nds words for it which
give it the distinctness and reality of a physical substance. If it be a
landscape, he brings it before you, either in outline or in detail,
either by form or by color, as the occasion requires, but always with
equal force. That landscape of his ideal world ever after takes its
place in your memory by the side of the landscapes of your real world.
Even the sounds which he has described linger in the ear as the types of
harshness, or loudness, or sweetness, instantly coming back to you
whenever you listen to the roaring of the sea, or the howling of the
wind, or the carol of birds. He calls things by their names, never
shrinking from a homely phrase where the occasion demands it, nor
substituting circumlocution for direct expression. Words with him seem
to be things, real and tangible; not hovering like shadows over an idea,
but standing out in the clear light, bold and firm, as the distinct
representatives of an idea. In his verse every word has its appropriate
place, and something to do in that place which no other word could do
there. Change it, and you feel at once that something has been lost.

Next to power, infinite variety is the characteristic of Dante's style,
as it is of his invention. With a stronger individuality than any poet
of any age or country, there is not a trace of mannerism in all his
poem. The stern, the tender, the grand, simple exposition, fierce
satire, and passionate appeal have each their appropriate words and
their appropriate cadence. This Cary did not perceive, and has told the
stories of Francesca and of Ugolino with the same Miltonian modulation.
Longfellow, by keeping his original constantly before him, has both seen
and reproduced it.

We begin our quotations with the celebrated inscription over the gate of
hell, and the entrance of the two poets into "the secret things." The
reader will remember that the last three triplets contain a remarkable
example of the correspondence of sound with sense.

"Per me si va nella citta dolente;
Per me si va nell'eterno dolore;
Per me si va tra la perduta gente;
Giustizia mosse'l mio alto fattore;
Fecemi la divina potestate,
La somma sapienza e'l primo amore.
Dinanzi a me non fur cose create
Se non eterne, ed io eterno duro:
Lasciate ogni speranza voi che'ntrate.
Queste parole di colore oscuro
Vid'io scritte al sommo d'una porta;
Perch'io: mae