gony, must be classed as epic; though the former poem has nothing to do with the heroes, and the latter is concerned only with their genealogy. Hesiod and his school used the epic form because it was the only one available for their purpose; and they applied it to any theme which they desired to treat. Hence, for moderns who seek to trace the growth of Greek poetry, and to see how it gave utterance to successive phases of the Greek mind, this term "epic" is inconveniently large; it requires to be defined by a further distinction. The Greeks were content to discriminate their great classes of poetry by external form alone, because the form was regarded as a law (coμós) implying certain rules of style and treatment, whatever the subject might be. Hesiod, in the epic form, observes these precepts, after his own fashion, though that fashion is not Homeric and the Greeks, their artistic sense being so far satisfied, did not feel that it was confusing to class Homer and Hesiod together as epic poets. This was made still easier for them by their way of looking at all poets as teachers: Hesiod is directly a teacher; and they regarded Homer as a teacher also.

epos is the

The relation of Homer to the development of Greek poetry is, however, totally dif- The highest ferent from that of Hesiod; and this form of Greek is the point on which we must fix our attention here. The highest excellence of Greek epos, as Homer reveals it, is inseparable from the

Homeric.

nature of the Homeric subject-matter; it was necessary to this highest excellence that the theme should have an ideal greatness, and that it should be an organic whole. Only then was it possible for the Greek mind to show the best that it could do in this kind. Homeric epos marks one of the summits of Greek achievement. When we think of the Greek epic as a chapter in the evolution of Greek poetry, we must think of it as represented by the Iliad and the Odyssey.

Further

Relation of the epic

period to the

lyric.

objection is sometimes made to the view of the Greek epic period as preceding the lyric and as clearly marked off from it, on the ground that, long after lyric poetry had come into existence, epic poetry continued to be written. Here, again, we must distinguish. It is true that between 700 and 400 B. C. we meet with the names of several epic poets, whose works are now represented only by meagre fragments; such as Asius, Peisander, Panyassis, Antimachus, Choerilus. But these, without exception, are representatives of what, in contradistinction to the Homeric and genuine Hesiodic work, must be called literary epos. These men did not continue the natural life of Greek epos; they were imitators of the great models left by an earlier age. Then comes the Alexandrian period, with its artificial heroic epos, such as that of Apollonius Rhodius; or its didactic epos, like that of Aratus and Nicander: after which the

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annals of Greek epos have nothing better to show than Oppian, Quintus Smyrnaeus, and Nonnus. As to the old Cyclic poems, the more considerable among them did not overlap the lyric period, but came before it.

Clearly, then, the known facts warrant the view that the Greek epic period should be regarded as having closed before the lyric opened. The true epic poetry of Greece had finished its course before the earliest lyric strains were heard. The epos which came later had the form without the soul; it was not characteristic of the Greek genius in this kind.

The Greek minstrel. Scenes in the

In striving to imagine the early days of Greek epic poetry we naturally turn to those scenes of the Odyssey where the ancient Greek poet introduces the ancient Odyssey. Greek minstrel. Such passages are at least far nearer in time and spirit than anything else now extant to the days when minstrels sang in the halls of Achaean chiefs; and they are full of suggestion. The suitors of Penelope, holding their insolent revels in the house of the absent Odysseus, compel the minstrel Phemius to sing to them after their feasting. A servant places a lyre in the minstrel's hands; and the lay which Phemius selects to sing concerns the return of the Achaeans from the war at Troy, when Athena vexed them with sore troubles on their homeward voyage. The revelers sit listening in silence. Meanwhile Penelope, who is in an upper room of the house, hears the strain; she

descends the stairs, with two of her handmaids, and standing near the entrance of the hall, with her veil drawn over her face, speaks amidst her tears to the minstrel. "Thou knowest many other charms for mortals, deeds of gods and men," she says; "I pray thee, change this piteous strain, which consumes my heart within me." Her son Telemachus gently reproves her. "Why dost thou grudge that the sweet minstrel should gladden us as his spirit moves him? When minstrels sing of woeful themes, it is not their fault; it is the fault of Zeus, who sends the woes. This minstrel is not blameworthy for singing of the evil doom of the Danaoi; he has chosen the newest theme, which will please most." So Penelope goes back silently to her chamber, and weeps for Odysseus, till Athena sends sleep upon her eyelids.

The other scene takes place in the palace of Alcinous, the king of Phaeacia. Odysseus has been shipwrecked, and is now the guest of the king, who does not know who he is. The hall is thronged with Phaeacians, old and young; there has been a sacrifice, and now there is to be a feast. The "herald," or chamberlain, of the king leads in the blind minstrel Demodocus, places him in the midst of the guests, on a high chair inlaid with silver; suspends the lyre on a pin, fixed in a pillar behind the chair; and guides the blind man's hands so that he shall know where to find it; then places a table beside him, with a basket of bread, and a goblet of wine. The feast being

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over, Demodocus is stirred by the Muse to sing the deeds of famous men («λéa åvôpŵv); and his theme is a quarrel between Odysseus and Achilles, a lay "of which the fame had reached the wide heaven." Odysseus, sitting unknown among the guests, draws his purple cloak over his face to hide his emotion. When the minstrel paused in his song, and the other guests were applauding or talking, Odysseus would stealthily wipe away his tears; but his royal host perceived it, and presently proposed that the company should go out to see athletic games. So the chamberlain hangs up the lyre again, and guides the minstrel out of the hall. Once again Alcinous makes a banquet for his guest, and again Demodocus is summoned. Odysseus sends the minstrel a mess of boar's flesh as a special honor, and, with praise of his former singing, asks him to give them a particular lay about the making of the wooden horse, in which the Greek heroes were hidden, and by means of which they took Troy. The minstrel obeys; and again Odysseus is strongly moved by the strain. In this instance, we note an interesting phrase: it is said that the minstrel, on hearing the request of Odysseus, "took up the tale from that point," that point, namely, in some longer lay concerning Troy.

Nor is it only in these memorable passages that the Odyssey refers to the art of the minstrel. The swineherd Eumaeus, eager to make Penelope understand the charm of the newly arrived stran