to him for a paragraph, than he would to be fed with a pap-spoon. And it is curious to observe, after all, how, and in what place, Johnson has said his good word for our translator. It is at the end of the Life of Waller, and amounts to this coy prophecy;-that Fairfax's work, "after Mr. Hoole's translation, will not soon be reprinted." LEIGH HUNT. FAIRFAX'S "TASSO." EDWARD FAIRFAX led a life which a brother poet might envy. He was of a distinguished family, the same as that of Fairfax, the Parliament General; and having an estate of his own, and the greater estates of leisure and genius, he passed the whole of his days at a seat in the Forest of Knaresborough, in the bosom of his family, and in the cultivation of poetry. He appears to have had all, and more than a poet wants, tranquillity, a fortune beyond competence, books, rural scenes, and an age that could understand him. He flourished just at the close of that golden period, that height and strong summer-time of our poetry, when language, wisdom, and imagination were alike at their noblest, and thoughts were poured forth He was as profusely as words have been since. inclined to the music of verse; and the age was full of music, of every species;-he was of a romantic, and, most probably, superstitious turn of mind; and popular superstitions were still more in favour, than during the preceding era; -he had, perhaps, something of the indolence of a man of fortune; and, in the course of his Italian luxuries, he met with a poet, whose tendencies were like his own, and who was great enough to render the task of translation honorable as well as delightful. He accordingly produced a version of Tasso, which we do not say is equal to the original, or at all exempt from errors which a future translator (always provided he is a poet too) may avoid; but which we, nevertheless, do not hesitate to pronounce the completest translation, and most like its original, of any we have ever seen. We do not wonder that Collins was fond of this author, and Fairfax, his translator, since Johnson has told us, in that piece of prose music of his, that " he loved fairies, genii, and monsters," that "he delighted to rove through the meanders of enchantment, to gaze on the magnificence of golden palaces, and to repose by the water-falls of Elysium." Collins has given Fairfax a high and proud eulogy, in his Ode on the Popular Superstitions of the Highlands.Speaking of Tasso, he says, "How have I sat, when piped the pensive wind, And then he goes on in a strain of softness and luxury, that seems inspired by the object of his praise. Yet Collins, be it observed, was an accomplished scholar, and quite conversant with the merits of the original. Indeed, that was one great cause of his eulogy. Waller, who appears to have known Italian, and Dryden, who, undoubtedly, did so, were both great admirers of Fairfax. Waller professed to have "derived the harmony of his numbers" from him; and so did Dryden, if a reported speech of his to the Duke of Buckingham is to be taken for granted. He gives him high praise at any rate, and joins him with Spenser as "great masters in our language." But his greatest title to regard, on the score of authority, comes from Milton, who, when he borrowed from Tasso, took care to look at Fairfax also, and to add now and then something from him by the way. LORD BYRON AND GOETHE. THE following extract from Goethe offers a novel, at least, if not authentic anecdote, of Lord Byron, and which, among the vast variety of detail, true or false, with which the press has lately teemed, concerning the Noble Bard, may serve to amuse the reader, as exhibiting the ideas entertained by the first of German writers, with respect to his Lordship's character, and the manner in which that character had been formed. "The tragedy of Manfred, by Lord Byron, is a most singular performance, and one which concerns me nearly. This wonderful and in genious poet has taken possession of my Faust, and hypochondriacally drawn from it the most singular nutriment. He has employed the means in it which suit his object, in a particular manner, so that no one thing remains the same; and, on this account, I cannot sufficiently admire his ability. The re-cast is so peculiar, that a highly interesting lecture might be given on its resemblance, and want of resemblance, to its model-though I cannot deny, that the gloomy fervour of a rich and endless despair becomes at last wearisome to us. However, the displeasure which we feel is always connected with admiration and esteem. "The very quintessence of the sentiments and passions, which assist in constituting the most singular talent for self-commentary ever known, is contained in this tragedy. The life and poetical character of Lord Byron can hardly be fairly estimated. Yet he has often enough avowed the source of his torments; he has repeatedly pourtrayed it; but hardly any one sympathises with the insupportable pain with which he is incessantly struggling. "Properly speaking, he is continually pursued by the ghosts of two females, who play great parts in the above-named tragedy, the one under the name of Astarte, the other without figure or visibility, merely a voice. "The following account is given of the horrible adventure which he had with the former: "When a young, bold, and highly attractive personage, he gained the favour of a Florentine |