Hence resulted two great effects; a combination of poetry with doctrine, and, by turning the mind inward on its own essence instead of letting it act only on its outward circumstances and communities, a combination of poetry with sentiment. And it is this inwardness or subjectivity, which principally and most fundamentally distinguishes all the classic from all the modern poetry. Compare the passage in the 'Iliad' (Z. vi. 119-236.) in which Diomed and Glaucus change arms,-- [Greek (transliterated): Cheiras t'allilon labetin kai pistosanto] They took each other by the hand, and pledged friendship-- with the scene in 'Ariosto' (Orlando Furioso, c. i. st. 20-22.), where Rinaldo and Ferrauto fight and afterwards make it up:-- Al Pagan la proposta non dispiacque: Così fu differita la tenzone; E tal tregua tra lor subito nacque, Sì l' odio e l' ira va in oblivïone, Che 'l Pagano al partir dalle fresche acque Non lasciò a piede il buon figliuol d' Amone: Con preghi invita, e al fin lo toglie in groppa, E per l' orme d' Angelica galoppa. Here Homer would have left it. But the Christian poet has his own feelings to express, and goes on:-- Oh gran bontà de' cavalieri antiqui! Eran rivali, eran di fè diversi, E si sentían degli aspri colpi iniqui Per tutta la persona anco dolersi; E pur per selve oscure e calli obbliqui Insieme van senza sospetto aversi! And here you will observe, that the reaction of Ariosto's own feelings on the image or act is more fore-grounded (to use a painter's phrase) than the image or act itself. The two different modes in which the imagination is acted on by the ancient and modern poetry, may be illustrated by the parallel effects caused by the contemplation of the Greek or Roman-Greek architecture, compared with the Gothic. In the Pantheon, the whole is perceived in a perceived harmony with the parts which compose it; and generally you will remember that where the parts preserve any distinct individuality, there simple beauty, or beauty simply, arises; but where the parts melt undistinguished into the whole, there majestic beauty, or majesty, is the result. In York Minster, the parts, the grotesques, are in themselves very sharply distinct and separate, and this distinction and separation of the parts is counterbalanced only by the multitude and variety of those parts, by which the attention is bewildered;--whilst the whole, or that there is a whole produced, is altogether a feeling in which the several thousand distinct impressions lose themselves as in a universal solvent. Hence in a Gothic cathedral, as in a prospect from a mountain's top, there is, indeed, a unity, an awful oneness;--but it is, because all distinction evades the eye. And just such is the distinction between the 'Antigone' of Sophocles and the 'Hamlet' of Shakespeare.