Greek, and
there is no language with which I am at all acquainted that is not.
But it is musical enough for the purposes of melodious verse, and if
it seem to fail, on whatsoever occasion, in energy, the blame is due,
not to itself, but to the unskilful manager of it. For so long as
Milton's works, whether his prose or his verse, shall exist, so long
there will be abundant proof that no subject, however important,
however sublime, can demand greater force of expression than is within
the compass of the English language.

I have no fear of judges familiar with original HOMER. They need not
be told that a translation of him is an arduous enterprise, and as
such, entitled to some favor. From these, therefore, I shall expect,
and shall not be disappointed, considerable candor and allowance.
Especially _they_ will be candid, and I believe that there are many
such, who have occasionally tried their own strength in this _bow of
Ulysses_. They have not found it supple and pliable, and with me are
perhaps ready to acknowledge that they could not always even approach
with it the mark of their ambition. But I would willingly, were it
possible, obviate uncandid criticism, because to answer it is lost
labor, and to receive it in silence has the appearance of stately
reserve, and self-importance.

To those, therefore, who shall be inclined to tell me hereafter that
my diction is often plain and unelevated, I reply beforehand that I
know it,--that it would be absurd were it otherwise, and that Homer
himself stands in the same predicament. In fact, it is one of his
numberless excellences, and a point in which his judgment never fails
him, that he is grand and lofty always in the right place, and knows
infallibly how to rise and fall with his subject. _Big words on small
matters_ may serve as a pretty exact definition of the burlesque; an
instance of which they will find in the Battle of the Frogs and Mice,
but none in the Iliad.

By others I expect to be told that my numbers, though here and there
tolerably smooth, are not always such, but have, now and then, an ugly
hitch in their gait, ungraceful in itself, and inconvenient to the
reader. To this charge also I plead guilty, but beg leave in
alleviation of judgment to add, that my limping lines are not
numerous, compared with those that limp not. The truth is, that not
one of them all escaped me, but, such as they are, they were all made
such with a wilful intention. In poems of