But neither Pope nor Cowper can be said to have caught the spirit of the original as well as the old ballad version of Chapman. As when about the silver moon, when air is free from winde, And stars shine cleare to whose sweet beams high prospects and the brows Of all steep hills and pinnacles thrust up themselves for shows; And even the lowly vallies joy to glitter in their sight-- When the unmeasured firmament bursts to disclose her light, And all the signs in heaven are seen that glad the shepherd heart. Apollonius Rhodius, in the _Argonautica_, presents a greater diversity of imagery. He has not in view, like Homer, the unity of a single scene, but calls up similar emotions by a dispersed variety of the most impressive pictures. We present a translation, which, if it have no other merit, may at least be said to be almost word for word-- Now Night had thrown her shadow o'er the earth. Far out at sea the sailors stood and gazed, On wheeling Arctos and Orion's stars. The traveler longed to hear the warder's voice Invite to rest; and even the mother's eyes That drowsy hour pressed downward, as she watched By her dead child--the watch-dog's voice was mute; The city's thronging noise had died away, And stillness reigned o'er all the shaded realm; Save in Medea's restless soul-- Virgil closely imitates the Greek poet in the designed contrast, if not in his scenery. As we have not troubled them with the Greek, our fair readers, and others, we hope, will pardon us for putting on our page the Latin. Even those may appreciate its exceedingly liquid flow, who are compelled to resort to the translation for its meaning. Nox erat, et placidum carpebat fessa soporem Corpora per terras, sylvæque et sæva quiêrant Æquora: cum medio volvuntur sidera lapsu: Cum tacet omnis ager, pecudes, pictæque volucres, Quæque lacus late liquidos, quæque aspera dumis Rura tenent, somno positæ sub node silenti, Lenibant curas, et corda oblita laborum At non infelix Dido-- _Æneid, Lib._ iv. 'Twas dead of night when wearied bodies close Their eyes in balmy sleep, and soft repose. The winds no longer whisper through the woods, Nor murmuring tides disturb the gentle floods. The stars in silent order moved around, And peace with downy wings was brooding on the ground. The flocks, and herds, and particolored fowl, Which haunt the woods, or swim the seedy pool, Stretched on the quiet earth securely lay, Forgetting the past labors of the day. All but unhappy Dido--