t if the prose translator is thoroughly well acquainted
with both of the languages which he has to handle, he ought to be able
to pay adequate homage to the genius of the one without offering undue
violence to that of the other.

The case of the translator of poetry, which Coleridge defined as "the
best words in the best order," is manifestly very different. A phrase
which is harmonious or pregnant with fire in one language may become
discordant, flat, and vapid when translated into another. Shelley spoke
of "the vanity of translation." "It were as wise (he said) to cast a
violet into a crucible that you might discover the formal principle of
its colour and odour, as seek to transfuse from one language into
another the creations of a poet."

Longinus has told us[30] that "beautiful words are the very light of
thought" ([Greek: phos gar to onti idion tou nou ta kala onomata]), but
it will often happen, in reading a fine passage, that on analysing the
sentiments evoked, it is difficult to decide whether they are due to
the thought or to the beauty of the words. A mere word, as in the case
of Edgar Poe's "Nevermore," has at times inspired a poet. When Keats,
speaking of Melancholy, says:

She lives with Beauty--Beauty that must die--
And Joy, whose hand is ever on his lips,
Bidding adieu,

or when Mrs. Browning writes:

... Young
As Eve with Nature's daybreak on her face,

the pleasure, both of sense and sentiment, is in each case derived alike
from the music of the language and the beauty of the ideas. But in such
lines as

Arethusa arose from her couch of snows, etc.,

or Coleridge's description of the river Alph running

Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea,

it is the language rather than the idea which fascinates. Professor
Walker, speaking of the most exquisitely harmonious lyric ever written
in English, or perhaps in any other language,[31] says with great truth:
"The reader of _Lycidas_ rises from it ready to grasp the 'two-handed
engine' and smite; though he may be doubtful what the engine is, and
what is to be smitten."

It may be observed, moreover, that one of the main difficulties to be
encountered in translating some of the masterpieces of ancient
literature arises from their exquisite simplicity. Although the
indulgence in glaring improprieties of language in the pursuit of
novelty of thought was not altogether