THE spirit of the lofty, grave tragedians, and of the Greek and Latin Muse, has lived in the bosom of our English bards, and may be worthily incorporated in our noble English tongue. The lyrics of Shakspeare, Milton, Dryden, Gray, and Collins are proof of this; and not to despise all which is not hallowed by a dim age, or is produced in our disenchanted time, we would add IoN, that sweet tragic Poem of Fate. The halls of learning in England, established on noble foundations, and promising to remain lasting monuments of all which is exalted in piety or refined in letters, have been for ages as a temple of refuge, and never suffered the sacred fires to go out upon their altars. With them, Language has been never dead. The correctness of the old models; the impetuous eloquence of Demosthenes, the pureness of Isocrates, the polished oratory of Tully, the exquisite felicity of Horace, the simple grandeur of Homer, and the sweet flow of Virgil's muse; have never ceased to be the delight of literary hours in the shadowy groves of their Academies, where, as in Plato's grove, the Attic bird 'Trills her sweet warbled notes the summer long.' What a host of scholars have shed lustre on the halls which nourished them! Porson, Jones, Parr, Bentley, Heber, and others unknown to fame, who have carried the fruits of liberal studies into their dignified retirements, to embellish their walk of life, and to be the ineffable charm and solace of their age. The educated Englishman whose 'sound mind in a sound body has brought him to that honored trophy of gray hairs, and to an old age sustained with grace, as it is free from burden, as he walks under his ancestral trees, is apt to recur to his classical studies with ARUNDINES CAMI; sive Musarum Cantabrigiensium Lusus Canori, collegit atque edidit HENRICUS DRURY, A.M. Cantabrigiæ: 1841. an ever-fresh delight; nor does he think it unseemly to employ his hours in the construction of Latin verse, or to emulate the most renowned Grecians of his time: 'Dulces moriens reminiscitur Argos.' Wellesley is a remarkable example; and a compilation of all which such men have done in youth or declining years, or in their relaxation from severer studies, would be alike honorable to themselves, to their country, and to those noble systems of education which make the finished scholar. The influence of such pursuits cannot reasonably be doubted; since it is evidently to develop correct taste, to exercise the judgment, and to bring the whole mind to a matchless temper. But it is the attentive study, as well as the transfusion of the spirit of old originals, which has contributed to make English literature (which we all glory in and call our own) what it is; which otherwise, it is certain, would have less to boast of. We might go over the list of authors, from the earliest formation of a literature whose muster-roll would be more splendid than that of the army, as the simple laurels and 'own rewards' of letters are worthier than blood-red trophies, even though we should mention the glory of Marlborough and his well-earned estates, and we might mark how their works, without detracting from their originality, were begun, formed, and perfected on correct models: but if we were to exclude Milton alone, the whole catalogue would be but an imperfect scroll. Yet even he, had he drank less deeply at pure fountains, might have fallen into the contingency which Gray presumes of some in his famous Elegy, who for the want of learning now rest 'mute and inglorious' in their sepulchres; or might have shone in 'dim eclipse,' while the fruits of his sublime resignation would scarcely have come down to us without their copious grace of classical illustration, in his noble verse, and equally noble prose. Shakspeare, whether his scholarship be doubted or not, too clearly reveals that he had at least tasted the sources of those streams at which all genius which is heaven-born is contented to drink. And so we might note the influence of true learning and scholarship on all which is most lasting in English literature. The turning of some of our English poets into Latin or Greek verse seems to us, after all, not so difficult to those bred in the right school. It is but a natural transition: the giving up to the hands of the old masters what was received from them—the return of a spirit to the gods which gave it. We have, in the work before us, a monument of affection and good scholarship, consisting mainly of divers compositions in Latin verse, the prolusions or recreations, so to speak, of men refined by a like taste, and educated in the same school: Arundines Cami; sive Musarum Cantabrigiensium Lusus Canori. For these exercises, in some instances sportings, of the Cambridge muse, we find the names of such distinguished contributors as follow: Samuel Butler, late Bishop of Litchfield, Lord Lyttleton, Lord John Manners, Richard Porson, Francis Hodgson, Archdeacon Wrangham, Edward Craven Hawtrey, head-master at Eton, Thomas Drury, Benjamin Hall Kennedy, and others. Indeed, the editor could have found no lack of materials from the labors of Porson and some of the early scholars; but his chief labor seems to have been, to select from the compositions of his friends who wrote elegantly. We 1851.] Arundines Cami. are sure that scholars will thank him for this labor, and the pieces are, with few exceptions, worthy of the chaste style of art in which the work is produced. We are not prepared to say that no word might be found of questionable authority, or that there is no phrase to which a Latin of the purest age might object. Some people deny that it is possible now to write the dead languages correctly, or with any certain precision, unless we can refer to an exact authority for the meaning of every word. On the contrary, there are not wanting those who are so puffed-up and vain-glorious as to say that the moderns can write better Latin than did the ancients. Much learning has made them mad! But of the specimens before us, we will say, without making any pretension to be severely critical, that on a general perusal, to the eye, ear, and judgment of an aducated person, they seem to be correct, while many will doubtless bear, on the score of Latinity, a somewhat close scrutiny, and others might be singled out for a chaste elegance which approaches very nearly to the old Roman muse. At any rate, they give evidence of efficient training, and could be the work of none other than scholars, working by correct rules, who understand the philosophy of the tongue, and apprehend the nice shades and distinctions of words; and who, if they are sometimes compelled by sheer necessity to invent phrases which ancient usage does not sanction, because it did not need, do it with a just regard for the genius of the language, and become themselves respectable authority for what might otherwise be deemed barbarous. This ingenuity has in some cases to struggle to a hard triumph, where the power of resistance is strong, and some purely original genius resolutely refuses to be put into a new dress. Here we are willing to smile in good-nature at efforts which, if they amount to a failure, are at least crowned with as much success as the nature of the case admits; nor can we turn with offended dignity from those comical portions of the work to which we chiefly allude, which might relax the brows of the most severe student, even while he should censure them as labor lost. Indeed, we sometimes admire most, where we have the most to pardon, but observe the greater ingenuity and skill. We shall not pass by these without farther mention, but first will allude to some others. in We have said that many of the master-pieces of the English poets are conceived in the full spirit of the ancients, so that they may be readily natural grace turned into the Latin or Greek idiom, and have a very their new dress. Thus the Etonians, proud of Gray, have made numerous versions of his Elegy. One in Greek, (not included in this collection,) of uncommon elegance, and bearing upon it the seal of the highest critical authority, is printed at the end of an edition of Aristotle on Poetry, Cantab. 1785. The beautiful stanza, 'The boast edited by W. Cooke. of heraldry,' etc., is thus given : Α χάρις ευγενέων, χάρις ἢ βασιλήιδος ἄρχας, Δωρα τυχας, χρυσας Αφροδίτας καλα τα δώρα, Matthias ventures to assert that neither Bion nor Moschus ever exceeded this; he thinks they never equalled it. Perhaps not; but while it is the highest testimony which could be bestowed, that the learned, deprecating the exclusive possession of so great a gem, have attempted to make common to many languages this really inimitable composition, it i something which can be bequeathed to those alone who read the English tongue. It is inimitable for its entire harmony; by which we refer not so much to musical effect, as to the elements of it; the nice fitting and correspondence of every part of its structure; that just combination, that preserved equality, which forbears as much to rise above the proper level as to sink below, and makes up a whole, perfect work, which, however inferior in dimensions, perfectly satisfies the taste, delights the soul, and leaves it nothing to desire. Such is Gray's Elegy, and imbued as it is with the calm, tearful melancholy of the time and place, will fill up a soothing hour in millions of hearts which have not yet begun to beat. It was a generous and convincing vindication of the value of letters over arms, pronounced by one on the eve of a splendid morrow, and when his own path of glory' had even then arrived at the grave.' As he (the gallant Wolfe) dropped down the river on that critical night, and having just received a copy from England, mused over its morality, and felt his heart affected by its solemn numbers, he said that all the trophies arms could win were not worthy to compare with the laurels of its author. was a humane sentiment, and will be remembered as long as his last sublime words. It The Latin version here given is not so good as the Greek to which we have alluded; it is however creditable, and will bear a favorable comparison with others; for numerous writers have contended for the honor of turning it into the Latin tongue, and we have before us an illustrated edition of the Elegy, containing versions in Latin, Greek, French, German, and Italian- the French, we will just observe, barely tolerable. But here is something of Gray's which has a very classical air, and seems to invite translation, and we annex the version of it found in the 'Arundines:' En quâcunque jacet lumina, Gratiæ Sublatis manibus Diva per æthera Pulcher purpuream vibrat Amor facem, Martis perque genus perque sinum movet.' In company with this, we will place Milton's beautiful apostrophe to Echo: 'SWEET ECHO, sweetest nymph, that liv'st unseen Within thy aery shell, By slow Meander's margent green, Where the love-lorn nightingale Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well: Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair That likest thy NARCISSUS are? Oh! if thou have Hid them in some flowery cave, Tell me but where, Sweet queen of parley, daughter of the sphere! So may'st thou be translated to the skies, And give resounding grace to all heaven's harmonies.' DULCIS ECHO. 'NYMPHA, quam leni refluentis amne Sive te valles potius morantur Ecqua, NARCISSI referens figuram Dic mihi qua nunc, male te secuti, Filia cæli. Sic et in sedem redeas paternam Beside the above, we find translations from Shakspeare, Cowper, Pope, Goldsmith, Byron, Moore, Tennyson, and some of the minor poets. Perhaps in the range of English poetry, pieces better adapted to translalation might be found than some which are here given, but the selection was to be made from materials already prepared. Here, in measured hexameters, is the great bard's awful contemplation of death: 6 'Ay, but to die, and go we know not where; To lie in cold obstruction and to rot; This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice; To be imprisoned in the viewless winds, And blown with restless violence round about The weariest and most loathed worldly life To what we fear of death.' ATTAMEN; heu! quam triste mori! nec quo sit eundum |