ly energetic. Or Dryden perhaps had not taken up a
right view of the gryphon's looking, or he thought that his readers
would not. He compensates Emetrius with plainly describing his eyes, in
four very animated verses. Lycurge's combed eye-brows are a little
mitigated, as is his ferocious bear-skin; and the ring of gold, as thick
as a man's arm, has become merely a well-jewelled coronet. The spirit of
the figure is, notwithstanding, caught and given. Dryden intends and
conveys the impression purposed and effected by Chaucer.

If the black and sullen portrait loses a little grimness under the rich
and harmonious pencil of Dryden, the needful contradistinction of the
two royal auxiliars is maintained by heightening the favour of the more
pleasing one. Throughout, Dryden with pains insists upon the more
attractive features which we have claimed for the King of Inde. Grace is
twice attributed to his appearance. He has gained blue eyes. His
complexion is carefully and delicately handled, as may be especially
seen in the management of the freckles. The _blooming_ of his yellow
beard, the thundering of the trumpet changed into a silvery sound, the
myrtle sprigs mixed amongst the warlike laurel--all unequivocally
display the gracious intentions of Dryden towards Emetrius--all aid in
rendering effective the opposition which Chaucer has deliberately
represented betwixt the two kings. Why the surly Thracian should be
rather allied to the knight who serves Venus, and the more gallant
Emetrius to the fierce Arcite, the favourite of the War-god, is left for
the meditation of readers in all time to come.

The two opposed pictures are perhaps as highly finished as any part of
the version. The words fall into their own places, painting their
objects. The verse marches with freedom, fervour, and power. Translation
has then reached its highest perfection when the suspicion of an
original vanishes. The translator makes the matter his own, and writes
as if from his own unassisted conception. The allusion to Bacchus is
Dryden's own happy addition.

Now read with us--perhaps for the first time--the famous recital of the
death of Arcite.

CHAUCER.

Nought may the woful spirit in myn herte
Declare o point of all my sorwes smerte
To you, my lady, that I love most;
But I bequethe the service of my gost
To you aboven every creature,
Sin that my lif ne may no longer dure.
Alas the wo! alas the peines stronge