er works of Canova, (I have already
spoken of those of ancient Greece, still extant in that country, or
transported to England,) are as _poetical_ as Mont Blanc or Mount
AEtna, perhaps still more so, as they are direct manifestations of
mind, and _presuppose_ poetry in their very conception; and have,
moreover, as being such, a something of actual life, which cannot
belong to any part of inanimate nature, unless we adopt the system of
Spinosa, that the world is the Deity. There can be nothing more
poetical in its aspect than the city of Venice: does this depend upon
the sea, or the canals?--

"The dirt and sea-weed whence proud Venice rose?"

Is it the canal which runs between the palace and the prison, or the
"Bridge of Sighs," which connects them, that render it poetical? Is
it the "Canal Grande," or the Rialto which arches it, the churches
which tower over it, the palaces which line, and the gondolas which
glide over the waters, that render this city more poetical than Rome
itself? Mr. Bowles will say, perhaps, that the Rialto is but marble,
the palaces and churches only stone, and the gondolas a "coarse"
black cloth, thrown over some planks of carved wood, with a shining
bit of fantastically formed iron at the prow, "_without_" the water.
And I tell him that without these, the water would be nothing but a
clay-coloured ditch; and whoever says the contrary, deserves to be at
the bottom of that, where Pope's heroes are embraced by the mud
nymphs. There would be nothing to make the canal of Venice more
poetical than that of Paddington, were it not for the artificial
adjuncts above mentioned; although it is a perfectly natural canal,
formed by the sea, and the innumerable islands which constitute the
site of this extraordinary city.

The very Cloaca of Tarquin at Rome are as poetical as Richmond Hill;
many will think more so: take away Rome, and leave the Tibur and the
seven hills, in the nature of Evander's time. Let Mr. Bowles, or Mr.
Wordsworth, or Mr. Southey, or any of the other "naturals," make a
poem upon them, and then see which is most poetical, their
production, or the commonest guide-book, which tells you the road
from St. Peter's to the Coliseum, and informs you what you will see
by the way. The ground interests in Virgil, because it _will_ be
_Rome_, and not because it is Evander's rural domain.

Mr. Bowles then proceeds to press Homer into his service, in answer
to a remark of Mr. Campbell's, that "