It is owing to his pathos that Tasso loses so much less in translation than Ariosto. All the renderings of the _Orlando Furioso_ that I have seen, are somewhat colourless, even the Elizabethan translation of Harrington, and even the careful and accurate translation of Rose. The German translations of Griess and Donner are as admirable as they can possibly be, considering the great difficulties of the task, but even they do not quite succeed in reproducing the exquisite flexibility of Ariosto's style. Tasso, in many respects the most unfortunate of poets, was singularly lucky in the translators who introduced him to foreign nations. He has been translated into many languages with signal success, and with remarkably little loss of spirit and beauty. The earliest English rendering, that of Fairfax, is the best. It is not always scrupulously accurate, but it is delightfully fresh, vigorous, and musical. I will subjoin one of the most successful passages which will give the reader a favourable idea of the skill of Fairfax, and of the thoughts and conceptions of the illustrious Italian poet, illustrious in spite of the shortcomings which occasionally detract from his qualities. _The Christian Knights in search of Rinaldo, find him in the enchanted Palace of Armida._ (GERUSALEMME LIBERATA, CANTO XVI.) I. The palace great is builded rich and round, And in the centre of the inmost hold There lies a garden sweet on fertile ground, Fairer than that where grew the trees of gold. The cunning sprites had buildings reared around, With doors and entries false a thousandfold. A labyrinth they made that fortress brave, Like Daedal's prison or Porsenna's grave. II. The Knights passed through the castle's largest gate. (Though round about a hundred ports there shine), The door leaves framed of carved silver plate Upon their golden hinges turn and twine; They stayed to view this work of wit and state, The workmanship excelled the substance fine, For all the shapes in that rich metal wrought, Save speech, of living bodies wanted nought. III. Alcides there sat telling tales, and spun Among the feeble troups of damsels mild; (He that the fiery gates of Hell had won, And Heaven upheld); false love stood by and smiled. Armed with his club, fair Iole forth run, His club with blood of monsters foul denied; And on her back his lion's skin had she, Too rough a bark for such a tender tree. IV. Beyond was made a sea, whose azure flood The hoary froth crushed from the surges blue, Wherein two navies great well-rangéd stood Of warlike ships, fire from their arms out flew; The waters burnt about their vessels good, Such flames the gold therein enchased threw; Cæsar his Romans hence, the Asian Kings Thence Anthony and Indian Princes, brings; V.