Various, Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine…
“ As she crowns him, she says— "Thou givest me, Tasso, here the rare delight, With silent act, to tell thee what I think." But the poet is no sooner crowned than he entreats that the wreath should be removed. It weighs on him, it is a burden, a pressure, it sinks and abashes him. Besides, he feels, as the man of genius must always feel, that not to wear the crown but to earn it, is the real joy as well as task of his life. The laurel is indeed for the bust, not for the living head. ”
