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Jewish historians, who were always very ready to relate any thing marvellous of Jerusalem, are silent on the subject. The common people may have attributed some virtue to the waters of the pool, and tradition may have handed down the particulars of some extraordinary cure performed by the use of them: but all that we are bound to believe is this, that a multitude of miserable objects were lying by the side of the water, under the expectation of deriving some benefit from the implied sanctity of the place; and that Jesus, selecting one out of these, wrought a miracle upon him, as recorded in the words of the sacred writer.

On the whole, this is a volume which it would be difficult for the best informed reader to open, without satisfaction or improvement. It condenses in a small compass the observations of the most learned and ingenious expositors, and in a form and style which must render it acceptable to that numerous class of readers, who wish for information without trouble or research, on subjects which may have frequently excited their curiosity, and perplexed their understandings. And it is embellished by quotations without reserve, from authors ancient and modern, prosaic and poetical, sacred and profane, wherever the subject admits such reference; and it is but mere justice to add, that the author has executed his task with a correctness of judgment of no ordinary description, and displayed unequivocal signs of extensive reading and happy recollection.

NOTICE OF

IDYLLIA HEROICA DECEM, Librum Phaleuciorum Unum, partim jam primo partim iterum atque tertio edit Savagius LANDOR. Accedit Quæstiuncula cur poëtæ Latini recentiores minus legantur. Pisis apud S. Nistrium MDCCCXX.

No. II. [Continued from No. 51.] THE last lines of the poem faintly recal the matchless

conclusion of the tale of Undine.

"Pan et Pitys" is a pleasing little eclogue, describing the loves of the sylvan deity (who appears to be a favorite with our author) and the nymph Pitys, who we sup pose (though Mr. Landor has not informed us) was afterwards metamorphosed into a pine-tree. Part of one of Pan's amatory addresses may exemplify our poet's talent for rural description.

Tum placui, poteramque loqui poteramque silere,
Vel resupinus humi patris ultima lumina Phœbi

Aspicere, atque animas haurire fragrantibus herbis,
Dum formis nebulæ vivis per inane volabant
Rara-ve cæruleum verrebant retia campum.
Tu reducum interea corvorum rauca notabas
Agmina, quæ notisque plagis ac tempore certo
Ætheris intervalla secant nictantibus alis:
Quid placeat nuda pallens oleaster arena,
Quid cytisi aëriam celantia serta cavernam
Et pellucidulis errans labrusca racemis,

Aut quondam hinnuleis malefida genista gemellis;
Qui voce arborea fruerer lymphæque cachinno
Vel tremulo terræ super æquora suda vapore,
Ni Pitys arrepta monuisset cernere dextra,
Ni cantu, hæreret quum fistula nostra, levasset,
Et cari attactu vixissent nominis una?

Next comes "Coresus et Callirhoë," of which the argument is as follows. Coresus, a young man, and priest of Bacchus at Calydon, becomes enamoured of Callirhoë, and, on her refusal, pines away with sorrow. The god, indignant at the slight offered to his minister, sends a pestilence upon the Calydonians; the oracle of Dodona is consulted, as usual in such cases, and the result is a command to sacrifice the offending maiden at the altar of Bacchus, unless some one of the people will consent to be immolated in her stead. Her friends and relations, like those of Admetus in a similar case, all stand aloof; and Coresus, who as officiating priest had led her to the altar, fulfils the requisition of the oracle by turning his sacrificial knife against his own breast. Such is the story, and it loses little of its interest in the hands of Mr. Landor; the catastrophe, however, is abrupt, and (to modern feelings at least) disappointing. The best part is the address of Coresus to Callirhoë on her refusal.

The eighth idyl, "Catillus et Salia," is more to our taste than any of the rest, except the last, of which hereafter. The story is rather of a modern cast. Catillus, the brother of Coras, and joint founder of the city of Tibur, is in love with Salia, the daughter of Anius, king of Volsinii, by whom his passion is returned; but their union in forbidden by an oracle, the general import of which only is known to Catillus, portending a calamitous result to the match. Desirous of more particular information, Catillus repairs to the temple of the goddess Voltumna on Mount Ciminus, from whence the oracle had been delivered; the answer he receives to his enquiries determines him to attempt an elopement with his mistress, which he accordingly executes.

Anius pursues the fugitives as far as the Tiburtine territories, where, finding the recovery of his daughter hopeless, he precipitates himself through despair into the Pareusius, which receives from him the name of Anio. The name of the hero, in the original legend, is Cathetus; that of Catillus is here substituted, as more known, and better adapted to poetry. The gloom and silence of the oracular forest, and its effect on the feelings of Catillus, are poetically imagined.

Multa orat juvenis, tristemque silentia vocem
E cœlo, e lucis altis, ex æde, sequuntur,
Nec, si sint ullæ, videt aëre nare volucres
Unde aliquid referat quod pectora lenius angat;
Plurima enim circum ramis ingentibus arbor
Undique porrecta est dextra, porrecta sinistra,
Nec cycni clamore lacum liquere serenum

Nec sensere sonum; procul infra in luce nitebant,
Mulcentes niveas versis cervicibus alas.

The river voyage of Catillus and his bride, on their flight to the Tiburtine country, are described con amore. The falls of the Anio, the scene of the catastrophe, are thus delineated, obviously from personal recollection; we were struck with the boldness of the expression in Italics.

——in silvam se proripit, amne sonantem
At non clamores non amnim turbidus audit,
Non æra ingeminata cavis productaque saxis,
Nec rapitur furiis nec fletu solvitur, ambæ
Constringunt frontem palmæ .. quam fontis acerbi
Talibus ille locis mitescere nescius angor!
Constiterat super, infixus, neque viderat antrum
A quo, præcipiti torrente, Pareusius undas
Torquet, et imbrifero respergit pulvere cœlum,
Et nemore ex omni protendere guttur in auras
Mille videntur aves, quamvis torrente voretur
Dum cadit, infessæ periturum fundere carmen.
Æternum tonitru fugiant nimbique tenebras
Quas sua nec sedes quas nec suus occupat ardor,
Atqui illæ muscum si præbeat humida silva
Contentæ sobolem pascunt alisque tuentur,
Nec tonitru fugiunt nec friget amantibus imber.
Flumina sub scopulis clausa et metuentia vinci
Extollunt iterum capita erumpuntque caverna,
Sparsa ruunt, collecta ruunt, caligine pallet
Mons, teneræque tremunt et inhærent arctius herbæ.
Plurima, quæ nullas spirabit conscia curas
Vallibus aut lucis, vibrata susurrat arundo,
Virgineoque sinu vetiti languescere flores;
Et radii innumeri circumque supraque vagantur
Aere, pensilibusque exsurgunt vitibus arcus,

Centum purpureos alte construxit Apollo
Omnipotensque pater; Thaumantias incolit Iris,
Hasque vocat proprias et nunquam deseret ædes.

The next, "Veneris Pueri," is an account of a contest between two Cupids, who, in imitation we suppose of Apollo and Pan on another occasion, choose Silenus as the arbiter of their differences. We now come to the last and longest of these pieces, "Ulysses in Argirippa," being about the length of one of the books of the Eneid, and in fact a miniature epic, though without much regularity of plan. With the exception of a preliminary episode, which might with advantage be detached from the poem, it may be considered as a sequel to the tale of Ithaca, comprising the adventures of Ulysses subsequent to the action of the Odyssey, and terminating with his death by Telegonus. And here we cannot but admire the extraordinary boldness of our author. With the recollection of the most interesting poem of antiquity full in his view, he has not scrupled to attempt a continuation of a subject in which he had been preceded by Homer.' He has seized the wand of the mighty magician, and attempted to evoke once more the shades of the heroic dead. Such an enterprise could be justified only by the most splendid success; and all we can say of the present aspirant is, "magnis tamen excidit ausis." The fact is, that the spell is broken-the secret is lost. The Sibylline leaves remain, and will remain, but the voice of the prophetess is heard no more. To use the words of an eloquent writer, when speaking of the Greek tragedy, "the moulds, in which those beautiful creations were cast, are for ever broken." It would transcend the powers of Homer himself, were he now living, to write another Odyssey. To say the truth, this detailed matterof-fact narrative of what Homer has left untold, militates with our associations. We do not wish to see the obscurity in which he has involved this part of the subject, exchanged for the "light of common day." Mr. Landor is not the first who has thus called the long-suffering hero of Homer from his "place of rest," to wander once more over land and sea. Not to mention the well-known pas

The reader will of course understand, that when we speak of Homer as a single person, we are merely complying with a common mode of expression, for the sake of convenience.

2 See the speech of Tiresias, Od. A. 118 —136; also ¥. 264 —284.

sages in Dante and Tasso referring to this subject, there are, we believe, several Portuguese poems in which Ulysses is celebrated as the founder of Lisbon; an event which was likewise intended to form the subject of an episode in Pope's heroic poem of Brutus.'

The poem opens at the time of Ulysses' return. And here we have to arraign Mr. Landor of a gross breach of poetical privilege. Venus (as far as we can gather from the very obscure manner in which this part of the story is related) incited principally by a pique to Minerva, procures from Jupiter, that the man whom Penelope meets first on the ensuing morning, shall be her accepted lover. Jupiter, however, had previously ordained that this happy individual should be no other than Ulysses himself, who was then newly arrived. This is, we must say, in bad taste. We can allow a few liberties to a man like Mr. Landor; but we cannot permit him thus to outrage our most cherished associations, and to spoil our favorite characters by modern sophistications. It may be said, that the reputation of the heroine is saved by ascribing her passion to the irresistible influence of a malignant deity; still the charm is dissolved She is no longer the περίφρων Inveλómia of Homer-that lovely personification of matronly dignity and conjugal tenderness, which so enchants us in the Odyssey. We could as easily tolerate a new version of Shakspeare's Imogen or Desdemona. It is almost as bad as Racine's conversion of Hippolytus into a modern inamorato. It is remarkable, indeed, that when later poets have undertaken to alter the incidents or characters of Homer, the alteration has usually been for the worse. Such is the case with Virgil and the Greek tragedians. It is but justice to add that Mr. Landor has made as much atonement as possible for this error, in his subsequent representations of Penelope. We ought here to mention, that by a very beautiful fiction, the father of the gods is represented as rewarding the exemplary constancy of Ulysses by conferring upon Penelope the gift of renovated

I We understand (and we are sure the reader will pardon our introduction of the circumstance here) that the people of Ithaca, subsequently to their deliverance from the Turkish yoke, have instituted a festival in commemoration of their ancient hero.

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