Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 59, No. 367, May 1846

"I have in my scrip a few Eldorados, for which I expected a premium," answered Scapegrace.

"Don't you wish you may get it?" said the other sympathetically.

"Does your mother," said a third, with a look of sympathy – "your venerable mother, know that you are abroad at the Fair?"

"Perfectly well," answered Scapegrace; "it was mainly in consequence of her pecuniary distress that I came hither."

"Distress, indeed!" answered the other; "thou wouldst not have us believe that she has sold her mangle yet?"

"I said not that she had," replied Scapegrace; "but she would gladly have parted with it if she could."

"How are you off for soap?" said another in a compassionate tone.

"Very indifferently, friend," answered Scapegrace; "for my lodging has been but poorly supplied of late, and I think of changing it."

"Lodging, quotha! You shan't lodge here, Mr Ferguson, I promise you."

"My name is not Ferguson," said Scapegrace meekly; "neither have I the least intention of lodging here."

"What a shocking bad hat!" cried a voice from behind, and in a trice was Scapegrace's hat knocked over his eyes, and his pockets turned inside out; but finding nothing therein but scrip, they were enraged, and falling upon Scapegrace, they kicked, and cuffed, and hustled him up one row and down another, through this alley and across that court, till at last, being tired of mocking him, they cast him out of the Fair altogether, and shut the gate against him.

THE ILIAD OF HOMER – BOOK THE FIRST

In English Hexameters

[The author of the version of the Last Book of the Iliad, in the Number for March, has been requested by the editor of this Magazine to give another specimen; and, as he happens to have the First Book completed, he is happy to comply.

In case any one unacquainted with the original, and familiar with Homer only through the brilliant rifacimento of Pope, should complain of the redundancies and repetitions which he meets here, let the writer remind him that the attempt is to render the ancient poet, not only in a measure framed on the basis of his own, but as nearly as possible with a literal fidelity. Moreover, be it remembered, that the poem was not composed for readers, but to be sung with the accompaniment of the harp in festive assemblies of wholly illiterate soldiers; and that, in all probability, the various speeches introduced were not all chanted by the main voice; but that brother minstrels from time to time relieved the master, as he himself describes the Muses at the Olympian banquet, "with sweet voice singing alternate."

The writer received from Messrs Blackwood, with the proof-sheet of the following contribution, two books of the Iliad, the second and the seventh, done in English hexameters, "by Launcellot Shadwell, formerly Fellow of St John's College, Cambridge," with the imprint of Mr Pickering, London, 1844. This gentleman is probably a son of the Vice-Chancellor of England, and, if so, has been trained in a good school of taste as well as scholarship. But whether his hexameters have been published, does not appear: the writer had not heard of them before; and he begs to thank Mr Shadwell for his polite attention.

London, April 6th.]

    N. N. T.

Sing, O Goddess! the wrath unblest of Peleian Achilleus,
Whence the uncountable woes that were heapt on the host of Achaia;
Whence many valorous spirits of heroes, untimely dissever'd,
Down unto Hades were sent, and themselves to the dogs were a plunder
And all fowls of the air; but the counsel of Zeus was accomplish'd:
Even from the hour when at first were in fierceness of rivalry sunder'd
Atreus' son, the Commander of Men, and the noble Achilleus.
Who of the Godheads committed the twain in the strife of contention?
Leto's offspring and Zeus'; who, in anger against Agamemnon,
Issued the pestilence dire, and the leaguer was swept with destruction;
For that the King had rejected, and spurn'd from the place in dishonour
Chryses, the priest of the God, when he came to the warrior-galleys,
Willing to rescue his daughter with plentiful gifts of redemption,
Bearing the fillet divine in his hands of the Archer Apollo
Twined on the sceptre of gold: and petition'd the host of Achaia,
Foremost of all the Atreidæ, the twain that were chief in dominion: —
"Hear, ye Atreidæ! and hear, ye Achaians, resplendent in armour!
Be it vouchsaf'd unto you of the Gods who inhabit Olympus,
Priamus' city to storm, and return to your dwellings in gladness!
But now yield me my daughter belov'd, and accept of the ransom,
Bearing respect to the offspring of Zeus, Far-darting Apollo."
Then had it voice of approval from all the array of Achaians
Duly to honour the priest and accept fair gifts of redemption;
Only displeas'd in his mind was the King Agamemnon Atreides:
Stern the rejection from him, and ungentle his word at the parting: —
"Let me not see thee again, old man, at the station of galleys,
Lingering wilfully now, nor returning among us hereafter,
Lest neither sceptre of gold nor the wreath of the God may avail thee.
Her will I never surrender, be sure, until age has attain'd her
Far from the land of her birth, in our own habitation of Argos,
Plying the task of her web and attending the couch of her master.
Hence with thee! Stir me no more: the return to thy home were the safer."
So did he speak; and the elder, in terror, obey'd the commandment.
Silent he went on his way, where the sea-waves roar'd on the sand-beach,
Till at a distance remote, when the voice of his strong supplication
Call'd on Apollo the King, that was born of the ringleted Leto: —
"Hear me, Protector divine, both of Chrysa and beautiful Killa,
God of the silvery bow, over Tenedos mightily reigning!
Smintheus! Hear, if my hand ever garnish'd thy glorious temple,
Crowning the horns of the altar with beauty, and burning before thee
Fatness of bulls or of goats: hear now, and fulfill my petition.
Oh, let the Argives atone for my tears by the shafts of thy quiver!"
So did he speak; and Apollo gave ear to the prayer of his servant.
He from the peaks of Olympus descended, his bosom in anger,
Bearing on shoulder the bow and the well-fenc'd girth of his quiver.
Rattled the arrows therein on the back of the Deity wrathful,
Step upon step as he moved; but he came like the darkness of Nightfall.
Then did he seat him apart from the ships, and discharging an arrow,
Fearful afar was the clang of the silvery bow of Apollo.
Mules, at the first, were his aim, and the swiftness of dogs was arrested;
But on themselves, right soon, with the sure-wing'd darts of destruction
Smote he, and wide on the shore was the flame of continual death-fires.
Nine days' space, on the leaguer the shafts of the Godhead were flying;
Then, on the tenth, were the people convok'd by the noble Achilleus,
Mov'd unto this, in his mind, by the Goddess majestical Hera,
For she was griev'd in her heart at the sight of the dying Achaians.
But when the host were conven'd, thus spake swift-footed Peleides: —
"Wand'ring again is our doom, as it seems to my mind, Agamemnon!
Home to escape as we may, unless death be the issue to welcome,
Since not the battle alone, but the pestilence wastes the Achaians.
Come, without witless delay, let some prophet or priest be consulted,
Yea, or expounder of dreams, (for the dream, too, comes from Kronion,)
Who may interpret the wrath unrelenting of Phœbus Apollo;
Whether for forfeited vow we are plagu'd, or for hecatomb wanting: