No More Learning

From the bed where now she's sleeping,
Soft the curtain I would slip;
Softly kiss her childlike forehead,
Soft the ruby of her lip.
And yet softer would I whisper
In the little lily ear,
"Think in dreams we still are loving,
Think I never lost thee, dear. "


## p. 7212 (#614) ###########################################

7212
HEINRICH HEINE
LIFE AND OLD AGE
From Book Le Grand': Translation of Charles G. Leland
O
THERS may, if they choose, enjoy the good fortune of having
their lady-love adorn their graves with garlands, and water
them with the tears of true love. O women! hate me,
laugh at me, mitten me, but let me live! Life is all too won-
drous sweet, and the world is so beautifully bewildered: it is the
dream of an intoxicated divinity who has taken French leave of
the tippling multitude of immortals, and has laid down to sleep
in a solitary star, and knows not himself that he also creates all
that which he dreams; and the dream images form themselves
often so fantastically wildly, and often so harmoniously and
reasonably. The Iliad, Plato, the battle of Marathon, Moses, the
Medicean Venus, the cathedral of Strasburg, the French Revolu-
tion, Hegel, and steamboats, etc. , etc. , are other good thoughts
in this divine dream: but it will not last long, and the immortal
one awakes and rubs his sleepy eyes, and smiles; and our world
has run to nothing-yes, has never been.
No matter-I live! If I am but the shadowy image in a
dream, still this is better than the cold black void annihilation of
death. Life is the greatest of blessings and death the worst of
evils.
And I live! The great pulsation of nature beats too in my
breast; and when I carol aloud, I am answered by a thousand-
fold echo. I hear a thousand nightingales. Spring hath sent
them to awaken earth from her morning slumber, and earth
trembles with ecstasy; her flowers are hymns, which she sings in
inspiration to the sun; the sun moves far too slowly: I would
fain lash on his steeds that they might advance more rapidly.
But when he sinks hissing in the sea, and the night rises with
her great eyes, oh then true pleasure first thrills through me
like a new life, the evening breezes lie like flattering maidens on
my wild heart, and the stars wink to me, and I rise and sweep
over the little earth and the little thoughts of mankind.
But a day must come when the fire of youth will be quenched
in my veins, when winter will dwell in my heart, when his
snowflakes will whiten my locks and his mists will dim my eyes.
Then my friends will lie in their weather-worn tombs, and I alone
will remain like a solitary stalk forgotten by the reaper. A new


## p. 7213 (#615) ###########################################

HEINRICH HEINE
7213
race will have sprung up, with new desires and new ideas; full
of wonder, I hear new names and listen to new songs, for the
old names are forgotten, and I myself am forgotten, perhaps hon-
ored by but few, scorned by many, and loved by none! And
then the rosy-cheeked boys will spring around me and place the
old harp in my trembling hand, and say laughing, "Thou indo-
lent gray-headed old man, sing us again songs of the dreams of
thy youth. "
Then I will grasp the harp, and my old joys and sorrows will
awake, the clouds will vanish, tears will again gleam on my pale
cheeks. Spring will bloom once more in my breast, sweet tones
of woe will tremble on the harp-strings. I shall see once more
the blue flood and the marble palaces and the lovely faces of
ladies and young girls, and I will sing a song of the flowers of
the Brenta.
It will be my last song; the stars will gaze on me as in the
nights of my youth, the loving moonlight will once more kiss my
cheeks, the spirit chorus of nightingales long dead will sound
flute-like from afar, my eyes intoxicated with sleep will softly
close, my soul will re-echo with the notes of my harp- perfume
breathes from the flowers of the Brenta.
A tree will shadow my grave. I would gladly have it a palm,
but that tree will not grow in the North. It will be a linden,
and of a summer evening lovers will sit there caressing; the
green-finches will be listening silently, and my linden will rustle
protectingly over the heads of the happy ones, who will be so
happy that they will have no time to read what is written on the
white tombstone. But when at a later day the lover has lost
his love, then he will come again to the well-known linden, and
sigh and weep, and gaze long and oft upon the stone until he
reads the inscription, "He loved the flowers of the Brenta. "
DÜSSELDORF
From Book Le Grand': Translation of Charles G. Leland
YES
Es, madam, there was I born; and I am particular in calling
attention to this fact, lest after my death seven cities—
those of Schilda, Krähwinkel, Polwitz, Bockum, Dülken,
Göttingen, and Schöppenstadt-should contend for the honor of
having witnessed my birth. Düsseldorf is a town on the Rhine


## p. 7214 (#616) ###########################################

HEINRICH HEINE
7214
where about sixteen thousand mortals live, and where many hun-
dred thousands are buried; and among them are many of whom
my mother says it were better if they were still alive,- for
example, my grandfather and my uncle, the old Herr van Geldern
and the young Herr van Geldern, who were both such celebrated
doctors and saved the lives of so many men, and yet at last
must both die themselves. And good pious Ursula, who bore
me when a child in her arms, also lies buried there, and a rose-
bush grows over her grave; she loved rose perfume so much in
her life, and her heart was all rose perfume and goodness. And
the shrewd old Canonicus also lies there buried. Lord, how
miserable he looked when I last saw him! He consisted of noth-
ing but soul and plasters, and yet he studied night and day as
though he feared lest the worms might find a few ideas missing
in his head. Little William also lies there, and that is my fault.
We were schoolmates in the Franciscan cloister, and were one
day playing on that side of the building where the Düssel flows
between stone walls, and I said, "William, do get the kitten out,
which has just fallen in! " and he cheerfully climbed out on the
board which stretched over the brook, and pulled the cat out of
the water, but fell in himself, and when they took him out he
was dripping and dead. The kitten lived to a good old age.
The town of Düsseldorf is very beautiful, and if you think of
it when in foreign lands, and happen at the same time to have
been born there, strange feelings come over the soul. I was born
there, and feel as if I must go directly home. And when I say
home, I mean the Völkerstrasse and the house where I was born.
This house will be some day very remarkable, and I have sent
word to the old lady who owns it that she must not for her life
sell it. For the whole house she would now hardly get as much
as the present which the green-veiled English ladies will give the
servant-girl when she shows them the room where I was born,
and the hen-house wherein my father generally imprisoned me
for stealing grapes, and also the brown door on which my mother
taught me to write with chalk-O Lord! madam, should I ever
become a famous author, it has cost my poor mother trouble
enough.
But my renown as yet slumbers in the marble quarries of
Carrara; the waste-paper laurel with which they have bedecked
my brow has not spread its perfume through the wide world; and
the green-veiled English ladies, when they visit Düsseldorf, leave


## p. 7215 (#617) ###########################################

HEINRICH HEINE
7215
the celebrated house unvisited, and go directly to the Market
Place and there gaze on the colossal black equestrian statue
which stands in its midst. This represents the Prince-Elector,
Jan Wilhelm. He wears black armor and a long hanging wig.
In those days princes were not the persecuted wretches which
they now are. Their crowns grew firmly on their heads, and at
night they drew their caps over them and slept in peace; and
their people slumbered calmly at their feet, and when they awoke
in the morning they said, "Good-morning, father! " and he re-
plied, "Good-morning, dear children! "
But there came a sudden change over all this; for one morn-
ing, when we awoke and would say, "Good-morning, father! "
the father had traveled away, and in the whole town there was
nothing but dumb sorrow. Everywhere there was a funeral-like
expression, and people slipped silently through the market and
read the long paper placed on the door of the town-house. It
was dark and lowering, yet the lean tailor Kilian stood in the
nankeen jacket which he generally wore only at home, and in
his blue woolen stockings, so that his little bare legs peeped out
as if in sorrow, and his thin lips quivered as he read murmur-
ingly the handbill. An old invalid soldier from the Palatine
read it in a somewhat louder tone, and little by little a trans-
parent tear ran down his white, honorable old mustache. I stood
near him, and asked why he wept? And he replied, "The
Prince-Elector has abdicated. " And then he read further, and at
the words "for the long-manifested fidelity of my subjects," "and
hereby release you from allegiance," he wept still more.
It is a
strange sight to see, when so old a man, in faded uniform, with
a scarred veteran's face, suddenly bursts into tears.
While we
read, the Princely-Electoral coat-of-arms was being taken down
from the Town Hall, and everything began to appear as miser-
ably dreary as though we were waiting for an eclipse of the
The gentlemen town councilors went about at an abdicating
wearisome gait; even the omnipotent beadle looked as though he
had no more commands to give, and stood calmly indifferent,
although the crazy Aloysius stood upon one leg and chattered
the names of French generals, while the tipsy, crooked Gumpertz
rolled around in the gutter, singing Ça ira! Ça ira!
sun.
But I went home, weeping and lamenting because "the Prince-
Elector had abducted! " My mother had trouble enough to ex-
plain the word, but I would hear nothing. I knew what I knew,


## p. 7216 (#618) ###########################################

7216
HEINRICH HEINE
and went weeping to bed, and in the night dreamed that the
world had come to an end; that all the fair flower gardens and
green meadows of the world were taken up and rolled up, and
put away like carpets and baize from the floor; that a beadle
climbed up on a high ladder and took down the sun; and that
the tailor Kilian stood by and said to himself, "I must go home.
and dress myself neatly, for I am dead and am to be buried this
afternoon. " And it grew darker and darker; a few stars glim-
mered sparely on high, and these at length fell down like yellow
leaves in autumn; one by one all men vanished, and I, a poor
child, wandered in anguish around, until, before the willow fence
of a deserted farm-house, I saw a man digging up the earth with
a spade, and near him an ugly spiteful-looking woman who held
something in her apron like a human head-but it was the
moon, and she laid it carefully in the open grave; and behind
me stood the Palatine invalid, sighing, and spelling "The Prince-
Elector has abducted. "
The next day the world was again all in order, and we had
school as before, and things were got by heart as before: the
Roman emperors, chronology, the nomina in im, the verba irregu-
laria, Greek, Hebrew, geography, German, mental arithmetic-
Lord! my head is still giddy with it! -all must be thoroughly
learned. And much of it was eventually to my advantage. For
had I not learned the Roman emperors by heart, it would subse-
quently have been a matter of perfect indifference to me whether
Niebuhr had or had not proved that they never really existed.
And had I not learned the numbers of the different years, how
could I ever in later years have found out any one in Berlin,
where one house is as like another as drops of water or as grena-
diers, and where it is impossible to find a friend unless you have
the number of his house in your head? Therefore I associated
with every friend some historical event which had happened in
a year corresponding to the number of his house, so that the
one recalled the other, and some curious point in history always
occurred to me whenever I met any one whom I visited. For
instance, when I met my tailor I at once thought of the battle
of Marathon; if I saw the banker Christian Gumpel, I remem-
bered the destruction of Jerusalem; if a Portuguese friend deeply
in debt, of the flight of Mahomet; if the university judge, a man
whose probity is well known, of the death of Haman; and if
Wadzeck, I was at once reminded of Cleopatra. Ah, heaven! the


## p. 7217 (#619) ###########################################

HEINRICH HEINE
7217
poor creature is dead now; our tears are dry, and we may say
of her with Hamlet, "Take her for all in all, she was an old
woman; we oft shall look upon her like again! " But as I said,
chronology is necessary. I know men who have nothing in their
heads but a few years, yet who know exactly where to look for.
the right houses, and are moreover regular professors.
But oh,
the trouble I had at school with my learning to count! and it
went even worse with the ready reckoning. I understood best of
all subtraction, and for this I had a very practical rule: "four
can't be taken from three, therefore I must borrow one;
» but I
advise all in such a case to borrow a few extra dollars, for no
one can tell what may happen.
THE PHILISTINE OF BERLIN
From (Italy)
I
AM the politest man in the world. I am happy in the reflec-
tion that I have never been rude in this life, where there are
so many intolerable scamps who take you by the button and
draw out their grievances, or even declaim their poems—yes,
with true Christian patience have I ever listened to their misereres
without betraying by a glance the intensity of ennui and of bore-
dom into which my soul was plunged. Like unto a penitential.
martyr of a Brahmin, who offers up his body to devouring ver-
min, so that the creatures (also created by God) may satiate their
appetites, so have I for a whole day taken my stand and calmly
listened as I grinned and bore the chattering of the rabble, and
my internal sighs were only heard by Him who rewards virtue.
But the wisdom of daily life enjoins politeness, and forbids a
vexed silence or a vexatious reply, even when some chuckle-
headed commercial councilor" or barren-brained cheesemonger
makes a set at us, beginning a conversation common to all Europe
with the words, "Fine weather to-day. " No one knows but that
we may meet that same Philistine again, when he may wreak
bitter vengeance on us for not politely replying, "It is very fine
weather. " Nay, it may even happen, dear reader, that thou
mayest, some fine day, come to sit by the Philistine aforesaid in
the inn at Cassel, and at the table d'hôte, even by his left side,
when he is exactly the very man who has the dish with a jolly
brown carp in it, which he is merrily dividing among the many.
XII-452


## p. 7218 (#620) ###########################################

7218
HEINRICH HEINE
If he now chance to have some ancient grudge against thee, he
pushes away the dish to the right, so that thou gettest not the
smallest bit of tail, and therewith canst not carp at all. For,
alas! thou art just the thirteenth at table, which is always an
unlucky thing when thou sittest at the left hand of the carver
and the dish goes around to the right. And to get no carp is a
great evil perhaps, next to the loss of the national cockade, the
greatest of all. The Philistine who has prepared this evil now
mocks thee with a heavy grin, offering thee the laurel leaves
which lie in the brown sauce. Alas! what avail laurels, if you
have no carp with them; and the Philistine twinkles his eyes
and snickers, and whispers, "Fine weather to-day! "
Ah! dear soul, it may even happen to thee that thou wilt at
last come to lie in some church-yard next to that same Philistine,
and when on the Day of Judgment thou hearest the trumpet
sound, and sayest to thy neighbor, "Good friend, be so kind as
to reach me your hand, if you please, and help me to stand up;
my left leg is asleep with this damned long lying still! "-then
thou wilt suddenly remember the well-known Philistine laugh,
and wilt hear the mocking tones of "Fine weather to-day! "
"Foine wey-ther to-day! "
-
O reader, if you could only have heard the tone - the incom-
parable treble-base-in which these words were uttered, and
could have seen the speaker himself,- the arch-prosaic, widow's-
savings-bank countenance, the stupid-cute eyelets, the cocked-up,
cunning, investigating nose,—you would at once have said, "This
flower grew on no common sand, and these tones are in the dia-
lect of Charlottenburg, where the tongue of Berlin is spoken even
better than in Berlin itself. "
I am the politest man in the world. I love to eat brown
carps, and I believe in the resurrection. Therefore I replied,
"In fact, the weather is very fine. "
When the son of the Spree heard that, he grappled boldly on
me, and I could not escape from his endless questions, to which
he himself answered; nor, above all, from his comparisons be-
tween Berlin and Munich, which latter city he would not admit
had a single good hair growing on it.
I, however, took the modern Athens under my protection,
being always accustomed to praise the place where I am. Friend
reader, if I did this at the expense of Berlin, you will forgive
me when I quietly confess that it was done out of pure policy,


## p. 7219 (#621) ###########################################

HEINRICH HEINE
7219
for I am fully aware that if I should ever begin to praise my
good Berliners, my renown would be forever at an end among
them; for they would begin at once to shrug their shoulders, and
whisper to one another, "The man must be uncommonly green:
he even praises us! " No town in the world has so little local
patriotism as Berlin. A thousand miserable poets have, it is
true, long since celebrated Berlin both in prose and in rhyme,
yet no cock in Berlin crowed their praise and no hen was cooked
for them, and "under the Lindens" they were esteemed miser-
able poets as before.
But after all, between you and me, reader, when it comes
to calling the whole town "a new Athens," the designation is a
little absurd; and it costs me not a little trouble to represent it
in this light. This went home to my very heart in the dialogue
with the Berlin Philister, who, though he had conversed for
some time with me, was unpolite enough to find an utter want
of the first grain of Attic salt in the new Athens.
"That," he cried tolerably loudly, "is only to be found in
Berlin. There, and there only, is wit and irony. Here they
have good white beer, but no irony. "
"No, we haven't got irony," cried Nannerl, the pretty, well-
formed waiting-maid, who at this instant sprang past us; "but
you can have any other sort of beer. "
It grieved me to the heart that Nannerl should take irony to
be any sort of beer, were it even the best brew of Stettin; and
to prevent her from falling in future into such errors, I began
to teach her after the following wise:-"Pretty Nannerl, irony
is not beer, but an invention of the Berlin people,- the wisest
folks in the world,-who were awfully vexed because they came.
too late into the world to invent gunpowder, and therefore under-
took to find out something which should answer as well. Once
upon a time, my dear, when a man had said or done something
stupid, how could the matter be helped? That which was done
could not be undone, and people said that the man was an ass.
That was disagreeable. In Berlin, where the people are shrewd-
est, and where the most stupid things happen, the people soon
found out the inconvenience. The government took hold of the
matter vigorously: only the greater blunders were allowed to
be printed, the lesser were simply suffered in conversation; only
professors and high officials could say stupid things in public,
lesser people could only make asses of themselves in private:


## p. 7220 (#622) ###########################################

HEINRICH HEINE
7220
but all of these regulations were of no avail; suppressed stupidi-
ties availed themselves of extraordinary opportunities to come to
light, those below were protected by those above, and the emer-
gency was terrible, until some one discovered a reactionary means
whereby every piece of stupidity could change its nature, and
even be metamorphosed into wisdom. The process is altogether
plain and easy, and consists simply in a man's declaring that
the stupid word or deed of which he has been guilty was meant
ironically. So, my dear girl, all things get along in this world:
stupidity becomes irony, toadyism which has missed its aim
becomes satire, natural coarseness is changed to artistic raillery,
real madness is humor, ignorance real wit, and thou thyself art
finally the Aspasia of the modern Athens. "
I would have said more, but pretty Nannerl, whom I had up
to this point held fast by the apron-string, broke away loose by
main force, as the entire band of assembled guests began to roar
for "A beer! a beer! " in stormy chorus. But the Berliner him-
self looked like irony incarnate as he remarked the enthusiasm
with which the foaming glasses were welcomed, and after point-
ing to a group of beer-drinkers who toasted their hop nectar and
disputed as to its excellence, he said smiling, "Those are your
Athenians! "
HEINE'S VISIT TO GOETHE
WHE
THEN I visited him in Weimar, and stood before him, I
involuntarily glanced at his side to see whether the eagle
was not there with the lightning in his beak. I was
nearly speaking Greek to him; but as I observed that he under-
stood German, I stated to him in German that the plums on the
road between Jena and Weimar were very good. I had for so
many long winter nights thought over what lofty and profound.
things I would say to Goethe, if ever I saw him—and when I
saw him at last, I said to him that the Saxon plums were very
good! And Goethe smiled.
Translation of Stern and Snodgrass.


## p. 7221 (#623) ###########################################

7221
HELIODORUS
(Fourth Century A. D. )
KUR English — or more generally, our modern — novel is the
progeny of the Greek romance of Heliodorus. If the self-
respecting, simple-minded old bishop could have foreseen the
vast concourse of the children of his mind, as numerous as the sands
of his native Syria, would he have suppressed it? A legend still pre-
served leads one to think he would not; for Heliodorus, according to
the account, had the courage of his romance-writing. The story says
that after some Thessalian young persons, in the fourth century, had
been misled to love by this Ethiopica of Heliodorus, the synod of
the Church decreed that such amorous and inflaming literature should
be committed to the flames, or the author deprived of his bishopric
of Tricca. To the glory of Heliodorus, it should be added that he
preferred resigning his prelacy to suppressing his genius.
Heliodorus was not the first romance writer. Other Greeks had
humanized Oriental allegory, parable, and fictitious narrative,-the
Greek race was wont to humanize whatever of outlandish art or
religion came to it; and the Greek story-tellers, even before the
Bishop of Tricca, made their heroes men and their heroines women,
living natural lives without the intervention of genii or magic. But
the tales of these forerunners have not been saved except in sum-
maries. It was Heliodorus whose art so charmed that it preserved
his little tales, and became a model for Longus, Achilles Tatius, and
others who came after him. There is no better example in all liter-
ature of the quiet, silent working through centuries of a book of
genuine human value. To his contemporaries Heliodorus was of so
small value that the closing sentence of his romance "Thus endeth
the Ethiopian historie of Theagenes and Cariclia, the author wereof
is Heliodorus of Emesos, a citie in Phoenicia, sonne of Theodosius,
which fetched his petigree from the Sunne » - is about all the record
we have of him.
His romance was brought to modern light by a German soldier,
who in the plunder of a library at Buda in 1526, attracted by the rich
binding of a manuscript, stole it. He brought his treasure westward
and sold it to Vincent Obsopæus, who published it in Basle in 1534.
"Until this period," says Huet in his treatise on the origin of ro-
mances (Huet was a courtier of Louis XIV. ), "nothing had been seen


## p. 7222 (#624) ###########################################

7222
HELIODORUS
better conceived or better executed than those adventures of The-
agenes and Chariclea. Nothing can be more chaste than their loves,
in which the author's own virtuous mind assists the religion of Christ-
ianity, which he professed, in diffusing over the whole work that air
of honnêteté in which almost all the earlier romances are deficient.
The incidents are numerous, novel, probable, and skillfully unfolded.
The dénouement is admirable: it is natural; it grows out of the sub-
ject; and it is in the highest degree touching and pathetic. " Quickly
told, the story is this. The lovers-Chariclea, a priestess of Delphi,
and Theagenes, a descendant of Achilles-fly to Egypt. After many
adventures and misfortunes, they come to Ethiopia and are about
to suffer immolation to the sun and moon, when it is revealed that
Chariclea is the daughter of the king reigning in that country. By
a miracle she had been born white. The marriage of the lovers
follows.
In 1547 Jacques Amyot translated the story into French. It also
found a translation into several other languages, and has exerted
a wide influence upon fictitious narrative. It was universally read.
"Heliodorus, that good Bishop of Tricca," says Montaigne in one of
his essays, "rather chose to lose the dignity, profit, and devotion of
so venerable a prelacy than to lose his daughter: a daughter that
continues to this day very graceful and comely; but notwithstanding,
peradventure a little too curiously and wantonly trickt, and too amor-
ous, for an ecclesiastical and sacerdotal daughter. " In this century
of the reappearance also,- the century in which Montaigne wrote,-
Tasso, promising the courtiers of the French King that such favorite
reading of theirs should be preserved in the glories of Italian verse,
transferred to the heroine Clorinda the incidents of the birth and
early life of Chariclea; Tasso's friend Guarini imitated the proposed
sacrifice and the discovery of the birth of Chariclea in his pastoral
drama 'Pastor Fido. ' The boyhood of Racine, it is also said, was
lighted by Heliodorus's story; for when at Port Royal, his imagina-
tion well-nigh smothered by the mass of dry erudition the monks
had heaped upon him, he came by chance upon this romance. The
fathers burnt the first copy, and the second, and a third, but the
mischief had been done; Racine's imagination had been saved, and
throughout his life the story was beloved of him. Both French and
English writers of tragedy have used the plot for plays; and Raphael,
aided by Giulio Romano, took two of the most striking incidents of
the story for his canvases. In one he has painted the moment when
Theagenes and Chariclea meet in the temple of Delphi; in the other,
Chariclea on board the Tyrian ship is imploring the captain of the
pirates that she may not be separated from her lover and the Egyp-
tian priest. Says Charles Whibley in his Introduction to the romance:


## p. 7223 (#625) ###########################################

HELIODORUS
7223
«The invention of Heliodorus carries the reader far away from life and
observation. Bloodthirsty pirates and armed men, caves and ambushes, dreams
and visions, burnings, poisonings, and sudden deaths, battle and rapine,—
these are the material of his ancient story. . . . It is in his opening scene
that Heliodorus best approves his skill. He plunges at once into a very
tangle of events, and captures the attention by a fearless contempt of prologue
and explanation.
Throughout, the author shows himself a master of
construction. Though his plot be involved, though his story begin anywhere
else than at the beginning, it is the surest of hands which holds the thread.
. . The purpose of the narrative is never confused, and you reach the
appointed end with a complete consciousness of the story's shape and con-
struction.
For him the adventure was the beginning and the end of
art.
There was never a writer who closed his senses more resolutely to
the sights and sounds of actuality. In him the faculty of observation was
replaced by the self-consciousness of the littérateur. Not even his vocabulary
was fresh or original.
Coray, the wisest of his editors, has proved that he
borrowed his words as ingeniously as he concocted his episodes.
His prose,
in fact, is elaborately composed of tags from Homer and the Tragedians. »
.
•
The Greek text has been many times edited,- most successfully
by Coray, whose edition appeared in Paris in 1804. The following
are two episodes taken from the English version of Underdowne - "An
Ethiopian Historie written in Greeke by Heliodorus no lesse wittie
then pleasaunt Englished by Thomas Underdowne and newly cor-
rected and augmented with divers and sundry new additions by the
said authour whereunto is also annexed the argument of every booke
in the beginning of the same for the better understanding of the
storie. 1587. " The relation to the Greek original is often remote or
casual; the version is of great independent value, however, as a
monument of English prose.
THE LOVERS
From The First Booke
As
S SOONE as the day appeared and the Sunne began to shine
on the tops of the hilles, men whose custome was to live
by rapine and violence ranne to the top of a hill that
stretched towards the mouth of Nylus called Heracleot: where
standing awhile they viewed the sea underneath them, and when
they had looked a good season a far off into the same, and could
see nothing that might put them in hope of pray, they cast their
eyes somewhat neare the shoare: where a shippe, tyed with cables
to the maine land, lay at road, without sailers, and full fraughted,
which thing they who were a farre of might easily conjecture:


## p. 7224 (#626) ###########################################

HELIODORUS
7224
for the burden caused the shippe to drawe water within the
bourdes of the decke. But on the shore every place was ful of
men, some quite dead, some halfe dead, some whose bodies yet
panted, and plainly declared that there had ben a battell fought
of late.
But there could be seene no signes or tokens of any just
quarell, but there seemed to be an ill and unluckie banket, and
those that remained, obtained such ende. For the tables were
furnished with delicate dishes, some whereof laie in the handes
of those that were slaine, being in steede of weapons to some of
them in the battaile, so souddenly begunne. Others covered such
as crope under them to hide themselves, as they thought. Be-
sides, the cuppes were overthrowen, and fell out of the handes,
either of them that dranke, or those who had in steade of stones
used them. For that soudaine mischiefe wrought newe devises,
and taught them in steade of weapons to use their pottes. Of
those who lay there, one was wounded with an axe, an other was
hurte with the shelles of fishes, whereof on the shore there was
great plentie, an other was al to crushed with a lever, many
burnt with fire, and the rest by divers other meanes, but most of
all were slaine with arrowes. To be briefe, God shewed a won-
derful sight in so shorte time, bruing bloude with wine, joyning
battaile with banketting, mingling indifferently slaughters with
drinkings, and killing with quaffinges, providing such a sight for
the theeves of Egypt to gaze at.
For they, when they had given these thinges the lookinge-on
a good while from the hill, coulde not understande what that
sight meante: for asmuch as they saw some slaine there, but the
conquerors coulde they see no where; a manifest victorie but no
spoyls taken away; a shippe without mariners onely, but as con-
cerning other things untouched, as if shee had beene kept with a
garde of many men, and lay at road in a faulse harboure. But
for all that they knew not what that thing meant, yet they had
respect to their lucre and gaine.
When therefore they had determined that themselves were the
victors, they drewe neare unto the same: and not being farre
from the ship and those that were slaine, they saw a sight more
perplexed then the rest a great deale. A maid endued with
excellent beautie, which also might be supposed a goddesse, sate
uppon a rocke, who seemed not a little to bee grieved with that
present mischaunce, but for al that of excellent courage: she had


## p. 7225 (#627) ###########################################

HELIODORUS
7225
a garland of laurell on her head, a quiver on her backe, and in
her lefte hand a bowe, leaning upon her thigh with her other
hande, and looking downewarde, without moving of her head,
beholding a certaine young man a good way off, the which was
sore wounded, and seemed to lift up himselfe as if he had bin
wakened out of a deep sleepe, almost of death it selfe: yet was
he in this case of singular beautie, and for all that his cheekes
were besprinkled with bloude, his whitenes did appeare so much
the more. He was constrained for griefe to cloase his eyes,
yet caused he the maide to looke stedfastly upon him, and these
things must they needs see, because they saw her. But as soone
as he came to him selfe a little, he uttered these words very
faintly. And art thou safe in deede my sweet hart, quoth hee?
or else hast thou with thy death by any mischance augmented
this slaughter? Thou canst not, no, not by death, be separated
from me.
But of the fruition of thy sight and thy life, doeth all
mine estate depend. Yea in you (answered the maide) doeth my
whole fortune consist, whither I shall live or die; and for this
cause, you see (shewing a knife in her hande) this was hetherto
readie, but only for your recovering was restrayned. And as
soone as shee had saide thus, she leapt from the stone, and they
who were on the hill, as well for wonder as also for the feare
they had, as if they had beene stricken with lightning, ranne
everie man to hide them in the bushes there beside. For she
seemed to them a thing of greater price, and more heavenlie,
when she stoode upright, and her arrowes with the sudden mov-
ing of her bodie, gave a clashe on her shoulders, her apparrell
wrought with golde glistered against the Sunne, and her haire
under her garlande, blowen about with the winde, covered a
great part of her backe. The theeves were greatly afraide of
these thinges, the rather for that they understoode not what that
should meane which they sawe. Some of them said indeede it
was a Goddesse and Diana, other said it was Isis, which was
honoured there: but some of them said it was some Priest of the
Gods, that replenished with Divine furie had made the great
slaughter which there appeared; and thus everie man gave his
verdite, because they knewe not the trueth. But she hastilie
running to the young man embraced him, wept for sorrow,
kissed him, wiped away his bloud, and made pitiful mone, being
very carefull for his safetie.


## p. 7226 (#628) ###########################################

7226
HELIODORUS
THEAGENES AND THE BULL
From The Tenth Booke
Α
S SOONE as Hidaspes had in fewe woordes declared to the peo-
ple his victorie, and what he had done else luckily for the
common wealth, he commanded them who had to do with
the holy affaires to beginne their sacrifice. There were three
altars made: two which appertained to the Sunne and Moon were
set together; the third thus was Bacchus, was erected a good
way off; to him they sacrificed al manner of living things, because
that his power is wel knowen, as I suppose, and pleaseth all.
Uppon the other altars to the Sunne were offered young white
horses, and to the Moone a yoke of oxen, by reason that they
helpe them in their husbandrie. Not farre from thence, while
these thinges were in doing, there was a soudaine uncertain voice
heard (as is like would be among such a multitude) which cried:
Let the sacrifice which our countrie accustometh to do, be now
made for all our safeties, then let the first fruits that were got-
ten in the war be offered.
Hidaspes perceived that they called for humane sacrifices,
which are woont to be offered of those that are taken in straung
warres; and beckoned with hand, and told them that he would
by and by doo what they required; and therewith he commaunded
the prisoners appointed for the purpose to be brought foorth,
among whom came Theagenes, and Cariclia, not bound, but
garded about with men: all the other were heavie,- and good
reason why,― saving Theagenes; and Cariclia smiled, and went
with a cheerefull countenaunce.
At the altar of the
Moone stoode two bullockes; and at the altar of the Sunne foure
white horses, to be sacrificed: when the monstrous and strounge
beast came in sight, they were as sore troubled, and afraid as if
they had sene a sprite; and one of the bulles, which as might be
thought sawe the beast alone, and two horses, brake out of their
handes that helde them, and ranne about as fast as they could:
mary, they could not breake out of the compasse of the army,
because the souldiers with their shieldes had made as it were a
wall round; but they ranne here and there, and overthrewe all
that stoode in their way, were it vessel or anything els; so that
there was a great shout, as well of those to whome they came
for feare, as also for joy and pleasure that other had to see them
overrunne their mates, and tread them under their feete.


## p. 7227 (#629) ###########################################

HELIODORUS
7227
Then Theagenes, either moved with his own manly courage
or else sturred forwarde with strength sent him of God, when
he sawe his keepers that attended uppon him dispersed here and
there, with the tumulte start up soudainely (for before he kneeled.
at the altar, and looked every minute to be slaine) and tooke up
a cleft sticke, whereof there lay a great many upon the altar, and
leapt uppon one of the horses that was broken loose, and holding
him by the mane in steede of a bridle, and with his heeles and
the cleft sticke making him to go, folowed the Bull. At the first
every man thought that Theagenes would have bene gone, and
therefore incouraged one another that they would not let him goe
out of compasse of the souldiers. But by that hee did after, they
sawe he did it not for feare, not to avoid the sacrificing: for when
he had overtaken the Bull, in verie short time, he tooke him by
the taile, and drave him forward of purpose to weary him in
making him runne faster, which way so ever he went, hee fol-
lowed after him, and with great skill so tooke heede to his shorte
turnes that they hurt him not. After he had acquainted the Bull
with this, he rode at his side, so neare that their skinnes touched,
and their breathes and sweatte were mingled together, and he
made them keepe so equall a course too, that those who were a
farre off deemed that they had bene made but one, and com-
mended Theagenes to the heavens, that had so straungly yoked
a horse and a Bull together.
And upon this looked all the people; but when Cariclia saw it,
shee trembled and quaked, because she knew not what hee meant,
and was as sore afraide of his hurte, if he should by ill happe
have a fall, as if she should have bene slaine herselfe.
Theagenes, after he had let the horse runne as faste as he coulde,
so long till his breast was equall with the Bulles head, he let him
go at libertie, and fell upon the Bulles head betweene his hornes,
and cast his armes about his head like a garlande, and clasped
his fingers on his forhead before, and let the rest of his body
hang downe by the right shoulder of him. So that the Bull in
going hurt him a little. After Theagenes perceived that he was
weary with the great burthen, and his muscles were faint with
too much travell, and that hee came before the place where
Hydaspes sate, he turned himselfe before and set his feete before
the Bull, who beatte upon his hoofes stil, and so tripped him.
He being let of his course, and overcome with the strength of
the young man, fell downe upon his head and shoulders, so that


## p. 7228 (#630) ###########################################

7228
HELIODORUS
his hornes stucke so fast in the ground, that he could not move
his head, and his feete stoode upward, with which he sprawled in
vaine a great while, and by his feeblenes declared that he was
overcome. Theagenes lay uppon him, and with his left hand
held him downe, but lifted his right hand up to heaven, and
looked merrilie upon Hydaspes and all that were there els, who
laughed and were much delighted with that sight, and they heard
that the Bull with his lowing declared the famousnesse of the
victorie, as wel as if it had beene declared with a trumpet. On
the other side was a great shoute of the people, that said plainly
nothing that one could understand to his praise, but with their
wide throates and gaping mouthes (as in like assemblies doeth
oft happen) they seemed to extoll him to the heavens with one
consent.


## p. 7229 (#631) ###########################################

7229
FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS
(1793-1835)
F MRS. HEMANS, the critical Gilfillan said that she was "no
Sibyl, but the most feminine writer of the age," and that
"She sat before her lyre, not touching it with awful rever-
ence as though each string were a star, nor using it as the mere con-
ductor to her overflowing thoughts, but regarding it as the soother
and sustainer of her own high-wrought emotions - a graceful alias of
herself. "
-
It was because of this peace, sweetness, and high serenity, that for
two generations her poetry found so full a response in the minds of
all English-speaking women of taste and
refinement, who recognized in it the har-
monious expression of their own emotions
and sentiments. Thus she became a house-
hold poet not only in England but in the
United States, where she was so popular
that she was invited to conduct a magazine
in Boston, while most American visitors
to England made pilgrimages to see her.
Many of her poems, like 'Casabianca,' 'The
Graves of a Household,' 'Child amid the
Flowers at Play,' 'Bernardo del Carpio,'
FELICIA D. HEMANS
The Better Land,' and 'The Burial of Will-
iam the Conqueror,' long ago attained the
immortality of school-books, and are known
by heart among innumerable readers to whom the name of Mrs.
Hemans is a name only.

Felicia Dorothea Browne was born in Liverpool, September 25th,
1793, and brought up in Wales, whither her father shortly removed.
The little girl was early noted for her "extreme beauty and preco-
cious talents. ' She was particularly fond of Shakespeare, and read
his plays "in a secret haunt of her own-a seat among the branches
of an old apple-tree, where she reveled in the treasures of the cher-
ished volume. " At the age of fourteen she published her first poems.
At eighteen she was married to Captain Hemans, of the British army.
Six years afterwards, the marriage proving an unhappy one, they
separated, the husband going abroad and the wife devoting her life
to her five sons. Yet the busy mother and teacher found much time
for writing, won several prizes for her poems, and attained a wide


## p. 7230 (#632) ###########################################

7230
FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS
literary fame. Her drama 'The Vespers of Palermo' was represented,
unsuccessfully, at Covent Garden in 1823. Her own keen criticism of
her Storm-Painter'-"it seemed all done in pale water-colors » — is
equally true of this tragedy.
In 1825 she settled in Rhyllon, Wales, the country of her deepest
affection. There "An atmosphere of home gathered round the dwell-
ing," writes her sister; "roses were planted and honeysuckles trained,
and the rustling of the solitary poplar near her window was taken
into her heart like the voice of a friend. The dingle became a favor-
ite haunt, where she would pass many hours of dream-like enjoyment
with her books and her own sweet fancies, her children playing round
her. " Here she wrote 'Records of Women' (1828), which she said
contained most of her "heart and individual feelings"; though all her
work, of which she published eighteen separate volumes, is marked
by absolute sincerity, careful and melodious versification, and lofty
feeling. In 1829 Mrs. Hemans visited Walter Scott, a visit vividly
described in her letters. He admired her greatly, but not her verses,
for he told Joanna Baillie that she had "too many flowers and too
little fruit. " The severe Jeffrey, on the other hand, declared that
she was "beyond all comparison the most touching and accomplished
writer of occasional verses that our literature has yet to boast of";
while Alison pronounced her the equal of Coleridge, "if not in depth
of thought, at least in tenderness of feeling and beauty of expres-
sion. " He added that she "required only to have written a little less
to have been one of the greatest lyric poets that England ever pro-
duced. " Wordsworth was very fond of her, saying that "in quickness
of mind she had, within the range of his acquaintance, no equal. "
At Rydal Mount he thought her talk delightful, as they strolled
through his favorite vales or clambered along the mountain paths
above Grasmere Lake. In his 'Epitaphs' he wrote —
"Mourn rather for that holy spirit
Sweet as the spring, as ocean deep;
For her who, ere her summer faded,
Has sunk into a breathless sleep. "
Many of her shorter poems appeared in the ephemeral style of her
day, for "editors of little books in silken trimmings were always on
their knees before her. " Beautiful and winning to the end, she spent
her last years at the house of her brother in Dublin, where she
charmed a brilliant literary coterie. There at the early age of forty-
one she died.
A collective edition of Mrs. Hemans's 'Poems' in seven volumes
was published in 1839 by her sister, Mrs. Hughes, who also wrote a
'Memoir. ' Several American editions were issued from 1825 to 1850,
and a modern edition was published by W. M. Rossetti (London, 1873).


## p. 7231 (#633) ###########################################

FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS
7231
THE HOMES OF ENGLAND
HE stately homes of England!
How beautiful they stand
Amidst their tall ancestral trees,
O'er all the pleasant land!
The deer across their greensward bound
Through shade and sunny gleam;
And the swan glides past them with the sound
Of some rejoicing stream.
THE
The merry homes of England!
Around their hearths by night
What gladsome looks of household love
Meet in the ruddy light!
There woman's voice flows forth in song,
Or childhood's tale is told;
Or lips move tunefully along
Some glorious page of old.
The blessed homes of England!
How softly on their bowers
Is laid the holy quietness
That breathes from Sabbath hours!
Solemn, yet sweet, the church-bell's chime
Floats through their woods at morn;
All other sounds in that still time
Of breeze and leaf are born.
The cottage homes of England!
By thousands on her plains
They are smiling o'er the silvery brooks
And round the hamlet fanes.
Through glowing orchards forth they peep,
Each from its nook of leaves;
And fearless there the lowly sleep,
As the birds beneath their eaves.
The free, fair homes of England!
Long, long, in hut and hall,
May hearts of native proof be reared
To guard each hallowed wall!
And green forever be the groves,
And bright the flowery sod,
Where first the child's glad spirit loves
Its country and its God!


## p. 7232 (#634) ###########################################

7232
FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS
THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS IN NEW ENGLAND
THE
HE breaking waves dashed high
On a stern and rock-bound coast,
And the woods against a stormy sky
Their giant branches tossed;
And the heavy night hung dark
The hills and waters o'er,
When a band of exiles moored their bark
On the wild New England shore.
Not as the conqueror comes,
They, the true-hearted, came;
Not with the roll of the stirring drums,
And the trumpet that sings of fame:
Not as the flying come,
In silence and in fear;-
They shook the depths of the desert gloom
With their hymns of lofty cheer.
Amidst the storm they sang,
And the stars heard, and the sea;
And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang
To the anthem of the free.
The ocean eagle soared
From his nest by the white wave's foam,
And the rocking pines of the forest roared,—
This was their welcome home.
There were men with hoary hair
Amidst that pilgrim band:
Why had they come to wither there,
Away from their childhood's land?
There was woman's fearless eye,
Lit by her deep love's truth;
There was manhood's brow serenely high,
And the fiery heart of youth.
What sought they thus afar?
Bright jewels of the mine?
The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? -
They sought a faith's pure shrine!


## p. 7233 (#635) ###########################################

FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS
L'
Ay, call it holy ground,
The soil where first they trod;
They have left unstained what there they found,—
Freedom to worship God.
THE HOUR OF DEATH
EAVES have their time to fall,
And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath,
And stars to set; but all-
Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!
Day is for mortal care,
Eve for glad meetings round the joyous hearth,
Night for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer--
But all for thee, thou mightiest of the earth!
The banquet hath its hour,
Its feverish hour of mirth, and song, and wine;
There comes a day for grief's o'erwhelming power,
A time for softer tears-but all are thine.
Youth and the opening rose
May look like things too glorious for decay,
And smile at thee-but thou art not of those
That wait the ripened bloom to seize their prey.
Leaves have their time to fall,
And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath,
And stars to set; but all—
Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!
We know when moons shall wane,
When summer birds from far shall cross the sea,
When autumn's hues shall tinge the golden grain-
But who shall teach us when to look for thee?
Is it when spring's first gale
Comes forth to whisper where the violets lie?
Is it when roses in our paths grow pale?
They have one season - all are ours to die!
-
Thou art where billows foam,
Thou art where music melts upon the air;
Thou art around us in our peaceful home;
And the world calls us forth and thou art there.
XII-453
7233
-


## p. 7234 (#636) ###########################################

FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS
7234
Thou art where friend meets friend,
Beneath the shadow of the elm to rest;
Thou art where foe meets foe, and tempests rend
The skies, and swords beat down the princely crest.
Leaves have their time to fall,
And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath,
And stars to set; but all-
Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!
THE LOST PLEIAD
Α
ND is there glory from the heavens departed?
O void unmarked! -thy sisters of the sky
Still hold their place on high,
Though from its rank thine orb so long hath started,-
Thou that no more art seen of mortal eye.
Hath the night lost a gem, the regal night?
She wears her crown of old magnificence,
Though thou art exiled thence;
No desert seems to part those urns of light,
Midst the far depth of purple gloom intense.
They rise in joy, the starry myriads burning:
The shepherd greets them on his mountains free;
And from the silvery sea
To them the sailor's wakeful eye is turning --
Unchanged they rise, they have not mourned for thee.
Couldst thou be shaken from thy radiant place,
E'en as a dewdrop from the myrtle spray,
Swept by the wind away?
Wert thou not peopled by some glorious race,
And was there power to smite them with decay?
Why, who shall talk of thrones, of sceptres riven?
Bowed be our hearts to think of what we are,
When from its height afar
A world sinks thus-and yon majestic heaven
Shines not the less for that one vanished star!


## p. 7235 (#637) ###########################################

FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS
THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP
'HAT hid'st thou in thy treasure-caves and cells,
WHA Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious main?
Pale glistening pearls and rainbow-colored shells,
Bright things which gleam unrecked-of and in vain!
Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy Sea!
We ask not such from thee.
Yet more - the depths have more! What wealth untold,
Far down and shining through their stillness, lies!
Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold,
Won from ten thousand royal argosies!
Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful main!
Earth claims not these again.
Yet more - the depths have more! Thy waves have rolled
Above the cities of a world gone by;
Sand hath filled up the palaces of old,
Seaweed o'ergrown the halls of revelry.
Dash o'er them, Ocean, in thy scornful play!
Man yields them to decay.
Yet more
the billows and the depths have more!
High hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast!
They hear not now the booming waters' roar,
The battle thunders will not break their rest.
Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave!
Give back the true and brave!
7235
Give back the lost and lovely! those for whom
The place was kept at board and hearth so long!
The prayer went up through midnight's breathless gloom,
And the vain yearning woke 'midst festal song.
Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o'erthrown -
But all is not thine own.
―
To thee the love of woman hath gone down;
Dark flow thy tides o'er manhood's noble head,
O'er youth's bright locks, and beauty's flowery crown;
Yet must thou hear a voice: Restore the dead!
Earth shall reclaim her precious things from thee-
Restore the dead, thou Sea!


## p. 7236 (#638) ###########################################

7236
WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY
(1849-)
OR an author of reputation so extended, Mr. Henley's work is
singularly limited in amount, consisting only of a few small
volumes of poetry and essays. These books, however, rep-
resent a wide range of study and thought. William Ernest Henley
was born in Gloucester, England, in 1849, and was educated in his
native city. In 1875 he began to write for the London magazines,
and edited for two years a short-lived journal called London, in which
many of his verses first appeared. In 1889 he became editor of the
Scots Observer (now the National Observer),
and afterwards of the New Review, pub-
lished in London, where he lives. This
monthly is representative of the younger
schools and late developments in literature.

WILLIAM E. HENLEY
His critical essays contributed to the
Saturday Review, the Athenæum, and other
journals, were published in 1890 as 'Views
and Reviews. ' In 1873 appeared 'In Hos-
pital: Rhymes and Rhythms,' and in 1888
a small 'Book of Verses,' followed by The
Song of the Sword,' published in 1892.
Two volumes, 'Lyra Heroica' and an an-
thology of English prose, were prepared by
him; and he also wrote with Robert Louis
Stevenson a volume of plays, published in 1893, of which 'Beau
Austin' was acted at the Haymarket Theatre with great success.
With Stevenson he published also 'Macaire' (1895), a melodramatic
farce, which is a new version of the famous old harlequinade.
The 'Hospital' verses are unconventional, bold to the verge of
daring, and belong perhaps rather to the field of pathology than of
poetry. Surgeon's lint and antiseptics cannot be made attractive
lyrical themes. Yet often there is vivid, if sombre, imagination in
this series. Fine is the skill with which Henley, turning from these
modern eccentricities, produces old French forms of verse, polished
with the most delicate precision, and fancifully embellished. In the
division called 'Life and Death' the poems are full of depth and
beauty, and now and again one comes on a perfect song. In 'The


## p. 7237 (#639) ###########################################

WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY
7237
Song of the Sword' his many-colored mind produces work of a vari-
ous character. The first part is an unrhymed rhythmical piece of
declamation, suggestive of the saga, in which the sword speaks out of
its bold heart; the second group, entitled 'London Voluntaries,' has
placed Henley's name among those poets who are pre-eminently asso-
ciated with London streets and scenes. This poem-group, describing
the city at various times of the year and day, has been compared to
Whistler's studies of the world's greatest capital. Here is the same
vivid drawing, the same impression of space and distance, and the
same emphasis of the personality of the city. Henley's word pictures
show how accurate is the comparison:
-
"See the batch of boats
Here at the stairs, washed in the fresh-sprung beam!
And those are barges that were goblin floats,
Black, hag-steered, fraught with devilry and dream!
And in the piles the waters frolic clear,
The ripples into loose rings wander and flee,
And we we can behold, that could but hear
The ancient River singing as he goes
New-mailed in morning to the ancient Sea. »
In the final division, called 'Rhymes and Rhythms,' are many
pieces of striking originality and lovely musical quality, our second
poetical selection affording an illustration. It is interesting to com-
pare Henley's treatment of London with that of Wordsworth's in his
great sonnet On Westminster Bridge,' in which he looks upon a city
that
"doth like a garment wear
The beauty of the morning. "
Mr. Henley's critical qualities have been compared by Marriott
Watson to "the flare of an electric light.