That this poem is the greatest of human productions—a point often assumed—is by no means to be received as true. It strikes us with wonder, when we consider the age in which it was composed, and we feel that Homer was indeed one of the great lights of the world. The following passage, one of the finest in the Iliad, is full of truth, nature and pathos—and it shows that the heroes of Troy, nearly three thousand years ago, had the same feelings and sympathies as those which beat in the bosoms of our time; yet we can point to a great number of passages in modern poems, far, very far superior to this. The scene represents Priam—who has come to the Greek camp for the purpose of redeeming the body of his son Hector—as addressing the chieftain, Achilles: “Think, O Achilles, semblance of the gods! On thy own father, full of days like me, And trembling on the gloomy verge of life: Some neighbor chief, it may be, even now, Oppresses him, and there is none at hand, No friend to succor him in his distress; Yet doubtless, hearing that Achilles lives, He still rejoices, hoping day by day, That one day he shall see the face again Of his own son from distant Troy returned. But me no comfort cheers, whose bravest sons, So late the flower of Ilium, all are slain. When Greece came hither, I had fifty sons; Nineteen were children of one bed; the rest Born of my concubines. A numerous house! But fiery Mars hath thinned it. One I had, One, more than all my sons, the strength of Troy, Whom standing for his country thou hast slain,— Hector. His body to redeem I come; Into Achia’s fleet bringing myself Ransom inestimable to thy tent. Rev’rence the gods, Achilles! recollect Thy father; for his sake compassion show To me, more pitiable still, who draw Home to my lips (humiliation yet Unseen on earth) his hand who slew my son! “So saying, he awakened in his soul regret Of his own sire; softly he placed his hand On Priam’s hand, and pushed him gently away. Remembrance melted both. Rolling before Achilles feet, Priam his son deplored, Wide slaughtering Hector, and Achilles wept By turns his father, and by turns his friend Patroclus: sounds of sorrow filled the tent.”