University of Virginia Library


154

ON LECONTE DE LISLE'S PROSE TRANSLATION OF HOMER.

THERE is a legend of the northland fells,
Fabling that in the middle mountain-caves,
Soundless and dumb, a mighty music waves,
Frozen into silence by eternal spells,
Till some fair hero pierce the mist that dwells
Above the music's mystery-hearted graves.
Then shall the song soar with a noise of glaives
To-smitten and the trumpet's silver swells
Rehearse the glories of the ancient time.
So hast thou, poet from the tropic isles,—
Coming, breast-armoured with the gold sun's smiles,
Into our Northland,—set old Homer free
From all the tangling coil of modern rhyme
And loosed the sheer song on us like a sea.