plainly as thou see'st my honours,
Behold the oppress'd and downcast spirit within.

"_Antonio_--I have long known that in his recompenses
Alphonso is immoderate; 'tis thine
To prove to-day what all who serve the prince
Have learn'd, or will."

Antonio then launches into an eloquent eulogium upon the _other_ crowned
one--upon Ariosto--which has for its object as well to dash the pride of
the living, as to do homage to the dead. He adds, with a most cruel
ambiguity,

"Who ventures near this man to place himself,
Even for his boldness may deserve a crown."

The seeds of enmity, it is manifest, are plentifully sown between
Antonio and Tasso. Here ends the 1st Act.

At the commencement of the 2d Act, the princess is endeavouring to heal
the wound that has been inflicted on the just pride of the poet, and she
alludes, in particular, to the eulogy which Antonio had so invidiously
passed upon Ariosto. The answer of Tasso deserves attention. It is
peculiar to the poetic genius to estimate very differently at different
times the value of its own labours. Sometimes do but grant to the poet
his claim to the possession of genius, and his head strikes the stars.
At other times, when contemplating the lives of those men whose actions
he has been content to celebrate in song, he doubts whether he should
not rank himself as the very prince of idlers. He is sometimes tempted
to think that to have given one good stroke with the sword, were worth
all the delicate touches of his pen. This feeling Tasso has finely
expressed.

"_Princess._--When Antonio knows what thou hast done
To honour these our times, then will he place thee
On the same level, side by side, with him
He now depicts in so gigantic stature.

"_Tasso._--Believe me, lady, Ariosto's praise
Heard from his lips, was likely more to please
Than wound me. It confirms us, it consoles,
To hear the man extoll'd whom we have placed
Before us as a model: we can say
In secret to ourselves--gain thou a share
Of his acknowledged merit, and thou gain'st
As certainly a portion of his fame.
No--that which to its depths has stirr'd my spirit,
What still I feel through all my sinking soul,
It was the picture of that living world,
Which restless, vast, enormous, yet revolves
In measured circle round the one great man,
Fulfils the course which he, the demi-god,
Dares to prescribe to it. With eager ear
I listen'd to the experien