its relishes become false, and, like that of sense, nothing will satisfy, but what is best suited to palliate or feed the disease.
Poetry is no longer among them the imitation of what we see, but of what a visionary might wish. The zephyr breathes the most exquisite perfume, the trees wear eternal verdure; fauns, and dryads, and hamadryads, stand ready to fan the sultry shepherdess, who has forgot indeed the prettinesses, with which former Italian shepherdesses have been reproached, but is so simple and innocent, as often to have no meaning. Happy country, where the pastoral age begins to revive! Where the wits even of Rome are united into a rural groupe of nymphs and swains, under the appellation of modern Arcadians. Where in the midst of porticos, processions, and cavalcades,abbes
