The Middlebury register. [volume] (Middlebury, Vt.) 1850-1882, 1871-04-04
Homer.

We feel u dclicacy in mentioning the
name of a man, who has bravely fought
the battle of life, won the laurel wreath
and lain down to rest in peace. We feel
that we are treading on sacred ground, as
we attempt to pay our tribute of respect
to his Wondering ashes, and his lofty
genius.
''Sleep on thou prince Of dreamers."
said a literary man over the dust of Bun
yam in Bunhill6elds; and VIC feel to say,
sleep on thou monarch of Poesy's realm
in thy quiet resting places amid the hills
Of thy native Greece. For Homer
was truly the monarch of poets, though
his portion of worldly goods was small,
though his pillow was sometimes the earth,
and sometimes a throne, the throne of his
genius and of all future ages. His i'm
aginations fettered by day, launched out
by night into the sea OF futurity, and
brought home spoils from the remotest
shores, of which we are still learning the
the value and meaning. We have often
imagined the blind. bald-headed Homer
sitting at evening and in his tremulous
notes telling the simple tale of
"Old unhappy far off things,
And battles long ago"
lifting up like a curtain the mists of the
past, and displaying a world intensely un-
ique and poctical, peopled by heroes,
bards, %maidens, fairies and numberless
ghosts. 1t is a gigantic picture painted
on clouds instead Of canvas, and invested
with colors as gorgeous as its shades are
dark. His Had opens with a sublime
complaint, it frequently irritates into a
noble anger, it subdues into irony,it melts
into pathos. but its general tone is that
Of a victorious exultation.
The giants were preparing for war
with labor dire, the din of battle was
heard from afar, the warriors were clad
with brazen armors, the tufted helmets
waved on their heads, yet the gods were
calm, the thunder Of Jove were silent,
and Apollo proclaimed the omens in an
unknown tongue. In his genius we read
the phases of general character. 1t is a
high bold energy, combining the fire of
the warrior, and the enthusiasm of the
poet. 1t is a general tone but it under.
goes numerous notifications. At one
time it rises into a swell of grandeur, in
which the strings Of the harp SILVER, as
if the storm were the harper again it
sinks into a solitary, strain, like the cry
of the bittern in the lonely pool and then
it is a gush of joy, or a quick and earnest
cry for deliverance from impending dan
ger.
How these wild, tameless strains have
run down through ages! How they have
fred the souls Of poets, kindled the rage
of the warrior, tinged literature with
their undying hues, and found a home in
many lands, and yet seem fresh and
powerful as ever, and are preparing fol
greater triumphs than when first chanted
Europe and America now MARBLE theil
strains and doubtless they will awaken
the millions that sleep under ignorance'
pail. o thou foster child Of Greco,
thou hast passed away; the heroes tho,
hast emblazoned with glory have fadet
and gone, and the land of thy birth j
strewed with the wrecks which tint
the great dispoiler has made. Thu
Academy, and the Lyceum no longe
resound with the doctrine of the sage an,
the philosopher. The temple of Dianl
and the Parthenon are no more, and tn
last echo of the oracle of Delphos ha
4 died on the lips of Kolus, yet thy nam
can never die, nor thy fame grow dim a
t long as nations come and go on the wave
p. of time. Thou hast left no stated
palaces to tell posterity thy fame, We
: thou hast n mausoleum more endurin
than marble, which the elements can nc
i destroy. The proudest monuments tina
art can rear will crumble away and tn
D moss and the lichen will grow over thei
ruins. but the cenotaph which thou has
left to tell thy achievements of nation
y yet unborn will stand unmarried in all il
beauty and perfection until the swii
winged messenger of God shall declare
THAT time shall be no more" A, J. s