LETTERS FROM
FROM ABROAD,
Translations and Fragments,
The POET, it is true, is the son of his time; but pity for him if he is its pupil,
or even its favourite! Let some beneficent deity snatch him when a suckling
from the breast of his mother, and nurse him with the milk of a better time;
that he may ripen to his full stature beneath a distant Grecian sky. And
having grown to manhood, let him return, a foreign shape, into his century;
not however to delight it by his presence, but dreadful like the son of Aga-
memnon, to purify it."-SCHILLER.