event. It would be a tedious and fruitless task to comment upon all the technical precepts, which critical writers have formed by studying the peculiar features of these three patterns of Epic song. Every one's natural taste and judgment will determine, with sufficient precision, what qualities and traits of a poem are best adapted to accomplish these two purposes. With this knowledge of the ends proposed, it will not be difficult to estimate the merits of any Epic, either considered by itself, or in comparison with other poems of the same class.

The modern reader can hardly appreciate the grandeur and attractiveness of the subject selected by Virgil, as it appeared to him and his contemporaries. It was made up from the tradition, which assigned an illustrious origin to the proudest nation in the world. The poem served, in some measure, to confirm that tradition; it not only ascribed the first establishment of the people in Italy to the care and protection of the gods, but it attributed their subsequent triumphs and greatness to the agency of the same powers. It traced the lineage of the emperor and of several eminent families at Rome back to the renowned personages of the heroic age, already immortalized in song. It connected the glory of their metropolis with that of the elder cities, which flourished in the time when the gods walked the earth, and mingled directly in the affairs of men. The marvellous character of the tale excited the wonder of the poet's countrymen, and its connexion with their own history flattered their pride. Accustomed, as most persons are, to consider the mythology of the ancients as a mere fanciful creation of the poets, invented rather to please the imagination, than to influence the belief, we can hardly conceive of the effect of such a poem on a people, who accepted its machinery as an article of faith, and who accredited as sober history the marvellous events which it contained. The common people believed nearly the whole story, and even the educated classes were by no means confirmed in their philosophical incredulity. The age for far-reaching and exact investigations, for carefully balancing historical evidence, had not arrived; the fables of the poet and the tra ditions of the vulgar, especially when they related to remote periods and to the origin of nations, were still incorporated by the annalist into his narrative, and received without hesitation by his readers. The great Epic of Virgil lent the charm of poetical embellishment to the earlier pages of Roman history, and gave new consistence and dignity to the several parts of an obscure, but already accredited tale.

Minor points of interest were not wanting. The antiquities of the country were made to serve the purposes of the bard, and many remarkable places and local traditions assumed a brighter and more dignified aspect, when they received a poetical coloring. The predecessors of the Romans in the possession of Italy had left behind them many traces of their dominion, of which Virgil made skilful use as materials in his narrative, while his notice invested these ancient remains with fresh interest and importance. The mind of the reader was carried back to the time, when the Tiber flowed through an almost unbroken forest, and the thatched cottage of the shepherd king was situated on the Palatine. A contrast is finely drawn between the simplicity of ancient manners, and the subsequent magnificence of Rome. The inhabitant of that city was reminded, that he stood on the spot where the robber Cacus once abode, where he was slain by Hercules, and a festival instituted in honor of the event. Other places, from the fanciful etymology of their names, lead the poet to connect with them some story of the olden times. The promontories, lakes, and mountains in the southwestern part of Italy were connected each with its appropriate tradition, and the embellishments of poetry concealed the vagueness and supported the credibility of the tale.

Besides these attractive qualities of the poet's subject, of which his countrymen were fully sensible, although we, at this distance of time,

can have but a faint idea of them, the story in many other respects is of permanent and universal interest. The broad canvass on which it is sketched, gave full scope to the learning and invention of the writer, and he covered it with various and magnificent pictures. The early part of the poem is the continuation of a narrative, with which the reader of Homer is familiar, and many of the characters are borrowed from the grand portrait-gallery of the Grecian bard. Thus, at the very opening of the poem, the scenes and personages are recognised as former objects of pleasure, and the reader treads upon familiar ground. The protracted wanderings of Æneas open a still wider field of interest, and the scene is shifted with skill from that which pleases by novelty, to that which charms by the force of old association. The glories of Rome are prefigured in the distance, and artfully contrasted with the old renown of Asia and Greece. The guardian deities of Troy transfer their cares to the new empire, which is to rise in the west. The commands of oracles and the fulfilment of prophecies give new dignity and religious awe to the course of events. The hero is the agent of heaven in executing the decrees of fate. His adventures excite our curiosity, his sufferings attract our sympathy, his personal qualities command our respect. As his figure is the central one in the piece, the other characters being kept in subservience to it, his presence alone gives unity to the story, and binds together the various incidents into a connected whole. All the events tend towards the completion of heaven's decree, and the end of the poem brings about the issue, which was darkly announced in the beginning.

The judgment of Virgil in selecting his theme is obvious, for it is difficult to conceive of a more grand and appropriate subject for an Epic. His skill in executing his task is no less remarkable. The Eneid is the most regular, finished, and uniformly sustained poem of its class. It is the perfection of art, as inimitable in its peculiar sphere, as the Apollo Belvidere is in statuary, or the Parthenon in architecture. The flow of easy and polished versification never ceases, the command of rich and varied ornament never fails, the narrative and descriptive passages are happily conceived and intermingled, and the characters and scenes are grouped with admirable skill, having a proper connexion with each other, and all contributing to the progress of the story. The imagination and taste of the writer are equally conspicuous. The style never falls into bald and prosaic narration, and never offends by excessive or misplaced ornament. The choice and arrangement of words are so felicitous, as often to remind the reader of a curious and tasteful piece of mosaic or inlaid work. Yet the composition does not appear studied and constrained, but generally proceeds with an air of natural grace and simplicity. The imposing and majestic tone of many passages kindles and elevates the feelings, and the reader is frequently hurried away by the energy of the style, and the fervor and spirit of the description. An admirable judge of effect, Virgil never wearies by monotony, nor offends by sudden starts or forced transpositions. The scenes and images are fitly disposed, to heighten each other by contrast, to astonish by their variety and grandeur, and to please by their vividness and beauty. The sentiments are dignified and generous, and are nobly expressed both in words and action. A profound student of the human heart, the poet touches the chords of softer feeling, or expresses the violent workings of passion with equal power. Moral suffering is delineated with touching effect, and the strife of opposite emotions, the urgency of terror, and the pathos of despair are vividly presented, and leave a deep impression on the mind. The character and history of Dido afford conclusive proof, that if Virgil had chosen dramatic writing for his province, he might have equalled or surpassed the noblest tragedies of the Greeks.

A comparison between the Eneid and the poems of Homer is fre

quently instituted, and has afforded room for much ingenious disquisition and criticism. But it is difficult to judge fairly of the comparative merits of such dissimilar productions. They are so unlike in nature and character, and the circumstances under which they were formed are so different, that we cannot, without violence, include them in the same category, or criticise thein by the same principles. The Iliad and Odyssey are not so much the creations of an individual's genius, as the natural offspring of a whole age, that was either poetical in itself, or becomes so, when viewed at this distance of time. Without entering into the vexed question respecting the personality of Homer, we may say, that the hypothesis of Wolf is at least a plausible one; that the poems usually ascribed to this bard are in fact a mere collection of ballads, that were composed separately and by different persons, and in this state they were first recited by the rhapsodists, who wandered about the isles and colonics of Greece. They do not please as works of art, which they are not, but as simple and truthful pictures of a remote age, of men and things, that existed in a state so unlike what we see in modern days, that the faithful portraiture of them appears like an imaginary sketch. Homer charms us, not because he invents scenes, characters, and manners; not because he exhibits the riches of fancy and the creative power of an active imagination; but because he describes things as they actually were, as they appeared to him; using those forms of speech and imagery, which were then the common and natural garb of thought. He actually saw that aspect of nature, that condition of things, which later poets only dream about. He described his own experience, while they invented shadows; he drew from the life, while they held up an ideal portrait. The poet himself was as much a member of the heroic age, as the heroes that he celebrates. His poems may be compared to natural music, — the song of birds, the hum of insects, the breaking of waves on the shore, the murmuring of the wind amid the branches of the forest. The epic of Virgil is like a grand musical composition by a master artist, with complex movements and intricate harmonies, all curiously arranged and perfected with consum

mate skill.

Homer is inimitable, because it is impossible that another should ever write under similar influences and circumstances. Virgil was indebted to him in the same way that every artist must be, who, seeking to draw portraits and scenes from the earliest times, from the poetical age and aspect of humanity, consults the only faithful transcript and image of those times, which has come down to the present day. He could only obtain by study and art, what his great prototype achieved without effort and by natural impulse. Imitation of such an original, if skilfully executed, must produce the same pleasure, as if the copy were drawn directly from the life. The Roman poet prosecuted his work at a period far removed from the heroic age, in another region and climate, in another state of society and manners, among different men and things. There was no scope for his inventive faculty, unless assisted by ingenuity, learning, and toil. He could not be the poet of nature, but he attained all that he had hoped, in leaving to posterity a perfect specimen of art. He could not rival the energy, simplicity, and truth of his predecessor, but he could avoid the rudeness, inequalities, and defects of his model. In richness of ornament and purity of taste, in polished and harmonious versification, in elegance, propriety, and uniformity, in inventing probable incidents and uniting them into a connected whole, in clearness of conception and dignity of speech, in correctness of delineation and sustained elevation of style, in striking contrasts and pathetic effect, in a word, in all the qualities of art the Eneid is greatly superior to the Iliad and the Odyssey. Homer is unrivalled as the bard of nature, and, in the estimation of many, this single excellence far outbalances all the rest.

INTRODUCTION

TO THE

STORY OF THE ÆNEID.

THE accounts of the Trojan war, which afforded to the ancients abundant materials for narrative and dramatic poetry, present such a mixture of truth and fable, that any attempt, made at the present day, to distinguish between these elements must be nearly fruitless. If such a city as Troy ever existed, and was actually captured by an expedition from Greece, the event must have been about coeval with, if not anterior to the invention of the art of writing. A knowledge of the fact might be preserved by tradition, and the poets, who were at once the historians, the philosophers, and the priests of that early age, would soon lay hold of the imperfect accounts, and alter and interpolate them to suit their own purposes. Poetry not only gave a new coloring to the narration, but soon changed its framework and substance. The heroes of the contest became demi-gods in song, and the vicissitudes of the struggle were explained by supposing the intervention of divine power. Then the gods themselves were said to take part in the battle, to mix with the mortal combatants, and even to be wounded by earthly weapons. Thus the story was by degrees ennobled, and the whole contest assumed a highly elevated character.

Nations that were curious about their own early history, became desirous of tracing their origin to one of the parties in this great struggle, and the wide dispersion, both of the captors and the captured, which took place after the fall of the city, gave plausibility to the various attempts of this sort, which were made by the fanciful historians. This dispersion, and the adventures of individuals consequent upon it, added to the copiousness of the theme, considered as materials for the poets. The arts of navigation were then in a very rude state, the original expedition to Troy being, if we except the still more fabulous and uncertain accounts of the Argonautic enterprise, the earliest voyage upon record. The several leaders set out upon their return, but their knowledge of the sea, that was to be passed over, was very imperfect, their vessels were frail, and liable to be scattered or destroyed in every storm, and consequently few of them reached their homes in safety. Some of them relinquished the attempt, and turned aside to form new colonies in strange lands. Those of the Trojans, who were spared, did likewise, and hence the number of nations in countries very remote from each other, who carried back their history to the siege of Troy. The various mishaps of those, who persevered in the attempt to regain their old homes, were of course attributed to the agency of the gods, and their protracted adventurers afforded fresh materials for song. In the Odyssey, Homer has immortalized the wanderings and toils of one of these leaders, the wise Ulysses, just as in the Iliad, he had celebrated the most brilliant passage in the story of the siege, the events that grew out of the quarrel between Achilles and Agamemnon. Other poets, called Cyclical, because they completed the round of events, filled up the history of the war, of which the plot of the Iliad forms only one chapter, and sang the adventures of other Grecian heroes, besides Ulysses. Their works are now lost, but most of them were known to Virgil, and he probably drew from them many materials for his poem. It would be

a tedious and probably vain attempt, to draw the filaments of truth from this mass of tradition and fable. It is enough for our purpose, the illustration of the Æneid, to give a brief sketch of the war of Troy in its legendary form.

At a nuptial banquet, where all the deities were present, the goddess of Discord threw down a golden apple, on which was an inscription, signifying that it should be given to the most beautiful. Juno, Minerva, and Venus claimed it, and Jupiter decided, that the matter should be referred to Paris, then a shepherd boy on Mount Ida, to determine which was the most beautiful. The three goddesses presented themselves to him, and he adjudged the apple to Venus, who had promised him, as a bribe, the possession of the most beautiful woman in the world. This was Helen, the daughter of Tyndarus, king of Lacedæmon, or, according to other accounts, of Jupiter in the form of a swan, and Leda. The reputation of her beauty was so great, that her hand was sought in marriage by all the princes of Greece. Her father was only alarmed by such a number of suitors, as he feared that selecting one would displease all the others, and give rise to future quarrels. He therefore bound them all by a solemn oath, that they would approve whatever choice Helen should make, and would unite in defending her and her husband, if any attempts should be made to disturb their union. Her choice fell upon Menelaus, the brother of Agamemnon. The two brothers were called the Atridæ, or sons of Atreus, though he was only their step-father. The couple lived happily together for some years, till Paris, under the guidance of Venus, visited Sparta, and taking advantage of a temporary absence of Menelaus, seduced Helen and carried her off with him, together with much treasure, to Troy, the kingdom of his father, Priam.

This renowned city was situated on the Asiatic side of the Hellespont, and probably owed much of its wealth and importance to the advantages of its position, which were not unlike those of Constantinople in modern days. Dardanus, its founder, and from whom the Trojans were often called Dardanidae, was the son of Jupiter and Electra. Tros, who was the second in descent from him, had three sons, Ilus, Assaracus, and Ganymede, from the first of whom Priam was descended, and the grandson of the second was Anchises, the father of Æneas. Venus herself was the mother of Eneas, she having stooped to the embraces of Anchises, when he was only a shepherd. Laomedon, the father of Priam, from whom the Trojans were often named Laomedontiadæ, may be esteemed the second founder of the city, which he greatly enlarged, and fortified by a wall, through the assistance of the two deities, Apollo and Neptune. Hence the phrase 'Neptunia Troja.' The wife of Priam was Hecuba, by whom he had many children. The most distinguished of his sons were, Hector, the oldest and bravest, on whom the defence of the city chiefly depended, Helenus, who was a soothsayer, Deiphobus, who afterwards married Helen, Polydorus, and Paris, otherwise called Alexander. Among the daughters were Cresa, the wife of Æneas, and Cassandra. The latter was beloved by Apollo, and she promised to yield to his desires, if he would grant her a knowledge of futurity. He complied, but as she then refused to keep her promise, he decreed also, that her friends should never give any credit to her predictions.

When Menelaus ascertained his loss, he assembled all the chiefs of Greece, narrated to them the injury which he had received, and reminded them of their promise to Tyndarus. The princes immediately fitted out an expedition of more than a thousand ships and a hundred thousand elected Agamemnon their commander, and set sail for Troy. After great delays, they arrived, and sent heralds to Priam to demand the restoration of Helen; he refused to comply, and the siege of the city was accordingly formed. Among the more distinguished Grecian leaders, besides those already mentioned, were Achilles, the son of Peleus

men,