S2 The Fourth Volu»te oj the Orlando Furioso. [Jan. 



her boundless varieties, and has delineated, sometimes with the gloomy 

 force of Salvator, at other times with the glow and grandeur of Titian, 

 and often with the graceful and minute details of Claude, every scene 

 that was necessary to accompany or illustrate his subject. The author 

 of Letters from the North of Italy may be justly supposed to have appre- 

 ciated this leading beauty in his author. We will now give an example 

 of the skilful manner in which the translator has veiled the similarities in 

 the terminal sounds, and rendered into easy measure a very difficult 

 passage : — 



As he was customed in extremity, 



He to his mouth applied the bugle's round ; 



The wide world seemed to tremble, earth and sky. 



As he in air discharged the horrid sound. 



Such terror smote the dames, that bent to fly. 



When in their ears the deafening horn was wound. 



Not only they the gate unguarded left, 



But from the circus reeled, of wit bereft. 



As family, awaked in sudden wise. 



Leaps from the windows and from lofty height. 

 Periling life and limb, when in surprise 

 They see, now near, the fire's encircling light. 

 Which had, while slumber sealed their heavy eyes. 

 By little and by little waxed at night: 

 Reckless of life, thus each, impelled by dread. 

 At sound of that appalling bugle fled. 



Above, below, and here and there, the rout 

 Rise in confusion and attempt to fly. 

 At once, above a thousand swarm about 

 Each entrance, to c;ich other's lett, and lie 

 In heaps : from window these, or stage without. 

 Leap headlong ; in the press these smothered die. 

 Broken is many an arm, and many a head ; 

 And one lies crippled, and another dead. 



In these stanzas the full import of the passages are, in great measure, 

 dependant on the pointed manner in which the concluding clause in each 

 is rendered, and which accords, in the translation, with the spirit or the 

 words of the original. The following is a beautiful stanza, combining 

 gracefulness of collocation, euphony of numbers, a perfect notion of the 

 scene, and that marked ending which the stanza alone would have 

 enabled Mr. Rose to convey to the English reader. 



They from that cruel and ensanguined ground 

 To seaward, under all their canvass, bore ; 

 And having gained such offing, that the sound 

 Of that alarming horn was heard no more, 

 Unwonted shame inflicted such a wound. 

 That all a face of burning crimson wore. 

 One dares not eye the other, and they stand 

 With downcast looks, a mute and mournful band. 



The following constitutes one of those perfect pictures which we 

 remember Mr. Rose to have spoken of in one of hia former volumes. 



