power of a Deev. This Deev, in the guise of a\nskillful servant, asked permission one day to kiss his monarch between the\nshoulders, as a reward for an unusually fine bit of cookery. From the spot\nhe kissed sprang two black serpents, whose only nourishment was the brains\nof the king's subjects.\n\nThe serpent king, as Zohak was now called, was much feared by his\nsubjects, who saw their numbers daily lessen by the demands of the\nserpents. But when the children of the blacksmith Kawah were demanded as\nfood for the serpents, the blacksmith defied Zohak, and raising his\nleathern apron as a standard,--a banner ever since honored in Persia,--he\ncalled the people to him, and set off in search of Feridoun, an heir of\nJemschid. Under the young leader the oppressed people defeated the tyrant,\nand placed Feridoun on the throne.\n\nFeridoun had three sons, Irij, Tur, and Silim. Having tested their\nbravery, he divided the kingdom among them, giving to Irij the kingdom of\nIran. Although the other brothers had received equal shares of the\nkingdom, they were enraged because Iran was not their portion, and when\ntheir complaints to their father were not heeded, they slew their brother.\nIrij left a son, a babe named Minuchihr, who was reared carefully by\nFeridoun. In time he avenged his father, by defeating the armies of his\nuncles and slaying them both. Soon after this, Feridoun died, intrusting\nhis grandson to Saum, his favorite pehliva, or vassal, who ruled over\nSeistan.\n\nSaum was a childless monarch, and when at last a son was born to him he\nwas very happy until he learned that while the child was perfect in every\nother way, it had the silver hair of an old man. Fearing the talk of his\nenemies, Saum exposed the child on a mountain top to die. There it was\nfound by the Simurgh, a remarkable animal, part bird, part human, that,\ntouched by the cries of the helpless infant, carried him to her great nest\nof aloes and sandal-wood, and reared him with her little ones.\n\nSaum, who had lived to regret his foolish and wicked act, was told in a\ndream that his son still lived, and was being cared for by the Simurgh. He\naccordingly sought the nest, and carried his son away with great\nthanksgiving. The Simurgh parted tenderly with the little Zal, and\npresented him with a feather from her wing, telling him that whenever he\nwas in danger, he had only to throw it on the fire and she would instantly\ncome to his aid.\n\nSaum first presented his son at the court of Minuchihr, and then took him\nhome to Zaboulistan, where he was carefully instructed in every art and\nscience.\n\nAt one time, while his father was invading a neighboring province, Zal\ntravelled over the kingdom and stopped at the court of Mihrab, a tributary\nof Saum, who ruled at Kabul. Though a descendant of the serpent king,\nMihrab was good, just, and wise, and he received the young warrior with\nhospitality. Zal had not been long in Kabul before he heard of the\nbeauties of Rudabeh, the daughter of Mihrab, and she, in turn, of the\ngreat exploits of Zal. By an artifice of the princess they met and vowed\nto love one another forever, though they knew their love would meet with\nopposition. Saum and Zal both pleaded Zal's cause before Minuchihr, who\nrelented when he heard from the astrologers that a good and mighty warrior\nwould come of the union. Rudabeh's mother won the consent of Mihrab, so\nthat the young people were soon married with great pomp. To them a son was\nborn named Rustem, who, when one day old, was as large as a year-old\nchild. When three years old he could ride a horse, and at eight years was\nas powerful as any hero of the time.\n\nNauder succeeded the good Minuchihr, and under him Persia was defeated by\nthe Turanians, and Afrasiyab occupied the Persian throne. But Zal, whose\nfather, Saum, had died, overthrew him and placed Zew upon the throne.\nZew's reign was short, and Garshasp, his son, succeeded him. When he was\nthreatened by the Turanians, his people went for aid to Zal, who, because\nhe was growing old, referred them to Rustem, yet of tender age. Rustem\nresponded gladly, and his father commanded that all the horses from\nZaboulistan to Kabul be brought forth that his son might select a steed\ntherefrom. Every horse bent beneath his grasp until he came to the colt\nRakush, which responded to Rustem's voice, and suffered him to mount it.\nFrom that day to his death, this steed was his faithful companion and\npreserver.\n\nGarshasp was too weak to rule over the kingdom, and Zal despatched Rustem\nto Mt. Alberz, where he had been told in a dream a youth dwelt called\nKai-Kobad, descended from Feridoun. Kai-Kobad welcomed Rustem, and the\ntwo, with the noblest of the kingdom, defeated the power of Turan.\n\nAfter a reign of a hundred years, the wise Kai-Kobad died, and was\nsucceeded by his son, the foolish Kai-Kaus, who, not satisfied with the\nwealth and extent of his kingdom, determined to conquer the kingdom of\nMazinderan, ruled by the Deevs. Zal's remonstrances were of no avail: the\nheadstrong Kai-Kaus marched into Mazinderan, and, together with his whole\narmy, was conquered, imprisoned, and blinded by the power of the White\nDeev.\n\nWhen the news of the monarch's misfortune came to Iran, Rustem immediately\nsaddled Rakush, and, choosing the shortest and most peril-beset route, set\nforth, unaccompanied, for Mazinderan. If he survived the dangers that\nlurked by the way, he would reach Mazinderan in seven days.\n\nWhile sleeping in a forest, after his first day's journey, he was saved\nfrom a fierce lion by Rakush, who stood at his head.\n\nOn the second day, just as he believed himself perishing of thirst, he was\nsaved by a sheep that he followed to a fountain of water; on the third\nnight, Rakush, whom he had angrily forbidden to attack any animal without\nwaking him, twice warned him of the approach of a dragon. The first time\nthe dragon disappeared when Rustem awoke, and he spoke severely to his\nfaithful horse. The second time he slew the dragon, and morning having\ndawned, proceeded through a desert, where he was offered food and wine by\na sorceress. Not recognizing her, and grateful for the food, he offered\nher a cup of wine in the name of God, and she was immediately converted\ninto a black fiend, whom he slew.\n\nHe was next opposed by Aulad, whom he defeated, and promised to make ruler\nof Mazinderan if he would guide him to the caves of the White Deev. A\nstony desert and a wide stream lay between him and the demon; but the\nundaunted Rustem passed over them, and choosing the middle of the day, at\nwhich time Aulad told him the Deevs slept, he slew the guards, entered the\ncavern, and after a terrible struggle, overcame and slew the great Deev.\n\nHe then released Kai-Kaus and his army, and restored their sight by\ntouching their eyes with the blood from the Deev's heart.\n\nKai-Kaus, not satisfied with this adventure, committed many other follies,\nfrom which it taxed his warrior sorely to rescue him.\n\nOnce he was imprisoned by the King of Hamaveran after he had espoused his\ndaughter; again he followed the advice of a wicked Deev, and tried to\nsearch the heavens in a flying-machine, that descended and left him in a\ndesert waste. It was only after this last humiliation that he humbled\nhimself, lay in the dust many days, and at last became worthy of the\nthrone of his fathers.\n\nAt one time Rustem was hunting near the borders of Turan, and, falling\nasleep, left Rakush to graze in the forest, where he was espied by the men\nof Turan and at once captured. When Rustem awoke he followed his steed by\nthe traces of its hoofs, until he came to the city of Samengan. The king\nreceived him kindly, and promised to restore the horse if it could be\nfound. While his messengers went in search of it, he feasted his guest,\nand led him for the night to a perfumed couch.\n\nIn the middle of the night Rustem awoke, to see a beautiful young woman\nenter the room, accompanied by a maid. She proved to be the princess, who\nhad fallen in love with Rustem. She pleaded with him to return her love,\npromising, if he did so, to restore his cherished horse. Rustem longed for\nhis steed; moreover, the maiden was irresistibly beautiful. He accordingly\nyielded to her proposals, and the two were wedded the next day, the king\nhaving given his consent.\n\nAfter tarrying some time in Samengan, Rustem was forced to return to Iran.\nBidding his bride an affectionate farewell, he presented her with a\nbracelet.\n\n\"If thou art given a daughter, place this amulet in her hair to guard her\nfrom harm. If a son, bind it on his arm, that he may possess the valor of\nNariman.\"\n\nIn the course of time, the princess bore a boy, who was like his father in\nbeauty and boldness, whom she christened Sohrab. But for fear that she\nwould be deprived of him, she wrote to Rustem that a daughter had been\nborn to her. To her son she declared the secret of his birth, and urged\nhim to be like his father in all things; but she warned him not to\ndisclose the secret, for she feared that if it came to the ears of\nAfrasiyab, he would destroy him because of his hatred of Rustem.\n\nSohrab, who had already cherished dreams of conquest, was elated at the\nknowledge of his parentage. \"Mother,\" exclaimed he, \"I shall gather an\narmy of Turks, conquer Iran, dethrone Kai-Kaus, and place my father on the\nthrone; then both of us will conquer Afrasiyab, and I will mount the\nthrone of Turan.\"\n\nThe mother, pleased with her son's valor, gave him for a horse a foal\nsprung from Rakush, and fondly watched his preparations for war.\n\nThe wicked Afrasiyab well knew that Sohrab was the son of Rustem. He was\nalso aware that it was very dangerous to have two such mighty warriors\nalive, since if they became known to each other, they would form an\nalliance. He planned, therefore, to aid Sohrab in the war, keeping him in\nignorance of his father, and to manage in some way to have the two meet in\nbattle, that one or both might be slain.\n\nThe armies met and the great battle began. Sohrab asked to have Rustem\npointed out to him, but the soldiers on his side were all instructed to\nkeep him in ignorance. By some strange mischance the two men whom his\nmother had sent to enlighten him, were both slain. Rustem was moved at the\nsight of the brave young warrior, but remembering that Tahmineh's\noffspring was a daughter, thought nothing more of the thrill he felt at\nsight of him. At last Sohrab and Rustem met in single combat. Sohrab was\nmoved with tenderness for his unknown opponent, and besought him to tell\nhim if he was Rustem, but Rustem declared that he was only a servant of\nthat chief. For three days they fought bitterly, and on the fourth day\nRustem overthrew his son. When Sohrab felt that the end had come he\nthreatened his unknown opponent. \"Whoever thou art, know that I came not\nout for empty glory but to find my father, and that though I have found\nhim not, when he hears that thou hast slain his son he will search thee\nout and avenge me, no matter where thou hidest thyself. For my father is\nthe great Rustem.\"\n\nRustem fell down in agony when he heard his son's words, and realized that\nhis guile had prevented him from being made known the day before. He\nexamined the onyx bracelet on Sohrab's arm; it was the same he had given\nTahmineh. Bethinking himself of a magic ointment possessed by Kai-Kaus, he\nsent for it that he might heal his dying son; but the foolish king,\njealous of his prowess, refused to send it, and Sohrab expired in the arms\nof his father.\n\nRustem's heart was broken. He heaped up his armor, his tent, his\ntrappings, his treasures, and flung them into a great fire. The house of\nZal was filled with mourning, and when the news was conveyed to Samengan,\nhe tore his garments, and his daughter grieved herself to death before a\nyear had passed away.\n\nTo Kai-Kaus and a wife of the race of Feridoun was born a son called\nSaiawush, who was beautiful, noble, and virtuous. But his foolish father\nallowed himself to be prejudiced against the youth by slanderous tongues,\nso that Saiawush fled from the court and sought shelter with Afrasiyab in\nTuran. There he speedily became popular, and took unto himself for a wife\nthe daughter of Afrasiyab. But when he and Ferandis his wife built a\nbeautiful city, the hatred and jealousy of Gersiwaz was aroused, so that\nhe lied to Afrasiyab and said that Saiawush was puffed up with pride, and\nat last induced Afrasiyab to slay his son-in-law.\n\nSaiawush had a son, Kai-Khosrau, who was saved by Piran, a kind-hearted\nnobleman, and given into the care of a goatherd. When Afrasiyab learned of\nhis existence he summoned him to his presence, but the youth, instructed\nby Piran, assumed the manners of an imbecile, and was accordingly freed by\nAfrasiyab, who feared no harm from him.\n\nWhen the news of the death of Saiawush was conveyed to Iran there was\ngreat mourning, and war was immediately declared against Turan. For seven\nyears the contest was carried on, always without success, and at the end\nof that time Gudarz dreamed that a son of Saiawush was living called\nKai-Khosrau, and that until he was sought out and placed at the head of\nthe army, deliverance could not come to Iran. Kai-Khosrau was discovered,\nand led the armies on to victory; and when Kai-Kaus found that his\ngrandson was not only a great warrior, skilled in magic, but also\npossessed wisdom beyond his years, he resigned the throne and made\nKai-Khosrau ruler over Iran.\n\nKai-Khosrau ruled many long years, in which time he brought peace and\nhappiness to his kingdom, avenged the murder of his father, and compassed\nthe death of the wicked Afrasiyab. Then, fearing that he might become\npuffed up with pride like Jemschid, he longed to depart from this world,\nand prayed Ormuzd to take him to his bosom.\n\nThe king; after many prayers to Ormuzd, dreamed that his wish would be\ngranted if he set the affairs of his kingdom in order and appointed his\nsuccessor. Rejoiced, he called his nobles together, divided his treasure\namong them, and appointed his successor, Lohurasp, whom he commanded to be\nthe woof and warp of justice. Accompanied by a few of his faithful\nfriends, he set out on the long journey to the crest of the mountains. At\nhis entreaties, some of his friends turned back; those who stayed over\nnight, in spite of his warnings, found on waking that they were covered by\na heavy fall of snow, and were soon frozen. Afterwards their bodies were\nfound and received a royal burial.\n\nLohurasp had a son Gushtasp who greatly desired to rule, and was a just\nmonarch, when he succeeded to the throne. Gushtasp, however, was jealous\nof his son, Isfendiyar, who was a great warrior. When Gushtasp was about\nto be overcome by the forces of Turan, he promised Isfendiyar the throne,\nif he would destroy the enemy; but when the hosts were scattered, and\nIsfendiyar reminded his father of his promise, he was cast into a dungeon,\nthere to remain until his services were again needed. When he had again\ngained a victory, he was told that the throne should be his when he had\nrescued his sisters from the brazen fortress of Arjasp, where they had\nbeen carried and imprisoned.\n\nOn his way to this tower Isfendiyar met with as many terrible foes as\nRustem had encountered on his way to the White Deev, and as successfully\novercame them. Wolves, lions, enchantresses, and dragons barred the way to\nthe impregnable fortress, which rose three farsangs high and forty wide,\nand was constructed entirely of brass and iron. But Isfendiyar, assuming\nthe guise of a merchant and concealing his warriors in chests, won his way\ninto the castle, gained the favor of its inmates, and made them drunk with\nwine. This done, he freed his sisters, slew the guards, and struck down\nArjasp.\n\nInstead of keeping his promise, Gushtasp hastened to set his son another\ntask. Rustem was his Pehliva, but it pleased him to send forth Isfendiyar\nagainst him, commanding him to bring home the mighty warrior in chains.\nIsfendiyar pleaded in vain with his father. Then he explained the\nsituation to Rustem, and begged that he would accompany him home in peace\nto gratify his father. Rustem refused to go in chains, so the two heroes\nreluctantly began the hardest battle of their lives.\n\nAt the end of the first day, Rustem and Rakush were severely wounded, and\non his return home Rustem happened to think of the Simurgh. Called by the\nburning of the feather, the kind bird healed the wounds of the hero and of\nRakush, and instructed Rustem how to slay his foe. \"Seek thou the tamarisk\ntree, and make thereof an arrow. Aim at his eye, and there thou canst\nblind and slay him.\"\n\nRustem followed the directions, and laid low the gallant youth. Isfendiyar\ndied exclaiming, \"My father has slain me, not thou, Rustem. I die, the\nvictim of my father's hate; do thou keep for me and rear my son!\"\n\nRustem, who had lived so long and accomplished such great deeds, died at\nlast by the hand of his half-brother. This brother, Shugdad, stirred up\nthe king of Kabul, in whose court he was reared, to slay Rustem because he\nexacted tribute from Kabul.\n\nRustem was called into Kabul by Shugdad, who claimed that the king\nmistreated him. When he arrived, the matter was settled amicably, and the\nbrothers set out for a hunt with the king. The hunters were led to a spot\nwhere the false king had caused pits to be dug lined with sharp weapons.\nRustem, pleased with his kind reception and suspecting no harm, beat\nRakush severely when he paused and would go no further. Stung by the\nblows, the gallant horse sprang forward, and fell into the pit. As he rose\nfrom this, he fell into another, until, clambering from the seventh pit,\nhe and Rustem fell swooning with pain.\n\n\"False brother!\" cried Rustem; \"what hast thou done? Was it for thee to\nslay thy father's son? Exult now; but thou wilt yet suffer for this\ncrime!\" Then altering his tone, he said gently: \"But give me, I pray thee,\nmy bow and arrows, that I may have it by my side to slay any wild beast\nthat may try to devour me.\"\n\nShugdad gave him the bow; and when he saw the gleam in Rustem's eyes,\nconcealed himself behind a tree. But the angry Rustem, grasping the bow\nwith something of his former strength, sent the arrow through tree and\nman, transfixing both. Then thanking his Creator that he had been given\nthe opportunity to slay his murderer, he breathed his last.\n\n\n\n\nSELECTIONS FROM THE SHAH-NAMEH.\n\nTHE RAJA OF INDIA SENDS A CHESSBOARD TO NUSHIRVAN.\n\n\n\"This account of the game of chess, written by Ferdusi more than eight\nhundred years ago, is curious as showing the antiquity of the game, its\nresemblance to it as now played, and the tradition that it was invented in\nIndia, and came originally from that country.\"\n\n  A Mubid related, how one day the king\n  Suspended his crown over the ivory throne,\n  All aloes-wood and ivory, and all ivory and aloes;\n  Every pavilion a court, and every court a royal one;\n  All the Hall of Audience crowned with soldiers;\n  Every pavilion filled with Mubids and Wardens of the Marches,\n  From Balkh, and Bokhara, and from every frontier--\n  For the King of the world had received advices\n  From his vigilant and active emissaries,\n  That an Ambassador had arrived from a King of India,\n  With the parasol, and elephants, and cavalry of Sind,\n  And, accompanied by a thousand laden camels,\n  Was on his way to visit the Great King.\n  When the circumspect Monarch heard this news,\n  Immediately he despatched an escort to receive him.\n  And when the illustrious and dignified Ambassador\n  Came into the presence of the Great King,\n  According to the manner of the great, he pronounced a benediction,\n  And uttered the praise of the Creator of the world.\n  Then he scattered before him abundance of jewels,\n  And presented the parasol, the elephants, and the ear-rings;\n  The Indian parasol embroidered with gold,\n  And inwoven with all kinds of precious stones.\n  Then he opened the packages in the midst of the court,\n  And displayed each one, article by article, before the King.\n  Within the chest was much silver, and gold,\n  And musk, and amber, and fresh wood of aloes,\n  Of rubies, and diamonds, and Indian swords.\n  Each Indian sword was beautifully damascened;\n  Everything which is produced in Kanuj and Mai\n  Hand and foot were busy to put in its place.\n  They placed the whole together in front of the throne,\n  And the Chief, the favored of wakeful Fortune,\n  Surveyed all that the Raja had painstakingly collected,\n  And then commanded that it should be sent to his treasury.\n  Then the Ambassador presented, written on silk,\n  The letter which the Raja had addressed to Nushirvan;\n  And a chessboard, wrought with such exceeding labor,\n  That the pains bestowed upon it might have emptied a treasury.\n  And the Indian delivered a message from the Raja:\n  \"So long as the heavens revolve, may thou be established in thy place!\n  All who have taken pains to excel in knowledge,\n  Command to place this chessboard before them,\n  And to exert their utmost ingenuity\n  To discover the secret of this noble game.\n  Let them learn the name of every piece.\n  Its proper position, and what is its movement.\n  Let them make out the foot-soldier of the army,\n  The elephant, the rook, and the horseman,\n  The march of the vizier and the procession of the King.\n  If they discover the science of this noble game,\n  They will have surpassed the most able in science.\n  Then the tribute and taxes which the King hath demanded\n  I will cheerfully send all to his court.\n  But if the congregated sages, men of Iran,\n  Should prove themselves completely at fault in this science,\n  Then, since they are not strong enough to compete with us in knowledge,\n  Neither should they desire taxes or tribute from this land and country:\n  Rather ought we to receive tribute from you,\n  Since knowledge hath a title beyond all else.\"\n\n  Khosru gave heart and ear to the speaker,\n  And impressed on his memory the words which he heard.\n  They placed the chessboard before the King,\n  Who gazed attentively at the pieces a considerable time.\n  Half the pieces on the board were of brilliant ivory,\n  The other half of finely imaged teak-wood.\n  The nicely-observant King questioned him much\n  About the figures of the pieces and the beautiful board.\n  The Indian said in answer: \"O thou great Monarch,\n  All the modes and customs of war thou wilt see,\n  When thou shalt have found out the way to the game;\n  The plans, the marches, the array of the battle-field.\"\n  He replied: \"I shall require the space of seven days;\n  On the eighth we will encounter thee with a glad mind.\"\n  They furnished forthwith a pleasant apartment,\n  And assigned it to the Ambassador as his dwelling.\n\n  Then the Mubid and the skilful to point out the way\n  Repaired with one purpose to the presence of the King.\n  They placed the chessboard before them,\n  And observed it attentively, time without measure.\n  They sought out and tried every method,\n  And played against one another in all possible ways.\n  One spoke and questioned, and another listened,\n  But no one succeeded in making out the game.\n  They departed, each one with wrinkles on his brow;\n  And Buzarchamahar went forthwith to the king.\n\n  He perceived that he was ruffled and stern about this matter,\n  And in its beginning foresaw an evil ending.\n  Then he said to Khosru: \"O Sovereign,\n  Master of the world, vigilant, and worthy to command,\n  I will reduce to practice this noble game;\n  All my intelligence will I exert to point out the way.\"\n  Then the king said: \"This affair is thine affair;\n  Go thou about it with a clear mind and a sound body,\n  Otherwise the Raja of Kanuj would say,\n  'He hath not one man who can search out the road,'\n  And this would bring foul disgrace on my Mubids,\n  On my court, on my throne, and on all my wise men.\"\n  Then Buzarchmahar made them place the chessboard before him,\n  And seated himself, full of thought, and expanded his countenance.\n  He sought out various ways, and moved the pieces to the right hand and\n    to the left,\n  In order that he might discover the position of every piece.\n  When after a whole day and a whole night, he had found out the game,\n  He hurried from his own pavilion to that of the King,\n  And exclaimed: \"O King, whom Fortune crowneth with victory,\n  At last I have made out these figures and this chessboard,\n  By a happy chance, and by the favor of the Ruler of the world,\n  The mystery of this game hath found its solution.\n  Call before thee the Ambassador and all who care about it;\n  But the King of kings ought to be the first to behold it.\n  You would say at once without hesitation,\n  It is the exact image of a battle-field.\"\n  The King was right glad to hear the news;\n  He pronounced him the Fortunate, and the bearer of good tidings.\n  He commanded that the Mubids, and other counsellors,\n  And all who were renowned for their wisdom should be assembled;\n  And ordered that the Ambassador should be summoned to the Presence,\n  And that he should be placed on a splendid throne.\n\n  Then Buzarchamahar, addressing him, said:\n  \"O Mubid, bright in council as the sun,\n  Tell us, what said the King about these pieces,\n  So may intelligence be coupled with thee forever!\"\n\n  And this was his answer: \"My Master, prosperous in his undertakings,\n  When I was summoned and appeared before him,\n  Said to me: 'These pieces of teak and ivory\n  Place before the throne of him who weareth the crown,\n  And say to him: Assemble thy Mubids and counsellors,\n  And seat them, and place the pieces before them.\n  If they succeed in making out the noble game,\n  They will win applause and augment enjoyment:\n  Then slaves and money and tribute and taxes,\n  I will send to him as far as I have the means;\n  For a monarch is to be esteemed for his wisdom,\n  Not for his treasure, or his men, or his lofty throne.\n  But if the King and his counsellors are not able to do all this\n  And their minds are not bright enough to comprehend it,\n  He ought not to desire from us tribute or treasure,\n  And his wise soul, alas! must come to grief;\n  And when he seeth our minds and genius to be subtler than theirs.\n  Rather will he send them to us in greater abundance.'\"\n\n  Then Buzarchamahar brought the chess-men and board,\n  And placed them before the throne of the watchful King,\n  And said to the Mubids and counsellors:\n  \"O ye illustrious and pure-hearted sages,\n  Give ear all of you to the words he hath uttered,\n  And to the observations of his prudent chief.\"\n\n  Then the knowing-man arranged a battle-field,\n  Giving to the King the place in the centre;\n  Right and left he drew up the army,\n  Placing the foot-soldiers in front of the battle.\n  A prudent vizier he stationed beside the King,\n  To give him advice on the plan of the engagement;\n  On each side he set the elephants of war [our bishops],\n  To support one another in the midst of the combat.\n  Further on he assigned their position to the war-steeds [our knights],\n  Placing upon each a horseman eager for battle.\n  Lastly, right and left, at the extremities of the field,\n  He stationed the heroes [the rooks] as rivals to each other.\n  When Buzarchamahar had thus drawn up the army,\n  The whole assembly was lost in astonishment;\n  But the Indian Ambassador was exceedingly grieved,\n  And stood motionless at the sagacity of that Fortune-favored man;\n  Stupefied with amazement, he looked upon him as a magician,\n  And his whole soul was absorbed in his reflections.\n  \"For never hath he seen,\" he said, \"a chessboard before,\n  Nor ever hath he heard about it from the experienced men of India.\n  I have told him nothing of the action of these pieces,\n  Not a word have I said about this arrangement and purpose.\n  How then hath the revelation come down upon him?\n  No one in the world will ever take his place!\"\n\n  And Khosru was so proud of Buzarchamahar,\n  Thou mightest say that he was looking Fortune in the face.\n  He was gladdened at his heart, and loaded him with caresses,\n  And ordered him a more than ordinary dress of honor,\n  And commanded him to be given a royal cup\n  Filled to the brim with princely jewels,\n  And a quantity of money, and a charger and a saddle,\n  And dismissed him from the Presence overwhelmed with praises.\n         _Robinson's Translation._\n\n\n\n\nZAL AND RUDABEH.\n\n\n\"Zal, recovered from the care of the Simurgh and arrived at manhood, is\nsent to govern the frontier province of Zabul; the adjoining province of\nKabul, though tributary to the Persian emperor, being governed by its own\nking, called Mihrab. This episode commences with a visit which Mihrab pays\nto Zal, who receives him with distinguished honor, entertains him at a\nsumptuous banquet, and they separate with mutual respect.\"\n\n  Then a chief of the great ones around him\n  Said: \"O thou, the hero of the world,\n  This Mihrab hath a daughter behind the veil,\n  Whose face is more resplendent than the sun;\n  From head to foot pure as ivory,\n  With a cheek like the spring, and in stature like the teak-tree.\n  Upon her silver shoulders descend two musky tresses,\n  Which, like nooses, fetter the captive;\n  Her lip is like the pomegranate, and her cheek like its flower;\n  Her eyes resemble the narcissus in the garden;\n  Her eyelashes have borrowed the blackness of the raven;\n  Her eyebrows are arched like a fringed bow.\n  Wouldst thou behold the mild radiance of the moon? Look upon her\n    countenance!\n  Wouldst thou inhale delightful odors? She is all fragrance!\n  She is altogether a paradise of sweets,\n  Decked with all grace, all music, all thou canst desire!\n  She would be fitting for thee, O warrior of the world;\n  She is as the heavens above to such as we are.\"\n\n  When Zal heard this description,\n  His love leaped to the lovely maiden:\n  His heart boiled over with the heat of passion,\n  So that understanding and rest departed from him.\n  Night came, but he sat groaning, and buried in thought,\n  And a prey to sorrow for the not-yet-seen.\n\n_On returning from a second visit, Mihrab describes Zal to his wife and\nhis daughter Rudabeh._\n\n  \"O beautiful silver-bosomed cypress,\n  In the wide world not one of the heroes\n  Will come up to the measure of Zal!\n  In the pictured palace men will never behold the image\n  Of a warrior so strong, or so firm in the saddle.\n  He hath the heart of a lion, the power of an elephant,\n  And the strength of his arm is as the rush of the Nile.\n  When he sitteth on the throne, he scattereth gold before him;\n  In the battle, the heads of his enemies.\n  His cheek is as ruddy as the flower of the arghavan;\n  Young in years, all alive, and the favorite of fortune;\n  And though his hair is white as though with age,\n  Yet in his bravery he could tear to pieces the water-serpent.\n\n  \"He rageth in the conflict with the fury of the crocodile,\n  He fighteth in the saddle like a sharp-fanged dragon.\n  In his wrath he staineth the earth with blood,\n  As he wieldeth his bright scimitar around him.\n  And though his hair is as white as is a fawn's,\n  In vain would the fault-finder seek another defect!\n  Nay, the whiteness of his hair even becometh him;\n  Thou wouldst say that he is born to beguile all hearts!\"\n\n  When Rudabeh heard this description,\n  Her heart was set on fire, and her cheek crimsoned like the pomegranate.\n  Her whole soul was filled with the love of Zal,\n  And food, and peace, and quietude were driven far from her.\n\n_After a time Rudabeh resolves to reveal her passion to her attendants._\n\n  Then she said to her prudent slaves:\n  \"I will discover what I have hitherto concealed;\n  Ye are each of you the depositaries of my secrets,\n  My attendants, and the partners of my griefs.\n  I am agitated with love like the raging ocean,\n  Whose billows are heaved to the sky.\n  My once bright heart is filled with the love of Zal;\n  My sleep is broken with thoughts of him.\n  My soul is perpetually filled with my passion;\n  Night and day my thoughts dwell upon his countenance.\n\n  \"Not one except yourselves knoweth my secret;\n  Ye, my affectionate and faithful servants,\n  What remedy can ye now devise for my ease?\n  What will ye do for me? What promise will ye give me?\n  Some remedy ye must devise,\n  To free my heart and soul from this unhappiness.\"\n\n  Astonishment seized the slaves,\n  That dishonor should come nigh the daughter of kings.\n  In the anxiety of their hearts they started from their seats,\n  And all gave answer with one voice:\n  \"O crown of the ladies of the earth!\n  Maiden pre-eminent amongst the pre-eminent!\n  Whose praise is spread abroad from Hindustan to China;\n  The resplendent ring in the circle of the harem;\n  Whose stature surpasseth every cypress in the garden;\n  Whose cheek rivalleth the lustre of the Pleiades;\n  Whose picture is sent by the ruler of Kanuj\n  Even to the distant monarchs of the West--\n  Have you ceased to be modest in your own eyes?\n  Have you lost all reverence for your father,\n  That whom his own parent cast from his bosom,\n  Him will you receive into yours?\n  A man who was nurtured by a bird in the mountains!\n  A man who was a by-word amongst the people!\n  You--with your roseate countenance and musky tresses--\n  Seek a man whose hair is already white with age!\n  You--who have filled the world with admiration,\n  Whose portrait hangeth in every palace,\n  And whose beauty, and ringlets, and stature are such\n  That you might draw down a husband from the skies!\"\n\n_To this remonstrance she makes the following indignant answer:_\n\n  When Rudabeh heard their reply,\n  Her heart blazed up like fire before the wind.\n  She raised her voice in anger against them,\n  Her face flushed, but she cast down her eyes.\n  After a time, grief and anger mingled in her countenance,\n  And knitting her brows with passion, she exclaimed:\n  \"O unadvised and worthless counsellors,\n  It was not becoming in me to ask your advice!\n  Were my eye dazzled by a star,\n  How could it rejoice to gaze even upon the moon?\n  He who is formed of worthless clay will not regard the rose,\n  Although the rose is in nature more estimable than clay!\n  I wish not for Caesar, nor Emperor of China,\n  Nor for any one of the tiara-crowned monarchs of Iran;\n  The son of Saum, Zal, alone is my equal,\n  With his lion-like limbs, and arms, and shoulders.\n  You may call him, as you please, an old man, or a young;\n  To me, he is in the room of heart and of soul.\n  Except him never shall any one have a place in my heart;\n  Mention not to me any one except him.\n  Him hath my love chosen unseen,\n  Yea, hath chosen him only from description.\n  For him is my affection, not for face or hair;\n  And I have sought his love in the way of honor.\"\n\n_The slaves speak_.\n\n  \"May hundreds of thousands such as we are be a sacrifice for thee;\n  May the wisdom of the creation be thy worthy portion;\n  May thy dark narcissus-eye be ever full of modesty;\n  May thy cheek be ever tinged with bashfulness!\n  If it be necessary to learn the art of the magician,\n  To sew up the eyes with the bands of enchantment,\n  We will fly till we surpass the enchanter's bird,\n  We will run like the deer in search of a remedy.\n  Perchance we may draw the King nigh unto his moon,\n  And place him securely at thy side.\"\n\n  The vermil lip of Rudabeh was filled with smiles;\n  She turned her saffron-tinted countenance toward the slave, and said:\n  \"If thou shalt bring this matter to a happy issue,\n  Thou hast planted for thyself a stately and fruitful tree,\n  Which every day shall bear rubies for its fruit,\n  And shall pour that fruit into thy lap.\"\n\n_The slaves arrange an interview between the lovers_.\n\n  Then said the elegant cypress-formed lady to her maidens:\n  \"Other than this were once your words and your counsel!\n  Is this then the Zal, the nursling of a bird?\n  This the old man, white-haired and withered?\n  Now his cheek is ruddy as the flower of the arghavan;\n  His stature is tall, his face beautiful, his presence lordly!\n  Ye have exalted my charms before him;\n  Ye have spoken and made me a bargain!\"\n  She said, and her lips were full of smiles,\n  But her cheek crimsoned like the bloom of pomegranate.\n\n_The interview takes place in a private pavilion of the princess._\n\n  When from a distance the son of the valiant Saum\n  Became visible to the illustrious maiden,\n  She opened her gem-like lips, and exclaimed:\n  \"Welcome, thou brave and happy youth!\n  The blessing of the Creator of the world be upon thee;\n  On him who is the father of a son like thee!\n  May destiny ever favor thy wishes!\n  May the vault of heaven be the ground thou walkest on!\n  The dark night is turned into day by thy countenance;\n  The world is soul-enlivened by the fragrance of thy presence!\n  Thou hast travelled hither on foot from thy palace;\n  Thou hast pained, to behold me, thy royal footsteps!\"\n\n  When the hero heard the voice from the battlement,\n  He looked up and beheld a face resplendent as the sun,\n  Irradiating the terrace like a flashing jewel,\n  And brightening the ground like a naming ruby.\n\n  Then he replied: \"O thou who sheddest the mild radiance of the moon,\n  The blessing of Heaven, and mine, be upon thee!\n  How many nights hath cold Arcturus beholden me,\n  Uttering my cry to God, the Pure,\n  And beseeching the Lord of the universe,\n  That he would vouchsafe to unveil thy countenance before me!\n  Now I am made joyful in hearing thy voice,\n  In listening to thy rich and gracious accents.\n  But seek, I pray thee, some way to thy presence;\n  For what converse can we hold, I on the ground, and thou on the\n    terrace?\"\n\n  The Peri-faced maiden heard the words of the hero;\n  Quickly she unbound her auburn locks,\n  Coil upon coil, and serpent upon serpent;\n  And she stooped and dropped down the tresses from the battlement,\n  And cried: \"O hero, child of heroes,\n  Take now these tresses, they belong to thee,\n  And I have cherished them that they might prove an aid to my beloved.\"\n\n  And Zal gazed upward at the lovely maiden,\n  And stood amazed at the beauty of her hair and of her countenance;\n  He covered the musky ringlets with his kisses,\n  And his bride heard the kisses from above.\n  Then he exclaimed: \"That would not be right--\n  May the bright sun never shine on such a day!\n  It were to lay my hand on the life of one already distracted;\n  It were to plunge the arrow-point into my own wounded bosom.\"\n  Then he took his noose from his boy, and made a running knot,\n  And threw it, and caught it on the battlement,\n  And held his breath, and at one bound\n  Sprang from the ground, and reached the summit.\n\n  As soon as the hero stood upon the terrace,\n  The Peri-faced maiden ran to greet him,\n  And took the hand of the hero in her own,\n  And they went like those who are overcome with wine.\n\n  Then he descended from the lofty gallery,\n  His hand in the hand of the tall princess,\n  And came to the door of the gold-painted pavilion,\n  And entered that royal assembly,\n  Which blazed with light like the bowers of Paradise;\n  And the slaves stood like houris before them:\n  And Zal gazed in astonishment\n  On her face, and her hair, and her stately form, and on all that\n    splendor.\n\n  And Zal was seated in royal pomp\n  Opposite that mildly-radiant beauty;\n  And Rudabeh could not rest from looking towards him,\n  And gazing upon him with all her eyes;\n  On that arm, and shoulder, and that splendid figure,\n  On the brightness of that soul-enlightening countenance;\n  So that the more and more she looked\n  The more and more was her heart inflamed.\n\n  Then he kissed and embraced her, renewing his vows--\n  Can the lion help pursuing the wild ass?--\n  And said: \"O sweet and graceful silver-bosomed maiden,\n  It may not be, that, both of noble lineage,\n  We should do aught unbecoming our birth;\n  For from Saum Nariman I received an admonition.\n  To do no unworthy deed, lest evil should come of it;\n  For better is the seemly than the unseemly,\n  That which is lawful than that which is forbidden.\n  And I fear that Manuchahar, when he shall hear of this affair,\n  Will not be inclined to give it his approval;\n  I fear, too, that Saum will exclaim against it,\n  And will boil over with passion, and lay his hand upon me.\n  Yet, though soul and body are precious to all men,\n  Life will I resign, and clothe myself with a shroud--\n  And this I swear by the righteous God--\n  Ere I will break the faith which I have pledged thee.\n  I will bow myself before Him, and offer my adoration,\n  And supplicate Him as those who worship Him in truth,\n  That He will cleanse the heart of Saum, king of the earth,\n  From opposition, and rage, and rancor.\n  Perhaps the Creator of the world may listen to my prayer,\n  And thou mayest yet be publicly proclaimed my wife.\"\n\n  And Rudabeh said: \"And I also, in the presence of the righteous God,\n  Take the same pledge, and swear to thee my faith;\n  And He who created the world be witness to my words,\n  That no one but the hero of the world,\n  The throned, the crowned, the far-famed Zal,\n  Will I ever permit to be sovereign over me.\"\n\n  So their love every moment became greater;\n  Prudence was afar, and passion was predominant,\n  Till the gray dawn began to show itself,\n  And the drum to be heard from the royal pavilion.\n  Then Zal bade adieu to the fair one;\n  His soul was darkened, and his bosom on fire,\n  And the eyes of both were filled with tears;\n  And they lifted up their voices against the sun:\n  \"O glory of the universe, why come so quick?\n  Couldst thou not wait one little moment\"\n\n  Then Zal cast his noose on a pinnacle,\n  And descended from those happy battlements,\n  As the sun was rising redly above the mountains,\n  And the bands of warriors were gathering in their ranks.\n        _Robinson's Translation._\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE POEM OF THE CID.\n\n\nRodrigo Ruy Diaz, El Cid Campeador, was born near Burgos, in Spain, about\n1040. The name Cid was given him by the Moors, and means lord. Campeador\nmeans champion.\n\nRuy Diaz was the trusty lord of Sancho, King of Castile, who at his death\ndivided his kingdom among his children. He then espoused the cause of the\neldest son, Sancho, and assisted him in wresting their portion of the\nkingdom from his brothers Garcia and Alfonso. Sancho having been\ntreacherously slain while besieging his sister Urraca's town of Zamora,\nthe Cid attached himself to Alfonso, humiliating him, however, by making\nhim and his chief lords swear that they had had no hand in Sancho's death.\nFor this, Alfonso revenged himself by exiling the Cid on the slightest\npretexts, recalling him only when his services were needed in the defence\nof the country.\n\nThis much, and the Cid's victories over the Moors, his occupation of\nValencia, and his army's departure therefrom in 1102, led by his corpse\nseated on horseback, \"clothed in his habit as he lived\", are historical\nfacts.\n\nA great mass of romances, among them the story of his slaying Count Don\nGomez because he had insulted his father, Diego Laynez; of Don Gomez's\ndaughter Ximena wooing and wedding him; of his assisting the leper and\nhaving his future success foretold by him, and of his embalmed body\nsitting many years in the cathedral at Toledo, are related in the\n\"Chronicle of the Cid\" and the \"Ballads.\"\n\nThe Poem of the Cid narrates only a portion of his career, and \"if it had\nbeen named,\" says Ormsby, \"would have been called 'The Triumph of the\nCid.'\"\n\nThe Poem of the Cid was written about 1200 A. D. Its authorship is\nunknown.\n\nIt contains three thousand seven hundred and forty-five lines, and is\ndivided into two cantares. The versification is careless; when rhyme\nhampered the poet he dropped it, and used instead the assonant rhyme.\n\nThe Poem of the Cid is of peculiar interest because it belongs to the very\ndawn of our modern literature, and because its hero was evidently a real\npersonage, a portion of whose history was recorded in this epic not long\nafter the events took place. The Cid is one of the most simple and natural\nof the epic heroes; he has all a man's weaknesses, and it is difficult to\nrepress a smile at the perfectly natural manner in which, while he\nslaughters enough Moors to secure himself a place in the heavenly kingdom,\nhe takes good care to lay up gold for the enjoyment of life on earth. The\npoem is told with the greatest simplicity, naturalness, and directness, as\nwell as with much poetic fire.\n\n\n\n\nBIBLIOGRAPHY AND CRITICISM, THE CID.\n\n\nRobert Southey's Chronicle of the Cid. . . . Appendix contains Poetry of\nthe Cid by J. H. Frere, 1808, new ed., 1845;\n\nMatthew Arnold's Poem of the Cid, MacMillan, 1871, vol. xxiv., pp.\n471-485;\n\nGeorge Dennio's The Cid: A short Chronicle founded on the early Poetry of\nSpain, 1845;\n\nButler Clarke's The Cid (in his Spanish Literature, 1893, pp. 46-53);\nE. E. Hale and Susan Hale's The Cid (in their Story of Spain, 1893, pp.\n248-261);\n\nStanley Lane Poole's The Cid (in his Story of the Moors in Spain, 1891,\npp. 191-213);\n\nSismondi's Poem of the Cid (in his Literature of the South of Europe,\n1884, vol. ii., pp. 95-140);\n\nGeorge Ticknor's Poem of the Cid (in his History of Spanish Literature,\ned. 6, 1893, vol. i., pp. 12-26);\n\nW. T. Dobson's Classic Poets, (1879, pp. 35-138);\n\nJ. G. von Herder's Der Cid, nach spanischen Romanzen besungen (in his\nworks, 1852, vol. xiv.), translated.\n\n\n\n\nSTANDARD ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS, THE POEM OF THE CID.\n\n\nThe Poem of the Cid, Tr. by John Ormsby, 1879;\n\nTranslations from the Poem of the Cid by John Hookam Frere (in his works,\n1872, vol. ii., p. 409);\n\nBallads of the Cid, Tr. by Lewis Gerard, 1883;\n\nAncient Spanish Ballads, Tr. by John Gibson Lockhart, 1823.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE POEM OF THE CID.\n\n\nTears stood in the eyes of the Cid as he looked at his pillaged castle.\nThe coffers were empty, even the falcons were gone from their perches.\n\"Cruel wrong do I suffer from mine enemy!\" he exclaimed as they rode into\nBurgos. \"Alvar Fanez, of a truth we are banished men.\"\n\nFrom the windows of Burgos town the burghers and their dames looked down\nwith tearful eyes upon the Cid and his sixty lances. \"Would that his lord\nwere worthy of him,\" said they.\n\nHe rode up to the gates of his house in Burgos; the king's seal was upon\nthem. \"My lord,\" cried a damsel from an upper casement, \"thy goods are\nforfeited to the king, and he has forbidden that we open door or shelter\nthee upon pain of forfeiture of our goods, yea, even of our sight!\"\n\nLittle hope then had the Cid of mercy from King Alfonso; and sooner than\nbring suffering on his beloved people of Burgos he betook himself without\nthe city and sat him down to think of what to do. \"Martin Antolinez,\" said\nhe, \"I have no money with which to pay my troops. Thou must help me to get\nit, and if I live I will repay thee double.\"\n\nThen the two together fashioned two stout chests covered with red leather\nand studded with gilt nails, and these they filled with sand. Then Martin\nAntolinez without delay sought out the money lenders, Rachel and Vidas,\nand bargained with them to lend the Cid six hundred marks, and take in\npawn for them the two chests filled with treasure that he dared not at\nthat time take away with him. For a year they were to keep the chests and\npledge themselves not to look in them. Glad were the hearts of the money\nlenders as they lifted the heavy chests, and happy was the Cid when he saw\nthe six hundred marks counted out before him.\n\nSeeking the monastery of San Pedro de Cardena, the Cid embraced his wife\nXimena and his two daughters, and left them in the protection of the\nabbot, to whom he promised recompense. Hard was the pain of parting as\nwhen the finger nail is torn away from the flesh, but a banished man has\nno choice. And as they passed the night at Higeruela a sweet vision\npromising success comforted the Cid in his slumbers; and many from\nCastile, who heard of the departure of the hero, sought his banners to\nbetter their fortune.\n\nNext day the Cid and his men took Castejon and sold the spoil to the Moors\nof Hita and Guadalajara, and then my Cid passed on and planted himself\nupon a lofty and strong hill opposite Alcocer, and levied tribute upon the\nneighboring peoples. When he had so besieged Alcocer for fifteen weeks he\ntook it by stratagem, and Pero Bermuez, the slow of speech, planted his\nstandard on the highest part. When the King of Valencia heard of this, he\ndetermined to capture my Cid, and accordingly sent three thousand Moors to\nlay siege to Alcocer.\n\nWhen the water was cut off and bread became scarce, the six hundred\nSpanish men, acting upon the advice of Minaya, took the field against the\nthree thousand Moors; and such was the valor of him that in a good hour\nwas born, and of his standard bearer, Pero Bermuez, and of the good\nMinaya, that the Moors fell to the ground three hundred at a time, their\nshields shivered, their mail riven, their white pennons red with blood.\n\n\"Thanks be to God for victory!\" said the Cid. In the Moorish king's camp\nwas found great spoil,--shields, arms, and horses. Greatly the Christians\nrejoiced, for to them fell much spoil, and but fifteen of their men were\nmissing. Even to the Moors my Cid gave some of his spoil, and from his\nshare of one hundred horses he sent by Minaya thirty, saddled and bridled,\nwith as many swords hung at the saddle bows, to King Alfonso. Also he sent\nby him a wallet of gold and silver for his wife and daughters, and to pay\nfor a thousand Masses at Burgos.\n\nAlfonso was well pleased to receive this token. \"It is too soon to take\nhim into favor, but I will accept his present, and I am glad he won the\nvictory. Minaya, I pardon thee; go to the Cid and say that I will permit\nany valiant man who so desires to follow him.\"\n\nUpon the hill now called the hill of the Cid, he who girt on the sword in\na good hour, took up his abode and levied tribute on the people for\nfifteen weeks. But when he saw that Minaya's return was delayed, he went\neven unto Saragossa, levying tribute and doing much damage, insomuch that\nthe Count of Barcelona, Raymond de Berenger, was provoked into making an\nassault upon him in the Pine Wood of Bivar, where he was ingloriously\ndefeated and taken prisoner. The count was the more shamed at this because\nmy Cid had sent him a friendly message, saying that he did not want to\nfight him, since he owed him no grudge. When Count Raymond had given up\nhis precious sword, the great Colada, the good one of Bivar endeavored to\nmake friends with his prisoner, but to no avail. The count refused meat\nand drink, and was determined to die, until the Cid assured him that as\nsoon as he ate a hearty meal he should go free. Then he departed joyfully\nfrom the camp, fearing even to the last lest the Cid should change his\nmind, a thing the perfect one never would have done.\n\nCheered by this conquest, the Cid turned to Valencia, and met a great\nMoorish army, which was speedily defeated, the Cid's numbers having been\ngreatly increased by men who flocked to him from Spain. Two Moorish kings\nwere slain, and the survivors were pursued even to Valencia. Then my Cid\nsat down before the city for nine months, and in the tenth month Valencia\nsurrendered. The spoil--who could count it? All were rich who accompanied\nthe Cid, and his fifth was thirty thousand marks in money, besides much\nother spoil. And my Cid's renown spread throughout Spain. Wonderful was he\nto look upon, for his beard had grown very long. For the love of King\nAlfonso, who had banished him, he said it should never be cut, nor a hair\nof it be plucked, and it should be famous among Moors and Christians. Then\nhe again called Minaya to him, and to King Alfonso sent a hundred horses,\nwith the request that his wife and daughters might be allowed to join him.\nAlso he sent him word that he had been joined by a good bishop, Don\nJerome, and had created for him a bishopric.\n\nNow were the enemies of the good one of Bivar incensed in proportion as\nthe king was pleased with this noble gift. And when the king silenced the\nenvious ones, and ordered an escort for Ximena and her daughters, and\ntreated Minaya with consideration, the Infantes of Carrion talked\ntogether, commenting on the growing importance of my Cid. \"It would better\nour fortunes to marry his daughters, but they are below us in rank.\" And\nso saying they sent their salutations to the Cid.\n\nThe Cid met his wife and daughters on his new horse, Babieca, the wonder\nof all Spain, and great was his joy to clasp them again in his arms. And\nhe took them up in the highest part of Valencia, and their bright eyes\nlooked over the city and the sea, and they all thanked God for giving them\nso fair a prize.\n\nWhen winter was past and spring had come, the King of Morocco crossed the\nsea to Valencia with fifty thousand men, and pitched his tents before the\ncity. Then the Cid took his wife and daughters up in the Alcazar, and\nshowed them the vast army. \"They bring a gift for us, a dowry against the\nmarriage of our daughters. Because ye are here, with God's help, I shall\nwin the battle.\"\n\nHe went forth on the good Babieca; four thousand less thirty followed him\nto attack the fifty thousand Moors. The Cid's arms dripped with blood to\nthe elbow; the Moors he slew could not be counted. King Yucef himself he\nsmote three times, and only the swiftness of the horse he rode saved the\nking from death. All fled who were not slain, leaving the spoil behind.\nThree thousand marks of gold and silver were found there, and the other\nspoil was countless. Then my Cid ordered Minaya and Pero Bermuez to take\nto Alfonso the great tent of the King of Morocco, and two hundred horses.\nAnd the king was greatly pleased, and the Infantes of Carrion, counselling\ntogether, said, \"The fame of the Cid grows greater; let us ask his\ndaughters in marriage.\" And the king gave their request to Minaya and\nBermuez, who were to bear it to the Cid.\n\nSaid my Cid, when he heard the proposal: \"The Infantes of Carrion are\nhaughty, and have a faction in court. I have no taste for the match; but\nsince my king desires it, I will be silent.\"\n\nWhen the king heard his answer, he appointed a meeting, and when he that\nin a good hour was born saw his king, he fell at his feet to pay him\nhomage. But the king said: \"Here do I pardon you, and grant you my love\nfrom this day forth.\"\n\nThe next day when the king presented to the Cid the offer of the Infantes,\nmy Cid replied: \"My daughters are not of marriageable age, but I and they\nare in your hands. Give them as it pleases you.\" Then the king\ncommissioned Alvar Fanez to act for him and give the daughters of my Cid\nto the Infantes.\n\nThe Cid hastened home to prepare for the wedding. The palace was\nbeautifully decorated with hangings of purple and samite. Rich were the\ngarments of the Infantes, and meek their behavior in the presence of my\nCid. The couples were wedded by the Bishop Don Jerome, and the wedding\nfestivities lasted for fifteen days. And for wellnigh two years the Cid\nand his sons-in-law abode happily in Valencia.\n\nOne day while my Cid was lying asleep in his palace, a lion broke loose\nfrom its cage, and all the court were sore afraid. The Cid's followers\ngathered around his couch to protect him; but Ferran Gonzalez crept\nbeneath the couch, crying from fear, and Diego ran into the court and\nthrew himself across a wine-press beam, so that he soiled his mantle. The\nCid, awakened by the noise, arose, took the lion by the mane, and dragged\nhim to his cage, to the astonishment of all present. Then my Cid asked for\nhis sons-in-law, and when they were found, pale and frightened, the whole\ncourt laughed at them until my Cid bade them cease. And the Infantes were\ndeeply insulted.\n\nWhile they were still sulking over their injuries, King Bucar of Morocco\nbeleagured Valencia with fifty thousand tents. The Cid and his barons\nrejoiced at the thought of battle; but the Infantes were sore afraid, for\nthey were cowards, and feared to be slain in battle. The Cid told them to\nremain in Valencia; but stung by shame they went forth with Bermuez, who\nreported that both had fleshed their swords in battle with the Moor.\n\nGreat was the slaughter of the Moors on that field. Alvar Fanez, Minaya,\nand the fighting bishop came back dripping with gore, and as for my Cid,\nhe slew King Bucar himself, and brought home the famous sword, Tizon,\nworth full a thousand marks in gold.\n\nThe Infantes, still wrathful at their humiliation, talked apart: \"Let us\ntake our wealth and our wives and return to Carrion. Once away from the\nCampeador, we will punish his daughters, so that we shall hear no more of\nthe affair of the lion. With the wealth we have gained from the Cid we can\nnow wed whom we please.\"\n\nSore was the heart of the Cid when he heard of their determination; but he\ngave them rich gifts, and also the priceless swords Colada and Tizon. \"I\nwon them in knightly fashion,\" said he, \"and I give them to you, for ye\nare my sons, since I gave you my daughters; in them ye take the core of my\nheart.\" He ordered Feliz Mu\u00f1oz, his nephew, to accompany them as an\nescort, and sent them by way of Molina to salute his friend, Abengalvon\nthe Moor.\n\nThe Moor received them in great state, and escorted them as far as the\nSalon; but when he overheard the Infantes plotting to destroy him, and\nseize his substance, he left them in anger. At night the Infantes pitched\ntheir tents in an oak forest full of tall trees, among which roamed fierce\nbeasts. During the night they made a great show of love to their wives,\nand the next morning ordered the escort to go on, saying that they would\nfollow alone. As soon as they were alone they stripped the daughters of\nthe Cid of their garments, beat them with their saddle-girths and spurs,\nand left them for dead in the wild forest. \"Now we are avenged for the\ndishonor of the lion,\" said they, as they departed for Carrion. But Feliz\nMu\u00f1oz, who had suspected the Infantes, had gone forward but a little way,\nand then crept back, so that from a thicket he perceived the sufferings of\nhis cousins. Straightway he went to their rescue, found them clothes, and\nhelped them home again.\n\nWhen the Cid heard of this insult to himself and his daughters, he grasped\nhis beard and swore a mighty oath that the Infantes would rue the day when\nthey had thus offended him. All of the Cid's friends strove to comfort the\nladies Elvira and Sol, and Abengalvon the Moor made them a rich supper for\nlove of the Cid.\n\nAt the request of my Cid, King Alfonso summoned a Cortes at Toledo, to try\nthe cause of the Cid and the Infantes. Thither went the Cid, richly clad,\nso that all men wondered at his rich garments, his long hair in a scarlet\nand gold coif, and his uncut beard bound up with cords. He and his hundred\nmen wore bright hauberks under their ermines, and trenchant swords under\ntheir mantles, for they feared treachery.\n\nThe king appointed some of his counts as judges, and announced that he\nheld this, the third Cortes of his reign, for the love of the Cid. Then my\nCid stood forth.\n\n\"I am not dishonored because the Infantes deserted my daughters,\" said the\nCid, \"for the king gave them away, not I; but I demand my swords, Colada\nand Tizon. When my lords of Carrion gave up my daughters they relinquished\nall claims to my property.\"\n\nThe Infantes, well pleased that he demanded no more, returned the swords;\nand when the blades were unsheathed and placed in the hands of the king,\nthe eyes of the court were dazzled by their brightness.\n\nThe Cid presented Tizon to his nephew and Colada to Martin Antolinez.\n\"Now, my king, I have another grievance. I now demand that the Infantes\nrestore the three thousand marks in gold and silver they carried from\nValencia. When they ceased to be my sons-in-law they ceased to own my\ngold.\" Then the Infantes were troubled, for they had spent the money; but\nthe judges gave them no relief, and they were forced to pay it out of\ntheir heritage of Carrion.\n\n\"So please your grace,\" said the Cid, \"still another grievance, the\ngreatest of all, I have yet to state. I hold myself dishonored by the\nInfantes. Redress by combat they must yield, for I will take no other.\"\n\nThe Count Garcia ridiculed the Cid's claim. \"The noble lords of Carrion\nare of princely birth; your daughters are not fitting mates for them.\"\nThen, while his enemies were taunting him and the court broke into an\nuproar, the Cid called on Pero Bermuez, \"Dumb Peter,\" to speak.\n\nWhen Pero spoke he made himself clear. For the first time he told how like\na craven Ferrando had demeaned himself in battle, and how he himself had\nslain the Moor on whom the prince had turned his back. He also reminded\nFerrando of the affair of the lion. When Diego attempted to speak, he was\nsilenced by Martin Antolinez, who told of the figure he cut when he clung\nto the wine-press beam in an agony of fear, on the day the lion came forth\nfrom its cage. Then the king, commanding silence, gave them permission to\nfight. Martin Antolinez engaged to meet Diego, Pero Bermuez was to combat\nwith Ferrando, and Muno Gustioz challenged the brawler, Assur Gonzalez. It\nwas agreed that the combat should be held at the end of three weeks in the\nvega of Carrion.\n\nWhen all had been arranged to his satisfaction, the Cid took off his coif,\nand released his beard, and all the court wondered at him. Then he offered\nsome of his wealth to all present, and, kissing the king's hand, besought\nhim to take Babieca. But this the king refused to do: \"Babieca is for the\nlike of you to keep the Moors off with. If I took him he would not have so\ngood a lord.\"\n\nWhen the day for the combat arrived, the king himself went to Carrion to\nsee that no treachery was used, and he said to the Infantes: \"Ye have need\nto fight like men. If ye come out successful, ye will receive great honor.\nIf ye are vanquished, the fault will be on your own heads. Seek to do no\nwrong; woe betide him who attempts it!\"\n\nThen the marshals placed the contestants in the lists and left them face\nto face. Each with his gaze fixed on the other, they rushed together and\nmet midway of the lists.\n\nAt the thrust of Pero's Lance, Ferrando fell from his horse and yielded,\nas he saw the dread Tizon held over him. At the same time Diego fled from\nthe sword of Martin Antolinez, and Mu\u00f1o Gustioz's lance pierced Assur\nGonzalez, who begged him to hold his hand, since the Infantes were\nvanquished.\n\nThus the battle was won, and Don Roderick's champions gained the victory.\nGreat was the sorrow in the house of Carrion; but he who wrongs a noble\nlady deserves such suffering.\n\nRejoiced were they of Valencia when the champions brought home these\ntidings, and ere long, favored by Alfonso himself, the princes of Navarre\nand Aragon wooed my Cid's daughters, and were married to them with the\nmost splendid nuptials. Now was the Cid happy, and happier still he grew\nas his honor increased, until upon the feast of Pentecost he passed away.\nThe grace of Christ be upon him!\n\n\n\n\nSELECTIONS FROM THE POEM OF THE CID.\n\nCOUNT RAYMOND AND MY CID.\n\n\nAfter one of the victories over the Moors won by the Cid after his\nbanishment by King Alfonso, he despatched a messenger to the king with a\ngift of thirty horses, and while awaiting his return, encamped in the\nPine-wood of Tebar and levied tribute on the surrounding country. This\ninformation was conveyed to the Count of Barcelona, Raymond Berenger, who\nprepared to march against the intruder.\n\n  Great mustering there is of Moors and Christians through the land,\n  A mighty host of men-at-arms he hath at his command.\n  Two days, three nights, they march to seek the Good One of Bivar,\n  To snare him where he harbors in the Pine-wood of Tebar;\n  And such the speed of their advance, that, cumbered with his spoils,\n  And unaware, my Cid wellnigh was taken in the toils.\n  The tidings reached my Cid as down the sierra side he went,\n  Then straightway to Count Raymond be a friendly message sent:\n  \"Say to the count that he, meseems, to me no grudge doth owe:\n  Of him I take no spoil, with him in peace I fain would go.\"\n  \"Nay,\" said the count, \"for all his deeds he hath to make amends:\n  This outlaw must be made to know whose honor he offends.\"\n  With utmost speed the messenger Count Raymond's answer brought;\n  Then of a surety knew my Cid a battle must be fought.\n  \"Now, cavaliers,\" quoth he, \"make safe the booty we have won.\n  Look to your weapons, gentlemen; with speed your armor don.\n  On battle bent Count Raymond comes; a mighty host hath he\n  Of Moors and Christians; fight we must if hence we would go free.\n  Here let us fight our battle out, since fight we must perforce.\n  On with your harness, cavaliers, quick saddle, and to horse!\n  Yonder they come, the linen breeks, all down the mountain side,\n  For saddles they have Moorish pads, with slackened girths they ride:\n  Our saddles are Galician make, our leggings tough and stout:\n  A hundred of us gentlemen should scatter such a rout.\n  Before they gain the level plain, home with the lance charge we,\n  And then, for every blow we strike, we empty saddles three.\n  Count Raymond Berenger shall know with whom he has to do;\n  And dearly in Tebar to-day his raid on me shall rue.\"\n  In serried squadron while he speaks they form around my Cid.\n  Each grasps his lance, and firm and square each sits upon his steed.\n  Over against them down the hill they watch the Franks descend,\n  On to the level ground below, where plain and mountain blend.\n  Then gives my Cid the word to charge--with a good will they go:\n  Fast ply the lances; some they pierce, and some they overthrow.\n  And he that in a good hour was born soon hath he won the field;\n  And the Count Raymond Berenger he hath compelled to yield;\n  And reaping honor for his beard a noble prize hath made:\n  A thousand marks of silver worth, the great Colada blade.\n\n  Unto his quarters under guard the captive count he sent,\n  While his men haste to gather in their spoils in high content.\n  Then for my Cid Don Roderick a banquet they prepare;\n  But little doth Count Raymond now for feast or banquet care.\n  They bring him meat and drink, but he repels them with disdain.\n  \"No morsel will I touch,\" said he, \"for all the wealth of Spain.\n  Let soul and body perish now; life why should I prolong,\n  Conquered and captive at the hands of such an ill-breeched throng?\"\n  \"Nay,\" said my Cid; \"take bread and wine; eat, and thou goest free;\n  If not, thy realms in Christendom thou never more shalt see.\"\n  \"Go thou, Don Roderick,\" said the Count, \"eat if thou wilt, but I\n  Have no more lust for meat and drink: I only crave to die.\"\n  Three days, while they the booty share, for all that they entreat,\n  The Count his purpose holds unchanged, refusing still to eat.\n  Then said my Cid, \"I pray thee, Count, take food and trust to me;\n  Thyself and two knights of thy train I promise to set free.\"\n  Glad was Count Raymond in his heart when he the promise heard--\n  \"A marvel that will be, my Cid, if thou dost keep thy word.\"\n  \"Then, Count, take food, and when I see thy hunger satisfied,\n  My word is pledged to let thee go, thyself and two beside.\n  But understand, one farthing's worth I render not again\n  Of what has been in battle lost and won on yonder plain.\n  I give not back the lawful spoils I fairly win in fight;\n  But for mine own and vassals' wants I hold them as my right.\n  My followers are needy men; I cannot if I would;\n  For spoil from thee and others won is all our livelihood.\n  And such, while God's good will it is, must be our daily life,\n  As outcasts forced to wander, with an angry king at strife.\"\n  With lighter heart Count Raymond called for water for his hands,\n  And then with his two gentlemen, sent by the Cid's commands,\n  He blithely sat him down to meat: God! with what gust ate he!\n  And glad was the Campeador such heartiness to see.\n  Quoth he, \"Until thou eat thy fill we part not, Count, to-day.\"\n  \"Nor loth am I,\" Count Raymond said, \"such bidding to obey.\"\n  So he and his two cavaliers a hearty meal they made:\n  It pleased my Cid to watch his hands, how lustily they played.\n  \"Now if thou wilt,\" Count Raymond said, \"that we are satisfied,\n  Bid them to lead the horses forth, that we may mount and ride.\n  Never since I have been a Count have I yet broken fast\n  With such a relish; long shall I remember this repast.\"\n  Three palfreys with caparisons of costly sort they bring,\n  And on the saddles robes of fur and mantles rich they fling.\n  Thus, with a knight on either hand, away Count Raymond rides;\n  While to the outposts of the camp his guests the Champion guides.\n  \"Now speed thee, Count; ride on,\" quoth he, \"a free Frank as thou art.\n  For the brave spoil thou leavest me I thank thee from my heart;\n  And if to win it back again perchance thou hast a mind,\n  Come thou and seek me when thou wilt; I am not far to find.\n  But if it be not to thy taste to try another day,\n  Still, somewhat, be it mine or thine, thou carriest away.\"\n  \"Nay! go in peace for me, my Cid: no more I seek of thee;\n  And thou, I think, for one year's space hast won enough of me.\"\n  He spurred his steed, but, as he rode, a backward glance he bent,\n  Still fearing to the last my Cid his promise would repent:\n  A thing, the world itself to win, my Cid would not have done:\n  No perfidy was ever found in him, the Perfect One.\n                  _Ormsby's Translation._\n\n\n\n\nMY CID'S TRIUMPH.\n\n\nIn the Cortes called by the King of Spain to hear the cause of the Cid,\nwhose daughters had been shamefully treated and deserted by their\nhusbands, the Infantes of Carrion, Ferran and Diego Gonzalez, the Cid\ndemanded the restitution of his swords and of three thousand marks of gold\nand silver he had given the Infantes. These being granted, the Cid spoke\nagain:--\n\n  \"So please your grace! once more upon your clemency I call;\n  A grievance yet remains untold, the greatest grief of all.\n  And let the court give ear, and weigh the wrong that hath been done.\n  I hold myself dishonored by the lords of Carrion.\n  Redress by combat they must yield; none other will I take.\n  How now, Infantes! what excuse, what answer do ye make?\n  Why have ye laid my heartstrings bare? In jest or earnest, say,\n  Have I offended you? and I will make amends to-day.\n  My daughters in your hands I placed the day that forth ye went,\n  And rich in wealth and honors from Valencia were you sent.\n  Why did you carry with you brides ye loved not, treacherous curs?\n  Why tear their flesh in Corpes wood with saddle-girths and spurs,\n  And leave them to the beasts of prey? Villains throughout were ye!\n  What answer ye can make to this 't is for the court to see.\"\n  The Count Garcia was the first that rose to make reply.\n  \"So please ye, gracious king, of all the kings of Spain most high;\n  Strange is the guise in which my Cid before you hath appeared;\n  To grace your summoned court he comes, with that long straggling beard;\n  With awe struck dumb, methinks, are some; some look as though they\n    feared.\n  The noble lords of Carrion of princely race are born;\n  To take the daughters of my Cid for lemans they should scorn;\n  Much more for brides of equal birth: in casting them aside--\n  We care not for his blustering talk--we hold them justified.\"\n  Upstood the Champion, stroked his beard, and grasped it in his hands.\n  \"Thanks be to God above,\" he cried, \"who heaven and earth commands,\n  A long and lordly growth it is, my pleasure and my pride;\n  In this my beard, Garcia, say, what find you to deride?\n  Its nurture since it graced my chin hath ever been my care;\n  No son of woman born hath dared to lay a finger there;\n  No son of Christian or of Moor hath ever plucked a hair.\n  Remember Cabra, Count! of thine the same thou canst not say:\n  On both thy castle and thy beard I laid my hand that day:\n  Nay! not a groom was there but he his handful plucked away.\n  Look, where my hand hath been, my lords, all ragged yet it grows!\"\n  With noisy protest breaking in Ferran Gonzalez rose:\n  \"Cid, let there be an end of this; your gifts you have again,\n  And now no pretext for dispute between us doth remain.\n  Princes of Carrion are we, with fitting brides we mate;\n  Daughters of emperors or kings, not squires of low estate:\n  We brook not such alliances, and yours we rightly spurned.\"\n  My Cid, Ruy Diaz, at the word, quick to Bermuez turned.\n  \"Now is the time, Dumb Peter, speak, O man that sittest mute!\n  My daughters' and thy cousins' name and fame are in dispute;\n  To me they speak, to thee they look to answer every word.\n  If I am left to answer now, thou canst not draw thy sword.\"\n  Tongue-tied Bermuez stood, awhile he strove for words in vain,\n  But, look you, when he once began he made his meaning plain.\n  \"Cid, first I have a word for you: you always are the same,\n  In Cortes ever jibing me, 'Dumb Peter' is the name:\n  It never was a gift of mine, and that long since you knew;\n  But have you found me fail in aught that fell to me to do?\n  You lie, Ferrando; lie in all you say upon that score.\n  The honor was to you, not him, the Cid Campeador;\n  For I know something of your worth, and somewhat I can tell.\n  That day beneath Valencia wall--you recollect it well--\n  You prayed the Cid to place you in the forefront of the fray;\n  You spied a Moor, and valiantly you went that Moor to slay;\n  And then you turned and fled--for his approach, you would not stay.\n  Right soon he would have taught you 't was a sorry game to play,\n  Had I not been in battle there to take your place that day.\n  I slew him at the first onfall; I gave his steed to you;\n  To no man have I told the tale from that hour hitherto.\n  Before the Cid and all his men you got yourself a name,\n  How you in single combat slew a Moor--a deed of fame;\n  And all believed in your exploit; they wist not of your shame.\n  You are a craven at the core; tall, handsome, as you stand:\n  How dare you talk as now you talk, you tongue without a hand?\n  Again, Ferrando, call to mind--another tale for you--\n  That matter of the lion; it was at Valencia too.\n  My Cid lay sleeping when you saw the unchained lion near;\n  What did you do, Ferrando, then, in your agony of fear?\n  Low did you crouch behind the couch whereon the Champion lay:\n  You did, Ferrando, and by that we rate your worth to-day.\n  We gathered round to guard our lord, Valencia's conqueror.\n  He rose, and to the lion went, the brave Campeador;\n  The lion fawned before his feet and let him grasp its mane;\n  He thrust it back into its cage; he turned to us again:\n  His trusty vassals to a man he saw around him there;\n  Where were his sons-in-law? he asked, and none could tell him where.\n  Now take thou my defiance as a traitor, trothless knight:\n  Upon this plea before our King Alfonso will I fight;\n  The daughters of my lord are wronged, their wrong is mine to right.\n  That ye those ladies did desert, the baser are ye then;\n  For what are they?--weak women; and what are ye?--strong men.\n  On every count I deem their cause to be the holier,\n  And I will make thee own it when we meet in battle here.\n  Traitor thou shalt confess thyself, so help me God on high,\n  And all that I have said to-day my sword shall verify.\"\n\n  Thus far these two. Diego rose, and spoke as ye shall hear:\n  \"Counts by our birth are we, of stain our lineage is clear.\n  In this alliance with my Cid there was no parity.\n  If we his daughters cast aside, no cause for shame we see.\n  And little need we care if they in mourning pass their lives,\n  Enduring the reproach that clings to scorned rejected wives.\n  In leaving them we but upheld our honor and our right,\n  And ready to the death am I, maintaining this, to fight.\"\n  Here Martin Antolinez sprang upon his feet: \"False hound!\n  Will you not silent keep that mouth where truth was never found?\n  For you to boast! the lion scare have you forgotten too?\n  How through the open door you rushed, across the court-yard flew;\n  How sprawling in your terror on the wine-press beam you lay?\n  Ay! never more, I trow, you wore the mantle of that day.\n  There is no choice; the issue now the sword alone can try;\n  The daughters of my Cid ye spurned; that must ye justify.\n  On every count I here declare their cause the cause of right,\n  And thou shall own the treachery the day we join in fight.\"\n  He ceased, and striding up the hall Assur Gonzalez passed;\n  His cheek was flushed with wine, for he had stayed to break his fast;\n  Ungirt his robe, and trailing low his ermine mantle hung;\n  Rude was his bearing to the court, and reckless was his tongue.\n  \"What a to-do is here, my lords! was the like ever seen?\n  What talk is this about my Cid--him of Bivar, I mean?\n  To Riodouirna let him go to take his millers' rent,\n  And keep his mills agoing there, as once he was content.\n  He, forsooth, mate his daughters with the Counts of Carrion!\"\n  Up started Mu\u00f1o Gustioz: \"False, foul-mouthed knave, have done!\n  Thou glutton, wont to break thy fast without a thought of prayer,\n  Whose heart is plotting mischief when thy lips are speaking fair;\n  Whose plighted word to friend or lord hath ever proved a lie;\n  False always to thy fellow-man, falser to God on high.\n  No share in thy good will I seek; one only boon I pray,\n  The chance to make thee own thyself the villain that I say.\"\n  Then spoke the king: \"Enough of words: ye have my leave to fight,\n  The challenged and the challengers; and God defend the right.\"\n\n       *        *        *        *        *\n\n  The marshals leave them face to face and from the lists are gone;\n  Here stand the champions of my Cid, there those of Carrion;\n  Each with his gaze intent and fixed upon his chosen foe,\n  Their bucklers braced before their breasts, their lances pointing low,\n  Their heads bent down, as each man leans above his saddle-bow.\n  Then with one impulse every spur is in the charger's side,\n  And earth itself is felt to shake beneath their furious stride;\n  Till, midway meeting, three with three, in struggle fierce they lock,\n  While all account them dead who hear the echo of the shock.\n  Ferrando and his challenger, Pero Bermuez, close;\n  Firm are the lances held, and fair the shields receive the blows.\n  Through Pero's shield Ferrando drove his lance, a bloodless stroke;\n  The point stopped short in empty space, the shaft in splinters broke.\n  But on Bermuez, firm of seat, the shock fell all in vain;\n  And while he took Ferrando's thrust he paid it back again.\n  The armored buckler shattering, right home his lance he pressed,\n  Driving the point through boss and plate against his foeman's breast.\n  Three folds of mail Ferrando wore, they stood him in good stead;\n  Two yielded to the lance's point, the third held fast the head.\n  But forced into the flesh it sank a hand's breadth deep or more,\n  Till bursting from the gasping lips in torrents gushed the gore.\n  Then, the girths breaking, o'er the croup borne rudely to the ground,\n  He lay, a dying man it seemed to all who stood around.\n  Bermuez cast his lance aside, and sword in hand came on;\n  Ferrando saw the blade he bore, he knew it was Tizon:\n  Quick ere the dreaded brand could fall, \"I yield me,\" came the cry.\n  Vanquished the marshals granted him, and Pero let him lie.\n\n  And Martin Antolinez and Diego--fair and true\n  Each struck upon the other's shield, and wide the splinters flew.\n  Then Antolinez seized his sword, and as he drew the blade,\n  A dazzling gleam of burnished steel across the meadow played;\n  And at Diego striking full, athwart the helmet's crown,\n  Sheer through the steel plates of the casque he drove the falchion down,\n  Through coif and scarf, till from the scalp the locks it razed away,\n  And half shorn off and half upheld the shattered head-piece lay.\n  Reeling beneath the blow that proved Colada's cruel might,\n  Diego saw no chance but one, no safety save in flight:\n  He wheeled and fled, but close behind him Antolinez drew;\n  With the flat blade a hasty blow he dealt him as he flew;\n  But idle was Diego's sword; he shrieked to Heaven for aid:\n  \"O God of glory, give me help! save me from yonder blade!\"\n  Unreined, his good steed bore him safe and swept him past the bound,\n  And Martin Antolinez stood alone upon the ground.\n  \"Come hither,\" said the king; \"thus far the conquerors are ye.\"\n  And fairly fought and won the field the marshals both agree.\n  So much for these, and how they fought: remains to tell you yet\n  How meanwhile Mu\u00f1o Gustioz Assur Gonzalez met.\n  With a strong arm and steady aim each struck the other's shield,\n  And under Assur's sturdy thrusts the plates of Mu\u00f1o's yield;\n  But harmless passed the lance's point, and spent its force in air.\n  Not so Don Mu\u00f1o's; on the shield of Assur striking fair,\n  Through plate and boss and foeman's breast his pennoned lance he sent,\n  Till out between the shoulder blades a fathom's length it went.\n  Then, as the lance he plucked away, clear from the saddle swung,\n  With one strong wrench of Muno's wrist to earth was Assur flung;\n  And back it came, shaft, pennon, blade, all stained a gory red;\n  Nor was there one of all the crowd but counted Assur sped,\n  While o'er him Mu\u00f1o Gustioz stood with uplifted brand.\n  Then cried Gonzalo Assurez: \"In God's name hold thy hand!\n  Already have ye won the field; no more is needed now.\"\n  And said the marshals, \"It is just, and we the claim allow.\"\n  And then the King Alfonso gave command to clear the ground,\n  And gather in the relics of the battle strewed around.\n  And from the field in honor went Don Roderick's champions three.\n  Thanks be to God, the Lord of all, that gave the victory.\n\n  But fearing treachery, that night upon their way they went,\n  As King Alfonso's honored guests in safety homeward sent,\n  And to Valencia city day and night they journeyed on,\n  To tell my Cid Campeador that his behest was done.\n  But in the lands of Carrion it was a day of woe,\n  And on the lords of Carrion it fell a heavy blow.\n  He who a noble lady wrongs and casts aside--may he\n  Meet like requital for his deeds, or worse, if worse there be.\n  But let us leave them where they lie--their meed is all men's scorn.\n\n  Turn we to speak of him that in a happy hour was born.\n  Valencia the Great was glad, rejoiced at heart to see\n  The honored champions of her lord return in victory:\n  And Ruy Diaz grasped his beard: \"Thanks be to God,\" said he,\n  \"Of part or lot in Carrion now are my daughters free;\n  Now may I give them without shame whoe'er the suitors be.\"\n  And favored by the king himself, Alfonso of Leon,\n  Prosperous was the wooing of Navarre and Aragon,\n  The bridals of Elvira and of Sol in splendor passed;\n  Stately the former nuptials were, but statelier far the _hast_.\n  And he that in a good hour was born, behold how he _hath_ sped!\n  His daughters now to higher rank and greater honor wed:\n  Sought by Navarre and Aragon for queens his daughters twain;\n  And monarchs of his blood to-day upon the thrones of Spain.\n  And so his honor in the land grows greater day by day.\n  Upon the feast of Pentecost from life he passed away.\n  For him and all of us the Grace of Christ let us implore.\n  And here ye have the story of my Cid Campeador.\n  _Ormsby's Translation._\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE DIVINE COMEDY.\n\n \"This Poem of the earth and air,\n  This mediaeval miracle of song.\"\n\n\nDante Alighieri was born at Florence, in May, 1265. His family belonged to\nthe Guelph, or Papal faction, and he early took part in the struggle\nbetween the parties. In 1274 he first saw Beatrice Portinari, and he says\nof this meeting in the \"Vita Nuova,\" \"I say that thenceforward Love swayed\nmy soul, which was even then espoused to him.\" Beatrice died in 1290, and\nDante married Gemma Donati, between 1291 and 1294. In 1295 he joined the\nArt of Druggists, in order to become a member of the Administrative\nCouncil. In 1300 he was made Prior, and in 1301, when the Neri entered\nFlorence, he was exiled, his property confiscated, and himself sentenced\nto be burned, if found within the republic. After this he became a\nGhibeline, and took up arms against the city with his fellow-exiles, but\nwithdrew from their council at last because of disagreements, and\nseparating from them, spent his time at Verona, Padua, Sunigianda, and in\nthe monastery of Gubbio. In 1316 the government of Florence issued a\ndecree allowing the exiles to return on payment of a fine; but Dante\nindignantly refused to acknowledge thus that he had been in the wrong. He\nwas in Ravenna in 1320, and died there Sept. 14, 1321, on his return from\nan embassy to Venice.\n\nThe \"Commedia\" was written during Dante's nineteen years of exile. The\nthree parts, Hell, Purgatory, and Paradise, are emblematic of the\nthreefold state of man,--sin, grace, and beatitude. The thirty-three\ncantos into which each part is divided, are in allusion to the years of\nthe Saviour's life, and the triple rhyme suggests the Trinity.\n\nThe Divine Comedy is written in the _terza rima_, which consists of three\nverses arranged in such a way that the middle line of each triplet rhymes\nwith the first or third verse of the succeeding triplet.\n\nThe entire time occupied in the \"Commedia\" is eleven days, from March 25\nto April 5, 1300.\n\nDante called the poem a comedy because of its prosperous ending. The\nprefix \"divine\" was given it later by its admirers.\n\nThe Divine Comedy is sometimes called the epic of mediaevalism, and again,\nthe epic of man. Dante himself said: \"The subject of the whole work, then,\ntaken literally, is the state of the soul after death, regarded as a\nmatter of fact; for the action of the whole work deals with this and is\nabout this. But if the work be taken allegorically, its subject is man, in\nso far as by merit or demerit in the exercise of free will, he is exposed\nto the rewards or punishment of justice.\"\n\nFor a time the Divine Comedy was neglected, and even in comparatively\nrecent times the Inferno was the only portion read; but of late years\nthere has been a re-awakening of interest in regard to the whole poem.\n\nIn no other of the epics has the author put so much of himself as Dante\nhas in the \"Commedia.\" It was he himself who saw this vision; he himself,\nproud, tortured, who carried the sense of his wrongs with him through Hell\nand Purgatory, even into Paradise. We learn the history of his times, all\nthe crimes committed by men in high position, and we also learn the\nhistory of the unhappy Florentine, of whose poem it has been said, \"none\nother in the world is so deeply and universally sorrowful.\"\n\n\n\n\nBIBLIOGRAPHY AND CRITICISM, THE DIVINE COMEDY.\n\n\nJ. Colomb de Batines's Bibliografia Dantesca, 2 vols., 1846;\n\nWilliam Coolidge Lane's The Dante collections in the Harvard College and\nBoston Public Libraries (Bibliographical contributions of the library of\nHarvard University, 1885);\n\nWilliam Coolidge Lane's Additions to the Dante collection in the Harvard\nLibrary (see the Annual Reports of the Dante Society of Cambridge, Mass.,\n1887);\n\nBrother Azarius's Spiritual Sense of the Divina Commedia (in his Phases of\nThought and Criticism, 1892, pp. 125-182);\n\nHenry Clark Barlow's Critical Contributions to the Study of the Divine\nComedy, 1865;\n\nHerbert Baynes's Dante and his Ideal, 1891;\n\nVincenzo Botta's Introduction to the Study of Dante, 1887;\n\nOscar Browning's Dante, his Life and Writing, 1890, pp. 70-104;\n\nA. J. Butler's Dante, his Time and Work, 1895;\n\nRichard William Church's Dante and Other Essays, 1888, pp. 1-191;\n\nJ. Farrazzi's Manuale Dantesco, 5 vols., 1865-77;\n\nWilliam Torrey Harris's Spiritual Sense of Dante's Divina Commedia, 1890;\n\nFrancis Hettinger's Dante's Divina Commedia, its Scope and Value, Tr. by\nH. S. Bowden, 1887 (Roman Catholic standpoint);\n\nJ. R. Lowell's Essay on Dante (in his Among my Books, 1876);\n\nLewis E. Mott's Dante and Beatrice, an Essay on Interpretation, 1892;\n\nGiovanni Andrea Scartazzini's A Companion to Dante, from the German, by A.\nJ. Butler, 1892;\n\nDenton J. Snider's Dante's Inferno: a Commentary, 1892;\n\nAugustus Hopkins Strong's Dante and the Divine Comedy (in his Philosophy\nand Religion, 1888, pp. 501-524);\n\nJohn Addington Symonds's An Introduction to the Study of Dante, Ed. 2,\n1890;\n\nPaget Toynbee's Dictionary of the Divina Commedia, 2 parts;\n\nWilliam Warren Vernon's Readings on the Purgatorio of Dante, chiefly based\non the Commentary of Benvenuto da Imola; Intro. by the Dean of St. Paul's,\n2 vols., 1889;\n\nDr. Edward Moore's Time References in the Divina Commedia, London, 1887;\n\nDr. E. Moore's Contributions to the Textual Criticism of the Divina\nCommedia, Cambridge, 1889.\n\n\n\n\nSTANDARD ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS, THE DIVINE COMEDY.\n\n\nThe Divine Comedy, the Inferno, a literal prose translation with the text\nof the original collated from the best editions, with explanatory notes by\nJ. A. Carlyle, Ed. 6, 1891 (contains valuable chapters on manuscripts,\ntranslations, etc.);\n\nDivina Commedia, edited with translation and notes by A. J. Butler, 1892;\n\nVision of Hell, Purgatory, and Paradise, Tr. by H. F. Cary, 1888;\n\nThe Divine Comedy, Tr. by H. W. Longfellow, 1887;\n\nThe Divine Comedy, Tr. by C. E. Norton, 1891-92 (rhythmical prose\ntranslation);\n\nThe Divine Comedy, Tr. of the Commedia and Lanzoniere, notes, essays, and\nbiographical introduction by E. H. Plumptre, 1887;\n\nDivina Commedia, Tr. into English verse with notes and illustrations by J.\nA. Wilstach, 2 vols., 1888.\n\n\n\n\nTHE DIVINE COMEDY.\n\nTHE HELL.\n\n\nThe Hell conceived by Dante was made by the falling of Lucifer to the\ncentre of the earth. It was directly under Jerusalem. The earth, displaced\nby Lucifer's fall, made the Mount of Purgatory, which was the antipodes of\nJerusalem.\n\nThe unbarred entrance gate, over which stands the inscription, \"Leave hope\nbehind, all ye who enter here,\" leads into a Vestibule, or Ante-Hell, a\ndark plain separated from Hell proper by the river Acheron. Hell proper\nthen falls into three great divisions for the punishment of the sins of\nIncontinence, Bestiality, and Malice, which are punished in nine circles,\neach circle sub-divided. Circle One is the Limbo of the Unbaptized.\nCircles Two, Three, Four, and Five are reserved for the punishment of the\nsins of Incontinence, Lasciviousness, Gluttony, Avarice with Prodigality,\nand Anger with Melancholy. In Circle Six is punished the sin of\nBestiality, under which fall Infidelity and Heresiarchy, Bestiality having\nhere its Italian meaning of folly. In Circles Seven and Eight is punished\nMalice, subdivided into Violence and Fraud. There are three divisions of\nViolence,--the Violent against their neighbors (Tyrants, Murderers, etc.);\nthe Violent against themselves (Suicides); and the violent against God\n(Blasphemers, etc.); and ten divisions of Circle Eight,--Fraud, _i.e._,\nSeducers, Flatterers, Simoniacs, Soothsayers, Barrators, Hypocrites,\nThieves, False Counsellors, Schismatics, and Forgers and Falsifiers. Below\nthese ten pits yawns the well of the giants, above which the giants tower\nso that half their persons is visible. Within this well in Circle Nine is\nCocytus, a lake of ice divided into four belts,--Caina, Antenora,\nPtolemaea, and Judecca, where are punished, respectively, the Betrayers of\ntheir kindred, of their country, of their friends and guests, and of their\nbenefactors. At the bottom of the pit is Lucifer, half above the ice and\nhalf below it, the centre of his body being the centre of gravity.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE DIVINE COMEDY.\n\nTHE HELL.\n\n\nThe poet Dante, in the thirty-fifth year of his life, this being the year\n1300 A. D., on New Year's day of the old reckoning, lost his way in a\nrough and thorny forest, and when he attempted to regain it by mounting a\nhill that rose before him resplendent in sunshine, encountered a leopard,\na lion, and a wolf. Driven back by these, and utterly despairing of\nrescue, he met one who declared himself to be that Vergil who had sung the\nfall of Troy and the flight of Aeneas, and who promised to take him through\nthe lower world and Purgatory, even unto Paradise. Dante questioned why it\nwas permitted to him to take the journey denied to so many others, and was\ntold that Vergil had been sent to his rescue by the beauteous Beatrice,\nlong since in Paradise. When the poet, trembling with fear, heard that the\nshining eyes of Beatrice had wept over his danger in the forest, and that\nshe had sought the gates of hell to effect his rescue, his strength was\nrenewed, even as the flowers, chilled by the frosts of night, uplift\nthemselves in the bright light of the morning sun; and he entered without\nfear on the deep and savage way.\n\nThis allegory, being interpreted, probably means that the poet, entangled\nin the dark forest of political anarchy, was driven from the hill of civil\norder by the Leopard of Pleasure (Florence), the Lion of Ambition\n(France), and the Wolf of Avarice (Rome), and was by divine grace granted\na vision of the three worlds that he might realize what comes after death,\nand be the more firmly established in the right political\nfaith,--Ghibellinism.\n\n\"Through me is the way into the sorrowful city; into eternal dole among\nthe lost people. Justice incited my sublime Creator. Divine Omnipotence,\nthe highest wisdom, and the Primal Love created me. Before me, there were\nno created things. Only eternal, and I eternal, last. Abandon hope, all ye\nwho enter here!\"\n\nSuch was the inscription over the doorway, after the reading of which\nDante's ears were assailed by words of agony and heart-rending cries.\n\"This,\" said Vergil, \"is the home of those melancholy souls who lived\nwithout infamy and without praise. Cowards and selfish in life, they are\ndenied even entrance to hell.\" As they looked, a long train passed by,\nstung by gadflies and following a whirling standard.\n\nCharon, about whose eyes were wheels of flame, endeavored to drive the\npoet and his guide away as they stood among the weary and naked souls that\ngathered shivering on the margin of Acheron; but as a blast of wind and a\nburst of crimson light caused a deep sleep to fall on the poet, he was\nwafted across the river, and awaking he found himself in the Limbo of the\nUnbaptized, the first of the nine circles of hell, where were the souls of\nmany men, women, and infants, whose only punishment was, without hope, to\nlive on in desire. Here was no torment, only the sadness caused by the\never-unsatisfied longing for the ever-denied divine grace. This was\nVergil's abode, and in the noble castles set among the green enamelled\nmeadows dwelt Homer, Horace, and Ovid, Electra, Hector, and Camilla.\n\nPassing down a narrow walk into a region of semi-darkness, they entered\nthe second circle, where Minos stood, judging the sinners and girding\nhimself with his tail as many times as was the number of the circle to\nwhich the spirit was to go. Here in darkness and storm were the carnal\nsinners, whose punishment was to be beaten hither and thither by the\nwinds,--Semiramis, Dido, Cleopatra, Paris, Tristan, and all those who had\nsinned for love, and here Dante conversed with the spirit of Francesca da\nRimini, whom he had known in life, and her lover Paolo, slain for their\nsin by her husband. Though there is no greater sorrow than to be mindful\nof the happy time in misery, she assured Dante that the sorrows of Hell\nwere lightened by the presence of Paolo.\n\nAt the sight of Paolo's grief Dante fell swooning with pity, and awoke to\nfind himself in the circle where a cold rain fell forever on the gluttons.\nCerberus guarded the entrance, and now and again devoured the unhappy ones\nwho lay prone on their faces in the murk and mire. Here Ciacco of Florence\nrecognized and spoke with Dante, falling back in the mire as the poet\npassed on, to rise no more until the Day of Judgment.\n\nPlutus guarded the fourth circle, where were confined the avaricious and\nprodigal, who, divided into two bands, rolled weights against each other,\nuttering wretched insults. Down the sloping banks to the marsh of the Styx\nthe poets went, past the sullen and angry, who in life refused the comfort\nof the sweet air and gladdening sun, and were in consequence doomed\nforever to remain buried in the sullen mire. As Dante and Vergil passed\nover the Styx in the boat of the vile Phlegyas, Dante was saluted by the\nspirit of the once haughty and arrogant Philippo Argenti, whom he\nrepulsed, and gladly saw set upon and torn by the people of the mire.\n\nThen appeared to him the mosques of the city of Dis, within the valley,\nvermilion-hued from the fire eternal. Deep were the moats; the walls\nappeared to be of iron. Upon the flaming summit sat the Furies, stained\nwith blood, begirt with Hydras. Here even Vergil trembled as they waited\nthe arrival of one sent from Heaven to open the gate and admit them.\n\nWithin, over the plain, were scattered sepulchres heated red hot, with\nuplifted coverings, from which issued forth dire laments from the Infidels\nand Heresiarchs tormented within. To Farinata degli Uberti, who rose from\nhis tomb to ask the news of Florence, Dante spoke, observing in the mean\ntime a shade that, on hearing the Tuscan tongue, rose next Uberti,\nquestioning, \"Where is my son, my Guido?\" Fancying from the poet's delay\nin answering, and his use of the past tense, that his beloved child no\nlonger enjoyed the sweet light, Cavalcante fell back and appeared no more.\n\nLeaving the dismal plain, whose countless tombs would remain open until\nthe Judgment Day, the poets entered upon the next and seventh circle,\ncomposed of three smaller circles in which were punished the Violent\nagainst their neighbors, against nature, and against God. The steep banks\nof the ravine were guarded by the huge Minotaur, from which Dante and\nVergil escaped only by running.\n\nWithin Phlegethon, the boiling river of blood, stood the tyrants, among\nwhom were Dionysius, Azzolin, and Attila, uttering loud laments. If they\nventured to stir from their place of torment they were pierced by the\narrows of the Centaurs that guarded the banks. The Centaur Nessus conveyed\nDante across the river into the second circle, the dolorous forest, where\nthe Violent against nature, the Suicides, were transformed into closely\nset, twisted thorn-trees, infested with harpies that fed on their leaves,\ninflicting perpetual pain; thence into the third circle, where the Violent\nagainst God, chief among whom was the arrogant Capaneus, dwelt in a sandy\nplain surrounded by the dolorous forest. Upon the naked souls, some of\nwhom were lying supine, some crouching, others moving about continually,\nfell a perpetual shower of flakes of fire.\n\nPicking their way along the edge of the forest, not daring to step on the\nsand waste, the poets came upon a little blood-red rivulet quenching the\nflames above it, Phlegethon again, formed by the rivers Acheron and Styx,\nwhose source is the tears of Time. As they skirted the forest they saw a\ntroop of spirits hastening past, one of whom, after a sharp look, grasped\nDante's garment exclaiming, \"What a wonder!\" The baked countenance, the\nghastly face, was that of his old teacher Ser Brunetto, who not daring to\nstop for fear of increasing his punishment, followed him, questioning him\non his appearance below, and comforting him by the assurance of his future\ngreatness. Deep were the burns in the limbs of the other Florentines Dante\nmet below, to whom he gave tidings of the state of affairs in their former\nhome.\n\nMounting on the shoulders of the hideous monster Geryon, the poets were\ncarried into a fearful abyss whose sides were Alp-like in steepness. This\nwas the eighth circle, Malebolge, or Evil pits, consisting of ten\nconcentric bolge, or ditches of stone with dikes between and rough bridges\nrunning across them to the centre.\n\nIn the first pit Jason and other deceivers of women were being lashed by\nhorned demons. In pit two, a Florentine friend of Dante's was submerged\nwith others in filth as a punishment for flattery. In pit three the\nSimoniacs were placed head down in purses in the earth, their projecting\nfeet tortured with flames. The poets crossed the bridge, and Vergil\ncarried Dante down the sloping bank so that he could speak to one who\nproved to be the unhappy Nicholas III., who accused Boniface for his evil\ndeeds and expressed a longing for his arrival in this place of torture.\nFrom the next bridge-top Dante dimly perceived the slow procession of\nweeping soothsayers with heads reversed on their shoulders. There walked\nAmphiarus, Tiresias, Manto, and Michael Scott. So great was Dante's sorrow\non beholding the misery of these men who had once been held in such great\nesteem, that he leaned against a crag and wept until reproved by Vergil as\na reprobate for feeling compassion at the doom divine. Through the\nsemi-darkness the poets looked down into pit five, where devils with\nfantastic names pitched barrators into a lake of boiling pitch and speared\nthose who dared to raise their heads above the surface. From these Evil\nClaws Dante and Vergil escaped only by running into the sixth pit, where\nwalked the hypocrites in richly gilded mantles. When Dante wondered at\ntheir weary faces and their tears, he was told by two of the Frati\nGaudenti (Jolly Friars) of Florence who suffered here, that the cloaks and\nhoods were of heaviest lead, a load that grew more irksome with the ages.\nCaiaphas, Annas, and the members of the council that condemned Christ lay\non the ground transfixed with stakes, and over their bodies passed the\nslow moving train of the hypocrites. The next bridge lay in ruins as a\nresult of the earthquake at the Crucifixion, and Vergil experienced the\nutmost difficulty in conveying Dante up the crags to a point where he\ncould look down into the dark dungeon of thieves, where the naked throng\nwere entwined with serpents and at their bite changed from man to serpent\nand back again. Some burned and fell into ashes at the venomous bite, only\nto rise again and suffer new tortures. Here Dante spoke with Vanni Fucci\nof Pistoja, who robbed the sacristy of Florence, and whose face \"was\npainted with a melancholy shame\" at being seen in his misery. The eighth\npit was brightly lighted by the flames that moved back and forth, each\nconcealing within an evil counsellor. Ulysses and Diomed walked together\nin a flame cleft at the top, for the crime of robbing Deidamia of\nAchilles, of stealing the Palladium, and of fabricating the Trojan horse.\nAs Dante looked into pit nine he saw a troop compelled to pass continually\nby a demon with a sharp sword who mutilated each one each time he made the\nround of the circle, so that the wounds never healed. These were the evil\ncounsellors. Mahomet was there; there too was Ali. But ghastliest of\nsights was that of a headless trunk walking through the grim plain,\nholding its severed head by the hair like a lantern, and exclaiming \"O\nme!\" This was the notorious Bertrand de Born, the Troubadour, who had\ncaused dissension between Henry II. of England and his son. Among this\nthrong Dante recognized his kinsman Geri del Bello, who gave him a\ndisdainful look because he had not yet avenged his death. From the tenth\nand last pit of Malebolge came a stench as great as though it came from\nall the hospitals of Valdichiana, Maremma, and Sardinia, between July and\nSeptember. All the loathsome diseases were gathered into this moat to\nafflict the forgers and falsifiers. Here Dante saw Athamas, mad king of\nThebes, the mad Gianni Schicchi, and Messer Adam of Brescia, the false\ncoiner, who, distorted with dropsy, was perishing of thirst, and thinking\nconstantly of the cool rivulets that descended from the verdant hills of\nCasentino.\n\nAs Dante and his guide turned their backs on the wretched valley and\nascended the bank that surrounded it, the blare of a loud horn fell upon\ntheir ears, louder than Roland's blast at Roncesvalles. This came from the\nplain of the giants between Malebolge and the mouth of the infernal pit.\nAll around the pit, or well, were set the giants with half their bodies\nfixed in earth. Nimrod, as a punishment for building the tower of Babel,\ncould speak no language, but babbled some gibberish. Ephialtes, Briareus,\nand Antaeus were here, all horrible in aspect; Antaeus, less savage than\nthe others, lifted the two poets, and stooping set them down in the pit\nbelow. This was the last and ninth circle, a dismal pit for the punishment\nof traitors, who were frozen in the vast lake that Cocytus formed here. In\nCaina were the brothers Alessandro and Napoleone degli Alberti, mutual\nfratricides, their heads frozen together. In Antenora was that Guelph\nBocca who had caused his party's defeat; but the most horrible sight they\nencountered was in Ptolemaea, where Count Ugolino, who had been shut up\nwith his sons and grandsons in a tower to starve by the Archbishop\nRuggieri, was now revenging himself in their place of torture by\ncontinually gnawing the archbishop's head, frozen in the ice next his own.\nFarther down they walked among those who, when they shed tears over their\nwoe had their teardrops frozen, so that even this solace was soon denied\nthem. Dante promised to break the frozen veil from the eyes of one who\nprayed for aid, but when he learned that it was the Friar Alberigo, whose\nbody was still on earth, and whose soul was already undergoing punishment,\nhe refused, \"for to be rude to him was courtesy.\"\n\nIn the fourth and last division of the ninth circle, the Judecca, a strong\nwind was blowing. Then Dante saw the emperor of the kingdom frozen in the\nice, a mighty giant foul to look upon, with three faces, vermilion, white\nand yellow, and black. The waving of his two featherless wings caused the\ngreat winds that froze Cocytus. Teardrops fell from his six eyes; in each\nmouth he was crunching a sinner, Judas Iscariot, Brutus, and Cassius.\n\nBeing warned by Vergil that it was time to depart, Dante clasped his guide\naround his neck, and Vergil began to climb down the huge monster until\nthey reached his middle, the centre of gravity, where with much difficulty\nthey turned and climbed upward along the subterranean course of Lethe,\nuntil they again beheld the stars.\n\n\n\n\nTHE DIVINE COMEDY.\n\nTHE PURGATORY.\n\n\nThe Purgatory of Dante is situated on a mountain top on the opposite side\nof the earth from Jerusalem, and is surrounded by the western ocean. The\nsouls of those who go there collect on the banks of the Tiber, and are\ntaken to the mountain in a boat by an angel pilot. The shores of the\nisland are covered with the reeds of humility. Around the base of the\nmount dwell the souls that, repenting late, must \"expiate each year of\ndeferred penitence with thirty years of deferred Purgatory\" unless the\ntime be shortened by the prayers of their friends on earth. There are\nthree stages of this Ante-Purgatory: the first, for those who put off\nconversion through negligence; the second, for those who died by violence\nand repented while dying; the third, for those monarchs who were too much\nabsorbed in earthly greatness to give much thought to the world to come.\nThe ascent of the terraces, as also those of Purgatory proper, is very\ndifficult, and is not allowed to be made after sunset. The gate of St.\nPeter separates Ante-Purgatory from Purgatory proper. Three steps, the\nfirst of polished white marble, the second of purple, rough and cracked,\nand the third of blood-red porphyry, signifying confession, contrition,\nand penance, lead to the gate where sits the angel clad in a penitential\nrobe, with the gold and silver keys with which to unlock the outer and\ninner gates. Purgatory proper consists of seven terraces, in each of which\none of the seven capital sins, Pride, Anger, Sloth, Avarice, Gluttony, and\nLasciviousness are punished; Pride first, because no other sin can be\npurged from the body until this deepest sin is eliminated. The soul,\ncleansed of these sins, mounts to the terrestrial paradise, which, above\nthe sphere of air, crowns the Mount of Purgatory.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE DIVINE COMEDY.\n\nTHE PURGATORY.\n\n\nAs morning dawned and the poets slowly climbed out of the infernal region\nand stepped upon the isle from which the Mount of Purgatory rises, they\nwere accosted by an old man with long white hair and beard, Cato of Utica,\nwho demanded the reason of their coming, and only permitted them to remain\nwhen he heard that a lady from Heaven had given the command. Then he\nordered Vergil to lave the smoke of Hell from Dante's face in the waves of\nthe sea, and to gird him with the reed of humility. As the sun rose a\nradiant angel, guiding a boat laden with souls, appeared, and the poets\nfell on their knees until he departed.\n\nAs the newly-landed spirits questioned Vergil of the way up the mountain,\nDante recognized among them his beloved friend Casella, the musician, and\ntried in vain to embrace his spirit body. At Dante's request, Casella\nbegan to sing, and the enchanted spirits were scattered only by the\nchiding voice of Cato.\n\nVergil surveyed the insurmountable height before them, and hastened with\nDante to inquire the way of a troop of souls coming towards them. As they\ntalked, Dante recognized one, blond and smiling, with a gash over one\neyebrow and another over his heart. It was Manfredi, King of Apulia and\nSicily, who was slain at Benevento by Charles of Anjou, and, being under\nexcommunication, was not allowed Christian burial. He asked Dante to make\nhim happy by telling his daughter that by faith he was saved from eternal\ndestruction, but because of his sins he must spend thirty times the time\nthat his presumption had endured at the foot of the mount, unless his time\nwas shortened by the righteous prayers of his friends on earth.\n\nIt was with the greatest difficulty that the poets clambered up the steep\nand narrow path to the next terrace, and only the assurance that the\nascent would grow easier as he neared the summit sustained Dante. As\nVergil explained to him while resting on the next terrace that the sun\nappeared on his left because Purgatory and Jerusalem were in different\nhemispheres, some one spoke, and turning they saw a group of persons in an\nattitude of indolence, among them a Florentine acquaintance, Belacqua, a\nmaker of musical instruments, who sat waiting the length of another\nlifetime for admission above because he had postponed conversion from time\nto time, through negligence.\n\nProceeding, the poets met a concourse of souls who had suffered violent\ndeath, chanting the Miserere, who perceiving Dante to be living, sent\nmessages to their friends on earth. Among these were Giacopo del Cassero\nand Buonconte di Montefeltro, son of Dante's friend, Guido di Montefeltro,\nwho fell in the battle of Campaldino, in which Dante had taken part.\nWounded in the neck, he fell, and had just time to breathe a prayer to\nMary, thus saving his soul from the Evil One, who was so incensed that,\nraising a great storm, he caused the rivers to overflow and sweep away the\nlifeless body, tearing from it the cross he had made with his arms in his\nlast agony, and burying it in the mire of the Arno. The third shade bade\nhim think of her when, returned home, he sang of his journey. She was Pia,\nborn at Sienna, who died at Maremma, by the hand of her husband.\n\nDante at last managed to escape from these shades, who implored him to ask\nfor prayers for them on earth, and moved on with Vergil until they met the\nhaughty shade of Sordello, who clasped Vergil in his arms when he learned\nhe was a Mantuan. Touched by this expression of love for his native land,\nDante launched into an apostrophe to degenerate Italy, to that German\nAlbert who refused to save the country groaning under oppression, and to\nlost Florence, torn by internecine wars.\n\nWhen Sordello learned that the Mantuan shade was Vergil, he humbled\nhimself before him, and paid him reverence, asking eagerly in what part of\nthe underworld he dwelt. The sun was sinking, and as the poets could not\nascend by night, he urged them to pass the night with him. Leading them to\na vale carpeted with emerald grass and brilliant with flowers, he pointed\nout the shades singing \"Salve Regina\" as the Emperor Rudolph,--he who made\nan effort to heal sick Italy,--Philip III. of France, Charles I. of\nNaples, and Henry III. of England. As the hour of twilight approached,\nthat hour in which the sailor thinks of home, and the pilgrim thrills at\nthe sound of vesper bells, Dante beheld a shade arise, and lifting its\npalms begin to sing the vesper hymn. Soon two radiant angels clad in\ndelicate green descended from Heaven, holding flaming swords. These,\nSordello explained, were to keep off the serpent that threatened this fair\nvale at night.\n\nAs the hour of night approached in which the swallow laments its woes,\nDante fell asleep on the grass and dreamed that he was Ganymede snatched\nfrom Mt. Ida by Jove's eagle. Awaking, he found himself alone with Vergil\nin a strange place, with the sun two hours high. Lucia, symbolical of the\nenlightening grace of Heaven, had conveyed him to the spot and pointed out\nto Vergil the gate of Purgatory. Cheered and confident, he rose, and they\nwent together to the portal and mounted the three steps, the first of\nshining white marble, the second of purple stone, cracked and burnt, and\nthe third of flaming red porphyry. There, on the diamond threshold, sat an\nangel with a naked sword, clad in a robe of ashen gray, whose face was too\nbright to look upon. When Dante fell on his knees and implored entrance,\nthe angel imprinted on his forehead seven \"P\"'s for the seven sins\n(Peccata), and opening the gate with the gold and silver keys, ushered\nthem into the mighty portals. \"From Peter I have these keys. Me he\ninstructed to err rather in opening than in keeping shut. But see that ye\nlook not behind, or ye will at once return.\"\n\nWith much difficulty the two poets ascended the steep and winding path,\nand paused to view the wonderful sculptures on the embankment, that would\nput Nature herself to shame, so natural were they. Many examples of\nHumility were there portrayed,--the Virgin Mary, the Holy Ark, drawn by\noxen, the Psalmist dancing before the Lord, while Michal looked forth in\nscorn from her palace window, and Trajan, yielding to the widow's prayer.\nAs they stood there, the souls came in sight. \"Reader, attend not to the\nfashion of the torment, but think of what follows.\" The unhappy ones crept\naround the terrace, bowed under a heavy burden of stones, and the most\npatient, as he bent under his burden, exclaimed, with tears, \"I can do no\nmore!\" As they walked they repeated the Lord's Prayer, and kept their eyes\nfixed on the life-like sculptures on the floor of those who had suffered\nbefore them for the sins of pride: Lucifer, falling from Heaven; Briareus\nand Nimrod overcome by the bolts of Jove; Niobe, weeping among her dead\nchildren; Cyrus's head taunted by Tomyris; Troy humbled in ashes.\n\nAs Vergil approached the penitents to inquire the way to the next terrace,\nhe and Dante were invited to join the procession and talk with one who\ncould not lift his face enough to see them. This was Omberto, who had been\nslain by the Siennese for his unbearable pride. Dante also talked with his\nfriend Oderigi, an illuminator of manuscript, who now humbly acknowledged\nthat he was far surpassed by Franco Bolognese. \"What is mundane glory?\" he\nexclaimed, as he pointed out Provenzano Salvani, with whose fame Tuscany\nonce rang, but who barely escaped Hell by his voluntary humiliation for a\nfriend. \"Lift up thy face!\" commanded Vergil, as Dante walked with his\nhead bowed, absorbed in the floor-sculptures; and as he looked, the\nwhite-robed angel whose face was like \"a tremulous flame\" approached, and\nstruck Dante's forehead with his wings. Dante marvelled at the ease with\nwhich he mounted, until his master explained that the heaviest sin, the\nsin that underlies all others, had fallen from him when the angel struck\nthe \"P\" from his forehead, and that the ascent would grow still lighter\nfrom terrace to terrace. \"Blessed are the poor in spirit!\" sung by sweet\nvoices, greeted the mounting poets.\n\nThe second terrace was of livid stone unrelieved by any sculpture. The air\nwas full of voices inculcating charity and self-denial, and others\nlamenting the sin of envy. Here envy was punished, and here the sharpest\npain pierced Dante's heart as he saw the penitents sit shoulder to\nshoulder against the cliff, robed in sackcloth of the same livid color,\ntheir eyelids, through which bitter tears trickled, sewed together with\nwire. Sapia of Sienna first greeted Dante and entreated him to pray for\nher. When she had told how, after having been banished from her city, she\nhad prayed that her townsman might be defeated by the Florentines, Dante\npassed on and spoke with Guido of Duca, who launched into an invective\nagainst Florence to his companion Rinieri. \"The whole valley of the Arno\nis so vile that its very name should die. Wonder not at my tears, Tuscan,\nwhen I recall the great names of the past, and compare them with the curs\nwho have fallen heir to them. Those counts are happiest who have left no\nfamilies.\" Guido himself was punished on this terrace because of his envy\nof every joyous man, and the spirit with whom he talked was Rinieri, whose\nline had once been highly honored. \"Go, Tuscan,\" exclaimed Guido, \"better\nnow I love my grief than speech.\" As the poets passed on, the air was\nfilled with the lamentations of sinful but now repentant spirits.\n\nDazzled by the Angel's splendor, the poets passed up the stairs to the\nthird terrace, Dante in the mean time asking an explanation of Guido's\nwords on joint resolve and trust.\n\n\"The less one thinks of another's possessions,\" replied his guide, \"and\nthe more he speaks of 'our' instead of 'my,' the more of the Infinite Good\nflows towards him. If you thirst for further instruction, await the coming\nof Beatrice.\"\n\nAs they attained the next height, Dante, rapt in vision, saw the sweet\nMother questioning her Son in the Temple, saw Pisistratus, his queen, and\nthe martyred Stephen blessing his enemies in death. As he awoke, they\npassed on, to become involved in a thick cloud of smoke, through which it\nwas impossible to distinguish any object, and whose purpose was to purge\naway anger, the sin-cloud that veils the mortal eye.\n\nAs they passed from the thick smoke into the sunset, Dante fell into a\ntrance, and saw Itys, Haman, and other notable examples of unbridled\nangers, and as the visions faded away, was blinded by the splendor of the\nangel guide who directed them to the fourth terrace. As they waited for\nthe dawn, Vergil answered Dante's eager questions. \"Love,\" he said, \"is\nthe seed of every virtue, and also of every act for which God punished\nman. Natural love is without error; but if it is bent on evil aims, if it\nlacks sufficiency, or if it overleaps its bounds and refuses to be\ngoverned by wise laws, it causes those sins that are punished on this\nmount. The defective love which manifests itself as slothfulness is\npunished on this terrace.\"\n\nA troop of spirits rushed past them as morning broke, making up by their\nhaste for the sloth that had marked their lives on earth. As they hurried\non they urged themselves to diligence by cries of \"In haste the mountains\nblessed Mary won!\" \"Caesar flew to Spain!\" \"Haste! Grace grows best in\nthose who ardor feel!\" As the poet meditated on their words, he lapsed\ninto a dream in which he saw the Siren who drew brave mariners from their\ncourses; and even as he listened to her melodious song, he beheld her\nexposed by a saint-like lady, Lucia, or Illuminating Grace. Day dawned,\nthe Angel fanned the fourth \"P\" from his forehead, and the poet ascended\nto the fifth terrace, where lay the shades of the avaricious, prostrate on\nthe earth, weeping over their sins. They who in life had resolutely turned\ntheir gaze from Heaven and fixed it on the things of the earth, must now\ngrovel in the dust, denouncing avarice, and extolling the poor and liberal\nuntil the years have worn away their sin.\n\nBending over Pope Adrian the Fifth, Dante heard his confession that he was\nconverted while he held the Roman shepherd's staff. Then he learned how\nfalse a dream was life, but too late, alas! to escape this punishment. As\nDante spoke with the shade of Capet the elder, a mighty trembling shook\nthe mountain, which chilled his heart until he learned from the shade of\nStatius, whom they next met, that it was caused by the moving upward of a\npurified soul, his own, that had been undergoing purgation on this terrace\nfive hundred years and more. \"Statius was I,\" said the shade, \"and my\ninspiration came from that bright fountain of heavenly fire, the Aeneid;\nit was my mother; to it I owe my fame. Gladly would I have added a year to\nmy banishment here, could I have known the Mantuan.\" Vergil's glance said\n\"Be mute!\" but Dante's smile betrayed the secret, and Statius fell at\nVergil's feet adoring. Statius had suffered for the sin of prodigality,\nwhich was punished, together with avarice, on this terrace.\n\nThe three proceeded upward to the sixth terrace, the ascent growing easier\non the disappearance of the \"P\" of avarice from Dante's forehead. Vergil\nand Statius moved on in loving conversation, Dante reverently following.\n\"Your Pollio led me to Christianity,\" said Statius, \"but my cowardice\ncaused me long to conceal it. Prodigality brought me hither.\"\n\nOn the sixth terrace two trees stood in opposite parts of the pathway that\nthe gluttons were compelled to tread, the first with branches broad at the\ntop and tapering downward, so that it was impossible to mount it; upon it\nfell a fount of limpid water. From its branches a voice cried, \"Of this\nfood ye shall have a scarcity. In the primal age, acorns furnished sweet\nfood and each rivulet seemed nectar.\" Towards the next tree, grown from a\ntwig of the tree of knowledge, the gluttons stretched eager hands, but a\nvoice cried, \"Pass on; approach not!\" Such desire for food was excited by\nthese tempting fruits, that the gluttons were emaciated beyond\nrecognition. By his voice alone did Dante recognize his kinsman Forese,\nwhose time in Purgatory had been shortened by the prayers of his wife\nNella. Forese talked with Dante for a while on the affairs of Florence,\nand predicted the fall of his brother Corso Donati.\n\nThe dazzling splendor of the angel of the seventh terrace warned them of\nhis approach, and, lightened of one more \"P,\" Dante and his companions\nclimbed to where two bands of spirits, lascivious on earth, moved through\npaths of purifying flames, stopping as they passed to greet each other,\nand singing penitential hymns. Here, Statius explained to Dante why the\nshades of the sixth terrace were lean from want of food when they\npossessed no longer their physical bodies. \"After death the soul keeps its\nmemory, intelligence, and will more active than before, and as soon as it\nreaches either the banks of Acheron or the Tiber, a shade form is attached\nto it which acquires the soul's semblance, and has every sense given it,\neven that of sight.\"\n\nGuido Guinicelli, from out the flame-furnace, explained to Dante the\npunishments of the terrace: \"Thus are our base appetites burned out that\nwe may enjoy future happiness,\" and Arnaud the Troubadour, hating his past\nfollies, weeping and singing, implored Dante's prayers. It was only by\ntelling him that the fire lay between him and Beatrice that Vergil\nprevailed on Dante to walk into the flames, which, though they tortured\nhim by the intensity of their heat, did not consume even his garments. As\nthey left the fire, the sun was setting, and they passed the night on the\nsteps of the next terrace, Statius and Vergil watching Dante as the\ngoatherds watch their flocks. In a dream the sleeping poet saw Leah,\nsymbolical of the active life, in contrast to her sister Rachel, of\ncontemplative life. On waking, Vergil told him that he would accompany him\nfurther, but not as a guide; henceforth his own free will must lead him.\n\"Crowned, mitred, now thyself thou 'lt rule aright.\"\n\nDense green were the heavenly woodlands of the terrestrial paradise; sweet\nwere the bird songs, as sweet the songs of the whispering foliage; and on\nthe pleasant mead, beyond the dimpling waters of a stream so small that\nthree paces would span it, walked a beautiful lady, Matilda, gathering\nflowers and singing an enchanting melody. At Dante's request, she came\nnearer, and explained to him that God had created the terrestrial paradise\nfrom which man was banished by his fault alone. To vex him it was raised\nto this height. Its atmosphere was not that of the earth below, but given\nit from the free sphere of ether. Here every plant had its origin; here\neach river had its virtue; Lethe destroyed the memory of sin; Euno\u00eb\nrestored to the mind the memory of things good.\n\nAs they talked, Hosannas were heard, and in the greatest splendor appeared\nthe Car of the Church Triumphant. First came the seven golden\ncandlesticks; following them, many people in resplendent white garments;\nnext, the four and twenty elders, lily crowned--the twenty-four books of\nthe Old Testament--singing to Beatrice \"O blessed Thou!\" Then four\nsix-winged, many-eyed living creatures described both by Ezekiel and John\nsurrounded the massive car drawn by the Gryphon, emblem of our Lord in his\ndivine and human nature, white, gold, and vermilion-hued, part lion, part\neagle, whose wings pierced the heavens.\n\nThree maidens, red, emerald, and white, the Theological Virtues, Faith,\nHope, and Charity, danced at the right wheel of the car; four clad in\npurple, Prudence, Justice, Fortitude, and Temperance, walked at the left\nwheel. With them came two old men, Luke and Paul; then four together,\nJames, Peter, John, and Jude, and last an aged man walking in slumber,\nSaint John, writer of the Revelation. These last were crowned with red\nroses and other tinted flowers. With a crash as of thunder, the car\nstopped before Dante, and a hundred angels, chanting, showered on it roses\nand lilies. In the midst of the shower, Beatrice descended, clad in a\ncrimson robe, with a green mantle and a white veil, and crowned with an\nolive wreath. Thrilling with his ancient love, Dante turned to Vergil to\nsustain him, but Vergil was gone. As he looked again, her eyes, less\nsevere from the veil that enveloped her, were fixed on him as she rebuked\nhim, and he was sustained only by the compassion in the sweet voices of\nthe angels, which soothed him until the tears rained down his cheeks.\n\nAfter her death, when she had arisen from flesh to spirit, Beatrice\ncomplained that her influence was dimmed, and that he had sought such\ndepths that she had been compelled to go to the gates of hell to implore\nVergil to bring him hither that he might learn his future sufferings if he\ndid not repent. As he answered her, blaming the things that had led him\naside with joys deceitful, he tried to gaze into her eyes, but stung with\npenitential thorns, fell senseless to the ground. Matilda, who stood by,\nseized him and plunged him into the river Lethe, that he might forget his\npast sin. Dripping, he was given to the four lovely maidens, who led him\nbefore Beatrice that he might look into her eyes, fixed on the Gryphon. A\nthousand longings held him fast while, \"weary from ten years' thirsting,\"\nhe gazed upon her lovely eyes, now unveiled in their full splendor.\nReproached at last by the seven virtues for his too intent gaze, Dante\nwatched the car move on to the Tree of Knowledge, to which its pole was\nattached by the Gryphon. Dante, lulled to sleep by the hymn, was aroused\nby Matilda, who pointed out to him the radiant Beatrice, sitting under a\ntree surrounded by the bright forms of her attendants. The other\nattendants of the car had followed the Gryphon to the skies.\n\n\"Observe the car,\" said Beatrice, \"and write what thou hast seen when thou\nreturnest home.\" As she spoke, the car was attacked in turn by the eagle\nof persecution, the fox of heresy, and the dragon of Islamism; these\ndriven away, it was disturbed by inward dissensions, the alliance between\nBoniface and Philip the Fair.\n\nRising, Beatrice called Dante, Statius, and Matilda to her, and as they\nwalked upon that pleasant mead, she asked Dante the meaning of his\ncontinued silence. She explained the attacks on the chariot to him, but he\ndeclared that he could not understand her language. Then, at Beatrice's\nnod, Matilda called him and Statius, and plunged them into Euno\u00eb, whence\nhe rose regenerate, and prepared to mount to the stars.\n\n\n\n\nTHE DIVINE COMEDY.\n\nTHE PARADISE.\n\n\nThe Paradise of Dante consists of nine heavens, each a revolving\ncrystalline sphere, enclosed in another; without them, the boundless\nEmpyrean. The first or innermost heaven, of the Moon, revolved by the\nangels, is the habitat of wills imperfect through instability. The second,\nof Mercury, revolved by the Archangels, is the abode of wills imperfect\nthrough love of fame. The third, of Venus, revolved by the Principalities,\nis the abode of wills imperfect through excess of human love. The fourth,\nof the Sun, revolved by the Powers, is the abode of the great intellectual\nlights, the doctors of the Church. The fifth heaven, of Mars, revolved by\nthe Virtues, is the abode of the martyrs, warriors, and confessors, and is\nsacred to the Faith. The sixth, of Jupiter, revolved by the Dominations,\nis inhabited by just rulers. The seventh, of Saturn, revolved by the\nThrones, is inhabited by monks and hermits. The eighth, of the Fixed\nStars, revolved by the Cherubim, is inhabited by the apostles and saints.\nThe ninth, or Primum Mobile, revolved by the Seraphim, is the abode of the\nmoral philosophers. These abodes, however, are not real, but\nrepresentative, to illustrate the differences in glory of the inhabitants\nof Paradise, for the real seat of each is in the Rose of the Blessed. In\nthe heavens, the saints appear swathed in cocoons of light; in the Rose\nthey are seen in their own forms. They know all because they behold God\ncontinually. In the Empyrean is the Rose of the Blessed, whose myriad\nleaves form the thrones of the spirits, and whose centre of light is the\nFather himself. Dividing the Rose horizontally, the lower thrones are held\nby those who died in infancy; among them are varying degrees of glory.\nAbove it, are those who died adults. Supposing a vertical division, the\nthrones to the left are for those who looked forward to Christ's coming;\nthose to the right, not yet all occupied, by those who died after Christ's\ncoming. Along the division lines are the holy women, the Virgin, Eve,\nRachel, Beatrice, Sarah, Rebecca, Judith, and Ruth, Saint Anne and Saint\nLucia, and the saints, John the Baptist, John the Evangelist, Adam, Moses,\nSaint Francis, Saint Benedict, Saint Augustine, Saint Peter, and in the\nmidst, the Everlasting Glory of the Universe, whose light so fills the\nRose that \"naught can form an obstacle against it.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE DIVINE COMEDY.\n\nTHE PARADISE.\n\n\nThe ascent to Paradise was accomplished by a fixed gaze into Beatrice's\neyes, by which Dante, like Glaucus, was made divine, and by which he was\nlifted, with incredible swiftness, through the heavens. As soon as he had\nfixed his eyes on Beatrice's, who in turn looked towards heaven, they\nfound themselves in the Heaven of the Moon, whose luminous yet pearl-like\nlight enfolded them. While Beatrice was explaining to him that the spots\non the moon were not caused by the varying degrees of atmospheric density,\nas he had supposed, but by the Divine Virtue infused in divine measure\nthrough the angelic dwellers in the first heaven, he met Piccarda, his\nsister-in-law, whose brother, Corso Donati, had torn her from her convent\nto wed her to Rosselin della Tosa, soon after which she died. Here also\nwas Costanza, daughter of Roger I. of Sicily, grandmother of that Manfredi\nwhom he had seen in Purgatory. Here Beatrice instructed Dante as to the\nimperfection of those wills that held not to their vows, but allowed\nviolence to thwart them.\n\nAnother look into the smiling eyes, and the two were in the Heaven of\nMercury, where those wills abide in whom love of fame partly extinguished\nlove of God. One of the thousand splendors that advanced towards them was\nthe soul of the Emperor Justinian, who reviewed the Empire, the Church,\ncondemning severely the behavior of the Guelphs and Ghibellines, and told\nof the spirits who inhabited the little planet, whose lives were sweetened\nby living justice, and whose ears were gladdened by the sweetest\nharmonies.\n\nDante was unaware of his ascent into, Venus, where dwelt those souls who\nwere lovers on earth, until he perceived Beatrice's added beauty. Amid\nrevolving lights Charles Martel of Hungary appeared, denounced his brother\nRobert of Sicily, and instructed Dante on the subjects of heredity and\ndegeneracy; that \"sweet seed can come bitter\" because the influence of the\nstar under which the child is born can counteract that of the parent, and\nbecause his state is not always adapted to him by his parents and\nadvisers.\n\nIn the sphere of the Sun, consecrated to the great doctors of divinity,\nBeatrice became still more beautiful; but so absorbed was the poet in the\nlove for the Eternal Source of all this splendor that for the first time\nhe forgot her. Out of the whirling lights, shining like precious jewels,\ncame Saint Thomas Aquinas, who pointed out to Dante his noted companions,\nGratian, Peter Lombard, Solomon, Dionysius, Boethius, and Baeda. Thomas\nthen related the story of Saint Francis of Assisi and the founding of his\norder of the Franciscans, upon which Saint Bonaventura of the Franciscans,\nfrom the next flame garland, told of Saint Dominic and the Dominican\norder. Alas! while both orders were great in the beginning, both narrators\nhad to censure their present corruption.\n\nThe array of brilliant lights, dividing itself, formed into two disks\nwhich, revolving oppositely, sang the praises of the Trinity. The song of\npraise finished, Saint Thomas explained that Solomon was elevated to this\nsphere for his wisdom and his regal prudence, and warned Dante against the\nerror of rash judgment.\n\nThe splendor of Mars was almost blinding; it was ruddier than the others,\nand in it dwelt the souls of the crusaders and martyrs. While Dante's ears\nwere ravished by exquisite music, his eyes were dazzled by the lights,\nwhich had arranged themselves in the form of a cross. From out the\nsplendor, one star saluted Dante. It was the soul of his ancestor\nCacciaguida, who had waited long for the coming of his descendant. He\nrelated to Dante the story of his life, commenting on the difference\nbetween the simple life of the Florentines of his day and the corrupt\npractices of Dante's time, and broke to the poet what had already been\ndarkly hinted to him in Hell and Purgatory,--his banishment; how he must\ndepart from Florence and learn how salt is the bread of charity, how\nwearisome the stairs in the abode of the stranger.\n\nAs Cacciaguida ceased and pointed out the other well-known dwellers in\nMars, each one on the cross flashed as his name was called,--Joshua, Judas\nMaccabeus, Charlemagne and Roland, Godfrey of Bouillon, Robert Guiscard,\nand others.\n\nIn Jupiter, whose whiteness contrasted with the ruddiness of Mars, dwelt\nthe souls of great rulers, certain of whom arranged themselves first to\nform the golden letters of _Diligite Justitiam qui judicatis terram_\n(\"Love righteousness, ye that be judges of the earth\"), and then formed\nthemselves into the Roman eagle and sang of the justice and mercy that\ncaused their elevation to this position, and of events about to occur in\nhistory.\n\nHad Beatrice smiled as they ascended to Saturn, Dante would have perished\nas did Semele, from excess of light. In Saturn dwelt the spirits of the\ncontemplative, the monks and hermits, and here was Jacob's ladder, up and\ndown whose bars of gold sparkled the spirits of the saints, silent for the\nsame reason that Beatrice smiled not. By divine election, Saint Peter\nDamian descended and spoke with Dante, accusing the churchmen of the time\nof worldliness and luxury. \"Cephas and our Lord came on earth barefoot and\npoorly clad, but these men are covered with gorgeous raiment and ride upon\nsleek palfreys.\" As he closed, a thunder cry of approval went up from the\nother saints.\n\nUp the wonderful ladder passed Dante and his lady into the eighth heaven\nof the Fixed Stars, and looking down saw the little earth and the starry\nheavens through which they had passed. Then, as Beatrice paused with her\nface all aflame, and her eyes full of ecstasy, down came the hosts of\nChrist's triumphal march, and within the living light, which dazzled\nDante's eyes until he could not see, also appeared Mary, mother of God,\ncrowned by Gabriel, rising into the Empyrean. Of those who remained\nbehind, Beatrice asked that Dante be sprinkled with the waters of the\nliving Fountain; and while they gave their consent, Saint Peter appeared\nas a fire whirling ecstatically, and singing a divine song. He examined\nthe trembling poet on faith, and his questions being answered\nsatisfactorily, encircled him thrice with his light. Saint James, who next\ncame forth, was likewise pleased with his response on Hope, and he was\nthen blinded by the effulgence of John, so that for a time he could not\nsee the face of his lady.\n\nOf Love he spoke with John, and then talked with Adam. As he listened to\nthe strains of richest melody, he noticed one of the lights--Saint\nPeter--change from white to red, and then, as silence fell, speak, enraged\nat the worldliness of the Holy See. \"My cemetery has been made a sewer of\nblood and stench. When thou returnest to earth, reveal what thou hast\nheard. Do not thou conceal what I have not concealed.\"\n\nCommanded by Beatrice, Dante looked back at earth once more, and as he\nlooked, was carried up into the heaven of the Primum Mobile, where dwelt\nthe moral philosophers. Here the angelic spirits circled round the point\nof intense light, the divine centre. The nearer God was the circle, the\ngreater virtue it possessed. This order was inverse to that of the\nheavens, but Dante learned from Beatrice that the orbs revolved through\nnarrow paths or wide according to the virtue of their parts, and that a\nstrict agreement of harmony prevailed between the great and the small. The\nangel and the heavens were created simultaneously, and, as direct\nemanations from God, know no decay. Of this and many things concerning the\nCreation, did Beatrice enlighten Dante before the beauty of her smile told\nhim that they were in the Empyrean. \"Now shall thou look upon the mighty\nhosts of Paradise.\"\n\nThe poet's dazzled eyes saw then a river of light from which issued living\nsparks sunk down into the flowers like rubies set in gold. Instructed by\nBeatrice he drank of the stream and the river changed into a lake; then he\nsaw the Courts of Heaven made manifest, and the splendor of God. The ample\nRose unfolded its leaves before him, breathing praise and perfume, and as\nhe gazed into it Beatrice pointed out the radiant spirits and the thronged\nseats, one of which was reserved for the Emperor Henry of Luxembourg, from\nwhom Dante expected so much, and who died before aught was accomplished.\nAs Dante gazed, the hosts with wings of gold and faces of living flame,\nsinging anthems, alternately sank into the Rose, like a swarm of bees\nsinking into summer flowers, and rose again to view the Divine splendor.\nTurning to question Beatrice again, Dante found in her place Saint Bernard\nof Clairvaux, an old man full of the tenderest pity, who pointed out to\nhim Beatrice in her own place, the third round of the first rank. As from\nafar, Dante pleaded with the beautiful lady who had left her place in\nheaven to go even unto the gates of hell for his sake, to aid him still;\nshe seemed to smile upon him before she again turned her gaze upon the\nEternal Fountain of Light. Saint Bernard explained to the poet the\ndivisions of the Rose and the seats of the saints, and then addressed a\nprayer to the Virgin, asking that Dante be permitted to look upon the\nAlmighty Father. As he prayed, Beatrice and all the blessed ones clasped\ntheir hands to her who likes so well prayers of divine fervor. At a\ngesture from Bernard, the poet looked upward. Then what a radiant vision\nmet his eyes! Three circles he saw of threefold color and one dimension.\nAs he looked, one seemed to take our image, and again was lost in the\ninfinite glory of the Light Divine. As he tried to describe it,\nimagination failed him, though his will remained, moving on with the even\nmotion of the sun and stars.\n\n\n\n\nSELECTIONS FROM THE DIVINE COMEDY.\n\nCOUNT UGOLINO.\n\n\nIn the frozen lake of Cocytus in the ninth circle of the Inferno, where\nwere punished the traitors to kindred, country, friends, or benefactors,\nthe poets beheld Count Ugolino, a Guelph, who, because of his treachery,\nwas taken prisoner by the people with his sons and grandsons and thrust\ninto a tower, where they were left to starve. Ugolino was frozen in the\nice, where he forever gnawed the head of the Archbishop Ruggieri, his\nenemy. At the request of Dante he stopped to tell his story.\n\n                 \"Thy will 'tis I renew\n    A desperate sorrow that doth crush my heart\n    Even before my lips its tale impart.\n  But if my words may be a seed that, sowed,\n    Shall fruit of infamy to this traitor bear,\n    Then, though I weep, speech too shall be my care.\n\n  \"Who thou may'st be I know not, nor what mode\n    Hath brought thee here below, but then I glean,\n    From words of thine, thou art a Florentine.\n  That I Count Ugolino was, know thou,\n    And this the Archbishop Ruggieri. Why\n    I will thee tell we are such neighbors nigh.\n  Needs not to say that him I did allow\n    A friend's own trusts, but so his treachery wrought;\n    That first my liberty, then my life, it sought.\n\n  \"But that which thou canst not have hitherto learned\n    That is, how cruel was my death, I thee\n    Will tell; judge thou if he offended me.\n  Within the Mew, a tower which well hath earned\n    From me its name of Famine, and where wrath\n    Yet others waits, a narrow opening hath,\n  Through which of several moons the broken light\n    Had strayed, when unto me in sleep was sent\n    A dream whereby the future's veil was rent.\n\n  \"This ill dream me this man set forth in might:\n    He wolf and whelps upon those mounts pursued\n    Which Pisa 'twixt and Lucca's domes obtrude.\n  Hounds had he with him, lank and shrewd and keen,\n    And in their front Gualandi's sword had place,\n    Sismondi's lash and sour Lanfranchi's mace.\n  Father and sons' undoing soon was seen;\n    Methought the sharp fangs on them closed, and tore\n    Their flanks, which now the hue of crimson wore.\n\n  \"Before the dawn I woke and heard my sons,\n    The helpless children with me, in their sleep,\n    Cry out for bread, cries pushed from sobbings deep.\n  Right cruel art thou, if not e'en now runs\n    To tears thy grief at what my heart forbode,\n    If tears of thine at misery's tale e'er flowed.\n  And then they woke, and came the hour around\n    Which had been wont our scanty meal to bring;\n    But from our dreams dumb terrors seemed to spring;\n\n  \"When from below we heard the dreadful sound\n    Of nails; the horrible tower was closed; all dumb\n    I let my gaze into my sons' eyes come.\n  Weep I did not, like stone my feelings lay.\n    They wept, and spoke my little Anselm: 'Pray\n    Why lookest so? Father, what ails thee, say?'\n  Shed I no tear, nor answered all that day\n    Nor the next night, until another sun\n    His journey through the wide world had begun.\n\n  \"Then came a small ray into our sad, sad den,\n    And when in their four faces I beheld\n    That carking grief which mine own visage held,\n  Mine hands for grief I bit, and they, who then\n    Deemed that I did it from desire to eat,\n    Stood up each one at once upon his feet,\n  And said: 'Father, 'twill give us much less pain\n    If thou wilt eat of us: of thee was born\n    This hapless flesh, and be it by thee torn.'\n\n  \"Myself I calmed that they might not so grieve;\n    Mute that day and the next we were; O thou\n    Most cruel earth, that didst not open now!\n  When we the fourth day's agony did receive\n    Stretched at my feet himself my Gaddo threw,\n    And said: 'My father, canst thou nothing do?'\n  There died he, and, as now sees me thy sight,\n    The three I saw fall one by one; first died\n    One on the fifth; deaths two the sixth me tried.\n\n  \"Then blind, I groped o'er them to left and right,\n    And for three days called on their spirits dead;\n    Then grief before the power of fasting fled.\"\n             _Wilstach's Translation, Inferno. Canto XXXIII._\n\n\n\n\nBUONCONTE DI MONTEFELTRO.\n\n\nOn the second terrace of the Ante-Purgatory, on the Purgatorial Mount,\nwere the spirits of those whose lives were ended by violence. Among those\nwho here addressed Dante was Buonconte di Montefeltro, who was slain in\nthe battle of Campaldino, and whose body was never found.\n\n  Another then: \"Ah, be thy cherished aim\n    Attained that to the lofty Mount thee draws,\n    As thou with pity shalt advance my cause.\n  Of Montefeltro I Buonconte am;\n    Giovanna, and she only, for me cares;\n    Hence among those am I whom waiting wears.\"\n\n  \"What violence or what chance led thee so wide\n    From Campaldino,\" I of him inquired,\n    \"That's still unknown thy burial-place retired?\"\n  \"Oh, Casentino's foot,\" he thus replied,\n    \"Archiano's stream o'erflows, which hath its rise\n    Above the Hermitage under Apennine skies.\n  There where its name is lost did I arrive,\n    Pierced through and through the throat, in flight,\n    Upon the plain made with my life-blood bright;\n\n  \"There sight I lost, and did for speech long strive;\n    At last I uttered Mary's name, and fell\n    A lifeless form, mine empty flesh a shell.\n  Truth will I speak, below do thou it hymn;\n    Took me God's Angel up, and he of Hell\n    Cried out: 'O thou from Heaven, thou doest well\n  To rob from me the eternal part of him\n    For one poor tear, that me of him deprives;\n    In other style I'll deal with other lives!'\n\n  \"Well know'st thou how in air is gathered dim\n    That humid vapor which to water turns\n    Soon as the cold its rising progress learns.\n  The fiend that ill-will joined (which aye seeks ill)\n    To intellectual power, which mist and wind\n    Moved by control which faculties such can find,\n  And afterwards, when the day was spent, did fill\n    The space from Protomagno to where tower\n    The Mounts with fog; and high Heaven's covering power\n\n  \"The pregnant atmosphere moist to water changed.\n    Down fell the rain, and to the ditches fled,\n    Whate'er of it the soil's thirst had not sped;\n  And, as it with the mingling torrents ranged\n    Towards the royal river, so it flowed\n    That over every obstacle wild it rode.\n  The robust river found my stiffened frame\n    Near to its outlet, and it gave a toss\n    To Arno, loosening from my breast the cross\n\n  \"I made of me when agony me o'ercame;\n    Along his banks and bottoms he me lapped,\n    Then in his muddy spoils he me enwrapped.\"\n           _Wilstach's Translation, Purgatorio, Canto V._\n\n\n\n\nBEATRICE DESCENDING FROM HEAVEN.\n\n\nDante and Vergil mounted to the Terrestial Paradise, where, while they\ntalked with Matilda, the Car of the Church Triumphant appeared in the\ngreatest splendor. As it stopped before Dante it was enveloped in a shower\nof roses from the hands of a hundred angels.\n\n  I have beheld ere now, when dawn would pale,\n    The eastern hemisphere's tint of roseate sheen,\n    And all the opposite heaven one gem serene,\n  And the uprising sun, beneath such powers\n    Of vapory influence tempered, that the eye\n    For a long space its fiery shield could try:\n\n  E'en so, embosomed in a cloud of flowers,\n    Which from those hands angelical upward played,\n    And roseate all the car triumphal made,\n  And showered a snow-white veil with olive bound,\n    Appeared a Lady, green her mantle, name\n    Could not describe her robe unless 't were flame.\n  And mine own spirit, which the past had found\n    Often within her presence, free from awe,\n    And which could never from me trembling draw,\n  And sight no knowledge giving me at this time,\n    Through hidden virtue which from her came forth,\n    Of ancient love felt now the potent worth.\n  As soon as on my vision smote sublime\n    The heavenly influence that, ere boyhood's days\n    Had fled, had thrilled me and awoke my praise,\n  Unto the leftward turned I, with that trust\n    Wherewith a little child his mother seeks,\n    When fear his steps controls, and tear-stained cheeks,\n\n  To say to Vergil: \"All my blood such gust\n    Of feeling moves as doth man's bravery tame;\n    I feel the traces of the ancient flame.\"\n            _Wilstach's Translation, Paradiso, Canto XXX._\n\n\n\n\nTHE EXQUISITE BEAUTY OF BEATRICE.\n\n\nWhile Dante and Beatrice rose from the Heaven of Primal Motion to the\nEmpyrean, the poet turned his dazzled eyes from the heavens, whose sight\nhe could no longer bear, to the contemplation of Beatrice.\n\n    Wherefore my love, and loss of other view,\n    Me back to Beatrice and her homage drew.\n  If what of her hath been already said\n    Were in one single eulogy grouped, 't would ill\n    Her meed of merit at this moment fill.\n\n  The beauty which in her I now beheld\n    B'yond mortals goes; her Maker, I believe,\n    Hath power alone its fulness to receive.\n  Myself I own by obstacles stronger spelled\n    Than in his labored theme was ever bard\n    Whose verses, light or grave, brought problems hard;\n  For, as of eyes quelled by the sun's bright burst,\n    E'en so the exquisite memory of that smile\n    Doth me of words and forming mind beguile.\n\n  Not from that day when on this earth I first\n    Her face beheld, up to this moment, song\n    Have I e'er failed to strew her path along,\n  But now I own my limping numbers lame;\n    An artist sometimes finds his powers surpassed,\n    And mine succumbs to beauty's lance at last.\n  And I must leave her to a greater fame\n    Than any that my trumpet gives, which sounds,\n    Now, hastening notes, which mark this labor's bounds.\n            _Wilstach's Translation, Paradiso, Canto XXX._\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE ORLANDO FURIOSO.\n\n\nLudovico Ariosto, author of the Orlando Furioso was born in Reggio, Italy,\nSept. 8, 1474. In 1503 he was taken into the service of the Cardinal\nHippolito d'Este, and soon after began the composition of the Orlando\nFurioso, which occupied him for eleven years. It was published in 1516,\nand brought him immediate fame. Ariosto was so unkindly treated by his\npatron that he left him and entered the service of the cardinal's brother,\nAlfonso, Duke of Ferrara. By him he was appointed governor of a province,\nin which position he repressed the banditti by whom it was infested, and\nafter a successful administration of three years, returned to Ferrara to\nreside. The latter part of his life was spent in writing comedies and\nsatires, and in revising the Orlando Furioso. He died in Ferrara, June 6,\n1533.\n\nThe Orlando Furioso is a sequel to Boiardo's Orlando Innamorata, Ariosto\ntaking up the story at the end of that poem. Its historical basis is the\nwars of Charlemagne with the Moors, which were probably confused with\nthose of Charles Martel. As the Orlando of the poem is the same Roland\nwhose fall at Roncesvalles in 778 is celebrated in the Song of Roland, its\nevents must have occurred before that time.\n\nAlthough the poem is called Orlando Furioso, Orlando's madness occupies a\nvery small part of it, the principal threads of the story being Orlando's\nlove for Angelica and his consequent madness, the wars of Charlemagne, and\nthe loves of Bradamant and Rogero. From this Rogero the family of Este\nclaimed to be derived, and for this reason Ariosto made Rogero the real\nhero of the poem, and took occasion to lavish the most extravagant praises\nupon his patron and his family.\n\nWith these principal threads are interwoven innumerable episodes which are\nnot out of place in the epic, and lend variety to a story which would\notherwise have become tiresome. The lightness of treatment, sometimes\napproaching ridicule, the rapidity of movement, the grace of style, and\nthe clearness of language, the atmosphere created by the poet which so\nsuccessfully harmonizes all his tales of magic and his occasional\ninconsistencies, and the excellent descriptions, have all contributed to\nthe popularity of the poem, which is said to be the most widely read of\nthe epics. These descriptions outweigh its faults,--the taking up the\nstory of Boiardo without an explanation of the situation, the lack of\nunity, and the failure to depict character; for with the exception of\nBradamant and Rogero, Ariosto's heroes and heroines are very much alike,\nand their conversation is exceedingly tiresome.\n\nThe Furioso is written in the octave stanza, and originally consisted of\nforty cantos, afterwards increased to forty-six.\n\nThe poem is the work of a practical poet, one who could govern a province.\nIt is marred by an over-profusion of ornament, and contains no such lofty\nflights of fancy as are to be found in the Jerusalem Delivered. To this,\nno doubt, it owes, in part at least, its great popularity, for the poet's\npoem is never the people's poem.\n\n\n\n\nBIBLIOGRAPHY AND CRITICISM, THE ORLANDO FURIOSO.\n\n\nDublin University Magazine, 1845, xxvi., 187-201, 581-601, xxvii., 90-104;\n\nRetrospective Review, 1823, viii., 145-170, ix., 263-291;\n\nWilliam T. Dobson's Classic Poets, 1879, pp. 186-238;\n\nLeigh Hunt's Stories from the Italian Poets, n. d. vol. ii., pp. 134-151;\n\nWilliam Hickling Prescott's Italian Narrative Poetry. (See his\nBiographical and Critical Miscellanies, 1873, pp. 441-454);\n\nM. W. Shelley's Lives of the most eminent Literary and Scientific Men of\nItaly, Spain, and Portugal, 1835, pp. 239-255. (In Lardner's Cabinet\nCyclopedia, vol. i.);\n\nJohn Addington Symonds's Italian Literature, 1888, vol. i., pp. 493-522,\nvol. ii. pp. 1-50.\n\n\n\n\nSTANDARD ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS, THE ORLANDO FURIOSO.\n\n\nOrlando Furioso, Tr. from the Italian by Sir James Harrington, 1724;\n\nOrlando Furioso, Tr. by John Hoole, 1819;\n\nOrlando Furioso, Tr. into English verse by W. S. Rose, 2 vols., 1864-5.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE ORLANDO FURIOSO.\n\n\nThe Emperor Charlemagne was at war with the Moors and had camped near the\nPyrenees with his host, determined to conquer their leaders, Marsilius of\nSpain and Agramant of Africa. To his camp came Orlando, the great paladin,\nwith the beautiful Angelica, princess of Cathay, in search of whom he had\nroamed the world over. Orlando's cousin, Rinaldo, another of the great\nlords of Charlemagne, also loved Angelica, for he had seen her immediately\nafter drinking of the Fountain of Love in the forest of Arden, and\nCharlemagne, fearing trouble between the cousins on her account, took\nAngelica from Orlando's tent and placed her in the care of Duke Namus of\nBavaria.\n\nAngelica did not like Orlando and she loathed Rinaldo, for he had been the\nfirst to meet her after she had tasted the waters of the Fountain of Hate.\nSo when the Christian forces were one day routed in battle and the tents\nforsaken, she leaped on her palfrey and fled into the forest. Here the\nfirst person she met was the hated Rinaldo; and fleeing from him she\nencountered the fierce Moor Ferrau, who, being also in love with her, drew\nhis sword and attacked the pursuing paladin. But when the two discovered\nthat Angelica had taken advantage of their duel to flee, they made peace\nand went in search of her.\n\nAs she fled, Angelica met Sacripant, an eastern lover who had followed her\nto France, and put herself under his protection. But when Sacripant was\nfirst defeated by Bradamant and then engaged in battle with the pursuing\nRinaldo, she deemed herself safer without him and fled; and presently a\npage appeared, a shade conjured there by a hermit magician whom Angelica\nhad met, and announced to the warriors that Orlando had appeared and\ncarried the maid to Paris.\n\nRinaldo immediately hastened to Paris, to find Orlando absent and\nCharlemagne, defeated by the Moors, entrenching himself in the city and\npreparing to send to England for aid. Rinaldo must be his ambassador, and\nthat without a day's delay.\n\nFrantic with jealousy, Rinaldo leaped into a ship in the midst of a storm,\nand hastened on his errand. Driven upon the coast of Scotland, he won the\nking's gratitude by saving his daughter Ginevra from shame and death, and\nsecured from him a promise of all the horsemen and arms that could be\nspared. He was equally successful in England, and was soon reviewing the\ntroops preparatory to their embarkation.\n\nThe warrior maid, Bradamant, sister of Rinaldo, after overthrowing\nSacripant, pursued her way through the forest in search of Rogero the\npagan. They had met once in battle and had loved, and since then she had\never roamed through the land in search of him. In the forest she found\nPinabel, lamenting because his beloved lady had been snatched from him by\na wizard on a winged steed, and carried to an impregnable castle. Thither\nhe had seen many warriors conveyed, among them Rogero and Gradasso,\nconquered first by the lance and then thrown into profound slumber by the\nglare of a magic shield carried by the wizard.\n\nBradamant, anxious to save Rogero, offered to rescue Pinabel's lady if he\nwould guide her to the castle. But when the treacherous knight learned\nthat she was Bradamant, between whose house and his there was a deadly\nfeud, he planned to slay her, and soon, by his treachery, managed to hurl\nher down a precipice.\n\nBradamant was only stunned by the fall, however, and soon awoke, to find\nherself at the entrance of a cave, which was the tomb of Merlin. Melissa,\nthe prophetess maid, welcomed her, assured her that Rogero should be her\nspouse, and showed her their phantom descendants, brave princes and\nbeautiful princesses of the house of Este. She then told her that\nBrunello, a knight of King Agramant, was hastening to the castle to\nrelease the prisoners by means of a magic ring, formerly the property of\nAngelica, which when put in the mouth would render one invisible, and,\nworn on the finger, made one proof against magic spells. Bradamant must\novercome Brunello, wrest the ring from him, and herself free Rogero.\n\nFollowing Melissa's advice, Bradamant overtook Brunello, seized the ring,\nand hastening to the castle, challenged Atlantes to battle. When he\ndisplayed the shield she pretended to become unconscious; but when he ran\nup to bind her she sprang up and seized him. He declared that he had\nimprisoned Rogero, his nephew, only to save him from the fate foretold by\nthe stars, death by treachery at the hands of the Christians, and had\nbrought the other knights and ladies there for his entertainment. Then\nAtlantes broke the spell and disappeared, together with the castle, and\nthe prisoners trooped forth, Rogero among them.\n\nBradamant was happy, but alas! only for a moment; for as she and Rogero\nwent down the mountain together he thoughtlessly leaped on the hippogrif,\nwhich alighted near him, and the winged steed, refusing his control, rose\nin the air, leaving the tearful Bradamant behind. The hippogrif flew\nrapidly over land and sea until it was directly above a small island, upon\nwhich it descended. Rogero sprang from its back, tied it to a myrtle tree,\nand, weary from his three thousand mile ride in heavy armor, prepared to\ndrink from a rippling spring. The groves were of cedar, laurel, palm, and\nmyrtle; roses and lilies filled the air with their perfume, and the wild\nstag and timid hare ran fearlessly through the groves. As he stooped to\ndrink he heard a voice issuing from the myrtle to which he had tied the\nhippogrif. It was that of Astolpho, the English knight, who told him that\nthe greater part of the island was under the control of Alcina the\nenchantress, who had left only a small portion to her sister Logistilla,\nto whom it all rightfully belonged. He himself had been enticed thither by\nAlcina, who had loved him for a few weeks, and then, serving him as she\ndid all her lovers, had transformed him to a tree.\n\nRogero determined to profit by this advice; but when he was driven from\nthe narrow path to Logistilla's domain and met Alcina he fell under the\npower of her beauty, and thought Astolpho a traducer. The days passed so\ngayly in her beautiful home that Rogero forgot the pagan cause, forgot his\nduty, forgot Bradamant, and was roused from his lethargy only by Melissa,\nto whom Bradamant had given the magic ring to enable her to find and\nrescue her lover. Melissa found the young knight when apart from Alcina,\nand gave him the ring that he might with it be enabled to see the\nenchantress in her true form. She then instructed him how to escape and\nseek the kingdom of Logistilla. Rogero was disgusted when the beautiful\nenchantress appeared as a hideous, wrinkled old woman, but concealing his\nchange of feeling, waited until the opportunity presented itself to get\nhis armor, take a steed, and pass by the warders of the gate. With great\ndifficulty he reached a stream which separated Alcina's lands from those\nof Logistilla, and while ferrying across was overtaken by the boats of\nAlcina. With the help of Atlantes' shield, they were overcome, and Alcina\nwas forced to depart, weeping, with only one boat, while Rogero entered\nthe castle of the fairy Logistilla, from whom he learned many noble\nlessons.\n\nHere came the other knights freed from Alcina's enchantment by Melissa,\nand Melissa herself with Astolpho, on the hippogrif, which she had learned\nto control. Astolpho was in his own armor and bore his wondrous spear,\nwhich had the power of overthrowing every one whom it so much as touched.\n\nAfter a short rest among the pleasant gardens of Logistilla, Rogero\ndeparted on the hippogrif, and although anxious to see his Bradamant\nagain, took the opportunity to pass over all the known world by this novel\nmethod of travel. He saw the troops in England gathering to go to the aid\nof Charlemagne, and rescued the beautiful Angelica, who had been taken by\npirates and sold to the people of Ebuda, who chained her upon a rock as a\nvictim for the orc. Rogero put the orc to sleep with his magic shield,\ngiving Angelica the ring that the sight of the shield might not affect her\nas well. But when, charmed by the maid, he became too lover-like in his\nattentions, she put the ring in her mouth and disappeared. The angry\nRogero turned, only to find that his hippogrif had broken its rein and was\ngone. Hastening through the forest, vexed with himself and the maiden, he\nfancied he saw 'Bradamant carried off by a giant, and following her,\nentered a magic castle of Atlantes, where he spent his days vainly trying\nto overtake his beloved and her captor.\n\nOrlando could think only of his lost Angelica; and forgetful of the fact\nthat his uncle Charlemagne was sorely pressed by the heathen, he stole\nfrom the camp one night in disguise, and went in search of her. Passing\nthe isle of Ebuda he slew the ore, rescued Olympia, who was exposed as its\nvictim, avenged her wrongs, and continued on his way until he reached the\ncastle of Atlantes, and, fancying he saw Angelica, entered, and began the\nmad round of pursuit with many other Christian and pagan knights who were\nrendered unconscious of one another's presence by the magic of the wizard.\n\nHither came Angelica, invisible by means of the ring, to find a knight to\nprotect her on her way to Cathay. Unfortunately as she showed herself to\nSacripant, she was seen by Ferrau and Orlando, and all three pursued her\nfrom the castle. When they were sufficiently removed from it Angelica\nslipped the ring in her mouth and disappeared, and Ferrau and Orlando\nbegan to quarrel about Orlando's helmet, which the Moor was determined to\nwin and wear. As Ferrau wore no helm until he could win Orlando's, that\npaladin hung his on a tree while they fought. Unseen by them, Angelica\ntook it down, intending to restore it to Orlando later, and slipped away.\nWhen the knights discovered her absence they went in search of her, and\nFerrau, coming upon her, took the helmet as she disappeared in fright.\nOrlando, assuming another crest, which he did not need, as his body was\ncharmed and could not be hurt by any weapon, went forward, still in search\nof his love, and on the way encountered and almost totally destroyed two\nsquadrons of Moors, and rescued from a robber's cave the beautiful Isabel,\nbetrothed of Zerbino.\n\nMelissa returned to Bradamant with the news that while Rogero was freed\nfrom the enchantment of Aleina, he was imprisoned in Atlantes' castle,\nfrom which she herself could rescue him by slaying the wizard, who would\nappear to her in the form of her lover. Bradamant resolved to do so; but\nwhen she saw the seeming Rogero set upon by two giants, she forgot her\nresolution, believed Melissa to be false, and spurring after him, became a\nprisoner in that wondrous castle, through which day and night she pursued\nher ever-fleeing lover.\n\nWhen the Moors discovered the destruction of the two squadrons,\nMandricardo, the Tartar king, determined to seek and do battle with the\nknight (unknown to him by name) who had wrought such destruction. The\nTartar wore the arms of Hector save the sword, which was the property of\nOrlando, and until he gained it, he bore no weapon save the lance. With\nthis, however, he stormed through the battlefield, striking terror to the\nhearts of all. With it alone, he destroyed a band of men conveying to\nRodomont, the Saracen chief, his betrothed bride, Doralice, and won the\nmaid for himself.\n\nOutside Paris raged the infidel, chief among them the giant King Rodomont.\nSmiting those of his troops who hesitated to mount the scaling ladders, he\nwaded through the wet moat, scaled the first wall, leaped the dry ditch,\nmounted the second wall, and ran alone through the city, spreading terror,\ndeath, and fire, while Charlemagne, ignorant of his presence, was busied\nin the defence of one of the gates against Agramant.\n\nNow Rinaldo's army approached, unsuspected by the heathen, because of the\naid of Silence, summoned by Saint Michael. Through these, welcomed by\nCharlemagne, Rodomont cut his way, hewing down fifteen or twenty foes at\nonce, and, casting himself into the Seine, escaped, angry that he had not\nsucceeded in destroying the city.\n\nDiscord, also summoned by Michael to the aid of the Christians, informed\nRodomont on his return to the camp of the capture of Doralice, and the\nchief set forth raging, in search of Mandricardo, thoughtlessly abandoning\nKing Agramant, struggling against the English re-inforcements. As night\nfell on a furious battle, the Moors were driven back, and Charlemagne\npitched his tents without the city, opposite those of the Moors.\n\nIn the Moorish camp were two youths who loved one another with a love\npassing wonderful, Medoro and Cloridan. Both served Dardinello, and had\ncrossed the sea with him. As they stood on guard that night they talked of\ntheir lord's death on the field that day, and Medoro suggested that they\ngo in search of his body and bury it. Cloridan agreed, and they crept\nthrough the sleeping lines of the Christians, slaughtering many, found the\nbody, and were hurrying into the forest when they heard the troops of\nZerbino. Cloridan fled, fancying that Medoro would do the same, but on\nfinding himself unaccompanied, retraced his footsteps, only to see his\nfriend surrounded by a troop of horsemen. From his ambush he shot his\narrows at the foe, until Zerbino in wrath seized Medoro by the throat,\nexclaiming, \"Thou shall die for this!\" But when Medoro prayed to be\nallowed first to bury his lord, pity touched Zerbino, and he freed the\nyouth, who fell, however, wounded by a thrust from a churlish horseman, in\npursuit of whom Zerbino at once fled. Cloridan sprang in among the\nhorsemen and fell dead by their thrusts at the side of the unconscious\nMedoro.\n\nThe bleeding youth was found by Angelica, who passed by, clad in rustic\nraiment; and the maid, struck with his beauty, recalled her knowledge of\nchirturgery and revived him. After Dardinello was buried, she and a\nshepherd assisted Medoro to a neighboring cottage, where she attended him\nuntil his wound was healed. But as he grew well, Angelica, who had scorned\nthe suit of the proudest knights, fell sick of love for the humble youth,\nand resolved to take him with her to Cathay.\n\nWhen Astolpho left the castle of Logistilla he carried with him as her\ngift a book from which he could learn to overcome all magic cheats, and a\nhorn whose sound would put the boldest man to flight. Following her\ndirections, he sailed past Scythia and India into the Persian Gulf, and\nthere disembarking, passed through Arabia and along the Red Sea. There he\novercame the giant Caligorantes, slew Orillo, who guarded the outlet of\nthe Nile, and met there the brother knights Gryphon and Aquilant. Gryphon,\nled astray by an unworthy love, stole away from his brother, but was found\nagain after many adventures, and the three, together with Sansonet and\nMarphisa, a warlike virgin, embarked for France. A great storm arose, and\nthe vessel was forced to land in Syria. This was the land of the Amazons,\nand the troop escaped only by the warning and assistance of Guido, the\nsavage, who was a bondsman in the land.\n\nAstolpho became separated from the rest of the party and reached Europe\nalone. One day, while he was stooping to drink at a spring in the forest,\na rustic sprang from a thicket, and leaping upon Rabican, rode him away.\nAstolpho, hastening after him, entered the enchanted castle of Atlantes,\nand soon recognized it as a house of magic. He broke the spell by the aid\nof his book, freed the captive knights, and finding the hippogrif, which\nhe had learned to guide from Melissa, mounted it and rode away.\n\nWhen the castle was destroyed, Rogero recognized Bradamant and clasped her\nin his arms, rejoicing to find her again. The maid, anxious to avoid\nfurther separation, promised to wed him if he would become a Christian,\nand demand her of her father, Duke Aymon. Rogero gladly promised to do so.\nand the two were hastening to Vallombrosa that he might be baptized when\nthey encountered a maid, who prayed them to hasten to the relief of a\nyouth doomed to death by fire. They hurried on, but paused to free Guido\nthe savage, Gryphon. Aquilant, and Sansonet, who had been imprisoned by\nPinabel, and Bradamant, pursuing Pinabel into the forest, slew him. But\nthere, unfortunately, she lost her way, and while she was wandering about,\nRogero, ignorant of her whereabouts, pushed on and freed the youth, who\nproved to be Bradamant's brother.\n\nAs Bradamant wandered through the forest she found Astolpho, who had just\nmade a bridle for the hippogrif, and recognizing him, took his horse and\nspear in charge. A long time she wandered forlorn. She did not know the\nway to Vallombrosa; she did not know the whereabouts of Rogero. Her home\nwas in sight, but if her mother saw her she would not again be suffered to\ndepart. As she stood debating with herself, she was recognized by one of\nher brothers, and was forced to accompany him home. Thence she secretly\nsent her maid Hippalca to Vallombrosa with Rogero's horse Frontino, and a\nmessage explaining her absence.\n\nAfter the capture of Doralice, Mandricardo hastened on, and overtook\nOrlando just as he had freed Zerbino and united him to Isabel. Recognizing\nOrlando by his crest as the chief who had destroyed the squadrons, the\nTartar challenged him to combat. In courtesy to his foe, who would bear no\nsword until he could have Durindana, Orlando hung the blade on a tree, and\nthe two knights spurred their steeds and broke their lances together. Then\ngrappling, each endeavored to unhorse the other. The breaking of Orlando's\nsaddle girth caused his fall just as he had slipped the bridle from the\nhead of his enemy's horse, and the frightened steed, freed from its rein,\nran madly through the wood, followed by Doralice.\n\nOrlando told Zerbino to inform Mandricardo if he overtook him that he\nwould wait in that spot three days for him to return and renew the combat,\nand bade the lovers farewell. As he wandered through the region while\nwaiting, he found a peaceful little spot where a limpid rill rippled\nthrough a meadow dotted here and there with trees. Here the weary warrior\nsought repose; but as he looked about him he espied the name of Angelica\ncarved on the trees, entwined with that of Medoro. Persuading himself that\nthis was a fanciful name by which the maid intended to signify himself, he\nentered a little ivy-covered grotto, arching over a fountain, and there\ndiscovered on the rocky wall some verses in which Medoro celebrated his\nunion with Angelica. For a moment he stood as if turned to stone. Unable\nto weep, he again mounted his horse and sought a peasant's house to pass\nthe night. There he heard the story of Angelica's infatuation, and saw the\nbracelet she had left them in return for their hospitality. The unhappy\nOrlando passed a sleepless night, weeping and groaning, and the next\nmorning hastened to the forest that he might give way to his grief\nunobserved. There madness came upon him, and he uprooted the hateful\ntrees, cut the solid stone of the grotto with his sword, making a\ndesolation of the beautiful spot, and, casting off his armor, ran naked\nthrough the country, pillaging, burning, and slaying.\n\nZerbino and Isabel sought the spot in a few days to learn if Mandricardo\nhad returned, found the scattered armor, and heard of Orlando's madness\nfrom a shepherd. Lamenting over their protector's misfortune, they\ngathered up the armor, hung it on a sapling, and wrote thereon Orlando's\nname. But while they were thus engaged, Mandricardo arrived, took the long\ncoveted sword, and gave Zerbino, who attempted to prevent the theft, a\nmortal wound. The unhappy Isabel, intent on self-destruction, was\ncomforted by a hermit, who promised to take her to a monastery near\nMarseilles.\n\nMandricardo had had but a few moments for repose after this combat with\nZerbino, when the furious Rodomont overtook him and a terrible combat\nbetween the two began, the beautiful cause of it looking on with interest.\nBut so strong were the champions that the struggle might have been\nprolonged indefinitely had not a messenger announced to the knights that\nthey must postpone their private quarrels for a moment and hasten to the\nrelief of King Agramant.\n\nAfter Rogero had freed Richardetto, Bradamant's brother, and had attempted\nin vain to find Bradamant, he was troubled by the thought of King\nAgramant. He was determined to wed the warrior maid and become a\nChristian, but first came his vow to the pagan king. He therefore wrote\nher a note, saying that honor required his presence with Agramant for at\nleast fifteen or twenty days, but after that time he would find means to\njustify himself with Agramant and would meet her at Vallombrosa to be\nbaptized.\n\nHe, with Richardetto, Aldigier, and Marphisa, whom they met on her way to\nthe pagan camp, rode on together, and freed Vivian and Malagigi from the\nMoors and Manganese. While they rested at a little fountain, Hippalca rode\nup, and told them that she had just met Rodomont, who took Frontino from\nher. She also managed secretly to give Rogero Bradamant's message and\nreceive his letter in return.\n\nWhile the party still remained at the fountain, Rodomont came up with\nMandricardo and Doralice, and all engaged in a fierce battle, which was at\nlast interrupted by Malagigi, who, versed in wizard arts, conjured a demon\ninto Doralice's horse so that it ran away; and Rodomont and Mandricardo,\nfrightened by her screams, started in pursuit.\n\nWith the assistance of Rogero, Marphisa, Rodomont, and Mandricardo,\nAgramant was enabled to drive Charlemagne back into Paris, where he was\nsaved only by the interposition of Discord, who stirred up the old\nquarrels between Rodomont, Mandricardo, Rogero, and Gradasso over weapons,\nbearings, and horses, until Agramant announced that they should settle\ntheir difficulties by single combat, drawing lots to see who should first\nengage in battle. But when they were ready for the lists, fresh quarrels\nbroke out, until the king despaired of ever having peace in his ranks.\nFinally, at his command, Doralice publicly declared Mandricardo her\nchoice, and the furious Rodomont fled from the camp. On his way to Africa\nhe found a little abandoned church between France and Spain, and decided\nto remain there instead of returning home. From this spot he saw Isabel on\nher way to Marseilles, and falling in love with her, he slew the hermit,\ndragged her to his retreat, and tried to win her. But she, loathing him\nand faithful to Zerbino, caused him to slay her, pretending that she was\nrendered invulnerable by an ointment which she had prepared, and the\nsecret of which she would impart to him. The unhappy Rodomont walled up\nthe church to form her tomb, and threw a narrow bridge across the stream.\nOn this bridge he met every knight who came thither, and having overthrown\nhim, took his arms to deck the tomb, on which he determined to hang a\nthousand such trophies. If the vanquished knight was a Moor he was set\nfree without his arms; if a Christian he was imprisoned. Thither came the\nmad Orlando, and wrestled with Rodomont on the bridge until both fell into\nthe stream. The madman then passed on through the country and met Medoro\nand Angelica on their way to India. They escaped with difficulty, Medoro's\nhorse falling a victim to the madman, who continued to lay waste the land\nuntil he reached Zizera on the bay of Gibraltar, and, plunging into the\nsea, swam to Africa.\n\nAfter Doralice had decided the quarrel between Mandricardo and Rodomont,\nRogero and the Tartar met in the lists to decide their quarrel over their\nbearings. The battle was fearful, and when both fell to the ground it was\nsupposed that Mandricardo was the victor. But when the crowd rushed to the\nlists they found the Tartar dead and Rogero only wounded. But the cheers\nof the crowd gave little pleasure to the hero, who grieved that he must\nlie on a sick-bed instead of seeking Bradamant, according to his promise.\nBradamant too, who had looked forward so eagerly to the day he had set,\nwept when it came without her lover. Soon she heard that Rogero's coming\nwas prevented by his wounds; but when she also heard that he was attended\nby the warrior maid Marphisa, and that their names were frequently coupled\nin the pagan camp, she at once felt the pangs of jealousy. Unable to\nendure it longer, she armed herself, changing her usual vest for one whose\ncolors denoted her desperation and desire to die, and set forth to meet\nand slay Marphisa, taking with her the spear left her by Astolpho, whose\nmagic properties she did not know. With this she overthrew Rodomont and\ncaused him to depart from his tomb and free his captives, and then,\nproceeding to Aries, challenged Rogero, who was sadly puzzled, not\nrecognizing his challenger on account of her changed vest. Several knights\nattacked her before Rogero came forth, only to be overthrown by the spear,\nand then Marphisa, who had rushed forth before Rogero could arm, met her,\nand the two women fought like tigers. When Rogero at last went forth he\nrecognized Bradamant's voice, and suspecting the cause of her hostility,\nimplored her to withdraw with him to a wood near by to hear his\nexplanation. Marphisa followed them and attacked Bradamant so fiercely\nthat Rogero was forced to her rescue, and lifting his sword would have\nstruck the maid had he not been stopped by a voice from a tomb near by. It\nwas that of Atlatites, who announced to Rogero and Marphisa that they were\nbrother and sister, children of Rogero of Pisa and Galiciella; that Rogero\nhad been treacherously slain and his town betrayed to Almontes, who cast\nGaliciella adrift on the sea. Atlantes rescued her, and took her children\nwhen she died; but Marphisa was stolen from him by a band of Arabs.\n\nFrom this speech it was plainly the duty of Rogero and Marphisa to espouse\nthe cause of Charlemagne and take arms against Agramant, who was their\nenemy. Bradamant and Marphisa then embraced, bade Rogero farewell, and\nproceeded to Charlemagne's camp, where Marphisa was received with honor\nand baptized, while Rogero promised to follow them as soon as he could\nfind an excuse to leave Agramant.\n\nWhen Astolpho left Bradamant in the forest, he quickly rose in the air and\npassed rapidly over the kingdoms of the world, Aragon, Navarre, Cadiz,\nEgypt, Morocco, Fez, over the sandy desert until he reached the kingdom of\nNubia, whose king he rescued from the harpies by the sound of his magic\nhorn. Then, mounted on his hippogrif again, he rose to the terrestrial\nParadise, where he was welcomed by John, who informed him that he was sent\nthither by the grace of God that he might get instruction how to furnish\naid to Charles and the Church, who were sorely in need of it. With John he\nrose in a chariot to the Heaven of the Moon, where, after seeing many\nstrange things, he was given the wits of Orlando enclosed in a vial. They\nhad been taken from him as a punishment for his loving a pagan, but were\nnow to be restored to him that he might aid Charlemagne in conquering the\nMoors. Astolpho then descended to Nubia, restored sight to its king, and\nasking for his forces, went with them into Africa and attacked Biserta,\nthe city of Agramant.\n\nWhen these tidings were borne to Agramant he was greatly troubled, and\ndesiring to end the war in Europe and hasten to his own country, he\nproposed to Charlemagne that the war be decided by single combat between\ntwo champions. Great was the agony of Rogero, the pagan champion, when he\nrecognized in his opponent Rinaldo, the brother of Bradamant. He would\nnever dare to slay him, so he parried the blows rained upon him, and\nstruck back so feebly that the spectators, not understanding his motives,\ndeemed him unable to cope with Rinaldo. But Melissa, determined that\nMerlin's prophecy should come true, appeared to Agramant in the guise of\nRodomont, and urged him to break the compact and fall upon the Christians.\nDelighted to have the mighty king with him again, Agramant did not scruple\nto break his word, and rushed upon the Christian forces, breaking up the\ncombat. After a sharp conflict, the Saracens were put to flight and\nAgramant hastened into Africa.\n\nHis people in Biserta, their strength drained by the long war, were unable\nto withstand the Christian foe, soon re-enforced by a powerful enemy. One\nday, as Astolpho and his friends were standing on the beach, a madman came\nraging towards them, whom Astolpho recognized as Orlando. The warriors\nattempted in vain to hold him until Astolpho ordered the ship's hawsers to\nbe brought, and knotting them flung them at the count's limbs, and so\nthrew him down and tied him. Then, after having had his body cleansed from\nmud and filth, he stopped his mouth with herbs so that he could breathe\nonly through his nostrils, and holding the vial there, the lost senses\nwere quickly inhaled, and Orlando was himself again, astonished and\ndelighted to find himself with his friends.\n\nWith Orlando's help, Biserta was soon taken, and Agramant, who had met the\nChristian fleet under the leadership of Dudon and had barely escaped with\nhis life, saw from afar the flames devouring his beloved city.\n\nLanding with Sobrino upon a little isle, he found there King Sericane, who\nadvised him to challenge the Christians to single combat in order to\ndecide the outcome of the war, he, Gradasso, and Sobrino to stand in the\nlists against three Christian champions. Orlando agreed to do so, and\nselected for his companions in the fight Brandimart and Olivier. But the\npagans were no match for Orlando, whom no weapon could injure, and\nAgramant and Gradasso soon fell, while Sobrino was wounded. But the joy\nover the Christian victory was not unalloyed by sorrow, for Olivier was\nseverely wounded and the beloved Brandimart was slain.\n\nThe champions were now joined by Rinaldo, who after the breaking of the\npact by Agramant, had set off for India in search of Angelica, whom he\nstill madly loved. But Disdain guided his steps to the Fountain of Hate,\none draught of which changed his love to loathing, so that he abandoned\nhis undertaking and hastened to join the Christian forces in Africa.\n\nOlivier's wound proved slow to heal, and when at last the warriors heard\nof a hermit on a lonely isle who could help him, they hastened to take\ntheir wounded comrade thither. There they found Rogero, who had been\nshipwrecked while sailing to Africa, and had been baptized by the hermit,\nwho was warned in a dream of his coming. The Christian warriors gladly\nwelcomed Rogero to their ranks, for they knew of his valor; and Rinaldo,\nwho had learned how the young hero had saved the life of Richardetto and\nhad preserved Vivian and Malagigi, embraced him, and at the suggestion of\nthe hermit, plighted him to his sister. Before they left the isle, Sobrino\nwas converted by the pious hermit, and Olivier's wound was healed.\n\nThe knights were received with the greatest honor by Charlemagne,\nespecially Rogero, the new convert. But what unhappiness awaited him! In\nhis absence Bradamant's father had promised the maid to Leo, the son of\nthe Greek emperor, Constantine, in spite of her prayers and entreaties.\n\nAlthough Bradamant declared that she would die sooner than wed another,\nthe heart-broken Rogero hastily departed for Constantinople to slay his\nrival. In his absence, Bradamant besought Charlemagne not to compel her to\nmarry Leo unless he could defeat her in single combat; and her angry\nparents, on learning of this, took her from the court and shut her up in\nthe tower of Rocca Forte. Rogero, in the mean time, reached Leo's realms\njust as the Greeks engaged in battle with the Bulgarians. Because of his\nhatred for Leo, he fought with the Bulgarians, and when their king fell he\nrallied their scattered troops and put the Greeks to flight. Rogero then\nfollowed the fleeing Greeks unaccompanied, and being recognized, was taken\ncaptive that night as he slept in a hostelry. At the entreaty of a\nkinswoman whose son Rogero had slain that day, the emperor surrendered his\ncaptive to her, and he was thrust into a gloomy dungeon, where he suffered\nagonies from hunger and cold. But Leo, who had admired his valor in battle\nand had longed to know him, rescued him, recovered his horse and armor,\nand by his generosity compelled Rogero to admire him as much as he had\nbefore hated him. The news of Charlemagne's decree now reached Leo, and\nhe, fearing to fight Bradamant, asked the unknown knight of the unicorn to\ntake his place. Rogero's heart sank within him, but he dared not refuse.\nHis life was Leo's, and he must sacrifice himself for him, must either\nslay Bradamant, or be slain by her for his deliverer's sake. He\naccompanied Leo to France, and feigning a cheerfulness he did not feel,\nchanged armor and steed that he might not be known, and, while Leo\nremained in his tent outside the city, entered the lists and encountered\nBradamant, who was determined to slay her hated suitor. Rogero was equally\ndetermined not to slay her nor to allow himself to be conquered. When\ntwilight fell and king and court saw that while the young knight had not\novercome the maid, he had not allowed himself to be overcome, they\ndeclared that the couple were well matched and that they should wed.\n\nThe hopeless Rogero hastened back to Leo's camp, changed armor and steed,\nand during the night stole away from the hateful place to the greenwood\nthat he might die there, since he could never possess his beloved. At the\nsame time, Bradamant gave way to her grief in such a manner that Marphisa,\nalready indignant at the treatment of her brother, appeared before the\nking in his behalf. She declared that Rogero and Bradamant had already\nexchanged all the vows of those who marry and therefore she was not free\nto wed another. She then suggested that since the matter had gone so far,\nLeo and Rogero should meet in the lists to decide to whom the lady\nbelonged.\n\nLeo at once set out in search of his knight of the unicorn, who he\nbelieved would defend him from all peril, and found him in the forest,\nalmost fainting from fasting and sleeplessness. The Greek embraced Rogero\ntenderly and implored him to betray the cause of his grief, and so tender\nwere his words and so gracious his manner that Rogero could not but\nunbosom himself. And when Leo learned that his unknown champion was no\nother than Rogero himself he declared that he would gladly forego\nBradamant for him, and would rather have forfeited his life than caused\nsuch grief to such a faithful friend.\n\nJoy filled the court when the story of Rogero's fidelity was made known,\nand the joy was increased when ambassadors came from Bulgaria, seeking the\nunknown knight of the unicorn that they might offer their throne to him.\nDuke Aymon and his wife were reconciled when they found that Rogero was to\nbe a king, and the wedding was celebrated with the greatest splendor,\nCharlemagne providing for Bradamant as though she were his daughter.\n\nIn the midst of the celebrations Rodomont appeared to defy Rogero, and\nthat knight, nothing loath, met him in the lists. The Moor fell under\nRogero's blows, and all the Christian court rejoiced to see the last of\nthe pagan knights fall by the hand of their champion.\n\n\n\n\nSELECTION FROM THE ORLANDO FURIOSO.\n\nTHE DEATH OF ZERBINO.\n\n\nAs Orlando talked with Zerbino, whose life he had saved and to whom he had\ngiven his lady Isabel, also rescued by him, Mandricardo the Tartar king\ncame up and challenged Orlando to single combat. While they fought,\nMandricardo's steed, from which Orlando had slipped the rein, became\nunmanageable, and fled with its rider. Orlando asked Zerbino and Isabel to\ntell Mandricardo, if they overtook him, that he would wait for him in that\nplace for three days to renew the battle. But while waiting, Orlando\nlearned of Angelica's love for Medoro, and losing his senses from grief,\nthrew away his armor, and went wandering through France. Zerbino and\nIsabel returned to the place to see if Mandricardo had returned, and there\nlearned of Orlando's condition.\n\n  Far off, he [Zerbino] saw that something shining lay,\n   And spied Orlando's corselet on the ground;\n   And next his helm; but not that head-piece gay\n   Which whilem African Almontes crowned:\n   He in the thicket heard a courser neigh,\n   And, lifting up his visage at the sound,\n   Saw Brigliadoro the green herbage browse,\n   With rein yet hanging at his saddle-bows,\n\n  For Durindane, he sought the greenwood, round,\n   Which separate from the scabbard met his view;\n   And next the surcoat, but in tatters, found;\n   That, in a hundred rags, the champaign strew,\n   Zerbino and Isabel, in grief profound,\n   Stood looking on, nor what to think they knew:\n   They of all matters else might think, besides\n   The fury which the wretched count misguides.\n\n  Had but the lovers seen a drop of blood,\n   They might have well believed Orlando dead:\n   This while the pair, beside the neighboring flood,\n   Beheld a shepherd coming, pale with dread.\n   He just before, as on a rock he stood,\n   Had seen the wretch's fury; how he shed\n   His arms about the forest, tore his clothes,\n   Slew hinds, and caused a thousand other woes.\n\n  Questioned by good Zerbino, him the swain\n    Of all which there had chanced, informed aright.\n    Zerbino marvelled, and believed with pain,\n    Although the proofs were clear: This as it might,\n    He from his horse dismounted on the plain,\n    Full of compassion, in afflicted plight;\n    And went about, collecting from the ground\n    The various relics which were scattered round.\n\n  Isabel lights as well; and, where they lie\n    Dispersed, the various arms uniting goes.\n\n        *       *       *       *       *\n\n  Here Prince Zerbino all the arms unites,\n    And hangs like a fair trophy, on a pine.\n    And, to preserve them safe from errant knights,\n    Natives or foreigners, in one short line\n    Upon the sapling's verdant surface writes,\n    ORLANDO'S ARMS, KING CHARLES'S PALADINE.\n    As he would say, \"Let none this harness move,\n    Who cannot with its lord his prowess prove!\"\n\n  Zerbino having done the pious deed,\n    Is bowning him to climb his horse; when, lo!\n    The Tartar king arrives upon the mead.\n    He at the trophied pine-tree's gorgeous show,\n    Beseeches him the cause of this to read;\n    Who lets him (as rehearsed) the story know.\n    When, without further pause, the paynim lord\n    Hastes gladly to the pine, and takes the sword.\n\n  \"None can (he said) the action reprehend,\n    Nor first I make the faulchion mine to-day;\n    And to its just possession I pretend\n    Where'er I find it, be it where it may.\n    Orlando, this not daring to defend,\n    Has feigned him mad, and cast the sword away;\n    But if the champion so excuse his shame,\n    This is no cause I should forego my claim.\"\n\n   \"Take it not thence,\" to him Zerbino cried,\n    \"Nor think to make it thine without a fight:\n    If so thou tookest Hector's arms of pride,\n    By theft thou hadst them, rather than by right.\"\n    Without more parley spurred upon each side,\n    Well matched in soul and valor, either knight.\n    Already echoed are a thousand blows;\n    Nor yet well entered are the encountering foes.\n\n  In 'scaping Durindane, a flame in show\n    (He shifts so swiftly), is the Scottish lord.\n    He leaps about his courser like a doe,\n    Where'er the road best footing does afford.\n    And well it is that he should not forego\n    An inch of vantage; who, if once that sword\n    Smite him, will join the enamored ghosts, which rove\n    Amid the mazes of the myrtle grove.\n\n  As the swift-footed dog, who does espy\n    Swine severed from his fellows, hunts him hard,\n    And circles round about; but he lies by\n    Till once the restless foe neglect his guard;\n    So, while the sword descends, or hangs on high,\n    Zerbino stands, attentive how to ward,\n    How to save life and honor from surprise;\n    And keeps a wary eye, and smites and flies.\n\n  On the other side, where'er the foe is seen\n    To threaten stroke in vain, or make it good,\n    He seems an Alpine wind, two hills between,\n    That in the month of March shakes leafy wood;\n    Which to the ground now bends the forest green,\n    Now whirls the broken boughs, at random strewed.\n    Although the prince wards many, in the end\n    One mighty stroke he cannot 'scape or fend.\n\n  In the end he cannot 'scape one downright blow,\n    Which enters, between sword and shield, his breast.\n    As perfect was the plate and corselet, so\n    Thick was the steel wherein his paunch was drest:\n    But the destructive weapon, falling low,\n    Equally opened either iron vest;\n    And cleft whate'er it swept in its descent,\n    And to the saddle-bow, through cuirass, went.\n\n  And, but that somewhat short the blow descends\n    It would Zerbino like a cane divide;\n    But him so little in the quick offends,\n    This scarce beyond the skin is scarified.\n    More than a span in length the wound extends;\n    Of little depth: of blood a tepid tide\n    To his feet descending, with a crimson line,\n    Stains the bright arms which on the warrior shine.\n\n  'T is so, I sometimes have been wont to view\n    A hand more white than alabaster, part\n    The silver cloth with ribbon red of hue;\n    A hand I often feel divide my heart.\n    Here little vantage young Zerbino drew\n    From strength and greater daring, and from art;\n    For in the temper of his arms and might,\n    Too much the Tartar king excelled the knight.\n\n  The fearful stroke was mightier in show,\n    Than in effect, by which the prince was prest;\n    So that poor Isabel, distraught with woe,\n    Felt her heart severed in her frozen breast.\n    The Scottish prince, all over in a glow,\n    With anger and resentment was possest,\n    And putting all his strength in either hand,\n    Smote full the Tartar's helmet with his brand.\n\n  Almost on his steed's neck the Tartar fell,\n    Bent by the weighty blow Zerbino sped;\n    And, had the helmet been unfenced by spell\n    The biting faulchion would have cleft his head.\n    The king, without delay, avenged him well,\n    \"Nor I for you till other season,\" said,\n    \"Will keep this gift;\" and levelled at his crest,\n    Hoping to part Zerbino to the chest.\n\n  Zerbino, on the watch, whose eager eye\n    Waits on his wit, wheels quickly to the right;\n    But not withal so quickly, as to fly\n    The trenchant sword, which smote the shield outright,\n    And cleft from top to bottom equally;\n    Shearing the sleeve beneath it, and the knight\n    Smote on his arm; and next the harness rended,\n    And even to the champion's thigh descended.\n\n  Zerbino, here and there, seeks every way\n    By which to wound, nor yet his end obtains;\n    For, while he smites upon that armor gay,\n    Not even a feeble dint the coat retains.\n    On the other hand, the Tartar in the fray\n    Such vantage o'er the Scottish prince obtains,\n    Him he has wounded in seven parts or eight,\n    And reft his shield and half his helmet's plate.\n\n  He ever wastes his blood; his energies\n    Fail, though he feels it not, as't would appear;\n    Unharmed, the vigorous heart new force supplies\n    To the weak body of the cavalier.\n    His lady, during this, whose crimson dyes\n    Were chased by dread, to Doralice drew near,\n    And for the love of Heaven, the damsel wooed\n    To stop that evil and disastrous feud.\n\n    Doralice, who as courteous was as fair,\n    And ill-assured withal, how it would end,\n    Willingly granted Isabella's prayer,\n    And straight to truce and peace disposed her friend.\n    As well Zerbino, by the other's care,\n    Was brought his vengeful anger to suspend;\n    And, wending where she willed, the Scottish lord,\n    Left unachieved the adventure of the sword.\n\n  For to leave Durindana such misdeed\n    To him appeared, it past all other woes;\n    Though he could hardly sit upon his steed,\n    Through mighty loss of life-blood, which yet flows.\n    Now, when his anger and his heat secede,\n    After short interval, his anguish grows;\n    His anguish grows, with such impetuous pains,\n    He feels that life is ebbing from his veins.\n\n  For weakness can the prince no further hie,\n    And so beside a fount is forced to stay:\n    Him to assist the pitying maid would try,\n    But knows not what to do, nor what to say.\n    For lack of comfort she beholds him die;\n    Since every city is too far away,\n    Where in this need she could resort to leech,\n    Whose succor she might purchase or beseech.\n\n  She, blaming fortune, and the cruel sky,\n    Can only utter fond complaints and vain.\n    \"Why sank I not in ocean,\" (was her cry),\n    \"When first I reared my sail upon the main?\"\n    Zerbino, who on her his languid eye\n    Had fixt, as she bemoaned her, felt more pain\n    Than that enduring and strong anguish bred,\n    Through which the suffering youth was well-nigh dead.\n\n  \"So be thou pleased, my heart,\" (Zerbino cried),\n    \"To love me yet, when I am dead and gone,\n    As to abandon thee without a guide,\n    And not to die, distresses me alone.\n    For did it me in place secure betide\n    To end my days, this earthly journey done,\n    I cheerful, and content, and fully blest\n    Would die, since I should die upon thy breast\n\n  \"But since to abandon thee, to whom a prize\n    I know not, my sad fate compels, I swear,\n    My Isabella, by that mouth, those eyes,\n    By what enchained me first, that lovely hair;\n    My spirit, troubled and despairing, hies\n    Into hell's deep and gloomy bottom; where\n    To think, thou wert abandoned so by me,\n    Of all its woes the heaviest pain will be.\"\n\n  At this the sorrowing Isabel, declining\n    Her mournful face, which with her tears o'erflows,\n    Towards the sufferer, and her mouth conjoining\n    To her Zerbino's, languid as a rose;\n    Rose gathered out of season, and which, pining\n    Fades where it on the shadowy hedgerow grows,\n    Exclaims, \"Without me think not so, my heart,\n    On this your last, long journey to depart.\n\n  \"Of this, my heart, conceive not any fear.\n    For I will follow thee to heaven or hell;\n    It fits our souls together quit this sphere,\n    Together go, for aye together dwell.\n    No sooner closed thine eyelids shall appear,\n    Than either me internal grief will quell,\n    Or, has it not such power, I here protest,\n    I with this sword to-day will pierce my breast.\n\n  \"I of our bodies cherish hope not light,\n    That they shall have a happier fate when dead;\n    Together to entomb them, may some wight,\n    Haply by pity moved, be hither led.\"\n    She the poor remnants of his vital sprite\n    Went on collecting, as these words she said;\n    And while yet aught remains, with mournful lips,\n    The last faint breath of life devoutly sips.\n\n  'T was here his feeble voice Zerbino manned,\n    Crying, \"My deity, I beg and pray,\n    By that love witnessed, when thy father's land\n    Thou quittedst for my sake; and, if I may\n    In anything command thee, I command,\n    That, with God's pleasure, thou live-out thy day;\n    Nor ever banish from thy memory,\n    That, well as man can love, have I loved thee.\n\n  \"God haply will provide thee with good aid,\n    To free thee from each churlish deed I fear;\n    As when in the dark cavern thou wast stayed,\n    He sent, to rescue thee. Andante's peer;\n    So he (grammercy!) succored thee dismayed\n    At sea, and from the wicked Biscayneer.\n    And, if thou must choose death, in place of worse,\n    Then only choose it as a leaser curse.\"\n\n  I think not these last words of Scotland's knight\n    Were so exprest, that he was understood:\n    With these, he finished, like a feeble light,\n    Which needs supply of wax, or other food.\n    --Who is there, that has power to tell aright\n    The gentle Isabella's doleful mood?\n    When stiff, her loved Zerbino, with pale face,\n    And cold as ice, remained in her embrace.\n\n  On the ensanguined corse, in sorrow drowned,\n    The damsel throws herself, in her despair,\n    And shrieks so loud that wood and plain resound\n    For many miles about; nor does she spare\n    Bosom or cheek; but still, with cruel wound,\n    One and the other smites the afflicted fair;\n    And wrongs her curling locks of golden grain,\n    Aye calling on the well-loved youth in vain.\n\n  She with such rage, such fury, was possest,\n    That, in her transport, she Zerbino's glaive\n    Would easily have turned against her breast,\n    Ill keeping the command her lover gave;\n    But that a hermit, from his neighboring rest,\n    Accustomed oft to seek the fountain-wave,\n    His flagon at the cooling stream to fill,\n    Opposed him to the damsel's evil will.\n\n  The reverend father, who with natural sense\n    Abundant goodness happily combined,\n    And, with ensamples fraught and eloquence,\n    Was full of charity towards mankind,\n    With efficacious reasons her did fence,\n    And to endurance Isabel inclined;\n    Placing, from ancient Testament and new,\n    Women, as in a mirror, for her view.\n\n  The holy man next made the damsel see,\n    That save in God there was no true content,\n    And proved all other hope was transitory,\n    Fleeting, of little worth, and quickly spent;\n    And urged withal so earnestly his plea,\n    He changed her ill and obstinate intent;\n    And made her, for the rest of life, desire\n    To live devoted to her heavenly sire.\n\n  Not that she would her mighty love forbear\n    For her dead lord, nor yet his relics slight;\n    These, did she halt or journey, everywhere\n    Would Isabel have with her, day and night.\n    The hermit therefore seconding her care,\n    Who, for his age, was sound and full of might,\n    They on his mournful horse Zerbino placed,\n    And traversed many a day that woodland waste.\n\n        *       *       *       *       *\n\n  He thought to bear her to Provence, where, near\n    The city of Marseilles, a borough stood,\n    Which had a sumptuous monastery; here\n    Of ladies was a holy sisterhood.\n\n          _Rose's Translation, Canto XXIV_.\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE LUSIAD.\n\n\n\"The discovery of Mozambique, of Melinda, and of Calcutta has been sung by\nCamoens, whose poem has something of the charm of the Odyssey and of the\nmagnificence of the Aeneid.\"\n\nMONTESQUIEU.\n\n\nThe Portuguese epic, the Lusiad, so-called from Lusitania, the Latin name\nfor Portugal, was written by Luis de Camoens.\n\nHe was born in Lisbon in 1524, lost his father by shipwreck in infancy,\nand was educated by his mother at the University of Coimbra. On leaving\nthe university he appeared at court, where his graces of person and mind\nsoon rendered him a favorite. Here a love affair with the Donna Catarina\nde Atayde, whom the king also loved, caused his banishment to Santarem. At\nthis place he began the Lusiad, and continued it on the expedition against\nthe Moors in Africa sent out by John III., an expedition on which he\ndisplayed much valor and lost an eye. He was recalled to court, but\njealousies soon drove him thence to India, whither he sailed in 1553,\nexclaiming, \"Ungrateful country, thou shall not possess my bones.\" In\nIndia his bravery and accomplishments won him friends, but his imprudences\nsoon caused his exile to China, where he accumulated a small fortune and\nfinished his poem. Happier circumstances permitted him to return to Goa;\nbut on the way the ship laden with his fortune sank, and he escaped,\nsaving only his poem. After sixteen years of misfortune abroad, Camoens\nreturned to Lisbon in 1569. The pestilence that was then raging delayed\nthe publication of the Lusiad until 1572. The poem received little\nattention; a small pension was bestowed on the poet, but was soon\nwithdrawn, and the unfortunate Camoens was left to die in an almshouse. On\nhis death-bed he deplored the impending fate of his country, which he\nalone could see. \"I have loved my country. I have returned not only to die\non her bosom, but to die with her.\"\n\nThe Lusiad tells the story of the voyage of Vasco da Gama. The sailors of\nPrince Henry of Portugal, commander of the Portuguese forces in Africa,\nhad passed Cape Nam and discovered the Cape of Storms, which the prince\nrenamed the Cape of Good Hope. His successor Emmanuel, determined to carry\nout the work of his predecessor by sending out da Gama to undertake the\ndiscovery of the southern passage to India. The Portuguese were generally\nhostile to the undertaking, but da Gama, his brother, and his friend\nCoello gathered a company, part of which consisted of malefactors whose\nsentence of death was reversed on condition that they undertake the\nvoyage, and reached India.\n\nThe Lusiad is divided into ten cantos, containing one thousand one hundred\nand two stanzas. Its metre is the heroic iambic, in rhymed octave stanzas.\n\nThe Lusiad is marred by its mythological allusions in imitation of Homer\nand Virgil, but these are forgotten when the poet sings in impassioned\nstrains of his country's past glory.\n\nThe Lusiad is simple in style; its subject is prosaic; it is a constant\nwonder that out of such unpromising materials Camoens could construct a\npoem of such interest. He could not have done so had he not been so great\na poet, so impassioned a patriot.\n\nCamoens was in one sense of the word a practical man, like Ariosto; he had\ngoverned a province, and governed it successfully. But he had also taken\nup arms for his country, and after suffering all the slights that could be\nput upon him by an ungrateful and forgetful monarch, still loved his\nnative land, loved it the more, perhaps, that he had suffered for it and\nwas by it neglected. He foresaw, also, as did no one else, the future ruin\nof his country, and loved it the more intensely, as a parent lavishes the\nfondest, most despairing affection on a child he knows doomed to early\ndeath.\n\nThe Lusiad is sometimes called the epic of commerce; it could be called\nfar more appropriately the epic of patriotism.\n\n\n\n\nBIBLIOGRAPHY AND CRITICISM, THE LUSIAD.\n\n\nJ. Adamson's Memoirs of Life and Writing of Camoens, 2 vols., 1820 (vol.\n2, account of works of Camoens in Portuguese and other languages, and of\nthe works founded on his life or suggested by his writings);\n\nR. F. Burton's Camoens, his Life and his Lusiad, 2 vols., 1881;\n\nM. W. Shelley's Lives of the most Eminent Literary and Scientific Men of\nItaly, Spain, and Portugal, vol. 3;\n\nF. Bouterwek's History of Spanish and Portuguese Literature, 1823 (Tr. by\nT. Ross);\n\nChambers's Repository, no. 32, Spirit of Camoens's Lusiad;\nW. T. Dobson's Classic Poets, pp. 240-278;\n\nMontgomery's Men of Italy, iii., 295;\n\nSismondi's Literature of the South of Europe, ii., 475-528;\n\nSouthey's Sketch of Portuguese Literature in vol. i. of Quarterly Review,\n1809;\n\nFortnightly Review, i., 184;\n\nQuarterly, i., 235;\n\nMonthly Review, clx., 505;\n\nEdinburgh Review, 1805, vi., 43;\n\nNew England Magazine, liii., 542;\n\nRevue de Deux Mondes, 1832, vi., 145.\n\n\n\n\nSTANDARD ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS, THE LUSIAD. The Lusiad, Tr. by J. J.\n\n\nAubertin, 2 vols., 1881 (Portuguese text and English Tr., in verse);\n\nThe Lusiad, Englished by R. F. Burton, 2 vols., 1881;\n\nThe Lusiad, Tr. into Spenserian verse by R. F. Duff, 1880;\n\nThe Lusiad, Tr. by Sir Richard Fanshawe, 1655;\n\nThe Lusiad, Tr. by W. J. Mickle, 3 vols., Ed. 5, 1807;\n\nThe Lusiad, Tr. by T. M. Musgrave (blank verse), 1826;\n\nThe Lusiad, Tr. by Edward Quillinan, with notes by John Adamson, 1853.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE LUSIAD.\n\n\nWhen Jupiter, looking down from Olympus, saw the Lusitanian fleet sailing\nover the heretofore untravelled seas, he called the gods together, and\nreviewing the past glory of the Portuguese, their victories over the\nCastilians, their stand against the Romans, under their shepherd-hero\nViriatus, and their conquest of Africa, he foretold their future glories\nand their discovery and conquest of India.\n\nBacchus, who had long since made conquests in India, fearful lest his\nancient honors should be forgotten, bitterly opposed the scheme of the\nPortuguese; Venus, however, was favorable to them, and Mars interceded,\ncounselling Jove not to heed Bacchus, but to permit the Lusitanians to\nreach India's shore in safety.\n\nWhen the council of the gods was dismissed, Mercury was sent to guide the\nArmada, which made its first landing at Mozambique. Canoes with curious\npalm-leaf sails, laden with dark-skinned natives, swarmed round the ships\nand were hailed with joy by Gama and his men, who invited them on board. A\nfeast was spread for them, and to them Gama declared his intention of\nseeking India. Among them was a Moor who had at first thought the\nPortuguese Moors, on account of their dark skins. Feigning cordiality\nwhile plotting their ruin, he offered them a pilot to Quiloa, where, he\nassured them, they would find a Christian colony. He and his friends also\nlaid a plot to place some soldiers in ambush to attack Gama's men when\nthey landed next day to get water; in this way many would be destroyed,\nand certain death awaited the survivors at Quiloa, whither the promised\npilot would conduct them. But the Moors had not counted on the strength of\nthe Portuguese. Gama's vengeance was swift and certain. The thunder of his\nguns terrified the Moors, and the regent implored his pardon, and with\nmake-believe tears insisted on his receiving at his hands the promised\npilot.\n\nMany questions were asked by Gama concerning the spicy shores of India, of\nthe African coasts, and of the island to the north. \"Quiloa, that,\"\nreplied the Moor, \"where from ancient times, the natives have worshipped\nthe blood-stained image of the Christ.\" He knew how the Moorish\ninhabitants hated the Christians, and was secretly delighted when Gama\ndirected him to steer thither.\n\nA storm swept the fleet past Quiloa, but the pilot, still determined on\nrevenge, pointed out the island town of Momba\u00e7a, as a stronghold of the\nChristians, and steering the fleet thither, anchored just outside the bar.\nBacchus, now intent on the destruction of the Lusitanians, assumed the\ncharacter of a priest to deceive the heralds sent ashore by Gama, who\nassured their commander that they saw a Christian priest performing divine\nrites at an altar above which fluttered the banner of the Holy Ghost. In a\nfew moments the Christian fleet would have been at the mercy of the Moors,\nbut Cytherea, beholding from above the peril of her favorites, hastily\ndescended, gathered together her nymphs, and formed an obstruction, past\nwhich the vessels strove in vain to pass. As Gama, standing high on the\npoop, saw the huge rock in the channel, he cried out, and the Moorish\npilots, thinking their treason discovered, leaped into the waves.\n\nWarned in a dream by Mercury that the Moors were preparing to cut his\ncables, De Gama roused his fleet and set sail for Melinda, whose monarch,\nMercury had told him, was both powerful and good.\n\nThe fleet, decorated with purple streamers and gold and scarlet tapestry\nin honor of Ascension Day sailed with drums beating and trumpets sounding,\ninto the harbor of Melinda, where they were welcomed by the kind and\ntruthful people. The fame of the Lusitanians had reached Melinda, and the\nmonarch gladly welcomed them to his land. His herald entreated them to\nremain with him, and brought them sheep, fowls, and the fruits of the\nearth, welcome gifts to the mariners. Gama had vowed not to leave the ship\nuntil he could step on Indian ground, so the next day the king and the\ncommander, clad in their most splendid vestments, met in barges, and the\nmonarch of Melinda asked Gama to tell him of the Lusian race, its origin\nand climate, and of all his adventures up to the time of his arrival at\nMelinda.\n\n\"O king,\" said Gama, \"between the zones of endless winter and eternal\nsummer lies beautiful Europe, surrounded by the sea. To the north are the\nbold Swede, the Prussian, and the Dane; on her south-eastern line dwelt\nthe Grecian heroes, world-renowned, and farther south are the ruins of\nproud Rome. Among the beauteous landscapes of Italy lies proud Venice,\nqueen of the sea, and north of her tower the lofty Alps. The olive groves\nand vineyards of fair Gallia next greet the eye, and then the valorous\nfields of Spain, Aragon, Granada, and--the pride of Spain--Castile. On the\nwest, a crown to it, lies Lusitania, on whom last smiles the setting\nsun,--against whose shores roll the waves of the western sea.\n\n\"Noble are the heroes of my country. They were the first to rise against\nthe Moors and expel them from the kingdom. The forces of Rome were routed\nby our shepherd-hero, Viriatus. After his death our country languished\nuntil Alonzo of Spain arose, whose renown spread far and wide because of\nhis battles against the Moors.\n\n\"Alonzo rewarded generously the heroes who fought under him, and to Prince\nHenry of Hungaria he gave the fields through which the Tagus flows and the\nhand of his daughter. To them was born a son, Alfonso, the founder of the\nLusian throne. After the death of his father Henry, Alfonso's mother\nbecame regent, and ere long wedded her minister Perez and plotted to\ndeprive her young son of his inheritance. The eighteen year old son arose,\nwon the nobility to his side, and defeated his guilty mother and her\nhusband in the battle of Guimaraens. Forgetful of the reverence due to\nparents, he cruelly imprisoned his mother, whose father, the king of\nSpain, indignant at such treatment of his daughter, now marched against\nthe young prince and defeated him. As he lay in prison, his faithful\nguardian Egas knelt before the king, and vowed that his master, if\nreleased, would pay homage to him. Well he knew that his master would\nnever bow his proud head to pay homage to Castile. So when the day\narrived, Egas, and all his family, clad in gowns of white like sentenced\nfelons, with unshod feet, and with the halter around their necks, sought\nCastile. 'O king, take us as a sacrifice for my perjured honor. Turn in\nfriendship to the prince thy grandson, and wreak thy vengeance on us\nalone.'\n\n\"Fortunately Alonzo was noble enough to release the self-sacrificing Egas,\nand to forgive his grandson.\n\n\"The young Alfonso, pardoned by his grandfather, proceeded to Ourique,\nwhither marched five Moorish kings. Over his head appeared the sacred\ncross; but he prayed heaven to show it to his army instead, that they\nmight be inspired with the hope of victory. Filled with joy at the token,\nthe Portuguese defeated the Moors, and on the bloody battle-field Alfonso\nwas proclaimed King of Portugal, and from that day placed on his hitherto\nunadorned buckler five azure shields, arranged as a cross. He continued\nthe wars with the Moors until, wounded and taken prisoner at Badajoz, he\nresigned the throne to his son, Don Sancho, who in turn won many\nvictories. Alfonso II., Sancho II., Alfonso III., and Alfonso the Brave\nsucceeded him. At the court of the latter was a beautiful maiden, Inez de\nCastro, whom Alfonso's son Don Pedro had married secretly. The courtiers,\nfearful lest Pedro should show favor to the Castilians because Inez was\nthe daughter of a Castilian, told the king of his son's amour. In the\nabsence of Pedro, Inez was led before the king, bringing with her her\nchildren, to help her to plead for mercy. But the king was merciless, his\ncounsellors, brutal, and at his signal they stabbed her. Pedro never\nrecovered from the shock given him by the fate of his beautiful wife, and\nafter his succession to the throne, as a partial atonement for her\nsuffering, he had her body taken from the grave and crowned Queen of\nPortugal.\n\n\"The weak Fernando, who took his wife Eleanora from her lawful husband,\nsucceeded Pedro, and their daughter Beatrice not being recognized by the\nPortuguese, at his death Don John, a natural brother, came to the throne.\nIn the mean time a Spanish prince had married Beatrice and invaded\nPortugal, claiming it as his right. The Portuguese were divided until Nu\u00f1o\nAlvarez Pereyra came forward. 'Has one weak reign so corrupted you?' he\ncried. 'Have you so soon forgotten our brave sires? Fernando was weak, but\nJohn, our godlike king, is strong. Come, follow him! Or, if you stay, I\nmyself will go alone; never will I yield to a vassal's yoke; my native\nland shall remain unconquered, and my monarch's foes, Castilian or\nPortuguese, shall heap the plain!'\n\n\"Inspired by Nu\u00f1o's eloquence the Lusians took the field and defeated the\nSpanish in the battle of Aljubarota. Still dissatisfied, Nu\u00f1o pressed into\nSpain and dictated the terms of peace at Seville. Having established\nhimself upon the throne of Portugal, John carried the war into Africa,\nwhich wars were continued after his death by his son Edward. While laying\nsiege to Tangier, Edward and his brother Fernando were taken prisoners,\nand were allowed to return home only on promise to surrender Ceuta. Don\nFernando remained as the hostage they demanded. The Portuguese would not\nagree to surrender Ceuta, and Don Fernando was forced to languish in\ncaptivity, since the Moors would accept no other ransom. He was a\npatriotic prince than whom were none greater in the annals of Lusitania.\n\n\"Alfonso V., victorious over the Moors, dreamed of conquering Castile, but\nwas defeated, and on his death was succeeded by John II., who designed to\ngain immortal fame in a way tried by no other king. His sailors sought a\npath to India, but 'though enriched with knowledge' they perished at the\nmouth of the Indus. To his successor, Emmanuel, in a dream appeared the\nrivers Ganges and Indus, hoary fathers, rustic in aspect, yet with a\nmajestic grace of bearing, their long, uncombed beards dripping with\nwater, their heads wreathed with strange flowers, and proclaimed to him\nthat their countries were ordained by fate to yield to him; that the fight\nwould be great, and the fields would stream with blood, but that at last\ntheir shoulders would bend beneath the yoke. Overjoyed at this dream,\nEmmanuel proclaimed it to his people. I, O king, felt my bosom burn, for\nlong had I aspired to this work. Me the king singled out, to me the dread\ntoil he gave of seeking unknown seas. Such zeal felt I and my youths as\ninspired the Mynian youths when they ventured into unknown seas in the\nArgo, in search of the golden fleece.\n\n\"On the shore was reared a sacred fane, and there at the holy shrine my\ncomrades and I knelt and joined in the solemn rites. Prostrate we lay\nbefore the shrine until morning dawned; then, accompanied by the 'woful,\nweeping, melancholy throng' that came pressing from the gates of the city,\nwe sought our ships.\n\n\"Then began the tears to flow; then the shrieks of mothers, sisters, and\nwives rent the air, and as we waved farewell an ancient man cried out to\nus on the thirst for honor and for fame that led us to undertake such a\nvoyage.\n\n\"Soon our native mountains mingled with the skies, and the last dim speck\nof land having faded, we set our eyes to scan the waste of sea before us.\nFrom Madeira's fair groves we passed barren Masilia, the Cape of Green,\nthe Happy Isles, Jago, Jalofo, and vast Mandinga, the hated shore of the\nGorgades, the jutting cape called by us the Cape of Palms, and southward\nsailed through the wild waves until the stars changed and we saw\nCallisto's star no longer, but fixed our eyes on another pole star that\nrises nightly over the waves. The shining cross we beheld each night in\nthe heavens was to us a good omen.\n\n\"While thus struggling through the untried waves, and battling with the\ntempests, now viewing with terror the waterspouts, and the frightful\nlightnings, now comforted by the sight of mysterious fire upon our masts,\nwe came in sight of land, and gave to the trembling negro who came to us\nsome brass and bells. Five days after this event, as we sailed through the\nunknown seas, a sudden darkness o'erspread the sky, unlighted by moon or\nstar. Questioning what this portent might mean, I saw a mighty phantom\nrise through the air. His aspect was sullen, his cheeks were pale, his\nwithered hair stood erect, his yellow teeth gnashed; his whole aspect\nspoke of revenge and horror.\n\n\"'Bold are you,' cried he, 'to venture hither, but you shall suffer for\nit. The next proud fleet that comes this way shall perish on my coast, and\nhe who first beheld me shall float on the tide a corpse. Often, O Lusus,\nshall your children mourn because of me!' 'Who art thou?' I cried. 'The\nSpirit of the Cape,' he replied, 'oft called the Cape of Tempests.'\"\n\nThe king of Melinda interrupted Gama. He had often heard traditions among\nhis people of the Spirit of the Cape. He was one of the race of Titans who\nloved Thetis, and was punished by Jove by being transformed into this\npromontory.\n\nGama continued: \"Again we set forth, and stopped at a pleasant coast to\nclean our barks of the shell-fish. At this place we left behind many\nvictims of the scurvy in their lonely graves. Of the treason we met with\nat Mozambique and the miracle that saved us at Quiloa and Mombas, you know\nalready, as well as of your own bounty.\"\n\nCharmed with the recital of Gama, the King of Melinda had forgotten how\nthe hours passed away. After the story was told the company whiled away\nthe hours with dance, song, the chase, and the banquet, until Gama\ndeclared that he must go on to India, and was furnished with a pilot by\nthe friendly king.\n\nBacchus, enraged at seeing the voyage so nearly completed, descended to\nthe palace of Neptune, with crystal towers, lofty turrets, roofs of gold,\nand beautiful pillars inwrought with pearls. The sculptured walls were\nadorned with old Chaos's troubled face, the four fair elements, and many\nscenes in the history of the earth. Roused by Bacchus, the gods of the sea\nconsented to let loose the winds and the waves against the Portuguese.\n\nDuring the night, the Lusians spent the time in relating stories of their\ncountry. As they talked, the storm came upon them, and the vessels rose\nupon the giant waves, so that the sailors saw the bottom of the sea swept\nalmost bare by the violence of the storm. But the watchful Venus perceived\nthe peril of her Lusians, and calling her nymphs together, beguiled the\nstorm gods until the storm ceased. While the sailors congratulated\nthemselves on the returning calm, the cry of \"Land!\" was heard, and the\npilot announced to Gama that Calicut was near.\n\nHail to the Lusian heroes who have won such honors, who have forced their\nway through untravelled seas to the shores of India! Other nations of\nEurope have wasted their time in a vain search for luxury and fame instead\nof reclaiming to the faith its enemies! Italy, how fallen, how lost art\nthou! and England and Gaul, miscalled \"most Christian!\" While ye have\nslept, the Lusians, though their realms are small, have crushed the\nMoslems and made their name resound throughout Africa, even to the shores\nof Asia.\n\nAt dawn Gama sent a herald to the monarch; in the mean time, a friendly\nMoor, Mon\u00e7aide, boarded the vessel, delighted to hear his own tongue once\nmore. Born at Tangiers, he considered himself a neighbor of the Lusians;\nwell he knew their valorous deeds, and although a Moor, he now allied\nhimself to them as a friend. He described India to the eager Gama: its\nreligions, its idolaters, the Mohammedans, the Buddhists, the Brahmins. At\nCalicut, queen of India, lived the Zamorin, lord of India, to whom all\nsubject kings paid their tribute.\n\nHis arrival having been announced, Gama, adorned in his most splendid\ngarments, and accompanied by his train, also in bright array, entered the\ngilded barges and rowed to the shore, where stood the Catual, the\nZamorin's minister. Mon\u00e7aide acted as an interpreter. The company passed\nthrough a temple on their way to the palace, in which the Christians were\nhorrified at the graven images there worshipped. On the palace walls were\nthe most splendid pictures, relating the history of India. One wall,\nhowever, bore no sculptures; the Brahmins had foretold that a foreign foe\nwould at some time conquer India, and that space was reserved for scenes\nfrom those wars.\n\nInto the splendid hall adorned with tapestries of cloth of gold and\ncarpets of velvet, Gama passed, and stood before the couch on which sat\nthe mighty monarch. The room blazed with gems and gold; the monarch's\nmantle was of cloth of gold, and his turban shone with gems. His manner\nwas majestic and dignified; he received Gama in silence, only nodding to\nhim to tell his story.\n\nGama proclaimed that he came in friendship from a valorous nation that\nwished to unite its shores with his by commerce. The monarch responded\nthat he and his council would weigh the proposal, and in the mean time\nGama should remain and feast with them.\n\nThe next day the Indians visited the fleet, and after the banquet Gama\ndisplayed to his guests a series of banners on which were told the history\nof Portugal and her heroes. First came Lusus, the friend of Bacchus, the\nhero-shepherd Viriatus, the first Alonzo, the self-sacrificing Egas, the\nvaliant Fuaz, every hero who had strengthened Lusitania and driven out her\nfoes, down to the gallant Pedro and the glorious Henry.\n\nAwed and wondering at the deeds of the mighty heroes, the Indians returned\nhome. In the night Bacchus appeared to the king, warning him against the\nLusians and urging him to destroy them while in his power. The Moors\nbought the Catual with their gold. They also told the king that they would\nleave his city as soon as he allied himself with the odious strangers.\nWhen Gama was next summoned before the king he was received with a frown.\n\n\"You are a pirate! Your first words were lies. Confess it; then you may\nstay with me and be my captain.\"\n\n\"I know the Moors,\" replied Gama. \"I know their lies that have poisoned\nyour ears. Am I mad that I should voluntarily leave my pleasant home and\ndare the terrors of an unknown sea? Ah, monarch, you know not the Lusian\nrace! Bold, dauntless, the king commands, and we obey. Past the dread Cape\nof Storms have I ventured, bearing no gift save friendly peace, and that\nnoblest gift of all, the friendship of my king. I have spoken the truth.\nTruth is everlasting!\"\n\nA day passed and still Gama was detained by the power of the Catual, who\nordered him to call his fleets ashore if his voyage was really one of\nfriendship.\n\n\"Never!\" exclaimed Gama. \"My fleet is free, though I am chained, and they\nshall carry to Lisbon the news of my discovery.\"\n\nAs he spoke, at a sign from the Catual, hostile ships were seen\nsurrounding the Lusian vessels. \"Not one shall tell on Lisbon's shores\nyour fate.\"\n\nGama smiled scornfully, as the fleet swept on towards his vessels. Loud\nsounded the drums, shrill the trumpets. The next moment sudden lightning\nflashed from Gama's ships and the skies echoed with the thunder of the\nguns.\n\nNo word fell from Gama's lips as, the battle over, they saw the sea\ncovered with the torn hulks and floating masts; but the populace raged\naround the palace gates, demanding justice to the strangers.\n\nThe troubled king sought to make peace with Gama.\n\n\"My orders have been given. To-day, when the sun reaches its meridian,\nIndia shall bleed and Calicut shall fall. The time is almost here. I make\nno terms. You have deceived me once.\"\n\nThe Moors fell fainting on the floor; the monarch trembled. \"What can save\nus?\" he cried.\n\n\"Convey me and my train to the fleet. Command at once; it is even now\nnoon.\"\n\nOnce more safe within his ship, with him the faithful Mon\u00e7aide, who had\nkept him informed of the treason of the Moors, his ships laden with\ncinnamon, cloves, pepper, and gems, proofs of his visit, Gama, rejoicing,\nset sail for home.\n\nVenus saw the fleet setting out, and planned a resting-place for the weary\nsailors, a floating isle with golden sands, bowers of laurel and myrtle,\nbeautiful flowers and luscious fruits. Here the sea nymphs gathered,\nThetis, the most beautiful, being reserved for Gama, and here days were\nspent in joyance.\n\nAt the banquet the nymphs sang the future glories of the Lusians, and\ntaking Gama by the hand, led him and his men to a mountain height, whence\nthey could look upon a wondrous globe, the universe. The crystal spheres\nwhirled swiftly, making sweet music, and as they listened to this, they\nsaw the sun go by, the stars, Apollo, the Queen of Love, Diana, and the\n\"yellow earth, the centre of the whole.\" Asia and Africa were unrolled to\ntheir sight, and the future of India, conquered by the Lusians, Cochin\nChina, China, Japan, Sumatra,--all these countries given to the world by\ntheir voyage around the terrible cape.\n\n\"Spread thy sails!\" cried the nymphs; \"the time has come to go!\"\n\nThe ships departed on their homeward way, and the heroes were received\nwith the wildest welcome by the dwellers on Tago's bosom.\n\n\n\n\nSELECTIONS FROM THE LUSIAD.\n\nINEZ DE CASTRO.\n\n\nDuring the reign of Alfonso the Brave, his son Don Pedro secretly wedded\na beautiful maiden of the court, Inez de Castro. The courtiers, jealous\nbecause Inez was a Castilian, betrayed Pedro's secret to the king, who, in\nthe absence of his son, had Inez brought before him and slain by hired\nruffians.\n\n  While glory, thus, Alonzo's name adorn'd,\n  To Lisbon's shores the happy chief return'd,\n  In glorious peace and well-deserv'd repose,\n  His course of fame, and honor'd age to close.\n  When now, O king, a damsel's fate severe,\n  A fate which ever claims the woful tear,\n  Disgraced his honors--On the nymph's 'lorn head\n  Relentless rage its bitterest rancor shed:\n  Yet, such the zeal her princely lover bore,\n  Her breathless corse the crown of Lisbon wore.\n  'Twas thou, O Love, whose dreaded shafts control\n  The hind's rude heart, and tear the hero's soul;\n  Thou, ruthless power, with bloodshed never cloy'd,\n  'Twas thou thy lovely votary destroy'd.\n  Thy thirst still burning for a deeper woe,\n  In vain to thee the tears of beauty flow;\n  The breast that feels thy purest flames divine,\n  With spouting gore must bathe thy cruel shrine.\n  Such thy dire triumphs!--Thou, O nymph, the while,\n  Prophetic of the god's unpitying guile,\n  In tender scenes by love-sick fancy wrought,\n  By fear oft shifted, as by fancy brought,\n  In sweet Mondego's ever-verdant bowers,\n  Languish'd away the slow and lonely hours:\n  While now, as terror wak'd thy boding fears,\n  The conscious stream receiv'd thy pearly tears;\n  And now, as hope reviv'd the brighter flame,\n  Each echo sigh'd thy princely lover's name.\n  Nor less could absence from thy prince remove\n  The dear remembrance of his distant love:\n  Thy looks, thy smiles, before him ever glow,\n  And o'er his melting heart endearing flow:\n  By night his slumbers bring thee to his arms,\n  By day his thoughts still wander o'er thy charms:\n  By night, by day, each thought thy loves employ,\n  Each thought the memory, or the hope, of joy.\n  Though fairest princely dames invok'd his love,\n  No princely dame his constant faith could move:\n  For thee, alone, his constant passion burn'd,\n  For thee the proffer'd royal maids he scorn'd.\n  Ah, hope of bliss too high--the princely dames\n  Refus'd, dread rage the father's breast inflames;\n  He, with an old man's wintry eye, surveys\n  The youth's fond love, and coldly with it weighs\n  The people's murmurs of his son's delay\n  To bless the nation with his nuptial day.\n  (Alas, the nuptial day was past unknown,\n  Which, but when crown'd, the prince could dare to own.)\n  And, with the fair one's blood, the vengeful sire\n  Resolves to quench his Pedro's faithful fire.\n  Oh, thou dread sword, oft stain'd with heroes' gore,\n  Thou awful terror of the prostrate Moor,\n  What rage could aim thee at a female breast,\n  Unarm'd, by softness and by love possess'd!\n\n  Dragg'd from her bower, by murd'rous ruffian hands,\n  Before the frowning king fair Inez stands;\n  Her tears of artless innocence, her air\n  So mild, so lovely, and her face so fair,\n  Mov'd the stern monarch; when, with eager zeal,\n  Her fierce destroyers urg'd the public weal;\n  Dread rage again the tyrant's soul possess'd,\n  And his dark brow his cruel thoughts confess'd;\n  O'er her fair face a sudden paleness spread,\n  Her throbbing heart with gen'rous anguish bled,\n  Anguish to view her lover's hopeless woes,\n\n  And all the mother in her bosom rose.\n  Her beauteous eyes, in trembling tear-drops drown'd,\n  To heaven she lifted (for her hands were bound);\n  Then, on her infants turn'd the piteous glance,\n  The look of bleeding woe; the babes advance,\n  Smiling in innocence of infant age,\n  Unaw'd, unconscious of their grandsire's rage;\n  To whom, as bursting sorrow gave the flow,\n  The native heart-sprung eloquence of woe,\n  The lovely captive thus:--\"O monarch, hear,\n  If e'er to thee the name of man was dear,\n  If prowling tigers, or the wolf's wild brood\n  (Inspired by nature with the lust of blood),\n  Have yet been mov'd the weeping babe to spare,\n  Nor left, but tended with a nurse's care,\n  As Rome's great founders to the world were given;\n  Shall thou, who wear'st the sacred stamp of Heaven\n  The human form divine, shalt thou deny\n  That aid, that pity, which e'en beasts supply!\n  Oh, that thy heart were, as thy looks declare,\n  Of human mould, superfluous were my prayer;\n  Thou couldst not, then, a helpless damsel slay,\n  Whose sole offence in fond affection lay,\n  In faith to him who first his love confess'd,\n  Who first to love allur'd her virgin breast.\n  In these my babes shalt thou thine image see,\n  And, still tremendous, hurl thy rage on me?\n  Me, for their sakes, if yet thou wilt not spare,\n  Oh, let these infants prove thy pious care!\n  Yet, Pity's lenient current ever flows\n  From that brave breast where genuine valor glows;\n  That thou art brave, let vanquish'd Afric tell,\n  Then let thy pity o'er my anguish swell;\n  Ah, let my woes, unconscious of a crime,\n  Procure mine exile to some barb'rous clime:\n  Give me to wander o'er the burning plains\n  Of Libya's deserts, or the wild domains\n  Of Scythia's snow-clad rocks, and frozen shore;\n  There let me, hopeless of return, deplore:\n  Where ghastly horror fills the dreary vale,\n  Where shrieks and howlings die on every gale,\n  The lion's roaring, and the tiger's yell,\n  There with my infant race, consigned to dwell,\n  There let me try that piety to find,\n  In vain by me implor'd from human kind:\n  There, in some dreary cavern's rocky womb,\n  Amid the horrors of sepulchral gloom,\n  For him whose love I mourn, my love shall glow,\n  The sigh shall murmur, and the tear shall flow:\n  All my fond wish, and all my hope, to rear\n  These infant pledges of a love so dear,\n  Amidst my griefs a soothing glad employ,\n  Amidst my fears a woful, hopeless joy.\"\n\n  In tears she utter'd--as the frozen snow\n  Touch'd by the spring's mild ray, begins to flow,\n  So just began to melt his stubborn soul,\n  As mild-ray'd Pity o'er the tyrant stole;\n  But destiny forbade: with eager zeal\n  (Again pretended for the public weal),\n  Her fierce accusers urg'd her speedy doom;\n  Again, dark rage diffus'd its horrid gloom\n  O'er stern Alonzo's brow: swift at the sign,\n  Their swords, unsheath'd, around her brandish'd shine.\n  O foul disgrace, of knighthood lasting stain,\n  By men of arms a helpless lady slain!\n\n  Thus Pyrrhus, burning with unmanly ire,\n  Fulfilled the mandate of his furious sire;\n  Disdainful of the frantic matron's prayer,\n  On fair Polyxena, her last fond care,\n  He rush'd, his blade yet warm with Priam's gore,\n  And dash'd the daughter on the sacred floor;\n  While mildly she her raving mother eyed,\n  Resigned her bosom to the sword, and died.\n  Thus Inez, while her eyes to heaven appeal,\n  Resigns her bosom to the murd'ring steel:\n  That snowy neck, whose matchless form sustain'd\n  The loveliest face, where all the graces reign'd,\n  Whose charms so long the gallant prince enflam'd,\n  That her pale corse was Lisbon's queen proclaim'd,\n  That snowy neck was stain'd with spouting gore,\n  Another sword her lovely bosom tore.\n  The flowers that glisten'd with her tears bedew'd,\n  Now shrunk and languished with her blood embru'd.\n  As when a rose ere-while of bloom so gay,\n  Thrown from the careless virgin's breast away,\n  Lies faded on the plain, the living red,\n  The snowy white, and all its fragrance fled;\n  So from her cheeks the roses died away,\n  And pale in death the beauteous Inez lay:\n  With dreadful smiles, and crimson'd with her blood,\n  Round the wan victim the stern murd'rers stood,\n  Unmindful of the sure, though future hour,\n  Sacred to vengeance and her lover's power.\n\n  O Sun, couldst thou so foul a crime behold,\n  Nor veil thine head in darkness, as of old\n  A sudden night unwonted horror cast\n  O'er that dire banquet, where the sire's repast\n  The son's torn limbs supplied!--Yet you, ye vales!\n  Ye distant forests, and ye flow'ry dales!\n  When pale and sinking to the dreadful fall,\n  You heard her quiv'ring lips on Pedro call;\n  Your faithful echoes caught the parting sound,\n  And Pedro! Pedro! mournful, sigh'd around.\n  Nor less the wood-nymphs of Mondego's groves\n  Bewail'd the memory of her hapless loves:\n  Her griefs they wept, and, to a plaintive rill\n  Transform'd their tears, which weeps and murmurs still.\n  To give immortal pity to her woe\n  They taught the riv'let through her bowers to flow,\n  And still, through violet-beds, the fountain pours\n  Its plaintive wailing, and is named Amours.\n  Nor long her blood for vengeance cried in vain:\n  Her gallant lord begins his awful reign,\n  In vain her murderers for refuge fly,\n  Spain's wildest hills no place of rest supply.\n  The injur'd lover's and the monarch's ire,\n  And stern-brow'd Justice in their doom conspire:\n  In hissing flames they die, and yield their souls in fire.\n      _Mickle's Translation, Canto III._\n\n\n\n\nTHE SPIRIT OF THE CAPE.\n\n\nVasco de Gama relates the incidents of his voyage from Portugal to the\nKing of Melinda. The southern cross had appeared in the heavens and the\nfleet was approaching the southern point of Africa. While at anchor in a\nbay the Portuguese aroused the hostility of the savages, and hastily set\nsail.\n\n  \"Now, prosp'rous gales the bending canvas swell'd;\n  From these rude shores our fearless course we held:\n  Beneath the glist'ning wave the god of day\n  Had now five times withdrawn the parting ray,\n  When o'er the prow a sudden darkness spread,\n  And, slowly floating o'er the mast's tall head\n  A black cloud hover'd: nor appear'd from far\n  The moon's pale glimpse, nor faintly twinkling star;\n  So deep a gloom the low'ring vapor cast,\n  Transfix'd with awe the bravest stood aghast.\n  Meanwhile, a hollow bursting roar resounds,\n  As when hoarse surges lash their rocky mounds;\n  Nor had the black'ning wave nor frowning heav'n\n  The wonted signs of gath'ring tempest giv'n.\n  Amazed we stood. 'O thou, our fortune's guide,\n  Avert this omen, mighty God!' I cried;\n  'Or, through forbidden climes adventurous stray'd,\n  Have we the secrets of the deep survey'd,\n  Which these wide solitudes of seas and sky\n  Were doom'd to hide from man's unhallow'd eye?\n  Whate'er this prodigy, it threatens more\n  Than midnight tempests, and the mingled roar,\n  When sea and sky combine to rock the marble shore.'\n\n  \"I spoke, when rising through the darken'd air,\n  Appall'd, we saw a hideous phantom glare;\n  High and enormous o'er the flood he tower'd,\n  And 'thwart our way with sullen aspect lower'd:\n  An earthy paleness o'er his cheeks was spread,\n  Erect uprose his hairs of wither'd red;\n  Writhing to speak, his sable lips disclose,\n  Sharp and disjoin'd, his gnashing teeth's blue rows;\n  His haggard beard flow'd quiv'ring on the wind,\n  Revenge and horror in his mien combin'd;\n  His clouded front, by with'ring lightnings scar'd,\n  The inward anguish of his soul declar'd.\n  His red eyes, glowing from their dusky caves,\n  Shot livid fires: far echoing o'er the waves\n  His voice resounded, as the cavern'd shore\n  With hollow groan repeats the tempest's roar.\n  Cold gliding horrors thrill'd each hero's breast,\n  Our bristling hair and tott'ring knees confess'd\n  Wild dread, the while with visage ghastly wan,\n  His black lips trembling, thus the fiend began:--\n\n  \"'O you, the boldest of the nations, fir'd\n  By daring pride, by lust of fame inspir'd,\n  Who, scornful of the bow'rs of sweet repose,\n  Through these my waves advance your fearless prows,\n  Regardless of the length'ning wat'ry way,\n  And all the storms that own my sov'reign sway,\n  Who, mid surrounding rocks and shelves explore\n  Where never hero brav'd my rage before;\n  Ye sons of Lusus, who with eyes profane\n  Have view'd the secrets of my awful reign,\n  Have passed the bounds which jealous Nature drew\n  To veil her secret shrine from mortal view;\n  Hear from my lips what direful woes attend,\n  And, bursting soon, shall o'er your race descend.\n\n  \"'With every bounding keel that dares my rage,\n  Eternal war my rocks and storms shall wage,\n  The next proud fleet that through my drear domain,\n  With daring search shall hoist the streaming vane,\n  That gallant navy, by my whirlwinds toss'd,\n  And raging seas, shall perish on my coast:\n  Then he, who first my secret reign descried,\n  A naked corpse, wide floating o'er the tide,\n  Shall drive--Unless my heart's full raptures fail,\n  O Lusus! oft shall thou thy children wail;\n  Each year thy shipwreck'd sons thou shalt deplore,\n  Each year thy sheeted masts shall strew my shore.\n\n  \"'With trophies plum'd behold a hero come,\n  Ye dreary wilds, prepare his yawning tomb.\n  Though smiling fortune bless'd his youthful morn,\n  Though glory's rays his laurell'd brows adorn,\n  Full oft though he beheld with sparkling eye\n  The Turkish moons in wild confusion fly,\n  While he, proud victor, thunder'd in the rear,\n  All, all his mighty fame shall vanish here.\n  Quiloa's sons, and thine, Mombaz, shall see\n  Their conqueror bend his laurell'd head to me;\n  While, proudly mingling with the tempest's sound,\n  Their shouts of joy from every cliff rebound.\n\n  \"'The howling blast, ye slumb'ring storms prepare,\n  A youthful lover and his beauteous fair\n  Triumphant sail from India's ravag'd land;\n  His evil angel leads him to my strand.\n  Through the torn hulk the dashing waves shall roar,\n  The shatter'd wrecks shall blacken all my shore.\n  Themselves escaped, despoil'd by savage hands,\n  Shall, naked, wander o'er the burning sands,\n  Spar'd by the waves far deeper woes to bear,\n  Woes, e'en by me, acknowledg'd with a tear.\n  Their infant race, the promis'd heirs of joy,\n  Shall now, no more, a hundred hands employ;\n  By cruel want, beneath the parents' eye,\n  In these wide wastes their infant race shall die;\n  Through dreary wilds, where never pilgrim trod\n  Where caverns yawn, and rocky fragments nod,\n  The hapless lover and his bride shall stray,\n  By night unshelter'd, and forlorn by day.\n  In vain the lover o'er the trackless plain\n  Shall dart his eyes, and cheer his spouse in vain.\n  Her tender limbs, and breast of mountain snow,\n  Where, ne'er before, intruding blast might blow,\n  Parch'd by the sun, and shrivell'd by the cold\n  Of dewy night, shall he, fond man, behold.\n  Thus, wand'ring wide, a thousand ills o'er past,\n  In fond embraces they shall sink at last;\n  While pitying tears their dying eyes o'erflow,\n  And the last sigh shall wail each other's woe.\n\n  \"'Some few, the sad companions of their fate,\n  Shall yet survive, protected by my hate,\n  On Tagus' banks the dismal tale to tell,\n  How, blasted by my frown, your heroes fell.'\n\n  \"He paus'd, in act still further to disclose\n  A long, a dreary prophecy of woes:\n  When springing onward, loud my voice resounds,\n  And midst his rage the threat'ning shade confounds.\n\n  \"'What art thou, horrid form that rid'st the air?\n  By Heaven's eternal light, stern fiend, declare.'\n  His lips he writhes, his eyes far round he throws,\n  And, from his breast, deep hollow groans arose,\n  Sternly askance he stood: with wounded pride\n  And anguish torn, 'In me, behold,' he cried,\n  While dark-red sparkles from his eyeballs roll'd,\n  'In me the Spirit of the Cape behold,\n  That rock, by you the Cape of Tempests nam'd,\n  By Neptune's rage, in horrid earthquakes fram'd,\n  When Jove's red bolts o'er Titan's offspring flam'd.\n  With wide-stretch'd piles I guard the pathless strand,\n  And Afric's southern mound, unmov'd, I stand:\n  Nor Roman prow, nor daring Tyrian oar\n  Ere dash'd the white wave foaming to my shore;\n  Nor Greece nor Carthage ever spread the sail\n  On these my seas, to catch the trading gale.\n  You, you alone have dar'd to plough my main,\n  And with the human voice disturb my lonesome reign.\"\n\n  \"He spoke, and deep a lengthen'd sigh he drew,\n  A doleful sound, and vanish'd from the view:\n  The frighten'd billows gave a rolling swell,\n  And, distant far, prolong'd the dismal yell,\n  Faint and more faint the howling echoes die,\n  And the black cloud dispersing, leaves the sky.\n  High to the angel-host, whose guardian care\n  Had ever round us watch'd, my hands I rear,\n  And Heaven's dread King implore: 'As o'er our head\n  The fiend dissolv'd, an empty shadow fled;\n  So may his curses, by the winds of heav'n,\n  Far o'er the deep, their idle sport, be driv'n!'\"\n\n  With sacred horror thrill'd, Melinda's lord\n  Held up the eager hand, and caught the word.\n  \"Oh, wondrous faith of ancient days,\" he cries,\n  \"Concealed in mystic lore and dark disguise!\n  Taught by their sires, our hoary fathers tell,\n  On these rude shores a giant spectre fell,\n  What time from heaven the rebel band were thrown:\n  And oft the wand'ring swain has heard his moan.\n  While o'er the wave the clouded moon appears\n  To hide her weeping face, his voice he rears\n  O'er the wild storm. Deep in the days of yore,\n  A holy pilgrim trod the nightly shore;\n  Stern groans he heard; by ghostly spells controll'd,\n  His fate, mysterious, thus the spectre told:\n\n  \"'By forceful Titan's warm embrace compress'd,\n  The rock-ribb'd mother, Earth, his love confess'd:\n  The hundred-handed giant at a birth,\n  And me, she bore, nor slept my hopes on earth;\n  My heart avow'd my sire's ethereal flame;\n  Great Adamastor, then, my dreaded name.\n  In my bold brother's glorious toils engaged,\n  Tremendous war against the gods I waged:\n  Yet, not to reach the throne of heaven I try,\n  With mountain pil'd on mountain to the sky;\n  To me the conquest of the seas befell,\n  In his green realm the second Jove to quell.\n  Nor did ambition all my passions hold,\n  'Twas love that prompted an attempt so bold.\n  Ah me, one summer in the cool of day,\n  I saw the Nereids on the sandy bay,\n  With lovely Thetis from the wave advance\n  In mirthful frolic, and the naked dance.\n  In all her charms reveal'd the goddess trod,\n  With fiercest fires my struggling bosom glow'd;\n  Yet, yet I feel them burning in my heart,\n  And hopeless, languish with the raging smart.\n  For her, each goddess of the heavens I scorn'd,\n  For her alone my fervent ardor burn'd.\n  In vain I woo'd her to the lover's bed,\n  From my grim form, with horror, mute she fled.\n  Madd'ning with love, by force I ween to gain\n  The silver goddess of the blue domain;\n  To the hoar mother of the Nereid band\n  I tell my purpose, and her aid command:\n  By fear impell'd, old Doris tried to move,\n  And win the spouse of Peleus to my love.\n  The silver goddess with a smile replies,\n  'What nymph can yield her charms a giant's prize!\n  Yet, from the horrors of a war to save,\n  And guard in peace our empire of the wave,\n  Whate'er with honor he may hope to gain,\n  That, let him hope his wish shall soon attain.'\n  The promis'd grace infus'd a bolder fire,\n  And shook my mighty limbs with fierce desire.\n  But ah, what error spreads its dreadful night,\n  What phantoms hover o'er the lover's sight!\n\n  \"The war resign'd, my steps by Doris led,\n  While gentle eve her shadowy mantle spread,\n  Before my steps the snowy Thetis shone\n  In all her charms, all naked, and alone.\n  Swift as the wind with open arms I sprung,\n  And, round her waist with joy delirious clung:\n  In all the transports of the warm embrace,\n  A hundred kisses on her angel face,\n  On all its various charms my rage bestows,\n  And, on her cheek, my cheek enraptur'd glows.\n  When oh, what anguish while my shame I tell!\n  What fix'd despair, what rage my bosom swell!\n  Here was no goddess, here no heavenly charms,\n  A rugged mountain fill'd my eager arms,\n  Whose rocky top, o'erhung with matted brier,\n  Received the kisses of my am'rous fire.\n  Wak'd from my dream, cold horror freez'd my blood;\n  Fix'd as a rock, before the rock I stood;\n  'O fairest goddess of the ocean train,\n  Behold the triumph of thy proud disdain;\n  Yet why,' I cried, 'with all I wish'd decoy,\n  And, when exulting in the dream of joy,\n  A horrid mountain to mine arms convey?'\n  Madd'ning I spoke, and furious sprung away.\n  Far to the south I sought the world unknown,\n  Where I, unheard, unscorn'd, might wail alone,\n  My foul dishonor, and my tears to hide,\n  And shun the triumph of the goddess' pride.\n  My brothers, now, by Jove's red arm o'erthrown,\n  Beneath huge mountains pil'd on mountains groan;\n  And I, who taught each echo to deplore,\n  And tell my sorrows to the desert shore,\n  I felt the hand of Jove my crimes pursue,\n  My stiff'ning flesh to earthy ridges grew,\n  And my huge bones, no more by marrow warm'd,\n  To horrid piles, and ribs of rock transform'd,\n  Yon dark-brow'd cape of monstrous size became,\n  Where, round me still, in triumph o'er my shame,\n  The silv'ry Thetis bids her surges roar,\n  And waft my groans along the dreary shore.'\"\n\n         _Mickle's Translation, Canto V_.\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE JERUSALEM DELIVERED.\n\n\nThe Gerusalemme Liberata, or Jerusalem Delivered, was written by Torquato\nTasso, who was born at Sorrento, March 11, 1544. He was educated at\nNaples, Urbino, Rome, Venice, Padua, and Bologna. In 1572 he attached\nhimself to the court of Ferrara, which he had visited in 1565 in the suite\nof the Cardinal d'Este, and by whose duke he had been treated with great\nconsideration. Here his pastoral drama \"Aminta\" was written and performed,\nand here he began to write his epic. The duke, angry because of Tasso's\naffection for his sister Eleanora, and fearful lest the poet should\ndedicate his poem to the Medicis, whom he visited in 1575, and into whose\nservice he was asked to enter, kept him under strict surveillance, and\npretended to regard him as insane. Feigning sympathy and a desire to\nrestore his mind, he had the unfortunate poet confined in a mad-house.\nTasso escaped several times, but each time returned in the hope of a\nreconciliation with the duke. During his confinement his poem was\npublished without his permission: first in 1580, a very imperfect version;\nin 1581, a genuine one. This at once brought him great fame; but while its\npublishers made a fortune, Tasso received nothing. Neither did the duke\nrelent, although powerful influences were brought to bear on him. Tasso\nwas not released until 1586, and then, broken in health, he passed the\nrest of his life in Rome and Naples, living on charity, though treated\nwith great honor. He died in Rome, April 25, 1595, just before he was to\nhave been crowned at the capitol.\n\nThe Jerusalem Delivered has for its subject the first Crusade, and the\nevents recorded in its twenty cantos comprise the happenings in the camp\nof the Crusaders during forty days of the campaign of 1099. Its metre is\nthe _octava rima_, the eight lined rhymed stanza.\n\nTasso was not so successful in the delineation of character and in the\ndescription of actions as in the interpretation of feeling, being by\nnature a lyric rather than an epic poet. But his happy choice of\nsubject,--for the Crusades were still fresh in the memory of the people,\nand chivalry was a thing of the present--his zeal for the Christian cause,\nhis impassioned delineations of love, and his exquisitely poetical\ntreatment of his whole theme, rendered his epic irresistible.\n\n\n\n\nBIBLIOGRAPHY AND CRITICISM, THE JERUSALEM DELIVERED.\n\n\nJ. Black's Life of Tasso (with a historical and critical account of his\nwritings), 2 vols. 1810;\n\nE. J. Hasell's Tasso, 1882;\n\nRev. Robert Milman's Life of Tasso, 2 vols. 1850;\n\nDennistown's Memoirs of the Dukes of Urbino, 1851, iii., 292-316;\n\nHallam's Introduction to the Literature of Europe in the 15th, 16th, and\n17th Centuries, 1839, ii., 192-199;\n\nLeigh Hunt's Stories from Italian Poets, 1888, ii., 289-474;\n\nLongfellow's Poets and Poetry of Europe, 1845, pp. 568-577;\n\nSismondi's Literature of the South of Europe, Ed. 2, 1846, i., 359-391;\n\nJ. A. Symonds's Renaissance in Italy, 1886, vol. 2, chapters 7-8;\n\nEdin. Rev., Oct. 1850, xcii., 294-302;\n\nBlackwood, 1845, lvii., 401-414;\n\nQuarterly Review, Jan. 1857, ci., 59-68.\n\n\n\n\nSTANDARD ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS, THE JERUSALEM DELIVERED.\n\n\nJerusalem Delivered, Tr. from the Italian by John Hoole. First American\nfrom Eighth London Edition, 2 vols., 1810;\n\nJerusalem Delivered, Tr. into English Spenserian verse with life of the\nauthor by J. H. Wiffen. New ed., 1883;\n\nJerusalem Delivered, Tr. by Sir John Kingston James, 2 vols., 1884;\n\nJerusalem Delivered, Tr. into the metre of the original by C. L. Smith,\n1876-79;\n\nJerusalem Delivered, Tr. by Sir Edward Fairfax and edited by Prof. Henry\nMorley, 1889.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE JERUSALEM DELIVERED.\n\n\nThe Eternal Father looked down from His lofty throne upon the Christian\npowers in Syria. In the six years they had spent in the East they had\ntaken Nice and Antioch. Now, while inactive in winter quarters, Bohemond\nwas strengthening himself in Antioch, and the other chiefs were thinking\nof glory or love; but Godfrey, to whom renown was the meanest of glories,\nwas burning to win Jerusalem and restore it to the faith. Inspired by\nGabriel, despatched by the Eternal Father, Godfrey called a council, and\nwith an eloquence and fire more than mortal, roused the Christians to\naction. \"We came not here to raise empires; the period has come when all\nthe world is waiting for our next step. Now is the propitious moment. If\nwe delay longer, Egypt will step in to the aid of our Syrian foe!\"\n\nGodfrey was unanimously elected chief, and immediate arrangements were\nmade for the setting out to Jerusalem. Godfrey first reviewed the army. A\nthousand men marched under the lilied banner of Clotharius; a thousand\nmore from the Norman meads under Robert; from Orange and Puy, troops came\nunder the priests William and Ademar. Baldwin led his own and Godfrey's\nbands, and Guelpho, allied to the house of Este, brought his strong\nCarinthians. Other troops of horse and foot were led by William of\nEngland. After him came the young Tancred, the flower of chivalry,\nblighted now, alas! by unrequited love. He had seen by chance the pagan\nmaid Clorinda, the Amazon, drinking at a pool in the forest, and had\nforgot all else in his love for her. After him came the small Greek force\nunder Tatine; next, the invincible Adventurers under Dudon, bravest of\nmen. Following these were Otho, Edward and his sweet bride Gildippe, who,\nunwilling to be separated from her husband, fought at his side, and,\nexcellent above all others, the young Rinaldo, whose glorious deeds were\nyet but a promise of his great future. While but a boy he had escaped from\nthe care of his foster mother, Queen Matilda, and hastened to join the\nCrusaders. The review was closed by the array of foot soldiers led by\nRaymond, Stephen of Amboise, Alcasto, and Camillus. The pageant having\npassed by, Godfrey despatched a messenger to summon Sweno the Dane, who\nwith his forces was still tarrying in Greece, and at once set out for\nJerusalem.\n\nSwift rumor had conveyed the tidings of his approach to Aladine, King of\nJerusalem, a merciless tyrant, who, enraged, immediately laid heavier\ntaxes upon the unfortunate Christians in his city. Ismeno, a sorcerer,\nonce a Christian, but now a pagan who practised all black arts, penetrated\nto the presence of the king and advised him to steal from the temple of\nthe Christians an image of the Virgin and put it in his mosque, assuring\nhim that he would thus render his city impregnable. This was done, and\nIsmeno wrought his spells about the image, but the next morning it had\ndisappeared. After a fruitless search for the image and the offender, the\nangry king sentenced all the Franks to death. The beautiful maid\nSophronia, determined to save her people, assumed the guilt, and was\nsentenced to be burned. As she stood chained to the stake, her lover,\nOlindo, to whom she had ever been cold, saw her, and in agony at her\nsacrifice, declared to the king that Sophronia had lied and that he was\nthe purloiner of the image. The cruel monarch ordered him also to be tied\nto the stake, that they might die together; and the flames had just been\napplied when the two were saved by the Amazon Clorinda, who convinced the\nking that the Christians were innocent and that Allah himself, incensed at\nthe desecration, had snatched away the image.\n\nTo the camp of Godfrey at Emmaus came two ambassadors from the king of\nEgypt, Alethes, a supple crafty courtier of low lineage, and Argantes, a\nhaughty and powerful warrior. But their efforts to keep Godfrey from\nJerusalem, first by persuasion, and then by threats, were in vain.\nThey were dismissed from the camp, and the army proceeded on its way.\n\nWhen the walls and towers of the city where Messias died came in sight,\nthe Christian army, crying \"All Hail, Jerusalem!\" laid aside their\ncasques, and, shedding tears, trod barefoot the consecrated way.\n\nAt sight of the Franks, the pagans hastened to strengthen the\nfortifications of their city, and Aladine from a lofty tower watched\nClorinda attack a band of Franks returning from a foray. At his side was\nthe lovely Erminia, daughter of the King of Antioch, who had sought\nJerusalem after the downfall of her city.\n\nErminia instructed Aladine of the various crusaders, and when she pointed\nout the noble Tancred, who had treated her with such consideration in\nAntioch, she felt her love for him revive, though she pretended to the\nking to hate him for his cruelty. Tancred recognized among the leaders of\nthe pagans Clorinda, bereft of her helmet, and for love of her, refused to\nfight her. The pagans, driven back by the Christians, were rallied by\nArgantes, but only to be met by the matchless Adventurers under Dudon.\nWhen Dudon fell, the troops under Rinaldo, burning for revenge,\nreluctantly obeyed Godfrey's summons to return.\n\nThe funeral rites over, the artificers were sent to the forest to fell the\ntrees, that engines might be fabricated for the destruction of the city\nwalls.\n\nAngry at the success of the Franks, Satan stirred up the infernal regions,\nand set loose his friends to work destruction to the Christians. One he\ndespatched to the wizard Idraotes, at Damascus, who conceived the scheme\nof sending his beautiful niece Armida to ensnare the Christians. In a few\ndays Armida appeared among the white pavilions of the Franks, attracting\nthe attention and winning the love of all who saw her. Her golden locks\nappeared through her veil as the sunshine gleams through the stormy skies;\nher charms were sufficiently hidden to make them the more alluring. So\nattired, modestly seeking the camp of Godfrey, she was met by Eustace, his\nyoung brother, and taken to the prince.\n\nWith many tears and sighs, she told her pitiful story. She had been driven\nfrom her kingdom, an orphan, by the envy and wickedness of her uncle, and\nhad come to ask the Christians to aid her in regaining her rights.\nUnfortunately for her success, she and her uncle had not calculated on\nGodfrey's absorption in his divine undertaking. He was proof against her\ncharms, and was determined not to be delayed longer in laying siege to the\ncity. It required the utmost persuasion of Eustace to induce him to permit\nten of the Adventurers to accompany her. Armida, though disappointed in\nGodfrey's lack of susceptibility, employed her time so well while in camp\nthat when she departed with the ten Adventurers chosen by lot, she was\nfollowed secretly by Eustace and many others who had not been chosen, but\nwho were madly in love with her.\n\nBefore his departure, Eustace, jealous of Rinaldo, whom he was fearful\nArmida might admire, had persuaded him to aspire to the place of Dudon, to\nwhom a successor must be elected. Gernando of Norway desired the same\nplace, and, angry that the popular Rinaldo should be his rival, scattered\nthrough the camp rumors disparaging to his character: Rinaldo was vain and\narrogant; Rinaldo was rash, not brave; Rinaldo's virtues were all vices.\nAt last, stung past endurance by his taunts and insinuations, Rinaldo gave\nthe lie to his traducer, and slew him in fair fight. False reports were\ntaken to Godfrey by Rinaldo's enemies; and the ruler determined to punish\nthe youth severely; but he, warned by his friends, escaped from camp and\nfled to Antioch. To Godfrey, deprived thus of Rinaldo and many of his\nbrave Adventurers, was brought the tidings that the Egyptian expedition\nwas on its way, and that a ship laden with provisions had been intercepted\non its way to his camp.\n\nThe bold Argantes, weary of the restraint of the siege, sent a challenge\nto the Christians, saying he would meet any Frank, high-born or low, in\nsingle combat, the conditions being that the vanquished should serve the\nvictor. A thousand knights burned to accept the challenge, but Godfrey\nnamed Tancred, who proudly buckled on his armor and called for his steed.\nAs he approached the field, he saw among the pagan hosts, who stood around\nto view the combat, the fair face of Clorinda, and stood gazing at her,\nforgetful of all else. Otho, seeing his delay, spurred on his horse, and\nfought till vanquished. Then Tancred woke from his stupor, and, burning\nwith shame, rushed forward. The battle raged until night fell, and the\nweary warriors ceased, pledging themselves to return on the morrow.\n\nErminia, shut up in Jerusalem, mourned over the wounds of Tancred. She\nknew many healing balms, by which, were she with him, she might heal him\nand make him ready for the morrow's fight; but she was forced to\nadminister them to his enemy instead. Unable to endure the suspense\nlonger, she put on her friend Clorinda's armor and fled to the Christian\ncamp to find her beloved. The Franks, who spied her, supposed her\nClorinda, and pursued her; but she succeeded in reaching a woodland\nretreat, where she determined to remain with the kind old shepherd and his\nwife who had fled from the disappointments of the court and had here\nsought and found peace in their humble home. When Tancred heard from his\nfollowers that they had driven Clorinda from the camps, he determined to\npursue and speak with her. Rising from his bed he sought the forest only\nto fall into the wiles of Armida, and be lured into a castle, in whose\ndungeon he lay, consumed with shame at the thought of his unexplained\nabsence from the morrow's combat.\n\nWhen morning dawned and Tancred did not appear, the good old Count Raymond\nwent forth to meet Argantes. When he was about to overcome his antagonist,\nan arrow shot from the pagan ranks brought on a general conflict, in which\nthe Christians were successful until a storm, summoned by the powers of\ndarkness, put an end to the battle. The next morning a knight came to the\ncamp of Godfrey to tell of Sweno's defeat and slaughter. He, the sole\nsurvivor of the band, had been commissioned by some supernatural visitants\nto bring Sweno's sword to Rinaldo.\n\nWhile Godfrey's heart was wrung by this disaster, the camp of Italians,\nled to suppose by some bloody armor found in a wood that Rinaldo had been\ntreacherously slain with the connivance of Godfrey, accused the chief and\nstirred up the camp to revolt; but Godfrey, praying to Heaven for strength\nto meet his enemies, walked through the camp firmly and unfalteringly,\nunarmed and with head bare, his face still bright with the heavenly light\nleft there by spiritual communion, and silenced the tumult by a few\nwell-chosen words. His arch-accuser Argillan he sentenced to death; the\nothers crept back to their tents in shame.\n\nThe Soldan Solyman, driven from Nice at its capture, had joined the Turks,\nand, spurred on by hate and fury, made a night attack on the Frankish\ncamp. The Franks, saved only by the interposition of the angel Michael,\nand by the troops just returned, released from Armida's enchantment,\nfought fiercely, and at dawn put Solyman to flight. By the arts of Ismeno\nhe was conveyed to Jerusalem by a secret way, where he cheered the\ndiscouraged Aladine.\n\nBefore attempting to storm the city, the Christian troops, by the advice\nof Peter the Hermit, walked in a long procession to Mt. Olivet, filling\nthe heavens with melody, and there partook of the communion administered\nby the warrior priests, William and Ademar. The next morning, Godfrey, in\nthe light armor of a foot-soldier, appeared with his barons, prepared for\nthe storm. The troops were arranged carefully, the huge engines were moved\nforward, and the Franks made a bold attempt against the walls, from the\ntop of which Clorinda aimed her arrows, wounding and slaying many men.\nGodfrey himself was wounded, but was healed by divine aid, and immediately\nreturned to the field to rally his troops. Night fell, and the contest was\ndeferred until another day.\n\nClorinda, burning to distinguish herself, determined to fire the huge\ntowers of the Christians. Her eunuch tried to dissuade her because he had\nbeen warned in a dream that she would this night meet her death. He told\nher her history. Her mother was a Christian who had been compelled to put\nher infant away from her. This eunuch had rescued her from death and\nbrought her up, failing, however, to obey an angel's command to have her\nbaptized a Christian.\n\nClorinda would not heed his caution, but went forth and fired the Frankish\nmachines. She and the fleeing pagans were pursued by the Christians; and\nwhile her companions reached the city in safety, she was accidentally shut\nout and met Tancred in mortal combat. She refused to tell her name until\nshe felt her death-wound, and then she prayed her enemy to baptize her,\nthat she might die a Christian. The broken-hearted Tancred fell fainting\non her corpse, and was found there the next morning by the Franks. Neither\nhis comrades, nor Godfrey and Peter the Hermit, were able to rouse him\nfrom his melancholy.\n\nTheir machines destroyed, timbers were needed by the Franks to construct\nnew ones. Knowing this, Ismeno laid spells on the forest, so that the\nwarriors sent thither by Godfrey were frightened away by the sights they\nsaw therein. Even Tancred was put to flight when one of the demons took\nthe form of his beloved Clorinda. To add to the discomfort of the Franks,\nexcessive heat overpowered them, and they suffered tortures from lack of\nwater until the prayers of Godfrey moved the Ruler of the Earth with pity,\nand He sent down the longed-for showers.\n\nDelighted with the piety of Godfrey, the Great King sent him a dream by\nwhich he might know the will of Heaven. Lifted through the whirling\nspheres, his ears charmed with their music, his eyes dazzled by the\nbrilliancy of the stars, he saw Duke Hugo, who told him that Rinaldo must\nbe sought out before the conquest of Jerusalem could be accomplished. The\nsame Power influenced the princes in council so that by the will of all,\ntwo knights, one of them him to whom Sweno's sword had been given, were\ndespatched to seek Rinaldo. Instructed by Peter the Hermit, they sought\nthe sea-coast, and found a wizard, who, after showing them the splendor of\nhis underground abode beneath the river's bed, revealed to them the way in\nwhich they were to overcome the wiles of Armida.\n\nA beautiful maid with dove-like eyes and radiant smile received them in\nher small bark, and they were soon flying over the sea, marvelling at the\nrich cities and vast fleets by which they passed. Leaving rich Cadiz and\nthe Pillars of Hercules, they sped out into the unknown sea, while the\nmaiden told them of how some day Columbus would venture into unknown seas\nto find a new continent. On, on they flew, past the Happy Isles, the\nFortunate, long the song of the poet; where the olive and honey made happy\nthe land, and the rivers swept down from the mountains in silver\nstreamlets; where every bird-song was heavenly music, a place so divine\nthat there were placed of old the Elysian fields. To one of these islands\nthe lady steered, and the knights disembarked, and started on their\nperilous journey up the mountain. Following the wizard's instructions,\nthey waved the golden rod at the monstrous serpents hissing in their\npathway, and they vanished; they steeled their hearts against the charms\nof the voluptuous maids bathing in the lake, and passed without tasting\nthe fountain of laughter. Then the spacious palace met their eyes. Built\nround a garden, its marble courts and unnumbered galleries formed a\ntrackless maze through which they could never have found their way without\nthe aid of the wizard's map. As they trod the marble floors they paused\nmany times to view the matchless carvings on the silver doors, which told\nanew the beautiful old stories of love triumphant.\n\nOnce through the winding ways, they entered the wonderful garden which art\nand nature combined to render the most beautiful spot on earth. The same\ntrees bore ripe fruit, buds, and blossoms; the birds sang joyfully in the\ngreen bowers; and the faint breezes echoed their song. One bird sang a\nsong of love, and when the tender melody was done the other birds took it\nup and sang until the forest rang with melody, and all was love, love,\nlove. Then the knights saw Rinaldo, lying in the grove, his head in the\nlap of the enchantress. His sword was gone from his side, and in its place\nhung a mirror in which he sometimes gazed at Armida's reflection. When\nArmida left him alone for a few hours, the knights surprised Rinaldo, and\nturned the wizard's diamond shield upon him. For the first time he saw\nhimself as others saw him, and, blushing with shame, announced himself\nready to return with them to rescue Jerusalem. Tearing off his ornaments,\nhe hastened down the mountain, but not soon enough to escape Armida.\nTears, prayers, threats she used in vain. She had captured him when he\nfled from the camp, intending to slay him; but moved by his beauty, she\nhad spared him, and falling in love with him, had reared this palace that\nthey might in it revel in love's pleasures. Now, miserable, she saw him\ndesert her, and destroying the beautiful haunt, she drove her swift\nchariot across the seas to the camp of the Egyptian king, who was\nhastening towards Jerusalem. Intent on the slaughter of Rinaldo, her love\nfor whom had changed to bitter hate, she offered the warriors of the\nEgyptian king, all of whom had fallen victims to her charms, her hand as a\nreward to the slayer of Rinaldo.\n\nWhen Rinaldo and his rescuers reached the abode of the wizard they found\nhim waiting with new arms for the young hero. The sage reproached him\ngently for his dalliance, and then, seeing the blush of shame upon his\ncountenance, showed him the shield, which bore the illustrious deeds of\nhis ancestors of the house of Este. Great as were their past glories,\nstill greater would be those of the family which he should found, greatest\nof whom would be the Duke Alphonso.\n\nRinaldo, having told his story to Godfrey, and confessed his wrong-doing\nto Peter the Hermit, proceeded to the enchanted forest; and though as\nbeauteous scenes, and as voluptuous sirens displayed themselves to him as\ndwelt in Armida's garden, yea, though one tree took the semblance of\nArmida herself, he boldly hacked the trunk and broke the magic spell.\nJoyfully the Franks set to work to fell the huge trees and construct\nvaster, stronger engines than before, under the direction of a master\nmechanic. At the same time, Vafrino, a cunning squire of Tancred, was\ncommissioned to go forth in disguise and inspect the camp of the coming\nEgyptian king. Even before he departed, a carrier pigeon, driven back by a\nhawk, fell into Godfrey's hands, bearing a message to Aladine from Egypt,\nsaying that in four or five days he would be with him in Jerusalem.\n\nGodfrey, determined to take the city before that day should come, made the\nutmost exertions to have the machines completed. In Jerusalem, also, great\npreparations were made, machines built, and a fearful fire concocted by\nIsmeno with which to drive the assaulters from the wall.\n\nShriven by the priests, the Christian army went forth to battle. Godfrey\ntook his stand against the northern gate; Raymond was assigned to the\nsteep sharp crags at the southwest walls, and Guelph and the two Roberts\nwere stationed on the track to Gaza to watch for the Egyptians.\n\nThe pagans fought with great fury, bringing out new instruments to oppose\nthe huge battering rams, raining down arrows, and throwing the suffocating\nfire. But Rinaldo, to whom all this work appeared too slow, urged on his\nbold Adventurers to form a tortoise, hastened to the wall, seized a\nscaling ladder, and, unmoved by any missile, mounted the wall and assisted\nhis followers, in spite of the multitudes who surrounded him, attempting\nto hurl him down. But as Godfrey advanced, Ismeno launched his terrible\nfire-balls, more horrible than the flames of Mt. Etna; they affected even\nthe vast tower, swelling and drying the heavy skins that covered its sides\nuntil protecting Heaven sent a breeze that drove the flames back to the\ncity. Ismeno, accompanied by two witches, hurried to the wall, but was\ncrushed by a stone that ground his and their bones to powder. Godfrey,\ninspired by a vision of the slain soldiery fighting in his ranks, leaped\nupon the wall and planted the red-cross flag. Raymond was also successful,\nand the Christians rushed over the walls into the town, following Aladine,\nwho hastened to shut himself up in the citadel.\n\nWhile the battle was raging, but success was assured to the Christians,\nTancred and the terrible Argantes met, and glad of an opportunity to\nsettle their quarrel, withdrew to a glade in the forest. Tancred, stung by\nthe taunts of cowardice for his former failure to keep his appointment,\nfought bitterly. He had not the sheer strength of his antagonist, but his\nsleight at last overcame, and Argantes fell. Weakened by pain and loss of\nblood, Tancred fell senseless, and was thus found by Erminia, who had met\nVafrino the spy in the camp of the Egyptians and had fled with him. They\nrevived Tancred, and carried him home to be nursed by the delighted\nErminia.\n\nVafrino had seen Armida in the camp and had learned through Erminia not\nonly the princes' designs on Rinaldo, but also that they meant to assume\nthe signs of the red-cross knights and thus reach the neighborhood of\nGodfrey and slay him. On this intelligence Godfrey changed the signs of\nhis men that they might recognize the Egyptians on the following day and\nput them to death.\n\nTerrible to the Franks was the sight of the Egyptian army when they opened\ntheir eyes upon it next morning. Clouds of dust obscured all the heavens,\nhills, and valleys, so great was the coming host. But Godfrey, with an\neloquence that fired each soul, told them of the helplessness of the\nenemy, of how many of them were slaves, scourged to the battle, and\nreminded them of the great undertaking before them, the saving of the\nSepulchre, until fired with zeal, and burning to fight, they rushed into\nbattle and dispersed the Egyptians. Many of the Christians fell by the\nsword of the terrible Soldan, among them Gildippe and her husband, united\nin death as in life. Rinaldo, hearing of their slaughter, speedily avenged\nit by laying the Soldan low on the battle-field.\n\nOne after another of Armida's champions attacked Rinaldo, determined to\nwin the prize, but his good sword sent them to earth, and Armida was left\nalone and unprotected. Rinaldo, having seen her fly away over the plain\nand knowing the victory achieved, followed and found her ready to put\nherself to death in a lonely glade. He snatched the sword from her hand\nand speedily changed back her hate to love. She fell upon his breast, and\nwith the promise to become a Christian and give her life to him,\naccompanied him back to the city.\n\nDuring the battle, Aladine and those who were imprisoned in the citadel\noverpowered Count Raymond, and rushed out to battle, only to be overcome\nand slain. Prince Altamore, who, covered with blood, remained alone on the\nfield, yielded himself to Godfrey, and was given his life and his kingdom.\n\nThen, from the field covered with spoil and floating with blood, the\nconquering troops, clad in their bloody armor, marched in solemn cavalcade\nto the Temple and paid their vowed devotions at the sacred tomb.\n\n\n\n\nSELECTION FROM THE JERUSALEM DELIVERED.\n\nSOPHRONIA AND OLINDO.\n\n\nAt the instigation of the wizard Ismeno, Aladine, king of Jerusalem, stole\nan image of the Virgin from the temple of the Christians and put it in his\nmosque in order to render the city impregnable. When morning dawned the\nimage was gone, and no search could reveal any clue to the theft.\n\n  In every temple, hermitage, and hall,\n  A long and eager search the monarch made,\n  And tortures or rewards decreed to all\n  Who screened the guilty, or the guilt betrayed;\n  Nor ceased the Sorcerer to employ in aid\n  Of the inquiry all his arts, but still\n  Without success; for whether Heaven conveyed\n  The prize away, or power of human will,\n  Heaven close the secret kept, and shamed his vaunted skill.\n\n  But when the king found all expedients vain\n  To trace th' offender, then, beyond disguise,\n  Flamed forth his hatred to the Christians; then,\n  Fed by wild jealousies and sharp surmise,\n  Immoderate fury sparkled in his eyes;\n  Follow what may, he will revenge the deed,\n  And wreak his rage: \"Our wrath shall not,\" he cries,\n  \"Fall void, but root up all th' accursed seed;\n  Thus in the general doom the guilty yet shall bleed!\n\n  \"So that he 'scapes not, let the guiltless die!\n  But wherefore thus of guiltlessness debate?\n  Each guilty is, nor 'mongst them all know I\n  One, well-affected to the faith and state;\n  And what if some be unparticipate\n  In this new crime, new punishment shall pay\n  For old misdeeds; why longer do ye wait,\n  My faithful Mussulmans? up! up! away!\n  Hence with the torch and sword: seize, fire, lay waste, and slay!\"\n\n  Thus to the crowd he spake, the mandate flew,\n  And in the bosoms of the Faithful shed\n  Astonishment and stupor; stupor threw\n  On every face the paleness of the dead;\n  None dared, none sought to make defence; none fled,\n  None used entreaty, none excuse; but there\n  They stood, like marble monuments of dread,\n  Irresolute,--but Heaven conceived their prayer,\n  And whence they least had hope, brought hope to their despair.\n\n  Of generous thoughts and principles sublime\n  Amongst them in the city lived a maid,\n  The flower of virgins in her ripest prime,\n  Supremely beautiful! but that she made\n  Never her care, or beauty only weighed\n  In worth with virtue; and her worth acquired\n  A deeper charm from blooming in the shade;\n  Lovers she shunned, nor loved to be admired,\n  But from their praises turned, and lived a life retired.\n\n  Yet could not this coy secrecy prevent\n  Th' admiring gaze and warm desires of one\n  Tutored by Love, nor yet would Love consent\n  To hide such lustrous beauty from the sun;\n  Love! that through every change delight'st to run,\n  The Proteus of the heart I who now dost blind,\n  Now roll the Argus eyes that nought can shun!\n  Thou through a thousand guards unseen dost wind,\n  And to the chastest maids familiar access find.\n\n  Sophronia hers, Olindo was his name;\n  Born in one town, by one pure faith illumed;\n  Modest--as she was beautiful, his flame\n  Feared much, hoped little, and in nought presumed;\n  He could not, or he durst not speak, but doomed\n  To voiceless thought his passion; him she slighted,\n  Saw not, or would not see; thus he consumed\n  Beneath the vivid fire her beauty lighted;\n  Either not seen ill known, or, known, but ill requited.\n\n  And thus it was, when like an omen drear\n  That summoned all her kindred to the grave,\n  The cruel mandate reached Sophronia's ear,\n  Who, brave as bashful, yet discreet as brave,\n  Mused how her people she from death might save;\n  Courage inspired, but virginal alarm\n  Repressed the thought, till maiden shyness gave\n  Place to resolve, or joined to share the harm;\n  Boldness awoke her shame, shame made her boldness charm.\n\n  Alone amidst the crowd the maid proceeds,\n  Nor seeks to hide her beauty, nor display;\n  Downcast her eyes, close veiled in simple weeds,\n  With coy and graceful steps she wins her way:\n  So negligently neat, one scarce can say\n  If she her charms disdains, or would improve,--\n  If chance or taste disposes her array;\n  Neglects like hers, if artifices, prove\n  Arts of the friendly Heavens, of Nature, and of Love.\n\n  All, as she passed unheeding, all, admire\n  The noble maid; before the king she stood;\n  Not for his angry frown did she retire,\n  But his indignant aspect coolly viewed:\n  \"To give,\"--she said, \"but calm thy wrathful mood,\n  And check the tide of slaughter in its spring,--\n  To give account of that thou hast pursued\n  So long in vain, seek I thy face, O king!\n  The urged offence I own, the doomed offender bring!\"\n\n  The modest warmth, the unexpected light\n  Of high and holy beauty, for a space\n  O'erpowered him,--conquered of his fell despite,\n  He stood, and of all fierceness lost the trace.\n  Were his a spirit, or were hers a face\n  Of less severity, the sweet surprise\n  Had melted him to love; but stubborn grace\n  Subdues not stubborn pride; Love's potent ties\n  Are flattering fond regards, kind looks, and smiling eyes.\n\n  If 't were not Love that touched his flinty soul,\n  Desire it was, 't was wonder, 't was delight:\n  \"Safe be thy race!\" he said, \"reveal the whole,\n  And not a sword shall on thy people light.\"\n  Then she: \"The guilty is before thy sight,--\n  The pious robbery was my deed; these hands\n  Bore the blest Image from its cell by night;\n  The criminal thou seek'st before thee stands,--\n  Justice from none but me her penalty demands.\"\n\n  Thus she prepares a public death to meet,\n  A people's ransom at a tyrant's shrine:\n  Oh glorious falsehood! beautiful deceit!\n  Can Truth's own light thy loveliness outshine?\n  To her bold speech misdoubting Aladine\n  With unaccustomed temper calm replied:\n  \"If so it were, who planned the rash design,\n  Advised thee to it, or became thy guide?\n  Say, with thyself who else his ill-timed zeal allied?\"\n\n  \"Of this my glory not the slightest part\n  Would I,\" said she, \"with one confederate share;\n  I needed no adviser; my full heart\n  Alone sufficed to counsel, guide and dare.\"\n  \"If so,\" he cried, \"then none but thou must bear\n  The weight of my resentment, and atone\n  For the misdeed.\" \"Since it has been my care,\"\n  She said, \"the glory to enjoy alone,\n  'T is just none share the pain; it should be all mine own.\"\n\n  To this the tyrant, now incensed, returned,\n  \"Where rests the Image?\" and his face became\n  Dark with resentment: she replied, \"I burned\n  The holy Image in the holy flame,\n  And deemed it glory; thus at least no shame\n  Can e'er again profane it--it is free\n  From farther violation: dost thou claim\n  The spoil or spoiler? this behold in me;\n  But that, whilst time rolls round, thou never more shall see.\n\n  \"Albeit no spoiler I; it was no wrong\n  To repossess what was by force obtained:\"\n  At this the tyrant loosed his threatening tongue,\n  Long-stifled passion raging unrestrained:\n  No longer hope that pardon may be gained,\n  Beautiful face, high spirit, bashful heart!\n  Vainly would Love, since mercy is disdained,\n  And Anger flings his most envenomed dart,\n  In aid of you his else protecting shield impart!\n\n  Doomed in tormenting fire to die, they lay\n  Hands on the maid; her arms with rough cords twining.\n  Rudely her mantle chaste they tear away,\n  And the white veil that o'er her drooped declining:\n  This she endured in silence unrepining,\n  Yet her firm breast some virgin tremors shook;\n  And her warm cheek, Aurora's late outshining,\n  Waned into whiteness, and a color took,\n  Like that of the pale rose, or lily of the brook.\n\n  The crowd collect; the sentence is divulged;\n  With them Olindo comes, by pity swayed;\n  It might be that the youth the thought indulged,\n  What if his own Sophronia were the maid!\n  There stand the busy officers arrayed\n  For the last act, here swift the flames arise;\n  But when the pinioned beauty stands displayed\n  To the full gaze of his inquiring eyes,--\n  '_T is_ she! he bursts through all, the crowd before him flies.\n\n  Aloud he cries: \"To her, oh not to her\n  The crime belongs, though frenzy may misplead!\n  She planned not, dared not, could not, king, incur\n  Sole and unskilled the guilt of such a deed!\n  How lull the guards, or by what process speed\n  The sacred Image from its vaulted cell?\n  The theft was mine! and 't is my right to bleed!\"\n  Alas for him! how wildly and how well\n  He loved the unloving maid, let this avowal tell.\n\n  \"I marked where your high Mosque receives the air\n  And light of heaven; I climbed the dizzy steep;\n  I reached a narrow opening; entered there,\n  And stole the Saint whilst all were hushed in sleep:\n  Mine was the crime, and shall another reap\n  The pain and glory? Grant not her desire!\n  The chains are mine; for me the guards may heap\n  Around the ready stake the penal fire;\n  For me the flames ascend; 't is mine, that funeral pyre!\"\n\n  Sophronia raised to him her face,--her eye\n  Was filled with pity and a starting tear:\n  She spoke--the soul of sad humanity\n  Was in her voice, \"What frenzy brings thee here,\n  Unhappy innocent! is death so dear,\n  Or am I so ill able to sustain\n  A mortal's wrath, that thou must needs appear?\n  I have a heart, too, that can death disdain,\n  Nor ask for life's last hour companionship in pain.\"\n\n  Thus she appeals to him; but scorning life,\n  His settled soul refuses to retreat:\n  Oh glorious scene, where in sublimest strife\n  High-minded Virtue and Affection meet!\n  Where death's the prize of conquest, and defeat\n  Seals its own safety, yet remains unblest!\n  But indignation at their fond deceit,\n  And rage, the more inflames the tyrant's breast,\n  The more this constant pair the palm of guilt contest.\n\n  He deems his power despised, and that in scorn\n  Of him they spurn the punishment assigned:\n  \"Let,\" he exclaimed, \"the fitting palm adorn\n  The brows of both! both pleas acceptance find!\"\n  Beckoning he bids the prompt tormentors bind\n  Their galling chains around the youth--'t is done;\n  Both to one stake are, back to back, consigned,\n  Like sunflowers twisted from their worshipped sun,\n  Compelled the last fond looks of sympathy to shun.\n\n  Around them now the unctuous pyre was piled,\n  And the fanned flame was rising in the wind,\n  When, full of mournful thoughts, in accents wild,\n  The lover to his mate in death repined:\n  \"Is this the bond, then, which I hoped should bind\n  Our lives in blissful marriage? this the fire\n  Of bridal faith, commingling mind with mind,\n  Which, I believed, should in our hearts inspire\n  Like warmth of sacred zeal and delicate desire?\n\n  \"For other flames Love promised to impart,\n  Than those our envious planets here prepare;\n  Too, ah too long they kept our hands apart,\n  But harshly now they join them in despair!\n  Yet does it soothe, since by a mode so rare\n  Condemned to die, thy torments to partake,\n  Forbid by fate thy sweetnesses to share;\n  If tears I shed, 't is but for thy dear sake,\n  Not mine,--with thee beside, I bless the burning stake!\n\n  \"And oh! this doom would be indeed most blest,\n  My sharpest sufferings blandishments divine,\n  Might I but be permitted, breast to breast,\n  On thy sweet lips my spirit to resign;\n  If thou too, panting toward one common shrine,\n  Wouldst the next happy instant parting spend\n  Thy latest sighs in sympathy on mine!\"\n  Sorrowing he spake; she, when his plaints had end,\n  Did thus his fond discourse most sweetly reprehend.\n\n  \"Far other aspirations, other plaints\n  Than these, dear friend, the solemn hour should claim.\n  Think what reward God offers to his saints;\n  Let meek repentance raise a loftier aim:\n  These torturing fires, if suffered in his name,\n  Will, bland as zephyrs, waft us to the blest;\n  Regard the sun, how beautiful his flame!\n  How fine a sky invites him to the west!\n  These seem to soothe our pangs, and summon us to rest.\"\n\n  The Pagans lifting up their voices, wept;\n  In stifled sorrow wept the Faithful too;\n  E'en the stern king was touched,--a softness crept\n  O'er his fierce heart, ennobling, pure, and new;\n  He felt, he scorned it, struggled to subdue,\n  And lest his wavering firmness should relent,\n  His eyes averted, and his steps withdrew;\n  Sophronia's spirit only was unbent;\n  She yet lamented not, for whom all else lament.\n\n  In midst of their distress, a knight behold,\n  (So would it seem) of princely port! whose vest\n  And arms of curious fashion, grained with gold,\n  Bespeak some foreign and distinguished guest;\n  The silver tigress on the helm impressed,\n  Which for a badge is borne, attracts all eyes,--\n  A noted cognizance, th' accustomed crest\n  Used by Clorinda, whence conjectures rise,\n  Herself the stranger is,--nor false is their surmise.\n\n  All feminine attractions, aims, and parts,\n  She from her childhood cared not to assume;\n  Her haughty hand disdained all servile arts,\n  The needle, distaff, and Arachne's loom;\n  Yet, though she left the gay and gilded room\n  For the free camp, kept spotless as the light\n  Her virgin fame, and proud of glory's plume,\n  With pride her aspect armed, she took delight\n  Stern to appear, and stern, she charmed the gazer's sight.\n\n  Whilst yet a girl, she with her little hand\n  Lashed and reined in the rapid steed she raced,\n  Tossed the huge javelin, wrestled on the sand,\n  And by gymnastic toils her sinews braced;\n  Then through the devious wood and mountain-waste\n  Tracked the struck lion to his entered den,\n  Or in fierce wars a nobler quarry chased;\n  And thus in fighting field and forest glen,\n  A man to savage beasts, a savage seemed to men.\n\n  From Persia now she comes, with all her skill\n  The Christians to resist, though oft has she\n  Strewed with their blood the field, till scarce a rill\n  Remained, that ran not purple to the sea.\n  Here now arrived, the dreadful pageantry\n  Of death presents itself,--the crowd--the pyre--\n  And the bound pair; solicitous to see,\n  And know what crime condemns them to the fire,\n  Forward she spurs her steed and hastens to inquire.\n\n  The throng falls back, and she awhile remains,\n  The fettered pair more closely to survey;\n  One she sees silent, one she sees complains,\n  The stronger spirit nerves the weaker prey;\n  She sees him mourn like one whom the sad sway\n  Of powerful pity doth to tears chastise,\n  Not grief, or grief not for himself; but aye\n  Mute kneels the maid, her blue beseeching eyes\n  So fixed on heaven, she seems in heaven ere yet she dies.\n\n  Clorinda melts, and with them both condoles;\n  Some tears she sheds, but greater tenderness\n  Feels for her grief who most her grief controls,--\n  The silence moves her much, the weeping less;\n  No longer now does she delay to press\n  For information; turning towards one\n  Of reverend years, she said with eagerness,\n  \"Who are they? speak! and oh, what crime has won\n  This death? in Mercy's name, declare the deed they've done!\"\n\n  Thus she entreats; a brief reply he gives,\n  But such as well explains the whole event:\n  Amazed she heard it, and as soon conceives\n  That they are both sincerely innocent;\n  Her heart is for them, she is wholly bent\n  To avert their fate, if either arms can aid,\n  Or earnest prayers secure the king's consent;\n  The fire she nears, commands it to be stayed,\n  That now approached them fast, and to th' attendants said:\n\n  \"Let none of you presume to prosecute\n  Your barbarous office, till the king I see;\n  My word I pledge that at Clorinda's suit,\n  Your fault he will forgive, if fault it be.\"\n  Moved by her speech and queenlike dignity\n  The guards obey, and she departs in quest\n  Of the stern monarch, urgent of her plea:\n  Midway they met; the monarch she addressed\n  And in this skilful mode her generous purpose pressed.\n\n  \"I am Clorinda; thou wilt know perchance\n  The name, from vague remembrance or renown;\n  And here I come to save with sword and lance\n  Our common Faith, and thy endangered crown,\n  Impose the labor, lay th' adventure down,\n  Sublime, I fear it not, nor low despise;\n  In open field or in the straitened town,\n  Prepared I stand for every enterprise,\n  Where'er the danger calls, where'er the labor lies!\"\n\n  \"'T would be assuredly a thing most rare,\n  If the reward the service should precede;\n  But of thy bounty confident, I dare\n  For future toils solicit, as my meed,\n  Yon lovers' pardon; since the charge indeed\n  Rests on no evidence, 't was hard to press\n  The point at all, but this I waive, nor plead\n  On those sure signs which, urged, thou must confess\n  Their hands quite free from crime, or own their guilt far less.\n\n  \"Yet will I say, though here the common mind\n  Condemns the Christians of the theft, for me,\n  Sufficient reasons in mine own I find\n  To doubt, dispute, disparage the decree;\n  To set their idols in our sanctuary\n  Was an irreverence to our laws, howe'er\n  Urged by the sorcerer; should the Prophet see\n  E'en idols of our own established there?\n  Much less then those of men whose lips his faith forswear:\n\n  \"The Christian statue ravished from your sight\n  To Allah therefore rather I impute,\n  In sign that he will let no foreign rite\n  Of superstition his pure place pollute:\n  Spells and enchantments may Ismeno suit,\n  Leave him to use such weapons at his will;\n  But shall we warriors by a wand dispute?\n  No! no! our talisman, our hope, our skill,\n  Lie in our swords alone, and they shall serve us still!\"\n\n  She ceased; and he, though mercy could with pain\n  Subdue a heart so full of rage and pride,\n  Relents, her reasons move, her prayers constrain.--\n  Such intercessor must not be denied;\n  Thus, though reluctant, he at length complied:\n  \"The plea for the fair pleader I receive;\n  I can refuse thee nothing; this,\" he cried,\n  \"May justice be or mercy,--let them live;\n  Guiltless--I set them free, or guilty I forgive!\"\n\n  Restored to life and liberty, how blest.\n  How truly blest was young Olindo's fate!\n  For sweet Sophronia's blushes might attest,\n  That Love at length has touched her delicate\n  And generous bosom; from the stake in state\n  They to the altar pass; severely tried,\n  In doom and love, already made his mate,\n  She now objects not to become his bride.\n  And grateful live with him who would for her have died.\n\n           _Wiffen's Translation, Canto_\n\n\n\n\n\nPARADISE LOST.\n\n\nParadise Lost was written by John Milton, who was born in London, Dec. 9,\n1608, and died Nov. 8, 1674. After leaving college, he spent five years in\nstudy at home, during which time he wrote L'Allegro, Il Penseroso,\nArcades, Comus, and Lycidas. In 1638 he travelled on the continent and in\nItaly, where he met Galileo. He hastened home in 1639 on account of the\npolitical disturbances in England, and espousing the Puritan cause,\ndevoted the next twenty years of his life to the writing of pamphlets in\nits defence. In 1649 he was appointed Latin Secretary under Cromwell. In\n1652 he lost his sight in consequence of overwork. At the age of\ntwenty-nine, Milton had decided to make an epic poem his life work, and\nhad noted many historical subjects. By 1641 he had decided on a Biblical\nsubject. He had probably conceived Paradise Lost at the age of thirty-two,\nalthough the poem was not composed until he was over fifty. It was written\nafter his blindness and dictated in small portions to various persons, the\nwork being collected and revised by Milton and Aubrey Phillips. It was\ncompleted, according to the authority of Phillips, in 1663, but on account\nof the Plague and the Great Fire, it was not published until 1667.\n\nParadise Lost is divided into twelve books and is written, to use Milton's\nown words, \"In English heroic verse without rhyme, as that of Homer in\nGreek and of Virgil in Latin, rhyme being no necessary adjunct or true\nornament of poem or good verse.\"\n\nParadise Lost was neglected until the time of the Whig supremacy in\nEngland. In 1688 Lord Somers, the Whig leader, published an _\u00e9dition de\nluxe_ of the poem; Addison's papers on it, in 1712, increased its\npopularity, and through the influence of the Whigs a bust of the poet was\nplaced in Westminster Abbey in 1737.\n\nThere is no better proof of the greatness of Paradise Lost than the way in\nwhich it has survived hostile criticism. It has been criticised for the\nlengthy conversations and \"arguments\" of its characters; for its\nmaterialization of the Divine Being; because of its subject; because of\nMilton's vagueness of description of things awesome and terrible, in\ncomparison with Dante's minute descriptions. But the earnest spirit in\nwhich it was conceived and written; the subject, giving it a \"higher\nargument\" than any merely national epic, even though many of Milton's, and\nhis age's, special beliefs are things of the past, and its lofty and\npoetical style, have rendered unassailable its rank among the noblest of\nthe epics.\n\n\n\n\nBIBLIOGRAPHY AND CRITICISM, PARADISE LOST.\n\n\nJoseph Addison's Notes upon the Twelve Books of Paradise Lost;\nby Albert S. Cook, 1892. (In the Spectator from Dec. 31, 1711-May 3,\n1712);\n\nSamuel Austin Allibone's Dictionary of Authors, 1891, vol. ii., pp.\n1301-1311;\n\nMatthew Arnold's A French Critic on Milton (see his Mixed Essays, 1880,\npp. 260-273);\n\nWalter Bagehot's Literary Studies, by Richard Holt Hutton, 1879, vol. i.,\n202-219;\n\nRichard Bentley's Emendations on the Twelve Books of Paradise Lost, 1732;\n\nE. H. Bickersteth's Milton's Paradise Lost, 1876. (St. James Lectures, 2d\nseries. Another edition, 1877);\n\nHugh Blair's Paradise Lost (see his Lectures on Rhetoric and Belles\nLettres, 1783, vol. ii., 471-476);\n\nMiss Christian Cann's A Scriptural and Allegorical Glossary to Paradise\nLost, 1828;\n\nCharles Dexter Cleveland's Complete Concordance to Milton's Poetical\nWorks, 1867;\n\nSamuel Taylor Coleridge's Lectures and Notes on Shakespeare and other\nEnglish Poets collected by T. Ashe, 1893, pp. 518-529;\n\nWilliam T. Dobson's The Classic Poets, their lives and times etc., 1879;\n\nCharles Eyre's Fall of Adam, from Milton's Paradise Lost, 1852;\n\nGeorge Gilfillan's Second Gallery of Literary Portraits, 1852, pp. 17-25;\n\nS. Humphreys Gurteen's The Epic of the Fall of Man; a comparative Study of\nCaedmon, Dante, and Milton, 1896;\n\nWilliam Hazlitt On the Character of Milton's Eve (see his Round Table ed.\nby W. Carew Hazlitt, 1889, pp. 150-158);\n\nWilliam Hazlitt On Milton's Versification (see his Round Table, ed. by W.\nCarew Hazlitt, 1889, pp. 51-57);\n\nJohn A. Himes's Study of Milton's Paradise Lost, 1878;\n\nSamuel Johnson's Milton (see his Lives of the Poets; ed. by Mrs. Alexander\nNapier, 1890, vol. i.);\n\nThomas Keightley's Introduction to Paradise Lost (see his An account of\nthe Life, Opinions, and Writings of John Milton, 1855, pp. 397-484);\n\nWalter Savage Landor's Imaginary Conversations, Southey and Landor, 1853,\nvol. ii., 57-74, 156-159;\n\nThomas Babington Macaulay's Milton (see his Critical and Historical\nEssays, ed. 10, 1860, vol. i., pp. 1-61);\n\nWilliam Massey's Remarks upon Milton's Paradise Lost, 1761;\n\nDavid Masson's Introduction to Paradise Lost (see his edition of Milton's\nPoetical Works, 1893, vol. ii., pp. 1-57);\n\nDavid Masson's Life of Milton, 1880, vol. vi., 505-558, 621-636;\n\nDavid Masson's Three Devils (Luther's, Goethe's, and Milton's), (see his\nThree Devils and other Essays, 1874);\n\nJames Peterson's A complete Commentary on Paradise Lost, 1744;\n\nJonathan Richardson's Explanatory Notes and Remarks on Paradise Lost,\n1734;\n\nEdmond Scherer's Milton and Paradise Lost (see his essays on English\nLiterature; Tr. by George Saintsbury, 1891, pp. 134-149);\n\nJohn Robert Seeley's Milton (see his Roman Imperialism and other Lectures\nand Essays), 1871, pp. 142-152;\n\nFirst Edition of Paradise Lost, Book Lore, 1886, iii., 72-75;\n\nJ. A. Himes's Cosmology of Paradise Lost, Lutheran Quarterly, 1876, vi.,\n187-204;\n\nJ. A. Himes's Plan of Paradise Lost, New Englander, 1883, xlii., 196-211;\n\nSatan of Milton and the Lucifer of Byron compared, Knickerbocker, 1847,\nxxx., 150-155;\n\nSatan of Paradise Lost, Dublin University Magazine, 1876, lxxxviii.,\n707-714;\n\nAugustine Birrell's Obiter Dicta (2d series 1887, pp. 42-51);\n\nIsaac Disraeli's Curiosities of Literature;\nBentley's Milton, 1867, pp. 138-139;\n\nHenry Hallam's Literary History of Europe, 1873, ed. 5, vol. iii., pp.\n475-483;\n\nMark Pattison's John Milton, n. d. (English Men of Letters Series);\n\nH. A. Taine's History of English Literature; Tr. by H. Van Laun, 1877,\nvol. ii., pp. 106-124.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF PARADISE LOST.\n\n\nWhen that bright spirit, afterwards known as Satan, rose in rebellion\nagainst the Almighty Ruler of the Universe, presumptuously thinking\nhimself equal to him in strength and following, he was overthrown by the\nGreat Power and cast with his followers out of Heaven down to his future\ndwelling, flaming Hell.\n\nNine days he and his horrid crew fell through Chaos into the flaming pit\nyawning to receive them, and there lay for nine days,--rendered still more\nmiserable by the thought of their immortality and the eternal bliss they\nhad forfeited. Then Satan, rousing himself from the stupor consequent upon\nthe fall, half rose and addressed the next in power to himself, Beelzebub.\n\n\"Thou art the same, yet not the same,\" said he; \"changed, lost is some of\nthy former brightness. Yet why repine? While we live, while we have so\nlarge a following, all is not lost. Our hate still lives, and have we but\nstrength enough, we may still revenge ourselves upon him who thrust us\ninto this accursed place.\"\n\nRising from the lake, his great shield slung over his shoulders, the\nunconquered archangel walked over the burning marl to the beach of that\nfiery sea, and there with chiding words addressed the legions strewn\naround him. The great army rose hastily at the voice of its chief and\npassed before him, spirits whose heavenly names were now forever lost, who\nlater became the gods of the idolaters. There was mighty Moloch, Chemos,\nthose who later went by the general names of Baalim and\nAshtaroth,--Thammuz, Dagon, Rimmon, Osiris, Isis, Orus and their train,\nBelial, and last of all, the Ionian gods.\n\nHis despair in part dissipated by the sight of this heroic array, their\nprince, towering high above all, addressed them. No one had foreseen the\ncalamity that had overtaken them. Who could have guessed the power of the\nAlmighty? But though overthrown they were not totally defeated. A rumor\nhad long since been rife of the creation of another world with which they\ncould interfere. At any rate, there must never be peace between them and\nthe heavenly Powers. War there must be, war in secret, or war waged\nopenly. As he ended, shield clashed against shield, and swords, quickly\ndrawn, flashed before his eyes, and loud cries hurled defiance to Heaven.\n\nThe legions, led by Mammon, who in Heaven had been an honored architect,\nsought a hill near by, and quickly emptying it of its rich store of gold\nand jewels, built a massive structure. Like a temple in form was it, and\nround about it stood Doric columns overlaid with gold. No king of any\nfuture state could boast of a grander hall than this palace of Pandemonium\nwhich was so quickly reared upon a hill in Hell, and to which the heralds'\ntrumpets now summoned all the host.\n\nOn the massive throne, blazing with jewels, sat the fallen spirit, and\nthus addressed his followers: \"Our success is sure in whatever we\nundertake. We shall never be riven with internecine warfare, for surely no\none will quarrel over precedence in Hell. Therefore, united, we can, sure\nof our success, debate of the way in which we shall take up our warfare\nwith the powers that have overthrown us.\"\n\nMoloch, Belial, Mammon, and Beelzebub spoke. Moloch was in favor of open\nwar, since nothing could be worse than Hell, and continued assault against\nthe Most High would, in annoying him, be a sweet revenge. Belial, who\nthough timorous and slothful, was a persuasive orator, denounced Moloch's\nplan. Since the ruler of Heaven was all-powerful, and they immortal, no\none knew to what greater misery he could push them; perhaps he would bury\nthem in boiling pitch to eternity, or inflict a thousand undreamed-of\ntortures. War, open and secret, he disliked, since it was impossible to\nconceal aught from the eye of the Most High. To make the best of Hell\nseemed all that was possible; in time they might become inured to its\nflames and better days might come, if they but accepted their doom\npatiently.\n\nMammon also considered war impossible. They could never hope to overcome\nthe Almighty; neither could they hope nor wish for a reconciliation, for\nhow hateful would be an eternity spent in cringing to one whom they hated.\nThe desert soil of Hell teemed with riches, they could find peaceful\npursuits, and it was his advice to continue there in quiet, untroubled by\nany thoughts of revenge.\n\nAmid the murmur of applause that followed Mammon's speech, Beelzebub, than\nwhom none towered higher save Satan, arose, his face grave, his attitude\nmajestic. \"Would you, Thrones and Imperial Powers,\" he cried, \"think to\nbuild up a kingdom here, secure from the arm of Heaven? Have you so soon\nforgotten that this is not a kingdom ceded to you by the Most High, but a\ndungeon in which he has shut you for your everlasting punishment? Never\nwill he forget that you are his prisoners; your lot will not be peace, but\ncustody and stripes. What return can we make, then, but to think out some\nslow but sure and sweet revenge? It is not necessary to attempt to scale\nthe walls of Heaven. Other things remain. There is this new world, his\nplaything. It may lie exposed, and we can at least make the attempt to\nseize it and lay it waste, and thus vex him.\" As he saw their eyes\nsparkle, he continued: \"We may in this attempt come near to the steps of\nour old abode and breathe again its delicious airs instead of these\nhellish flames. But first we must find some one, strong, wary, and\nwatchful, to send in search of it.\"\n\nSatan strode forth, his courage and his consciousness of it making his\nface shine with transcendent glory. \"Long is the way and hard; its dangers\nunknown and terrible, but I should be a poor sovereign did I hesitate in\nthe attempt to seek it out. I do not refuse the sovereignty, for I fear\nnot to accept as great a share of hazard as of honor. Stay here; charm\naway your time, and I will seek deliverance abroad for all of us.\"\n\nAs he spoke he rose to depart, fearful lest others might now offer to go\nand share the glory with him.\n\nThe legions rose with a sound like thunder, bowed in deepest reverence and\nwent forth, some, to explore their dismal abode, others to amuse\nthemselves at games, others to discuss Free Will and Fate, while their\nleader pursued his way toward the gate of Hell.\n\nThe nine-fold gates were of brass, iron, and adamantine rock, reaching\nhigh to the mighty roof, and most horrible were the Shapes that guarded\nit.\n\nOn one side sat a creature, woman to the waist, below, a serpent,\nsurrounded by a crew of hell hounds, forever barking and then seeking\nrefuge within her. On the other, a Shape, black, fierce, terrible, crowned\nwith the likeness of a kingly crown, and shaking in its hands a dreadful\ndart. As he strode, Hell trembled. Satan, undaunted, met him with fierce\nwords. As the two stood, their lances pointed at each other, the woman\nshrieked and ran between them.\n\n\"Father, rush not upon thy son! Son, raise not thy hand against thy\nfather!\" She then explained that she was Satan's daughter, Sin, who had\nsprung from his head full grown, and that she later became by him the\nmother of the creature called Death who sat with her to guard the gates.\n\nSatan at once unfolded to them his plan of seeking the new world and\nmaking a happy home for both Sin and Death, where they could forever find\nfood to gratify their hideous cravings. Charmed by his highly-colored\npictures, and forgetful of the commands from above, Sin opened the mighty\ndoors, so that the flames of Hell spread far out into Chaos, but her\nstrength failed her when she attempted to close them again.\n\nFor a moment Satan looked out into the mixture of Hot and Cold and Moist\nand Dry that formed Chaos, and then started forth, now rising, now\nfalling, his wings heavy with the dense masses, now wading, now creeping,\nuntil at last he reached the spot where was fixed the throne of Chaos and\nof Night. Here Satan learned of the situation of the new world and soon\ncaught a glimpse of it, hanging like a star, by a golden chain, from\nHeaven.\n\nSitting in Heaven, high throned above all, God, all-seeing, all-knowing,\nwas conscious of Satan's escape from Hell and his approach to the new\nworld. To his Son, sitting on his right hand, he pointed out the fallen\nspirit. \"No prescribed bounds can shut our Adversary in; nor can the\nchains of hell hold him. To our new world he goes, and there, by no fault\nof mine, will pervert man, whom I have placed therein, with a free will;\nso to remain until he enthralls himself. Man will fall as did Satan, but\nas Satan was self-tempted, and man will be deceived by another, the latter\nshall find grace where his tempter did not.\"\n\nGreat was the joy of the Son when he learned that man would receive mercy\nfor his transgression. \"Pardon and mercy he shall receive,\" declared the\nFather, \"but some one must be willing to expiate his sin for him; the just\nmust die for the unjust. Who in Heaven is willing to make the sacrifice?\"\n\nFor a moment all the Heavenly quire stood mute; then the Son of God spoke\nand implored his Father to let his anger fall on him, since he could not\nwholly die, but could arise from death and subdue his vanquisher.\n\nWhen his Father accepted the sacrifice, and named him Son of God and Man\nwho should hereafter be Universal King, Ruler of Heaven and Earth, Heaven\nrang with the shouts of the Angels, who, casting down their amaranthine\nwreaths until the golden pavement was covered with the garlands, took\ntheir golden harps and sang the praises of the Father and the Son.\n\nWhile they sang, Satan walked over the vast globe on which he had\nalighted, through what in after years, when the world was peopled, was to\nbe the Paradise of Fools, the spot to which the spirits of all things\ntransitory and vain, of those who had worked for their reward in life\ninstead of in Heaven, would come. He walked around the dark globe until,\ndirected by a gleam of light, he found the spot where a ladder led up to\nHeaven. Just below it, down through the spheres, was the seat of Paradise\nto which he was bending his way.\n\nDown through the crystal spheres he bent his way toward the Sun, which\nattracted him by its superior splendor. Espying Uriel, the Angel of the\nSun, he quickly took the form of a youthful Cherub, and, approaching\nUriel, told him that having heard of the new world he had been seized by a\nlonging to quit the bands of Cherubim and see for himself the wonderful\nwork of the Creator.\n\nDirected by the unsuspecting Uriel, Satan sped downward and standing upon\nthe top of Niphates, surveyed Eden.\n\nAs he looked, his spirit was troubled. He had brought Hell with him, and\nhis unhappy thoughts boiled and surged in his troubled mind. \"Sun, I hate\nthee, because thy beams recall to me what I was and how I fell. The\nmatchless King of Heaven deserved no such return from me. His service was\neasy. Had I only been created a lower Power!--But even then, might not\nsome higher one have led me into temptation? What shall I do, whither\nshall I fly, to escape infinite wrath, and infinite despair? Hell is\naround me, I myself am Hell! There is no hope for me. Submission is the\nonly way left, and I could not unsay what I have said; I could never\nbridge the gulf made by my revolt. Farewell to remorse! Good is forever\nlost to me, and I must now make Evil my good. I can at least divide the\nempire of the world with the King of Heaven.\"\n\nAs he realized how his bitter thoughts had dimmed his countenance he\nsmoothed it over with outward calm, but not before Uriel, from the Sun,\nhad noted and wondered over his strange gestures.\n\nLeaping over the high natural walls of Paradise, Satan, in the form of a\ncormorant, perched himself on the Tree of Life. Beautiful was the scene\nbefore him. All the trees and plants were of the noblest kind. In the\nmidst of them stood the Tree of Life with its golden fruit, and not far\noff the Tree of Knowledge. Southward through Eden ran a river, which,\npassing under a huge hill, emerged into four great streams wandering\nthrough many afterwards famous realms. Between the rows of trees stretched\nlevel lawns where grazed the happy flocks, and over the green mead were\nsprinkled flowers of every hue. No fairer scene ever met living eyes, and\nfairest of all were the two stately forms, in whose looks shone the\ndivinity of their Maker. Hand in hand they passed through the garden,\nrefreshed themselves with the delicious fruits, and were happy in each\nother.\n\nAs he gazed on them while the animals fell asleep and the sun sank below\nthe horizon, Satan, still torn with conflicting emotions, ruminated over\nthe unhappiness he was to bring the lovely pair. He admired them, he could\nlove them; they had not harmed him, but he must bring unhappiness upon\nthem because of their likeness to their Creator. Through them only could\nhe obtain his longed-for revenge.\n\nAnxious to learn where to attack them, he prowled about them, now as a\nlion, now as a tiger, listening to their conversation. They spoke of their\ngarden, of the Tree of Life, and of the forbidden Tree of Knowledge. \"In\nthe day ye eat thereof, ye shall surely die,\" had been their warning. Eve\nrecalled the day of her creation, when she had first fled from Adam, and\nthen yielded to his embraces, and Satan, watching their caresses, envied\nand hardened his heart. \"Live while ye may!\" he muttered. \"Soon will I\nreturn and offer you new woes for your present pleasures.\"\n\nIn the mean time, Gabriel, warned by Uriel, who suspected that an evil\nspirit had crept into Paradise, had set watches around the garden.\nIthuriel and Zephon, sent to search for him, spied Satan in the form of a\ntoad, sitting near the ear of Eve, tainting her dreams with foul whispers.\nTouched by Ithuriel's spear, he was forced to resume his own shape and was\ntaken to Gabriel. The angry Satan attempted to use force, but warned by a\nsign from Heaven that his strength was insufficient, fled, murmuring,\nthrough the night.\n\nWhen morning dawned on Eden, a morn of unimaginable beauty, Adam waked Eve\nfrom her restless slumbers, and heard her troubled dreams, in which she\nhad been tempted to taste of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge. He\ncomforted her, and after their morning hymn, in which they glorified their\nCreator, they set about their pleasant work of pruning the too luxuriant\nvines of their Paradise. In the mean time, the Father above, knowing the\ndesign of Satan, and determined that man should not fall without warning,\nsent Raphael down to Adam to tell him that he was threatened by an enemy,\nand that, as a free agent, if he fell, his sin would be upon his own head.\n\nSix-winged Raphael swept down through the spheres and stood in Paradise,\nwelcomed by Adam. Eve hastened to set before their guest every delicacy\nthat Eden knew, and while she was preparing these Adam listened to the\nAngel's warning.\n\nTo emphasize the sin of disobedience, Raphael related to the pair the\nstory of Satan's conspiracy with the other powers because the Father had\nproclaimed the power of his Son. The Father, knowing Satan's confidence in\nhimself, had allowed him for two days to fight an equal number of his\nlegions of angels, among whom was Abdiel who had fled, indignant, from\nSatan's ranks, and on the third day, when the legions of evil lay crushed\nbeneath the mountains which the shining angels had heaped upon them, the\nSon of God drove forth in his chariot, and single-handed, forced them\nbefore him, terror-stricken, until, Heaven's wall having opened, they fell\ndownward for nine days, in horror and confusion into the depths of Hell.\nThe Messiah, returning home in triumph in his chariot, was welcomed by the\nbright orders into the home of his Father.\n\nDelighted by the recital of Raphael, Adam asked him to relate the story of\nthe Creation, and explain to him the motion of the celestial bodies. He\nthen told Raphael of his own creation; how he awoke as from a sleep and\nfound the Sun above him and around him the pleasant groves of Paradise;\nhow he named the animals as they passed before him, according to the will\nof God, and how he had pleaded with his Maker for a companion and equal,\nuntil the Creator, casting him into a sound sleep, took from his side a\nrib and formed from it his beauteous Eve. As Adam concluded, the setting\nsun warned Raphael to depart.\n\nSatan, after fleeing from Gabriel, had hidden in the dark parts of the\nearth, so that he could creep in at night unseen of Uriel. After the\neighth night, he crept in past the watchful Cherubim, and stealing into\nParadise, wrapped in the mist rising over the river that, shooting\nunderground, rose up as a fountain near the Tree of Life, he crept, though\nnot without loathing, into the serpent, in which form he could best evade\nthe watchful eyes of the heavenly guards and accomplish his purpose.\n\nWhen morning dawned, Eve asked Adam for once to permit her to work alone,\nso that they might accomplish more. Adam, who constantly desired her\npresence, prayed her to remain, warning her of the enemy of whom Raphael\nhad spoken, and telling her that they could resist temptation more easily\ntogether than when separated. But Eve was obdurate, and Adam finally\nconsented that she should go alone to work.\n\nAs she moved among the groves, tying up the drooping flowers, like to\nPomona in her prime, or to Ceres, the sight of so much beauty, goodness,\nand innocence moved even the serpent, as he approached, intent on the\ndestruction of her happiness. But as he looked, the thought of her joy but\ntortured him the more, since happiness was no longer possible for him.\n\nThis was before the serpent had been compelled to crawl his whole length\non the ground, and as he moved on, fold on fold, his head proudly reared,\nhis scales brilliant in color, he was not an unpleasant object to look\nupon. He circled about Eve as though lost in admiration, until her\nattention was attracted, and then astounded her by addressing her in her\nown language. When she demanded by what means he had acquired speech, he\ntold her by the plucking and eating of a certain tree in the garden, which\nhe had no sooner tasted than he felt his inward powers to develop until he\nfound himself capable of speech.\n\nEve at once asked him to take her to the tree, but when she recognized the\nforbidden Tree of Knowledge, she demurred, assuring the serpent that God\nhad commanded them not to touch it, for if they ate of it, they should\nsurely die. \"Am I not alive?\" asked her tempter, \"and have I not eaten of\nit? Is it not a rank injustice that you should be forbidden to taste it\nand to lack the Knowledge of Good and Evil which it would give you? Where\ncan the offence lie? It must be envy that causes such a prohibition.\"\n\nHis words, the sight of the fruit, and natural hunger all prevailed on\nEve, and she plucked a branch from the tree and tasted the fruit. As she\nate she saw Adam coming in search of her, holding a garland which he had\nbeen binding to crown her. To his reproaches, she replied with the\narguments of her tempter, until Adam, in despair, determined to taste the\napple that he might not lose Eve. Paradise without her would not be\nParadise, and no new wife could make him forget her.\n\nAfter the first exhilaration of the food was past they began to reproach\neach other, mindful of their destiny, of which they had been warned by\nRaphael, and, engaged in this fruitless chiding, they were found by the\nSon, who, informed of their transgression by the angels, sought them out\nin their place of concealment. Adam and Eve he sentenced to a life of\nsorrow and labor, the serpent to go despised and ever at enmity with man.\nThen, pitying the unhappy pair, he clad them in skins and re-ascended to\nHeaven.\n\nWhile this was occurring in Eden, Sin and Death, feeling in some\nmysterious way the success of their parent, determined to leave Hell and\nseek their new home. Passing through Chaos, they pushed the heavy elements\nthis way and that, cementing them with Death's mace until they constructed\nof them a bridge from the gates of Hell to the point on earth at which\nSatan had first alighted, and here met him, just returning, flushed with\nsuccess, to Hell.\n\nAll the followers of Satan were gathered in Pandemonium to hear the news\nof his success, which he related, overjoyed at having wrought the ruin of\nmankind and revenged himself on God by so small a thing as the eating of\nan apple. As he concluded and stood waiting their applause, he heard a\nuniversal hiss, and saw himself surrounded by serpents, and himself\nchanging into an enormous dragon. The great hall was filled with the\nmonsters, scorpions, asps, hydras, and those who stood waiting without\nwith applause for their leader were likewise changed into loathsome\nreptiles. Without the hall a grove sprang up, loaded with tempting fruit,\nbut when, tortured with thirst, they tried to eat, it turned in their\nmouths to bitter ashes. After a time they were permitted to take again\ntheir own shapes, but were compelled to resume this serpent-form for a\ncertain number of days each year, to crush their pride.\n\nWhen God saw the entrance of Sin and Death into the world, he proclaimed\nto his Saints that their seeming victory was but temporary, and that\neventually his Son would defeat Sin, Death, and the Grave, and seal up the\nmouth of Hell. Then, as the Halleluias rang out, he ordered the angels to\nmake certain changes in the universe as a punishment to man. The Sun was\nso to move as to affect the earth alternately with a cold and heat almost\nunbearable; to the Moon were assigned her motions; the other planets were\nto join in various ways, often \"unbenign.\" The winds were assigned their\nstations to torment the earth and sea, and the thunder was set to strike\nterror to the heart of man. The poles of the earth were pushed aslant, and\nsoon the effects of the changes were felt in heat, cold, wind, and storm.\n\nAdam, though absorbed in his own misery and momentarily expecting Death,\nsaw the changes, and bemoaned his woes the more. How would his mysterious\nprogeny despise him, since he was the cause of their being brought into\nthe world of woe! When Eve attempted to comfort him he drove her from him\nwith harsh words, saying that in time to come women would be the unhappy\ncause of all man's misery, as she had been of his. At last, seeing the\nfutility of his outcries Adam began to cheer his wife, recalling the\npromise that their offspring should crush the head of the serpent, and\nsuggested to her that they go to their former place of prayer and pour\nforth to God their true contrition and repentance.\n\nThe glad Son, presenting these prayers at his Father's throne, interceded\nwith him for them, since their contrition now was worth more than their\nworship in a state of innocence. His intercession was accepted, but since\nthey had lost the two gifts of Happiness and Immortality, they must leave\nthe garden lest they be tempted to taste next of the Tree of Life and make\ntheir woe eternal.\n\nMichael was sent down to drive them from the garden, and if the pair\nseemed repentant and disconsolate he was ordered to comfort them with the\npromise of better days and to reveal to them somewhat of the future. In\nhabit as a man Michael descended and declared to Adam and Eve that they\ncould no longer abide in Paradise. When Adam, himself broken with grief,\nattempted to console the heart-broken Eve, the Angel comforted her also,\nand causing a sleep to fall upon her, led Adam to a hill-top, whence could\nbe seen the hemisphere of the earth, soon to be covered by the seats of\nempires.\n\nTouching Adam's eyes with three drops from the well of life, the Angel\nshowed him a long panorama, beginning with the crime of Cain, and showing\nthe building of the Ark and its landing on Ararat. When he perceived that\nAdam's eyes were weary, he recited to him the story of Abraham, of the\ndeliverance from Egypt, the wandering in the Wilderness, of the royal\nstock of David from which would spring the seed so often promised Adam,\nwho should ascend the hereditary throne, and whose glory should be\nuniversal.\n\nOverjoyed, Adam inquired when would take place the final death stroke to\nSatan, the bruising with the Victor's heel. Michael responded that Satan\nwas not to be destroyed, but his works in Adam and his seed, and that the\nsacrifice of the Son's life for man would forever crush the strength of\nSatan's progeny, Sin and Death. Then, to that Heaven to which he would\nreascend, the faithful would go when the time came for the world's\ndissolution, and there would be received into the bliss eternal.\n\nStrengthened and sustained, Adam went down from the mount and met Eve,\njust awaking from comforting dreams.\n\nThe Cherubim descended, and, urged by the Angel, the two took their way\ninto the wide world that lay before them, and looking back beheld the\nflaming swords of the Cherubim at the gates of their lost Paradise.\n\n\n\n\nSELECTIONS FROM PARADISE LOST.\n\nSATAN.\n\n\nAfter having been thrown out of Heaven with his crew, Satan lay nine days\nin the burning lake into which he fell. Then, rousing himself, he rose\nfrom the liquid flames, flew over the lake, and alighting upon the solid\nthough burning land, thus addressed Beelzebub, who had accompanied him.\n\n  \"Is this the region, this the soil, the clime,\"\n  Said then the lost Archangel, \"this the seat\n  That we must change for Heaven?--this mournful gloom\n  For that celestial light? Be it so, since He\n  Who now is sovran can dispose and bid\n  What shall be right: farthest from Him is best,\n  Whom reason hath equalled, force hath made supreme\n  Above his equals. Farewell, happy fields,\n  Where joy forever dwells! Hail, horrors! hail,\n  Infernal World! and thou, profoundest Hell,\n  Receive thy new possessor--one who brings\n  A mind not to be changed by place or time.\n  The mind is its own place, and in itself\n  Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.\n  What matter where, if I be still the same,\n  And what I should be, all but less than he\n  Whom thunder hath made greater? Here at least\n  We shall be free; the Almighty hath not built\n  Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:\n  Here we may reign secure; and, in my choice,\n  To reign is worth ambition, though in Hell:\n  Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.\n  But wherefore let we then our faithful friends,\n  The associates and co-partners of our loss,\n  Lie thus astonished on the oblivious pool,\n  And call them not to share with us their part\n  In this unhappy mansion, or once more\n  With rallied arms to try what may be yet\n  Regained in Heaven, or what more lost in Hell?\"\n\n  So Satan spake; and him Beelzebub\n  Thus answered:--\"Leader of those armies bright\n  Which, but the Omnipotent, none could have foiled!\n  If once they hear that voice, their liveliest pledge\n  Of hope in fears and dangers--heard so oft\n  In worst extremes, and on the perilous edge\n  Of battle, when it raged, in all assaults\n  Their surest signal--they will soon resume\n  New courage and revive, though now they lie\n  Grovelling and prostrate on yon lake of fire,\n  As we erewhile, astounded and amazed;\n  No wonder, fallen from such pernicious highth!\"\n\n  He scarce had ceased when the superior Fiend\n  Was moving toward the shore; his ponderous shield,\n  Ethereal temper, massy, large, and round,\n  Behind him cast. The broad circumference\n  Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb\n  Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views\n  At evening, from the top of Fesol\u00e8,\n  Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands,\n  Rivers, or mountains, in her spotty globe.\n  His spear--to equal which the tallest pine\n  Hewn on Norwegian hills, to be the mast\n  Of some great ammiral, were but a wand--\n  He walked with, to support uneasy steps\n  Over the burning marle, not like those steps\n  On Heaven's azure; and the torrid clime\n  Smote on him sore besides, vaulted with fire.\n  Nathless he so endured, till on the beach\n  Of that inflam\u00e8d sea he stood, and called\n  His legions--Angel Forms, who lay entranced\n  Thick as autumnal leaves that strow the brooks\n  In Vallombrosa, where the Etrurian shades\n  High over-arched embower; or scattered sedge\n  Afloat, when the fierce winds Orion armed\n  Hath vexed the Red-Sea coast, whose waves o'erthrew\n  Busiris and his Memphian chivalry,\n  While with perfidious hatred they pursued\n  The sojourners of Goshen, who beheld\n  From the safe shore their floating carcases\n  And broken chariot wheels. So thick bestrewn,\n  Abject and lost, lay these, covering the flood,\n  Under amazement of their hideous change.\n  He called so loud that all the hollow deep\n  Of Hell resounded:--\"Princes, Potentates,\n  Warriors, the Flower of Heaven--once yours; now lost,\n  If such astonishment as this can seize\n  Eternal Spirits! Or have ye chosen this place\n  After the toil of battle to repose\n  Your wearied virtue, for the ease you find\n  To slumber here, as in the vales of Heaven?\n  Or in this abject posture have ye sworn\n  To adore the Conqueror, who now beholds\n  Cherub and Seraph rolling in the flood\n  With scattered arms and ensigns, till anon\n  His swift pursuers from Heaven-gates discern\n  The advantage, and descending, tread us down\n  Thus drooping, or with linked thunderbolts\n  Transfix us to the bottom of this gulf?--\n  Awake, arise, or be for ever fallen!\"\n          _Book I._, 240-330.\n\n\nAPOSTROPHE TO LIGHT.\n\nThis passage forms the beginning of Book III., in which the poet visits\nthe realms of light after having described Hell and its inhabitants.\n\n  Hail, holy Light, offspring of Heaven first-born!\n  Or of the Eternal coeternal beam\n  May I express thee unblamed? since God is light,\n  And never but in unapproach\u00e8d light\n  Dwelt from eternity--dwelt then in thee,\n  Bright effluence of bright essence increate!\n  Or hear'st thou rather pure Ethereal stream,\n  Whose fountain who shall tell? Before the Sun,\n  Before the Heavens, thou wert, and at the voice\n  Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest\n  The rising World of waters dark and deep,\n  Won from the void and formless Infinite!\n  Thee I revisit now with bolder wing,\n  Escaped the Stygian Pool, though long detained\n  In that obscure sojourn, while in my flight,\n  Through utter and through middle Darkness borne,\n  With other notes than to the Orphean lyre\n  I sung of Chaos and eternal Night,\n  Taught by the Heavenly Muse to venture down\n  The dark descent, and up to re-ascend,\n  Though hard and rare. Thee I revisit safe,\n  And feel thy sovran vital lamp; but thou\n  Revisit'st not these eyes, that roll in vain\n  To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn;\n  So thick a drop serene hath quenched their orbs,\n  Or dim suffusion veiled. Yet not the more\n  Cease I to wander where the Muses haunt\n  Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill,\n  Smit with the love of sacred song; but chief\n  Thee, Sion, and the flowery brooks beneath,\n  That wash thy hallowed feet, and warbling flow,\n  Nightly I visit: nor sometimes forget\n  Those other two equalled with me in fate,\n  So were I equalled with them in renown,\n  Blind Thamyris and blind M\u00e6onides,\n  And Tiresias and Phineus, prophets old:\n  Then feed on thoughts that voluntary move\n  Harmonious numbers; as the wakeful bird\n  Sings darkling, and, in shadiest covert hid,\n  Tunes her nocturnal note. Thus with the year\n  Seasons return; but not to me returns\n  Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn,\n  Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose,\n  Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine;\n  But cloud instead and ever-during dark\n  Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men\n  Cut off, and, for the book of knowledge fair,\n  Presented with a universal blank\n  Of Nature's works, to me expunged and rased,\n  And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out.\n  So much the rather thou, Celestial Light,\n  Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers\n  Irradiate; there plant eyes; all mist from thence\n  Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell\n  Of things invisible to mortal sight.\n                       _Book III_\n\n\n\n\n\nPARADISE REGAINED.\n\n  \"A cold and noble epic.\"--TAINE.\n\n\nParadise regained was written by Milton, judging from a passage in the\nAutobiography of Thomas Ellwood, in the winter of 1665-6, but was not\npublished until 1671. It was printed at Milton's expense in a small volume\ntogether with Samson Agonistes.\n\nParadise Regained tells the story of Christ's temptation in the\nWilderness, and the material was taken from the accounts of Matthew and\nLuke, which the poet, with great skill, expanded without essentially\ndeviating from them.\n\nThe title has been criticised on the ground that the poem should have\nextended over the whole of Christ's life on earth. But Paradise Regained\nwas written as a sequel to Paradise Lost, and, as in the first poem the\npoet showed that Paradise was lost by the yielding of Adam and Eve to\nSatan, so in the second, he wished to show that Paradise was regained by\nthe resistance of Christ to temptation, Satan's defeat signifying the\nregaining of Paradise for men by giving them the hope of Christ's second\ncoming. Therefore the poem naturally ends with Satan's rebuff and his\nfinal abandonment of the attempt on the pinnacle of the Temple.\n\nThe poem has been criticised for its shortness, some scholars even\naffecting to believe it unfinished; its lack of variety, in that it has\nbut two characters, its lack of action, and the absence of figurative\nlanguage.\n\nBut with all these faults, it has a charm of its own, entirely different\nfrom that of Paradise Lost. Satan has degenerated during his years of\n\"roaming up and down the earth;\" he is no longer the fallen angel of\nParadise Lost, who struggled with himself before making evil his good. He\nis openly given over to evil practices, and makes little effort to play\nthe hypocrite. His temptations are worked up from that of hunger to that\nof the vision of the kingdoms of the earth with a wonderful power of\ndescription which makes up for the lack of action and the few actors. The\npathless, rockbound desert, the old man, poorly clad, who accosts the\nChrist, the mountain-top from which all the earth was visible, the night\nof horror in the desert, and the sublime figure of the Savior, are all\nenduring pictures which compensate for any rigidity of treatment. If\nfigurative language is omitted it is because the theme does not need it,\nand does not show that the poem is less carefully finished than Paradise\nLost. Its lack of action and similarity of subject to the longer poem\nsufficiently account for its not meeting with popular favor. Johnson was\ncorrect when he said, \"had this poem been written not by Milton, but by\nsome imitator, it would have claimed and received universal praise.\"\n\n\n\n\nBIBLIOGRAPHY AND CRITICISM, PARADISE REGAINED.\n\n\nH. C. Beeching, On the Prosody of Paradise Regained and Samson Agonistes,\n1889;\n\nCharles Dexter Cleveland's Complete Concordance to Milton's Poetical\nWorks, 1867;\n\nWilliam T. Dobson's The Classic Poets, their Lives and Times etc., 1879;\n\nGeorge Gilfillan's Second Gallery of Literary Portraits, 1852, pp. 15-16;\n\nSamuel Johnson's Milton (see his Lives of the Poets, ed. by Mrs. Alexander\nNapier, 1890, vol. i.);\n\nThomas Babington Macaulay's Milton (see his Critical and Historical\nEssays, ed, 10, 1860, vol. i.);\n\nDavid Masson's Introduction to Paradise Regained (see his ed. of Milton's\nPoetical works, 1893, vol. iii., pp. 1-14);\n\nDavid Masson's Life of Milton, 1880, vol. vi., 651-661;\n\nRichard Meadowcourt's Critique on Milton's Paradise Regained, 1732;\n\nA Critical Dissertation on Paradise Regained with Notes, 2d ed. 1748;\n\nJohn Robert Seeley's Milton (see his Roman Imperialism and other Lectures\nand Essays, 1871, pp. 152-157);\n\nMark Pattison's John Milton (English Men of Letters Series), n. d.;\n\nH. A. Taine's History of English Literature, Tr. by H. Van Laun, 1877,\nvol. ii.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF PARADISE REGAINED.\n\n\nAfter the expulsion from Paradise of Adam and Eve, Satan and his followers\ndid not return to Hell, but remained on earth, the fallen angels becoming\nthe evil gods of various idolatrous nations and Satan engaging in every\nkind of evildoing which he knew would vex the Powers of Heaven. All the\ntime he was troubled by the thought of the heavenly foe who he had been\ntold would one day appear on earth to crush him and his rebel angels.\n\nNow John had come out of the wilderness, proclaiming his mission, and\namong those who came to him to be baptized was one who was deemed the son\nof Joseph of Nazareth. John recognized in the obscure carpenter's son the\none \"mightier than he\" whose coming he was to proclaim, and this fact was\nfurther made clear to the multitude and the observant Satan by the opening\nof the Heavens and the descent therefrom on Christ's head of the Dove,\nwhile a voice was heard declaring, \"This is my beloved Son.\"\n\nSatan, enraged, fled to the council of the fiends to announce to them the\npresence on earth of their long-dreaded enemy. He was empowered by them to\nattempt his overthrow, and they were the more confident because of his\nsuccess with Adam and Eve.\n\nSatan's purpose was known to the Eternal Father, who smiled to see him\nunwittingly fulfilling the plan so long foreordained for his destruction.\n\nAfter his baptism, the Father had sent his Son into the wilderness to gain\nstrength for his struggle with Sin and Death, and there Satan, in the\nguise of an old, poorly clad rustic, found him. Although the Son of God\nhad wandered through the rock-bound, pathless desert, among wild beasts,\nwithout food for forty days, he had no fear, believing that some impulse\nfrom above had guided him thither before he should go out among men to do\nhis divinely appointed task.\n\nThen, when hunger came upon him as he wandered, thinking of past events\nand those to come, he met the aged man and was addressed by him.\n\n\"Sir, how came you hither, where none who ventures alone escapes alive? I\nask because you look not unlike the man I lately saw baptized by John and\ndeclared the Son of God.\"\n\n\"I need no guide,\" replied the Son. \"The Power who brought me here will\nbring me forth.\"\n\n\"Not otherwise than by miracle. Here we subsist only upon dry roots and\nmust often endure parching thirst. If thou art indeed the Son of God, save\nthyself and relieve us wretched people by changing these stones to bread.\"\n\n\"Men live not by bread alone,\" replied the Son, \"but by the word of God.\nMoses in the Mount was without food and drink for forty days. Elijah also\nwandered fasting in the wilderness. Thou knowest who I am as I know who\nthou art; why shouldest thou suggest distrust to me?\"\n\n\"'Tis true that I am that unfortunate spirit who fell from Heaven, but I\nhave been permitted to roam around the earth and have not been altogether\nexcluded from Heaven. God allowed me to test Job and prove his worth and\nto draw Ahab into fraud. Though I have lost much of my original brightness\nI can still admire all that is illustrious and good. The sons of men\nshould not regard me as an enemy, for I have oft given them aid by\noracles, dreams, and portents. My loss was not through them, so their\nrestoration does not grieve me; only that fallen man will be restored and\nnot I.\"\n\n\"Thou deservest to grieve, tissue of lies that thou art!\" exclaimed our\nSavior. \"Thou boastest of being released from Hell and permitted to come\ninto Heaven. No joy hast thou there! Thy own malice moved thee to torture\nJob. Brag not of thy lies, thy oracles for men. Henceforth oracles are\ndumb, since God has sent his living oracle into the world to teach the\ntruth.\"\n\nSatan, though angry, still dissembled.\n\n\"Accuse me, reprove me, if thou wilt. Fallen as I am, I still love to hear\nthe truth fall from thy lips.\"\n\nUnmoved by his false words the Savior of men declared that he neither\nforbade nor invited his presence, and Satan, bowing low, disappeared as\nnight fell over the desert.\n\nIn the mean time, those at Bethabara who had rejoiced at the declaration\nof John and had talked with the Messiah, were deeply grieved to find him\ngone and with him their hope of deliverance. His mother, too, was troubled\nat his absence, but comforted herself with the thought of his former\nabsences, afterwards explained.\n\nSatan, hastening from the desert, sought his troop of evil spirits to warn\nthem that his undertaking was no easy one, and to summon them to his\nassistance.\n\nNight fell on the Son of God, still fasting, wondering what would be the\nend. In sleep he was visited by dreams of Elijah, raven-fed, and of the\nsame prophet fed by the angel in the desert, and as he dreamed that he ate\nwith them, the lark's song awoke him and he wandered into a pleasant\ngrove. As he viewed it, charmed by its beauty, a man appeared before him,\nno rustic this time, but one attired in the apparel of city or court.\n\n\"I have returned, wondering that thou still remainest here, hungering.\nHagar once wandered here; the children of Israel, and the Prophet, but all\nthese were fed by the hand of Heaven. Thou alone art forgotten and goest\ntormented by hunger.\"\n\nThough the Son of God declared that he had no need to eat, Satan invited\nhis attention to a table, set under a spreading tree. Upon it was heaped\nevery known delicacy; by it waited youths handsome as Ganymede, and among\nthe trees tripped naiads and nymphs of Diana, with fruits and flowers.\nExquisite music was heard, and the perfumes of Araby filled the air.\n\n\"Why not sit and eat?\" continued Satan. \"These foods are not forbidden,\nand all these gentle ministers are ready to do thee homage.\"\n\n\"What hast thou to do with my hunger?\" demanded Jesus. \"Should I receive\nas a gift from thee what I myself could command if I so desired? I too\ncould bring a table here, and swift-winged angels to attend me. Thy gifts\nare but guiles.\"\n\n\"I am forever suspected,\" responded Satan, as the table vanished. \"Hunger\ncannot move thee, set on high designs. But what canst thou, a lowly\ncarpenter's son, accomplish without aid? Where wilt thou find authority,\nwhere followers? First get riches; hearken to me, for fortune is in my\nhand. Wealth will win, while virtue, valor, and wisdom sit and wait in\nvain.\"\n\n\"Yet what can wealth do without these?\" replied Jesus patiently. \"How can\nit gain dominion, and keep it when gained? Gideon, Jephtha, David, and\namong the heathen (for I am not ignorant of history) Quinctius, Fabricius,\nCurius, Regulus, all these have risen from the depths and achieved the\nhighest deeds. Then, why may not I accomplish as much, even more, without\nwealth, which but cumbers the wise man, and slackens virtue, rather than\nprompts it to worthy deeds? Suppose I reject both riches and realms? Not\nbecause the regal diadem is a wreath of thorns and he who wears it bears\neach man's burden, for the king's chief praise is the manner in which he\nbears this burden for the public. But he who rules himself is greater than\na king, and he who cannot do this should not aspire to royal power. But it\nis surely more kingly to lead nations blinded by error into the light of\nGod's truth. This dominion is over the nobler part of man. And it has ever\nbeen thought greater and nobler to give a kingdom and to lay down\nauthority than to assume it. Therefore thy riches are needless both in\nthemselves, and to gain a kingdom which would better be missed than\ngained.\"\n\nSatan, though for a moment struck dumb by this answer to his arguments,\nsoon collected himself and suggested that while the Savior knew so well\nwhat was best to know, say, and do, that if known he would be regarded as\nan oracle, still he did wrong to despise glory and deprive earth of his\ngreat deeds, citing as examples of more active spirits accomplishing much\nwhen younger than he, the young Alexander, Scipio, Pompey, and Caesar. But\nthe Savior replied that the glory which consisted of the approval of the\nrabble was only to be despised. The true glory was that of the man who\ndared to be truly good, who though little known on earth, was famous in\nHeaven. Such men did not lay waste fields, sack, pillage, and slay, but by\ndeeds of peace won the approval of the Father. Such was Job, oft tempted\nby Satan; such was Socrates, who suffered unjust death for teaching truth.\nAnd the Son of God had come upon earth not to win glory for himself as\nvain men do, but for Him who sent him.\n\n\"Thy Father does not despise glory,\" sneered Satan. \"He demands it from\nhis angels, from men, even from us, his foes.\"\n\n\"With reason,\" answered the Son, \"since he created all things, though not\nfor glory. And what slighter recompense could he expect from men who could\nreturn nothing else?\"\n\nSatan, remembering his own ambition and his fall, was silent for a moment,\nand then spoke to remind the Savior that he was born to the throne of\nDavid, but that it must be wrested from the Roman by force of arms. It was\nhis duty to do this and save his people from oppression.\n\n\"All things in due time,\" replied the Savior. \"If the Writ tells of my\nsufferings, my tribulations, of violence done unto me, it also tells of my\nreign without end. I can wait. He who suffers best, can do best; he who\nobeys first, reigns best; and why shouldest thou be so anxious to hasten\nmy rule when it means thy destruction?\"\n\n\"When hope is gone, what is there left to fear? My punishment will come\nwhether thou reign or no. I could hope that thy reign would stand between\nme and the anger of thy Father. And if I haste to the worst that can be,\nwhy shouldest thou go so slowly to the best? Perhaps thou fearest the\ndangerous enterprise, thou who, pent up in Galilean towns, hast seen so\nlittle.\"\n\nSo saying, he took the Son up into a high mountain at the foot of which\nstretched a vast plain. Two rivers watered the fertile land. The hills\nwere covered with flocks; vast cities could be seen, and here and there,\nso wide was the land, a barren desert. Then the Tempter pointed out the\nvast cities of Assyria, Nineveh, Babylon, Persepolis, Bactra, and the vast\nhost of the Parthian king, even then marching against the Scythians. As\nthey watched the great host of mailed warriors, accompanied by chariots,\nelephants, archers, engineers, Satan pursued his argument. Suppose the Son\nshould take possession of his kingdom; how should he hope to keep it in\npeace between two such powerful enemies as the Parthians and the Romans?\nIt would be better to conquer first the nearest, the Parthians, and this\ncould be done with Satan's help. In doing this he would not only be able\nto occupy his throne but would deliver the offspring of the Ten Tribes of\nIsrael, who, scattered among the Medes, still served as slaves.\n\nBut the Savior, in response, only questioned Satan as to why he had\nsuddenly become so solicitous for the salvation of the Tribes when he\nhimself had once tempted David to number Israel and had thus brought\npestilence upon them. And as to the Ten Tribes, they had brought their\npunishment upon themselves, and must serve the enemy and their idols until\nthe Father should see fit to release them.\n\nThough embarrassed by the failure of his wiles, Satan could not yet yield.\nTurning to the western side of the mountain, he pointed out to the Savior\na long, narrow plain, bordered on the south by the sea and protected from\nnorthern blasts by a mountain range. There, crowning the seven hills stood\nthe imperial city adorned with porches, theatres, baths, aqueducts, and\npalaces. Satan pointed out the different objects of interest in splendid\nRome, the Capitol, Mt. Palatine, crowned by the imperial palace, and the\ngreat gates, through which issued or entered a continuous stream of\npraetors, proconsuls, lictors, legions, embassies, on all the roads which\nled through the far-stretching empire, even to those of the Asian kings,\nand remote Britain. All the glory of the world, he argued, lay in Parthia\nand Rome, and Rome was greater. He who ruled her was indeed ruler of the\nworld, and yet its present emperor was old, weak, lascivious, without\nheir, and lived at Capreae, his public cares entrusted to his favorite.\nHow easily could the Son of God force from him the power and lift the yoke\nfrom his people!\n\nBut the splendor of the scene allured neither the eye nor the mind of the\nSon. The gluttonies, the gorgeous feasts, the hollow compliments and lies\nof the people did not attract him. His mission, he told his Tempter, was\nnot yet to free that people, once just and frugal, now debased by their\ninsatiable ambition. When the time came for him to sit on David's throne,\nthis with all other kingdoms of the earth would be shattered while his\nkingdom would be eternal.\n\n\"Though thou despisest my offers,\" cried Satan, \"thou knowest that I\nesteem them highly, and will not part with them for nought. This is the\ncondition; Wilt thou fall down and worship me as thy superior lord?\"\n\n\"It is written, thou accursed one,\" responded the Savior in disdain, \"that\nthou shouldst worship and serve the Lord thy God alone. Who gave thee the\nkingdoms of the earth if He did not? And what gratitude thou showest! Get\nthee behind me! Truly thou art Satan!\"\n\nSatan, abashed but not silenced, pointed southwest toward Athens. Since\nthe Savior seemed to prefer a contemplative life, why should he not seek\nthat seat of learning? All wisdom was not contained in Moses' law and the\nwritings of the prophets. Let him master the learning of the great\nAthenian teachers, philosophers and orators, and he would be a king within\nhimself.\n\nBut the Savior assured Satan that, having received light from above, he\nknew how false and fallacious were the boasted philosophies of the Greeks.\nTheir philosophers, ignorant of themselves and of God, and arrogating all\nglory to themselves and ascribing none to Him, were unable to impart\nwisdom to any one. From Hebrew psalm and hymn, and captive harps in\nBabylon, the Greeks derived their arts, and the results, the odious\npraises of their vicious gods, could not compare with the songs of Sion in\npraise of the Father. Their orators, too, were far below the Hebrew\nprophets. \"Stay in the wilderness, then,\" thundered Satan, wroth at this\nfailure. \"Since neither riches nor arms, nor power, nor yet the\ncontemplative life please thee, it is for thee the fittest place! But the\ntime will yet come when violence, stripes, and a cruel death will make\nthee long for me and my proffered power. Truly the stars promise thee a\nkingdom, but of what kind and when I cannot read.\"\n\nAs he disappeared, darkness fell, and the Son of God, still hungry and\ncold, sought rest under a sheltering tree. But Satan watched near, and\nforbade rest. Thunder and lightning shook the Heavens; rain drenched the\nearth; the fury of the winds was loosed, and in their path the sturdiest\ntrees were uprooted. Ghosts, furies, raved around the holy one, but,\nunshaken by fear, he endured all calmly, and came forth, as the bright sun\nshone upon the earth, to meet again the Prince of Darkness.\n\nEnraged that the terrors of the night had had no effect upon his enemy,\nSatan cried out that he still doubted that the wanderer in the wilderness\nwas the Son of God in the true sense, and would therefore try him another\nway.\n\nSo speaking, he caught him up and bore him through the air unto Jerusalem,\nand setting him on the highest pinnacle of the glorious Temple, said\nscornfully:--\n\n\"Stand there, if thou canst; I have placed thee highest in thy Father's\nhouse. Now show if thou art indeed the Son of God. Cast thyself down, for\nit is written that He will command his angels concerning thee, so that\nthey in their hands shall uplift thee.\"\n\n\"It is also written,\" said Jesus, \"'Tempt not the Lord thy God.'\" And as\nhe so spoke and stood, Satan, overcome with amazement, fell whence he had\nexpected to see his conqueror fall, and, struck with dread and anguish at\nhis certain defeat, fled to his rebel angels.\n\nStraightway, a \"fiery globe\" of angels received the Son on their pinions,\nbore him from the pinnacle into a flowery vale, and there refreshed him\nwith ambrosial food and water from the Fount of Life, while all around him\nthe angelic choir sang his praises for the conquest of his enemy, and\nencouraged him to go forth on his work of saving mankind. Thence, rested\nand refreshed, he arose, and went, unobserved, home to his mother's house.\n\n\n\n\nSELECTION FROM PARADISE REGAINED.\n\nTHE TEMPTATION OF THE VISION OF THE KINGDOMS OF THE EARTH.\n\n\nSatan, meeting the Savior in the wilderness, tempted him to change the\nstones to bread, and then, after endeavoring to awake in him a longing for\nwealth and power, appealed to his ambition by leading him to a mountain\ntop, and displaying to him the kingdoms of the earth.\n\n  With that (such power was given him then), he [Satan] took\n  The Son of God up to a mountain high.\n  It was a mountain at whose verdant feet\n  A spacious plain outstretched in circuit wide\n  Lay pleasant; from his side two rivers flowed,\n  The one winding, the other straight, and left between\n  Fair champaign, with less rivers interveined,\n  Then meeting joined their tribute to the sea.\n  Fertile of corn the glebe, of oil, and wine;\n  With herds the pasture thronged, with flocks the hills;\n  Huge cities and high-towered, that well might seem\n  The seats of mightiest monarchs; and so large\n  The prospect was that here and there was room\n  For barren desert, fountainless and dry.\n  To this high mountain-top the Tempter brought\n  Our Saviour, and new train of words began:--\n\n  \"Well have we speeded, and o'er hill and dale,\n  Forest, and field, and flood, temples and towers,\n  Cut shorter many a league. Here thou behold'st\n  Assyria, and her empire's ancient bounds,\n  Araxes and the Caspian lake; thence on\n  As far as Indus east, Euphrates west,\n  And oft beyond; to south the Persian bay,\n  And, inaccessible, the Arabian drouth:\n  Here, Nineveh, of length within her wall\n  Several days' journey, built by Ninus old,\n  Of that first golden monarchy the seat,\n  And seat of Salmanassar, whose success\n  Israel in long captivity still mourns;\n  There Babylon, the wonder of all tongues,\n  As ancient, but rebuilt by him who twice\n  Judah and all thy father David's house\n  Led captive, and Jerusalem laid waste,\n  Till Cyrus set them free; Persepolis,\n  His city, there thou seest, and Bactra there;\n  Ecbatana her structure vast there shows,\n  And Hecatompylos her hundred gates;\n  There Susa by Choaspes, amber stream,\n  The drink of none but kings; of later fame,\n  Built by Emathian or by Parthian hands,\n  The great Seleucia, Nisibis, and there\n  Artaxata, Teredon, Ctesiphon,\n  Turning with easy eye, thou may'st behold.\n  All these the Parthian (now some ages past\n  By great Arsaces led, who founded first\n  That empire) under his dominion holds,\n  From the luxurious kings of Antioch won.\n  And just in time thou com'st to have a view\n  Of his great power; for now the Parthian king\n  In Ctesiphon hath gathered all his host\n  Against the Scythian, whose incursions wild\n  Have wasted Sogdiana; to her aid\n  He marches now in haste. See though from far,\n  His thousands, in what martial equipage\n  They issue forth, steel bows and shafts their arms,\n  Of equal dread in flight or in pursuit--\n  All horsemen, in which fight they most excel;\n  See how in warlike muster they appear,\n  In rhombs, and wedges, and half-moons, and wings.\"\n\n  He looked, and saw what numbers numberless\n  The city gates outpoured, light-armed troops\n  In coats of mail and military pride.\n  In mail their horses clad, yet fleet and strong,\n  Prancing their riders bore, the flower and choice\n  Of many provinces from bound to bound--\n  From Arachosia, from Candaor east,\n  And Margiana, to the Hyrcanian cliffs\n  Of Caucasus, and dark Iberian dales;\n  From Atropatia, and the neighboring plains\n  Of Adiabene, Media, and the south\n  Of Susiana, to Balsara's haven.\n  He saw them in their forms of battle ranged,\n  How quick they wheeled, and flying behind them shot\n  Sharp sleet of arrowy showers against the face\n  Of their pursuers, and overcame by flight;\n  The field all iron cast a gleaming brown.\n  Nor wanted clouds of foot, nor, on each horn,\n  Cuirassiers all in steel for standing fight,\n  Chariots, or elephants indorsed with towers\n  Of archers; nor of labouring pioneers\n  A multitude, with spades and axes armed,\n  To lay hills plain, fell woods, or valleys fill,\n  Or where plain was raise hill, or overlay\n  With bridges rivers proud, as with a yoke:\n  Mules after these, camels and dromedaries,\n  And waggons fraught with utensils of war.\n  Such forces met not, nor so wide a camp,\n  When Agrican, with all his northern powers,\n  Besieged Albracca, as romances tell,\n  The city of Gallaphrone, from thence to win\n  The fairest of her sex, Angelica,\n  His daughter, sought by many prowest knights,\n  Both Paynim and the peers of Charlemain.\n  Such and so numerous was their chivalry.\n                         _Book III._\n\n  He brought our Saviour to the western side\n  Of that high mountain, whence he might behold\n  Another plain, long, but in breadth not wide,\n  Washed by the southern sea, and on the north\n  To equal length backed with a ridge of hills\n  That screened the fruits of the earth and seats of men\n  From cold Septentrion blasts; thence in the midst\n  Divided by a river, off whose banks\n  On each side an imperial city stood,\n  With towers and temples proudly elevate\n  On seven small hills, with palaces adorned,\n  Porches and theatres, baths, aqueducts,\n  Statues and trophies, and triumphal arcs,\n  Gardens and groves, presented to his eyes\n  Above the highth of mountains interposed--\n  By what strange parallax, or optic skill\n  Of vision, multiplied through air, or glass\n  Of telescope, were curious to inquire.\n  And now the Tempter thus his silence broke:--\n  \"The city which thou seest no other deem\n  Than great and glorious Rome Queen of the Earth\n  So far renowned, and with the spoils enriched\n  Of nations. There the Capitol thou seest,\n  Above the rest lifting his stately head\n  On the Tarpeian rock, her citadel\n  Impregnable; and there Mount Palatine,\n  The imperial palace, compass huge, and high\n  The structure, skill of noblest architects,\n  With gilded battlements, conspicuous far,\n  Turrets, and terraces, and glittering spires.\n  Many a fair edifice besides, more like\n  Houses of gods--so well have I disposed\n  My aery microscope--thou may'st behold,\n  Outside and inside both, pillars and roofs\n  Carved work, the hand of famed artificers\n  In cedar, marble, ivory, or gold.\n  Thence to the gates cast round thine eye, and see\n  What conflux issuing forth, or entering in:\n  Praetors, proconsuls to their provinces\n  Hasting, or on return, in robes of state;\n  Lictors and rods, the ensigns of their power;\n  Legions and cohorts, turms of horse and wings;\n  Or embassies from regions far remote,\n  In various habits, on the Appian road,\n  Or on the Aemilian--some from farthest south,\n  Syene, and where the shadow both way falls,\n  Meroe, Nilotic isle, and, more to west,\n  The realm of Bocchus to the Blackmoor sea;\n  From the Asian kings (and Parthian among these),\n  From India and the Golden Chersoness,\n  And utmost Indian isle Taprobane,\n  Dusk faces with white silken turbants wreathed;\n  From Gallia, Gades, and the British west;\n  Germans, and Scythians, and Sarmatians north\n  Beyond Danubius to the Tauric pool.\n  All nations now to Rome obedience pay--\n  To Rome's great Emperor, whose wide domain,\n  In ample territory, wealth and power,\n  Civility of manners, arts and arms,\n  And long renown, thou justly may'st prefer\n  Before the Parthian. These two thrones except,\n  The rest are barbarous, and scarce worth the sight,\n  Shared among petty kings too far removed;\n  These having shown thee, I have shown thee all\n  The kingdoms of the world, and all their glory\".\n                                _Book IV._","title":"National Epics","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":131508}