The original is very simple, natural, and pathetic-and reads like the fragment of an old Scottish balladreminding us of Lady Bothwell's Lament. Lord Woodhouselee, in his elegant Essay on Translation, says, that Jortin's "admirable translation falls short of its original only in a single particular-the measure of the verse. One striking beauty of the original is, the easy and loose structure of the verse, which has little else to distinguish it from animated discourse but the harmony of syllables; and hence it has more of natural impassioned eloquence than is conveyed by the regular measure of the translation." We feel that there is truth in that remark; and the poem is quoted by Dionysius as an apposite example of that species of composition in which poetry approaches to the freedom of prose. Yet, no doubt, the versification is constructed according to rule, though we, for our own parts, do not know what it is; and though there are various arrangements of it, to our ear they are all musical. Fragment as it is, and probably in itself imperfect, it is felt to justify

When shall these eyes, my babe, be seal'd As peacefully as thine!"

BY W. HAY.

"Thou heedest not the surging waves,The wild waves rolling by,

They injure not thy deep long hair, For every lock is dry:

"Thou heedest not the angry brawl

Of the loud winds piping wild, Wrapt in thy little purple cloak,—

My beautiful!-my child!

"Oh, if thou felt that depth of woe,
That makes thy mother weep,
How would thine ears drink in her words!-
-No, no, she bids thee sleep.

"Sleep on, my babe, I bid thee sleep,
And sleep, thou raging sea,
And sleep, ye countless, cruel griefs,
Of miserable me.

"O ye who patiently explore The wreck of Herculanean lore, What rapture, could ye seize Some Theban fragment, or unroll One precious tender-hearted scroll Of pure Simonides!" Jortin's version is indeed very beau scholars wrote Latin verse with more tiful, and not one of our modern purity and delicacy than he did, exCowper, if we mistake not, preferred cept, perhaps, Vinny Bourne, whom to Tibullus. It is very close, yet misses one or two effective touches such as x OVOY - and the child's little purple cloak. Teque premunt placidi vincula blanda dei" is sufficiently classical for a copy of prize verses at College, but out of place and time here, and not at all Simonidean.

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"Et vehemens flavos everberat aura capillos,” is surely not true to the sense of the

original-for the inside of the chest was lown; but no more fault-finding with lines which no living scholar could excel or equal. Denman's version is very good, and having been for twenty years before the public, it has become part of our English Poetry. But it is far from faultless. Why "northern sky ?" Why fastidiously fear to write chest," or some other word, rather than mere vessel? Wordsworth was not afraid to speak, in one of his most interesting poems on Childhood,

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of

"A washing-tub like one of those That women use to wash their clothes-— That carried the blind boy."

"What woes does Danaë weep" -is very bad-the Greek how exquisitely touching!-And worse are these two lines

easily reconcile ourselves to the change. Danaë, in her peril, speaks like a princess and a poetess beloved of Jove; but perhaps there is a slight tendency, in a line or two of Elton's version, towards a swelling wordiness scarcely natural to such a voyager, and somewhat impairing the pathos. We shall not minutely criticise the version quoted from an early Number of this Magazine; but with a few slight defects, occasioned by the difficulties voluntarily encountered, and on the whole successfully overcome, in the choice of a rhymed stanza, it is, we think, extremely elegant and true to nature and Simonides. Bryant's version is not properly a version at all, and we suspect he never saw the original; but 'tis a very pretty little poem, and very natural, with the exception of the cold conceit in the last two lines of the penultimate stanza, which expresses a sentiment the very reverse of that which was at poor Danaë's heart, and which must be offensive to the feelings of any mother. Of the seven, by far the best, we think, is that of our esteemed friend, Mr Hay; nor do we doubt that such will be the opinion, too, of Mr Merivale and the Lord Chief Justice. Mr Hay is well known in Edinburgh as one of our most accomplished classical scholars, and those youths are fortunate who enjoy the benefit of his tuition. He has been kind enough to favour us with a few other translations, with which we shall adorn the second number of this Series.

"Thy quiet bosom only knows The heavy sigh of deep repose." Grown up people breathe hard in deep sleep; but the breath of Perseus, in his little purple cloak, we venture to affirm, was inaudible even to his mother's ear till she kissed his cheek, and what has become of the cloak? The passionate repetition of the same word "sleep," applied to wind, sea, and woe, is unaccountably -and it would almost seem purposely-lost in the version-and with it how much is gone! There are other flaws; yet the lines flow smoothly, and the translator laudably aims at a simplicity which he scarcely attains. Read without reference to the original, they are affecting,but with the original in our heart, they fade before "the tender-hearted scroll of pure Simonides." Elton's version shews the scholar. The meanings of all those comprehensive words, so difficult to the translator, are fully and accurately given; not a thought, a feeling, or an image is omitted; the emphasis is always laid on the right place; his heart and imagination are with the Danaë of Simonides. Blank verse is capable of any thing, and his blank verse is good; yet with the simple sweet words of the free-flowing Greek strain, "all impulses of soul and sense" still lingering with us, we feel for a while as if there were something heavy and cumbrous in the measure, and cannot

The true definition of the Greek Scolium appears to be, a short ode, or lyric composition, made to be sung or recited at banquets. Artemon of Cassandria, in his second book on the use of these Scolia, as we find in the fifteenth book of Athenæus, says, they are of three sortsthe first consisted of those songs which were sung by all the guests together, joining as in chorus; the second as sung by the guests, not together, but in regular succession; the third, as sung only by particular persons who were skilled in music, wherever placed at the table; and from these last being seated out of the common order, the songs were termed exoλia, from exodos, crooked, or being sung by every man in his own place. The examples given