ecting the two species of poetry with which we are here
principally occupied, we compared the ancient Tragedy to a group in
sculpture, the figures corresponding to the characters, and their
grouping to the action; and to these two, in both productions of art,
is the consideration exclusively directed, as being all that is
properly exhibited. But the romantic drama must be viewed as a large
picture, where not merely figure and motion are exhibited in larger,
richer groups, but where even all that surrounds the figures must also
be portrayed; where we see not merely the nearest objects, but are
indulged with the prospect of a considerable distance; and all this
under a magical light which assists in giving to the impression the
particular character desired.

Such a picture must be bounded less perfectly and less distinctly than
the group; for it is like a fragment cut out of the optic scene of
the world. However, the painter, by the setting of his foreground, by
throwing the whole of his light into the centre, and by other means of
fixing the point of view, will learn that he must neither wander
beyond the composition nor omit anything within it.

In the representation of figure, Painting cannot compete with
Sculpture, since the former can exhibit it only by a deception and
from a single point of view; but, on the other hand, it communicates
more life to its imitations by colors which in a picture are made to
imitate the lightest shades of mental expression in the countenance.
The look, which can be given only very imperfectly by Sculpture,
enables us to read much deeper in the mind and perceive its lightest
movements. Its peculiar charm, in short, consists in this, that it
enables us to see in bodily objects what is least corporeal, namely,
light and air.

The very same description of beauties are peculiar to the romantic
drama. It does not (like the Old Tragedy) separate seriousness and the
action, in a rigid manner, from among the whole ingredients of life;
it embraces at once the whole of the chequered drama of life with all
its circumstances; and while it seems only to represent subjects
brought accidentally together, it satisfies the unconscious
requisitions of fancy, buries us in reflections on the inexpressible
signification of the objects which we view blended by order, nearness
and distance, light and color, into one harmonious whole; and thus
lends, as it were, a soul to the prospect before us.

The change