gard to the style, we cannot express the same unqualified approbation. He pleads want of experience in writing, to which we can readily give credit; but, we apprehend, that this ought to have been removed, previous to entering on the composition of so great a work. The general current of the style possesses only a moderate degree of elegance, and some passages are too coarse and colloquial. There runs through it, however, a certain enthusiasm, in favour both of the author and of his favourite pursuits, which repeatedly breaks forth in very animated and poetical passages, some of which we may have occasion to notice in the sequel.

After some brief notice of the family of Tasso, Mr Black gives a pretty long and interesting life of his father, Bernardo, a man entirely devoted to poetical purtuits, and no contemptible proficient in them; though his fame was quite eclipsed by that of his offspring. Bernardo seems to have been a prudent, worthy man, much better qualified to conduct himself through life than poets usually are. His life accordingly flowed on in a peaceful and happy tenor, till an advanced age; and it would, probably, have continued to do so, had he not been involved in those political convulsions which agitated his country. His patron, the Prince of Salerno, having incurred the displeasure of the emperor, was forced to leave Italy. Bernardo, as one of his adherents, had his fortune confiscated, and was forced to drag on the rest of his days in poverty and dependence. Thus Tasso was born amid calamity, of which, however, he was yet, happily, unconscious. His premature genius rendered him the pride and darling of his father; but Bernardo having experienced, in his own person, how insufficient poetry was to secure independence, determined to

breed his son to the law. It is painful to think how much happier Tasso would probably have been, had he followed the intentions of his father, and had his genius thus been lost to the world. But nature and example were too powerful. Born in a poetical age, bred amid the muses, and endowed with the most glowing imagination, it was never to be expected that he should confine himself to the dry routine of legal studies. While his friends supposed him poring over Institutes and Pandects, he, at the age of eighteen, was composing the poem of Rinaldo, the reception of which irrevocably fixed his destiny. From that moment, he devoted himself entire ly to poetry, and thought only of the production of some great work, which might secure his immortality. In the mean time, however, the means of subsistence were to be found, and the customs then prevalent in Italy presented a ready though not very eligible resource. The sovereigns of that country, then almost all ambitious of shining as patrons of letters, were accustomed to take into their service, as it was called, persons who had distinguished themselves by their genius. This humiliating term too truly describes the situation in which they stood; yet their condition was gilded for a time by the splendour which surrounded them, and by the attentions which were lavished on them at their first arrival, Tasso had now no difficulty of finding a court ready to receive him. Chance, or choice, conducted him to Ferrara. He was enchanted by the magnificence of that court, by its romantic pageantry, by the beauty and wit of the ladies, and by the attentions which every one was eager to pay him. The presents which he received, though not apparently very splendid, were yet sufficient to relieve him, during the composition of his great work, from

all

all anxiety on the ground of subsistence. He had already, at Bologna, in the 19th year of his age, formed the first idea, and even composed some part of the Jerusalem. During ten years, he continued engaged in it, though he, at the same time, amused himself by writing sonnets to the Princesses of Este, and other court ladies; and, at the age of 29, produced his Aminta, the first of Italian pastorals, by which he gained a great accession to his glory. By this time, his Jerusalem was nearly completed, and he was impatient beyond measure to have it before the public; but ere that could be accomplished, a severe ordeal was to be passed through. The critics of that age being uncommonly numerous and powerful, Tasso was anxions to receive their revison and their sanction, before taking the step on which all his future fame was to rest. Unhappily, however, liberal and enlightened criticism was then unknown in Italy. One party was impressed with the most superstitious reverence for the ancients, and regarded nothing which was not strictly according to the rules of Aristotle; another had no taste but for the wild extravagance of Ariosto; and a third sought only to purify the poem from every pagan and licentious mixture, and insisting "that it should be calculated for the perusal, not of princes and ladies, but of monks and nuns." Poor Tasso suffered inexpressible torture between his anxiety to satisfy his critics, whom he considered as the representatives of the public, and his fond affection for those parts of his poem, often the finest, against which they levelled their anathema. Our author has preserved several curious discussions which took place on this occasion. The following may serve as a specimen of the sort of objections with which Tasso was assailed. An eminent critic says,

"It does not seem proper that Urania should be invoked in the poem under the name of the muse, and placed in heaven; since the name of muse signifies only sound, or song, which, in Aristotle's opinion, cannot be in heaven; and since there is no sound, there cannot also be muses in heaven." To this profound remark, Tasso makes a long, serious, and elaborate reply; in doing which, our author is afraid that he was really in earnest, and not intentionally answering folly by folly. We are inclined to think, however, that, though Tasso's reply might not be absolutely ironical, he was yet sensible of the futility of the argument; but from the dignity and supposed influence of the critic, was anxious to satisfy him on the subject. Thus, in complaining of the severity of another (Antoniano) he rests his uneasiness on the apprehension "that there might be many at Rome who thought like him."

This cruel scrutiny, however, was at last terminated; but the impression it left, combined with other painful circumstances, rendered the unfortunate poet incapable of enjoying that harvest of glory, which was now full in his view. About this time he was affected with that derangement of mind which clouded all the remaining years of his life, A series of occupation, in which imagination, rather than reason, had been habitually exercised ill health, and in some degree, probably, the anguish of unrequitted love, concur red in exciting or aggravating this distemper. It was rather melancholy than madness, and manifested itself chiefly in a general distrust of all around him, and in gloomy imaginations with regard to himself. Its effects were greatly inflamed by the severity with which he was treated by the duke of Ferrara. Mr Black endeavours to clear that

prince from part of the reproaches which have been thrown on his memory, on account of his treatment of Tasso. Still, however, we cannot conceive him to be exculpated. We see little ground of resentment which he had, that was not founded on mean jealousy and caprice; and even the letters, which are given as evidences of his friendly disposition, appear to us cold and disdainful. But it scems, throughout, to have been the fate of the princes of Ferrara, to sink the glory of being the patrons of genius, in the shame of being its persecutors.

Tasso, thoroughly disgusted with Ferrara, at length made his escape from it, and went to reside with his sister, at Sorrento. The desire, however, of recovering some of his works, and probably also, the tie of former habits and attachments, again drew him to his former residence. He left it again in disgust; yet, urged by the same motives, he a third time returned to it; but the extreme severity with which he was then treated, finally cured him of all desire of revisiting it. The rest of his life was spent in wandering over the different cities of Italy, generally meeting with honours and attention; but tiring of every situation as soon as it ceased to be new, and every where pursued by the habitual gloom of his own mind. The attacks upon his reputation, indeed, were peculiarly cruel. Not only was he exposed to the shafts of individual envy, but a society, of some distinction, the della Crusca, combined its efforts against him. Satirical writings in every style and shape, were issued under its sanction, though they were chiefly composed by a single individual, Salviati, who conceived himself to have been injured by Tasso. This personage repaired to Ferrara, and the duke was so lost to his own glory as to accept, in homage, an at

tack upon the great man, of whom he had once been the protector, The virulence of this hostility, however, gradually abated; defenders arose; and the very excess to which his enemies carried their abuse, rendered it impotent. Yet the question was still discussed, whether Ariosto or Tasso were the greater poet? and the general voice of Italy, decided in favour of the former. This question has in some degree remained to our day; though the voice of Europe has reversed the sentence of the cotemporaries of Tasso. For our parts, we never could entertain any hesitation upon the subject. If, indeed, the excellence of Tasso, according to what has been often said, consisted merely in his superior order and regularity, while in other respects he was inferior, we should not hesitate in giving the palm to Ariosto. The merits of poetry, we apprehend, consist much less in the plan, than in the detail; much less in the conduct of the parrative, than in the descriptions and sentiments. In these it is, we think, that the superiority of Tasso mainly consists; in that rich imagery, that majesty of numbers, that lofty and tender enthusiasm, which breathes throughout. Compared to these, Ariosto is little better than an amusing roman. cier, while Tasso is a great poet.

It would carry us too far beyond our limits to follow Tasso through the changing scenes of his subse quent lot. Suffice it to say, that, in most of the states through which he travelled, he appears to have met with attention and respect; and that his difficulties arose, in a good measure, from his own thoughtless and restless character. He was prevent ed only by death from receiving the highest honour which Italy can confer on poetical renown.

Our author concludes with a ge neral view of the character of Tasso,

both

both as a man and a poet. We have little to say against his opinions on these subjects, though we expected them to have excited somewhat more of his poetical enthusiasm. We do not much approve of the manner in which he has formed it out of the collected opinions of former authors. There ought, we think, to have been

a full and connected view of the subject by himself, while the extracts from the works of others might have been thrown into the appendix.

We have been so far carried along by the interest of the subject, that we have hitherto omitted to give any specimens of Mr Black's composition. To make amends for this omission, we shall extract the following passage, in which he endeavours to controvert the generally received opinion, that Tasso's madness, and the resentment of Alphonso, arose from a passion which the poet entertained for the Princess Leonora.

As Serassi has not developed this subject with sufficient evidence, and has said nothing at all on the sources of Tasso's distraction, the romantic idea, that the imprisonment, as well as derangement of this poet, was owing to love for the Princess Leonora, has not been abandoned since the publication of his work. No better proof can be given of the indistinctness with which Serassi has treated the question, than that, after the perusal of his Life of Tasso, the very learned and elegant author of the Historical Memoir on Italian Tragedy, confesses himself a convert to the hypothesis of Manso. "Anxious (says he) to vindicate Leonora from any criminal passion for Tasso, Serassi argues, that she was a temple of honour and of chastity. That this fair temple did not yield to the amorous assaults of Tasso, I am willing to believe; but it is probable that Alphonso thought it necessary to oblige the poet to raise the siege." It is to be remarked, however, in opposition to this hypothesis, that the imprisonment of Tasso took place, not when he might have been considered as a dangerous lover, but above an year and a half after he had given the strongest symptoms of insanity, and was wandering through the country in a state of helpless distraction. Alphonso must needs have had the most

astonishing idea, both of the inflammatory passions of his sister, and of the insinuating gallantry of the poet, if, in circumstances such as now stated, he considered him as a very attractive suitor.

Besides, who was this fond doating girl, whose honour and reputation it requir ed such barriers to preserve. Leonora of in 1579, when Tasso was imprisoned, had Este was born in 1537, and, consequently, reached her forty-second year. This does not seem to be the age of love; especially as her health had been exceedingly delicate, is to be remarked, likewise, that this frantic and subject to continual indispositions. It

fondness was not the result of a few interviews, but must have reached this distract ing height fourteen years after the arrival of Tasso at Ferrara, and amidst daily habits of social intercourse.

Nor, on the other hand, did the pas sion of Tasso, according to the hypothesis which I am now combating, break forth at a period of life when love is felt most readily; not in indolence and ease, when the him with such violence amidst the torments heart is tired of being at peace. It assailed of ungratified ambition and disappointed glory, at a time when despondency was quenching the ardour of expectation, and the hope of immortality. Such a supposi tion is very improbable; and it is the more so, as in a soul which proposes fame as the object of its pursuit, every other desire, however violent, is subordinate to that passion. It is to be recollected, too, that, at the period immediately preceding his mental alienation, Tasso was exceedingly desir ous of leaving Ferrara; and that to this very desire, a considerable portion of the anger of Alphonso is to be attributed. This does not correspond with his supposed frantic passion for Leonora; nor do his frequent attachments to other ladies strengthen the probability of the existence of such a pas sion.

It would appear, therefore, that the confinement of Tasso, (which was essential both to the comfort of his friends and his own safety), cannot, with any semblance of reason, be imputed to his love for the sister of Alphonso; a hypothesis which seems to have been framed for the purpose of solving a problem, which can be determined from other elements. A similar remark may be made with regard to the distraction of our poet, which has likewise been attributed to his passion for Leonora. Newton has established it as a rule of philosophizing, that no more causes are to be assigned for the explanation of natural events, than what, besides being true, are sufficient to explain the phenomena. If we apply this to the

fo

life of Tasso; if we consider the effects which perplexity, disappointment, and persecution, are calculated to produce on a proud, a feeling, and over-heated mind, we shall rather wonder that it so long resisted the shock.

In fact, I think it impossible to read with attention the present work, from where Tasso first sends his Jerusalem to be revised, till the period of his paroxysm, without concluding, that the great exciting causes of his distraction were the objections made to his poem. Possessed of an inordinate ambition, and fretful impatience, for literary glory, he had laboured ten years in the most assiduous manner; and he found, at last, that his work would either not appear at all, or appear mutilated and imperfect. It were needless to repeat what has been already said of Tasso's impatience for renown, his suspense amidst contradictory criticisms, his fatigue in reviewing and altering his poem, and all the sources of debility and irritation which have been detailed in his story. Nor is it at all surprising,

that his faculties suffered in the concussion produced by the sudden transition, from the ardent hope of almost certain success to bitter disappointment,-from the sweetest gratifications of self-love to the most piercing torments of humiliation. His purpose, too, of leaving Ferrara, and of entering into the service of the Medici, while it lost him the favour of Alphonso, subjected the poet to the reproach of faithlessness and ingratitude. Thus he was overwhelmed at once

with a disappointment of glory, and of fortune; the brilliant flame of expectation was quenched; and nothing was left to the unhappy Tasso, but the dreary prospect of eternal poverty, dependence, and neglect.

We shall also give the following, respecting the comparative merits of the Gerusalamme Liberata and Conquistata.

The great fame of the author, and the great expectation of this work, diffused it universally, and made it be read with the atmost avidity. It was even, perhaps, some time before people dared to give their opinion; but, when that happened, it was in favour of the other poem. The Goffredo was now well known; its incidents were indelibly imprinted on the memory, and the attempt to alter them was dangerous as it was vain. Even had the new poem been equal to its prototype, the former must have prevailed; but it was far from equal. The

one resembled Tasso, when he composed it in his youth; it was embellished by love, by beauty, and by strength; the other, like

Reason and

the same poet in his declining years, was languid, joyless, and severe. judgment might, indeed, be seen; but ardour and fancy had fled away.

In the Jerusalem Delivered, there is a certain romantic charm which is wonderfully pleasing. Never was character, or ima gery, or scenery, more beautifully delineat ed; never did genius lend to love a magic so seductive. In what other poem are we presented with situations so affecting; with incidents so well calculated to make the tears of grief or of pity flow? In what other poem are we fascinated with an enchantress so bewitching as Armida? By what other poem are so many sympathies of our nature excited and indulged? Never did poet understand like Tasso the distribution of light and shade; that art, by which we are conducted from the din and horror of war, to the asylum of peace, or amidst the bowers of love. Add to this, a style varying with the subject, but, always noble, sometimes solemn as the pealing organ, sometimes softer than the breeze tuned lyre.

Mr Black announces, finally, an intention, at some future time, of translating the Jerusalem, with copious notes and comments. There is, certainly, room for a new translation; for Hoole's, though, on the whole, neat and correct, gives a very faint transcript of the spirit of ranks above him in poetical genius; the original. Our author, we think, but he must receive a considerable accession of smoothness, taste, and delicacy, before he can be considered as duly qualified for so arduous a task.

New Works published in Edinburgh.

M Esq. sixth edition, with elegant

[ARMION. By Walter Scott,

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A WORK, entitled Ornithologia

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