oss matter she abstracts _their_ forms,
And draws a kind of quintessence from things,
Which to her proper nature she transforms
To bear them light on her celestial wings!

"_Thus_ doth she, when from _individual states_
She doth abstract the universal kinds,
_Which then reclothed in divers names and fates_
_Steal access thro' our senses to our minds_."

Greek Drama.

It is truly singular that Plato,--whose philosophy and religion were but
exotic at home, and a mere opposition to the finite in all things, genuine
prophet and anticipator as he was of the Protestant Christian aera,--should
have given in his Dialogue of the Banquet, a justification of our
Shakespeare. For he relates that, when all the other guests had either
dispersed or fallen asleep, Socrates only, together with Aristophanes and
Agathon, remained awake, and that, while he continued to drink with them
out of a large goblet, he compelled them, though most reluctantly, to
admit that it was the business of one and the same genius to excel in
tragic and comic poetry, or that the tragic poet ought, at the same time,
to contain within himself the powers of comedy. Now, as this was directly
repugnant to the entire theory of the ancient critics, and contrary to all
their experience, it is evident that Plato must have fixed the eye of his
contemplation on the innermost essentials of the drama, abstracted from
the forms of age or country. In another passage he even adds the reason,
namely, that opposites illustrate each other's nature, and in their
struggle draw forth the strength of the combatants, and display the
conqueror as sovereign even on the territories of the rival power.

Nothing can more forcibly exemplify the separative spirit of the Greek
arts than their comedy as opposed to their tragedy. But as the immediate
struggle of contraries supposes an arena common to both, so both were
alike ideal; that is, the comedy of Aristophanes rose to as great a
distance above the ludicrous of real life, as the tragedy of Sophocles
above its tragic events and passions,--and it is in this one point, of
absolute ideality, that the comedy of Shakespeare and the old comedy of
Athens coincide. In this also alone did the Greek tragedy and comedy
unite; in every thing else they were exactly opposed to each other.
Tragedy is poetry in its deepest earnest; comedy is poetry in unlimited
jest. Earnestness consists in the direction and convergence of all the
powers of