and a relish of the marvellous, to be wholfentiments. Poffibly I may f ly in your be so happy as to attain both in good time: I fancy at least there is a close connection between them, and I fhall not defpair of obtaining the one, if I can by any means arrive at the other. But which muft I endeavor at firft? Shall I prepare for the myftic by commencing with the romance, or would you advise me to begin with Malbranch before I undertake Clelia? Suffer me, however, ere I enter the regions of fiction, to bear teftimony to one conftant truth, by affuring you that I am, &c. LETTER XX To EUPHRONIUS. October 10, 1742. HAVE often mentioned to you the pleafure I received from Mr. Pope's tranflation of the Iliad: but my admiration of that inimitable performance has increased upon me, fince you tempted me to compare the copy with the original. To fay of this noble work, that it is the best which ever appeared of the kind, would be speaking in much lower terms than it deferves ; the world perhaps fcarce ever before faw a truly poetical tranflation: for, as Denham obferves, Such is our pride, our folly, or our fate, Mr. Pope feems, in most places, to have been inspired with the same sublime fpirit that animates his original; as he often takes fire from a fingle hint in his author, and blazes out even with a stronger and brighter flame of poetry. Thus the character of Therfites, as it ftands in the English Iliad, is heightened, I think, with more mafterly ftrokes of fatire than appear in the Greek; as many of thofe fimilies in Homer, which would appear, perhaps, to a modern eye too naked and unornamented, are painted by Pope in all the beautiful drapery of the moft graceful metaphor. With what propriety of figure, for inftance, has he raifed the following comparison: EUT' ορεος κορυφήσι Νότος καλεχδεν ομιχλην, Ποιμέσεν οτι φιλών, κλέπῃ δε τε νύκτος ἀμενως Τόσον τις τ' επιλέγατες, οσον τ' επι λάαν ιῃσιν. G 2 Ως Ως αρά των υπο ποοσι κονιούαλος ωρνυτ' αελλης Ερχομδύων. Il. iii. 10. Thus from his flaggy wings when Eurus fheds While fcarce the fwains their feeding flocks furvey, Loft and confus'd amidst the thicken'd day : So wrapt in gath'ring duft the Grecian train, A moving cloud, fwept on and hid the plain. WHEN Mars, being wounded by Diomed, flies back to heaven, Homer compares him in his paffage to a dark cloud raised by fummer heats; and driven by the wind. Οι δ' εκ νεφέων ερεβεννε φαινεται angr The inimitable tranflator improves this image, by throwing in fome circumstances, which, tho not in the original, are exactly in the fpirit of Homer: As vapors, blown by Aufter's fultry breath, Pregnant with plagues, and shedding feeds of death, Beneat Beneath the rage of burning Sirius rife, In fuch a cloud the god, from combat drion, THERE is a defcription in the eighth book, which Eustathius, it feems, efteemed the most beautiful night-piece that could be found in poetry. If I am not greatly miftaken, however, I can produce a finer : and I am perfuaded even the warmest admirer of Homer will allow, the following lines are inferior to the correfponding ones in the tranflatiom ; Ως δ' οτ' εν κρανῳ αέρα φαεινώ, αμφι σεληνί Πανία δε το ειδεται αέρα, γεγηθε δε τε φρένα As when the moon, refulgent lamp of night, light ; When not a breath disturbs the deep ferene, Around Around her throne the vivid planets roll, I FEAR the enthufiaftic admirers of Ho mer would look upon me with much indignation, were they to hear me fpeak of any thing in modern language as equal to the ftrength and majefty of that great father of poetry. But the following paffage having been quoted by a celebrated author of antiquity, as an inftance of the true Sublime, I will leave it to you to determine whether the tranflation has not at leaft as just a claim to that character as the original, Ως δ' οτε χειμαρροι πολαμοι κατ' όρεσφι ρεόντες, Ες λισχάδκειαν συμβάλλετον οβριμον ύδως, Κρενων εκ μεγάλων, καιλης εντοπέ καραδρης, Των δε τε τηλοσε δεπον ἐν δρεσιν εκλυε ποιμένα Ως των μισγομγύων γενεται ιαχη τε φόβος τε As torrents roll, increas'd by num'rous rills, With rage impetuous down their echoing hills, Ruf |