however, had the aid of kind interpreters, for—and this was not the least surprising thing I noted there—these skies, too, give nurture to Pierian spirits. So when Juvenal wonders that
Fluent Gaul has taught the British advocate,[1]
let him marvel, too, that
Learned Germany many a clear-voiced bard sustained.
But, lest you should be misled by my words, I hasten to add that there are no Virgils here, although many Ovids,[2] so that you would say that the latter author was justified in his reliance upon his genius or the affection of posterity, when he placed at the end of his Metamorphoses that audacious prophecy where he ventures to claim that as far as the power of Rome shall extend,—nay, as far as the very name of Roman shall penetrate in a conquered world,—so widely shall his works be read by enthusiastic admirers.
When anything was to be heard or said I had to rely upon my companions to furnish both ears and tongue. Not understanding the scene, and being deeply interested in it, I asked an explanation from one of my friends, employing the Virgilian lines:
. . . What means the crowded shore?
What seek these eager spirits?[3]
