sought for the originals, though no doubt whatever would have existed in our own minds. In fact, he who is any ways conversant with Portugueze literature, could not for a moment believe that any poems of this character, we may almost add, of this merit, exist in the language. We will not say that Camoens has never written so well, for what beauties he has are of a higher class, of a purer and better feeling: but he has never written so fancifully, and where any hint of these Canzonets and Madrigals does exist in his verses, it has always been most materially improved. We will adduce one instance more. What follows is the literal and naked translation of the 34th sonnet. When the clouded sun is showing to the world a calm and doubtful light, I go along a delightful meadow thinking of my fair enemy. Here I see her concerting her tresses, there with her face so fair upon her hand, here chearfully talk ing, there thoughtful, now standing still, now walking; here she is seated, there she sees me, raising up those eyes, so careless! here somewhat moved, there secure; here she is sorrowful, there she laughs, and in fine in these weary thoughts this vain life perpetually passes away. When such a poem as this is referred Das the original of the coming canzonet, will not the reader wonder why Lord Strangford, like a true adept, should wish conceal his power of transmuting base netals into gold? When day has smil'd a soft farewell, I wander silently. And while my lone step prints the dew, Dear are the dreams that bless my view, To Memory's eye the maid appears, or whom have sprung my sweetest tears, So oft, so tenderly: 'I see her, as with graceful care she binds her braids of sunny hair; feel her harp's melodious thrill trike to my heart-and thence be still Re-cchio'd faithfully: I meet her mild and quiet eye, rink the warm spirit of her sigh, e young Love beating in her breast, And wish to mine it's pulses prest, God knows how fervently! Such are my hours of dear delight, And morn but makes me long for night, nd think how swift the minutes flew, hen last amongst the dropping dew, I wander'd silendy." As it is an allowable stratagem in war to hoist false colours, we have no objection to see good verses of Irish manufacture smuggled in under the Portugueze flag, but when his Lordship censures the very conduct which he has himself adopted, without acknowledging what he has done, he carries the deception too far. "The translator begs to observe, that for the most part, he has closely copied his author, but that where circumstances demanded, he has not hesitated to be "True to his sense--but truer to his fame." "Literal versions are justly deemed absurd; yet, on the other hand, too great an extension of the Horatian precept, Nec verbum verbo,' has been the bane of many. It has proved to the world of translation, what the phrase liberality of sentiment has been to that of morals-the worst of errors have originated from both." Twenty sonnets have been selected from three hundred and one of the original; for each of these a prototype exists, but the resemblance is never striking, partly because Lord Strangford cannot submit to the trammels of trans lation, partly because he has adopted the Italian structure of the sonnet, in opposition as it appears to his own better judgment. "Amongst other reasons why the legitimate Italian sonnet be not suitable to the genius of the English language, the following is not the least forcible. In those languages which are more immediately formed on the Latin, there is a frequent similarity of termination, which greatly facilitates the use of rhyme. Accordingly, the Italian, Spanish, and Portugueze languages (which originate from that source) have adopted the licence of polysyllabie rhyme, and with it the sonnet. The former was a liberty which they could scarcely have avoided, but which has never been sanctioned by the Musa severiores' of England. To us, therefore, the mechanical arrangement of a sonnet becomes a matter of peculiar diffi culty." says, The point is fairly stated here, but Lord Strangford has neglected to draw the legitimate inference. This has been well done by Mr. Coleridge. "A sameness," he "in the final sound of its words is the great and grievous defect of the Italian language. That rule, therefore, which the Italians have esta blished, of exactly four different sounds in the sonnet, seems to have arisen from their wish to have as many; not from any dread of finding more. But surely it is idiculous to make the defect of a foreign language a reason for our not availing ourselves of one of the marked excellencies of our own. The sonnet,' says Preston, will ever be cultivated by those who write on tender pathetic subjects It is peculiarly adapted to the state of a man violently agitated by a real passion, and wanting composure and vigour of mind to methodize his thought. It is fitter to express a momentary burst of passion, &c.' Now, if there be one species of composition more difficult and artificial than another, it is an English sonnet on the Italian 、 model. Adapted to the agitations of a real passion! Express momentary bursts of feeling in it! I should sooner expect to write pathetic axes, or pour forth extempore eggs and altars! But the best confutation of such idle rules is to be found in the sonnets of those who have observed them, in their inverted sentences, their quaint phrases, and incongruous mixture of obsolete and Spenserian words: and when at length the thing is tooled and hammered into fit shape, it is in general racked and tortured prose, rather than any thing resembling poetry." In proof of the justice of this opinion, the reader may be referred to Miss Seward's legitimate' sonnet to Mr. Carey, and Mr. Capel Loft's to the young poet of Nottingham, Mr. White, whose productions we have noticed with so much pleasure; and on the other hand, to Bowles and to Char. lotte Smith, which last excellent writer must be regarded as the reviver of the sonnet in England. Lord Strangford has therefore been constrained, by the unnatural metre which he has adopted, to deviate from the sense of the original. That it is possible to render the Italian sonnet, or the Italian ottava rima, into a corresponding metre, without adding to, or detracting from the original, and even without altering or omitting an epithet, and this too in verses which, in the natural flow and life of language vie with those which they represent, we have been convinced, by inspecting such efforts of consummate skill, which the translator of Filangieri has executed. But without this demonstration we should have conceived it impossible, and to effect it requires a combination of talents, which can so rarely occur, that, perhaps, they ought not to be sacrificed to the task of translation. The present translator, however, has deviated from his original, by choice, as well as by necessity. It is evident that he has thought Camoens too low, and has therefore raised him upon stilts. Let the fol lowing improvement be compared with a plain and unadorned version of the Portugueze. "Lives there a wretch, who would profanely dare On Love bestow a tyrant's barbarous name, And foe to every soft delight, proclaim His service, slavery; its wages, care? For ever may he prove it so, nor e'er Feel the dear transports of that generova flame; For him nor maiden smile, normelting dame The silent couch of midnight bliss prepare! For much he wrongs the gentlest, best of angriest hours Such rapture found, as would I not forego, No-not forego, for all the dead, cold ease Which dull indifference could e'er bestow!" Is there who says that love is like the wind Fickle, ungrateful, full of fraud and lies? That wretched man hath sure deserved to find From Love all vengeance and all cruelties! Camoens is never so amorous as his translator. There may be as much fire, but there is less flame; as much passion, but more modesty. The Portugueze is often flat, sometimes puerile, but rarely turgid'; and where his subject is happy, never writer has poured forth a sweeter flow of natural and recognizable feelings. The two following sonnets, plainly versified, will exemplify his best manner, for his sonnets are beyond comparison his best productions. Waters of Tejo, gentle stream, that flow Thro' these fair meads, refreshing as ye Herbage and flowers, and flocks, and with de light Soothing the nymphs and shepherds on your shore, Shall linger on your pleasant waters more. The thought of you dear waters oft will rise; When I behold you lady! when my eyes you Full, satisfied, absorbed, my centered mind the while As empty as the unsubstantial wind: heaven. We may perhaps have trespassed upon the strict purport of a review in intruding these translations; but it was our wish to exemplify the real characteristic of a poet whose merits are, of all others, the most unduly and disproportionately rated. The English Lusiad was certainly the most unfaithful translation in the world, till the present volume appeared. Mr. D'Israeli may chronicle it as one of the curiosities of iterature, that two Englishmen, of coniderable genius, should have employed hemselves at different times in interpoating a Portugueze poet. Passages of en, twenty, thirty lines are continually nserted by Mickle, and the loose texure of the original is comprest, and hereby strengthened to make room for hese improvements: in one place he as introduced above three hundred nes, to the material advantage of the tory. The fact is, that Mickle transited the Lusiad as a speculation, thinkg that the subject would excite a naonal interest, and procure him patroage. When he came to examine the em, he found it uninteresting, tedious, Leble, and, in fact, worthless to any at a Portugueze, for we shall see that is merits in point of language, which re very frail, are not to be appreciated ya foreigner. That such was his own onviction is evident, by the liberties which he has taken, and we entertain no cbt whatever, that this opinion he exressed to his confidential friends, as ay possibly appear by his letters, if y such be in existence. Still the subwas popular, and the poem had ob tained some celebrity; omne ignotum pro magnifico. Mickle profited by this; he was a man of very considerable genius, and his particular excellence Jay in description, of which the Lusiad was barren and bald. He therefore added, altered, and embellished without scruple, and without scruple praised his own interpolations with the freedom of a translator. The English Lusiad is, therefore, a refaccimiento in another language rather than a translation. It is still heavy, from the inherent and unconquerable stupidity of the story; and offensive, by its monstrous and gross machinery: but Mickle has mingled so much ardent spirit with the meagre beverage, that it will keep; and the industry with which he has prefaced and elucidated it, cannot be too much praised. It is not so easy to understand why strictly regards Camoens. "Our author, like many others, has His me This poem was attributed to Camoens by the printer, as Britain's Ida was in like manner, and with equal absurdity, ascribed to Spenser. But though the Creaçam e Composiçam do Homem was printed upon this erroneous supposition, the error was discovered before it was published, and acknowledged in the volume which contained it, so that, in fact, the poem has never past as the production of Camcens. The oddity of the allegory alone would be no proof that it was not his work. The two-and-thirty millers may be paralleled by as many porters in one of the most wonderful and delightful poems that ever has been, or ever will be, produced by human genius. "very happily" improve the portrait of John of Gaunt, to make it suit his new historical character! The fact is, that though this poem is one of the many which was stolen by Diogo Bernardes (a poc: whom Lord Strangford strangely dervalues), it has been incontrovertibly proved to be the work of Camoens. "The genius of Camoens was almost. universal. Like the great father of Engla poetry, there is scarcely any species of walling, from the epigram to the epic, whic he has not attempted, and, like him, he ha succeeded in all. It is not the province of the translator to offer any remarks on the Lusiad. That task has already been able performed. Of his minor productions, the general characteristic is ease; not the studied carelessness of modern refinement, but the cian muse. When he wrote, the Italian graceful and charming simplicity of a Gre model was in fashion, and as Camoens wat intimately acquainted with that language, he too frequently sacrificed his better judgmen to the vitiated opinion of the public. Hence "And round about the porch on every sydelusions, which he has sometimes, thoue" the extravagant hyberboles and laborious alTwice sixteen warders sat, all armed bright rarely, employed. But his own taste wa In glistering steel and strongly fortifyde; formed on purer principles. He had studi Tall yeoinen seemed they, and of great might, and admired the poems of Provence. He And were enraunged ready still for fight." had wandered through those vast catacom of buried genius, and treasure rewarded bar Provençal literature, which the present wr search. Even the humble knowledge of Faery Queene, b. ii. c. 9. These grinders, indeed, are in keeping; nor would they be disapproved by any new Aristotle who should lay down the rules for allegoric composition, as deduced from good old John Bunyan, the Homer of his class. There are, indeed, two miserable absurdities in this poem:-the castle is built upon two moving pedestals and is moreover brought to-bed of another castle ! "There is also another poem which bears his name, but is certainly the production of a different hand. The martyrdom of St. Ursula and the eleven thousand virgins forms its subject. But it is not probable that the persevering chastity of these unhappy ladies ould ever have found favour in the sight ter possesses, has enabled him to discov many passages which the Portuguese port has rendered his own. But we must be careful not to defraud Camoens of the mer of originality. To that character he ha perhaps, a juster claim than any of the mo derns, Dante alone excepted. The same mark which Landino applies to that po may be referred to him. He was the first way wrote with elegance in his native tongue The language of Rome, and even of Greer. had been refined by antecedent authors, tu fore the appearance of Virgil or of Homer, but Camoens was at once the polisher, and in some degree the creator of his own. How deplorable must have been its state, when is naturalized two thousand new words, on the bare authority of a single man! Monsieu of our amorous bard. It is still less likely, Ménage was wont to pique himself on hav that he would have celebrated it in his song." This is a new and whimsical mode of criticism. Lord Strangford discovers that Camoens was of a very amorous disposition; and, therefore, as chastity was not his favourite virtue, he could not have written this poem in honour of our eleven thousand virgins! This reminds us of Mr. Godwin, who draws a character of John of Gaunt, in contradiction to all the contemporary historians, and then makes his engraver ing introduced into French the term "" muste ;"yet all his influence could never ma...) it current, nor indeed did it long survive t illustrious fabricator." Lord Strangford quotes French atthority for the last assertion-bad auth rity in any point of literature, and par ticularly of Portuguese literaturewitness Voltaire's criticism upon th Lusiad an instance of shameless n pudence so characteristic of the indiv dual and the nation, that it never shoul be forgotten. Two thousand words would make a large proportion of the poet's vocabulary. That Camoens did much in improving the language is certain. To nouns, which before were used only in the plural, he gave a singular: he changed the termination of proper names for the sake of euphony: he lengthened some words; abbreviated others; revived some which had become obsolete; and made many from the Latin. Sometimes, says Antonio das Neves, he abused this liberty, and coined words almost macaronic. But, in general, his innovations were so analogous to the nature of the language, that occasioning no difficulty, and exciting no surprize, they were quietly naturalized. Camoens is, therefore, regarded as the writer who gave the last improvement to his native language. How far he actually improved it, it is not possible that a foreigner can judge; but this is his great and main merit. His poetical character can neither be estimated by the present volume, nor by the English Lusiad: the merits of the one must be assigned to Mickle, and the other to Lord Strangford. Whether this species of deception is to be justified we will not say; but, as far as regards our individual gratification, being acquainted with the Portugueze poet, we were well pleased to discover originals where we only expected translations. ART. XXXIII. Original Poems on Miscellaneous Subjects. By the late Rev. JOHN EDMONDS, Jun. A. M. late Fellow of Catherine Hall, Cambridge, Rector of Skinand, in the Diocese of Lincoln, and Vicar of Alrewas, in the County of Stafford. Written during his Minority (from 14 to 18 Years of Age). 8vo. pp. 28. "Accept this tribute to thy much-lov'd shade, If these can please thee, lo! these rites are My breast no weak dissembled sorrows swell: paid Farewell, my friend, for evermore farewell!" Two or three of the pieces have a good deal of humour, and there is altogether an indication of so much poetic talent, that we regret that Mr. Edmonds did not leave some specimens of his powers in maturer years. By J. D'ISRAELI. 4vo. pp. 55. writer. His Curiosities of Literature have been the amusement of every PP |