and the success of which, when produced upon the Weimar stage, was, Goethe tells us, unparalleled.

Through Coleridge's admirable translation, which has all the freshness of an original work, this noble tragedy has been, as it were, reborn, and occupies a unique place in our literature; hence, all lovers of poetry are familiar with the grand and imposing figure of Wallenstein himself, and with the tragic story of Max Piccolomini and Thekla, whose gracious figures, surrounded by the tumult and the horrors of war, are invested with a halo of touching and ethereal beauty.

How fully Goethe recognized the value of Coleridge's translation, appears from the following passages from a letter addressed to Carlyle, which contains also some interesting remarks upon the functions of the translator.

"The translation of Wallenstein' made quite a peculiar impression upon me."1 After dwelling upon his intimate acquaintance with the drama, and upon the trouble and vexation which he had encountered in his efforts to put it on the stage, a tedious process, which had at length not unnaturally awakened within him a feeling of repugnance for what he characterizes as "this glorious. piece," he proceeds as follows: "For twenty years I have neither seen nor read it. But now that, quite unexpectedly, I see it again in the language of Shakespeare, it suddenly appears before me in all its details, and I delight in it as of yore, but also in a new and peculiar way . . This suggests to me a new observation, perchance hardly realized, and probably never uttered before-namely, that the translator does not work for his own nation only, but also for the nation from whose language he has transferred the work."

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The drama concludes with the death of Wallenstein, which, to quote the words of Carlyle, "is perhaps the most highly wrought scene of the play." Except in 'Macbeth' or the conclusion of 'Othello,' we know not where to match it. Schiller's genius is of a kind much narrower than Shakespeare's; but in his own peculiar 1 "Goethe and Carlyle." Prof. Max Müller.

province the exciting of lofty, strong emotion, he admits of no superior."

In "Mary Stuart," Schiller's next drama, published in 1800, the character of the Scottish Queen is invested with great pathos and dignity; it contains, moreover, many striking scenes and passages of rare poetic beauty; nevertheless, as an historical study, it is inferior to its predecessors, "Don Carlos" and "Wallenstein;" more especially is this want of fidelity to historic truth felt in his delineation of the English court, and his portraiture of the English Queen.

The same objection may be urged against the poet's next dramatic production, his "Maid of Orleans," published in 1801, wherein "the introduction of supernatural agency, and the final aberration from the truth of history, have been considerably censured by German critics." These blemishes are, however, overpowered by the grandeur, the heroism, the lofty enthusiasm, wherewith he has invested the warrior-shepherdess, who, though not historically, is nevertheless psychologically, true, and who will ever remain one of the poet's finest ideal creations.

Special interest attaches to "William Tell," as Schiller's last masterpiece, having been published in 1804, the year before his death. "In this drama," to quote the words of Carlyle, " Alpine life, in all its length and breadth, is placed before us; we stand as if in presence of the Swiss, beholding the achievement of their freedom in its minutest circumstances, with all its simplicity and unaffected greatness. The light of the poet's genius is upon the Four Forest Cantons, at the opening of the fourteenth century. The whole time and scene shine as with the brightness, the truth, and more than the beauty of reality."

At a time, moreover, when the liberties, not only of Switzerland, but of other European countries were threatened by the aggressive attitude of France, the appearance of this spirit-stirring drama was peculiarly opportune; as, with the voice of a trumpet, it summoned

the nations following the example of the Swiss, to unfurl the banner of Freedom and to defend their threatened nationalities.

Schiller's poetical genius, like Goethe's, found expression, not only in his dramas, but also in numerous lyrical poems and ballads, many of the latter, such as "The Bell," "Cassandra," "The Cranes of Ibycus," and many others, being of the highest excellence.

Among these beautiful poems I must not linger, but, in conclusion, will quote from Carlyle's" Life of Schiller,' the following tribute to the great German bard: "Poetry in Schiller was, what true poetry is always; the quintessence of general mental riches, the purified result of strong thought and conception, and of refined as well as powerful emotion. His was a mighty spirit unheedful of its might. He walked the earth in calm power; the staff of his spear was like a weaver's beam;' but he wielded it like a wand."

ENGLAND.

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

1801-1861.

WHEN the poets of the new era, inaugurated by the French Revolution, had passed away, or had ceased to sing, and when, with the battle of Waterloo, the Napoleonic wars, which had converted Europe into one vast battle-field, had been brought to a close, a period of reaction followed; weary of the prolonged struggle which had so sorely taxed her strength, England's one desire was for repose. Accordingly, repressing all humanitarian dreams of social amelioration, she devoted her energies to practical objects, more especially to the promotion of her material prosperity, an attitude of the public mind unfavourable to the production of the highest poetry, of which, for a considerable period, there was an absolute dearth.

At length, however, early in the fourth decade of the century there appeared, almost simultaneously, three first-class poets, Alfred Tennyson, Robert Browning, and Elizabeth Barrett, subsequently known as Elizabeth Barrett Browning. As it is not my intention to discuss the works of living poets, except, in conclusion, to devote a brief space to our great patriarch of song, Alfred Tennyson, with whom I shall associate Robert Browning whose lamented death is so comparatively recent, that we can as yet hardly think of him as among the departed, I pass on to consider, very inadequately, the works of

our great English poetess of the nineteenth century, of whom we may be justly proud.

If ever there was a poetess born to the purple, that honour must be assigned to Elizabeth Barrett Browning, "the princess of poets," as she is styled by George MacDonald, "in idea she is noble, in phrase magnificent," and whose career strikingly illustrates the truth of the poet's words; "the child is father of the man.” In Aurora Leigh," she has given us occasional glimpses of her own childhood and girlhood, which were spent at Hope End, a charming residence in the neighbourhood of the Malvern Hills, where, at a very early age, as she herself tells us, "she dreamed of being a poet;" and where, under the tuition of the well-known Greek scholar, Hugh Stuart Boyd, she acquired a thorough knowledge of the Greek language and literature. Thus, while gratifying her intense love of study, she was laying, broad and deep, the foundations of her future life-work.

A volume of poems published anonymously in 1826 was followed by her translation of the Prometheus Bound" of Eschylus, and other poems, in 1835. With the publication of her third volume in 1838, containing "Isabel's Child," "The Deserted Garden," 66 Cowper's Grave," and other poems, dear to all lovers of her poetry, her position among the poets of England was assured. Her fourth volume appeared in 1844, and when we consider that, during the intervening six years, besides carrying on a voluminous correspondence, she had contributed to the "Athenæum " a series of articles on "the Greek Christian poets," and had co-operated in several literary projects, we cannot but feel surprise at the intellectual vigour which, in addition to these various avocations, could, in so comparatively short a period, produce the series of master-works which she then gave to the world. Our surprise is increased when we remember the unfavourable conditions under which her literary labours were carried on.

An invalid since her fifteenth year, often completely prostrated by illness, her mental vigour never faltered.