The constant reference to a petty and
puny race must cripple the boldness of the poet. Fortunately for his
art, Shakespeare lived in an age extremely susceptible of noble and
tender impressions, but which had still enough of the firmness
inherited from a vigorous olden time not to shrink back with dismay
from every strong and violent picture. We have lived to see
tragedies of which the catastrophe consists in the swoon of an
enamoured princess. If Shakespeare falls occasionally into the
opposite extreme, it is a noble error, originating in the fulness of
a gigantic strength: and yet this tragical Titan, who storms the
heavens, and threatens to tear the world from off its hinges; who,
more terrible than AEschylus, makes our hair stand on end, and
congeals our blood with horror, possessed, at the same time, the
insinuating loveliness of the sweetest poetry. He plays with love
like a child; and his songs are breathed out like melting sighs. He
unites in his genius the utmost elevation and the utmost depth; and
the most foreign, and even apparently irreconcilable properties
subsist in him peaceably together. The world of spirits and nature
have laid all their treasures at his feet. In strength a demi-god,
in profundity of view a prophet, in all-seeing wisdom a protecting
spirit of a higher order, he lowers himself to mortals, as if
unconscious of his superiority: and is as open and unassuming as a
child.
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