did not understand after all, was the greatest poet that ever lived; next to him were Goldsmith, and Collins, and Gray; the two latter, however, were very little understood: then, or, perhaps, before them, was Dr. Johnson, whom our master at school gave us as a poetical model: then came, in their respective circles, though at due distance, Mr. Jenkins, Mr. Tomkins, or Mr. Hopkins, who wrote lines on the beautiful Miss Y. of Bristol, or the charming Miss Z. of Fish Street Hill; and nothing was wanting to make such a person as Mr. Hoole a great and popular writer with those gentlemen and ladies, but that he should write a great quantity of verses; which he accordingly did. That Dr. Johnson should speak a good word for Mr. Hoole, much less write a Dedication for him, is not surprising; though what a poet must he be, who goes to another to write a Dedication for him! Johnson was in the habit of writing Dedications for those who were conscious of not being good turners of a prose paragraph, and who wished to approach the great with a proper one; and Mr. Hoole, it seems, was among these modest persons, though he did not scruple to approach Tasso and Ariosto with his poetry. VOL. I. G The Dedication, which is to the late Queen, and which expresses a wish that Tasso had lived in a happier time, and experienced from the descendants of the House of Este, "a more liberal and potent patronage," is elegant and to the purpose. The good word is a mere word, and very equivocal besides. Johnson, who is now pretty generally understood not to have been so good a critic in poetry, as he was strong in general understanding, and justly eminent in some respects, might have been very capable of applauding a translation upon Mr. Hoole's principles; but it is more than to be suspected, that he would have desired a higher order of workmanship out of the manufactory. Hoole was a pitch too low for his admiration, though it appeared he had private qualities sufficient to secure his good wishes; and even those, there is good reason to conclude, could not have prevented a feeling of contempt for a translator of great poets, who could come to him for a Dedication. When Boswell, in one of his maudlin fits of adulation, affected to consider something with Goldsmith's name to it as supplied by the Doctor, the latter could not restrain his scorn; and said, that Goldsmith would no more come 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 as profusely as words have been since. He was 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 |