first love-let us revert to it with tender emotions--and, no longer virtuous, let us for a moment become better in the delicious remembrance of virtue!
Sophia was a trump. You might boil down-let me see-sixteen select seminaries for young ladies, and sell the contents for kitchen stuff, before you would hook out such a tit-bit as my Sophy. Sophy, to be sure, was her name-but she was no Sophy. Sophy is a lack-a-daisical, die-a-way devil fat and sleepy-with large bust, larger waist, and ancles larger than both put together; as soft as bullock's liver, and as dead as a drop of stale small beer. My Sophy had a finedrawn head, fine drawn waist, and fine-drawn ancles; none of yourstarvelings neither, but plump as pudding, and frisky as a four-year old. I used to call her Kate-and Kate, with deference to her godfathers and godmothers, ought to have been her name. She had eyes in her head-and teethand hair; a smile so sweet-and a laugh a laugh so hearty and joyous, that I sighed when I heard it, for I knew that care would come, and with his icy hand freeze it into silence! A coxcomb or a libertine seeing Sophy, would have concluded she had a kick in her gallop; but never was libertine or coxcomb further out in the whole course of his life. With you she was lively, gay, and free; with me the indifferent gaiety she bore in her car riage towards others, was mellowed into a tenderness irresistibly touching, as if already the ardour of a passionate mistress was tempered with the quiet cares of an affectionate wife. I loved Sophia above all for this, that she never sneered a sneering woman is a beast -much less did she ever throw up her nose like a pig in the wind, and talk
of "improper women," and " women that were not received;" as much as to say, in every toss of the head, "see what a proper woman I am!" Quite the contrary. My dear Sophia made no difficulty of expressing, even to tears, her sympathy for the fallen and degraded of her own sex ; but she took especial good care, all the while, to run no risk of being fallen and degraded herself. She was my mistress, confidante, friend, play-fellow-anything, everything but-won; "for with woman, you know," she used to say, looking up in my face with a sad, supplicating smile, that said, as plain as smile could say, Could you harm me? "with woman, you know, to be won is to be lost!"
Luckily for our loves, my dear Sophia had no money. I say luckily, for I never knew a woman with three halfpence in her own right, who was not either pert, presumptuous, or dull, upon the strength of her triumverate of coppers. I am, and always was, the sort of fellow to let this class of ladies down by the run, and would as soon think of paying more than the coolest courtesy to a female millionaire, merely as such, as I would of taking off my hat to a blind old applewoman!
Sophia was friendless-so was I; she was warm-hearted-so was I; she was without a penny-so was I. We were so far equals. Sophia was a dependant on the charity of a cold-blooded usurer of an uncle-so was not I; yet for her I felt that I could toil my heart out. We had our quarrels, too-for what is true love without its quarrels ? she returned my flowers in a fit of pique-for what is woman without her fits of pique and the following duel was fought through the medium of the twopenny post upon that occasion:
SOPHIA TO HER LOVER.
I wish, Horatio, to discover
Whether the sweet spring flowers you send
Bespeak the homage of a lover,
Or offering meet from friend to friend.
Say whether, in this wreath-your love
Those rose-buds blushingly disclose,
Your constancy these lilies prove,
And truth among these violets blows?
To-morrow-and the violets spoil,
To-morrow-and the rose-buds fade,
To-morrow-and the lilies soil,-
Truth, love, and constancy-decay'd!
Frail emblems! never to be worn
Near hearts, that know not how to range,
Back to the giver, I return:
Ere they are faded—thou wilt change!
HER LOVER TO SOPHIA.
When forth I went these flowers to cull,
Thinking, not of myself, but thee,
I gather'd the most beautiful,
And this was my soliloquy
Spotless the lily, as her mind,
This bud, like her, lovely in youth,
These modest violets, design'd,
Fit emblems of her faith and truth,
I twined the wreath for thee.- Return'd,
The flowers lie near me in decay,
Wither'd and drooping, as they mourn'd,'
All harshly to be chid away.
New wreaths will other springs restore-
New suns bring fresher flowers to view-
But love, frail flower, despoil'd-no more
Will springs restore-will suns renew!
and our reconciliation was celebrated with a feast of ambrosial
kisses, and a mingled libation of nectareous tears!
THE TWENTY-SECOND BOOK OF THE ILIAD.
TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH TROCHAICS.
THUS, like deer, all terror-stricken, through the city streets they spread,
Cool'd themselves from sweat and labour, and their burning thirst altay'd,
Safe behind the massy bulwarks; whilst the Greeks across the field,
March'd, beneath the very ramparts, each protected by his shield.
Hector stay'd, for fate compell'd him, like a fetter'd slave, to wait
Still before his father's city, and without the Scoan gate.
Meanwhile thus to bold Achilles spoke the radiant God Apollo,-
"Wherefore thus, with eager footsteps, son of Peleus, dost thou follow,
Mortal thou, a God immortal, recognising not my strain?
For a God thou didst not know me, now thy wrath is spent in vain ;
Fruitless must thy toil and trouble 'gainst the Trojan army be,
They are safe within their city, thou hast turned aside with me,
And thou canst not hope to slay me-death may never reach my frame."
Him thus answered swift Achilles, burning red with rage and shame,-
"Thou hast wrong'd me, O thou Archer! most destructive God of any;
Thou hast led me from my conquest, else, ere this, be sure, had many
Bit the earth in dying anguish, ere they could have reached the town.
Thou hast ta'en my glory from me-thou hast lightly kept thine own;
For thou didst not dread my vengeance: yet, tho' heavenly power be thine,
Know I surely would chastise thee, Phœbus, if the strength were mine."
Thus he spake; and to the city once again he turned his face,
Rushing like a courser, often victor in the chariot race,
Who, against the others straining, clears the ground with furious stride:
Thus Achilles rushed to combat, thus his foot and knee he plied.
Then old Priam first beheld him, glittering like that evil star
Which against the autumn riseth, and outshines in lustre far
All the other heavenly watchers, gleaming thro' the unwholesome night,
And Orion's dog they call it: yet, though brilliant be its light,
'Tis a woeful sign, and fatal, earthwards heat and fever glancing.
Thus the armour of Achilles glitter'd on his breast advancing—
Priam saw, and groan'd in anguish, threw his reverend hands on high,
Beat his forehead, and, distracted, utter'd loud a warning cry
To his son, the dearly cherished, who, remaining at the gates,
Earnestly desires the combat, and for stern Achilles waits.
And the almost madden'd father, to adjure him thus began:
"Do not wait, my darling Hector!-Hector, do not meet this man
Thus alone, nor backed by comrades, lest thy fate be now fulfilled-
Overcome by stronger weapons, by this fell Pelides killed.
Ruthless! did the Gods regard him with such feelings as I bear,
Vultures should deface his carcase, dogs his prostrate body tear:
Then my anguish would be lighten'd; for how many sons and brave
Hath he taken from me, sending some to an untimely grave-
Selling some to distant islands. Even now, when all is over,
All the Trojans in the city, nowhere can my eyes discover
Either of my boys, Lycaon, or the youthful Polydore,
Whom to me Laothoë, fairest of all women, bore;
Yet, if they are ta'en and living, surely it shall be my care
Both to ransom, with the treasures which within the palace are;
For old Altes, known in story, gave abundance to his daughter.
But, if they be dead already, and beside the Stygian water-
Tho' their mother will lament them, and tho' I will deeply feel-
Others will lament less sorely, so thou 'scap'st Achilles' steel.
Therefore enter thou the city-come, my son, within the wall,
Save the Trojan men and maidens-thou the bulwark of us all;
Give not glory to Pelides, neither tarry to be slain.
On me, too, my son, have pity, while my senses yet remain
Me, whom Jove, Saturnian father, at the limits of my being,
Will destroy with evil fortune, such dark sights of horror seeing :
All my sons-my brave ones-slaughter'd, and my daughters captive bound,
And their bridal chambers rifled; and against the flinty ground
Children dash'd, in butcher carnage, ere their lips have learn'd to speak;
And your tender spouses handled by the rude and boist'rous Greek;—
I too, haply, when some foeman shall transfix me with his spear,
And shall leave me dead and bleeding at the palace entrance here,
May by ravenous hounds be mangled-hounds that once I call'd my own,
Who, all drunken from their banquet, furious, fierce, and savage grown,
In these princely halls will kennel. When a young man dies in glory,
Slain in battle, 'tis some honour, with a bosom gash'd and gory
On the field to lie extended; for whate'er is seen is fair.
But when dogs deface the features of an old man, and his hair,
Gray as winter, is dishonour'd, and his limbs are mouth'd and torn
Oh, can any sight be fouler to a man of woman born!"
Thus the aged sire entreated, and his locks by handfuls whole
From his head he tore and scatter'd; but he moved not Hector's soul.
Next his mother call'd unto him, shedding bitter tears and praying;
And she bared her aged bosom, and her wither'd breasts displaying,
With a voice half-choked with sorrow, these beseeching words address'd :-
"Hector! take thou pity on me, O my son, respect my breast;
If it ever hath sustain'd thee-if it still'd thy infant cry-
Think on that, my best beloved, and behind the ramparts fly-
Thence keep off this hated foeman, be not first to brave him here.
Oh, hard-hearted! if he slay thee, neither I, thy mother dear,
Nor thy wife so rich and beauteous, shall lament thee on thy bier;
But apart from all thy kindred, near the vessels by the sea,
Cruel dogs will tear thee piecemeal, far away from her and me!"
Thus, in anguish, both the parents called unto their son beloved;
But their earnest prayer avail'd not, nor the soul of Hector moved.
Calm collected, still he tarried for Achilles, first of men-
Even as an angry dragon, at the entrance of his den,
Having fed on poisonous pasture, waits the coming of his foe,
Glares terrific, and behind him wreathes his body to and fro.
Even thus did valiant Hector still determine not to yield,
But against a turret leaning, eased him of his glitt'ring shield,
And, indignant at their counsel, communed with his own brave mind.
"If the city I should enter—if the walls I flee behind,
First, Polydamas will blame me, that I took not his advice,
Neither led the Trojan army (and therein his words were wise),
To the city back retreating, on this most disastrous night
When Achilles rose to combat. But I would not yield my right,
Though it had been better for me. Now, since by my over-daring,
Many of our men have perish'd, fain would I escape from bearing
Angry looks and sad reproaches from the men and maids of Troy;
Lest some lower chief should tell them, Hector did your sons destroy,
Rashly in his strength confiding.' This the baser sort will say;
And 'twere better for me surely, either to return this day,
Having slain the dire Achilles, fiercely fighting hand to hand,
Or before the walls to perish, battling for my native land.
What if I should change my purpose, and should leave my armour here,
Throw aside my heavy helmet, rest against the wall my spear;
And the strong Achilles meeting, freely offer to restore
Helen to the sons of Atreus, with the treasures Paris bore
In his hollow ships from Sparta-she for whom the war began-
And, moreover, to distribute to the Argives, man by man,
All the treasures, rich and costly, which within the city are;
And to give them more assurance, should I make the elders swear
Nothing of the city riches to conceal or lay aside,
But the whole, in equal portions, well and fairly to divide ?
Yet, why doth my soul within me such an idle thought maintain,
Never let me go a suppliant, for my prayer were all in vain.
Small respect would I encounter-straightway would he strike me down,
Rashly coming like a woman, and aside my armour thrown.
This is not the time or season to discourse with such as he,
As a youth might greet a maiden, from a rock or from a tree.
No, 'tis better far, engaging in the deadly strife, to know
Whether Jove will give the glory unto Hector or his foe."
Thus remaining fast, he communed, and Achilles now drew near,
Like to Mars, the helmet-shaker, brandishing the Pelian spear
On his shoulder, and around him all his brazen armour shone,
Either like a blazing furnace, or more like the rising sun.
Then a panic seized on Hector, neither durst he longer wait;
But, all terror-struck, departed, and behind him left the gate,
Fleeing onwards, and Pelides followed, trusting to his pace.
As amongst the hills a goss-hawk, fleetest of the falcon race,
Pouncing on a frighted pigeon, who by shifting shuns the blow,
Still with screams renews the onset, and together still they go,
Thus right onward bore Achilles-thus did Hector turn away,
Underneath the city ramparts, overmaster'd by dismay.
Thus he changed his course and shifted. First they pass'd the lofty mound,
And the wind-saluted fig-trecs, which they say do most abound
Near the shelter of the rampart, by the public pathway growing.
Then they reached the double fountain, whence the waters crystal-flowing,
Of the deep Scamander, issue. One of these pellucid springs
Rises hot, and round its basin ever gusty vapour flings;
Whilst the other sister fountain flows, the livelong summer through,
Cold as hail, or ice, or water trickling from a bed of snow.
Close beside them stand the cisterns, fairly built of massive stone,
Where the Trojan wives and daughters, in the days that now were gone,
Came to wash their costly garments, in the happier times of peace,
Ere the tempest settled round them-ere they saw the sons of Greece.
Thitherward they ran and passed them, chase and chaser swift of limb;
Brave was he who fled, but braver far was he who followed him.
And right swiftly did he follow-for they strove not for the meed,
Hide of bull or votive victim, which reward the racer's speed:
Hector's life's the prize and forfeit-Hector tamer of the steed.
As when games are held in honour of some mighty hero slain,
Fast the oft-victorious coursers round the ample circle strain
For some prize-a slave or tripod: so the hasty warriors wound;
And the lofty town of Priam three times did they circle round,
Never of their speed relaxing; and the Gods beheld nor spoke,
Till the Universal Father thus the solemn silence broke :-
"There I see an honour'd chieftain-is it not a pitcous sight?
Round his native city hunted; I am sad for Hector's plight.
Often have I felt the savour of his plenteous sacrifice
From the tops of vallied Ida, or the city turrets, rise
In my honour; now I see him-and my soul is fill'd with pity-
Follow'd by the strong Achilles round and round his father's city.
Quickly then, ye gods, to counsel!-shall we interpose to save,
Or the son of Peleus suffer to subdue the good and brave?”
Out then spoke blue-eyed Minerva.-"Father, whom the Gods revere, Thunder-hurler-Cloud-compeller-Father, what is this we hear? Wouldst thou save a mortal being long ago to fate consign'd? Thou mayst do it, but remember, others are not of thy mind."
Answer'd Jove, the Cloud-compeller." Calm thyself, my daughter dear, That was not my thought, Tritonia, therefore be of better cheer. I would fain be gentle with thee; work thy will and do not fear."
Thus he spoke, and stirr'd Minerva, who no further urging needed, Up she sprang, then shooting downwards, from Olympus top she speeded.
All this while the swift Achilles press'd on Hector, rushing on.
As a dog within the mountains follows fast a startled fawn
Through the glens and through the thickets, having roused it from its lair;
Even though it reach a cover, and should seek for shelter there,
Still he follows on its footsteps, hunting over hill and hollow,
Thus did Hector try to double, thus did swift Achilles follow.
When the Trojan strove to bend him in towards the gates of Troy,
Underneath the Dardan rampart, that the townsmen might employ
Dart and sling to gall his foeman, did Achilles turn him wide
To the open plain and country, keeping still the city side.
As in sleep the dreamer cannot follow one who flies before,
Neither can that one escape him, nor the dreamer hasten more,
So 'twas now ;-Achilles could not on the flying Trojan gain,
Nor could he outstrip Achilles, though he strove with might and main.
Then had Hector surely perish'd, had not, for the latest time,
God Apollo come to help him, strengthening him in soul and limb;
And Achilles, as he pass'd them, beckon'd to the gazing Greek
Nor with lance, nor dart, nor arrow, Hector's forfeit life to seek,
Lest another's hand should wound him, and should take away his fame.
When, the fourth time, widely circling, to the fountain's marge they came,
Jove his golden scales uplifted, and two lots of death he weigh'd,
One Achilles' lot, the other Hector's, tamer of the steed:
By the centre then he raised them-Hector's fatal day declin'd,
Sinking down to gloomy Orcus-then Apollo left his friend;
And the blue-eyed queen, Minerva, to her favour'd chief drew near,
And, his headlong course arresting, whisper'd lightly in his ear:-
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