splendid imagery lavished upon all with the careless prodigality of
genius, and all is lighted up into such a sunny brilliance of effect,
as though Shakspeare had really transported himself into Italy, and
had drunk to intoxication of her genial atmosphere. How truly it has
been said, that "although Romeo and Juliet are in love, they are not
love-sick!" What a false idea would any thing of the mere whining
amoroso, give us of Romeo, such as he is really in Shakspeare--the
noble, gallant, ardent, brave, and witty! And Juliet--with even less
truth could the phrase or idea apply to her! The picture in "Twelfth
Night" of the wan girl dying of love, "who pined in thought, and with
a green and yellow melancholy," would never surely occur to us, when
thinking on the enamoured and impassioned Juliet, in whose bosom love
keeps a fiery vigil, kindling tenderness into enthusiasm, enthusiasm
into passion, passion into heroism! No, the whole sentiment of the
play is of a far different cast. It is flushed with the genial spirit
of the south; it tastes of youth, and of the essence of youth; of
life, and of the very sap of life. We have indeed the struggle of love
against evil destinies and a thorny world; the pain, the grief,
the anguish, the terror, the despair:--the aching adieu; the pang
unutterable of parted affection; and rapture, truth, and tenderness
trampled into an early grave: but still an Elysian grace lingers round
the whole, and the blue sky of Italy bends over all!

Lord Byron's Haidée is a copy of Juliet in the Oriental costume, but
the development is epic, not dramatic.

I remember no dramatic character, conveying the same impression of
singleness of purpose, and devotion of heart and soul, except the
Thekla of Schiller's Wallenstein: she is the German Juliet; far
unequal, indeed, but conceived, nevertheless, in a kindred spirit. I