and it
is the praise due to epic poetry of the highest order only, and to no
other. Let us try, then, the _Chanson de Roland _at its best. Roland,
mortally wounded, lay himself down under a pine-tree, with his face
turned towards Spain and the enemy--

'De plusurs choses a remembrer li prist,
De tantes teres cume li bers cunquist,
De dulce France, des humes de sun lign,
De Carlemagne sun seignor ki l'nurrit.' [2]

That is primitive work, I repeat, with an undeniable poetic quality of
its own. It deserves such praise, and such praise is sufficient for
it. But now turn to Homer--

[Illustration: Fragment of Homer's Iliad [3]]

We are here in another world, another order of poetry altogether; here
is rightly due such supreme praise as that which M. Vitet gives to the
_Chanson de Roland_. If our words are to have any meaning, if our
judgments are to have any solidity, we must not heap that supreme
praise upon poetry of an order immeasurably inferior.

Indeed there can be no more useful help for discovering what poetry
belongs to the class of the truly excellent, and can therefore do us
most good, than to have always in one's mind lines and expressions of
the great masters, and to apply them as a touchstone to other poetry.
Of course we are not to require this other poetry to resemble them; it
may be very dissimilar. But if we have any tact we shall find them,
when we have lodged them well in our minds, an infallible touchstone
for detecting the presence or absence of high poetic quality, and also
the degree of this quality, in all other poetry which we may place
beside them. Short passages, even single lines, will serve our turn
quite sufficiently. Take the two lines which I have just quoted from
Homer, the poet's comment on Helen's mention of her brothers;--or take
his

[Illustration: Fragment of Homer's Iliad [4]]

the address of Zeus to the horses of Peleus;--or take finally his

[Illustration: Fragment of Homer's Iliad [5]]

the words of Achilles to Priam, a suppliant before him. Take that
incomparable line and a half of Dante, Ugolino's tremendous words--

'Io no piangeva; si dentro impietrai.
Piangevan elli . . .' [6]

take the lovely words of Beatrice to Virgil--

'Io son fatta da Dio, sua merce, tale,
Che la vostra miseria non mi tange,
Ne fiamma d'esto incendio non m'assale . . .' [7]

take the simple, but perfect, single line--

'In la sua volontade e nostra pace.'