o other name, of equal length.

Nothing can be said in favour of Hayley's attempt, but that it is better
than Boyd's. His mind was a tolerable specimen of filigree work,--rather
elegant, and very feeble. All that can be said for his best works is
that they are neat. All that can be said against his worst is that they
are stupid. He might have translated Metastasio tolerably. But he was
utterly unable to do justice to the

"rime e aspre e chiocce,
"Come si converrebbe al tristo buco."
(Inferno, canto xxxii.)

I turn with pleasure from these wretched performances to Mr Cary's
translation. It is a work which well deserves a separate discussion, and
on which, if this article were not already too long, I could dwell
with great pleasure. At present I will only say that there is no other
version in the world, as far as I know, so faithful, yet that there is
no other version which so fully proves that the translator is himself a
man of poetical genius. Those who are ignorant of the Italian language
should read it to become acquainted with the Divine Comedy. Those
who are most intimate with Italian literature should read it for its
original merits: and I believe that they will find it difficult to
determine whether the author deserves most praise for his intimacy with
the language of Dante, or for his extraordinary mastery over his own.

*****

CRITICISMS ON THE PRINCIPAL ITALIAN WRITERS.

No. II. PETRARCH. (April 1824.)

Et vos, o lauri, carpam, et te, proxima myrte,
Sic positae quoniam suaves miscetis odores. Virgil.

It would not be easy to name a writer whose celebrity, when both its
extent and its duration are taken into the account, can be considered as
equal to that of Petrarch. Four centuries and a half have elapsed since
his death. Yet still the inhabitants of every nation throughout the
western world are as familiar with his character and his adventures as
with the most illustrious names, and the most recent anecdotes, of their
own literary history. This is indeed a rare distinction. His detractors
must acknowledge that it could not have been acquired by a poet
destitute of merit. His admirers will scarcely maintain that the
unassisted merit of Petrarch could have raised him to that eminence
which has not yet been attained by Shakspeare, Milton, or Dante,--that
eminence, of which perhaps no modern writer, excepting himself and
Cervantes, has long retained possession,--an Euro