in vast deserts and among marvellous peoples; in his tales of magic handkerchiefs and prophetic Sibyls; in the sudden vague glimpses we get of numberless battles and sieges in which he has played the hero and has borne a charmed life; even in chance references to his baptism, his being sold to slavery, his sojourn in Aleppo.
And he is not merely a romantic figure; his own nature is romantic. He has not, indeed, the meditative or speculative imagination of Hamlet; but in the strictest sense of the word he is more poetic than Hamlet. Indeed, if one recalls Othello’s most famous speeches—those that begin, ‘Her father loved me,’ ‘O now for ever,’ ‘Never, Iago,’ ‘Had it pleased Heaven,’ ‘It is the cause,’ ‘Behold, I have a weapon,’ ‘Soft you, a word or two before you go’—and if one places side by side with these speeches an equal number by any other hero, one will not doubt that Othello is the greatest poet of them all. There is the same poetry in his casual phrases—like ‘These nine moons wasted,’ ‘Keep up your bright swords, for the dew will rust them,’ ‘You chaste stars,’ ‘It is a sword of Spain, the ice-brook’s temper,’ ‘It is the very error of the moon '—and in those brief expressions of intense feeling which ever since have been taken as the absolute expression, like
’Twere now to be most happy; for, I fear,
My soul hath her content so absolute
That not another comfort like to this
Succeeds in unknown fate,
or
I’ll not believe it;
or
or
