[G] Of the "Odyssey" it may be said with certainty that its composition was later than that of the "Iliad," but it cannot be affirmed that both poems were not composed within the life-time of one man. It may be claimed that the best criticism declines to reject the identity of authorship of the poet of the "Iliad" and the poet of the "Odyssey," while admitting the probability that the work of other poets was incorporated in his. We have given our readers the translation by George Chapman, Shakespeare's contemporary, with which may be compared the fine modern prose translation by Professor Butcher and Mr. Andrew Lang. On the other hand, Alexander Pope's verse rendering has nothing Homeric about it. It may be regretted that Chapman did not in the "Odyssey" retain the swinging metre which he used in the "Iliad." The poem relates the adventures of Odysseus (latinised into Ulysses) on his homeward voyages, after the fall of Troy. HORACE[H] Poems _Satires_ HUMAN DISCONTENT Whence is it, sir, that none contented lives With the fair lot which prudent reason gives, Or chance presents, yet all with envy view The schemes that others variously pursue? Broken with toils, with ponderous arms oppressed, The soldier thinks the merchant solely blest. In opposite extreme, when tempests rise, "War is a better choice," the merchant cries. When early clients thunder at his gate, Te barrister applauds the rustic's fate; While, by _sub-poenas_ dragged from home, the clown Thinks the supremely happy dwell in town! Not to be tedious, mark the moral aim Of these examples. Should some god proclaim, "Your prayers are heard: you, soldier, to your seas; You, lawyer, take that envied rustic's ease,-- Each to his several part--What! Ha! not move Even to the bliss you wished!" And shall not Jove, With cheeks inflamed and angry brow, forswear A weak indulgence to their future prayer? AVARICE Some, self-deceived, who think their lust of gold Is but a love of fame, this maxim hold, "No fortune is enough, since others rate Our worth proportioned to a large estate." Say, for their cure what arts would you employ? Let them be wretched, and their choice enjoy. Would you the real use of riches know? Bread, herbs, and wine are all they can bestow. Or add, what nature's deepest wants supplies; These and no more thy mass of money buys. But with continual watching almost dead, Housebreaking thieves, and midnight fires to dread, Or the suspected slave's untimely flight With the dear pelf--if this be thy delight, Be it my fate, so heaven in bounty please, Still to be poor of blessings such as these! A PARAGON OF INCONSISTENCY