“And now was Paris come From his high towers, who made no stay when once he had put on His richest armor, but flew forth; the flints he trod upon Sparkled with lustre of his arms; his long-ebb’d spirits now flow’d The higher for their lower ebb. And as a fair steed, proud, With full-giv’n mangers, long tied up, and now his head-stall broke, He breaks from stable, runs the field, and with an ample stroke Measures the centre; neighs and lifts aloft his wanton head, About his shoulders shakes his crest, and where he hath been fed, Or in some calm flood wash’d, or stung with his high plight, he flies Amongst his females; strength put forth his beauty, beautifies, And like life’s mirror bears his gait: so Paris from the tower Of lofty Pergamos came forth.” Is not the modern older in style than the ancient? We lay aside Mr. Morris’ book with a mingling of admiration and regret. The critical and poetical ability shown in it is of the first order—no man could have spoiled Virgil so thoroughly as we think Mr. Morris has in places who did not know him _au bout des ongles_, just as a clever parody shows true appreciation of an author—and its ingenuity is amazing. But one feels it to be a wasted ingenuity, and the predominant sentiment with which we leave the book is one of annoyance that a man should so wilfully do ill what his very errors prove him capable of doing so well. Yet for all that the book wins upon us as most of Mr. Morris’ work has a way of doing; and if one could but get reconciled to a Norseland Æneis, we should no doubt find it pleasant enough. Perhaps we cannot better dismiss our subject than by saying, in the old-time fashion of comparison, that of these three translations Conington’s will probably be read for the story by those who know Virgil not at all; Mr. Cranch’s for its literalness by those who half know Virgil and are willing to know him better; and Mr. Morris’ for its very ingenuity of perversion by those who know Virgil so well that to see him in any new light, even a false light, only adds a fillip to their love for him. Footnote 2: Cf. what Joubert says of Racine: that “his genius, too, lay in his taste,” and that he is “the Virgil of the ignorant.” Footnote 3: “And stand and listen with arrected ears”—_atque arrectis auribus adsto_. We may add that to our mind Simmons’ version of this simile, which we regret not to have space to quote, is one of the very best. Footnote 4: Dr. Johnson never learned it. “His heroic lines,” he said of Cowley, “are often formed of monosyllables; but yet they are often sweet and sonorous.” Footnote 5: “Eld the mouldy-dull, and empty of all sooth,” is Mr. Morris’ equivalent for “_verique effeta senectus_,” _Æn._ vii. 439. Footnote 6: