by the best
English poets, and now and then the introduction of an Alexandrine, or
verse of six feet.

Though blank verse has still many admirers, the English ear is grown
remarkably delicate as to the consonance of rhymes; Dryden and Pope have
used many, which would not now be received. Masculine and feminine
rhymes are unknown in English. As the character of a language appears to
be the result of all the affections of the people who speak it, it did
not seem foreign to this design to compare the manner in which two such
great genius's as Virgil and Voltaire, have treated the same subject,
and to place the loves of Henry and Gabrielle in comparison with those
of AEneas and Dido. The elegance, the delicacies, the nicest touches of
refined gallantry come admirably forward with the brillant colouring,
the light and graceful pencil of Voltaire. The verse seems to flow from
his pen without effort into its natural channel, and some of his
descriptions would not loose by a comparison; but perhaps he has let it
be seen, that it would not be so easy a task to convey in the same
language the exquisite and deep strokes of passion, which the Roman
master has left to the admiration of the universe. To which of these
styles the English and the French languages are most fitted, and how far
they may be made to succeed in both, is one of the objects of an inquiry
which this undertaking was intended to promote.

Whatever can be said by way of comment on the fourth book of the AEneid
has been so often repeated, and is so easily to be met with, that it was
thought needless to add any notes to this new translation. The few
instances in which there may appear some difference in the
interpretation of the original are scarce worth noticing. One perhaps
may appear to require some apology; most of the translators of Virgil
have represented Dido under the most violent impression of rage in her
first speech to AEneas. Whereas it would seem that the situation of her
mind is meant to be described before she addresses him, rather as wild
and frantic with doubt and fear, than actuated by rage. Whatever anger
she may feel, is yet so much tempered by love and hope, that she breaks
out, not into the language of rage, but of the most tender
expostulation, the most lively interest in his own welfare, the most
pathetic painting of her feelings and situation. It is a beautiful
appeal to love, to honor, and to pity. Not till after his cold answer,
does she