1830.] Loner of Literature. 415 



Gold gave its rich and radiant dye, 



And in her tresses flowed ; 

 And, like a freezing star, her eye 



With Heaven's own splendours glowed. 



The translation of ancient poetry into modern verse is often an insecure 

 mode of transmitting the original ; and it is possible that for the common- 

 places of the rose and the snow, we may be indebted to the translator. 

 But the last couplet vindicates itself. It has the native force of origi- 

 nality. Even where a common comparison is used, it is frequently 

 heightened by some unexpected and vivid conception. " The bright 

 eyes of my love," says Carolan, " are to her face, what the diamond is to 

 a ring of other jewels, throwing its beams around, and adorning the 

 setting." 



-I shrink instinctively from the laboured " characters " of eminent men ; 

 but there are phrases and single sentiments that give the whole stamp 

 and colour of the man's mind at once. On the return of Cortez to 

 Spain after the conquest of Mexico, he happened to be coolly received 

 by Charles the V., whose mind was probably too much engaged with 

 the religious wars at his doors to think of conquests or converts three 

 thousand miles off. " Who are you ?" haughtily said the emperor. " I 

 am the man," said Cortez, with still superior haughtiness, " who gave 

 you more provinces than your forefathers gave you cities." 



The last words said to be spoken by Cromwell are invaluable as a 

 key to his whole career. He had, during the progress of his illness, 

 boldly predicted that he should recover. Some of his immediate 

 councillors, who saw the inevitable result of the disorder, ventured at 

 last to recommend that he should speak less confidently on the subject, 

 to save his character for prediction. But the Lord Protector judged 

 on principles fitted to act upon the multitude. He refused to 

 qualify his words : " If I recover," said he, " the fools will think me a 

 prophet, and if I die, what matter then if they call me an impostor I" 



The secret of Dante's struggles through life, was in the reckless 

 sarcasm of his answer to the Prince of Verona, who asked him how he 

 could account for the fact, that in the households of princes, the court 

 fool was. in greater favour than the philosopher. " Similarity of minds," 

 said the fierce genius, " is, all over the world, the source of friendship." 



I know nothing more characteristic of the strange mixture of levity 

 and daring that we sometimes find in the French character, than Crebil- 

 lon's answer to the observation, that his tragedies turned too much upon 

 fierce and fiendish passions. " What was I to do ?" said he, " Corneille 

 had taken the heavens, and Racine the earth ; I had nothing left me 

 but the infernal regions." 



Horace's " Hoc erat in votis j" Swift's 



" I often wish that I had, clear 

 For life, three hundred pounds a year ;" 



and the pleasant and acute definition of competence " a little more 

 than we have," have been often praised. Yet why should Ariosto's 

 inscription on his house in Ferrara be without its praise ? 



