or Coleridge's description of the river Alph running

Through caverns measureless to man Down to a sunless sea,

it is the language rather than the idea which fascinates. Professor Walker, speaking of the most exquisitely harmonious lyric ever written in English, or perhaps in any other language,[31] says with great truth: "The reader of _Lycidas_ rises from it ready to grasp the 'two-handed engine' and smite; though he may be doubtful what the engine is, and what is to be smitten."

It may be observed, moreover, that one of the main difficulties to be encountered in translating some of the masterpieces of ancient literature arises from their exquisite simplicity. Although the indulgence in glaring improprieties of language in the pursuit of novelty of thought was not altogether unknown to the ancients, and was, indeed, stigmatised by Longinus with the epithet of "corybantising,"[32]

the full development of this pernicious practice has been reserved for the modern world. Dryden made himself indirectly responsible for a good deal of bad poetry when he said that great wits were allied to madness.

The late Professor Butcher,[33] as also Lamb in his essay on "The Sanity of True Genius," have both pointed out that genius and high ability are eminently sane.

In some respects it may be said that didactic poetry affords special facilities to the translator, inasmuch as it bears a more close relation to prose than verse of other descriptions. Didactic poets, such as Lucretius and Pope, are almost forced by the inexorable necessities of their subjects to think in prose. However much we may admire their verse, it is impossible not to perceive that, in dealing with subjects that require great precision of thought, they have felt themselves hampered by the necessities of metre and rhythm. They may, indeed, resort to blank verse, which is a sort of half-way house between prose and rhyme, as was done by Mr. Leonard in his excellent translation of Empedocles, of which the following specimen may be given:

??? ?st?? pe??sas?a? ?? ?f?a???s?? ?fe?t??

?et????? ? ?e?s? ?ae??, ?pe? te e??st?

pe????? ?????p??s?? ?a??t?? e?? f???a p?pte?.

We may not bring It near us with our eyes, We may not grasp It with our human hands.

With neither hands nor eyes, those highways twain, Whereby Belief drops into the minds of men.

But Dr. Symmons, one of the numerous translators of Virgil, said, with some truth, that the adoption of blank verse only involves "a laborious and doubtful struggle to escape from the fangs of prose."[34]

A good example of what can be done in this branch of literature is furnished by Dryden. Lucretius[35] wrote:

Tu vero dubitabis et indignabere obire?

Mortua cui vita est prope iam vivo atque videnti, Qui somno partem maiorem conteris aevi, Et vigilans stertis nec somnia cernere cessas Sollicitamque geris ca.s.sa formidine mentem Nec reperire potes tibi quid sit saepe mali, c.u.m Ebrius urgeris multis miser undique curis, Atque animi incerto fluitans errore vagaris.

Dryden's translation departs but slightly from the original text and at the same time presents the ideas of Lucretius in rhythmical and melodious English:

And thou, dost thou disdain to yield thy breath, Whose very life is little more than death?

More than one-half by lazy sleep possest, And when awake, thy soul but nods at best, Day-dreams and sickly thoughts revolving in thy breast.

Eternal troubles haunt thy anxious mind, Whose cause and case thou never hopest to find, But still uncertain, with thyself at strife, Thou wanderest in the labyrinth of life.

Descriptive poetry also lends itself with comparative ease to translation. Nothing can be better than the translation made by Mr.

Gladstone[36] of _Iliad_ iv. 422-32. The original Greek runs thus:

?? d' ?t' ?? a???a?? p???????? ??a ?a??ss??

????t' ?pa.s.s?te??? ?ef???? ?p? ????sa?t???

p??t? ?? te p??ta ????sseta?, a?t?? ?pe?ta ???s? ?????e??? e???a ??e?, ?f? d? t' ???a?

???t?? ??? ????f??ta?, ?p?pt?e? d' ???? ??????

?? t?t' ?pa.s.s?te?a? ?a?a?? ?????t? f??a??e?

???e??? p??e??de. ???e?e d? ??s?? ??ast??

??e????? ?? d' ????? ???? ?sa?, ??d? ?e fa???

t?ss?? ?a?? ?pes?a? ????t' ?? st??es?? a?d??, s???, de?d??te? s???t??a?? ?f? d? p?s?

te??ea p?????' ??ape, t? e????? ?st?????t?.

Mr. Gladstone, who evidently drew his inspiration from the author of "Marmion" and "The Lady of the Lake," translated as follows:

As when the billow gathers fast With slow and sullen roar, Beneath the keen north-western blast, Against the sounding sh.o.r.e.

First far at sea it rears its crest, Then bursts upon the beach; Or with proud arch and swelling breast, Where headlands outward reach, It smites their strength, and bellowing flings Its silver foam afar-- So stern and thick the Danaan kings And soldiers marched to war.

Each leader gave his men the word, Each warrior deep in silence heard, So mute they marched, them couldst not ken They were a ma.s.s of speaking men; And as they strode in martial might Their flickering arms shot back the light.

It is, however, in dealing with poetry which is neither didactic nor descriptive that the difficulty--indeed often the impossibility--of reconciling the genius of the two languages becomes most apparent. It may be said with truth that the best way of ascertaining how a fine or luminous idea can be presented in any particular language is to set aside altogether the idea of translation, and to inquire how some master in the particular language has presented the case without reference to the utterances of his predecessors in other languages. A good example of this process may be found in comparing the language in which others have treated Vauvenargues' well-known saying: "Pour executer de grandes choses, il faut vivre comme si on ne devait jamais mourir."

Bacchylides[37] put the same idea in the following words:

??at?? e??ta ??? d?d???? ???e??

???a?, ?t? t' a????? ??ea?

????? ????? f???, ??t? pe?t????t' ?tea ???? a??p???t?? te?e??.[38]

And the great Arab poet Abu'l'Ala, whose verse has been admirably translated by Mr. Baerlein, wrote:

If you will do some deed before you die, Remember not this caravan of death, But have belief that every little breath Will stay with you for an eternity.

Another instance of the same kind, which may be cited without in any way wishing to advance what Professor Courthope[39] very justly calls "the mean charge of plagiarism," is Tennyson's line, "His honour rooted in dishonour stood." Euripides[40] expressed the same idea in the following words:

?? t?? ??? a?s???? ?s??? ??a??e?a.

To cite another case, the following lines of _Paradise Lost_ may be compared with the treatment accorded by Euripides to the same subject:

Oh, why did G.o.d, Creator wise, that peopled highest Heaven With spirits masculine, create at last This novelty on Earth, this fair defect Of Nature, and not fill the World at once With men as Angels, without feminine; Or find some other way to generate Mankind?

Euripides wrote:

? ?e?, t? d? ??d???? ?????p??? ?a???, ???a??a? ?? f?? ????? ?at???sa?; e? ??? ??te??? ??e?e? spe??a? ?????, ??? ?? ???a???? ???? pa?as??s?a? t?de.[41]

Apart, however, from the process to which allusion is made above, very many instances may, of course, be cited, of translations properly so called which have reproduced not merely the exact sense but the vigour of the original idea in a foreign language with little or no resort to paraphrase. What can be better than Cowley's translation of Claudian's lines?--

Ingentem meminit parvo qui germine querc.u.m Aequaevumque videt consenuisse nemus.

A neighbouring wood born with himself he sees, And loves his old contemporary trees,

thus, as Gibbon says,[42] improving on the original, inasmuch as, being a good botanist, Cowley "concealed the oaks under a more general expression."

Take also the case of the well-known Latin epigram:

Omne epigramma sit instar apis: sit aculeus illi; Sint sua mella; sit et corporis exigui.

It has frequently been translated, but never more felicitously or accurately than by the late Lord Wensleydale:

Be epigrams like bees; let them have stings; And Honey too, and let them be small things.

On the other hand, the attempt to adhere too closely to the text of the original and to reject paraphrase sometimes leads to results which can scarcely be described as other than the reverse of felicitous. An instance in point is Sappho's lines:

?a? ??? a? fe??e?, ta???? d???e?, a? d? d??a ? d??et', ???a d?se?, a? d? ? f??e?, ta???? f???se?

???? ??????sa.

So great a master of verse as Mr. Headlam translated thus:

The pursued shall soon be the pursuer!

Gifts, though now refusing, yet shall bring Love the lover yet, and woo the wooer, Though heart it wring!