CHAPTER XVIII.
The Unconscious Element.
While it is true that the greatest books betray the most intimate acquaintance with the time in which they are written, and disclose the impress of that time in thought, structure, and style, it is also true that such books are so essentially independent of contemporary forms and moods that they largely escape the vicissitudes which attend those forms and moods.

The element of enduring interest in them outweighs the accidents of local speech or provincial knowledge, as the force and genius of Caesar survive the armor he wore and the language he spoke.

A great book is a possession for all time, because a writer of the first rank is the contemporary of every generation; he is never outgrown, exhausted, or even old-fashioned, although the garments he wore may have been laid aside long ago.
In this permanent quality, unchanged by changes of taste and form, resides the secret of that charm which draws about the great poets men and women of each succeeding period, eager to listen to words which thrilled the world when it was young, and which have a new meaning for every new age.

It is safe to say that Homer will speak to men as long as language survives, and that translation will follow translation to the end of time.

What Robinson said of the Bible in one of the great moments of modern history may be said of the greater works of literature: more light will always stream from them.