pare their anterent merits we will at once be
the greater originality of Ariosto, and with
tenderness of Tasso.... Tasso abounds with some
moving beauties of poetry, but he also abounds
tering tinsel, and the general outlines of his p
drawn from Homer's Iliad.....Whereas Ariosto disc

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See Ariosto* take his boundless course Thro' fields of air upon his griffin horse;

sound of the winds through the rocks and the caverns, which he has compared to the voice of a spirit. The admiration which the works of Ossian have excited abroad, is a confirming evidence of their excellence, and should meliorate the criticism of those whose taste is submissive to the prejudice of the great Dr Johnson. Most of the nations of Europe have listened to the songs of Ossian with delight. The Germans prefer them to the Iliad and the Enied....and they have received in Spain all the decora tions which the printer and painter could afford.

*This poet, whom the author of the Pursuits of Literature has classed among the greatest geniuses of the world, had the kindred soul of Shakspeare. His imagination appears from his works to be inexhaustible. His impetuosity bears him above every difficulty. Amid fields of unlimited space he could only stretch his wings. His immense bark could float on no other waves than those of the ocean. His mighty arm would wield no sword but that of Orlando, which fell upon the foe like the thunder of heaven. In genius, Ariosto is much superior to his rival Tasso, but he sinks behind him in taste and in correctness. If we compare their different merits we will at once be struck with the greater originality of Ariosto, and with the greater tenderness of Tasso....Tasso abounds with some of the most moving beauties of poetry, but he also abounds with glit. tering tinsel, and the general outlines of his poem are drawn from Homer's Iliad..... Whereas Ariosto disdained

From which he looks upon the world below,

And bids the storms beat on his dauntless brow:

Ten thousand phantoms glimmer in his sight,
And on the winds attend him in his flight.
When knights and war he sings and war's alarms,
He speaks in terror, like the god of arms;
But when Angelica's soft charms he sings,
An angel's pinions sweep his trembling strings. 270.
Untaught by science, not refin’d by art,

His sole instructors Nature and the heart;
See lowly Burns* move slowly o'er the lea,
And breathe the song of sweetest harmony.

any imitation. He delighted in the sublimity of irregula rity. His flight is regulated by no rules. He soars beyond the reach of criticism

* Burns to an exquisite sensibility united a power of description, not inferior to that of the author of the Seasons. His scanty information, however, repressed the exertions of his wild Genius. His muse seldom looks beyond the glens of Scotland, its hills and romantic waters. Soured by misfortune and doomed to feel the pains of those, who, in humble life have listened to the trump of Fame, he sought indulgence to his sorrow among those scenes, which while they soothed his mind, awoke the pathos of his muse. His Cotter's Saturday Night....his Address to a Mountain Daisy his Lament of Mary Queen of Scotts....his Lament on a