The Joys of Poverty [pp. 254-256]

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THE LADIES' REPOSITORY.
The conscious swains rejoicing in the sight,
Eye the blue vault, and bless the useful light.
So many flames before proud Ilion blaze,
And lighten glimmering Xanthus with their rays.
The long reflections of the distant fires
Gleam on the walls and tremble on the spires.
A thousand piles the dusky horrors gild,
And shoot a shady luster o'er the field.
Full fifty guards each flaming pile attend,
Whose umbered arms, by fits, thick flashes send,
Loud neigh the coursers o'er their heap of corn,
And ardent warriors wait the rising morn."
Which shows that he follows closely the version
of Chapman; and althotugh the rendering is
elegant, and is in "keeping with the genera]
tone of Pope's rhymed poem," yet, considered
by Wordsworth and Southey, the lines and
images are false and contradictory. Cowper,
so famous for his conciseness and accuracy,
has it "As when around the dclear. bright moon, the stars
Shine in full splendor, and the winds are hushed,
The groves, the mountain-tops, the headland heights
Stand all apparent, not a vapor streaks
The boundless blue, but ether opens wide;
AR glitters and the shepherd's heart is cheered,"
which is brief, vivid, distinct.
For beauty and fidelity the translation of
Chapman can scarcely be surpassed. Though
we give not any considerable selection, yet it
shows his beauties and his faults. It is rendered in a bold, spirited manner, bringing the
scene directly before our eyes. The bombast
is seen in a slight degree in the words,
"The firmament bursts to disclose her light;"
yet his Homeric epithet, "silver-throned moon,"
displays an imagination at once pure and luxuriant.
With all its faults the translation of Chapman
is now more frequently in the hands of scholars
and poetical students than the more musical
version of Pope. It is throughout animated,
elevated, and has the true ring of Homer about
it-merits which will cover a multitude of errors.
THE JOYS OF POVERTY.
AMPBELL sings the "Pleasures of Hope;"
Rogers, the "Pleasures of Memory"-I,
the pleasures of poverty. Not the blessings-that branch of the subject has been worn
somewhat threadbare by constant service in
sermons and literature-but the pleasures, the
downright joys, peculiar to impecuniosity. Not
abject, pinched, desperate poverty, that knows
not where to-morrow's bread is coming from;
nor shabby-genteel poverty-"nothing, trying
to be something"-nor any kind of poverty in
cities; but what might be called comfortable
poverty in the country-poverty with four hun
dred a year, and two children to each hundred.
To sing the joys of such poverty is my aspi ration.
Poor people never live in elegant villa resi dences with all the modern improvements.
Consequently, in the dead of Winter their water
pipes never burst. Their plate-glass windows
are never broken, their patent burglar-alarms
never go off at the wrong time. Their coach men never get drunk-careless servants never
crack their Sevres China. In fact, one of the
chief happinesses of poverty is exemption from
1 the affliction of servants. When the daughters
of poverty exchange calls, their conversation
may dwell on pleasanter themes than the trials
they have undergone with the cook, the minutia
of the chamber-maid's slovenliness, the fact that
the house-maid is more than mistrusted of
"taking things." The enormities generally of
what Punch has dubbed "servantgalism" dis turb not the peace of poverty.
A positive and intense pleasure of poverty is
applying sermons to wealthy neighbors. When
the minister enlarges on the fact that "virtue
and piety are far oftener found in the humble
cottage of the poor man earning his daily bread
by honest toil, than in the pal' abode of the
son of wealth rolling in every lt ly," Lazarus
looks complacently across,the at Dives
sitting stately in the family pew. xzarus, of
course, considers himself and this tl being,
the poor man of poetry, one, even if be not
over-virtuous or pious. In Church, at xst, he
has the better of Dives. When the p tcher
hurls his thunder-bolts at avarice, pride ainglory, Lazarus glances furtively at the ldspectacled countenance over the way, beat a,
so to speak, with bank dividends and resp
ability, and wonders how Dives feels.
Poverty makes one comrade of half th
geniuses and poets of the past. Who woukl,
not almost glory in being poor with Dryden,
Bunyan, Chatterton, Crabbe, Shenstone, Savage, Cowper, Goldsmith, Dr. Johnson, Lambglorious list of the immortal poor-to be able to
read "' Miss Kilmansegg and her Golden Leg'
with the agreeable consciousness that it does
not hit us-to cry defiantly with Burns "The rank is but the guinea's stamp:
The mon's the gowd for a' that?"
Nowadays attics and starvation are not
necessarily accompaniments of the poetic fire;
but we miss something of that easy, versatile
carelessness engendered by the old hap-hazard
life-to-day dining with lords, to-morrow in the
debtors' prison. Most modern poetry bears
evident marks of being written in a comfortable state of after-dinner, beef-and-pudding in
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