Ήρως Αυτομέδων τε και Αλκιμος, οζος Άρηος,
Ποιπνυον παρεοντε" νεον δ' απεληγεν εδώδης

Εσθων και πινων, ετι και παρεκειτο τραπεζα.

'Τους δ' ελαθ ̓ εισελθων Πριαμος μέγας, αγχι δ' αρα στας,
Χερσιν Αχιλληος λαβε γούνατα, και κυσε χειρας
Δείνας, ανδροφόνους, αἱ οἱ πολεας κτάνον υιας.
Ως δ' όταν ανδρ' ατη πυκινη λάβη, όστ' ενι πατρη
Φωτα κατακτείνας, αλλων εξικετο δημον,
Ανδρος ες αφνειου, θαμβος δ' εχει εισορόωντας,
Ως Αχιλευς θαμβησεν, ιδων Πριαμον θεοειδέα
Θάμβησαν δε και αλλοι, ες αλληλους δε ίδοντο.
Τον και λισσομενος Πριαμος προς μυθον εειπεν

Μνησαι πατρος σειο, θεοις επιεικελ' Αχιλλεύ,
Τηλικου, ώσπερ εγων, ολόω επι γηραος ουδώ.
Και μεν που κεινον περιναιεται αμφις εόντες
Τειρουσ', ουδε τις εστιν αρην και λοιγον αμύναι
Αλλ' ήτοι κεινος γε, σεθεν ζωοντος ακούων,
Χαιρει τ' εν θυμώ, επι τ' ελπεται ηματα παντα
Οψεσθαι φιλον ύιον απο Τροιηθεν ιοντα
Αυταρ εγω παναποτμος, επει τεκον διας αριστους
Τροιη εν ευρείη, των δ' ουτινα φημι λελειφθαι.
Πεντηκοντα μοι ησαν, ότ' ηλυθον υιες Αχαιων
Εννεακαιδεκα μεν μοι της εκ νηδύος ησαν,
Τους δ' αλλους μοι ετικτον ενι μεγαροισι γυναίκες.
Τω μεν πολλων θουρος Άρης ύπο γουνατ' έλυσεν
Ως δε μοι οιος την, είρυτο δε αστυ και αυτούς,
Τον

ον συ πρώην κτεινας, αμυνομένον περὶ πατρης,

Έκτορα του νυν ινεχ' ἱκανω νηας Αχαιών,
Λυσομενος παρα σειο, φέρω δ' απερείσι' άποινα.
Αλλ' αιδειο θεούς, Αχιλευ, αυτον τ' ελεησον,
Μνησαμενος σου πατρος εγω δ' ελεεινότερος περ,
Ετλην δ', δι ουπω τις επιχθόνιος βροτος αλλος,
Ανδρος παιδοφόνοιο ποτι στομα χειρ' ορέγεσθαι.

Ως φατο τω δ' αρα πατρος ὑφ ̓ ἱμερον ώρσε γοοιο.
Αψάμενος Ꮄ αρα χειρος, απώσατο ηκα γέροντα.
Τω δε μνησαμένω, 8 μεν Έκτορος ανδροφόνοιο,
Κλαι' αδινα, προπαροιθε ποδων Αχιληος ελυσθεις
Αυταρ Αχιλλευς κλαιεν ἷον πατέρ', αλλοτε δ' αυτε
Πατροκλον των δε στονάχη κατα δωματ' ορώρει.
Αυταρ επει ῥα γοοιο τεταρπέτο διος Αχιλλευς,
Και δι απο πραπίδων ηλθ ̓ ἱμερος ηδ' απο γυιών,
Αυτικο απο θρονου ωρτο, γεροντα δε χειρος ανιστή
Οικτείρων πολιον τε καρη, πολιον τε γε ειον.

Iliad, Lib. xxίν., τ. 469.

So saying, Mercury vanished up to heaven:
And Priam then alighted from his chariot,
Leaving Idous with it, who remain'd

Holding the mules and horses; and the old man
Went straight in-doors, where the belov'd of Jove
Achilles sat, and found him. In the room
Were others, but apart; and two alone,
The hero Automedon, and Alcimus,

A branch of Mars, stood by him. They had been
At meals, and had not yet removed the board.
Great Priam came, without their seeing him,
And kneeling down, he clasp'd Achilles' knees,
And kiss'd those terrible, homicidal hands,
Which had deprived him of so many sons.
And as a man who is press'd heavily
For having slain another, flies away

To foreign lands, and comes into the house
Of some great man, and is beheld with wonder,
So did Achilles wonder to see Priam;

And the rest wonder'd, looking at each other.
But Priam, praying to him, spoke these words :-
"God-like Achilles, think of thine own father!

To the same age have we both come,

the same

Weak pass; and though the neighboring chiefs may vex
Him also, and his borders find no help,

Yet when he hears that thou art still alive,
He gladdens inwardly, and daily hopes
To see his dear son coming back from Troy.
But I, bereav'd old Priam! I had once
Brave sons in Troy, and now I cannot say
That one is left me. Fifty children had I,

When the Greeks came'; nineteen were of one womb;

The rest my women bore me in my house.

The knees of many of these fierce Mars has loosen'd;
And he who had no peer, Troy's prop and theirs,
Him hast thou kill'd now, fighting for his country,
Heotor; and for his sake am I come here
To ransom him, bringing a countless ransom.
But thou, Achilles, fear the gods, and think
Of thine own father, and have mercy on me;
For I am much more wretched, and have borne
What never mortal bore, I think, on earth,
To lift unto my lips the hand of him
Who slew my boys."

He ceased; and there arose

Sharp longing in Achilles for his father;
And taking Priam by the hand, he gently
Put him away; for both shed tears to think
Of other times; the one, most bitter ones
For Hector, and with wilful wretchedness
Lay right before Achilles: and the other,
For his own father now, and now his friend;

And the whole house might hear them as they moan'd.
But when divine Achilles had refresh'd

His soul with tears, and sharp desire had left
His heart and limbs, he got up from his throne,
And rais'd the old man by the hand, and took
Pity on his grey head and his grey chin.

O lovely and immortal privilege of genius! that can stretch its hand out of the wastes of time, thousands of years back, and touch our eyelids with tears. In these passages there is not a word which a man of the most matter-of-fact understanding might not have written, if he had thought of it. But in poetry, feeling and imagination are necessary to the perception and presentation even of matters of fact. They, and they only, see what is proper to be told, and what to be kept back; what is pertinent, affecting, and essential. Without feeling, there is a want of delicacy and distinction; without imagination, there is no true embodiment. In poets, even good of their kind, but without a genius for narration, the action would have been encumbered or diverted with ingenious mistakes. The over-contemplative would have given us too many remarks; the overlyrical, a style too much carried away; the over-fanciful, conceits and too many similes; the unimaginative, the facts without the feeling, and not even those. We should have been told nothing of the "grey chin," of the house hearing them as they moaned, or of Achilles gently putting the old man aside; much less of that yearning for his father, which made the hero tremble in every limb. Writers without the greatest passion and power do not feel in this way, nor are capable of expressing the feeling; though there is enough sensibility and imagination all over the world to enable mankind to be moved by it, when the poet strikes his truth into their hearts.

The reverse of imagination is exhibited in pure absence of

ideas, in commonplaces, and, above all, in conventional metaphor, or such images and their phraseology as have become the common property of discourse and writing. Addison's Cato is

full of them.

Passion unpitied and successless love
Plant daggers in my breast.

I've sounded my Numidians, man by man,
And find them ripe for a revolt.

The virtuous Marcia towers above her sex.

Of the same kind is his "courting the yoke"-" distracting my very heart"-" calling up all" one's "father" in one's soul"working every nerve"-" copying a bright example;" in short, the whole play, relieved now and then with a smart sentence or turn of words. The following is a pregnant example of plagiarism and weak writing. It is from another tragedy of Addison's time, the Mariamne of Fenton :

Mariamne, with superior charms,

Triumphs o'er reason: in her look she bears
A paradise of ever-blooming sweets;
Fair as the first idea beauty prints

In her young lover's soul; a winning grace
Guides every gesture, and obsequious love
Attends on all her steps.

"Triumphing o'er reason" is an old acquaintance of everybody's. "Paradise in her look" is from the Italian poets through Dryden. "Fair as the first idea," &c., is from Milton spoilt; "winning grace" and "steps" from Milton and Tibullus, both spoilt. Whenever beauties are stolen by such a writer, they are sure to be spoilt; just as when a great writer borrows, he improves.

To come now to Fancy,—she is a younger sister of Imagination, without the other's weight of thought and feeling. Imagi nation indeed, purely so called, is all feeling; the feeling of the subtlest and most affecting analogies; the perception of sympathies in the natures of things, or in their popular attributes. Fancy is sporting with their resemblance, real or supposed, and with airy and fantastical creations.

Rouse yourself; and the weak wanton Cupid
Shall from your neck unloose his amorous fold,
And, like a dew-drop from the lion's mane,
Be shook to air.

Troilus and Cressida, Act iii., sc. 3.

That is imagination ;-the strong mind sympathizing with the strong beast, and the weak love identified with the weak dewdrop.

Oh!-and I forsooth

In love! I that have been love's whip!

A very beadle to a humorous sigh !—
A domineering pedant o'er the boy,—

This whimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy,-
This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid,
Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms,
The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans, &c.

Love's Labor's Lost, Act iii., sc. 1.

That is fancy;-a combination of images not in their nature connected, or brought together by the feeling, but by the will and pleasure; and having just enough hold of analogy to betray it into the hands of its smiling subjector.

Silent icicles

Quietly shining to the quiet moon.

Coleridge's Frost at Midnight.

That, again, is imagination ;-analogical sympathy; and exquisite of its kind it is.

"You are now sailed into the north of my lady's opinion; where you will hang like an icicle on a Dutchman's beard, unless you do redeem it by some laudable attempt."

Twelfth Night, Act iii, sc. 2.

And that is fancy;-one image capriciously suggested by another, and but half connected with the subject of discourse; nay, half opposed to it; for in the gaiety of the speaker's animal spirits, the "Dutchman's beard" is made to represent the lady!

Imagination belongs to Tragedy, or the serious muse; Fancy