There is a curious analogy between the experiences of Cowper and Wordsworth in the way of translation. Wordsworth's translation of Virgil was prompted by the same kind of reaction against the reckless laxity of Dryden as that which inspired Cowper against the distorting artificiality of Pope. In each case the new translator cared more for his author and took a much higher view of a translator's duty than his predecessor had done. But in each case the plain and accurate translation was a failure, while the loose and ornate one continued to be admired. We need not conclude from this that the wilful inaccuracy of Pope or Dryden would be any longer excusable in such a work. But on the other hand we may certainly feel that nothing is gained by rendering an ancient poet into verse at all unless that verse be of a quality to give a pleasure independent of the faithfulness of the translation which it conveys. The translations and _Laodamia_ are not the only indications of the influence which Virgil exercised over Wordsworth. Whether from mere similarity of feeling, or from more or less conscious recollection, there are frequent passages in the English which recall the Roman poet. Who can hear Wordsworth describe how a poet on the island in Grasmere At noon Spreads out his limbs, while, yet unshorn, the sheep, Panting beneath the burthen of their wool Lie round him, even as if they were a part Of his own household:-- and not think of the stately tenderness of Virgil's Stant et oves circum; nostri nee poenitet illas-- and the flocks of Arcady that gather round in sympathy with the lovelorn Gallus' woe? So again the well-known lines-- Not seldom, clad in radiant vest, Deceitfully goes forth the Morn; Not seldom Evening in the west Sinks smilingly forsworn,-- are almost a translation of Palinurus' remonstrance with "the treachery of tranquil heaven." And when the poet wishes for any link which could bind him closer to the Highland maiden who has flitted across his path as a being of a different world from his own:-- Thine elder Brother would I be, Thy Father, anything to thee!-- we hear the echo of the sadder plaint-- Atque utinam e vobis unus-- when the Roman statesman longs to be made one with the simple life of shepherd or husbandman, and to know their undistracted joy. Still more impressive is the shock of surprise with which we read in Wordsworth's poem on Ossian the following lines:-- Musæus, stationed with his lyre Supreme among the Elysian quire, Is, for the dwellers upon earth, Mute as a lark ere morning's birth, and perceive that he who wrote them has entered--where no commentator could conduct him--into the solemn pathos of Virgil's _Musaeum ante omnis_--; where the singer whose very existence upon earth has become a legend and a mythic name is seen keeping in the underworld his old pre-eminence, and towering above the blessed dead.