in the picturesque; but this has always got plenty of what is shaggy and uncouth, without which contrast the full delight of beauty would not be attained. I think Moore in his characteristic way tells of a beauty
Shining on, shining on, by no shadow made tender,
Till love falls asleep in the sameness of splendour.
Such certainly is not Homer's. His beauty, when at its height, is wild beauty: it smells of the mountain and of the sea. If he be compared to a noble animal, it is not to such a spruce rubbed-down Newmarket racer as our smooth translators would pretend, but to a wild horse of the Don Cossacks: and if I, instead of this, present to the reader nothing but a Dandie Dinmont's pony, this, as a first approximation, is a valuable step towards the true solution.
Before the best translation of the Iliad of which our language is capable can be produced, the English public has to unlearn the false notion of Homer which his deliberately faithless versifiers have infused. Chapman's conceits unfit his translation for instructing the public, even if his rhythm 'jolted' less, if his structure were simpler, and his dialect more intelligible. My version, if allowed to be read, will prepare the public to receive a version better than mine. I regard it as a question about to open hereafter, whether a translator of Homer ought not to adopt the old dis-
