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whole,
it will be necessary to avoid that perpetual repetition of the same
epithets which we find in Homer, and which, though it might be
accommodated (as has been already shown) to the ear of those times, is by
no means so to ours: but one may wait for opportunities of placing them,
where they derive an additional beauty from the occasions on which they
are employed; and in doing this properly, a translator may at once show
his fancy and his judgment.
As for Homer's repetitions, we may divide
Details
which, although they were
done more tranquilly, might not be the less decisive. Fear overcame me; I
dared no advance, dreading a thousand nameless evils that made me tremble,
although I was unable to define them.
I remained two days at Lausanne, in this painful state of mind. I
contemplated the lake: the waters were placid; all around was calm; and the
snowy mountains, “the palaces of nature,” were not changed. By
degrees the calm and heavenly scene restored me, and I continued my journey
towards Geneva.
The road ran by the side of the lake, which became narrower as I
approached my native town. I discovered more distinctly the black
sides of Jura, and the bright summit of Mont Blanc. I wept like a
child. “Dear mountains! my own beautiful lake! how do you welcome your
wanderer? Your summits are clear; the sky and lake are blue and
placid. Is this to prognosticate peace, or to mock at my unhappiness?”
I fear, my friend, that I shall render myself tedious by dwelling on
these preliminary circumstances; but they were days of comparative
happiness, and I think of them with pleasure. My country, my beloved
country! who but a native can tell the delight I took in again
beholding thy streams, thy mountains, and, more than all, thy lovely
lake!
Yet, as I drew nearer home, grief and fear again overcame me. Night also
closed around; and when I could hardly see the dark mountains, I felt still
more gloomily. The picture appeared a vast and dim scene of evil, and I
foresaw obscurely that I was destined to become the most wretched of human
beings. Alas! I prophesied truly, and failed only in one single
circumstance, that in all the misery I imagined and dreaded, I did not
conceive the hundredth part of the anguish I was destined to endure.
It was completely dark when I arrived in the environs of Geneva; the gates
of the town were already shut; and I was obliged to pass the night at
Secheron, a village at the distance of half a league from the city. The sky
was serene;