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 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
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 Adam Waldie, Printer. 
 

 
PREFACE. 
 
 Whatever may be the fate of this poem, it has 
 led the author in many an after-dream through a 
 beautiful country ; and-may not, perhaps, be unin- 
 teresting to those who have learnt to live in past 
 times as well as: present, and whose minds are 
 familiar with the events and the people. that have 
 rendered Italy so illustrious; for, wherever he 
 came, he could not but remember; nor is he con- 
 scious of having slept over any ground that had 
 been “ dignified by wisdom, bravery, or virtue.” 
 
 Much of it was originally published as it was 
 written on the spot. He has since revised it 
 throughout, and added many stories from the old 
 chroniclers, and many notes illustrative of the 
 
 manners, customs, and superstitions. 
 
 * 
 

 
Sees 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 The Lake of Geneva 
 
 The Great St. Bernard 
 
 The Descent 
 
 Jorasse 
 
 Marguerite de Tours 
 The Alps. 
 
 Como . ° 
 Bergamo 
 
 Italy . . , 
 Coll’alto 
 
 Venice 
 
 Luigi ; 
 St. Mark’s Place 
 The Gondola 
 
 The Brides of Venice 
 Foscari 
 
 Marcolini 
 

 
 he Ad 
 ; avhua 
 
 . Ginevra 
 
 
 
 Bologna a 
 Florence 
 Don Garzia ; 
 The Campagna of Florence 
 The Pilgrim 
 
 An Interview 
 
 : Rome 
 A Funeral 
 National Prejudices 
 The Campagna of Rome 
 The Roman Pontiffs 
 Caius Cestius 
 The Nun 
 
 . - The Fire-Fly 
 o! = Foreign Travel 
 The Fountain 
 ~ Banditti 
 : An Adventure 
 
 a, Naples 
 
 The Bag of Gold 
 
 ~~ A Character 
 Pestum 
 Amalfi ~ 
 Monte Cassino 
 The Harper 
 

 
 
 
 
 Genoa ee ss a ae re 
 Eat - Mareo Griffoni epee 
 ot F _ A Farewell Oe ae fees 
 ee Notes i 2) Tay a. 
 
 
 
 Stock 
 —& 
 Poe 
 
 
 
 Lae eee 
 
 
 

 

 
 THE LAKE OF GENEVA, 
 
 Day glimmer’d-in the east, and the white moon 
 Hung like a vapour in the cloudless’sky, ~ 
 Yet visible, when on my way I went, 
 
 Glad to be gone—a pilgrim from the north, — 
 Now more and more attracted as I drew 
 Nearer and nearer. Ere the artisan, 
 Drowsy, half-clad, had from his window leant, 
 With folded arms and listless look, to snuff 
 The morning air, or the caged sky-lark sung, 
 From his green sod up-springing—but in vain, 
 His tuneful bill o’erflowing with a song 
 
 Old in the days of Homer, and his wings 
 
 2 
 
: ie 
 10 ITALY. 
 
 With transport quivering,—on my way I went, 
 
 Thy gates, Geneva, swinging heavily, 
 
 Thy gates so slow to open, swift to shut; 
 
 As on that Sabbath eve when he arrived,*t 
 
 Whose name is now thy glory, now by thee 
 
 Inscribed to consecrate (such virtue dwells 
 
 In those small syllables) the narrow street, 
 
 His birth-place—when, but one short step too late, 
 
 He sate him down and wept—wept till the morn- 
 
 ing 2 : 
 
 Then rose to go—a wanderer through the world. 
 ’T is not a tale that every hour brings with it. 
 
 Yet at a city-gate, from time to time, 
 
 Much ‘might be learnt ; and most of all at thine, 
 
 London—thy hive the busiest, greatest, still 
 
 Gathering, enlarging still. Let us stand by, 
 
 And note who passes. Here comes one,.a youth, 
 
 Glowing with pride, the pride of conscious power, 
 
 A Chatterton—in thought admired, caress’d, 
 
 And crown’d like Petrarch in the Capitol ; 
 
 Ere long to die—to fall by his own hand, 
 
 And fester with the vilest. Here come two, 
 
 * Rousseau. 
 
ITALY. ll 
 
 Less feverish, less exalted, soon to part— ~ 
 A Gartick and a J ohnson ; wealth and fame 
 Awaiting one—even at the gate, neglect 
 
 And want the other.. But what multitudes, 
 Urged by the love of change, and, like myself, 
 Adventurous, careless of to-morrow’s fare, 
 Press on—though but a rill entering the sea, 
 
 Entering and lost! Our task would never end. 
 
 Day glimmer’d and I went, a gentle breeze 
 Ruffling the Leman Lake. Wave after wave, 
 If such they might be call’d, dash’d as in sport, 
 Not anger, with the pebbles on the beach, 
 Making wild music, and far westward caught 
 The sun-beam—where, alone and as entranced, 
 Counting the hours, the fisher in his skiff 
 Lay with his circular and dotted line, 
 
 Fishing in silence. When the heart is light 
 
 With hope, all pleases, nothing comes amiss ; 
 
 And soon a passage boat swept gaily by, 
 
 Laden with peasant girls and fruits and flowers, 
 
 And many a chanticleer and partlet caged 
 
 For Vevay’s market-place—a motley group 
 
 Seen through the silvery haze. But soon ’t was 
 gone. 
 
# 
 
 12 ITALY. 
 The shifting sail flapped idly for an instant, 
 Then bore them off. | 
 
 I am not one of those 
 So dead to. all things in this visible world, 
 So wondrously profound—as to move on 
 In the sweet light of heaven, like him of old? - 
 (His name is justly in the Calendar), ~ 
 Who through the day pursued this pleasant path 
 That winds beside the mirror of all beauty,* 
 And, when at eve his fellow-pilgrims-sate, 
 Discoursing of the lake, ask’d where it was. 
 They marvell’d, as they might ; and so must all, 
 Seeing what now I saw; for now ’t was day, 
 And the bright sun was in the firmament, 
 A thousand shadows of a thousand hues" 
 Chequering the clear expanse. Awhile his orb 
 Hung o’er thy trackless fields of snow, Mont Blanc, 
 Thy seas of ice and ice-built promontories, 
 That change their shapes for ever as in sport ; 
 Then travell’d onward,-and went. down behind 
 The pine-clad heights of Jura, lighting up 
 The woodman’s casement, and perchance his axé 
 Borne homeward through the forest in his hand ; 
 And, in some deep and melancholy glen, . 
 
 . 
 sane 
 rs 
 
 
 
ITALY: ° 13 
 
 That dungeon-fortress never to be named, 
 Where, like a lion taken in the toils, 
 Toussaint breathed out his brave and generous 
 spirit. 
 
 Ah, little did he think, who sent him there, 
 That he himself, then greatest among men, 
 Should in like manner be so soon convey’d 
 Across the ocean—to a rock so small: - 
 Amid the countless multitude of waves, 
 That ships have gone and sought it, and return’d, 
 Saying it was not! — 
 
 Still along the shore, 
 Among the trees I went for many a mile, 
 Where damséels sit and weave their fishing nets, 
 Singing some national song by the way-side. 
 But now ’t was dusk, and journeying by the Rhone, 
 That there came down, a torrent from the Alps, 
 1 enter’d where a key unlocks a kingdom,* 
 The mountains closing, and the road, the river, 
 Filling the narrow pass. There, tillaray 
 Glanced through my lattice, and the household stir 
 Warn’d me to rise, to rise and to depart, 
 
 * St. Maurice. 
 
 4 
 
 ig 
 
 
 
14 IhAgey. 
 
 A stir unusual, and accompanied 
 
 With many a tuning of rude instruments, 
 
 And many a laugh that argued coming pleasure, 
 
 Mine host’s fair daughter for the nuptial rite, 
 
 And nuptial feast attiring—there I slept, 
 
 And in my dreams wander’d once more, well 
 pleased. 
 
 But now a charm was on the rocks, and woods, 
 
 And waters; for, methought, I was with those 
 
 T had at morn, at even, wish’d for there. 
 
ITALY. 15 
 
 THE GREAT ST. BERNARD. 
 
 NicuT was again descending, when my mule, 
 That all day long had climb’d among the clouds, 
 Higher and higher still,.as by a stair 
 Let down from heaven itself, transporting me, 
 Stopp’d, to the joy of both, at that low door 
 So near the summit of the Great St. Bernard; 
 That door which ever on its. hinges moved 
 To them that knock’d, and nightly sends abroad 
 Ministering spirits. Lying on the watch, 
 
 Two dogs of grave demeanour welcomed me,° 
 All meekness, gentleness, though large of limb ; 
 And a lay-brother of the Hospital, 
 Who, as we toil’d below, had heard by fits 
 The distant echoes gaining on his ear, 
 Came and held fast my stirrup in his hand, 
 While I alighted. 
 
 Long could I have stood, 
 With a religious awe contemplating 
 That house, the highest in the ancient world, 
 
16. ITALY. 
 
 And placed there for the noblest purposes. 
 
 *T was a rude pile of simplest masonry, 
 
 With narrow windows and vast. buttresses, 
 
 - Built to endure the shocks of time and chance; 
 Yet showing many a rent, as well it might, 
 Warr’d on for ever by the elements, 
 
 And in an evil day, nor long ago, 
 
 By violent men—when on the mountain-top 
 
 The French and Austrian banners met in conflict. 
 
 Qn the same rock beside it stood the church, 
 Reft of its cross, not of its sanctity ; 
 The vesper bell, for ’t was the vesper hour, 
 Duly proclaiming through the'wilderness, 
 ‘¢ All ye who hear, whatever be your work, 
 Stop for an instant—move your lips in prayer !”’ 
 And, just beneath it, in that dreary dale, 
 If dale it might be called, so near to heaven, 
 A little lake, where never fish leap’d up, 
 Lay like a spot of ink amid the snow ; 
 A star, the only one in that small sky, 
 On its dead surface glimmering. .”*T was a scene 
 Resembling nothing I had left behind, 
 As though all worldly ties were now dissolved ;— 
 
IT AGY. oS i 
 
 And to incline the mind still more to thought, 
 To thought and sadness, on the eastern shore, 
 Under a beetling cliff stood, half in shadow, 
 A lonely chapel destined for the dead, 
 For such as, having wander’d from their way, 
 Had perish’d miserably. Side by side, 
 Within they lie, a mournful company, 
 All in their shrouds, no earth to cover them ; 
 Their features full of life, yet motionless 
 In the broad day, nor soon to suffer change, 
 Though the barr’d windows, barr’d against the 
 
 wolf, 3 
 
 Are always open! 
 
 ; But the Bise blew cold ;® 
 And, bidden to a spare but clieerful meal, 
 I sate among the holy brotherhood 
 At their long board. The fare indeed was such 
 As is prescribed on days of abstinence, | 
 But might have pleased a nicer taste than mine ; 
 And through the floor came up, an ancient matron 
 Serving unseen below ; while from the roof 
 (The roof, the floor, the walls, of native fir) 
 A lamp hung flickering, such as loves to fling 
 Its partial light on apostolic heads, 
 
18 ITALY. 
 
 And sheds a grace on all. ‘Theirs time as yet 
 Had changed not. Some were almost in the prime; 
 Nor was a brow o’ercast.. Seen as I saw them, 
 Ranged round their.ample hearth-stone in an hour 
 Of rest, they were as gay, as free from guile, 
 
 As children; answering, and at once, to all 
 
 The gentler impulses, to pleasure, mirth ; 
 Mingling, at intervals, with rational talk 
 
 Music ; and gathering news from them that came, 
 As of some other world. . But when the storm 
 Rose, and the snow roll’d on in ocean billows, 
 When on his face the experienced traveller fell, 
 Sheltering his lips and nostrils with his hands, 
 Then all was changed ; and, sallying with their pack 
 Into that blank of nature, they became 
 
 Unearthly beings. “ Anselm, higher up, 
 
 Just where it drifts, a dog howls loud and long, 
 And now, as guided by a voice from heaven, 
 
 Digs with his feet. - That noble vehemence, 
 Whose can it be, but his who never err’d? 
 
 Let us to work! there is no time to lose !— 
 
 But who descends Mont Velan? ’T is La Croix. 
 Away, away ! if not, alas, too late. 
 
 Homeward he drags an old man and a boy, 
 
ITALY. 19 
 
 Faltering and falling, and but half awaken’d, 
 Asking to sleep again.” Such their discourse. 
 
 Oft has a venerable roof received me ; 
 
 St. Bruno’s once*7—where, when the winds were 
 hush’d, 
 
 Nor from the cataract the voice came up, 
 
 You might have heard the mole work under ground, 
 
 So great the stillness of that place; none seen, 
 
 Save when from rock to.rock a hermit cross’d 
 
 By some rude bridge—or one at midnight toll’d 
 
 To matins,:and white habits, issuing forth, 
 
 Glided along those aisles interminable, 
 
 All, all observant of the sacred law 
 
 Of silence... Nor is that:sequester’d spot, 
 
 Once called “ Sweet Waters,” now “ The Shady 
 Vale,” t 
 
 To me unknown; that house so rich of old, 
 
 So courteous,’ and by two, that pass’d that way,t 
 
 Amply requited with immortal verse, 
 
 The Poet’s payment. 
 
 * The Grand Chartreuse. 
 { Vallombrosa, formerly called Acqua Bella. 
 t Ariosto and Milton. 
 
20 ITALY: 
 
 But, among them all, 
 None can with this compare, the dangerous seat 
 Of generous, active virtue. What though frost 
 Reign everlastingly, and ice and snow 
 Thaw not, but gather—there is that within, 
 Which, where it comes, makes summer; and in 
 
 thought, ; 
 
 Oft am I sitting on the bench beneath 
 Their garden-plot, where all that vegetates © 
 Is but some scanty lettuce, to observe 
 Those from the South ‘ascending, every step 
 As though it were their last—and instantly 
 Restored, renew’d, advancing as with songs, 
 Soon as they see, turning a lofty crag, 
 That plain, that modest structure, promising 
 
 Bread to the hungry,® to the weary rest. 
 
ITALY. | 
 
 THE DESCENT. 
 
 My mule refresh’d—and, let the truth be told, 
 
 He was not of that vile, that scurvy race, 
 
 From sire to son lovers of controversy, 
 
 But patient, diligent, and sure of foot, 
 
 Shunning the loose stone on the precipice, 
 
 Snorting suspicion while with sight, smell, touch, 
 
 Examining the wet and spongy moss, 
 
 And on his haunches sitting to slide down 
 
 The steep, the smooth—my mule -refresh’d, his 
 bells 
 
 Gingled once more, the signal to depart, 
 
 And we set out in the gray light of dawn, 
 
 Descending rapidly—by waterfalls 
 
 Fast-frozen, and among huge blocks of ice 
 
 That in their long career had stopt mid-way. 
 
 At length, uncheck’d, unbidden, he stood still ; 
 
 And all his bells were muffled. Then my guide, 
 
 Lowering his voice, address’d me : “Through this 
 chasm 
 
22 ITALY. 
 
 On and say nothing—for a word, a breath, 
 Stirring the air, may loosen and bring down 
 
 A winter’s snow—enough to overwhelm 
 
 The horse and foot that, night and day, defiled 
 Along this path, to conquer at Marengo. 
 
 Well I remember how I met them here, 
 
 As the light died away, and how Napoleon, - 
 Wrapt in his cloak—I could not be deceived— 
 Rein’d in his horse, and ask’d me, as I pass’d, 
 How far ’t was to St. Remi. Where the rock 
 Juts forward, and the road, crumbling away, ; 
 Narrows almost to nothing at its base, 
 
 ”*T was there ; and down along the brink he led 
 To victory !—Dessaix, who turned the scale,' ° 
 Leaving his life-blood in that famous field, 
 (When the clouds break, we may discern the spot 
 In the blue haze,) sleeps as you saw at dawn, 
 Just as you enter’d, in the hospital-church.” 
 
 So saying, for awhile he held his peace, 
 Awe-struck beneath that dreadful canopy ; 
 
 But soon, the danger pass’d, launch’d forth again. 
 
ITALY. o8 
 
 JORASSE. 
 
 JORASSE was in his three-and-twentieth year ; 
 Graceful and active as a stag just roused ; 
 Gentle withal, and pleasant in his speech, 
 Yet seldom seen to smile. He had grown up 
 Among the hunters-of the Higher Alps ; 
 Had caught their starts and fits of thoughtfulness, 
 Their haggard looks, and strange soliloquies, 
 Said to arise by those who dwell below, 
 From frequent dealings with the Mountain-Spirits. 
 But other ways had taught him better things ; 
 And now he number’d, marching by my side, 
 The savans, princes, who with him had cross’d 
 The frozen tract, with him familiarly 
 Through the rough day and rougher night con- 
 
 versed 
 
 In many a chalét round the Peak of Terror,* 
 Round Tacul, Tour, Well-horn, and Rosenlau, 
 
 * The Schrekhorn. 
 
9A ITALY. 
 
 . 
 And Her, whose throne is inaccessible,* 
 
 Who sits, withdrawn, in virgin majesty, 
 
 Nor oft unveils. Anon an avalanche 
 
 Roll’d its long thunder ; and a sudden crash, 
 
 Sharp and metallic, to the startled ear 
 
 Told that far down a continent of ice 
 
 Had burst in twain. But he had now begun ; 
 
 And with what transport he recall’d the hour, — 
 
 When to deserve, to win his blooming bride, _ 
 
 Madelaine of Annecy, to his feet he bound 
 
 The iron crampons, and, ascending, trod 
 
 The upper realms of Frost ; then, by a cord 
 
 Let half-way down, enter’d a grot star-bright, 
 
 And gather’d from above, below, around, 
 
 The pointed crystals ! , 
 Once, nor long before,*? 
 
 (Thus did his tongue run on, fast as his feet, 
 
 And with an eloquence that Nature gives 
 
 To all her children—breaking off by starts 
 
 Into the harsh and rude, oft as the mule 
 
 Drew his displeasure,) once, nor long before, 
 
 Alone at day-break on the Mettenberg, 
 
 * The Jungfrau. 
 
PPADY ..’ 95 
 
 He slipp’d, he fell; and, through a fearful cleft 
 Gliding from ledge to ledge, from deep to deeper, 
 Went to the Under-world! Long while he lay 
 Upon his rugged bed—then waked like one 
 Wishing to sleep again, and sleep for ever ! 
 For, looking round, he saw or thought he saw 
 Innumerable branches of a cavern, 
 Winding beneath a solid crust of ice 5. 
 With here and there a rent that show’d the stars ! 
 What then, alas, was left him but to die? 
 What else in those immeasurable chambers, 
 Strewn with the bones of miserable men, 
 Lost like himself? Yet must he wander on, 
 Till cold and hunger set his:spirit free ! 
 And, rising, he began his dreary round ; 
 When, hark! the noise as of some mighty river 
 Working its way to light! Back he withdrew, 
 But soon return’d, and, fearless from despair, 
 Dash’d down the dismal channel ; and all day, 
 If day could be where utter darkness was, 
 Travell’d incessantly, the craggy roof 
 Just over head, and the impetuous waves, 
 Nor broad nor deep, yet with a giant’s strength 
 Lashing him on. At last the water slept 
 
 3 
 
26 ITALY. 
 
 In a dead lake—at the third step he took, 
 Unfathomable—and the roof, that long 
 
 Had threaten’d, suddenly descending, lay 
 
 Flat on the surface. Statue-like he stood, 
 
 His journey ended ; when a ray divine. 
 
 Shot through his soul. Breathing a prayer to her 
 Whose ears are never shut, the Blessed Virgin, 
 He plunged, he swam—and in an instant rose, 
 The barrier past, in light, in sunshine! Through 
 A smiling valley, full of cottages, 
 
 Glittering the river ran; and on the bank 
 
 The young were dancing (’t was a festival day) 
 All in their best attire. There first he saw 
 
 His Madelaine. In the crowd she stood to hear, 
 When all drew round, enquiring ; and her face,» 
 Seen behind all, and, varying, as he spoke, 
 
 With hope, and fear, and generous sympathy, 
 Subdued him. From that very hour he loved. 
 
 The tale was long, but coming to a close, 
 When his dark eyes flash’d fire, and, stopping short, 
 He listen’d and look’d up. I look’d up too ; 
 
 And twice there came a hiss that through me 
 thrill’d ! 
 
ITALY. 27 
 
 ”T was heard no more. A chamois on the cliff 
 Had roused his fellows with that cry of fear, 
 And all were gone.’ 
 But now the thread was broken ; 
 Love and its joys had vanish’d from his mind ; 
 And he recounted his hair-breadth escapes 
 When, with his friend, Hubert of Bionnay, 
 (His ancient carbine from his shoulder slung, 
 His:axe to hew a stair-case in the ice,) 
 He track’d their footsteps. By a cloud surprised, 
 Upon a crag among the precipices, 
 Where the next step had hurl’d them fifty fathoms, 
 Oft had they stood, lock’d in each other’s arms, 
 All the long night under a freezing sky, 
 Each guarding each the while, from sleeping, fall- 
 ing. 
 Oh! ’t was a sport he loved dearer than life, 
 And only would with life itself relinquish ! 
 «¢ My sire, my grandsire, died among these wilds. 
 As for myself,” he cried, and he held forth 
 His wallet in his hand, “ this do I call 
 My winding sheet—for I shall have no other !” 
 
28 ITALY. 
 
 And he spoke truth. Within a little month 
 He lay among these awful solitudes, 
 CT was on a glacier—half-way up to heaven) 
 Taking his final rest. Long did his wife, 
 Suckling her babe, her only one, look out 
 The way he went at parting ; but he came not ! 
 Long fear to close her eyes, lest in her sleep 
 (Such their belief) he should appear before her, 
 Frozen and. ghastly pale, or crush’d and bleeding, 
 To tell her where he lay, and supplicate 
 For the last rite! At length the dismal news 
 Came to her ears, and to her eyes his corse. 
 
ITALY. 29 
 
 MARGUERITE DE TOURS. 
 
 Now the grey granite, starting through the 
 snow, 
 
 Discover’d many a variegated moss,* 
 That to the pilgrim resting on his staff 
 Shadows out capes and islands ; and ere long 
 Numberless flowers, such as disdain to live 
 In lower regions, and delighted drink 
 The clouds before they fall, flowers of all hues, 
 With their diminutive leaves cover’d the ground. 
 ’T was then that, turning by an ancient larch, 
 Shiver’d in two, yet most majestical 
 With its long level branches, we observed 
 A human figure sitting on a stone 
 Far down by the way-side—just where the rock 
 Is riven asunder, and the Evil One 
 Has bridged the gulf, a wondrous monument 
 Built in one night, from which the flood beneath, 
 
 * Lichen Geographicus. 
 
30. ITALY. 
 
 Raging along, all foam, is seen, not heard, 
 
 And seen as motionless ! 
 
 Nearer we drew, 
 
 And ’t was a woman young and delicate, 
 
 Wrapped in a russet cloak from head to foot, 
 
 Her eyes cast down, her cheek upon her hand, 
 
 In deepest thought. Young as she was, she wore 
 
 The matron-cap ; and from her shape we judged, 
 
 As well we might, that it would not be long 
 
 Ere she became a mother. Pale she look’d, 
 
 Yet cheerful; though, methought, once, if not 
 
 twice, 
 
 She wiped away a tear that would be coming ; 
 
 And in those moments her small hat of straw, 
 
 Worn on one side, and garnish’d with a riband 
 
 Glittering with gold, but ill conceal’d a face 
 
 Not soon to be forgotten. Rising up 
 
 On our approach, she journey’d slowly on; 
 
 And my companion, long before we met, 
 
 Knew, and ran down to greet her. | 
 She was born 
 
 (Such was her artless tale, told with fresh tears) 
 
 In Val d’Aosta ; and an Alpine stream, 
 
 Leaping from crag to crag in its short course 
 
 * 
 
ITALY. 31 
 
 To join the Dora, turn’d her father’s mill. 
 
 There did she blossom till a Valaisan, 
 
 A townsman of Martigny, won her heart, 
 
 Much to the old man’s grief. Long he held out, 
 Unwilling to resign her ; and at length, 
 
 When the third summer came, they stole a match 
 And fled. The act was sudden ; and when far 
 Away, her spirit had misgivings. Then 
 
 She pictured to herself that aged face 
 
 Sickly and wan, in sorrow, not in anger ; 
 
 And, when at last she heard his hour was near, 
 Went forth unseen, and burden’d as she was, 
 Cross’d the High Alps on foot to ask forgiveness, 
 And hold him to her heart before he died. 
 
 Her task wasdone. She had fulfill’d her wish, 
 And now was on her way, rejoicing, weeping. 
 
 A frame like hers had suffer’d ; but her love 
 Was strong within her; and right on she went, 
 Fearing no ill. May ail good angels guard her! 
 And should I once again, as once I may, 
 
 Visit Martigny, I will not forget 
 
 Thy hospitable roof, Marguerite de Tours ; 
 
 Thy sign the silver swan.* Heaven prosper thee! 
 
 * La Cygne. 
 
¥ 
 . 
 ~*~ 
 
 : 
 
 4 
 
 (om 
 
 ‘ 
 
 om 
 * 
 a 
 
 4 
 * 
 
 "A something that informs him ’t is a moment 
 
 32 ITALY, 
 
 THE ALPS. ~ 
 
 Wuo first beholds those everlasting clouds, 
 Seed-time and harvest, morning, noon, and night, 
 Still where they were, steadfast, immoveable ; 
 
 “Who first beholds the Alps—that mighty chain 
 
 Of mountains, stretching on from east to west, 
 
 So massive, yet so shadowy, so ethereal, 
 
 PP As to belong rather to heaven than earth— 
 
 But instantly receives into his soul 
 A sense, a feeling that he loses not, ied i 
 
 Whence he may date henceforward and for ever? | 
 
 To me they seem’d the barriers of a world, 
 Saying, Thus far, no farther! and as o’er 
 The level plain I travell’d silently, 
 Nearing them more and more, day after day, 
 My wandering thoughts my only company, 
 And they before me still, oft as I look’d, 
 A strange delight, mingled with fear, came o’er me, 
 
 * 
 x 
 
 # 
 

 

 
LeALY. 33 
 
 A wonder as at things I had not heard of! . 
 And still and still I felt as though I gazed 
 For the first time! Great was the tumult there, 
 Deafening the din, when in barbaric pomp 
 The Carthaginian on his march to Rome 
 Entered their fastnesses. Trampling the snows, 
 The war-horse reared ; and the tower’d elephant 
 Upturned his trunk into the murky sky, 
 Then tumbled headlong, swallowed up and lost, 
 He and his rider.—Now the scene is changed ; 
 And o’er the Simplon, o’er the Splugen, winds 
 A path of pleasure. Like a silver zone 
 Flung about carelessly, it shines afar, 
 Catching the eye in many a broken link, 
 In many a turn and traverse as it glides ; 
 And oft above and oft below appears, 
 Seen o’er the wall by him who journeys up, 
 As though it were another, through the wild 
 Leading along he knows not whence or whither. 
 ~ Yet through its fairy course, go where it will, 
 The torrent stops it not, the rugged rock 
 Opens and lets it in; and on it runs, 
 Winning its easy way from clime to clime 
 Thro’ glens lock’d up before. Not such my path! 
 
34 ITALY, 
 
 The very path for them that dare defy 
 Danger, nor shrink, wear he what shape he will ; 
 That o’er the caldron, when the flood boils up, 
 Hang as in air, gazing and shuddering on, 
 Till fascination comes and the brain turns! 
 The very path, for them that list, to choose 
 Where best to plant a monumental cross, 
 
 And live in story like Empedocles; - 
 
 A track for heroes, such as he who came, 
 
 Ere long, to win, to wear the Iron Crown ; 
 And (if aright I judge, from what I felt 
 
 Over the Drance, just where the abbot fell, 
 Rolled downward in an after-dinner’s sleep) 
 The same as Hannibal’s. But now ’tis passed, 
 That turbulent Chaos ; and the promised land 
 Lies at my feet in all its loveliness! 
 
 To him who starts up from a terrible dream, 
 And lo, the sun is shining, and the lark 
 Singing aloud for joy—to him is not 
 
 Such sudden ravishment as now I feel 
 
 At the first glimpses of fair Iraty. 
 
“ITALY. 35 
 
 COMO. 
 
 I Love to sail along the Larian lake 
 
 Under the shore—though not to visit Pliny, 
 To catch him musing in his plane-tree walk, 
 Or angling from his window :* and, in truth, 
 Could I recall the ages past, and play 
 
 The fool with time, I should perhaps reserve 
 My leisure for Catullus on his lake, 
 
 Though to fare worse, or Virgil at his farm 
 A little further on the way to Mantua. 
 
 But such things cannot.be. So I sit still 
 
 And let the boatman shift his little sail, 
 
 His sail so forked and so swallow-like, 
 
 Well pleased with all that comes. The morning air 
 Plays on my cheek how gently, flinging round 
 A silvery gleam: and now the purple mists 
 Rise like a curtain ; now the sun looks out, 
 Filling, o’erflowing with his glorious light 
 
 * Epist. I. 3. ix. 7. 
 
36 ITALY. 
 
 This noble amphitheatre of hills ; 
 
 And now appear as on a phosphor sea 
 Numberless barks, from Milan, from Pavia ; 
 Some sailing up, some down, and some at rest, 
 Lading, unlading, at that small port town 
 Under the promontory—its tall tower 
 And long flat roofs, just such as Gaspar drew, 
 
 Caught by a sunbeam slanting through a cloud ; 
 
 A quay-like scene, glittering and full of life, 
 And doubled by reflection. 
 
 | What delight, 
 After so long a sojourn in the wild, 
 
 To hear once more the peasant at his work! 
 
 —But in a clime like this where is he not? 
 Along the shores, among the hills, ’tis now 
 
 The hey-day of the vintage ; all abroad, 
 
 But most the young and of the gentler sex, 
 
 Busy in gathering ; all among the vines, 
 
 Some on the ladder, and some underneath, 
 Filling their baskets of green wicker-work, 
 While many a canzonet and frolic laugh 
 
 Come thro’ the leaves ; the vines in light festoons 
 
 From tree to tree, the trees in avenues, 
 
 And every avenue a covered walk 
 
ITALY. 37 
 
 . Hung with black clusters. °Tis enough to make 
 The sad man merry, the benevolent one 
 
 Melt into tears—so general is the joy ! 
 
 While up and down the cliffs, over the lake, 
 Wains oxen-drawn, and panniered mules are seen, 
 Laden with grapes and dropping rosy wine. 
 
 Here I received from thee, Basilico, 
 
 One of those courtesies so sweet, so rare ! 
 When, as I rambled through thy vineyard ground 
 On the hill side, thou sent’st thy little son, 
 Charged with a bunch almost as big as he, 
 To press it on the stranger. May thy vats 
 O’erflow, and he, thy willing gift-bearer, 
 Live to become a giver ; and, at length, 
 When thou art full of honour and wouldst rest, 
 The staff of thine old age ! 
 
 In a strange land 
 Such things, however trivial, reach the heart, 
 And through the heart the head, clearing away 
 The narrow notions that grow up at home, 
 And in their place grafting good will to all. 
 At least I found it so, nor less at eve, 
 
 When, bidden as a lonely traveller, 
 
38 ITALY. 
 
 (’Twas by a little boat that gave me chase 
 
 With oar and sail, as homeward bound I crossed: 
 
 The bay of Tramezzine,) right readily == . 
 
 I turned my prow and followed, landing soon 
 
 Where steps of purest marble met the wave ; 
 
 Where, through the trellises and corridors, 
 
 Soft music came as from Armida’s palace, 
 
 Breathing enchantment o’er the woods and waters ; 
 
 And through a bright pavilion, bright as day, 
 
 Forms such as hers were flitting, lost among 
 
 Such, as of old, in sober pomp swept by, 
 
 Such as adorn the triumphs and the feasts 
 
 By Paolo painted ; where a fairy queen, 
 
 That night her birth-night, from her throne re- 
 ceived 
 
 (Young as she was, no floweret in her crown, 
 
 Hyacinth or rose, so fair and fresh as she) 
 
 Our willing vows, and by the fountain side 
 
 Led in the dance, disporting as she pleased, 
 
 Under a starry sky—while I looked on, 
 
 As in a glade of Cashmere or Shiraz, 
 
 Reclining, quenching’ my sherbet in snow, — 
 
 And reading in the eyes that sparkled round, 
 
 The thousand love adventures written there. 
 
ITALY. 39 
 
 Can I forget—no never, such a scene 
 So full of witchery. Night lingered still, 
 When, with a dying breeze, I left Bellaggio ; 
 But the strain followed me; and still I saw 
 Thy smile, Angelica ; and still I heard 
 Thy voice—once and again bidding adieu. 
 

 
 : “A : <3, 
 _ Tur song was one that I had heard before, ah a 
 | But where I knew | ot. it inclined to éeditbas é nt 
 
 i a ‘And, turning round from the delete ‘are 8 
 
 ee 
 
 
 
 
 
 - Figs Br -" : . 
 
 4 os om 
 
 “ Two boys ey: Sato. Poaetnt: Lik valk 
 
 Ws 
 
 
 
 They were, and poorly clad, but not unskilled ; 
 “With Peit cniall acicen and an old guitar, 
 added heart % 
 
 ur 
 Crh that, the only universal tongue. ey ae 
 
 
 
 be Vining their way to my 
 
 - But soon they changed the measure, entering on 
 
 : 
 
 A pleasant dialogue of sweet and sour, 
 
 “ » A war of words, with looks and gestures waged, 
 ‘Between Trappanti and his ancient dame, 
 Mona Lucilia. To and fro it went; 2 
 
 While many a titter on the stairs was heard, a a ; 
 
 And Barbara’s among them. When it ceased 4 
 
 Their dark eyes flashed no longer, yet mmethought, 
 
 Fs te eeer ; ‘ oe 
 Wi a sf Ss . by o 
 iat oy 
 

 
 a 
 wa 
 
 
 

 
ae eo 
 
 ITALY. 4] 
 
 In many a glance as from the soul, disclosed 
 
 More than enough to serve them. Far or near, 
 5 . : 
 Few looked not for their coming ere they came, 
 
 Few, when they went, but looked till they were 
 
 gone ; 
 And not a matron, sitting at her wheel, 
 But could repeat their story. ‘Twins they were, 
 And orphans, as I learnt, cast on the world ; 
 Their parents lost in an old ferry-boat 
 That, three years since last Martinmas, went down, 
 Crossing the rough Benacus.* 
 
 May they live 
 
 Blameiess and happy—rich they cannot be, | 
 Like him who, in the days of minstrelsy,t 
 Came in a beggar’s weeds to Petrarch’s door, 
 Asking, beseeching for a lay to sing, 
 And soon in silk (such then the power of song) 
 Returned to thank him; or like that old man, 
 Old not in heart, who by the torrent side 
 Descending from the Tyrol, as night fell; 
 Knocked at a city gate near the hill-foot— 
 
 * Lago di Garda. 
 + Petrarch, Epist. Rer. Sen. i. v. ep. 3. 
 4 
 
42 ITALY. -} 
 
 The gate that bore so long, sculptured in stone, 
 An eagle on a ladder—and at once 
 
 - Found welcome ; nightly in the bannered hall, 
 Tuning his harp to tales of chivalry 
 
 Before the great Mastino and his guests,* 
 
 The three-and-twenty kings, by adverse fate, 
 By war or treason or domestic strife, 
 
 Reft of their kingdoms, friendless, shelterless, 
 And living on his bounty. . 
 7 _ But who’ comes, 
 Brushing the floor with what was once, methinks, 
 A hat of ceremony. On he glides, 
 
 Slip-shod, ungartered ; his long suit of black, 
 Dingy, thread-bare, tho’ patch by: patch renewed, 
 Till it has almost ceased to be the same, 
 
 At length arrived, and with a shrug that pleads 
 «Tis my necessity !” he stops and speaks, 
 Screwing a smile into his dinnerless face. 
 
 ‘¢ Blame not a poet, Signor, for his zeal— 
 
 When all are on the wing, who would be last ? 
 The splendour of thy name has gone before thee ; 
 And Italy from sea to sea exults; 
 
 * See note. 
 
ITALY. 43 
 
 As well indeed she may! But | transgress. 
 He, who has known the weight of praise himself, 
 Should spare another.” Saying so, he laid 
 His sonnet, an impromptu, at my feet, 
 (If his, then Petrarch must have stolen it from him) 
 And bowed and left me; in his hollow hand 
 Receiving my small tribute, a zecchine, 
 Unconsciously, as doctors do their fees. 
 
 My omelet, and a flagon of hill-wine, 
 Pure as the virgin spring, had happily 
 Fled from all eyes; or, ina waking dream, 
 I might have sat as many a great man has, 
 And many a small, like him of Santillane, 
 
 Bartering my bread and salt for empty praise. 
 
44 ITALY. 
 
 ITALY. 
 
 Am I in Italy ? ° Is this the Mincius ? 
 
 Are those the distant turrets of ‘Verona ? 
 
 And shall 1 sup where Juliet at the Masque 
 First saw and loved, and now by him who came 
 That night a stranger, sleeps from age to age? 
 Such questions hourly do I ask myself; 
 
 And not a stone, in a cross-way, inscribed 
 
 “To Mantua”—“ To Ferrara”—but excites 
 
 Surprise, and doubt, and self-congratulation. 
 
 O Italy, how beautiful thou art ! 
 Yet I could weep—for thou art lying, alas, 
 Low in the dust ; and we admire thee now ~ 
 As we admire the beautiful in death. 
 "Thine was a dangerous gift, when thou wast born, 
 The gift of beauty. Would thou hadst it not ; 
 Or wert as once, awing the caitiffs vile 
 That now beset thee, making thee their slave ! 
 Would they had lov’d thee less or fear’d thee more ! 
 
ITALY. - 45 
 
 But why despair? Twice hast thou lived already ; 
 Twice shone among the nations of the world, 
 
 As the sun shines among the lesser lights 
 
 Of heaven ; and shalt again. The hour shall come 
 When they who think to bind the ethereal spirit, 
 Who, like the eagle cowering o’er his prey, 
 Watch with quick eye, and strike and strike again, 
 
 ’. Tf but a sinew vibrate—shall confess 
 
 Their wisdom folly. Even now the flame 
 Bursts forth where once it burnt so gloriously, 
 And, dying, left a splendour like the day, 
 
 That like the day diffused itself, and still 
 
 Blesses the earth—the light of genius, virtue, 
 Greatness in thought and act, contempt of death, 
 God-like example. Echoes that have slept 
 Since Athens, Eacedeemon, were themselves, 
 Since men invoked “ by those in Marathon !” 
 Awake along the A‘vgean ; and the dead, 
 
 They of that sacred shore, have heard the call, 
 And thro’ the ranks, from wing to wing, are seen 
 Moving as once they were—instead of rage 
 Breathing deliberate valour. 
 
46 ITALY. 
 
 COLL’ALTO. 
 
 ‘‘ In this neglected mirror (the broad frame 
 
 Of massy silver serves to testify 
 
 That many a noble matron of the house 
 
 Has sat before it) once, alas, was seen 
 
 What led to many sorrows. From that time 
 The bat came hither for a sleeping place; ~ 
 
 And he, that cursed another in his heart, . 
 
 Said, ‘ Be thy dwelling, thro’ the day and night, 
 Shunned like Coll’alto.’ > —’Twas in that old pile, 
 Which flanks the cliff with its grey battlements 
 Flung here and there, and, like am eagle’s nest, 
 Hangs in the Trevisan, that thus the steward, 
 Shaking his locks, the few that time had left, 
 Addressed me, as we entered what was called 
 
 “‘ My lady’s chamber.” On the walls, the chairs, 
 Much yet remained of the rich tapestry ; 
 
 Much of the adventures of Sir Lancelot 
 
 In the green glades of some enchanted wood. 
 The toilet-table was of silver wrought, 
 
LIPALY. AY 
 
 Florentine art, when Florence was renowned ; 
 
 A gay confusion of the elements, 
 
 Dolphins and boys, and shells and fruits and flowers: 
 
 And from the ceiling, in his gilded cage, 
 
 Hung a small bird of curious workmanship, 
 
 That, when his mistress bade him, would unfold 
 
 (So says the babbling dame, Tradition, there) 
 
 His emerald wings, and sing and sing again 
 
 The song that pleased her. While 1 stood and 
 looked, 
 
 A gleam of day yet lingering in the west, 
 
 The steward went on. “She had (’tis now long 
 since) 
 
 A gentle serving-maid, the fair Cristine, 
 
 Fair as a lily, and as spotless too ; 
 
 None so admired, beloved. ‘They had grown up 
 
 As play-fellows ; and some there were that said, 
 
 Some that knew much, discoursing of Cristine, 
 
 ‘She is not what she seems.’ When unrequired, 
 
 She would steal forth; her custom, her delight, 
 
 To wander through and through an ancient grove 
 
 Self-planted half way down, losing herself 
 
 Like one in love with sadness ; and her veil 
 
 And vesture white, seen ever in that place, 
 
48 ITALY. 
 
 Ever, as surely as the hours came round, 
 Among those reverend trees, gave her below ~ 
 The name of The White Lady. But the day 
 Is gone, and I delay thee. : 
 
 a In that chair 
 The countess, as it might be now, was sitting, 
 Her gentle serving-maid, the fair Cristine, 
 Combing her golden hair; and through this door 
 The count, her lord, was hastening, called away 
 By letters of great urgency to Venice ; | 
 When in the glass she saw, as she believed, 
 (Twas an illusion of the evil spirit— 
 ‘Some say he came and crossed it at the time) 
 A smile, a glance at parting, given and* answered, 
 That turned her blood to gall. That very night 
 The deed was done. That night, ere yet the moon 
 Was up on Monte Calvo, and the wolf 
 Baying as still he does (oft is he heard, 
 An hour and more by the old turret clock) 
 They led her forth, the unhappy lost Cristine, 
 Helping her down in her distress—to die. 
 
 No blood was spilt ; no instrument of death 
 Lurked, or stood forth,.declaring its bad purpose ; 
 
 Nor was a hair of her unblemished head’ 
 
 a 
 
ITALY. 49 
 
 Hurt in that hour. Fresh as a flower just blown, 
 And warm with life, her youthful pulses playing, 
 She was walled up within the castle wall. 
 
 The wall itself was hollowed secretly ; 
 
 Then closed again, and done to line and rule. 
 "Would’st thou descend? "Tis in a darksome vault 
 Under the chapel: and there nightly now,* 
 
 As in the narrow niche, when smooth and.fair, 
 And as though nothing had been done or thought, 
 The stone-work rose before her, till the light 
 Glimmered and went—there, nightly, at that hour, 
 (Thou smil’st, and would it were an idle tale !) 
 
 In her white veil and vesture white, she stands 
 Shuddering—her eyes uplifted, and her hands 
 Joined as in prayer ; then, like a blessed soul 
 Bursting the tomb, springs forward, and away 
 Flies o’er the woods and mountains. Issuing forth, 
 The hunter meets her in his hunting track ; 
 
 The shepherd on the heath, starting, exclaims 
 (For still she bears the name she bore of old) 
 ‘Tis the White Lady!” 
 
* 
 
 50 ITALY. 
 
 VENICE. .. 
 
 THERE is a glorious city in the sea. 
 
 The sea is in the broad, the narrow streets, 
 
 Ebbing.and flowing , and the salt sea-weed 
 
 Clings to the marble of her palaces. ! 
 
 No track of men, no footsteps to and fro, 
 
 Lead to her gates. ‘The path lies o’er the sea, 
 
 Invisible ; and from the land we went, 
 
 As to a floating city—steering in, 
 
 And gliding‘up her streets as in a dream, 
 
 So smoothly, silently—by many a dome 
 
 Mosque-like, and many a stately portico, 
 
 The statues ranged along an azure sky ; 
 
 By many a pile in more than eastern pride, 
 
 Of old the resfdence of merchant-kings ; 
 
 The fronts of some, tho’ time had shattered them, 
 
 Still glowing with the richest hues of art, 
 
 As though the wealth within them had run o’er. 
 Thither I came, and in a wondrous ark, 
 
 (That, long before we slipt our cable, rang 
 
ITALY. 5] 
 
 As with-the voices of all living things,) 
 From Padua, where the stars are, night by night, 
 Watched from the top of an old dungeon-tower, 
 
 Whence blood ran once, the tower of Ezzelin— 
 
 - Not as he Witched them, when he read his fate 
 
 And shuddered. But of him I thought not then, 
 
 Him or his horoscope ; far, far from me 
 
 The forms of guilt and fear ; tho’ some were there, 
 
 Sitting among us round the cabin board, 
 
 Some who, like him, had cried, ‘Spill blood 
 enough !|” 
 
 And could shake long at shadows. They had played 
 
 Their parts at Padua, and were floating home, 
 
 Careless and full of mirth ; to-morrow a day 
 
 Not in their calendar. Who, in a strain 
 
 To make the hearer fold his arms and sigh, 
 
 Sings “ Caro, Caro !”—’Tis the Prima Donna, _ 
 
 And to her monkey, smiling in his face, 
 
 Who, as transported, cries,“ Brava! Ancora!” 
 
 "Tis a grave personage, an old-‘macaw, 
 
 Perched on her shoulder.—But who leaps ashore, 
 
 And with a shout urges the lagging mules ; 
 
 Then climbs a tree that overhangs the stream, 
 
 And, like an acorn, drops on deck again? 
 
52 ITALY. 
 
 Tis he who speaks not, stirs not, but we laugh ; 
 That child of fun and frolic, Arlecchino. 
 
 And mark their poet—with what emphasis 
 
 He prompts the young Soubrette, conning her part ! 
 Her tongue plays truant, and he raps his box, 
 And prompts again ; for ever-looking round 
 
 As if in search. of subjects for his wit, 
 
 His satire ; and as often-whispering 
 
 Things, though unheard, not unimaginable. 
 
 Had I thy pencil, Crabbe, (when thou hast done, 
 Late may it be .’. it will, like Prospero’s staff, 
 Be buried fifty fathoms in the earth,) 
 1 would portray the Italian—now I cannot. 
 Subtle, discerning, eloquent, the slave 
 Of love, of hate, for ever in extremes ; 
 Gentle when unprovoked, easily won, 
 But quick in quarrel—through a thousand shades 
 His spirit flits, cameleon-like ; and-mocks: 
 The eye of the observer. 
 
 | Gliding on, 
 At length we leave the river for the sea. . 
 At length a voice aloft proclaims “ Venezia !” 
 And, as called forth, she comes.—A few in fear, 
 Flying away from him whose boast it was,* 
 
 * Attila. 
 
ITALY. 53 
 
 That the grass grew not where his horse had trod, 
 Gave birth to Venice.. Like the water-fowl, 
 They built their nests among the ocean waves ; 
 And where the sands were shifting, as the wind 
 Blew from the north or south—where they that 
 
 came, — i | 
 Had to make sure the ground they stood upon, 
 Rose, like an exhalation from the deep, 
 A vast metropolis, with glistering spires, 
 With theatres, basilicas adorned ; 
 A scene of light and glory, a dominion, 
 That has endured the longest among: men. 
 
 ‘And whence the talisman, whereby she rose, 
 Towering? Twas found ‘there in the barren sea. 
 Want led to enterprise ; and, far or near, 
 
 Who met not the Venetian? now among 
 
 The Aigean Isles, steering from port to port, 
 Landing and bartering ; now, no stranger there, 
 In Cairo, or without the eastern gate, 
 
 Ere yet the Cafila* came, listening to hear 
 
 Its bells approaching from the Red Sea coast ; 
 
 Then on the Euxine, and that smaller sea 
 
 * A Caravan. 
 
54 ITALY. 
 
 Of Azoph, in close converse with the Russ 
 And Tartar ; on his lowly deck receiving 
 Pearls from the Persian Gulf, gems from Golcond ; 
 Eyes brighter yet, that shed the-light of love, 
 From Georgia, from Circassia. Wandering round, 
 When in the rich bazaar he saw, displayed, 
 Treasures from climes unknown, he asked and 
 
 learnt, 
 And, travelling slowly upward, drew ere long. 
 From the well-head, supplying all below ; 
 Making the imperial city of the east, 
 Herself, his tributary. 
 
 If we turn 
 
 To those black forests, where, thro’ many an age, 
 Night without day, no axe the silence broke, 
 Or seldom, save where Rhine or Danube rolled ; 
 Where o’er the narrow glen a castle hangs, 
 And, like the wolf that hungered at his door, 
 The baron lived by rapine—there we meet, 
 In warlike guise, the caravan from Venice ; 
 When on its march, now lost. and now beheld, 
 A glittering file (the trumpet heard, the scout 
 Sent and recalled) but at a city gate 
 
 All gaiety, and looked for ere it comes ; 
 
ITALY. 55 
 
 Winning regard with all that can attract, 
 Cages, whence every wild cry of the desert, 
 Jugglers, stage-dancers. Well might Charlemain 
 And his brave peers, each with his visor up, 
 On their long lances:lean and gaze awhile, 
 When the Venetian to their eyes disclosed 
 The wonders of the east! Well might they then 
 Sigh for new conquests ! : 
 
 Thus.did Venice rise, 
 Thus flourish, till the unwelcome tidings came, 
 That in the Tagus had arrived a fleet 
 From India, from the region of the sun, 
 Fragrant with spices—that a way was found, 
 A channel opened, and the golden stream 
 Turned to enrich another. Then she felt 
 Her strength departing, yet.a. while maintained 
 Her state, her splendour ; till a tempest shook 
 All things most held in honour among men, 
 All things the. giant with the scythe had spared, 
 To their foundations, and at once she fell ; 
 She who had stood yet longer than the last 
 Of the four kingdoms—who, as in an ark, 
 Had floated down, amid a thousand wrecks, 
 
 Uninjured, from the old world to the new, 
 
56 ITALY. 
 
 From the last glimpse of civilised life, to where 
 Light shone again, and with the blaze of noon. 
 Thro’ many an age in the mid-sea she dwelt, 
 From her retreat calmly contemplating 
 The changes of the earth, herself unchanged. 
 Before her passed, as in an awful dream, © 
 The mightiest of the mighty. What are these, 
 Clothed in their purple? er the globe they fling 
 Their monstrous shadows; and, while yet we speak, 
 Phantom-lke, vanish with a dreadful scream ! 
 What—but the last that styled themselves the 
 Cesars 1 . . 
 And who in long array (look wie they come, 
 Their gestures menacing so far and wide) 
 Wear the green turban and the heron’s plume ? 
 Who—but the caliphs? followed fast by shapes 
 As new and strange—emperor, and king, and czar, 
 And soldan—each, with a gigantic stride, 
 Trampling on all the flourishing works of peace 
 To make his greatness greater, and inscribe 
 His name in blood—some, men of steel, steel-clad ; 
 Others, nor long, alas, the interval, 
 In light and gay attire, with brow serene ; 
 Wielding Jove’s thunder, scattering sulphurous fire 
 
 1d 
 a 
 
ITALY. 57 
 
 Mingled with darkness ; and, among-the rest, 
 Lo, one by one, passing continually, 
 
 Those who assume a sway beyond them all; 
 Men gray with age, each in a triple crown, 
 And in his tremulous hands grasping the keys 
 That can alone, as he would signify, 
 
 Unlock heaven’s gate. 
 
58 ITALY. 
 
 LUIGI. 
 
 ‘ Harry is he who loves companionship, 
 
 And lights on thee, Luigi. Thee I found 
 Playing at Mora on the cabin-roof 
 
 With Punchinello. ’Tis a game to strike 
 
 Fire from the coldest heart. What then from thine? 
 And, ere the twentieth throw, I had resolved, 
 Won by thy looks. ‘Thou wert an honest lad ; 
 Wert generous, grateful, not without ambition. 
 Had it depended on thy will alone, 
 
 Thou wouldst have numbered in thy family 
 
 At least six Doges and the first in fame. 
 
 But that was not to be. In thee I saw 
 
 The last, if not the least, of a long line, 
 
 Who in their forest, for three hundred years, 
 Had lived and laboured, cutting, charring wood ; 
 Discovering where they were, to those astray, 
 By the re-echoing stroke, the crash, the fall, 
 
 Or the blue wreath that travelled slowly up 
 
 Into the sky. Thy nobler destinies 
 
ITALY. 59 
 
 Led thee away to justle in the crowd ; 
 And there I found thee—by thine own advice 
 Trying once more a change of air and diet, 
 Crossing the sea, and springing to the shore 
 As though thou knewest where to dine and sleep. 
 
 First in Bologna didst thou plant thyself, 
 Serving behind a cardinal’s gouty chair, 
 Listening and oft replying, jest for jest ; 
 Then in Ferrara, every thing by turns, 
 So great thy genius and so Proteus-like ! 
 Now serenading in a lover’s train, 
 And measuring swords with his antagonist ; 
 Now carving, cup-bearing, in halls of state ; 
 And now a guide to the lorn traveller, 
 A very Cicerone—yet, alas, 
 How unlike him who fulmined in old Rome! 
 Dealing out largely, in exchange for pence, 
 Thy scraps of knowledge—thro’ the grassy street 
 Leading, explaining—pointing to the bars 
 Of Tasso’s dungeon, and the Latin verse, 
 Graven in the stone that yet denotes the door 
 Of Ariosto. 
 
 Many a year is gone 
 
 Since on the Rhine we parted ; yet, methinks, 
 
60 ITAwY: 
 
 I can recall thee to the life, Luigi, 
 
 In our long journey ever by my side ; 
 
 Thy locks jet-black, and clustering round a face 
 
 Open as day, and full of manly daring. 
 
 Thou hadst a hand, a heart, for all that came, 
 
 Herdsman or pedler, monk or muleteer ; 
 
 And few there were that met thee not with smiles. 
 
 Mishap passed o’er thee like a summer cloud. 
 
 Cares thou hadst none; and they, that stood to 
 hear thee, ) . 
 
 Caught the infection and forgot their own. 
 
 Nature conceived thee in her merriest mood, 
 
 Her happiest—not a speck was in the sky ; 
 
 And at thy birth the cricket chirped, Luigi, 
 
 Thine a perpetual voice—at every turn 
 
 A larum to the echo. Ina clime 
 
 - Where all were gay, none were so gay as thou; 
 
 Thou, like a babe, hushed only by thy slumbers ; 
 
 Up hill and down, morning and noon and night, 
 
 Singing or talking ; singing to thyself 
 
 When none gave ear, but to the listener talking. 
 
ITALY. 61 
 
 ST. MARK’S PLACE. 
 
 Over how many tracts, vast, measureless, 
 Ages on ages roll, and none appear 
 Save the wild hunter ranging for his prey ; 
 While on this spot of earth, the work of man, 
 How much has been transacted! Emperors, popes, 
 Warriors, from far and wide, laden: with spoil, 
 Landing, have here performed their several parts, 
 Then left the stage to others. Not a stone 
 In the broad pavement, but to him who has 
 An eye, an ear for the inanimate world, 
 Tells of past ages. 
 In that temple-porch, 
 (The brass is gone, the porphyry remains,) 
 Did Barbarossa fling his mantle off, 
 And, kneeling, on his neck receive the foot 
 Of the proud pontifi—thus at last consoled 
 For flight, disguise, and many an aguish shake 
 On his stone pillow. In that temple-porch, 
 Old as he was, so near his hundredth year, 
 
62 ITALY. 
 
 And blind—his eyes put out—did Dandolo 
 Stand forth, displaying on his crown the cross. 
 There did he stand, erect, invincible, 
 
 Tho’ wan his cheeks, and wet with many tears, 
 For in his prayers he had been weeping much; 
 And now the pilgrims and the people wept 
 With admiration, saying in their hearts, 
 “Surely those aged limbs have need of rest !” 
 —There did he stand; with his old armour on, 
 Ere, gonfalon.in hand, that streamed aloft, . 
 
 As conscious of its glorious destiny, 
 
 So soon to float o’er mosque and minaret, 
 
 He sailed away, five hundred gallant ships, 
 Their lofty sides hung with emblazonéd shields, 
 Following his track to fame. He went to die ; 
 But of his trophies four arrived ere long, 
 Snatched: from destruction—the four steeds divine, 
 That strike the ground, resounding with their feet, 
 And from their nostrils snort ethereal flame 
 Over that very portal—in the place 
 
 Where, in an after-time, beside the doge, 
 
 Sat one yet greater,* one whose verse shall live 
 
 * Petrarch. 
 
ITALY. 63 
 
 When the wave rolls o’er Venice. High he sat, 
 High over all, close by the ducal chair, - 
 
 At the right hand of his illustrious host, 
 
 Amid the noblest daughters of the realm, 
 Their beauty shaded from-the western ray 
 
 By many-coloured hangings ; while, beneath, 
 Knights of all nations, some of fair renown 
 
 From England, from victorious Edward’s court, 
 Their lances in the rest, charged for the prize. 
 
 Here, among other pageants, and how oft 
 
 It met the eye, borne through the gazing crowd, 
 As if returning to console the least, 
 
 Instruct the greatest, did the doge go round ; 
 Now ina chair of state, now on his bier. 
 
 They were his first appearance, and his last. 
 
 The sea, that emblem of uncertainty, 
 
 -Changed not so fast for many and many an age, 
 As this small spot. To-day. ’t was full of masks ; 
 And lo, the madness of the carnival, 
 
 The monk, the nun, the holy legate masked ! 
 To-morrow came the scaffold and the wheel ; 
 And he died there by torch-light, bound and gagged, 
 Whose name and crime they knew not. Underneath 
 Where the archangel, as alighted there, 
 
64 ITALY. 
 
 Blesses the city from the topmost tower, 
 
 His arms extended—there, in monstrous league, 
 
 Two phantom-shapes were sitting, side by side, 
 
 Or up, and, as in sport, chasing each other; _ 
 
 Horror and Mirth. Both vanished in one hour! 
 
 But Ocean only, when again he claims 
 
 His ancient rule, shall wash away their footsteps. 
 Enter the palace by the marble stairs 
 
 Down which the grizzly head of old Faliér 
 
 Rolled from the block. Pass onward thro’ the hall, 
 
 Where, among those drawn in their ducal robes, 
 
 But one is wanting—where, thrown off in heat, 
 
 A brief inscription on the doge’s chair 
 
 Led to another on the wall as brief : 
 
 And thou. wilt track them-—wilt, from rooms of 
 
 state, | 
 
 Where kings have feasted, and the festal song . 
 
 Rung through the fretted roof, cedar and gold, 
 
 Step into darkness ; and be told, « "T’ was here, 
 
 Trusting, deceived, assembled but to die, 
 
 To take a long embrace and part again, 
 
 Carrara and his valiant sons were slain ; 
 
 He first—then they, whose only crime had been 
 
 Struggling to save their father.” Thro’ that door, 
 
ITALY: 65 
 *. : aero ; 
 So soon to cry, smiting his brow, “ I’m lost !” 
 Was with all courtesy, all honour, shown 
 
 
 
 The great and noble captain, Carmagnola. 
 
 That deep descent (thou canst not yet discern 
 
 Aught as it is) leads to the dripping vaults 
 
 Under the flood, where light and warmth were 
 never ! 
 
 Leads to a covered bridge, the Bridge of Sighs ; 
 
 And to that fatal closet at the foot, 
 
 Lurking for prey, which, when a victim came, 
 
 Grew less and less, contracting to a span ; 
 
 An iron door, urged onward by a screw, ; 
 
 But let us to the roof, 
 
 And, when thou hast surveyed the sea, the land, 
 
 
 
 Forcing out life. 
 
 Visit the narrow cells that cluster there, 
 
 As ina place of tombs. There burning suns, 
 Day after day, beat unrelentingly ; 
 
 Turning all things to dust, and scorching up 
 The brain, till reason fled, and the wild yell 
 And wilder laugh burst out on every side, 
 
 Answering each other as in mockery ! 
 
 
 
 Few houses of the size were better filled ; 
 Though many came and left it in an hour. 
 “ Most nights,” so said the good old Nicolo, 
 
66 ITALY. 
 
 | = 
 (For three-and-thirty years his uncle kept * 
 
 The water-gate below, but seldom spoke, 
 Though much was on his mind,) “ most nights 
 arrived | : 
 
 The prison-boat, that boat with many oars, 
 
 And bore away as to the lower world, 
 
 Disburdening in the canal Orfano, 
 
 That drowning-place, where never net was thrown, 
 
 Summer or winter, death the penalty ; | 
 
 And where a secret, once deposited, 
 
 Lay till the waters should give up their dead.” 
 Yet what so gay as Venice? Every gale 
 
 Breathed music! and who flocked not, while she 
 
 reigned, 
 
 To celebrate her nuptials with the sea ; 
 
 To wear the mask, and mingle in the crowd 
 
 With Greek, Armenian, Persian—night and day 
 
 (There, and there only, did the hour stand still,) 
 
 Pursuing, through her thousand labyrinths, 
 
 The enchantress Pleasure ; realising dreams, 
 
 The earliest, happiest—for a tale to catch 
 
 Credulous ears, and hold young hearts in chains, 
 
 Had only to begin, ‘There lived in Venice” 
 
 
 
 «¢ Who were the six we supped with yesternight ?* 
 
 * See Note. 
 
ITALY. 67 
 
 Kings, one and all! ‘Thou couldst not but remark 
 The style and manner of the six that served them.” 
 ‘«¢ Who answered me just now? Who, when I said 
 ‘°T is nine,’ turned round and said so solemnly, 
 ‘Signor, he died at nine!’ "I was the Armenian; 
 The mask that follows thee, go where thou wilt.” 
 
 ‘‘ But who moves there alone among them all ?” 
 “The Cypriot. Ministers from distant courts 
 Beset his doors, long ere his rising hour ; 
 
 His the great secret! Not the golden house 
 
 Of Nero, nor those fabled in the east, 
 
 Rich though they were, so wondrous rich as his! 
 Two dogs, coal-black, in collars of ‘pure gold, 
 
 Walk in his footsteps—who but his familiars? 
 He casts no shadow, nor is seen to smile ! 
 
 And mark him speaking. ‘They that listen stand 
 As if his tongue dropped honey ; yet his glance 
 None can endure! He looks nor young nor old ; 
 And at a tourney where I sat and saw, 
 
 A very child (full threescore years are gone) 
 Borne on my father’s shoulder through the crowd, 
 He looked not otherwise. Where’er he stops, 
 Though short the sojourn, on his chamber wall, 
 
 Mid many a treasure gleaned from many a clime, 
 
68 ITALY. 
 
 His portrait hangs—but none must notice it;.  ~ 
 
 For Titian glows in every lineament, 
 (Where is it not inscribed, ‘The work is his !) 
 And Titian died two hundred years ago.” | 
 
 Such their discourse. Assembling-in St. Mark’s, 
 All nations met as on enchanted ground ! 
 What tho’ a strange mysterious power was there, 
 Moving throughout, subtle, invisible, 
 And universal as the air they breathed ; 
 A power that never slumbered, nor forgave, 
 All eye, all ear, no where and every where, 
 Entering the closet and the sanctuary, 
 No place of refuge for the doge himself; 
 Most present when least thought of—nothing dropt 
 In secret, when the heart was on the lips, 
 Nothing in feverish sleep, but instantly - 
 Observed and judged—a power, that if but named 
 In casual converse, be it where it might, 
 The speaker lowered at. once his eyes, his voice, 
 And pointed upward as to God in heayen—— 
 What tho’ that power was there, he who lived thus, 
 Pursuing pleasure, lived as if it were not. ! 
 But let him in the midnight air indulge . 
 A word, a thought against the laws of Venice, 
 _And in that hour he vanished from the earth! 
 
ITALY. 69 
 
 THE GONDOLA. © 
 
 
 
 Boy, call the Gondola; the sun is set. 
 It came, and we embarked ; but instantly, 
 
 As at the waving of a magic wand, 
 
 Though she had stept on board so light of foot, 
 So light of heart, laughing she knew not why, 
 Sleep overcame her ; on my arm she slept. 
 
 From time to time I waked her ; but the boat 
 Rocked her to sleep again. 'The:moon was now 
 Rising full-orbed, but broken by a cloud. 
 
 The wind was hushed, and the sea mirror-like. 
 
 A single zephyr, as enamoured, played 
 
 With her loose tresses, and drew more and more 
 . Her veil across her bosom. Long I lay 
 Contemplating that face so beautiful, 
 
 That rosy mouth, that cheek dimpled with smiles, 
 That neck but half concealed, whiter than snow. 
 *T was the sweet slumber of her early age. 
 
 I looked and looked, and felt a flush of joy 
 
 I would express but cannot. Oft I wished 
 
70° ITALY. 
 
 Gently —by stealth—to drop asleep myself, 
 And to incline yet lower that sleep might come ; 
 Oft closed my eyes as in forgetfulness. 
 T was all in vain. Love would not let me rest. 
 But how delightful when at length she waked ! 
 When, her light hair adjusting, and her veil 
 So rudely scattered, she resumed her place 
 Beside me ; and, as gaily as before, 
 Sitting unconsciously nearer and nearer, 
 Poured out her innocent mind! 
 So, nor long since, 
 Sung a Venetian : and his lay of love,* 
 Dangerous and sweet, charmed Venice. For my- 
 self, | 
 (Less fortunate, if love be happiness) 
 No curtain drawn, no pulse beating alarm, 
 I went alone beneath the silent moon ; 
 Thy square, St. Mark, thy churches, palaces, 
 Glittering and frost-like, and, as day drew on, 
 Melting away, an emblem of themselves. 
 Those porches passed, thro’ which the water- 
 breeze 
 
 * La Biondina in Gondoletta. 
 
ITALY. ~ 71 
 
 Plays, though no longer on the noble forms 
 That moved there, sable-vested—and the quay, 
 Silent, grass-grown,—adventurer-like I launched 
 Into the deep, ere long discovering 
 Isles, such as cluster in the southern seas, 
 All verdure. Every where, from bush and brake, 
 The musky odour of the serpents came ; 
 Their slimy track across the woodman’s path 
 Bright in the moonshine: and, as round I went, — 
 Dreaming of Greece, whither the waves were 
 gliding, 
 
 I listened to the venerable pines 
 Then in close converse, and, if right I guessed, 
 Delivering many: a message to the winds 
 In secret, for their kindred on Mount Ida. 
 
 Nor when again in Venice, when again 
 In that strange place, so stirring and so still, 
 Where nothing comes to drown the human voice 
 But music, or the dashing of the tide, | 
 Ceased I to wander. Now a Jessica 
 Sung to her lute, her signal as she sat 
 At her half-open window. Then, methought, 
 A serenade broke silence, breathing hope 
 
 Thro’ walls of stone, and torturing the proud heart 
 
a 
 » 
 
 72 at ITALY 
 
 Of some Priuli. Once, we could not err, 
 
 (It was before an old Palladian house, 
 
 As between night and day we floated by) 
 
 A Gondolier lay singing ; and he sung, 
 
 As in the time when Venice was herself, 
 
 Of Tancred and Erminia. On our oars - 
 We rested; and the verse was:verse divine ! 
 We could not err—perhaps he was the last— 
 For none took up the strain, none answered him; 
 And when he ceased, he left upon my ear . 
 
 A something like the dying voice of Venice! 
 
 The moon went down, and nothing now was seen 
 Save where the lamp of a Madonna shone 
 Faintly—or heard, but when. he spoke, who stood 
 Over the lantern at the prow and cried, 
 
 Turning the corner of some reverend pile, 
 
 Some school or hospital of old renown, 
 
 Though haply none were coming, none were near, 
 ‘“‘ Hasten or slacken.” * But at length night fled ; 
 And with her fled, scattering, the sons of pleasure. 
 Star after star shot by, or, meteor-like, 
 
 Crossed me and. vanished—lost at once among 
 
 Xe * Premi 0 stali. 
 “gs : 
 
 ana 
 
 —e 
 
 » 
 
ITALY.  ge73 
 
 Those hundred isles that tower majestically, 
 That rise abruptly from the water mark, 
 
 Not with rough crag, but marble, and the work 
 Of noblest architects. I lingered still ; 
 
 Nor sought my threshold, till the hour was come 
 And past, when, flitting home in the gray light, 
 The young Bianca found her father’s door, 
 That door so often with a trembling hand, 
 
 So often—then so lately left ajar, 
 
 Shut ; and, all terror, all perplexity, 
 
 Now by her lover urged, now by her love, 
 
 Fled o’er the waters to return no more. 
 
e™ 
 
 
 
 ‘g2 a bs 
 ay 
 ¢ *- 
 148 ITALY. . 
 : + 4s ¥ 
 
 THE BRIDES OF VENICE. 
 
 Irv was St. Mary’s eve, and all poured forth . 
 
 For some great festival. The fisher came 
 
 From his green islet, bringing o’er the waves 
 
 His wife and little one ; the husbandman 
 
 From the firm land, with many a friar and nun, 
 
 And village maiden, her first flight from home, 
 
 Crowding the common ferry. All arrived ; 
 
 And in his straw the prisoner turned and listened, 
 
 So great the stir in Venice. Old and young 
 
 Thronged her three hundred bridges ; we saree 
 Turk, | a ag 
 
 x ¢ tins i 
 Turbaned, long-vested, and the cozening ia s 
 
 A, 
 
 In yellow hat and thread-bare gaberdine, =e 
 
 Hurrying along. For, as the custom was, — ee 
 
 The noblest sons and daughters of the state, 
 Whose names are written in the Book of Gold, 
 Were on that day to solemnise their nuptials. 
 
 > 
 
 PR 
 

 
 
 
 
 

 

 
 And never from their earliest hour was seen 
 
 Such splendour or such beauty. Two and two, 
 (The richest tapestry unrolled before them) - 
 First came the brides; each in her virgin-veil, 
 Nor unattended by her bridal maids, 
 The two that, step by step, behind her bore 
 The small but precious caskets that contained 
 The dowry and the presents. On she moved, 
 Her eyes cast down, and holding in her hand 
 A fan, that gently waved, of ostrich plumes. 
 Her veil, transparent as the gossamer, 
 Fell from beneath a starry diadem; 
 And on her dazzling neck a jewel shone, 
 Ruby or diamond, or dark amethyst; 
 A jewelled chain, in many a winding wreath, 
 Wreathing her gold brocade. 
 
 Before the church, 
 That venerable structure now no more 
 On the sea-brink, another train they met, 
 No strangers, nor unlooked for ere they came, 
 Brothers to some, still dearer to the rest ; 
 
 Each in his hand bearing his cap and plume, 
 Wy: 
 
“ . 
 76 AIGA Ye, 
 
 + 
 And, as he walked, with modest dignity 
 Folding his scarlet mantle. At the gate , 
 They join ; and slowly up the bannered aisle 
 Led by the choir, with due solemnity 
 Range round the altar. In his vestments there 
 The Patriarch stands; and, while the anthem flows, 
 Who can look on unmoved—the dream of years 
 Just now fulfilling? Here a mother weeps, 
 Rejoicing in her daughter. ‘There a son 
 Blesses the day that is to make her his; 
 While she shines forth through all her ornament, 
 Her beauty heightened by her hopes and fears. 
 
 At length the rite is ending. All fall down, 
 All of all ranks ; and, stretching out-his hands, 
 Apostle-like, the holy man proceeds . 
 To give the blessing—not a stir, a breath ; 
 When hark, a din of voices from without, 
 And shrieks and groans and outcries as in battle! 
 And lo, the door is burst, the curtain rent, 
 And armed ruflians, robbers from the deep, 
 Savage, uncouth, led on by Barbaro, 
 And his six brothers in their coats of steel, i. 
 Are standing on the threshold! Statue-like, ig 
 Awhile they gaze upon the fallen multitude, 
 
 a nie’ ame 
 ga 
 
 i 
 
 
 
 a, 
 ye ¢ 
 
ITALY. 77 
 ¥ 4 
 
 ee, 
 
 Each with his sabre up, in act to strike ‘ | 
 Then, as at once recovering from the spell, 
 Rush forward to the altar, and as soon 
 Are gone again—amid no clash of arms. 
 Bearing away the maidens and the treasures. 
 Where are they now !—ploughing the distant 
 waves, 
 Their sails out-spread and given to the wind, | 
 They on their decks triumphant. On they speed, 
 Steering for Istria; their accursed barks 
 (Well are they known, the galliot and the galley,) 
 Freighted, alas, with all that life endears! 
 The richest argosies were poor to them! 
 Now hadst thou seen along that crowded shore 
 The matrons running wild, their festal dress 
 A strange and moving contrast to their grief ; 
 And through the city, wander where thou wouldst, 
 The men half armed and arming—every where, 
 . As roused from slumber by the stirring trump ; 
 One with a shield, one with.a casque and spear; 
 One with an axe severing in two the chain 
 Of some old pinnace. Not a_raft, a plank, 
 But on that day was drifting. In an hour 
 Half Venice was afloat. But long before, 
 
 
 
78 ITALY. 
 
 Frantic with grief, and scorning all control, 
 The youths were gone in a light brigantine, | 
 Lying at anchor near the arsenal ; 
 Each having sworn, and by the holy rood, | 
 To slay or to be slain. . 
 
 And from the tower 
 The watchman gives the signal. In the east 
 A ship is seen and making for the port ; 
 Her flag St. Mark’s. And now she turns the point, 
 Over the waters like a sea-bird flying ! 
 Ha, ’t is the same, ’t is theirs! from stern to prow 
 Green with victorious wreaths, she comes to bring 
 All that was lost. Coasting, with narrow search, 
 Friuli—like a tiger in his spring, 
 ‘They had surprised the Corsairs where they lay 
 Sharing the spoil in blind security, 
 And casting lots—had slain them, one and.all, 
 All to the last, and flung them far and wide 
 Into the sea, their proper element ; 
 Him first, as first in rank, whose name so long 
 Had hushed the babes of Venice, and who yet, 
 Breathing a little, in his look retained 
 The fierceness of his soul. 
 
 Thus were the brides: 
 
ITALY. 79 
 
 Lost and recovered ; and what now remained 
 
 But to give thanks? Twelve breast-plates and 
 twelve crowns, 
 
 By the young victors to their patron-saint 
 
 Vowed in the field, inestimable gifts 
 
 Flaming with gems and gold, were in due time, 
 
 Laid at his feet ; and ever to preserve 
 
 The memory of a day so full of change, 
 
 From joy to grief, from grief to joy again, 
 
 Through many an age, as oft as it came round, 
 
 ’T was held religiously. The Doge resigned 
 
 His crimson for pure ermine, visiting 
 
 At earliest dawn St. Mary’s silver shrine ; 
 
 And through the city, in a stately barge 
 
 Of gold, were borne with songs and symphonies 
 
 Twelve ladies, young and noble. Clad they were 
 
 In bridal white with bridal ornaments, 
 
 Each in her glittering veil;-and on the deck, 
 
 As on a burnished throne they glided by ; 
 
 No window or balcony but adorned . 
 
 With hangings of rich texture, not a roof 
 
 But covered with beholders, and the air 
 
 Vocal with joy. Onward they went, their oars 
 
 Moving in concert with the harmony, 
 
80 TVA. 
 
 Through the Rialto to the ducal palace, _ 
 
 _ And at a banquet, served with honour there, 
 
 Sat representing, in the eyes of all, | 
 Eyes not unwet, I ween, with grateful tears, 
 Their lovely ancestors, the Brides of Venice. 
 
ITALY. 
 
 
 
 FOSCARI. 
 
 Ler us lift up the curtain, and observe 
 What passes in that chamber. Now a sigh, 
 And now a groan is heard. » Then all is still. 
 Twenty are sitting as in judgment there ; 
 Men who have served their country, and grown grey 
 In governments and distant embassies, 
 Men eminent alike in war and peace ; 
 Such as in effigy shall long adorn 
 The walls of Venice—to shew what she was! 
 Their garb is black, and black the arras is, 
 And sad the general aspect: Yet their looks 
 Are calm, are cheerful; nothing there like grief, 
 Nothing or harsh or cruel. Still that noise, 
 That low and dismal moaning. 
 
 | Half withdrawn, 
 A little to the left, sits one in crimson, 
 A venerable man, fourscore and five. 
 Cold drops of sweat stand on his furrowed brow. 
 His hands are clenched; his eyes half shut and 
 
 glazed ; 
 
82 ITALY: 
 
 His shrunk and withered limbs rigid as marble. 
 Tis Foscari the Doge. And there is one, 
 
 A young man, lying at his feet, stretched out 
 
 In torture. *Tis his son. ”*Tis Giacomo, 
 
 His only joy, (and has he lived for this?) 
 Accused of murder. Yesternight the proofs, | 
 If proofs they be, were in the lion’s mouth 
 Dropt by some hand unseen ; and he himself 
 Must sit and look on a beloved son 
 
 Suffering the question. Twice, to die in peace, 
 
 
 
 To save, while yet he could, a falling house, 
 And turn the hearts of his fell adversaries, 
 Those who had now, like hell-hounds in full ery, 
 Chased down his last of four,—twice did he ask 
 To lay aside the crown, and they refused, 
 
 An oath exacting, never more to ask ; 
 
 And there he sits, a spectacle of woe, 
 Condemned in bitter mockery to wear 
 
 The bauble he had sighed for. 
 
 The screw is turned ; and, as it turns, the son 
 
 Once again 
 
 
 
 Looks up, and, in a faint and broken tone, 
 Murmurs “ My father!” The old man shrinks back, 
 And in his mantle muffles up his face. 
 
 “‘ Art thou not guilty?” says a voice, that once 
 
 a. 
 
ITALY. 83 
 
 Would greet the sufferer long before they met ; 
 s Art thou not guilty ?’”—“No! Indeed I am not !” 
 But all is unavailing. In that court 
 
 Groans are confessions ; patience, fortitude, 
 The work of magic ; and, released, revived, 
 
 Fc or condemnation, from his father’s lips 
 
 Fe fears‘ the sentence, ‘‘ Banishment to Candia. 
 Death if he leaves it.” And the bark sets sail ; 
 And he is gone from all he loves in life ! 
 
 Gone in the dead of night—unseen of any— 
 Without a word, a look of tenderness, 
 
 To be called up when in his lonely hours © 
 
 He would indulge in weeping. Like a ghost, 
 Day after day, year after year, he haunts 
 
 An ancient rampart, that o’erhangs the sea; 
 Gazing on vacancy, and hourly there 
 
 Starting as from some wild and uncouth dream, 
 To answer to the watch. Alas, how changed 
 From him, the mirror of the youth of Venice ! 
 Whom in the slightest thing, or whim or chance, 
 Did he but wear his doublet so and so, 
 
 All followed ; at whose nuptials, when he won 
 That maid at once the noblest, fairest, best, 
 
 A daughter of the house that now among 
 

 
 r Siete on the igi « ee frou to front, teu Lee ¢: . 
 a ‘And blaze on blaze reflecting, met and ranged — in 
 ieee 1 Pes PF ey at, ; ‘; 
 os To tourney in St. Marks. But lo, at last, aes ee my 
 ohh Messengers come. He is recalled: his heart | ee 
 ing Leaps at the tidings. He embarks: the boat 
 ee Springs to the oar, and back again he goes— : % 
 __ Into that very chamber! there to lie . 
 
 In his old resting place, the bed of steel ; 
 
 And thence look up (five long, long years: 3 of grief 
 
 Have not killed either) on his wretched sire, 
 
 Still in that seat—as though he had not stirred ; 
 - Immoveable, and muffled in his cloak. 
 
 But now he comes, convicted of a crime 
 
 bt ; Great by the laws of Venice. Night and day, 
 ___ Brooding on what he had been, what he was,— 
 
 
 
 _ °T was more than he could bear. His longing fits 
 _ Thickened upon him. His desire for home 
 
 ~ Became a madness; and, resolved to 20, 
 
 If but.to die, in his despair he writes _ 
 
 A letter to the sovereign prince of Milan, 
 
 (To him whose name, among the greatest now, 
 
 ay 
 
- : = q ; as 
 4 RY a 
 
 
 

 

 
 Had perished, blotted out at once and rased, 
 But for the rugged limb of an old oak,) 
 Soliciting his influence with the state, 
 
 And drops it to be found.—“< Would ye know all? 
 _I have transgressed, offended wilfully ; 
 
 And am prepared to suffer as I ought. 
 
 But let me, let me, if but for an hour, 
 
 (Ye must consent—for all of you are sons, 
 
 Most of you husbands, fathers,) let me first 
 Indulge the natural feelings of a man, 
 
 And, ere I die, if such my sentence be, 
 
 Press to my heart (’tis all I ask of you) 
 
 My wife, my children—and my aged mother— 
 Say, is she yet alive?” He is condemned. 
 
 To go ere set of sun, go whence he came, 
 
 y A banished man ; and for a year to breathe 
 - The vapour of a dungeon. But his prayer 
 
 (What could they less?) is granted. In a hall 
 Open and crowded by the common herd, 
 
 *T was there a wife and her four sons, yet young, 
 A mother borne along, life ebbing fast, 
 
 And an old doge, mustering his strength in vain, 
 Assembled now, sad privilege, to meet 
 
 One so long lost, one who for them had braved, 
 
 ae 
 
86 as ITALY. 
 
 For them had sought—death, and yet worse than 
 death ; | 
 
 To meet him, and to part with him for ever !— 
 Time and their wrongs hadchanged them all, him 
 : most ; 
 
 Yet when the wife, the mother 1bcka again, 
 
 °T was he—’t was he himself, t? was Giacomo ! 
 And all clung round him, weeping bitterly ; 
 
 “‘ Weeping the more, because they wept in vain.” 
 
 Unnerved, and now unsettled in his mind 
 From long and exquisite pain, he sobs and cries, 
 Kissing the old man’s cheek, “Help me, my father ! 
 Let me, I pray thee, live once more among ye: 
 Let me go home.” “My son,” returns the doge, 
 Mastering his grief, “if thou art indeed my son,. 
 Obey. Thy country wills it.” 
 Giacomo 
 
 That night embarked ; sent to an early grave 
 
 For one whose dying words, “ ‘The deed was mine ! 
 He is most innocent! °T was I who did it!” 
 Came when he slept in peace. The ship, that = 
 Swift as the winds with his deliverance, 
 
 Bore back a lifeless corpse. Generous as brave, 
 
 Affection, kindness, the sweet offices 
 
ITALY. 87 
 
 Of duty and love were from his tenderest years 
 To him as needful as his daily bread ; 
 And to become a by-word in the streets, 
 Bringing a stain on those who gave him hfe, 
 And those, alas, now worse than fatherless— 
 To be proclaimed a ruffian, a night stabber, 
 He on whom none before had breathed reproach— 
 He lived but to disprove it. That hope lost, 
 Death followed. Oh, if justice be in heaven, 
 A day must come of ample retribution ! 
 
 Then was thy cup, old man, full to the brim. 
 But thou wert yet alive ; and there was one, 
 The soul and spring of all that enmity, 
 Who would not leave thee; fastening on thy flank, 
 Hungering and thirsting, still unsatisfied ; 
 One of a name illustrious as thine own! 
 One of the Ten! one of the Invisible Three ! 
 °T was Loredano. When the whelps were gone, 
 He would dislodge the lion: from his den ; : 
 And, leading on the pack he long had led, 
 The miserable pack that ever howled 
 Against fallen greatness, moved that Foscari 
 Be Doge no longer ; urging his great age ; 
 
 Calling the loneliness of grief neglect 
 
ye? 
 4 
 
 88 ITALY. 
 
 Of duty, sullenness against the laws. 
 
 “IT am most willing to retire,” said he ; 
 
 «¢ But I have sworn, and cannot of myself. 
 
 Do with me as ye please.”’ He was deposed, 
 
 He, who had reigned so long and gloriously ; 
 
 His ducal bonnet taken from his brow, 
 
 His robes stript off, his seal and signet-ring 
 
 Broken before him. But now nothing moved 
 
 The meekness of his soul. All things alike ! 
 
 Among the six that came with the decree, 
 
 Foscari saw one he knew not, and enquired 
 
 His name. ‘Iam the son of Marco Memmo.”’ 
 
 ‘“‘ Ah,” he replied, “‘ thy father was my friend.” 
 And now he goes. ‘It is the hour and past. 
 
 “¢ But wilt thou not 
 
 Avoid the gazing crowd? That way is private.” 
 
 I have no business here.”’ 
 
 
 
 ‘No! as I entered, so will I retire.” 
 
 And, leaning on his staft, he left the house, 
 
 His residence for five-and-thirty years, 
 
 By the same stairs. up which he came in state ; 
 Those where the giants stand, guarding the ascent, 
 Monstrous, terrific. At the foot he stopt, 
 
 And, on his staff still leaning, turned and said, 
 
 “¢ By mine own merits did I come. I go, 
 
ITALY. 89 
 
 Driven by the malice of mine enemies.’ 
 Then to his boat withdrew, poor as he came, 
 Amid the sighs of them that dared not speak. 
 
 This journey was his last. When the bell rang 
 At dawn, announcing a new Doge to. Venice, 
 It found him on his knees before the Cross, 
 Clasping his aged hands in earnest prayer ; 
 And there he died. Ere half its task was done, 
 It rang his knell. 
 
 But whence the deadly hate 
 That caused all this—the. hate of Loredano ? 
 It was a legacy his father left, 
 Who, but for Foscari, had reigned in Venice, 
 And, like the venom in the serpent’s bag, 
 Gathered and grew ! Nothing but turned to hate! 
 In vain did Foscari supplicate for peace, 
 Offering in marriage his fair Isabel. 
 He changed not, with a dreadful piety 
 Studying revenge : listening to those alone 
 Who talked of vengeance ; grasping by the hand 
 Those in their zeal (and none were wanting there) 
 Who came to tell him of another wrong, 
 Done or imagined. When his father died, 
 They whispered, ‘Twas by poison !’ and the words 
 7 
 
hen ee eek ne ee OP ee 
 
 90 ITALY 
 
 Struck him as uttered from his father’s grave. — 
 He wrote it on the tomb (’tis there in marble) 
 And with a brow of care, most merchantélike, 
 Among the debtors in his leger-book | 
 Entered at full (nor month, nor day forgot) 
 ‘ Francesco Foscari—for nry Father’s death.’ 
 Leaving a blank—to be filled up hereafter. 
 When Foscari’s noble heart at length gave way, 
 He took the volume from the shelf again 7 
 Calmly, and with his pen filled up the blank, 
 Inscribing, ¢ He has paid me.’ 
 
 Ye who sit 
 Brooding from day to day, from day to day 
 Chewing the bitter cud, and starting up 
 
 As tho’ the hour was come to whet your fangs, 
 
 _ And, like the Pisan, gnaw the hairy scalp 
 
 Of him who had offended—if ye must, 
 Sit and brood on; but O forbear to teach 
 The lesson to your children. 
 
ITALY. “91 - 
 
 MARCOLINI. 
 
 LS 
 
 It Teas midnight; the great clock had struck, and 
 was still echoing ‘through every porch and gallery 
 in-the quarter of St. Mark, when a young citizen, 
 wrapt in his cloak, was hastening home under it 
 from an interview with his mistress. His step was 
 light, for his heart was so. Her parents had just 
 consented to their marriage ; and the very day was 
 named. “Lovely Giulietta ! he cried. ‘ And 
 shall I then call thee mine at last? . Who was ever 
 so blest as thy Marcolini?” But as he spoke, he 
 stopped; for something glittered on the pavement 
 before him. It was a scabbard of rich workman- 
 
 . ship; and the discovery, what was it but an earnest 
 of good fortune? ‘Rest thou there!” he cried, 
 thrusting it gaily into his belt. “If another claims 
 thee not, thou hast changed masters !” and on he 
 went as before, humming the burden of a song 
 which he and his Giulietta had been singing toge- 
 ther. But how little we know what the next 
 minute will bring forth! He turned by the church of 
 
 
 
te = Ce a ew a 
 
 es 
 oa ITALY. 
 
 St. Geminiano, and in three steps met the watch. 
 A murder had just been committed. The senator 
 Renaldi had been found dead at his door, the dag- 
 ger left in his heart ; and the unfortunate Marcolini 
 was dragged away for examination. The place, 
 the time, every thing served to excite, to justify 
 suspicion ; and no sooner had he entered the guard 
 house than a damning witness appeared against 
 him. The bravo in his flight had thrown away his 
 scabbard; and smeared with blood, with blood not 
 yet dry, it was now in the belt of Marcolini. Its 
 patrician ornaments struck every eye; and when 
 the fatal dagger was produced and compared with 
 it, not a doubt of his guilt remained. Still there is 
 in the innocent an energy, a composure, an energy 
 when they speak, a composure when they are silent, 
 to which none can be altogether insensible; and”~ 
 the judge delayed for some time to pronounce the 
 sentence, though he was the near relation of the » 
 dead. At length, however, it came ; and Marcolini 
 lost his life, Giuhetta her reason. 
 
 Not many years afterwards the truth revealed it- 
 self, the real criminal in his last moments confess- 
 ing the crime; and hence the custom in Venice, a 
 custom that long prevailed, for a crier to cry out in 
 
ITALY. 93 
 
 the court before a sentence was. passed, “ Ricorda- 
 tevi del povero Mareolini !?* , 
 
 Great indeed was the lamentation throughout the 
 city ; and the judge, dying, directed that thenceforth 
 and for ever a mass should be sung every night in 
 a chapel of the Ducal Church for his own soul and 
 the soul of Marcolini, and the souls of all who had 
 suffered by an unjust judgment. Some land on the 
 Brenta was left by him for the purpose: and still is 
 
 the mass sung in the chapel; still every night, | 
 
 when the great square is illuminating, and the casi- 
 nos are filling fast with the gay and the dissipated, 
 a bell is rung as for a service, and a ray of light 
 seen to issue from a small gothic window that 
 looks towards the place of execution, the place 
 where on a scaffold Marcolini breathed his last. 
 
 * ¢¢ Remember the poor Marcolint!” 
 
 a 
 FE 
 
ge 
 
 ‘. 
 
 opt se ITALY. 
 
 oj: Sali ARQUA. 
 
 Three leagues from Padua stands, and long has 
 ‘stood | 
 
 (The Paduan student knows it, honours it) 
 
 A lonely tomb beside a mountain-church ; 
 
 And I arrived there as the sun declined 
 
 Low in the west. The gentle airs, that breathe 
 
 Fragrance at eve, were rising, and the birds 
 
 Singing their farewell-song—the very song 
 
 They sung the night that tomb received a tenant ; 
 
 When, as alive, clothed in his canon’s stole, 
 
 And slowly winding down the narrow path, 
 
 He came to rest there. Nobles of the land, 
 
 Princes and prelates, mingled in his train, 
 
 _ Anxious by any act, while yet they could, 
 
 To catch a ray of glory by reflection ; 
 And from that hour have kindred spirits flocked 
 From distant countries, from the north, the south, 
 
 To see where he is laid. z : 
 
 o 
 
ITALY. - 95 
 
 Twelve years ago, © 
 When 1 descended the impetuous Rhone, . 
 Its vineyards of such great and old renown,* 
 Its castles, each with some romantic tale, 
 Vanishing fast—the pilot at the stern, 
 He who had steered so long, standing aloft, 
 His eyes on the white breakers, and his hands 
 On what was now his rudder, now his oar, . 
 A huge misshapen plank—the bark itself 
 Frail and uncouth, launched to return no more ; 
 Such as a shipwrecked man might hope to build, 
 Urged by the love of home—Twelve years ago, 
 When like an arrow from the cord we flew, 
 Two long, long days, silence, suspense on board, 
 It was to offer at thy fount, Vaucluse, 
 Entering the arched Cave, to wander where 
 Petrarch had wandered, to explore and sit 
 Where in his peasant-dress he loved to sit, 
 Musing, reciting—on some rock moss-grown, 
 Or the fantastic root of some old beech, 
 That drinks the living waters as they stream 
 
 Over their emerald-bed ; and could I now 
 
 * The Cote Rotie, the Hermitage, &c. 
 
 . di 
 a, 
 
 ‘ sae, 
 Fe , 
 
 - 3" 
 
 - 
 + 
 
LTALY: 
 
 
 
 Neglect the place where, in a graver mood, 
 When he-had done and settled with the world, 
 When all the illusions of his youth were fled, 
 Indulged perhaps too much, cherished too long, 
 He came for the conclusion? Half way up 
 
 He built his house, whence as by stealth he caught, 
 Among the hills, a glimpse of busy life 
 
 That soothed, not stirred. But knock, and | 
 
 enter in. a 
 
 
 
 ; * This was his chamber. *Tis as when he went ; 
 
 %.i, 
 a. 
 
 a 
 
 _. This was his chair ; and in it, unobserved, 
 
 _ As if he now were in his orchard grove. - 
 
 And this his closet. Here he sat and read. 
 
 Reading, or thinking of his absent friends, 
 
 He passed away as in a quiet slumber. 
 
 Peace to this region! Peace to each, to all! 
 
 They know his value—every coming step, 
 
 That draws the gazing children from their play, 
 Would tell them if they knew not. But could 
 aught, 
 
 
 
 Ungentle or ungenerous, spring up 
 
 Where he is sleeping ; where, and in an age 
 Of savage warfare and blind bigotry, 
 
 He cultured all that could refine, exalt ; 
 Leading to better things ? 
 
 * 
 
 a . 
 

 
 GINEVRA. 
 
 tad 
 
 If thou shouldst ever come by choice or chance - 
 To Modena, where still religiously 
 
 Among her ancient trophies is preserved. 
 Bologna’s bucket (in its chain it hangs : 
 Within that reverend tower, the Guirlandine) 
 Stop at a palace near the Reggio-gate, 
 
 Dwelt in of old by one of the Orsini. 
 
 Its noble gardens, terrace above terrace, ~ 
 And rich in fountains, statues, cypresses, 
 
 Will long detain thee ; thro’ their arched walks, 
 
 _ Dim at noon-day, discovering many a glimpse 
 
 Of knights and dames, such as in old romance, = 
 
 And loyers, such as in heroic song, ' 
 
 Perhaps the two, for groves were their delight, 
 That in the spring time, as alone they sat, — 
 Venturing together on a tale of love, 
 
 Read only part that day.*—— A summer-sun 
 Sets ere one half is seen; but, ere thou go, 
 
 * Inferno. V. 
 
 vu 
 * s 
 
et 4: 
 a Ps 
 
 ‘ o 
 98 ITABNS 
 
 Enter the house—prythee, forget it not— - 
 And look awhile upon a picture there. 
 ’Tis of a lady in her earliest youth, 
 The very last of that illustrious race, » 
 Done by Zampieri*—but I care not whom. 
 He, who observes it—ere he passes on, 
 Gazes his fill, and comes and comes again, 
 » That he may call it up, when far away. a 
 She sits, inclining forward as to pale 
 _ Her lips half open, and her finger up, 
 As though she said ‘ Beware !’ her vest of gold « 
 Broidered with flowers, and clasped from head to 
 foot, | 
 _ An emerald stone in every golden clasp ; 
 And on her brow, fairer than alabaster, 
 A coronet of pearls. But then her face, 
 So lovely, yet so arch, so full of mirth, 
 The overflowings of an innocent heart— 
 It haunts me still, though many a sign, has fled, 
 Like some wild melody ! 
 Alone it hangs 
 Over a mouldering heir-loom, its companion, 
 An oaken chest, half eaten by the worm, 
 
 * Commonly called Domenichino. 
 
 ws 
 
7 - 
 
 ~ 
 * 
 
 ITALY. 99 
 
 But richly carved by Antony of Trent 
 With scripture-stories from the life of Christ ; 
 A chest that came from Venice, and had held 
 
 The ducal robes of some old ancestor. . 
 That by the way—it may: be true or false— es 
 But don’t forget the picture ; and thou wilt not, . es 
 When thou hast heard the tale they told me there. 
 
 She was an only child; from infancy , ge 
 The joy, the pride of an indulgent sire. % aah 
 Her mother dying of the gift she gave, a 
 
 That precious gift, what else remained to him? ~ 
 
 The young Ginevra was his all in life, 
 
 Still as she grew, for ever in his sight ; 
 
 And in her fifteenth year became a bride, aie 
 
 Marrying“an only son, Fittigeteo Doria, | 
 
 Her playmate from her birth, and her first love. 
 Just as she looks there in her bridal dress, 
 
 She was all gentleness, all gaiety, 
 
 Her pranks the favourite theme of every tongue. 
 
 But now the day was come, the day, the hour ; 
 
 Now, frowning, smiling, for the hundredth time, 
 
 The nurse, that ancient lady, preached decorum ; 
 
 And in the lustre of her youth, she gave 
 
 Her hand, with her heart in it, to Francesco. 
 
100 ITA 
 
 Great was the joy; but at the bridal feast, 
 When all sat down, the bride was wanting there. 
 Nor was she to be found! Her father eried, 
 ‘Tis but to make a trial of our love’ * 
 
 And filled his glass to all; but his hand shook, 
 
 And soon from guest to guest the panic spread. 
 
 ’T was but that instant she had left Francesco, 
 
 Laughing and looking back and flying still, 
 
 ‘Her ivory tooth imprinted on his finger. 
 
 But now, alas, she was not to be found ; 
 
 Nor from that hour could any thing be guessed, 
 
 But that she was not ! ? 
 
 | Weary of his life, 
 
 Francesco flew to Venice, and forthwith 
 
 Flung it away in battle with the Turk. * 
 
 Orsini lived; and long might’st thou have seen 
 
 An old man wandering as in quest of something, 
 
 Something he could not find—he knew not what. 
 
 When he was gone, the house remained awhile» 
 
 Silent and tenantless—then went to strangers. 
 Full fifty years were past, and all forgot, 
 
 When on an idle day, a day of search 
 
 Mid the old lumber in the gallery, 
 
 That mouldering chest was noticed; and ’twas said 
 
i ve 
 PPRAL'Y. | 101 
 
 By one as young, as thoughtless as Ginevra, 
 «¢ Why not remove it from its lurking place ?” 
 *T was done as soon as said; but on the way 
 - It burst, it fell; and lo, a skeleton, 
 With here and there a pearl, an emerald stone, 
 A golden clasp, clasping a shred of gold. 
 All else had perished—save a nuptial ring, 
 And a small seal, her mother’s legacy, 
 Engraven with a name, the name of both, 
 “¢ Ginevra.” 
 
 There then had she found a grave! 
 Within that chest had she concealed herself, 
 Fluttering with joy, the happiest of the happy ; 
 When a spring-lock, that lay in ambush there, 
 Fastened her down for ever! _ 
 
102 ITALY. 
 
 BOLOGNA, © 
 
 "T'was night ; the noise and bustle of the day 
 
 Were o’er. ‘The mountebank no longer wrought 
 
 Miraculous cures—he and his stage were gone ; 
 
 And. he who, when the crisis of his tale ! 
 
 Came, and all stood breathless with hope and fear, 
 
 Sent round his cap; and he who thrummed his wire 
 
 And sang, with pleading look and plaintive strain 
 
 Melting the passenger. ‘Thy thousand cries,* 
 
 So well portrayed and by a son of thine, 
 
 Whose voice had swelled the hubbub in his youth, 
 
 Were hushed, Bologna, silence in the streets, . 
 
 The squares, when hark, the clattering of fleet 
 hoofs ; 
 
 And soon a courier, posting as from far, 
 
 Housing and holster, boot and belted coat 
 
 | 
 * See the Cries of Bologna, as drawn by Annibal Carracci. He 
 was‘of very humble origin; and, to correct his brother’s vanity, once 
 
 sent him a portrait of their father, the tailor, threading his needle. 
 es oo 
 
 ~ 
 
 4 
 
 _ raee 4 
 
 * 
 ~ 
 
 <4 
 

 
 ITALY. ees 
 And doublet, stained with many a various soil, 
 Stopt and alighted. ”I'was where hangs aloft 
 
 That ancient sign, the pilgrim, welcoming 
 
 
 
 All who arrived there, all perhaps save those 
 Clad like himself, with staff and scallop-shell, 
 Those on a pilgrimage. And now approached 
 Wheels, through the lofty porticoes resounding, 
 Arch beyond arch, a shelter or a shade 
 As the sky changes. To the gate they came. 
 And, ere the man had half his story done, 
 Mine host received the Master—one long used 
 To sojourn among strangers, every where 
 (Go where he would, along the wildest track) 
 Flinging a charm that shall not soon he lost, - 
 And leaving footsteps to be traced by those 
 Who love the haunts of Genius ; one who saw, 
 Observed, nor shunned the busy scenes of life, 
 But mingled not, and mid the din, the stir, 
 Lived as a separate spirit. 
 
 : Much had passed 
 Since last we parted; and those five short years— 
 Much had they told! His clustering locks were 
 
 turn’d ee 
 
 *% 
 
 Grey ; nor did aught Tecgs the youth that swam 
 
 *% a 
 
 oe Ss 
 
. 
 €. ’ 
  ] . 
 
 ae PeAa ©. 
 
 
 
 j i* 
 From Sestos to Abydos. Yet his voice 
 Still it was sweet ; still from his eye thé" bughe 
 Flashed lightning-like, nor lingered on the way, — 
 Waiting for words. Far, far into the night 
 
 We sat, conversing—no unwelcome hour, 
 
 The hour we met ; and, when Aurora rose, 
 Rising, we climbed the rugged Apennine. 
 
 Well I remember how the golden sun - 
 
 Filled with its beams the unfathomable gulfs, 
 
 As on we travelled, and along the ridge, 
 
 "Mid groves of cork and cistus and wild-fig, 
 
 His motley household came—Not last nor least, 
 Battista, who upon the moonlight-sea ° 
 Of Venice, had so ably, zealously, 
 Served, and, at parting, thrown his. oar away 
 
 To follow through the world; who without stain 
 Had worn so long that honourable badge,* . 
 The gondolier’s, ina patrician house 
 
 Arguing unlimited trust.—Not last nor least, 
 Thou, tho’ declining in thy beauty and strength, 
 Faithful Moretto, to the latest hour 
 
 * The principal gondolier, il fante di poppa, was almost always in 
 the confidence of his master, and employed on occasions that requir- 
 
 ed judgment and address. 
 
eee ee 4 ene Say 
 -- : “ae 
 
 en | 
 ITALY. 7 “Phos 
 
 - iy ¥ 
 
 Guarding his chamber-door, and now along “ 
 The silent, sullen strand of Missolonghi J 
 
 Howling in grief. 
 
 He had just left that place 
 Of old renown, once in the Adrian sea,* 
 Ravenna! where, from Dante’s sacred tomb 
 He had so oft, as many a verse declares,t 
 Drawn inspiration ; where, at twilight-time, 
 Through the pine-forest wandering with loose rein, 
 Wandering and lost, he had so oft beheldt: 
 (What is not visible to a poet’s eye ?)— 
 The spectre-knight, the hell-hounds and their prey, 
 The chase, the slaughter, and the festal mirth 
 Suddenly blasted. *I'was a theme he loved, | 
 But others claimed their turn ; and many a tower, 
 Shattered, uprooted from its native rock, 
 Its strength the pride of some heroic age, 
 Appeared and vanished (many a sturdy steer§ 
 Yoked and unyoked) while as in happier days 
 He poured his spirit forth. The past forgot, 
 
 * Adrianum mare.—Cic. } See the Prophecy of Dante. 
 ¢ See the tale as told by Boccaccio and Dryden. 
 § They wait for the traveller’s carriage at the foot of every hill. 
 
 8 
 
106° ITALY. 
 
 All was enjoyment. Not a cloud obscured _ 
 
 Present or future. 
 
 +74, 
 
 He is now at rest;,. . 
 And praise and blame fall on his ear alike, 
 Now dull in death. Yes, Byron, thou art gone, 
 Gone like a star that through the firmament. 
 Shot and was lost, in its eccentric course 
 Dazzling, perplexing. Yet thy heart, methinks, 
 
 Was generous, noble—noble in its scorn 
 
 _ Of all things low or little; nothing there | 
 
 oe. 
 
 we) 
 
 Sordid or servile. If imagined wrongs. 
 Pursued thee, urging thee sometimes to do 
 
 Things long regretted, oft, as many know, 
 
 None more than I, thy gratitude would build 
 On slight foundations: and, if in thy life 
 
 Not happy, in thy death thou surely wert, 
 
 Thy wish accomplished ; dying in the land 
 
 Where thy young mind had caught ethereal fire, 
 
 Dying i in Greece, and in a. cause so glorious! 
 rhey in thy train—ah, little did they think, 
 
 As Pind we went, that they so soon should sit 
 
 
 
 Mourning beside thee, while a nation mourned, 
 Changing her festal for her funeral song ; 
 That they so soon should hear the minute-gun, 
 
ITALY. | 107 
 ce 
 As morning gleamed on what remained of thee, 
 Roll o’er the sea, the mountains, numbering ¢- aa 
 Thy years of joy and sorrow. ; ‘ me 
 Thou art gone ; , 
 And he who would assail thee in thy grave, 
 Oh, let him pause! For who among us all, 
 Tried as thou wert—even from thine earliest 
 years, . 
 
 When wandering, ‘yet unspoilt, a highland-boy— 
 Tried as thou wert, and with thy soul of flame ; 
 Pleasure, while yet the down was on thy cheek, 
 Uplifting, pressing, and to lips like thine, 
 Her charmed cup—ah, who among us all 
 Could say, he had not erred as much, and more ? 
 
a 
 
 108 ; ITALY. 
 
 _ FLORENCE. 
 
 Of all the fairest cities of the earth 
 None is so fair as Florence. Tis a gem 
 Of purest ray; and what a light broke forth, 
 When it emerged from darkness! Search within, 
 Without ; all is enchantment ! Tis the past 
 Contending with the present ; and in turn. 
 Each has the mastery. 
 
 In this chapel wrought 
 One of the few, Nattire’s interpreters, - ~ 
 The few, whom Genius gives as lights to shine, 
 Massaccio ; and he slumbers underneath. 
 Wouldst thou behold his monument ? Look round ! 
 And know that where we stand, stood oft and long, 
 Oft till the day was gone, Raphael himself, 
 He and his haughty rival*—patiently, 
 Humbly, to learn of those who came before, 
 
 * Michael Angelo. 
 
ITALY. 109 
 
 To steal a spark from their authentic fire, 
 Theirs who first broke the universal gloom, | 
 Sons of the morning.—On that ancient seat,* ad 
 The seat of stone that runs along the wall, 
 South of the church, east of the belfry-tower, 
 (Thou canst not miss it,) in the sultry time 
 Would Dante sit conversing, and with those 
 Who little thought that in his hand he held 
 
 The balance, and assigned at his good pleasure 
 To each his place in the invisible world, 
 
 To some an upper region, some a lower; ~ 
 Many a transgressor sent to his account, 
 
 Long ere in Florence numbered with the dead ; 
 The body still as full of life and stir 
 
 At home, abroad ; still and as-oft inclined 
 
 To eat, drink, sleep ; still clad as others were, 
 And at noon-day, where men were wont to meet, 
 Met as continually ; when the soul went, 
 Relinquished to a demon, and by him | 
 
 (So says the bard, and who can-read and doubt ’) 
 Dwelt in and governed.—Sit thee down awhile ; 
 
 Then, by the gates so marvellously wrought, 
 
 * A tradition. 
 
- a ae a 
 
 110 ITALY. 
 
 That they might serve to be the gates of heaven, 
 
 Enter the Baptistery. That place he loved, 
 
 Loved as his own ;* and in his visits there 
 
 Well might he take delight! For when a ehild, 
 
 Playing, as many are wont, with venturous feet 
 
 Near and yet nearer to the sacred font, 
 
 Slipped and fell in, he flew and rescued him, 
 
 Flew with an energy, a violence, _ 
 
 That broke the marble—a mishap ascribed 
 
 To evil motives ; his, alas, to lead ©. 
 
 A life of trouble, and ere long to leave 
 
 All things most dear to him, ere long to know 
 
 How salt another’s bread is, and the toil 
 
 Of going up and down another’s stairs.— 
 Nor then forget that chamber of the dead, 
 
 Where the gigantic shapes of night and day, 
 
 Turned into stone, rest everlastingly ; 
 
 Yet still are breathing, and shed round at noon 
 
 A two-fold influence—only to-be felt—- 
 
 A light, a darkness, mingling each with each; - 
 
 Both and yet neither. . There, from-age to age, 
 
 Two ghosts are sitting on their sepulchres. 
 
 * Mia bel Giovanni. Inferno. 19, t Paradiso. 17. 
 
ITALY. 111 
 
 That is the Duke Lorenzo. . Mark him well. 
 
 He meditates, his head upon his hand. 
 
 What from beneath his helm-like bonnet scowls ? 
 
 Is it a face, or but an eyeless scull ? 
 
 ’Tis lost in shade ; yet, like the basilisk, 
 
 It fascinates, and is intolerable. 
 
 His mien is noble, most majestical ! 
 
 Then most so, when the distant choir is heard 
 
 At morn or eve—nor fail thou to attend 
 
 On that thrice-hallowed day, when all are there ; 
 
 When all, propitiating with solemn songs, 
 
 Visit the dead. Then wilt thou feel his power ! 
 But let not scul pture, painting, poesy, 
 
 Or they, the masters of these mighty spells, 
 
 Detain us. Our first homage is to Virtue. 
 
 Where, in what dungeon of the citadel, 
 
 (lt must be known—the writing on the wall 
 
 Cannot be gone—’twas with the blade cut in, 
 
 Ere, on his knees to God, he slew himself,) 
 
 Did he, the last, the noblest citizen,* 
 
 Breathe out his soul, lest in the torturing hour - 
 
 He might accuse the guiltless !—That debt paid 
 
 * Filippo Strozzi. 
 
ee a Ee me 
 ; ,* a © 
 
 + : ¢ 
 
 2 i " A 
 
 . 11>. = Ay; 
 
 Bat with-a Sighs tear for human frailty, 
 
 We may return, and once more give a loose 
 To the delighted spirit, worshipping, 
 
 In her small temple of rich workmanship,* 
 Venus herself, who, when she left the skies, ~ 
 Came hither. | 
 
 = 
 
 aC ig * The Tribune. 
 45 “e 2 . ‘ 
 

 
 ITALY. 113. 
 
 DON GARZIA. 
 
 Among those awful forms, in elder time 7 
 Assembled, and through many an after. page 
 Destined to stand as Genii of the place. : 
 
 Where men most meet in Florence, may be seen 
 His who first played the tyrant. ~ Clad in mail, 
 But with his helmet off—in kingly state, 
 
 Aloft he sits upon his horse of brass ; 
 
 And they, that read the legend underneath, 
 
 Go and pronounce him happy.* Yet, methinks, 
 There is a chamber that, if walls could speak, 
 Would turn their admiration into pity. | 
 
 Half of what passed, died with him ; but the rest 
 All he discovered when the fit was on, 
 All that, by those who listened, could be gleaned 
 From broken sentences and starts in sleep, . 
 
 Is told, and by an honest chronicler. 
 
 * Cosmo, the first Grand Duke. {+ De Thou. 
 
me 
 
 114 ITALY. 
 
 Two of his sons, Giovanni and Garzia, 
 (The oldest had not seen his nineteenth summer,) _ 
 Went to the chase; but only one returned. 
 
 Giovanni, when the huntsman blew his horn 
 
 O’er the last stag that started from the brake, © 
 
 And in the heather turned to stand at bay, 
 
 Appeared not; and at close of day was found 
 
 Bathed in his innocent blood, . ‘Too well, alas, 
 
 The trembling Cosmo guessed the deed, the doer ; 
 
 And, having caused the body to be borne - 
 
 In secret to that chamber—at an hour 
 
 When all slept sound, save she who bore them 
 both,* — 
 
 Who little thought of what was yet to come, 
 
 And lived-but to be told—he bade Garzia 
 
 Arise and follow him. Holding in one hand 
 
 A winking lamp, and in the other a key 
 
 Massive and. dungeon-like, thither he led ; 
 
 And, having entered in and locked the door, 
 
 The father fixed his eyes upon the son, 
 
 And closely questioned him. No change betrayed 
 
 Or guilt or fear. ‘Then Cosmo lifted. up 
 
 --  * Bleonora di Toledo. 
 
ITALY. 115 
 
 The bloody sheet. ‘“ Look there ! Look there!” 
 he cried. : 
 “Blood calls for blood—and. from a father’s hand ! 
 —Unless thyself wilt save him that sad office. 
 What !” he exclaimed, when, oe at the 
 sight, 
 The boy breathed out, “1 stood but on my. ne is 
 “Dar’st thou then blacken one who never wronged 
 thee, | 
 Who would not set- his. foot upon a worm ?— 
 Yes, thou must die, lest ethers fall by thee, 
 And thou shouldst be the slayer of us all.” 
 Then from Garzia’s belt he drew the blade, 
 That fatal one which spilt his brother’s blood ; | 
 And, kneeling on the ground, “ Great God!” he et 
 cried, | 
 Grant me the strength to do an act of justice. ; 
 Thou knowst what it costs me; but, alas, oy 
 How can I spare myself, sparing none else’? 
 Grant me the strength, the will—and oh forgive 
 The sinful soul of a most wretched son. 
 Tis a most wretched father that implores it.” 
 Long on. Garzia’s neck he hung and wept, 
 
 Long pressed him to his bosom tenderly ; 
 
116 ITALY. 
 
 And then, but while he held him by the arm, 
 Thrusting him backward, turned away his face, 
 And stabbed him to the heart. 
 
 | ‘Well might a youth,* 
 Studious of meny-anxious to learn and. know, 
 When in the train of some great embassy 
 He came, a visitant to Cosmo’s-court; 
 Think on the past ; and, as he wandered through 
 The ample spaces of.an ancient house, . 
 Silent, deserted—stop awhile to dwell 
 Upon two portraits there, drawn on the wall 
 Together, as of two in bonds of love, 
 Those of the unhappy brothers, and conclude 
 From the sad looks of him who could have told 
 The terrible truth. Well might he heave a sigh 
 For poor humanity, when he beheld 
 
 That very Cosmo shaking o’er his fire, : =~ 
 
 Drowsy and deaf and inarticulate, 
 
 Wrapt in his night gown, o’er a sick man’s mess, ’ 
 
 In the last stage—death-struck and deadly pale; 
 His wife, another, not his Eleanor, 
 
 At once his nurse and his interpreter. 
 
 * De Thou. 
 t The Palazzo Vecchio. Cosmo had left it several years before. 
 
 aastt 
 
te 
 
 ITALY. The 
 
 THE CAMPAGNA OF FLORENCE. 
 
 Tis morning. . Let us wander through the fields, 
 Where Cimabué found a shepherd-boy* 
 Tracing his idle fancies on the ground; 
 And let us from the top of .Fiesole, 
 Whence Galileo’s glass by night observed 
 The phases of the moon, look round below’ 
 On Arno’s vale, where the dove-coloured steer 
 Is ploughing up and down among the vines, 
 While many a careless note is sung aloud, 
 Fillmg the air with sweetness—and on thee, 
 Beautiful Florence, all within thy walls, - 
 Thy groves and gardens, pinnacles and towers, 
 Drawn to our feet. 
 
 From that small spire, just caught 
 By the bright ray, that church among the rest 
 By one of old distinguished as The Bride,t 
 
 * Giotto. 
 
 t Santa Maria Novella. For its grace and beauty it was called 
 by Michael Angelo ‘ La Sposa.’ 
 
* 
 
 s = : vf ~ : 
 bs 
 
 + 
 2 
 
 118 ITALY. 
 
 * 
 
 Let us in thought pursue (what can we better?) 
 
 Those who assembled there at matin-time ;* _ 
 
 Who, when Vice revelled, and along the street 
 
 Tables were set, what time the bearer’s bell — 
 
 Rang to demand the dead at every door, 
 
 Came out into the meadows; and, awhile 
 
 Wandering in idleness, but not in folly, 
 
 Sat down in the high grass and in the shade 
 
 Of many a tree sun-proof—day after day, 
 
 When all was still and nothing to be heard 
 
 But the cicala’s voice among the olives, 
 
 Relating in a ring, to banish care, 
 
 Their hundred tales. Round the green hill they 
 went, | . 
 
 Round underneath—first to a splendid house, 
 
 Gherardi, as an old tradition runs, 
 
 That on the left, just rising from the vale ; — 
 
 A place for luxury—the painted rooms, 
 
 The open galleries and middle court 
 
 Not unprepared, fragrant and gay with flowers. 
 
 Then westward to another, nobler yet ; | 
 
 That on the right, now known as the Palmieri, 
 
 - * In the year of the great plague. See the Decameron. 
 
as Fe % ol f =: '* get — Shy ah 
 7 : aa. 
 
 s 
 ‘ ee ve, og 
 oe . 
 
 ITALY. -* 119 
 
 Where Art with Nature vied—a paradise, 
 With verdurous walls, and many a trellissed walk 
 All rose and jasmine, many a twilight glade 
 Crossed by the deer. Then to the Ladies’ Vale ; 
 And the clear lake, that as by magic seemed 
 To lift up to the surface every stone 
 Of lustre there, and the diminutive fish 
 Innumerable, dropt with crimson and gold, 
 Now motionless, now glancing to the sun. 
 
 Who has not dwelt on their voluptuous day ? 
 The morning-banquet by the fountain side, 
 While the small birds rejoiced on every bough ; 
 The dance that followed, and the noon-tide slumber ; 
 Then the tales told in turn, as round they lay 
 
 On carpets, the fresh waters murmuring ; 
 
 . And the short interval of pleasant talk 
 
 Till supper-time, when many a syren voice 
 Sung down the stars; and, as they left the sky, 
 The torches, planted in the sparkling grass, 
 And every where among the glowing flowers, 
 Burnt bright and brighter. 
 
 He,* whose dream it was, 
 
 * Boccaccio. 
 
 re 
 
120, . ITALY. 
 
 (It was no more) sleeps in a neighbouring vale ; 
 
 Sleeps in the church, where, in his ear I ween, 
 
 The friar poured out his wondrous catalogue ;*— 
 
 A ray, imprimis, of the star that shone 
 
 To the wise men ; a phial-ful of sounds, 
 
 The musical chimes of the great bells that hip” 
 
 In Solomon’s temple ; and, though last not least, 
 
 A feather from the angel Gabriel’s wing, 
 
 Dropt in the Virgin’s chamber. That dark ridge, _ 
 
 Stretching south-east, conceals it from my sight ; 
 
 Not so his lowly roof and scanty farm, 
 
 His copse and rill, if yet a trace be left, 
 
 Who lived in Val di Pesa, suffering long 
 
 Want and neglect and (far, far worse) reproach, 
 
 With calm, unclouded mind.t| The glimmering -* 
 tower x 
 
 On the grey rock beneath, his land-mark once, 2 
 
 Now serves for ours, and points out where he ate 
 
 His bread with cheerfulness. Who sees him not 
 
 (Tis his own sketch—he drew it from himself) 
 
 Laden with cages from his shoulder slung, 
 
 And sallying forth, while yet the morn is grey, 
 
 * Decameron, vi. 10. Tt Macchiavel. 
 hy 7 
 
 ” 
 
ITALY. % 121 
 
 To catch a thrush on every lime-twig there ; 
 Or in the wood among his wood- cutters ; | 
 Or in the tavern by ‘the  highway- side ’ 
 At tric-trac- with the miller: or at night, . 
 Doffing his rustic suit, and, duly clad, 
 
 Entering his closet, and, among his books, 
 Among the ereat of every age and clime, ° 
 
 A numerous court, turning to whom he pleased, 
 Questioning each why he did-this or that, 
 
 And learning how-to overcome thie fear 
 
 Of poverty and death 1— 
 
 
 
 Nearer we hail 
 Thy sunny slope, Arcetri, sung of old 
 For its green wine ; dearer to me, to most, 
 As dwelt on by that great astronomer, 
 Seven years a prisoner at the city-gate, 
 * Let in but in his grave-clothes. Sacred be 
 "His villa (justly was it called the Gem!) 
 Sacred the lawn, where many a cypress threw 
 Its length of shadow, while he watched the stars! 
 Sacred the vineyard, where, while. yet his sight 
 Glimmered, at blush of morn he dressed his vines, 
 Chanting aloud in gaiety of heart — 
 Some verse of Ariosto. There, unseen, 
 
 In manly beauty Milton stood before him, 
 
ie ITALY. © 
 
 boa Gazing with reverend awe—Milton, his guest, 
 Just then come forth, all life and enterprise ; 
 He in his old age ‘and extremity, 
 
 Blind) at noon-day exploring with his staff; 
 His eyes upturned as to the golden sun, 
 
 His eye-balls idly rolling. Little then 
 
 
 
 Did Galileo think whom he received ; 
 . That in his hand he held the hand of one 
 Who could requite him—who would spread his 
 name — 
 O’er lands and seas—great as hiniself, nay greater ; 
 Milton as little that in him he saw, | 
 As in a glass, what he himself should be, 
 Destined so soon to fall on evil days. 
 And evil tongues—so soon, alas, to live 3 
 In darkness, and with dangers compassed round, . 
 And solitude. Gea? otis 
 Well pleased, could we pursue 
 The Arno, from his birth-place in the clouds, 
 So near the yellow Tiber’s—springing up . 
 From his four fountains on the Appenine, 
 That mountain-ridge a sea-mark to the ships 
 Sailing on either sea. Downward he runs, 
 
 Scattering fresh verdure thro’ the desolate wild, 
 
+ 
 
 ITALY. 193 
 
 Down by the City of Hermits,* and the woods 
 That only echo to the choral hymn ; 
 
 Then through these gardens to the Tuscan sea, 
 Reflecting castles, convents, villages, * 
 
 And those great rivals in an elder day, 
 
 Florence and Pisa, who have given him fame, 
 Fame everlasting, but who stained so oft 
 
 His troubled waters. Oft, alas, were seen, 
 
 When flight, pursuit, and hideous rout were there, 
 
 Hands, clad in gloves of steel, held up imploring ; 
 
 ‘The man, the hero, on his foaming steed # 
 
 Borne underneath, already in the realms 
 Of darkness. 
 Bring respite. Oft,-as that great artist saw, 
 
 
 
 Nor did night or burning noon 
 
 Whose pencil had a voice, the cry “To arms!” 
 And the shrill trumpet, hurried up the bank 
 Those who had stolen an hour to breast the tide, 
 And wash from their unharnessed limbs the blood 
 And sweat of battle. Sudden was the rush,t 
 Violent the tumult ; for, already in sight, 
 
 Nearer and nearer yet the danger drew ; 
 
 Each every sinew straiing, every nerve, 
 
 ‘* I Sagro Eremo. _ + Michael Angelo. 
 t A description of the Cartoon of Pisa. 
 
 
 
Each snatching ip; and  girding, buckling on 
 
 Morion and greave and shict of twisted mail, 
 
 As for his life—no more perchance to tas 
 
 Arno, the grateful freshness of thy glades, is 
 
 Thy waters—where, exulting, he hadsfelt 
 
 A swimmer’s transport, there, alas, to float 
 
 And welter. — 
 
 Nor between the gusts of war, 
 
 When flocks were feeding, and the shepherd’s pipe 
 
 Gladdened the valley, when, but not unarmed, 
 
 The sower came forth, and following him that 
 ploughed, — | | 
 
 Threw in the seed—did thy indignant waves 
 
 Escape pollution. Sullen was the splash; 
 
 Heavy and swift the plunge, when they received 
 
 The key that just had grated on the ear 
 
 Of Ugolino, ever closing up 
 
 That dismal dungeon henceforth to be named 
 
 The Tower of Famine. Once, indeed, ’twas thine, 
 
 When many a winter-flood, thy tributary, 
 
 Was thro’ its rocky glen rushing, resounding, — 
 
 And thou wert in thy might, to save, restore 
 
 A charge most precious. ‘To the nearest ford, 
 
 Hastening, a horseman from Arezzo came, 
 
oa ‘ oa i 
 
 ae at Teg 125 
 Careless, impatient of delay, a babe 
 Surge basket to the knotty staff © 
 That lay athwart his saddle-bow. He spurs, 
 He enters ; and his horse alarmed, perplexed, 
 Halts in thé midst. Great is the stir, the strife ; 
 And lo,‘an atom on that dangerous sea, 
 The babe. is floating ! Fast and far he flies ; 
 Now tempest-rocked, now) whirling round and 
 
 round, | . ) 
 
 But not to perish. By thy willing waves 
 Borne to the shore, among the bulrushes 
 The ark has rested ; and unhurt, secure, 
 _ As on his mother’s breast, he sleeps within, 
 All peace! or never had the nations heard 
 That voice so sweet, which still enchants, inspires ; 
 That voice, which sung of love, of liberty. 
 Petrarch lay there! And such the images 
 That here spring up for ever, in the young 
 Kindling poetic fire! Such they that came 
 And clustered round our Milton, when at eve 
 Reclined beside thee, Arno; when at eve, 
 Led on by thee, he wandered with delight, 
 Framing Ovidian verse, and thro’ thy groves 
 
 Gathering wild myrtle. Such the poet’s dreams ; 
 
e 
 
 126 ITALY. * 
 Yet not such only. For look round and say, 
 Where is the ground that did not drink warm 
 
 blood, | Hon ae 
 The echo that had learned not to articulate 
 The cry of murder? Fatal was the day* 
 To Florence, when (twas in a narrow street 
 North of that temple, where the truly great 
 Sleep, not unhonoured, not unvisited ; . 
 That temple sacred to the Holy Cross— 
 There is the house—that house of the Donati,. 
 Towerless, and left long since, but to the last 
 Braving assault—all rugged, all embossed 
 Below, and still distinguished by the rings 
 Of brass, that held in war and festival-time 
 Their family standards) fatal was the day 
 To Florence, when, at morn, at the ninth hour, 
 A noble dame in weeds of widowhood, 
 Weeds by so many to be worn so soon, 
 Stood at her door ; and, like a sorceress, flung 
 Her dazzling spell. 
 
 Subtle she was, and rich, 
 
 Rich in a hidden pear] of heavenly light, 
 Her daughter’s beauty ; and too well she knew 
 
 ¥* See Note. 
 
* 
 
 . ITALY. — : 127 
 
 is 
 Its virtue! Patiently she stood and watched ; 
 Nor stood alone—but spoke not. In her breast 
 Her purpose lay ; and, as a youth passed by, 
 Clad for the nuptial rite, she smiled and said, 
 Lifting a corner of the maiden’s veil, 
 “¢ This had 1 treasured up in secret for thee. 
 This hast thou lost !” He gazed and was undone! 
 Forgetting—not forgot—he broke the bond, 
 And paid the penalty, losing his life 
 At the bridge-foot ; and hence a world of woe ! 
 Vengeance for vengeance crying, blood for blood ; 
 No intermission! Law, that slumbers not, 
 And, like the angel with the flaming sword, 
 Sits over all, at once chastising, healing, 
 Himself the avenger, went.; and every street 
 Ran red with mutual slaughter—-though sometimes 
 The young forgot the lesson they had learnt, 
 And loved when they should hate—like thee, 
 
 _ Imelda, . 
 
 Thee and thy Paolo. When last ye met 
 In that still hour (the heat, the glare was gone, 
 Not so. the splendour—through the cedar-grove 
 A radiance streamed like a consuming fire, 
 
 As though the glorious orb, in its descent, 
 
« * 
 
 128 ITALY: 
 
 Had come and rested there) when last ye met, 
 And those relentless brothers dragged him forth, 
 It had been well, hadst thou slept on, Imelda, 
 Nor from thy trance of fear awaked, as night 
 Fell on that fatal spot, to wish thee dead, 
 
 To track him by his blood, to search, to find, 
 Then fling thee down to catch a word, a look, - 
 A sigh, if yet thou couldst (alas, thou couldst not) 
 And die, unseen, unthought of—from the wound 
 Sucking the poison.*—Yet, when slavery came, 
 Worse followed. Genius, valour left the land, 
 Indignant—all that had from age to age 
 Adorned, ennobled ; and headlong they fell, 
 Tyrant and‘slave. or deeds of violence, 
 
 Done in broad day, and more than half redeemed 
 By many a great and generous sacrifice 
 
 Of self to others, came the unpledged bowl, 
 
 The stab of the stiletto. Gliding by 
 
 Unnoticed, in slouched hat and muffling cloak, 
 That just discovered, Caravaggio-like, 
 
 A swarthy cheek, black brow, and eye of flame, | 
 The bravo stole, and o’er the shoulder plunged 
 
 To the heart’s core, or from beneath the ribs 
 
 * See Note. 
 
ITALY. 129 
 
 Slanting (a surer path, as some averred) 
 
 Struck upward—then slunk off, or, if pursued, » 
 Made for the sanctuary, and there along 
 
 _ The glimmering aisle among the worshippers 
 Wandered with restless step and jealous look, 
 Dropping thick blood. Misnamed to lull alarm, 
 In every palace was the laboratory, 
 
 Where he within brewed poisons swift and slow, 
 That scatter’d terror ’til all things seem’d poisonous, 
 And brave men trembled if a hand held out 
 
 A nosegay or a letter; while the great 
 
 Drank only from the Venice-glass, that broke, 
 That shivered, scattering round it as in scorn, 
 If aught malignant, aught of thine was there, 
 Cruel Tophana ; and pawned provinces 
 
 For that miraculous gem, the gem that gave 
 
 A sign infallible of coming ill, 
 
 That clouded though the vehicle of death 
 
 Were an invisible perfume. Happy then 
 
 The guest to whom at sleeping-time ’twas said, 
 But in an under voice (a lady’s page 
 
 Speaks in no louder) “Pass not on. That door 
 Leads to another which awaits thy coming, 
 
 One in the floor—now left, alas, unlocked. 
 
ba “- . i al 
 130 ITALY. 
 
 No eye detects it—lying under foot, 
 
 Just as thou enterest, at the threshold-stone ; 
 Ready to fall and plunge thee into night — 
 
 And long oblivion !”———In that evil hour 
 Where lurked not danger? Thro’ the fairy-land, 
 
 
 
 No seat of pleasure glittering half-way down, | 
 
 No hunting place—but with some damning spot 
 
 That will not be washed out! There, at Caiano, 
 
 Where, when the hawks were mewed and evening 
 came, | 
 
 Pulci would set the table in a roar 
 
 With his wild lay—there, where the sun descends, 
 
 And hill and dale are lost, veiled with his beams, 
 
 The fair Venitian* died, she and her lord-— 
 
 Died of a posset drugged by him who sat 
 
 And saw them suffer, flinging back the charge ; 
 
 The murderer on the murdered. Sobs of grief,t 
 
 Sounds inarticulate—suddenly stopt, 
 
 And followed by a struggle and a gasp, 
 
 A gasp in death, are heard yet in Cerreto, 
 
 Along the marble halls and staircases, 
 
 Nightly at twelve ; and, at the self-same hour, 
 
 Shrieks, such as penetrate the inmost soul, 
 
 * Bianca Capello. { See Note. 
 
r i : ; 
 4 ‘ é 
 
 *" ie. 
 ITALY. 131 
 
 Such as awake the innocent babe to long, 
 
 Long wailing, echo through the emptiness 
 
 Of that old den far up among the hills, . 
 Frowning on him who comes from Pietra-Mala: 
 In them, alas, within five days and less, 
 
 Two unsuspecting victims, passing fair, 
 “Welcomed with kisses, and slain cruelly, 
 
 One with the knife, one with the fatal noose. 
 
 But lo, the sun is setting ; earth and sky 
 
 One blaze of glory—What we saw but now, 
 
 As though it were not, though it had not been ! 
 He lingers yet ; and, lessening to a point, 
 Shines like the eye of Heaven—then withdraws ; 
 And from the zenith to the utmost skirts 
 
 All is celestial red! The hour is come, 
 
 When they that sail along the distant seas, 
 Languish for home ; and they that in the morn 
 Said to sweet friends “ farewell,” melt as at parting ; 
 When, just gone forth, the pilgrim, if he hears, 
 As now we hear it—echoing round the hill 
 
 The bell that seems to mourn the dying day, 
 Slackens his pace and sighs, and those he loved 
 Loves more than ever. But who feels it not ? 
 
 And well may we, for we are far away. 
 
| i 
 199, 'ob ITALY. en 
 ‘os : 
 be Be ay gh 
 9 “e | : % 
 x: r 
 THE PILGRIM. avd; 
 
 be It was an hour of universal joy. 
 eo Che lark was up and at the gate of hates 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ‘Sing wing, as sure to enter when he came; 
 
 » butterfly was basking in my path, 
 radiant wings unfolded. From below 
 
 | he bell of prayer rose slowly, plaintively ; 
 
 
 
 _ And odours, such as welcome in the day, 
 Such as salute the early traveller, 
 _ And come and go, each sweeter than the last, 
 : Were rising. Hill and valley breathed delight ; 
 And not a living thing but blessed the hour ! 
 tee Naaievery bush and brake there was a voice 
 :° ésponsive !—From the Thrasymene, that now. 
 ‘Slept i in the sun, a lake of molten gold, 
 
 And from the shore that once, when armies met, 
 
 
 
 
 
 R eked to and fro unfelt, so tertible 
 
 a se ‘he rage, the slaughter, I had turned away; 
 ‘The path, that led ee leading through a wood, 
 
 q 
 
 . 7. “ hy » . if ‘ 
 ae . ee ; 4 q eS 
 hess ds 19 . s ate 
 
 
 
 

 

 

 
 w 
 ae : 
 
 133 
 
 ‘A fairy-wilderness of fruits and flowers, . 
 
 And by a brook that, in the day of strife, e. 
 Ran blood, but now runs amber—when a glade, 
 Far, far within, sunned only at noon-day,. 
 Suddenly opened. Many a bench was there, 
 Each round its ancient elm; and many a track, 
 Well known to them that from the highway loved 
 Awhile to deviate. In the midst a cross 
 
 Of mouldering stone as in a temple stood, 
 Solemn, severe ; coeval with the trees 
 
 That round it in majestic order rose ; 
 
 And on the lowest step a Pilgrim knelt, 
 
 _ In fervent prayer. He was the first I saw, 
 
 (Save in the tumult of a midnight-masque, 
 A revel where none cares to play his part, 
 And they, that speak, at once dissolve the charm) 
 The first in sober truth, no counterfeit ; 
 
 And, when his orisons were duly paid, 
 
 He rose, and we exchanged, as all are wont, 
 
 A trayeller’s greeting.—Young, and of an age 
 When youth is most attractive, when a light 
 Plays round and round, reflected, while it lasts, 
 From some attendant-spirit, that ere long 
 
 (His charge relinquished with a sigh, a tear) 
 
. : 
 
 em a, 
 
 134 TRAY. ; .° | ¢ 
 
 Wings his flight upward—with a look he won 
 
 ‘My favour ; and, the spell of silence broke, 
 
 1 could not but continue—* Whence,” I asked, 
 
 — Whence art thou ?”—*< From Mont’alto,” he 
 
 replied, + 
 
 “¢ My native village in the Apennines.” — 
 
 “And whither, journeying ?’—“ To the - holy 
 shrine 
 
 Of Saint Antonio in the city of Padua. 
 
 Perhaps, if thou hast ever gone so far, 
 
 Thou wilt direct my course.” “ Most willingly ; 
 
 But thou hast much to do, much to endure, 
 
 Ere thou hast entered where the silver lamps 
 
 Burn ever. Tell me—I would not transgress, 
 
 Yet ask I must—what could have brought thee 
 ' forth, 
 
 Nothing in act or thought to be atoned for 1” 
 
 ‘It was a vow I made in my distress. 
 
 We were so blest, none were so blest as we, 
 
 Till sickness came. First, as death-struck, I fell ; 
 
 Then my beloved sister ; and ere long, 
 
 Worn with continual watchings, night and day, 
 
 Our saint-like mother. Worse and worse she’ grew ; 
 
 And in my anguish, my despair, I vowed, © 
 
ain at al ie see | - poe ® © le — 
 
 . i : * 
 3 Pe 
 . ITALY. - 135 
 Sa | 3 
 ¥ = “ - 
 
 That if she lived, if Heaven restored her to us, 
 
 
 
 1 would forthwith, and in a pilgrim’s weeds, 
 
 Visit that holy shrine. My vow was heard ; 
 
 And therefore am Lcome.” ‘Thou hast done right ; 
 
 And may those weeds, so reverenced of: old, 
 
 Guard thee in danger!” “They are nothing worth. 
 
 But they are worn in humble confidence ; 
 
 Nor would | for the richest robe resign them, 
 
 Wrought, as they were, by those I love so well, 
 
 Lauretta and my sister ; theirs the task, 
 
 But none to them, a pleasure, a delight, 
 
 To ply their utmost skill, and send me forth 
 
 As best became this service. Their last words, 
 
 ‘ Fare thee well, Carlo. We shall count the hours!’ 
 
 Will not go from me.” “ Health and strength be 
 thine 
 
 In thy long travel! May no sunbeam strike ; 
 
 No vapour cling and wither! May’st thou be, 
 
 Sleeping, or waking, sacred and secure ! 
 
 And, when again thou com’st, thy labour done, 
 
 Joy be among ye! In that happy hour 
 
 All will pour forth to bid thee welcome, Carlo; 
 
 And there is one, or | am much deceived, 
 
 One thou hast named, who will not be the last.” 
 
 * 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 “ Oh, she is true as truth itself can be ! be 
 > But, ah, thou know’ st her not. Would that thou | 
 couldst ! i a, Seem 
 My steps I quicken vise a ‘hint of her 
 For, though they take me further from her door, | 
 
 
 
 ite & shall return the sooner.” 
 
 yy A 
 ; 3 ‘4 
 
 : ‘ we 
 
 “ 
 
 Ka 7, 
 
 
 
 ‘ihgos 
 

 

 
ITALY. 137 
 
 AN INTERVIEW. 
 
 Z | * 
 -\ Pleasure, that comes unlooked-for, is thrice wel- 
 
 rank 
 # 
 
 Tig (eaeOmMe 5 
 ‘ And, " it stir the heart, if aught be there, 
 That may hereafter ina thoughtful hour 
 Wake but a sigh, tis treasured up among 
 ‘The things most precious ; and the day it came, 
 43 noted as a white day in our lives. 
 "The sun was wheeling westward, and the cliffs 
 And nodding woods, that éverlastingly 
 * (Such the dominion of thy mighty voice, 
 oF a voice, Velino, uttered in the mist) 
 Hear thee and answer thee, wets left at length 
 
 “Ebr others still as noon ; and on we strayed — 
 
 i From wild to wilder, nothing hospitable - 
 
 
 
 = - Offering igett—Arhen Luigi cried, 
 “ Well, of a thousand tracks we chose the best YF 
 _ And, turning round an oak, oracular once, 
 7 10 
 
138 tae 
 
 
 
 Had issued, many a ae an 
 Peered forth, then housed again—the floor yet grey 
 
 With ashes, and the sides, where roughest, hung 
 ~~ Loosely with locks of hair—I looked and saw 
 What, seen in such an hour by Sancho Panza, — 
 Had given his honest countenance a breadth, 
 His cheeks a flush of pleasure and surprise, | 
 Unknown before, had chained him to the spot, 
 And thou, Sir Knight, hadst traversed hill and dale, 
 Squire-less. Below and winding far away, 
 
 A narrow glade unfolded, such as spring 
 
 Broiders with flowers, and, when the moon is high, 
 The hare delights to race in, scattering round 
 The silvery dews. Cedar and cypress threw _ 
 Singly their depth of shadow, checkering 
 
 The greensward, and, what grew in frequent tufts, 
 An underwood of myrtle, that by fits ) 
 Sent up a gale of fragrance. Through the midst, 
 Reflecting, as it ran, purple and gold, 
 
 A rainbow’s splendour (somewhere in the east 
 
 Rain-drops were falling fast) a rivulet 
 
aed Ls 
 PAN an 
 om * 139 
 
 
 
 2 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 yo; and on the bank 
 e, if not of both, 
 ia 
 
 Sported as loth t 
 Stood (in the eye 
 Worth all the rest 
 Well-laden, while wo mi : 
 Drew from his ample pa niers, ranging round 
 
 e) a sumpter-mule 
 
 ials as in haste 
 
 Viands and fruits on many a shining salver, 
 And plunging in the cool translucent wave 
 Flasks of delicious wine.—Anon a horn 
 
 Blew, through the champain bidding to the feast, 
 [ts jocund note to other ears addressed, 
 
 Not ours ; and, slowly coming by a path, 
 
 That, ere it issued from an ilex-grove, 
 
 Was seen far inward, though along the glade 
 Distinguished only by a fresher verdure, 
 Peasants approached, one leading in a leash 
 Beagles yet panting, with various game, 
 
 In rich profusion slung, before, behind, 
 
 Leveret and quail and pheasant. All announced 
 The chase as over ; and ere long appeared, 
 Their horses full of fire, champing the curb 
 
 For the white foam was dry upon the flank, 
 Two in close converse, each in each delighting, 
 Their plumage waving as instinct with life ; 
 
 A lady young and graceful, and a youth, © 
 
sheio | | ITALY. 
 
 Yet younger, bearing on a falconer’s glove, 
 
 - = 
 
 As in the golden, the romanti¢ time, 
 His falcon hooded. . Like some spirit of air, 
 Or fairy-vision, such as feigned of old, 
 The lady, while her courser pawed the eround, 
 Alighted ; and her beauty, as she trod 
 The enamelled bank, bruising nor herb nor flower, 
 That place illumined. Ah, who should she be, 
 And with her brother, as when last we met, 
 (When the first lark had sung ere half was said, 
 And as she stood, bidding adieu, her voice, 
 So sweet it was, recalled me like a spell) 
 Who but Angelica ?—That day we gave 
 To pleasure, and, unconscious of their flight, 
 Another and another ; hers a home 
 Dropt from the sky amid the wild and rude, 
 Loretto-like : where all was as a dream, 
 A dream spun out of some Arabian tale 
 Read or related in a roseate bower, 
 Some balmy eve. The rising moon we hailed, 
 Duly, devoutly, from a vestibule 
 Of many an arch, o’er-wrought and lavishly 
 With many a labyrinth of sylphs and flowers, 
 
 When Raphael and his school from Florence came, 
 ss 
 
ITALY. i 
 Filling the land with splendour—nor less oft 
 - Watched her, declining, from a silent dell, 
 
 Not silent once, what time in rivalry 
 
 Tasso, Guarini, waved their wizard-wands, 
 Peopling the groves from Arcady, and lo, 
 
 Fair forms appeared, murmuring melodious verse, 
 —Then, in their day, a sylvan theatre, . 
 
 Mossy the seats, the stage a verdurous floor, 
 
 The scenery rock and shrub-wood, Nature’s own ; 
 Nature the architect. 
 
142 ITALY: ¢ 
 
 ROME. 
 
 ~Tamin Rome! Oft as the morning ray 
 
 Visits these eyes, waking at once I cry, 
 
 Whence this excess of joy? What has befallen me ? 
 And from within a thrilling voice replies, 
 
 Thou art in Rome! A thousand busy thoughts 
 Rush on my mind, a thousand images ; 
 
 And J spring up as girt to run a race! 
 
 Thou art in Rome! the city that so long 
 Reigned absolute, the mistress of the world ; 
 The mighty vision that the prophets saw, 
 
 And trembled ; that from nothing, from the least, 
 The lowliest village (what but here and there 
 A reed-roofed cabin by a river side?) 
 Grew into every thing; and, year by year, 
 Patiently, fearlessly, working her way 
 O’er brook and field, o’er continent and sea, 
 Not like the merchant with his merchandize, 
 Or traveller with staff and scrip exploring, 
 But hand to hand, and foot to foot, rough hosts, 
 3 
 le 
 
 ‘he > — se 
 
gli 4 i La 
 : ITALY. 143 
 
 Through nations numberless in battle array, 
 Each behind each, each, when the other fell, 
 Up and in arms, at length subdued them all. 
 
 Thou art in Rome! the city where the Gauls, 
 Entering at sun-rise through her open gates, 
 And, through her streets silent and desolate, 
 Marching to slay, thought they saw Gods, not men ; 
 The city, that, by temperance, fortitude, 
 ‘And love of glory, towered above the clouds, 
 Then fell—but, falling, kept the highest seat, 
 _And in her loneliness, her pomp of woe, 
 Where now she dwells, withdrawn into the wild, 
 Still o’er the mind maintains, from age to age, 
 Her empire undiminished. There, as though 
 Grandeur attracted grandeur, are beheld 
 All things that strike, ennoble—from the depths» 
 Of Egypt, from the classic fields of Greece, 
 Her groves, her temples—all things that inspire 
 ' Wonder, delight! Who would not say the forms 
 Most perfect, most divine, had by consent 
 Flocked thither to abide eternally, 
 Within those sient chambers where they dwell 
 In happy intercourse q 
 
 Te And | am there! 
 "Sts 
 ee oh 
 
ae a) 
 ri 
 me. ' ITALY. 
 
 Ah, little thought 1, when in school I sate, 
 A school-boy on his bench, at early dawn ~ 
 Glowing with Roman story, I should live 
 To tread the Appian, once an avenue 
 Of monuments most glorious, palaces, 
 Their doors sealed up and silent-as the night, 
 The dwellings of the illustrious dead—to turn 
 Toward Tibur, and, beyond the city-gate, 
 Pour out my unpremeditated verse, . 
 Where on his mule I might have met so oft 
 Horace himself—or climb the Palatine, 
 Dreaming of old Evander and his guest, 
 Dreaming and lost on that proud eminence, 
 Long while the seat of Rome, hereafter found 
 Less than enough (so monstrous was the brood 
 Engendered there, so Titan-like) to lodge 
 One in his madness ;*-and inscribe my name, 
 My name and date, on some broad aloe-leaf, 
 * That shoots and spreads within those very walls 
 _ Where Virgil read-aloud his tale divine, 
 Where his voice faltered, and a mother wept 
 Tears of delight ! | 3 
 But what the narrow space ~~ 
 
 * Nero. 
 
ITALY. 145 
 
 Just underneath? In many a heap the ground 
 
 _Heaves, as though ruin in a frantic mood 
 
 al 
 
 Had done his utmost.. Here and there appears, | 
 As left to show his handy-work, not ours, ae 
 An idle column, a half-buried arch, 
 A wall of some great temple. - It was once, 
 And long, the centre of their universe, — 
 The Forum—whence a mandate, eagle-winged, 
 Went to the ends of the earth. Let us descend 
 Slowly. At every step much may be lost. 
 The very dust we tread stirs as with life ; 
 And not a breath but from the ground sends up 
 Something of human grandeur. ° 
 We are come, 
 Are now where once the mightiest spirits met 
 In terrible conflict ; this, while Rome was free, 
 The noblest theatre on this side Heaven! __ 
 Here the first Brutus stood, when o’er the corse 
 Of her so chaste all mourned, and from his cloud 
 Burst like a God. Here, holding up the knife 
 That ran with blood, the blood of his own child, 
 Virginius called down vengeance. But whence 
 ~ spoke 
 They who harangued the people—turning now 
 
—_ 
 
 146 , TTALY: 
 
 To the twelve tables, now with lifted hands 
 
 To the Capitoline Jove, whose fulgent shape 
 
 - In the unclouded azure shone far off, 
 
 And to the shepherd on the Alban mount 
 
 Seemed like a star new-risen? Where were ranged 
 In rough array as on their element, , 
 
 The beaks of those old gallies, destined still* 
 
 To brave the brunt-of war—at last to know - 
 
 A calm far worse, a silence as in death ? 
 
 All spiritless ; from that disastrous hour 
 
 “When he, the bravest; gentlest of them all,t 
 
 Scorning the chains he’ could not hope to break, 
 Fell on his sword ! 
 
 Along the Sacred Way 
 Hither the triumph came, and, winding round 
 With acclamation, and the martial clang — 
 Of instruments, and cars laden with spoil, 
 
 Stopt at the sacred stair that then appeared, 
 
 "Then through the darkness broke, ample, star- 
 
 bright, ; 
 As though it led to heaven. ’T'was night ; but now 
 A thousand torches, turning night to day, 
 
 Blazed, and the victor, springing from his seat, 
 
 * The Rostra. { Marcus Junius Brutus. 
 
PPALY: 147 
 
 _ Went up, and, kneeling as in fervent prayer, 
 Entered the Capitol. But what are they: 
 
 2 ts! 
 3 of: 
 
 » Who at the foot withdraw, a mournful train 
 In fetters? And who, yet incredulous, 
 Now gazing wildly round, now on his sons, 
 On those so young, well pleased with all they see, 
 Staggers along, the last? They are the fallen, ips 
 Those who were spared to grace the chariot-wheels; 
 
 And there they parted, where the road divides, 
 The victor and the vanquished—there withdrew; — 
 He to the festal board, and they to die. ai Be 
 
 Well might the great, the mighty of the world, 
 They who were wont to fare deliciously, 
 
 And war but for.a kingdom more or less, 
 
 Shrink back, nor from their thrones endure to look, 
 To think that way! Well might they in their state 
 Humble themselves, and kneel and supplicate 
 
 To be delivered from a dream like this! 
 
 Here Cincinnatus passed, his plough the while 
 Left in the furrow ; and how many more, | 
 Whose laurels fade not, who still walk the earth, 
 Consuls, dictators, still in curule pomp 
 Sit and decide ; and, as of old in Rome, 
 
 Name but their names, set every heart on fire! 
 
os 
 
 lig * ITALY. 
 PP 
 Here, in his bonds, he whom the phalanx saved 
 not,* 
 
 The last on Philip’s throne, and the Numidian,t 
 
 & So soon to say, stript of his cumbrous robe, 
 _ Stript to the skin, and in his nakedness 
 Thrust underground, “ How cold this bath of 
 
 ~ yours!” 
 And thy proud queen, Palmyra, through the seat 
 Pursued, o’ertaken on her dromedary ; 
 Whose temples, palaces, a wondrous dream 
 That passes not away, for many a league 
 Illumine yet the desert. Some invoked 
 Death, and escaped ; the Egyptian, when her asp 
 Came from his covert under the green leaf ;§ 
 And Hannibal himself; and she who said, 
 Taking the fatal cup between her hands,|| 
 “ Tell him I would it had come yesterday ; 
 
 - For then it had not. been his nuptial gift.” — 
 
 Now all is changed ; and here, as in the wild, 
 The day is silent, dreary as the night ; 
 None stirring, save the herdsman and his herd, 
 
 oF | Oe 
 
 as. * Perseus. - = t Jugurtha. t Zenvbia. 
 Sm, » § Cleopatra. || Sophonisba. 
 

 
 ; c ran =... 149 
 7 oe | 
 Sa ge alike ; or they that would explore, 
 
 Discuss, and learnedly ; or they that come, 
 
 (And there are many who have crossed the earth,) 
 That they may give the hours to meditation, 
 And wander, often saying to themselves, — 
 “This was‘the Roman Forum !” ‘ig 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 150. 
 
 
 
 « Whence this delay?” « Along the crowded street 
 A funeral comes, and with unusual pomp.” 
 
 So 1 withdrew a little, and stood still, 
 
 While it went by. “She died as she deserved,” 
 Said an Abaté, gathering up his cloak, : 
 And with a shrug retreating as the tide _ 
 ‘Flowed more and more. “But she was beautiful !” 
 Replied a soldier of the Pontiff’s guard. 
 
 «¢ And innocent as beautiful !” exclaimed 
 
 A matron sitting in her stall, hung round 
 
 With garlands, holy pictures, and what not. 
 
 Her Alban grapes and Tusculan figs displayed 
 
 In rich profusion. From her heart she spoke ; 
 And 1 accosted her to hear her story. 
 
 ‘¢' The stab,” she cried, ‘‘ was given in jealousy ; 
 But never fled a purer spirit to heaven, * 
 
 As thou wilt say, or much my mind misleads, 
 When thou hast seen her face. Last night at dusk, 
 When on her way from vespers—none were near, 
 
 al 
 
a ee 
 . “raty. 
 
 a 
 t 
 
 None save her sérving-boy, who knelt and wept, 
 But what could’tears avail him when she fell— 
 Last night at dusk, the clock then striking nine, 
 
 - Just . fountain—that before the church, 
 The « 
 
 Alas, I knew her from her earliest youth, 
 
 
 
 wurch she always used, St. ‘Isidore’s— 
 
 That excellent lady. Ever would she say, 
 
 Good even, as she passed, and with a voice 
 Gentle-as theirs in heaven!” But now by fits 
 
 A dull and dismal noise assailed the ear, 
 
 A wail, a chant, louder and louder yet ; 
 
 And now a strange fantastic troop appeared ! | 
 Thronging they came, as from the shades below ; 
 All of a. ghostly white! “Oh say,” I cried, 
 
 *¢ Do not the living here bury the dead ? 
 
 Do spirits come and fetch them ? ‘What are these, 
 That seem not of this: world, and mock the day ; 
 
 Each with a burning taper in his hand ?” a we 
 
 2 
 
 > ir’ # 
 by tae é - 
 : 
 
 ‘It is an ancient brotherhood thou seest: | 
 Such their apparel. . Through the long, long line, 
 Look where thou wilt, no likeness of a man ; 
 
 The living masked, the dead alone uncovered. 
 
 But mark”—And, lying on her funeral-couch, 
 Like one asleep, her eyes closed, her hands 
 
 <_< * 
 
ail 
 
 a ash a i = = 
 
 dye 
 
 me am Py 
 
 
 
 152” ITALY. 
 
 Folded together on her modest breast, - 
 
 
 
 
 As for a birth-day feast! But breathes she not? 
 A glow is on her cheek—and her-lips moye ! - 
 And now a smile is there—how heavenly sweet! — as 
 “Oh no!” replied the dame, wiping her tears, 
 But with an accent less of grief than anger, — RS 
 «No, she will never, never wake again!” 
 Death, when we: meet the spectre in our walks, | 
 As we did yesterday: and shall to-morrow, 
 Soon grows familiar, like most other things, 
 Seen, not observed ; but in a foreign clime, 
 Changing his shape to something new and strange, 
 (And through the world he changes as in sport, 
 Affect he greatness or humility,) : » tee 
 Knocks at the heart. His form and fashion here 
 
 To me, I do confess, reflect a gloom, 
 
 A sadness round ; yet.one 1 would not lose ; 
 
 Being in unison with all things else 
 
 In this, this land.of shadows, where we live . - 
 
 More in past time than present, whete the ground, « 
 League beyond league, like one great cemetery, 
 
 Is covered o’er with mouldering monuments; _ 
 
 * > 
 
Pe ead a < 
 8 ITALY. - ‘ 153 
 And, let the’living wander where they will, | 
 _ They cannot leave the footsteps of the dead. 
 
 Oft, where the burial-rite follows so fast 
 
 
 
 
 agony, oft coming, nor from far, 
 
 ust a fond father meet his darling child, 
 
 (Him who at parting climbed his knees and clung,) 
 Clay-cold and wan, and to the bearers cry, © 
 
 « Stand, I conjure ye!” 
 Seen thus destitute, 
 What are the greatest? They must speak beyond 
 A thousand homilies. When Raphael went, 
 
 His heavenly face the mirror of his mind, 
 
 His mind a temple for all lovely things 
 
 To flock to and inhabit—when he went, 
 
 Wrapt in his sable cloak, the cloak he wore, 
 
 To sleep beneath the venerable dome,* 
 
 By those attended, who in life had loved, 
 
 Had worshipped, following in his steps to fame, 
 ("T'was on an April day, when nature smiles,) 
 
 All Rome was there. But, ere the march began, 
 Ere to receive their charge the bearers came, 
 Who had not sought him? And when all beheld 
 Him, where he lay, how changed from yesterday ! 
 
 * The Pantheon. 
 
 611 
 
: 154 “ * —. 
 
 “Bim i in that hour cut off, and at his head 
 His] last great work ; when, entering in, they looked 
 Now on the dead, then on that ‘master-piece, 
 Now on his face, lifeless and colourless, On 
 Then on those forms divine that lived and breathed, 
 And would live on for ages—all were moved ; 
 
 And sighs burst forth, and loudest lamentations. 
 
TA, me 155 * i 
 
 NATIONAL PREJUDICES. 
 
 “Another assassination! This venerable city,” 
 I exclaimed, ‘‘ what is it, but as it began, a nest of 
 robbers and murderers? We must away at sun- 
 rise, Luigi.”—But before sun-rise I had reflected a 
 little, and in the soberest prose. My indignation 
 was gone; and, when Luigi undrew my, curtain, . 
 erying, “Up, signor, up! The horses are at the 
 door.” “ Luigi,” I replied, “if thou lovest me, draw 
 the curtain.”* 
 
 It would lessen very much the severity with 
 which men judge of each other, if they would but 
 trace effects to their causes, and observe the pro- 
 gress of things in the moral as accurately as in the 
 physical world. When we condemn millions in 
 the mass as vindictive and sanguinary, we should 
 remember that, wherever justice is ill-administered, 
 the injured will redress themselves. Robbery pro- 
 vokes to robbery; murder to assassination.. Re- 
 
 *A dialogue, which is said to have passed many years ago at 
 Lyons, (Mem. de Grammont, I. 3.) and which may still be heard in 
 almost every hotellerie at day-break. 
 
156 ITALY. 
 
 sentments become hereditary ; and what began in 
 disorder, ends as if all hell had broke loose. 
 
 Laws create a habit of self-constraint, not only 
 by the influence of fear, but by regulating in its ex- 
 
 ercise the passion of revenge. If they overawe the © 
 
 bad by the prospect of a punishment certain and 
 well-defined, they console the injured by the inflic- 
 
 tion of that punishment; and, as the infliction is a 
 
 ‘public act, it excites and entails no enmity. The 
 
 laws are offended; and the community for its own 
 sake pursues and overtakes the offender; often 
 without the concurrence of the sufferer, sometimes 
 against his wishes. 
 
 Now those who were not born, like ourselves, to 
 such advantages, we should surely rather pity than 
 hate ; and, when at length they venture to turn 
 against their rulers,* we should lament, not wonder 
 at their excesses ; remembering that nations are na- 
 
 turally patient and long suffering, and seldom rise 
 
 in rebellion till they. are so degraded by a bad - 
 
 *As the descendants of an illustrious people have lately done. Can 
 it be believed that there are many among us, who, from a desire to be 
 thought superior to common-place sentiments and vulgar feelings, 
 affect an indifference to their cause? ‘If the Greeks,’’ they say, 
 ‘‘ had the probity of other nations—but they are false to a proverb !” 
 And is not falsehood the characteristic of slaves? Man is the crea- 
 ture of circumstances. Fyee he has the qualities of a freeman ; en- 
 slaved those of a slave. 
 
 oa 
 
oP 4 157 
 
 government as to be almost incapable of a good 
 
 ¥ 
 
 one. ‘ 
 
 “Hate them, perhaps,” you may say, “‘ we should 
 
 ot; but despise them we must, if enslaved, like 
 
 the people of Rome, in mind as well as body; if 
 their religion be a gross and barbarous superstition,” 
 —I respect knowledge; but I do not despise igno- 
 rance. They think only as their fathers thought, 
 worship as they worshipped. They do no more; 
 and, if ours had not burst their bondage, braving 
 imprisonment and death, might not we at this very 
 moment have been exhibiting, in our streets and 
 our churches, the same. Bee AeStOnS; ceremonials, 
 and mortifications ? 
 
 Nor should we require from those who are in an 
 earlier stage of society, what belongs to a later. 
 They are only where we once were; and why hold 
 them in derision? It is their business to cultivate 
 the inferior arts before they think of the more re- 
 fined; and in many of the last what are we as a 
 nation, when compared to others that have passed 
 away ? Unfortunately it is too much the practice 
 of governments to nurse and keep alive in the go- 
 verned their national prejudices. It withdraws their 
 attention from what is passing at home, and makes 
 them better tools in the hands of ambition. Hence 
 
* os 
 bots " ° “ Be 
 ‘ 
 
 a. 
 158 ITALY. 
 
 next-door neighbours are held up tous from our 
 childhood as natural enemies ; and we are urged 
 . like curs to worry each other.* 
 
 “In like manner we should learn to be just to indi- 
 viduals. Who can say, “In such circumstances I 
 should have done otherwise ?” Who, did he but 
 reflect 
 
 / mé strange concurrences, we are led astray ; 
 
 
 
 
 by what slow gradations, often by how 
 
 with how niuch reluctance, how much agony, how 
 many efforts to escape, how many dink sanaute: 
 
 _ how many sighs, how many tears— Who did he but 
 
 reflect for a moment, would have the heart to cast 
 
 * 2a stone? Fortunately these things are known to 
 
 Hit, from whom. no ae are hidden ; and let 
 
 us rest in the assurance tht his judgments are not 
 
 i 
 
 ; as ours are. 
 
 *Candour, generosity, how rare are they in the world ; and how 
 much is to be deplored the want of them! When a: minister in our 
 parliament consents at last to a measure which, for many reasons 
 perhaps existing no longer, he had before refused to adopt, there should 
 be no exultation as over the fallen, no taunt, no jeer. How often 
 may the resistance be continued lest an enemy should triumph, and 
 the result of conviction be received as a symptom of fears.) ¢ 
 
 o® 
 
lrg ay 
 ITALY. 159 
 
 THE CAMPAGNA OF’ ROME. 
 
 Have none appeared as tillers of the ground, 
 None since they went, as though it still were theirs, 
 And they might come and claim their own again ? q 
 Was the last plough a Roman’s? From this seat,* 
 Sacred for ages, whence, as Virgil sings, ne ; 4 
 The Queen of Heaven, alighting from the sky, eae . 
 Looked down and saw the armies in array,} 
 
 * 
 * 7 
 
 Let us contemplate ; and, where dreams from Jc ove 
 ‘Descended on the sleeper; where perhaps 
 Some inspirations may be lingering still, ‘ 
 Some glimmerings of the future or the past, 
 Let us await their influence ; silently 
 
 Revolving, as we rest on the green turf, 
 
 The changes from that hour, when he from Troy 
 Went up the Tiber ; when refulgent shields, 
 
 No strangers to the iron hail of war, 
 
 Streamed far and wide, and dashing oars were heard 
 
 Among those woods where Silvia’s stag was lying, 
 
 * See Note. { Aneid, xii. 134. 
 
160 ITALY. 
 
 His antlers gay with flowers ; among those woods 
 Where, by the moon that saw and yet withdrew not, 
 Two were so soon to wander and be slain, ‘ 
 Two lovely in their lives, nor in their death " 
 Divided. 
 
 | Then, and hence to be discerned, 4, 
 How many realms, pastoral and warlike, lay 
 Along this plain, each with its schemes of power, 
 Its little rivalships! What various turns 
 Of fortune there! what moving accidents 
 From ambuscade and open violence! 
 Mingling, the sounds came up; and hence how oft 
 We might have caught among the trees below, 
 Glittering with helm and shield, the men of Tibur ;* 
 Or in Greek vesture, Greek their origin, 
 Some embassy ascending to Preeneste ;} 
 How oft descried, without thy gates, Aricia,t 
 Entering the solemn grove for sacrifice, | 
 Senate and people !—Each a busy hive, . 
 Glowing with life ! 
 But all ere long are lost 
 In one. We look, and where the-river rolls 
 Southward its shining labyrinth, in her strength 
 
 * Tivoli. t Palestrina. t La Riccia. 
 aa ? 
 
ee eer deals I “a. 
 
 ITALY. 16] 
 
 _ A city, girt with battlements and towers, 
 
 _ On seven small hills is rising. Round about, 
 
 t At rural work the citizens are seen, ¥: 
 None unemployed ; the noblest of them all : 
 Binding their sheaves or on their threshing- -floors, 
 
 * As though they had not conquered. Every where 
 Some trace of valour or heroic toil ! 
 
 Here is the sacred field of the Horatii. 
 
 There are the Quintian meadows. Here the hill* 
 
 How holy, where a generous people, twice, 
 
 Twice going forth, in terrible anger sate 
 
 Armed ; and, their wrongs redressed, at once gave 
 
 way, | 
 
 Helmet and shield, and sword and spear thrown 
 
 down, 
 
 And-every hand uplifted, every heart , 
 
 Poured out in thanks to heaven. 
 Once again 
 We look ; and lo, the sea is white with sails 
 Innumerable, wafting to the shore 
 Treasures untold ; the vale, the promontories, 
 A dream of glory ; temples, palaces, 
 
 Called up as by enchantment ; aqueducts 
 
 f ® 
 * Mons Sacer. Fe 
 
162 ITALY. 
 
 Among the groves and glades rolling along — 
 Rivers, on many an arch high over-head ; 
 
 And in the centre, like a burning sun, 
 
 The imperial city! ‘They have now subdued 
 All nations. But where they who led them forth— 
 Who, when at length released by victory, 
 (Buckler and spear hung up—but not to rust,) 
 Held poverty no evil, no reproach, 
 
 Living on little with a cheerful mind,— 
 
 The Decii, the Fabricii? Where the spade, 
 And reaping hook, among their household things 
 Duly transmitted? In the hands of men 
 
 Made captive ; while the master and his guests, 
 Reclining, quaff in gold, and roses swim, 
 Summer and winter, through the circling year, 
 On their Falernian—in the hands of men 
 Dragged into slavery, with how many more 
 Spared but to die, a public spectacle, | 
 
 In combat with each other, and required 
 
 To fall with grace, with dignity—to sink, 
 
 While life is gushing, and the plaudits ring 
 Faint and yet fainter on their failing ear, 
 
 As models for the sculptor.—— But their days, 
 ‘Their hours are numbered. Hark, a yell, a shriek, 
 
 *, 
 _— 
 * 
 
ITALY. 163 
 
 A barbarous outcry, loud and louder yet, 
 
 That echoes from the mountains to the sea! 
 
 And mark, beneath us, like a bursting cloud, 
 
 The battle moving onward! Had they slain 
 
 All, that the earth should from her womb bring forth 
 
 New nations to destroy them? From the depth 
 
 Of forests, from what none had dared explore, 
 
 Regions of thrilling ice, as though in ice . 
 
 Engendered, multiplied, they pour along, 
 
 Shaggy and huge! Host after host, they come ; 
 
 The Goth, the Vandal ; and again the Goth! 
 Once more we look, and all is still as night, 
 
 All desolate! Groves, temples, palaces, 
 
 Swept from the sight ; and nothing visible, 
 
 Amid the sulphurous vapours that exhale 
 
 As from a land accurst, save here and there 
 
 An empty tomb, a fragment like the limb 
 
 Of some dismembered giant. In the midst 
 
 A city stands, her domes and turrets crowned 
 
 With many a cross; but they that issue forth 
 
 Wander like strangers who had built among 
 
 The mighty ruins, silent, spiritless ; 
 
 And on the road, where once we might have met 
 
 Cesar and Cato, and men more than kings, 
 
 We meet, none else, the pilgrim and the beggar. 
 
 + 2 
 kal ak ae ew 
 

 
 164 ITALY. 
 
 THE ROMAN PONTIFFS. 
 
 Those ancient men, what were they, who achieved 
 A sway beyond the greatest conquerors ; 
 
 Setting their feet upon the necks of kings, 
 
 And, through the world, subduing, chaining down 
 The free, immortal spirit? Were they not 
 Mighty magicians? Theirs a wondrous spell, 
 Where true and false were with infernal art 
 
 Close interwoven ; where together met 
 
 Blessings and curses, threats and promises ; 
 
 And with the terrors of futurity 
 
 Mingled whate’er enchants and fascinates, . 
 
 Music and painting, sculpture, rhetoric, 
 
 And dazzling light and darkness visible, 
 
 And architectural pomp, such as none else ! 
 
 What in his day the Syracusan sought, 
 
 Another world to plant his engines on, 
 
 They had ; and, having it, like gods, not men, 
 
 Moved this world at their pleasure. Ere they came, 
 
 Their shadows, str es far and wiles were 
 known ; ap te 
 
 »* 
 
 Siete. 
 

 
 ITALY. at 165 
 
 ~ And two, that looked beyond the visible sphere, 
 
 Gave notice of their coming—he who saw 
 
 
 
 The Apocalypse; and he of elder time, 
 
 Who in an awful vision of the night 
 
 Saw the four kingdoms. Distant as they were, 
 Those holy men, well might they faint with fear ! 
 
 4 rr ye 
 ee - 
 < »* * 
 ie ae 
 *g* iv se, 4 
 OW Ree fs 
 % ae. 
 
166 ey ITALY. 
 
 CAIUS CESTIUS. 
 
 When I am inclined to be serious I love to wan- 
 der up and down before the tomb of Caius Cestius. 
 The protestant burial ground is there; and most of 
 the little monuments are erected to the young— 
 young men of promise, cut off when on their travels, 
 full of enthusiasm, full of enjoyment; brides, in the 
 bloom of their beauty, on their first journey; or 
 children borne from home in search of health. 
 This stone was placed by his fellow travellers, 
 young as himself, who will return to- the house of 
 his parents without him; that, by a husband or a 
 father, now in his native country. His heart is 
 buried in that grave. 
 
 It is a quiet and sheltered nook, covered in the 
 winter with violets; and the pyramid, that oversha- 
 dows it, gives it a classical and singularly solemn 
 air. You feel an interest there, a sympathy you 
 were not prepared for. You are yourself in a 
 foreign land, and they are, for the most part, your 
 countrymen. They call upon you in your mother 
 tongue—in English—in words unknown to a native, 
 
x 
 ms : "¢ 
 ITALY. 167 
 known only to yourselves: and the tomb of Cestius, - 
 
 that old majestic pile, has this also in common with 
 them. It is itself a stranger among strangers. It 
 has stood there till the language spoken round about 
 it has changed; and the shepherd, born at the foot, 
 can read its inscription no longer. 
 
¢ ; 
 THE NUN. 
 ~ oe 
 ’Tis over ; and her lovely cheek is now ~ 
 On her hard pillow—there, alas, to be 
 Nightly, through many and many a dreary hour, 
 Wan, often wet with tears, and (ere at length 
 Her place is empty, and another comes) 3 
 In anguish, in the ghastliness of death ; 
 Hers never more to leave those mournful walls, 
 Even on her bier. 
 *Tis over; and the rite, © ~~ 
 With all its pomp and harmony, is now 
 Floating before her. She arose at home, 
 To be the show, the idol of the day ; 
 Her vesture gorgeous, and her starry head— 
 No rocket, bursting in the midnight-sky, 
 
 So dazzling. When to-morrow she awakes, 
 
 She will awake as though she still was there, 
 - Still in her father’s house ; and lo, a cell 
 
 Narrow and dark, nought through the ibe dis- ~ 
 cerned, aah 
 
 r a 
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 mw ; . . 
 r C ay . 
 s : > 
 7 wT : 
 
 
 
7 a oe k i oe i 
 ‘’ is ©, 
 . eo Pen y: Sm |. # I69 
 
 Nought save the crucifix, the rosary, » ¥. “ 
 _ And the gray habit lying by to shroud ais 
 Her beauty and grace. x 
 ~ When offher knees she fell, 
 
 Entering the solemn place of consecration, 
 And from the latticed gallery came a chant 
 Of psalms, most saint-like, most angelical, 
 Verse after verse sung out how holily, 
 The strain returning, and still, still returning, 
 Methought it acted like a spell upon her, 
 And she was casting off her ear ly dross ; 
 Yet was it sad as sweet, and, ere it closed, 
 Came like a dirge. When her fair head was shorn, 
 And the long tresses in her hands were laid, 
 That she might fling them from her, saying, 
 ; «¢ Thus, | | 
 Thus I renounce the world and worldly things !” 
 When, as she stood, her bridal ornaments 
 Were, one by one, removed, even to-the last, 
 That she might say, flinging them from her, “Thus, 
 ThusI renounce the world!” when all was changed, 
 And, as a nun, in homeliest guise she knelt, 
 Veiled in her veil, crowned with her silver crown, 
 Her crown of lilies as the spouse of Christ, 
 
 12 ? 
 
 ae * 
 
 & 
 
*. 
 * 
 sy 
 oh? wees 
 
 , 
 
 170 ITALY. 
 
 Well might her strength forsake her, and her knees 
 
 Fail in that hour! Well might the holy man, 
 
 He, at whose feet she knelt, give as by stealth | 
 
 ("T'was in her utmost need ; nor, while she lives, 
 
 Will it go from her, fleeting as it was) 
 
 That faint but fatherly smile, that smile of love 
 
 And pity! [si . ‘ 
 
 Like a dream the whole is fled ; 
 
 And they, that came in idleness to gaze 
 
 Upon the victim dressed for sacrifice, 
 
 Are mingling in the world ; thou in thy cell 
 
 Forgot, Teresa. Yet, among them all, 
 
 None were so formed to love and to be loved, 
 
 None to delight, adorn; and on thee now 
 
 A curtain, blacker than the night, is dropped 
 
 For ever! In thy gentle bosom sleep 
 
 Feelings, affections, destined now to die, 
 
 To wither like the blossom in the bud, 
 
 Those of a wife, a mother ; leaving there 
 
 A cheerless void, a chill as of the grave, 
 
 A languor and.a lethargy of soul, 
 
 Death-like, and gathering more and more, till 
 Death we 
 
 Comes to release thee. Ah, what now to thee, 
 
ITALY. 171 
 
 What now to thee the treasure of thy youth ? 
 As nothing! 
 
 But thou canst not yet reflect 
 Calmly ; so many things, strange and perverse, 
 That meet, recoil, and go but to return, | 
 The monstrous birth of one eventful day, 
 Troubling thy spirit—from the first, at dawn, 
 The rich arraying for the nuptial feast, 
 To the black pall, the requiem. All in turn 
 Revisit thee, and round thy lowly bed 
 Hover, uncalled. Thy young and innocent heart, 
 How is it beating? Has it no regrets? 
 Discoverest thou no weakness lurking there ? 
 But thine exhausted frame has sunk to rest. 
 
 Peace to thy slumbers ! 
 
 i 
 
172 . ITA a“ 
 
 
 
 Unsheaths his wings, and thro’ the woods and glades 
 
 Scatters a marvellous splendour. On he wheels, 
 
 Blazing by fits as from excess of joy, 
 
 Each gush of light a gush of ecstacy ;. 
 
 Nor unaccompanied ; thousands that fling 
 
 A radiance all their own, not of the day, , 
 
 Thousands as bright as he, from dusk till dawn, 
 
 Soaring, descending. ; 
 
 {n the mother’s lap 
 
 Well may the child put forth his little hands, 
 
 Singing the nursery-song he learned so soon; 
 And the young nymph, preparing for the dance 
 
 By brook or fountain-side, in many a braid 
 
 Wreathing her golden hair, well may she cry, 
 
 «Come hither ; and the shepherds, gathering round, 
 
 Shall say, Floretta emulates the night, 
 
 zs, 
 : § 
 
LAL 173 
 
 Spangling her head with stars.” Oft have I met 
 This shining race, when in the Tusculan groves 
 My path no longer glimmered ; oft among 
 
 Those trees, religious once and always green, _ 
 That yet dream out their stories of pie om. | 
 Over the Alban lake ; oft met ald i hailed, ig 
 Where the precipitate , Anio thunders om. 
 
 
 
 And through the surging mist a poet’s house 
 
 (So some aver, and who would not believe 1) 
 Reveals itself. Yet cannot | forget 
 
 Him, who rejoiced me in those walks at eve,* 
 My earliest, pleasantest, who dwells unseen, 
 
 And in our northern clime, when all is still, 
 ‘Nightly keeps watch, nightly in bush or brake 
 His lonely lamp rekindling. Unlike theirs, 
 
 His, if less dazzling, through the darkness knows 
 No intermission ; sending forth its ray 
 
 Through the green leaves, a ray serene and clear 
 
 oo 
 
 As virtue’s own. 
 * The glow-worm. ' 
 
 Ee ; 
 
174 ITALY. 
 
 FOREIGN TRAVEL. 
 
 It was in a splenetic humour that I sate me down 
 
 to my scanty fare at Terracina ; and how long I 
 
 » should have contemplated the lean thrushes in ar- 
 
 ray before me, I cannot say, if a cloud of smoke, 
 
 that drew the tears into my eyes, had not burst 
 
 from the green and leafy boughs on the hearth-stone. 
 “Why,” I exclaimed, starting up from the ‘table, 
 
 4 : ‘why did I leave my own chimney-corner ?—But 
 me am I not on the road to Brundusium? And are not 
 these the. very calamities that befel Horace and 
 Virgil, and Mecenas, and Plotius, and Varius ? 
 Horace laughed at them—Then why should not I? 
 Horace resolved to turn them to account ; and Vir- 
 gil—cannot we hear him observing, that to remem- 
 ber them will, by and by, be a pleasure?” My 
 soliloquy reconciled me at once to my fate; and 
 when for the twentieth time, I had looked through 
 the window on a sea sparkling with innumerable 
 brilliants, a sea on which the heroes of the Odyssey 
 and the Eneid had sailed, I sat down as to a splen- 
 did bani My thrushes had the flavour of 
 
 bd 
 
ITALY. 175 
 
 ortolans; and I ate with an appetite I had not 
 known before. “ Who,” I cried, as I poured out my 
 last glass of Falernian,* (for Falernian it was said 
 to be, and in my eyes it ran bright and clear asa 
 topaz-stone,) ‘ who would remain at home, could 
 he do otherwise ? Who would submit to tread that 
 dull, but daily round ; his hours forgotten as soon 
 as spent ?” and, opening my journal-book and dip- 
 ping my pen in my ink-horn, I determined, as far 
 as I could, to justify myself and my countrymen in 
 wandering over the face of the earth. “It may 
 serve me,” said I, “as a remedy in some future fit 
 of the spleen.” 
 
 Ours is a nation of travellers;} and no wonder, 
 when the elements, air, water, fire, attend at our 
 bidding to transport us from shore to shore; when 
 the ship rushes into the deep, her track the foam as 
 of some mighty torrent ; and, in three hours or less, 
 
 *We were now within afew hours of the Campania Felix. On 
 the colour and flavour of Falernian consult Galen and Dioscorides. 
 
 { As indeed it always was, contributing those of every degree, from 
 a milord with his suite to him whose only attendant is his shadow. 
 Coryate in 1608 performed his journey on foot; and returning, hung 
 up his shoes in his village-church as an ex-voto. Goldsmith, a centu- 
 ry anda half afterwards, followed in nearly the same path; playing a 
 tune on his flute to procure admittance, whenever he approached a 
 cottage at night-fall. +m 
 
 we 
 

 
 we stand gazing 
 % © people. None 1 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 a 4 . 
 recover ; if 
 
 ‘ Roe Se ; i. $4 
 ‘studious, to learn; if learned, to relax from. their 
 
 studies. But whatever they may say, whatever 
 they may believe, they go for the most part on.the 
 same errand ; nor will those w o reflect, think that 
 
 errand an idle one. 
 Almost all men are over-anxious. No sooner do. 
 * 
 
 they enter the world, than they lose that taste for 
 natural and simple pleasures, so remarkable in 
 early life. Every hour do they sk themselves 
 what progress they have made in the pursuit of 
 wealth or honour; and on they go as their fathers 
 went before them, till, weary and sick at heart, 
 they look back with a sigh of regret to the golden 
 time of their childhood. 
 
 Now travel, and foreign travel more particularly, 
 restores to us ina great degree what we have lost. 
 When the anchor is heaved, we double down the 
 leaf; and-for a while at least all effort is over. The 
 old cares are left clustering round the. old objects; 
 and at every step, as we proceed, the slightest cir- 
 cumstance amuses and interests. All is new and 
 strange. We surrender ourselves, and feel once 
 again as children. Like them, we enjoy eagerly ; 
 
 they go to » 
 
3 YS a ce 
 
 like them wien’ we fret, wi : ou aly | em ‘ Ag’ 
 
 * 
 
 
 
 
 
 m nt; > an indeed t 
 
 remarkable, a ifa journe has ains as well | 
 
 
 
 as its pleasures (and there is noth g unmixed in 
 this world) the pains are no sooner over than they 
 are forgotten, while the pleasures live long in the 
 
 } a 
 memory. ot ie 
 
 Nor is it surely without another advantage. If 
 
 * 4 
 
 life be short, not so to many of us are its days amd 
 
 its hours. When the blood slumbers in the veins, 
 
 how often do we wish that the earth would turn 
 faster on its Ms, that the sun would rise and set 
 before it does ; and, to escape from the weight of 
 time, how y many follies, how many crimes are com- 
 mitted! Men rush on danger, and even on death. 
 Intrigue, play, foreign and domestic broil, such are 
 their resources; and, when these things fail, they 
 
 destroy themselves. a 
 
 Now in travelling we multiply events, and inno- 
 cently. We set out, as it were, on our adventures; 
 and many are those that occur to us, morning, noon, 
 and night. ‘The day we come to a.place which we 
 have long heard and read of, and in Italy we do so 
 continually, it is an era in our lives ; and from that 
 moment the very name calls up a picture. How 
 delightfully too does the knowledge flow in upon 
 
178 ITALY. 
 
 us, and how fast !* Would he who sat in a corner 
 of his library, poring over books and maps, learn 
 more or so much in the time, as he who, with his 
 eyes and his heart open, is receiving impressions 
 all day long from the things themselves?} How 
 accurately do they arrange themselves in our me- 
 mory, towns, rivers, mountains; and in what living: 
 colours do we recall the dresses, manners, and 
 customs of the people! Our sight is the noblest of 
 all our senses. ‘‘It fills the mind with most ideas, 
 converses With its objects at the greatest distance, 
 and continues longest in action without being tired.” 
 Our sight is on- the alert when we travel; and its 
 exercise is then so delightful, that we forget the 
 profit in the pleasure. 
 
 Like a river, that gathers, that refines as it runs, 
 like a spring that takes its course through some rich 
 vein of mineral, we improve and imperceptibly—nor 
 in the head only, but in the heart. Our prejudices 
 leave us one by one. Seas and mountains are no 
 longer our boundaries. We learn to love, and es- 
 
 * To judge at once of a nation, we have only to throw our eyes on 
 the markets and the fields. If the markets are well supplied, the 
 fields well cultivated, all is right. If otherwise, we may say, and say 
 truly, these people are barbarous or oppressed. : 
 
 t Assuredly not, if the last* has laid a proper foundation. Know- 
 
 ledge makes knowledge as money makes money, nor ever perhaps so 
 fast as on a journey. 
 
“ITALY. 479 
 
 teem, and admire beyond them. Our benevolence 
 extends itself with our knowledge. And must we 
 not return. better. citizens than we went? For the 
 more we become acquainted with the institutions 
 of other countries, the more highly must we value 
 
 our OWN. 
 
 
 
 I threw down my pen in triumph. “ The ques- 
 ' tion,” said I, “is set to rest for ever. And yet—” 
 
 “ And yet—” I must still say. The wisest. of 
 men seldom went out of the walls of Athens; and 
 for that worst of evils, that sickness of the soul, to 
 which we are most liable when most at our ease, is 
 there not after all a surer and yet pleasanter remedy, 
 a remedy for which we have only to cross the 
 threshold? A Piedmontese nobleman, into whose 
 company I fell at Turin, had not long before expe- 
 rienced its efficacy; and his story, which he told 
 me without reserve, was as follows. 
 
 “T was weary of life, and, after a day, such as 
 few have known and none would wish to remember, 
 was hurrying along the street to the river, when I 
 felt a sudden check. I turned and beheld a little 
 boy, who had caught the skirt of my cloak in his 
 anxiety to solicit my notice. His lookand manner 
 were irresistible. Not less so was the lesson he 
 
eel 
 + 
 
 
 
 180 ITALY. 
 
 had learnt. ‘There are six of us; and we are 
 dying for want of food.—‘ Why should I not,” 
 said I to myself, ‘relieve this wretched family ? 
 I have the means; and it will not delay me many 
 minutes. But what, if it does? The scene of mis- 
 ery he conducted me to, I cannot describe. I threw 
 them my purse ; and their burst of gratitude over- 
 
 came me. It filled my eyes—it went as a cordial 
 
 to my heart. ‘I will call again to-morrow,’ I 
 eried. Fool that I was, to think of leaving a 
 world, where such pleasure was to be had, and so 
 
 cheaply !”” 
 

 

 
r ITALY. 18 
 
 * 
 
 i : 
 
 = : 
 
 - ~ THE FOUNTAIN. 
 
 -) i 
 
 ie? SS 
 ms ‘ 
 we am P It was a well 
 
 On whitest Hibicble, white as from the quarry ; 
 And richly wrought with many a high relief, 
 Greek sculpture—in some earlier day perhaps 
 af k "A tomb, and honoured with a hero’s ashes. 
 The water from the rock filled, overflowed it ; 
 Then dashed away, playing the prodigal, 
 And soon was lost—stealing unseen, unheard, 
 Through the long grass, and round the twisted roots 
 _ Of aged trees ; discovering where it ran 
 By the fresh verdure. Overcome with heat, 
 I threw me down; admiring, as | lay, 
 
 - That shady nook, a singing-place for birds, 
 That grove so intricate, so full of flowers, 
 More than enough to please a child a-Maying. 
 
 The sun had set, a distant convent bell 
 Ringing the Angelus ; and now approached 
 The hour for stir and village gossip there, 
 
 ~The hour Rebekah came, when from the well 
 
 ° 
 ; 
 
 we . 
 & 
 
 e 
 
ks 
 
 oe amu Gio 
 i: * 
 
 She ls, with such alacrity to serve 
 The stranger and his camels. Soon I heard 
 Footsteps ; and lo, descending by a path 
 Trodden for ages, many a nymph appeared, 
 Appeared and vanished, bearing on her head 
 Her earthen pitcher. It called up the day 
 Ulysses landed there ; and long I gazed, 
 Like one awaking in a distant time.* 
 
 At length there came the loveliest of them all, 
 Her little brother dancing down before her ; 
 
 And ever as he spoke, which he did ever, 
 
 Turning and looking up in warmth of heart 
 
 And brotherly affection. Stopping there, 
 
 She joined her rosy hands, and, filling them 
 
 With the pure element, gave him to drink ; 
 
 And, while he quenched his thirst, standing on tiptoe, 
 
 Looked down upon him with a sister’s smile, 
 
 Nor stirred till he had done, fixed’as a statue. 
 Then hadst thou seen them as they stood, Canova, 
 
 Thou hadst endowed them with immortal youth ; 
 
 And they had evermore lived undivided, « 
 
 Winning all hearts—of all thy works the fairest. - 
 
 * The place here described is near Mola di Gaeta in the kingdom 
 of Naples. 
 
 - i > 
 
a 
 ITALY. ‘B,*%° 199 
 
 BANDITTI. 
 
 "Tis a wild life, fearful and full of change, 
 The mountain-robber’s. On the watch he lies, 
 Levelling his carbine at the passenger ; 
 And, when his work is done, he dares not sleep. 
 
 Time was, the trade was nobler, if not honest ; 
 When they that robbed were men of better faith 
 Than kings or pontiffs ; when, such reverence 
 The poet drew among the woods and wilds, 
 A voice was heard, that never bade to spare, 
 Crying aloud, ‘‘ Hence to the distant hills! 
 Tasso approaches ; he, whose song beguiles 
 The day of half its hours ; whose sorcery 
 Dazzles the sense, turning our forest-glades 
 To lists that blaze with gorgeous‘armoury, 
 Our mountain-cayves to regal palaces. 
 Hence, nor descend till he and his are gone. 
 Let him fear nothing.” 
 
 When along the shore, 
 
 And by the path that, wandering on its way, 
 
tage le a a 
 ay, Re, : MPR 
 
 
 
 
 = 
 
 Leads through the fatal grove where ihe fell, - 
 . (Gray and o’ergrown, an ancient tomb is there,) 
 
 | "S : 
 
 ee: 
 
 He came and they withdrew ; they were a race 
 Careless of life in others and themselves, 
 
 For they had learned their lesson in a camp ; 
 But not ungenerous. Tis no longer so. 
 
 Now crafty, cruel, torturing ere they slay 
 
 The unhappy captive, and with bitter jests 
 
 _Mocking misfortune ; vain, fantastical, 
 
 poesia whatever glitters in the spoil ; 
 
 ae most devout, tho’, when they kneel and pray, 
 
 With every bead they could recount a murder, 
 
 As by a spell they start up in array, . 
 
 As by a spell they vanish—theirs a band, 
 
 Not as elsewhere of outlaws, but of such 
 
 As sow and reap, and at the cottage door ~ _ 
 
 Sit to receive, return the traveller’s greeting ; 
 
 Now in the garb of peace, now silently 
 
 Arming and issuing forth, led on by men 
 
 Whose names on innocent lips are words of fear, 
 
 Whose lives have long been forfeit. Some there are 
 
 That, ere they rise to this bad eminence, 
 
 Lurk, night and day, the plague-spot visible, 
 
 The guilt that says, Beware ; and mark we now ‘ 
 & ae 
 
 ra aa 
 

 
 oe ae eee, ‘ya? “2% 
 
 : ia a ee 
 araLy. see 185 #, 
 
 Higijoviite | he x a couches for his ne a 
 
 At the bridge-foot in some dark caus : es 
 
 Scooped by the waters, or some gaping tomb, 
 
 Nameless and tenantless, whence the red fox 
 
 Slunk as he entered. There he broods in spleen 
 
 Gnawing his beard; his rough and sinewy frame 
 
 O’erwritten with the story of his life : 
 
 On his wan cheek a sabre-cut, well-earned . 
 
 In foreign warfare ; on his breast the brand 
 
 Indelible, burnt in when to the port’ 
 
 He clanked his chain, among a hundred more. ; 
 
 Dragged ignominiously ; on every limb 
 
 Memorials of his glory and his shame, 
 
 Stripes of the lash and honourable scars, 
 
 And channels here and there worn to the bone 
 
 By galling fetters. He comes slowly forth, 
 
 Unkennelling, and up that savage dell 
 
 Anxiously looks ; his cruise, an ample gourd, 
 
 (Duly replenished from the vintner’ s cask,) 
 
 Slung from his shoulder ; in his breadth of belt 
 
 Two pistols and a dagger yet uncleansed, 
 
 A parchment scrawled with uncouth characters, 
 
 And a small vial, his last remedy, 
 
 His cure, when all things fail. No noise is heard, 
 13 
 
 ®; 
 
 
 
 git oe 
 
“ie 
 186 IT AUyY. 
 
 Save when the rugged bear and the gaunt wolf 
 Howl in the upper region, or a fish 
 
 Leaps in the gulf beneath.—But now he kneels, 
 And, like a scout when listening to the tramp 
 Of horse or foot, lays his experienced ear 
 
 Close to the ground, then rises and explores, 
 Then kneels again, and, his short rifle-gun 
 
 Against his cheek, waits patiently. ——Two monks, 
 
 
 
 Portly, grey-headed, on their gallant steeds, 
 Descend where yet a mouldering Gross o’erhangs 
 The grave of one.that from the precipice 
 
 Fell in an evil hour. ‘Their bridle-bells 
 
 Ring merrily ; and many a loud, long laugh 
 Re-echoes ; but at once the sounds are lost. 
 Unconscious of the good in store below, 
 
 The holy fathers have turned off, and now 
 
 Cross the brown heath, ere long to wag their beards 
 Before my lady abbess, and discuss 
 
 Things only known to the devout and pure 
 
 O’er her spiced bowl—then shrive the sisterhood, 
 Sitting by turns with an inclining ear 
 
 In the confessional. 
 
 
 
 He moves his lips 
 As with a curse—then paces up and down, 
 
 Now fast, now slow, brooding and muttering on; 
 
pre 
 ITALY. 187 
 
 Gloomy alike to him the past, the future. 
 
 But hark, the nimble tread of numerous feet ! 
 —’Tis but a dappled herd, come down to slake 
 Their thirst in the cool wave. He turns and aims; 
 Then.checks himself, unwilling to disturb 
 The sleeping echoes. Once again he earths; 
 Slipping away to house with them beneath, 
 
 His old companions in that hiding place, 
 
 The bat, the toad, the blind-worm, and the newt ; 
 And hark, a footstep, firm and confident, 
 
 As of a man in haste. Nearer it draws ; 
 
 And now is at the entrance of the den. 
 
 Ha! ’tis a comrade, sent to gather in 
 
 The band for some great enterprise. Who wants 
 A sequel may read on. The unvarnished tale 
 That follows, will supply the place of one. 
 
 "Twas told me by the Count St. Angelo, 
 
 When in a blustering night he sheltered me 
 
 In that brave castle of his ancestors 
 
 O’er Garigliano, and is such indeed 
 
 As every day brings with it—in a land 
 
 Where laws are trampled on, and lawless men 
 Walk in the sun; but it should not be Jost, 
 
 For it may serve to bind us to our country. 
 
188 IPVALT: 
 
 AN’ ADVENTURE. 
 
 ~ ee 
 
 of 
 
 + Three days they lay in ambush at my gate, 
 
 il 
 ole 
 
 Then sprung and led me captive. Many a wild 
 
 We traversed ; but Rusconi, ’twas no less, 
 
 Marched-by my side, and, when I thirsted, climbed 
 
 The cliffs for water ; though, whene’er he spoke, 
 
 *T was briefly, sullenly ; and on he led, 
 
 Distinguished only by an amulet, 
 
 That in a golden chain hung from his neck, 
 
 A crystal of rare virtue. Night fell fast, 
 
 When on a heath, black and immeasurable, - 
 
 He turned and bade them halt. T'was where the 
 earth 
 
 Heaves o’er the dead—where erst some Alaric 
 
 Fought his last fight, and every warrior threw — 
 
 _ A stone to tell for ages where he lay. 
 
 ~ Then all advanced, and, ranging in a square, 
 Stretched forth their arms as on the holy cross, 
 From each to each their sable cloaks extending, 
 
 That, like the solemn hangings of a tent, 
 
ITALY.. 189 
 
 Covered us round; and in the midst I stood, 
 
 Weary and faint, and face to face with one, 
 
 Whose voice, whose look, dispenses life and death, “* 
 Whose heart knows no relentings. Instantly © © 
 A light was kindled, and the bandit spoke. é 4. 
 “¢] know thee. Thou hast sought us, for the sport * Ee 
 Slipping thy blood-hounds with a hunter’s cry ; ii 
 And thou hast found at last. Were I as thou, — 
 
 I in thy grasp as thou art now in ours, 
 
 * 
 
 Soon should I make a midnight spectacle, 
 
 Soon, limb by limb, be mangled on a wheel, 
 Then gibbeted to blacken for the vultures. 
 
 But I would teach thee better—how to spare. ~ 
 Write as 1 dictate. If thy ransom comes, 
 
 Thou liv’st. 1f not—but answer not, I pray, | 
 Lest thou provoke me. I may strike thee dead ; 
 And know, young man, it is an easier thing 
 
 To do it than to say it. Write, and thus.”— 
 
 I wrote. “’Tis well,” he eried. ‘ A peasant boy, 
 Trusty and swift of foot, shall: bear it hence. 
 Meanwhile lie down and rest. This cloak of mine 
 Will serve thee ; it has weathered many a storm.” 
 The watch was set ; and twice it had been changed, 
 When morning broke, and a wild bird, a hawk, 
 
. 
 
 190 < ITALY. 
 
 Flew in a circle, screaming. I looked up, 
 
 And all were gone, save him who now kept guard, 
 
 -And on his arms lay musing. Young he seemed, 
 
 And sad, as though he could indulge at will 
 
 _ Some secret sorrow. ‘Thou shrink’st back,’’ he 
 
 said. : 
 
 “ Well may’st thou, lying, as thou dost, so near 
 
 A ruffian—one for ever linked and bound 
 
 To guilt and infamy. There was a time 
 
 When he had not perhaps been deemed unworthy, 
 
 When he had watched that planet to its setting, 
 
 And dwelt with pleasure on the ‘meanest thing 
 
 That nature has given birth to. Now ’tis past. 
 Wouldst thou know more? My story is an old one. 
 
 I loved, was scorned ; [ trusted, was betrayed ; 
 
 And in my anguish, my necessity, 
 
 Met with the fiend, the tempter—in Rusconi. 
 
 ‘Why thus?’ he cried. ‘ Thou would’st be free 
 
 and dar’st not. : 
 
 Come and assert thy birth-right while thou can’st. 
 
 A robber’s cave is better than a dungeon ; 
 
 And death itself, what is it at the worst, 
 
 What, but a harlequin’s leap? Him I had known, 
 
 Had served with, suffered with ; and on the walls 
 
ITALY. 191 
 
 Of Capua, while the moon went down, I swore 
 Allegiance on his dagger. Dost thou ask 
 How I have kept my oath? Thou shalt be told, 
 Cost what it may. But grant me, I implore, 
 Grant me a passport to some distant land, 
 That I may never, never more be named. 
 -Thou wilt, I know thou wilt. 
 Two months ago, 
 When on a vineyard-hill we lay concealed 
 And scattered up and down as we were wont, 
 I heard a damsel singing to herself, 
 And soon espied her, coming all alone, 
 In her first beauty- Up a path she came, 
 Leafy and intricate, singing her song, 
 A song of love, by snatches ; breaking off 
 If but a flower, an insect in the sun 
 Pleased for an instant ; then as carelessly 
 The strain resuming, and, where’er she stopt, 
 Rising on tiptoe underneath the boughs 
 To pluck a grape in very wantonness. 
 Her look, her mien and maiden-ornaments 
 Showed gentle birth; and, step by step, she came 
 Nearer and nearer to the dreadful snare. 
 None else were by ; and, as I gazed unseen, 
 
a ae eh ieee i 
 
 * Ba 
 
 
 
 
 192 ITALY. 
 
 ti 
 
 Her youth, her innocence and gai 
 
 ‘A wood-nymph!’ cried Rusconi. ‘ By the light, 
 Lovely as Hebe! Lay her in the shade.’ 
 
 I heard him not. I stood as in a trance. . 
 
 ‘ What,’ he exclaimed, with a malicious smile, 
 ‘Wouldst thou rebel?’ I did as he required. 
 
 ‘ Now bear her hence to the well-head below ; 
 
 A few cold drops will animate this marble. , 
 Go! .’Tis an office all will envy thee ; 
 
 But thou hast earned it.’ As I staggered down, 
 Unwilling to surrender her sweet body, — 
 
 Her golden hair dishevelled on a neck 
 
 Of snow, and her fair eyes closed as in sleep, 
 Frantic with love, with hate, «Great God!’ I cried, 
 (I had almost forgotten how to pray, _ 
 
 But there are moments when the courage comes,) 
 ‘Why may I not, while yet—while yet 1 can, 
 Release her from a thraldom worse than death 
 "Twas done as soon as said. I kissed her brow, 
 And smote her with my dagger. A short cry 
 She uttered, but she stirred not ; and to heaven — 
 

 
 ; e bser v ed me, though their steps were following fast. 
 But soon a yell broke forth, and all at once 
 Levelled their deadly aim. Then I had ceased 
 To trouble or be troubled, and had now 
 (Would I were there!) been slumbering in my 
 
 grave, 
 Had not Rusconi with a terrible shout 
 Thrown himself in between us, and exclaimed, 
 Grasping my arm, ‘Tis bravely, nobly. done! 
 Is it for deeds like these thou wear’st a sword ? 
 Was this the business that thou cam’st upon? 
 —But ’tis his first offence, and let it pass. 
 Like the young tiger he has tasted blood, 
 And may do much hereafter. He can strike 
 
 Home to the hilt.’ Then in an under tone, 
 ‘Thus wouldst thou justify the pledge I gave, 
 When in the eyes of all I read distrust ? 
 
 For once,’ and on his cheek methought I saw 
 The blush of virtue, ‘I will save thee, Albert ; 
 Again I cannot.’” 
 
 Ere his tale was told, 
 As on the heath we lay, my ransom came ; 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 > Albert was: silt on a quiet seal > Naik 
 —But the night wears, and thou art. Frouch i in 
 
 
 
 sa t ) 6 d et thee to thy satoa ae 
 
 Je 
 
 ; 2 x © 
 
 ay. 
 
 
 
 
 
“ye P Cat fe An oe a rm 
 3 itis 
 
 ' i . 
 » > - oh. 
 ITALY. . , oe ey 
 
 AALS ga 
 
 
 
 ¥ = 
 ; Sox 
 This region, surely, is not of the. perth. * 
 
 Was it not dropt from heaven? Not a grove, 
 Citron or pine or cedar, not a grot, 
 Sea-worn and mantled with the gadding vine, 
 But breathes enchantment. Nota cliff but flings 
 On the clear wave some image of delight, 
 Some cabin-roof glowing with crimson flowers, 
 Some ruined temple or fallen monument, 
 To muse.on as the bark is gliding by. ° 
 And be it mine to muse there, mine to glide, 
 From day- -break, when the mountain pales his fire 
 Yet ‘more -and more, and ‘from the mountain-top, 
 ill ‘then invisible, a smoke ascends, 
 Solemn an slow, as erst from Ararat, 
 hen he the patriarch, who escaped the flood, 
 Was h his household sacrificing there— 
 2 Fro seg to that hour, the last and best, 
 When, one by one, the fishing- boats come forth, 
 
 * Un pezzo di cielo caduto i in terra. SANNAZARO. 
 
¥ 
 
 6 ad 
 
 Fi eran: 
 Each with its glimmering lantern at the prow, 
 And, when the nets are thrown, the evening hymn 
 Steals o’er the trembling waters. 
 
 Every where 
 Fable and truth have shed, in rivalry, 
 Each her peculiar influence. Fable came, 
 And laughed and sung, arraying truth in flowers, 
 Like a young child her grandam. Fable came, 
 Earth, sea and sky reflecting, as she flew, 
 _ A thousand, thousand colours:not their own: 
 And at her bidding, lo! a dark descent 
 To Tartarus, and those thrice happy fields, 
 Those fields with ether pure and purple light 
 Ever invested, scenes by him portrayed,* 
 Who here was wont to wander, here invoke 
 The sacred Muses,} here receive, record 
 What they revealed, and on the western shore 
 Sleeps in a silent grove, o’erlooking thee, - 
 Beloved Parthenope. ™ , 
 Yet here, methinks, | i 
 Truth wants no ornament, in her own shape. 
 Filling the mind by turns with awe and love, 
 By turns inclining to wild ecstacy, : 
 
 * Virgil. t Quarum sacra fero; ingenti percussus amore. 
 
ITALY. ae : 
 
 And soberest meditation. Here the vines 
 Wed, each her elm, and o’er the golden grain 
 Hang their luxuriant clusters, checkering 
 The sunshine ; where, when cooler shadows fall, 
 And the mild moon her fairy net-work weaves, 
 The lute, or mandoline, accompanied 
 By many a voice yet sweeter than their own, 
 Kindles, nor slowly ; and the dance* displays 
 The gentle arts and witcheries of love, 
 Its hopes and fears and feignings, till the youth 
 Drops on his knee as vanquished, and the maid, 
 Her tambourine uplifting with a grace, | : 
 Nature’s, and nature’s only, bids him rise. 
 
 But here the mighty monarch underneath, 
 He in his palace of fire, diffuses round 
 A dazzling splendour. Here, unseen, unheard, 
 Opening another Eden in the wild, 
 He wore ‘his wonders ; save, when 1 issuing forth 
 In thunder be blots out the sun, the sky, 
 And, mingling all things earthly as in scorn, 
 Exalts the valley, lays the mountain low, 
 Pours many a torrent from his burning lake, 
 And in an hour of universal mirth, 
 
 * The Tarantella. 
 
 2, =. 
 ee oe a 
 
 
 
198 ITALY. 
 
 What time the trump proclaims the festival, ~ 
 Buries some capital city, there to sleep. 
 The sleep of ages—till a plough, a spade 
 Disclose the secret, and the eye of day 
 Glares coldly on the streets, the skeletons, - 
 Fach in his place, each in his gay attire, 
 And eager to enjoy. 
 
 Let us go round, 
 And let the sail be slack, the course be slow, 
 That at our leisure, as we coast along, 
 We may contemplate, and from every scene 
 Receive its influence. The Cumezan towers, 
 There did they rise, sun-gilt ; and here thy groves, 
 Delicious Baiz. Here (what would they not?) 
 The masters of the earth, unsatisfied, 
 ‘Built in the sea ; and now the boatman steers 
 O’er many a crypt and vault yet glimmering, 
 O’er many a broad and indestructible arch, 
 The deep foundations of their palaces ; 
 Nothing now heard ashore, so great the change, 
 Save when the sea-mew clamours, or the owl 
 Hoots in the temple. 
 
 W hat the mountainous isle,* 
 
 * Capree. 
 
es 
 
 a 
 
 ITALY. 199. 
 
 Seen in the south? ’Tis where a monster dwelt,* 
 Hurling his victims from the topmost cliff; 
 Then and then only merciful, so slow, 
 So subtle were the tortures they endured. 
 Fearing and feared he lived, cursing and cursed ; 
 And still the dungeons in the rock breathe out 
 Darkness, distemper. Strange, that one so vile 
 Should from his den. strike terror thro’ the world ; 
 Should, where withdrawn in his decrepitude, 
 Say to the noblest, be they where they might, 
 « Go from the earth!” and from the earth they went. 
 Yet such things were—and will be, when mankind, 
 Losing all virtue, lose all energy ; 
 And for the loss incur the penalty, 
 Trodden down and trampled. 
 Let us turn the prow, 
 And in the track of him who went to die,t 
 Traverse this valley of waters, landing where 
 A waking dream awaits us. Ata step 
 Two thousand years roll backward, and we stand, 
 Like those so long within that awful place, 
 Immoveable, nor asking, Can it be? 
 ' * Tiberius. 
 { The Elder Pliny. See the letter in which his nephew relates to 
 
 Tacitus the circumstances of his death. 
 £ Pompeii. 
 
ale, 
 
 z 
 
 4s 
 a il 
 
 * 
 ¥ 
 7 
 * 
 - 
 
 * 
 
 200 iTrALye ™& - ag 
 
 ‘} 
 + we 
 
 Once did I linger there alone, till day” 
 
 Closed, and at length the calm of twilight came, 
 
 So grateful, yet so solemn ! Agape 
 Just where the three waygpmeet sd t 
 
 (T'was near a noble house, the Huse of Pansa,) 
 And all was still as in the long, long night 
 That followed, when the shower of ashes fell, 
 
 ood and looked, 
 
 When they that sought Pompeii sought in vain; 
 
 It was not tobe found.. But now a ray, 
 
 Bright and yet brighter, on the pavement glanced, 
 
 And on.the wheel-track worn for centuries, 
 
 And on the stepping-stones from side to side, 
 _ Over which the maidens, with their water-urns, 
 or wont to trip so lightly. Full and clear, 
 
 The moon was rising, and at once revealed 
 The name of every dweller and his craft; ; 
 Shining throughout with an unusual lustre, 
 And lighting up this city of the dead. 
 
 Mark, where within, as though the embers lived, 
 
 The ample chimney-vault is dun with smoke. 
 There dwelt a miller ; silent and at rest _ 
 His mill-stones now. In old companionship 
 Still do they stand as on the day he went, 
 Each ready for its office—but he comes not. 
 
 ee 
 ® = ‘ a 
 
 “te 6 
 
1) as Tae ee 
 
 ITALY. 901 
 
 And there, “ae , (where one in idleness _ 
 
 Has stopt to’scra # a ship, an armed man ; 
 
 And ina tablet on he wall we read ~ - 
 
 Of shows ere long to bes) a sculptor wrought, 
 
 Nor meanly ; blocks, half-chiselled into life, 
 
 Waiting his call. Here long, as yetattests 
 
 The trodden floor, an olive merchant drew 
 
 From many an earthen jar, no more supplied ; 
 
 And here from his a vintner served his guests 
 
 Largely, the stain of his o’erflowing cups 
 
 Fresh on the marble. On the bench beneath 
 
 They sate and quaffed arid looked on them that 
 
 passed, 
 
 Gravely discussing the last news from Rome. _ 
 But lo, engraven on a threshold-stone, 
 
 That word of courtesy, so sacred once, 
 
 Hail! Ata master’s greeting we may enter. 
 
 And Jo! a fairy palace !. every where, 
 
 As through the courts and chambers we advance, 
 
 Floors of Mosaic, walls of arabesque, © 
 
 And columns clustering in patrician splendour. 
 
 ' But hark, a footstep! May we not intrude? 
 
 And now, methinks, I hear a gentle laugh, 
 
 » - Sets : | 
 _ And gentle voices mingling as in converse! 
 
 \ 
 
 lhe 5 
 

 
 Ps 4 
 202 ITALY. 
 
 —And now a ie as struck carelessly, = 
 And now—along the corridor it comes— { 
 
 1 cannot err, a filling as of baths ! Ge ie ? : 
 —Ah, no, ’tis but a mockery of the sense, 
 Idle and vain!. We are but witere we were 
 
 Still ae ma city. of the dead. #5) sin 
 | RE udiblains 
 re 
 
 “a 
 
ITALY. 203 
 
 THE BAG OF GOLD. 
 
 I dine very often with the good old Cardinal * * 
 and, I should add, wi L his cats: for they always 
 sit at his table, and are much the gravest of the 
 company. His beaming countenance makes us for- 
 get his age; nor did I ever see it clouded till yes- 
 terday, when, as we were contemplating the sun-set 
 from his terrace, he happened, in the course of our 
 conversation, to allude to an affecting circumstance 
 in his early life. . 
 
 He had just left the university of Palermo, and 
 was entering the army, when he became acquainted 
 with a young lady of great beauty and merit, a 
 Sicilian, of a family as illustrious as his own. Liv- 
 ing near each other, they were often togéther; and, 
 at an age like theirs, friendship soon turns to love. 
 - But his father, for what reason I forget, refused his 
 consent to their union; till, alarmed at the declin- 
 ing health of his son, he promised to oppose it no 
 longer, if, after a separation of three ee they 
 
 continued as much in love as ever. 
 
 Relying on that promise, he said, I set out on a 
 
204 IT ATE? 
 
 long journey ; but in my absence the usual arts were 
 resorted to. Our letters were intercepted ; and false 
 rumours were spread—first of my indifference, then 
 of my inconstancy, then of my marriage with a rich 
 heiress of Sienna; and when at length I returned 
 to make her my own, I found her in.a convent of 
 Ursuline Nuns. She had taken the veil ;.an@ I, said 
 he with a sigh—what else remained for me?7—I 
 went into the church. 
 
 Yet many, he continued, as if to turn the con- 
 versation, very many have been happy though we 
 were not; and,.if I am not-abusing an old man’s 
 privilege, let me tell you a story with a better ca- 
 tastrophe. It was told to me when a boy; and you 
 may not be unwilling to hear: it, for it bears some 
 resemblance to that of the Merchant of Venice. | 
 
 We were now arrived:at a pavilion that com- 
 manded one of the noblest prospects imaginable ; 
 the mountains, the sea, and the islands, illuminated 
 by the last beams of day; and, sitting down there, 
 he proceeded with his usual vivacity ; for the sad- 
 ness that had come across him was. gone. 
 
 There lived in the fourteenth century, near Bo- 
 logna, a widow lady of the Lambertini family, 
 called Madonna Lucrezia, who in a revolution of 
 the state had known the bitterness of poverty, and 
 
A 
 
 ITALY. 205 
 
 had even begged her bread; kneeling day after day 
 like a statue at the gate of the cathedral ; her rosary 
 in her left hand, and her right held out for charity ; 
 her long black veil concealing a face that had once 
 adorned a court, and had received the homage of 
 as many sonnets as Petrarch has written on Laura. 
 
 But fortune had at last relented ; a‘legacy from a 
 distant relation had come to-.her relief; and she 
 ‘was now the mistress of a small inn at the foot of 
 the Appenines; where she entertained.as well as 
 she could, and where those only stopped who were 
 contented with a little. ‘The house was still stand- 
 ing, when in my youth I passed that way ; though 
 the sign of the White Cross,* the cross of the Hos- 
 pitallers, was no longer to be seen over the door; a 
 sign which she had-taken, if we may believe the 
 tradition there, in honour of a maternal uncle, a 
 grand. master of that order, whose achievements in 
 Palestine she would sometimes relate. A moun- 
 tain-stream ran through the-garden; and at no great 
 distance, where the road turned on its way to Bo- 
 logna, stood a little chapel, in which a lamp was 
 always burning before a picture of the Virgin, a 
 picture of great antiquity, the work of ‘some Greek 
 artist. 
 
 * La Croce Bianca. 
 
* “? 
 
 206 Sara Bey 
 a ae 
 Here she was dwelling, respected by all who 
 knew her; when an event took place which threw 
 her into the deepest affliction. ‘It was at noon-day 
 in September that three foot travellers arrived, and, 
 seating themselves on a bench under her vine-trel- 
 lis, were supplied with a flagon of Aleatico.by .a 
 lovely girl, her only child, the image-of her former 
 self. The eldest spoke like a Venetian, and his 
 beard was short and pointed after the fashion of 
 Venice. In his demeanour he affected gréat cour- 
 tesy, but his look inspired. little confidences for 
 when he smiled, which he did continually, it was: 
 with his lips only, not with his eyes; and they 
 were always turned from yours. His companions 
 were bluff and frank in their manner, and on their 
 tongues had many a soldier’s oath. In their: hats 
 they wore a medal, such as in that age was: often 
 distributed in war; and they were evidently subal- 
 terns in one of those free bands which were always 
 ready to serve in any quarrel, if a service it could 
 be called, where a battle was little more than a 
 mockery, and the slain, as on an opera stage, were 
 up and fighting to-morrow. Overcome with the 
 heat, they threw aside their-cloaks; and, with their 
 gloves tucked under their belts, continued for some 
 time in earnest conversation. 
 
ITALY .9ie 207 
 At length they rose*to go; and the Venetian 
 thus addressed their hostess. ‘Excellent lady, may 
 we leave under.your roof, for a day or two, this bag 
 of gold?? “You may,” she replied gaily. “But 
 remember, we fasten only witha latch. Bars and 
 bolts, we have none in our village ; and, if we had, 
 where would be your security 2?” “In your word, 
 lady.” : 
 
 “But what if I died to-night? Where would it 
 be then?” said she, laughing. “The money would 
 exe) to the church, for none could claim it” 
 
 _ “Perhaps you will favour us with an acknow- 
 ledgment.” wil 
 
 “If you will write it.”. 
 
 An acknowledgment was written accordingly, 
 and she signed it before Master Bartolo, the village 
 physician, who had just called by chance to learn 
 the news of the day ; the gold to be delivered when 
 applied for, but to be delivered (these were the 
 words) not to one—nor to two—but to the three; 
 words wisely introduced by those to whom it be- 
 longed, knowing what they knew of each other. 
 The gold they had just released from a miser’s chest 
 in Perugia; and they were now on a scent that pro- 
 mised more. 
 
 They and their shadows were no sooner departed, 
 
208 ITALY. 
 
 ¥ 
 than the Venetian returned, saying, “ Give me leave 
 to set my seal on the bag, as the others have done;” 
 and she placed it on a table before him. But in 
 that moment she was called away to receive a ca- 
 valier, who had just dismounted” from his. horse ; 
 
 ae 
 
 and when she came back it was gone. The tempta- 
 
 tion had proved irresistible; and the man and the 
 money had vanished together. 
 “Wretched woman that I am!” she cried, as in 
 an agony of grief she fell on her daughter’s neck, 
 “ What will become of us? Are we again to be 
 cast out into the wide world?.. Unhappy child, 
 would that thou ‘hadst never been born!” and all 
 day long she lamented; but her tears availed her 
 little. The others were not slow in returning to 
 claim their due; and there were no tidings of the 
 thief; he had fled far away with his plunder. A 
 
 process against her was instantly begun in Bologna; — 
 
 and what defence could she make; how release 
 herself from the obligation of the bond? ‘Wilfully 
 
 or in negligence she had parted with the gold; she — 
 
 had parted with it to one, when she should have 
 kept it for all; and inevitable ruin awaited ‘her! 
 “Go, Gianetta;” said»she to her daughter, “take 
 this veil which your mother has worn and wept 
 under so often, and implore the counsellor Calderino 
 
ITALY. 209 
 : 
 
 to plead for us on the day of trial. He is generous, 
 and will listen to the unfortunate. But, if he will 
 not, go from door to door; Monaldi cannot refuse 
 us. Make haste, my child ; but remember the. cha- 
 pel as you pass by it. N othing prospers without a 
 prayer.” i a 
 
 Alas, she went, but in vain. These were retained 
 against them; those demanded more than they.had 
 to give; and-all bade them despair. What was to 
 be done? No advocate; and the cause to come on 
 to-morrow ! | a 
 
 Now Gianetta had.a lover; and he was a student 
 of the law, a young man of great promise, Lorenzo 
 Martelli. He had studied long and diligently under 
 that learned lawyer, Giovanni Andreas, who, though 
 little of stature, was great in renown, and by his 
 contemporaries was called the Archdoctor, the 
 Rabbi of Doctors, the Light of the World. Under 
 him he had studied, sitting on the same bench with 
 Petrarch; and also under his daughter Novella, 
 who would often lecture to the scholars, when her 
 father was, otherwise engaged, placing herself be- 
 hind.a small curtain, lest her beauty* should divert 
 
 * Ce pourroit étre, says Bayle, la matiere d’un joli probléme: on 
 pourroit €xaminer si cette fille avancoit, ou si elle-retardoit le profit 
 
 de ses auditeurs, en leur cachant son beau visage. Il y auroit cent 
 choses a dire pour et contre la-dessus. 
 
210 ITALY. 
 
 
 
 their thoughts ; 3a precaution in this instante at leet t. ey, 
 unnecessary, *Lorenzo ‘having lost his heart toano- =. 
 
 4 } “* 
 ther. oi % ve ee 
 To him sgherffies in her necessity 5 but. of what: 
 assistance can hebe ? 2 He has ~~ Li 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 at the bar, but he has never spoken ; ; any 
 up alone, inpractised and . unprepared d ai sh 
 against’an array that would ‘alarm the: most expe- 
 rienced ?.. “Were J as mighty asx: am wealyy said 
 he,.““my: feats for you would make me as nothing. 
 But I will be there, Gianetta; and-may the friend 
 of the. friendless ‘give me strength in that hour! 
 Even now my heart fails me; but, come what will, 
 while I have a loaf to share, you. and: your. mother 
 ‘shall - never want. - 1, will beg through the .world 
 tempol s chee et. 2, boii 
 The'day arrives, and the court sogniuidans ‘The 
 claim is. statéd, and the evidence given. ‘And now 
 the defence is called for—but none is made }-not a 
 syllable sis uttered 5 and, after a pause and 2 con= 
 sultation,of some ininutes, the judges are proceed- 
 ing to give: judgment, silence having been pro- 
 claimed:.in’ ‘thé court, ‘when Lorenzo rises and, thus 
 addresses them. ° ““ Reverend signors.. Young as I 
 am, mayil, venture. to speak. before you? I-would 
 eee Behalf ‘of: one who-has none else to ae 
 
ITALY. 211 — 
 
 
 
 her; and I will not keep you long. Much has been 
 said—much on the sacred nature of the obligation ; 
 and we acknowledge it in its full force. Let it be 
 fulfilled, and to the last letter. It is what we soli-. 
 cit, what we require. But to whom is the bag of 
 ae ‘to be delivered ? 2 What says the bond? Not 
 
 ne—not to two—but to the three. Let 5 three 
 Ra forth and ate it” . 
 
 From that day, ( for ey can doubt the issue 2) 
 none were sought, none “eniployed, but the subtle, 
 the eloquent Lorenzo Wealth’ followed® fame ; 
 nor need I say how soon he sat’ at his marriage- 
 feast, or who sat. beside him. ¢ , 
 
 > 
 ra 
 
 ee 
 

 
 212 ITALY. : | Re 
 
 A CHARACTER: 
 
 One of two things Montrioli may have, 
 My envy or compassion. - Both he cannot. 
 Yet on he goes, numbering as miseries, 
 What least of all he would consent to lose, 
 What most indeed he prides himself upon, 
 And, for not having, most despises me: 
 «At morn the minister exacts an hour; 
 At noon the king. Then comes the council-board ; 
 And then the chasse, the supper. When, ah when, 
 The leisure and the liberty I sigh for? 
 Not when at home ; at home a miscreant crew, 
 
 That. now no longer serve me, mine. the service. 
 
 
 
 
 t then that old hereditary bore, 
 The steward his stories longer than his rent-roll, 
 . Wierenters, quill'in ear, and, one by one, 
 As though 1 lived to write, and wrote to live, 
 Unrolls his leases for my signature.” 
 
 He clanks his fetters to disturb my peace. 
 Yet who would wear them, and become the slave 
 
ITALY. 913 
 
 Of wealth and power, renouncing willingly 
 
 His freedom, and the hours that fly so fast, 
 
 A burden or a curse when misemployed, i 
 But to the wise how precious—every day 
 
 A little life, a blank to be inscribed 
 
 With gentle deeds, such as in after-time 
 
 Console, rejoice, whene’er we turn the leaf 
 
 To read them? All, wherever in the scale, 
 Have, be they high or low, or rich or poor, 
 Inherit they a sheep-hook or a sceptre, 
 
 Much to be grateful for ; but most has he, 
 
 Born in that middle sphere, that temperate zone, 
 Where knowledge lights his lamp, there most secure, 
 And wisdom comes, if ever, she who dwells 
 Above the clouds, above the firmament, 
 That seraph sitting in the heaven of heavens. 
 
 What men most covet, wealth, distinction, power, 
 
 Are baubles nothing worth, that only serve ae 
 To rouse us up, as children in the schools o 
 Are roused up to exertion. 'The reward 
 
 Is in the race we run, not in the prize ; 
 
 And they, the few, that have it ere they earn it, 
 ‘Having, by favour or inheritance, 
 
 These dangerous gifts placed in their idle hands, 
 
ay 
 
 W. 
 214 ITALY. 
 
 And all that should await on worth well-tried, 
 All in the glorious days of old reserved 
 
 For manhood most mature or reverend age, 
 Know not, nor ever can, the generous pride 
 That glows in him who on himself relies, 
 Entering the lists of life. , 
 
ITALY: 915 
 
 PESTUM. 
 
 They stand between the mountains and the sea, 
 Awful memorials, but of whom we know not! - 
 Theseaman, passing, gazes from the deck. 
 
 The buffalo-driver, in his shaggy. cloak, 
 
 Points to the work of magic and‘nioves on. 
 
 Time was they stood along the crowded street; 
 Temples of gods! and on'their ample steps 
 
 What various habits,warious tohgues beset 
 
 The brazen gates for prayer and sacrifice ! 
 
 Time was perhaps the third was sought for justice ; 
 And here the accuser stood, and theré the accused ; 
 And here the judges sate, and heard, and judged. 
 All silent now !—as in the ages past, 
 
 Trodden under foot and mingled, dust with dust. 
 
 How many centuries did the sun go round 
 From Mount Alburnus to the Tyrrhene sea, 
 While, by some spell rendered invisible, 
 
 Or, if approached, approached by him alone 
 Who saw as though he saw not, they remained 
 
216 «ITALY. : : ie 
 
 As in the darkness of a sepulchre, “ae ae 
 
 Waiting the appointed time! All, all within — 
 
 Proclaims that Nature had resumed her right, 
 
 And taken to herself what man renounced ; 
 
 No cornice, triglyph, or worn abacus, 
 
 But with thick ivy hung or branching fern ; 
 
 Their iron-brown o’erspread with brightest verdure. 
 From my youth mpyeed have I longed to tread. 
 
 This classic ground—And am I here at last ? 
 
 Wandering at will through the long porticoes, 
 
 And catching, as through some, majestic grove, 
 
 Now the blue ‘ocean, and now, chaos-like, 
 
 Mountains and mountain- gulfs, and, half-way up, 
 
 Towns like the living rock from which they grew ? 
 
 A cloudy region, black and desolate, 
 
 Where once a slave withstood a world in arms.* 
 The air is sweet with violets, running wild 
 
 Mid broken friezes and fallen capitals ; 
 
 Sweet as when Tully, writing down his thoughts, 
 
 Those thoughts so precious and so lately lost, © 
 
 (Turning to thee, divine philosophy, 
 
 Ever at hand to calm his troubled soul,) 
 
 Sailed slowly by, two thousand years ago, 
 
 * Spartacus. See Plutarch in the Life of Crassus. 
 
4° ITALY. 217 
 For Athens ; when a ship, if northeast winds 
 Blew from the Pestan gardens, slacked her course. 
 On as he moved along the level shore, 
 These temples, in their splendour eminent 
 Mid arcs and obelisks, and domes and towers, 
 _ Reflecting back the radiance. of the west, 
 Well might he dream of glory! Now, coiled up, 
 The serpent sleeps within them ; the she-wolf 
 Suckles her young: and, as alone I stand 
 In this, the nobler pile, the elements 
 Of earth and air its only floor and covering, 
 How solemn i is the stillness! No othing stirs 
 ' »Save the shrill-voiced cicala flitting round 
 On the panels pediment to sit and sing ; 
 ¥0r the green lizard rustling through the grass, 
 And up the fluted shaft with short quick spring, 
 “To vanish in the chinks that time has made. 
 In such an hour as this, the sun’s broad disk 
 Seen at his setting, and a flood of light 
 Filling the courts of these old sanctuaries, 
 (Gigantic shadows, broken and confused, 
 Athwart the innumerable columns flung, ) 
 In such an hour he came, who-saw and told, 
 Led by the mighty genius of the place. 
 15 
 
= 4 < 
 218 Mer rss eo * 
 
 Walls of some capital city first appeared, 
 Half razed, half sunk, or scattered as in scorn; 
 —And what within them ? what but in the midst 
 These three in more than their original grandeur, 
 And, round about, no stone upon another ? 
 As if the spoiler had fallen back in fear, 
 And, turning, left them to the elements. 
 
 Tis said a stranger in the days of old, 
 (Some say a Dorian, some a Sybarite; 
 But distant things are ever lost in clouds,) 
 "Tis said a stranger came, and, with his.plough, 
 Traced out the site ; and Posidonia rose, 
 Severely great, Neptune the tutelar god ; 
 A Homer’s language murmuring in her streets, 
 And in her haven many a mast from Tyre. 
 Then came another, an unbidden guest. 
 He knocked and entered with a train in arms; 
 And all was changed, her very name and language! 
 The Tyrian merchant, shipping at his door 
 lvory, and gold, and silk, and frankincense, 
 Sailed as before, but, sailing, cried, «* For Peestum |” 
 And now a Virgil, now an Ovid sung 
 Pestum’s twice-blowing roses ; while, within, 
 
 Parents and children mourned—and, every year, 
 
* ITALY % 219 
 
 (Twas on the day of some old festival,) 
 
 Met to give way to tears, and once again, 
 
 Talk in the ancient tongue of things gone by.* 
 
 At length an Arab climbed the battlements, 
 
 Slaying the sleepers in the dead of night ; 
 
 And from all eyes the glorious vision fled ! 
 
 Leaving a place lonely and dangerous, 
 
 Where whom the robber spares, a deadlier foet 
 
 Strikes at unseen—and at a time when Joy 
 
 Opens the heart, when summer skies are blue, 
 
 And the clear air is soft and delicate ; 
 
 For then the demon works—then with that air 
 
 The thoughtless wretch drinks in a subtle poison 
 
 Lulling to sleep ; and, when he sleeps, he dies. 
 But what are these still standing in the midst ? 
 
 The earth has rocked beneath ; the thunder-stone 
 
 Passed thro’ and thro’, and left its traces there ; 
 
 Yet still they stand as by some unknown charter ! 
 
 Oh, they are nature’s own! and, as allied 
 
 To the vast mountains and the eternal sea, 
 
 They want no written history; theirs a voice 
 
 For ever speaking to the heart of man! 
 
 * Atheneus, xiv. t The Malaria. 
 

 
 AMALFI. 
 
 He who sets sail from Naples, when the wind 
 Blows fragrance from Posilipo, may soon, 
 Crossing from side to side that beautiful lake, 
 Land underneath the cliff, where once among - 
 The children gathering shells along the shore, 
 One laughed and played, unconscious of his fates? ; 
 His to drink deep of sorrow, and, through life, 
 To be the scorn of them that knew him not, 
 
 Trampling alike the giver and his gift, ne ‘ 
 
 The gift a pearl precious, inestimable, 
 A lay divine, a lay of love and war, 
 To charm, ennoble, and from age to age, 
 Sweeten the labour, when the oar was plied 
 Or on the Adrian or the Tuscanietn. 
 
 There would I linger—then go forth again, 
 And hover round that region unexplored, 
 Where to Salvator (when, as some relate, 
 
 * Tasso. Sorrento, his birth-place, is on the south side of the gulf 
 of Naples. 
 

 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 tmted by Sartain. 
 
 Re 
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 Stothard Eng 
 
ITALY. ; “- 991 
 
 
 
 By chance or choice he led a bandit’s life, 
 
 sed Yet oft withdrew, alone and unobserved, $i. 
 
 To wander through those awful solitudes) 
 
 Nature revealed herself. Unveiled she stood, 
 
 In all her wildness, all her majesty, 
 
 As in that elder time, ere man, was made. 
 There would I linger—then go | forth again; 
 
 And he who steers due east, doubling the cape, 
 
 Discovers, in a crevice of the rock, is 
 
 The fishing-town, Amalfi. Haply there — 
 
 A heaving bark, an anchor on the. strand, a es 
 
 May tell him what it is ; but what it was, 
 
 
 
 Cannot be told so soon. 
 * The time has been, 
 
 When on the quays along the Syrian coast, a 
 
 "T'was asked and eagerly, at break of dawn, 
 
 «¢ What ships are from Amalfi?” when her coins, 
 
 Silver and gold, circled from clime to clime ; 
 
 From Alexandria southward to Sennaar, 
 
 And-eastward, through Damascus and Cabul 
 
 
 
 And Samarcand, to thy great wall, Cathay. 
 
 Then were the nations by her wisdom swayed ; 
 And every crime on every sea was judged 
 According to her judgments. In her port 
 
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 999 ITALY. 
 
 Prows, strange, uncouth, from Nile and Niger met, 
 People of various feature, various speech ; 
 And in their countries many a house of prayer, 
 And many a shelter, where no shelter was, — 
 And many a well; like Jacob’s in the wild, 
 Rose at her bidding. Then in Palestine, 
 By the way-side, in sober grandeur stood 
 A hospital, that, night and day, received 
 The pilgrims of the west ; and, when ’twas asked, 
 “Who are the noble founders?” every tongue 
 At once replied, “«’ The merchants of Amalfi.” 
 . That hospital, when Godfrey scaled the walls, 
 Sent forth its holy men in complete steel ; 
 And hence, the cowl relinquished for the helm, 
 That chosen band, valiant, invincible, 
 So long renowned as champions of the cross, 
 In Rhodes, in Malta. 
 
 For three hundred years, 
 There, unapproached but from the deep, they sich 
 Assailed for ever, yet from age to age 
 Acknowledging no master. From the deep 
 They gathered in their harvests ; bringing home 
 In the same ship, relics of ancient Greece,. 
 That land of glory where their fathers lay, 
 
/ ' cae P . ¥ me 
 e ; 
 
 ITALY. 993 
 
 Grain from the golden vales of Sicily, 
 And Indian spices. When at length they fell, 
 Losing their liberty, they left mankind 
 A legacy, compared with which the wealth 
 Of eastern kings—what is it in the scale? 
 The mariner’s compass. 
 They are now forgot, 
 
 And with them all they did, all they endured, 
 Struggling with fortune. When Sicardi stood 
 On his high deck, his falchion in his hand, 
 And, with a shout like thunder, cried, ‘“‘ Come forth, 
 And serve me in Salerno!” forth they came, 
 Covering the sea, a mournful spectacle ; 
 The women wailing, and the heavy oar 
 Falling unheard. Not thus did they return, 
 The tyrant slain ; though then the grass of years 
 Grew in their streets. 
 
 There now to him who sails 
 Under the shore, a few white villages, 
 Scattered above, below, some in the clouds, 
 Some on the margin of the dark blue sea, 
 And glittering through their lemon groves, an- 
 
 nounce 
 
 The region of Amalfi. Then, half-fallen, 
 
“te ge Wha ls ee AEM Oe Pea Ra ee 
 ia * 
 4 . * 
 
 sad 
 
 
 
 at 224 og Si bi 
 
 A lonely watch-tower on ‘the precipice, 4 1a 
 _ Their ancient land-mark, comes. Long m: ‘it last, 
 
 And to the seaman in a distant age, 
 
 Though now he little thinks how large his debt, 
 
 Serve for their monument ! 
 
 ~%, 
 

 
 MONTE CASSINO. 
 
 “ What hangs behind that curtain?” ‘ Wouldst 
 thou learn? 
 
 If thou art wise, thou wouldst not. *Tis by some 
 
 Believed to be his master-work, who looked 
 
 Beyond the grave, and on the chapel wall, 
 
 As though the day were come, were come and past, 
 
 Drew the Last Judgment.* But the wisest err. 
 
 He who in secret wrought, and gave it life, 
 
 For life is surely there and visible change, 
 
 Life, such as none could of himself impart, 
 
 (They who behold it, go not as they came,, 
 
 But meditate for many and many a day,) 
 
 Sleeps in the vault beneath. We know not much; 
 
 But what we know, we will communicate. 
 
 Tis in an ancient record of the house ; 
 
 And may it make thee tremble lest thou fall! 
 Once—on a Christmas eve—ere yet the roof 
 
 Rung with the hymn of the Nativity, 
 
 * Michael Angelo. 
 

 
 ” 6 996 SEPALS 
 There came a stranger to the convent gate, — 
 At d asked admittance ; ever and anon, 
 As if he sought what most he feared to find, 
 Looking behind him. When within the walls, - 
 These walls so sacred and inviolate, 
 Still did he look behind him; oft and long, 
 With curling, quivering lip, and haggard eye, 
 Catching at vacancy. Between the fits, 
 For here, ’tis said, he lingered while he lived, 
 He would discourse and with a mastery, 
 A charm by none resisted, none explained, 
 Unfelt before ; but when his cheek grew pale, 
 All was forgotten. Then, howe’er employed, 
 He would break off, and start as if he caught 
 A glimpse of something that would not be gone ; 
 And turn and gaze, and shrink into himself, 
 As though the fiend was there, and, face to face, 
 Scowled o’er his shoulder. : 
 | Most devout he was; 
 Most unremitting in the services ; 
 Then, only then, untroubled, unassailed ; 
 And, to beguile a melancholy hour, 
 Would sometimes exercise that noble art 
 He learnt in Florence ; with a master’s hand, | 
 
Poy ore ae ae *y 
 *~ ’ . ae 
 5 ITALY. | 207 | 
 
 As to this day the sacristy attests, 
 Painting the wonders of the Apocalypse. og 
 At length he sunk to rest, and in his cell ~ 
 
 Left, when he went, a work in secret done, 
 
 The portrait, for a portrait it must be, 
 
 That hangs behind the curtain. Whence he drew, 
 None here can doubt ; for they that come to catch 
 The faintest glimpse—to catch it and be gone, 
 Gaze as he gazed, then shrink into themselves, 
 Acting the self-same part. But why ’twas drawn, 
 Whether, in penance, to atone for guilt, 
 
 Or to record the anguish guilt inflicts, 
 
 Or haply to familiarise his mind 
 
 With what he could not fly from, none can say, 
 For none could learn the burden of his soul.” 
 
 es 
 ‘ Payee 
 
) 998 ITALY: 
 
 THE HARPER. 
 
 % ee 
 ae 
 eo 
 
 It was a harper, wandering with his harp, 
 His only treasure ; a majestic man, 
 By time and grief ennobled, not subdued ; 
 Though from his height descending, day by day, 
 And, as his upward look at once betrayed, 
 Blind as old Homer. Ata fount he sate, 
 Well known to many a weary traveller ; 
 His little guide, a boy not seven years old, 
 But grave, considerate beyond his years, 
 Sitting beside him. Each had ate his crust 
 In silence, drinking of the virgin-spring ; 
 And now in silence, as their custom was, 
 The sun’s decline awaited. 
 
 But the child 
 
 Was worn with travel. Heavy sleep weighed down 
 _ His eyelids; and the grandsire, when we came, 
 Emboldened by his love and by his fear, 
 ‘His fear lest night o’ertake them on the road, 
 Humbly besought me to convey them both 
 

 

 
tk i sion Nala al Bhi Sd y See a + 
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 alae 4 ake BUY i ‘ 
 
 ITALY. 229 
 
 6 
 
 ¥ 
 
 A little onward. Such small services 
 
 Who can refuse ?—Not I ; and him who can, 
 
 Blest though he be with every earthly gift, — 
 
 I cannot envy. He, if wealth be his, 
 
 Knows not its uses. ' So from noon till night, 
 
 Within a crazed and tattered vehicle, 
 
 That yet displayed, in old emblazonry, — 
 
 A shield as splendid as the Bardi wear,* 
 
 We lumbered on together; the old man 
 _ Beguiling many a league of half its length, ° 
 
 When questioned the adventures of his life, 
 
 And all the dangers he had undergone ; 
 
 His shipwrecks on inhospitable coasts, 
 
 And his long warfare. _ . 
 They were bound, he said, 
 To a great fair at Reggio ; and the boy, 
 Believing all the world were to be there, 
 
 And I among the rest, let loose his tongue, 
 
 And promised me much pleasure. His short trance, 
 Short as it was, had, like a charmed cup, 
 Restored his spirit, and, as on we crawled, 
 
 Slow as the snail, (my muleteer dismounting, 
 
 And now his mules addressing, now his pipe, 
 
 * See Note. 
 

 
 930 ITALY. 
 
 And now Luigi,) he poured out his heart, 
 Largely repaying me. At length the sun 
 wepar ted, setting in a sea of gold ; 
 And, as we gazed, he bade me rest assured 
 That like the setting would the rising be. 
 Their harp—it had a voice oracular, 
 And in the desert, in the crowded street, 
 Spoke when consulted. Ifthe treble chord 
 
 Twanged shrill and clear, o’er hill and dale they 
 
 * went, 
 
 The grandsire, step by step, led by the child. ‘ 
 
 And not a rain-drop from a passing cloud 
 
 Fell on their garments. ‘Thus it spoke to-day ; 
 
 Inspiring joy, and, in the young one’s mind, 
 Brightening a path already full of sunshine. 
 
J" 
 
 ITALY. 231 
 
 THE FELUCA. Pa 
 
 Day glimmered ; and beyond the precipice, 
 (Which my mule followed as in love with fear, 
 Or as in scorn, yet more and more inclining 
 To tempt the danger where it menaced most,) 
 A sea of vapour rolled. Methought we went 
 Along the utmost edge of this, our world ; 
 
 But soon the surges fled, and we descried 
 
 Nor dimly, though the lark was silent yet, 
 
 Thy gulf, La Spezzia. Ere the morning gun, 
 Ere the first day-streak, we alighted there ; 
 And not a breath, a murmur! Every sail 
 
 Slept in the offing. Yet along the shore 
 
 Great was the stir; as at the noontide hour, 
 None unemployed. Where from its native rock 
 A streamlet, clear and full, ran to the sea, 
 
 The maidens knelt and sung as they were wont, __ 
 Washing their garments. Where it met the tide, 
 Sparkling and lost, an ancient pinnace lay 
 Keel upward, and the faggot blazed, the tar 
 
? ‘hy ™ <a . 
 “3 
 * 
 
 Fumed from the cauldron; while, beyond the fort, 
 Whither I wandered, step by step led on, 
 
 The fishers dragged their net, the fish within 
 
 At every heave fluttering and full of life, 
 
 232 ITALY. 
 
 At every heave striking their silver fins 
 ’>Gainst the dark meshes. Soon a boatman’s shout 
 Re-echoed ; and red bonnets on the beach, “ 
 Waving, recalled me. We embarked and left 
 That noble haven, where, when Genoa reigned, 
 A hundred galleys sheltered—in the day, _ 
 When lofty spirits met, and, deck to deck, co 
 Doria, Pisani fought ; that narrow field : 
 Ample enough for glory. On we went, eh. 
 Ruffling with many an oar the crystalline sea, 
 On from the rising to the setting sun, 
 
 “gin silence—underneath a mountain-ridge, 
 Untamed, untameable, reflecting round 
 The saddest purple ; nothing to be seen 
 
 - Of life or culture, save where, at the foot, * 
 Some village and its church, a scanty line, 
 Athwart the wave gleamed faintly. Fear of ill 
 Narrowed our course, fear of the hurricane, 
 And that yet greater scourge, the crafty Moor, 
 Who, like a tiger prowling for his prey, 
 
ITALY 233 
 
 Springs and is gone, and on the adverse coast, 
 
 (Where Tripoli and Tunis and Algiers 
 
 Forge fetters, and white turbans on the mole 
 
 Gather, whene’er the crescent comes displayed 
 Over the cross, his human merchandise 
 
 To many a curious, many a cruel eye 
 
 | Exposes. Ah, how oft where now the sun 
 
 Slept on the shore, have ruthless scimitars 
 
 Flashed through the lattice, and a swarthy crew 
 
 Dragged forth, ere long to number them for sale, 
 
 - Ere long to part them in their agony, 
 
 Parent and child! How oft where now we rode 
 
 Over the billow, has a wretched son, 
 
 Or yet more wretched sire, grown gray in chains, 
 
 Laboured, his hands upon the oar, his eyes 
 
 - Upon the land—the land that gave him birth; 
 
 And, as he gazed, his homestall through his tears i 
 
 Fondly imagined ; when a Christian ship : 
 
 Of war appearing in her bravery, 
 
 A voice in anger cried, “ Use all your strength!” 
 But when, ah when, do they that. can, forbear 
 
 To crush the unresisting? Strange, that men, 
 
 Creatures so frail, so soon, alas, to die, 
 
 Should have the power, the will to make this world 
 
 16 
 
324 PAL Ys,” 
 
 A dismal prison-house, and life itself, 
 
 Life in its prime, a burden and a curse 
 
 -To him who never wronged them? Who that Be 
 breathes . 
 
 Would not, when first he heard it, turn away “i 
 
 As from a tale monstrous, incredible ? CS a 
 
 Surely a sense of our mortality, 
 
 A consciousness how soon we shall be gone, 
 
 Or, if we linger—but a few short years— 
 
  & 
 et 
 
 How sure to look upon our brother’s grave, 
 Should of itself incline to pity and love, 
 And prompt us rather to assist, relieve, 
 Than aggravate the evils each is heir to. 
 
 At length the day departed, and the moon 
 Rose like another sun, illumining 
 Waters and woods and cloud-capt promontories, 
 Glades for a hermit’s cell, a lady’s bower, 
 
 Scenes of Elysium, such as night alone 
 
 Reveals below, nor often—scenes that fled. | 
 As at the waving of a wizard’s wand, ‘* 
 And left behind them as their parting gift, a 
 A thousand nameless odours. All was still ; he 
 
 And now the nightingale her song. poured forth 
 
 *%, 
 
 In such a torrent of heart-felt delight, 
 

 

 
 
 

 
 ‘ i 4 ‘/~* F 
 * ITABY. * R85 fa 
 =. eae .” ; 
 
 So fast it flowed, her tongue so voluble, : 
 
 As if she thought her hearers would be gone 
 
 '- Ere half was told. ’T'was where in the northwest, 
 Still unassailed and unassailable, 
 
 Thy pharos, Genoa, first displayed itself, 
 Burning in stillness on its craggy seat ; 
 
 That guiding star so oft the only one, 
 
 When those now glowing in the azure vault, 
 Are dark and silent. “Iwas where o’er the sea, 
 For we were now within a cable’s length, 
 
 . Delicious gardens hung ; green galleries, 
 
 And marble terraces in many a flight, 
 
 And fairy arches flung from cliff to cliff, 
 Wildering, enchanting ; and, above them all, 
 
 A palace, such as somewhere in the east, 
 
 In Zenestan or Araby the blest, 
 
 Among its golden groves and fruits of gold, 
 
 And fountains scattering rainbows in the sky, 
 Rose, when Aladdin rubbed the wondrous lamp ; 
 Such, if not fairer ; and, when we shot by, 
 
 A scene of revelry, in long array 
 
 As with the radiance of a setting sun, 
 
 The windows blazing. But we now approached 
 
 A city far-renowned ; and wonder ceased. 
 
236 3 ITALY. 
 
 GENOA. 
 
 This house was Andrea Doria’s. Here he lived ; 
 And here at eve relaxing, when ashore, © 
 Held many a pleasant, many a grave discourse 
 With them that sought him, walking to and fro 
 As on his deck. "Tis less in length and breadth 
 Than many a cabin in a ship of war ; 
 But ’tis of marble, and at once inspires 
 The reverence due to ancient dignity. 
 
 He left it for a better; and ’tis now 
 A house of trade, the meanest merchandise 
 -Cumbering its floors. Yet, fallen as it is, 
 Tis still the noblest dwelling—even in Genoa ! 
 And hadst thou, Andrea, lived there to the last, 
 Thou hadst done well; for there is that without, 
 That in the wall, which monarchs could not give, 
 Nor thou take with thee, that which says aloud, 
 It was thy country’s gift to her deliverer. 
 
 "Tis in the heart of Genoa, (he who comes, 
 Must come on foot,) and in a place of stir; 
 Men on their daily business, early and late, 
 Thronging thysuery threshold. But when there, 
 
 "svi 
 aS 
 
ITALY. 237 
 
 Thou wert among thy fellow-citizens, 
 Thy children, for they hailed thee as their sire ; 
 And on a spot thou must have loved, for there, 
 Calling them round, thou gav’st them more than life, 
 Giving what, lost, makes life not worth the keeping. 
 There thou didst do indeed an act divine; 
 Nor couldst thou leave thy.door or enter in, 
 Without a blessing on thee. 
 Thou art now 
 
 Ft among them. Thy brave mariners, 
 They who had fought so often by thy side, 
 Staining the mountain-billows, bore thee back; 
 And thou art sleeping in thy funeral chamber. 
 Thine was a glorious course ; but couldst thou there, 
 Clad in thy cere-cloth—in that silent vault, 
 Where thou art gathered to thy ancestors— 
 Open thy secret heart, and tell us all, 
 Then should we hear thee with a sigh confess, 
 A. sigh how heavy, that thy happiest hours 
 Were passed before these sacred walls were left, 
 Before the ocean-wave thy wealth reflected, 
 And pomp and power drew envy, stirring up 
 The ambitious man,* that in a perilous hour 
 Fell from the plank. 
 
 * Fiesco. 
 
 a 
 
 Me 
 
238 ITALY. * 
 
 MARCO GRIFFONI. 
 
 War is a game at which all are sure tolose, sooner 
 or later, play they. how they will; yet every nation 
 has delighted in war, and none more. in their day 
 
 than the little republic of Genoa, whose galleys," 
 
 while she had any, were always burning and sink- 
 ing those of the Pisans, the Venetians, the Greeks, 
 or the Turks ; Christian and infidel alike to her. 
 
 But experience, when dearly bought, is seldom 
 thrown away altogether. A moment of sober reflec- 
 tion came at last ; and after a victory the'most splen- 
 did and ruinous of any in her annals, she resolved 
 from that day and for ever to live at peace with all 
 mankind ; having in her long career acquired nothing 
 but glory, and a tax on every article of life. 
 
 Peace came, but with none of its blessings. No 
 stir in the harbour, no merchandise in the mart or 
 on the quay; no song as the shuttle was thrown or 
 the ploughshare broke the furrow. : The frenzy had 
 left a ete more alarming than itself. Yet ae 
 
 
 
 £ 
 
 
 
 
a =“ + : data 
 ro Ye 
 
 ITALY. 239 
 
 Sad 
 the prospect on every side growing darker and 
 darker, till an old man entered the senate-house on 
 his crutches, and all was changed. 
 Marco Griffoni was the last of an ancient family, 
 a family of royal merchants ; and the richest citizen 
 in Genoa, perhaps in Europe. His parents dying 
 while yet he lay i in the cradle, his wealth had accu- 
 amulated from the year of his birth; and so noble a 
 use did he make of it when he arrived at manhood, 
 that wherever he went, he was followed by: the 
 blessings of the people. He would often say, “I 
 hold it only in trust for others ;” but Genoa-was then 
 at her old amusement, and the work grew on his 
 hands. Strong as he was, the evil he had to strug- 
 gle with was stronger than he. . His cheerfulness, 
 his alacrity left him ; and, having lifted up his voice 
 for peace, he withdrew at once from the sphere of 
 life he had moved in—to become, as it were, another 
 man. & ; 
 
 From that time, and for full fifty years, he was 
 seen sitting, like one of the founders of his house, 
 at his desk among his money bags, in a narrow street 
 near the. Porto Franco; and he, who in a famine 
 had filled the granaries of the state, sending to Si- 
 
 -cily and even to Egypt, now lived: only as for his 
 ae though there were none to inherit; giving 
 
240 ITALY. wil 
 
 no longer to any, but lending to all—to. the rich 
 on their bonds and the poor on their pledges; lend- 
 ing at the highest rate, and exacting with the 
 utmost rigour. ‘No longer relieving the miserable, 
 he sought only to enrich himself by their misery ; 
 and there he sat in his gown of frieze, till every 
 finger was pointed at him in passing, and every 
 tongue exclaimed, “ There sits the miser !”” 
 
 But in that character and amidst all that obloquy 
 he was still the same as ever, still acting to the best 
 of his judgment for the good of his fellow-citizens ; 
 and when the measure of their calamities was full, 
 when peace had come, but had come to no purpose, 
 and the lesson, as he flattered himself, was graven 
 deep in their minds, then, but not till then, though 
 his hair had long grown gray, he threw off the mask 
 and gave up all he had, to annihilate at a blow his 
 great and cruel adversaries, those taxes which, 
 when excessive, break the hearts of the people; a 
 glorious achievement for an individual, though a 
 bloodless one, and such as only can be conceived 
 possible in a small community like theirs. 
 
 Alas, how little did he know of. human nature! 
 How little had-he reflected on the ruling passion 
 of his countrymen, so injurious to others, and at 
 length so fatal to themselves! ‘Almost instantly 
 
bd 
 
 ITALY. 241 
 
 they grew arrogant and quarrelsome; almost instant- 
 ly they were in arms again; and, before the statue 
 was up that had been voted to his memory, every 
 tax, if we may believe the historian, was laid on as 
 before, to awaken vain regrets and wise resolu- 
 tions. 
 

 
 A FAREWELLS 
 
 And now farewell to Italy—perhaps 
 
 For ever! Yet, methinks, I could not go, 
 
 I could not leave it, were it mine to say, 
 
 ‘¢ Farewell for ever!” Many a courtesy, 
 
 That sought no recompense, and met with none 
 But in the swell of heart with which it came, 
 Have I experienced ; not a cabin-door, 
 
 Go where I would, but opened with a smile ; 
 From the first hour, when, in my long descent, 
 Strange perfumes rose, rose as to welcome me, 
 From flowers that ministered like unseen spirits; 
 From the first hour, when vintage-songs broke forth, 
 A grateful earnest, and the southern lakes, 
 Dazzlingly bright, unfolded at my feet ; 
 
 They that receive the cataracts, and ere long 
 Dismiss them, but how changed—onward to roll 
 From age to age in silent majesty, > 
 Blessing the nations, and reflecting round 
 
 The gladness they inspire. 
 
 * Written at Susa, May 1, 1822. 
 
i * | Frey? ae 243 
 
 Gentle or rude, 
 
 No scene of life but has contributed 
 Much to remember—from the Polesine,. 
 Where, when the south wind blows, and clouds on 
 
 clouds 
 Gather and fall, the peasant freights his boat, 
 A sacred ark, slung’ in his orchard-grove ; 
 Mindful to migrate when the king of floods* 
 Visits his humble dwelling, and the keel, 
 Slowly uplifted over field and fence, 
 Floats on a world of waters—from that low, 
 That level region, where no echo dwells, 
 Or, if she comes, comes in her saddest plight, 
 Hoarse, inarticulate—on to where the path 
 Is lost in rank luxuriance, and to breathe 
 Is to inhale distemper, if not death ; 
 Where the wild boar retreats, when hunters chafe, 
 And, when the day-star flames, the buffalo-herd, 
 Afflicted, plunge into the stagnant pool, 
 Nothing discerned amid the water-leaves, 
 Save here and there the likeness of a head, 
 Savage, uncouth ; where none in human shape 
 Come, save the herdsman, levelling his length 
 Of lance with many a cry, or, Tartar-like, 
 
 * The Po. | 
 
 
 
244 ag SLY: 
 
 Urging his steed along the distant hill . 
 As from a danger. There, but not to rest, 
 I travelled many a dreary league, nor turned 
 (Ah! then least willing, as who had not been?) 
 When in the south, against the azure sky, 
 - Three temples rose in soberest majesty, 
 The wondrous work of some heroic race.* 
 
 But now a long farewell! Oft, while I live, 
 If once again in England, once again 
 In my own chimney-nook, as night steals on, 
 With half-shut eyes reclining, oft, methinks, ~ 
 While the wind blusters, and the pelting rain 
 Clatters without, shall I recall to mind 
 The scenes, occurrences, I met with here, 
 And wander.in Elysium; many a note 
 Of wildest melody, magician-like 
 . Awakening; such as the Calabrian horn, — 
 Along: the mountain-side, when all is til 
 Pours forth at folding time ; and many a shane, 
 Solemn, sublime, such as at midnight flows | 
 From the full choir, when richest harmonies 
 Break the deep silence of thy glens, La Cava ; 
 To him who lingers there with listening ear, 
 Now lost and now descending as from heaven ! 
 
 2> 
 * The temples of Pestum. 
 
+’ 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Page 10, line 4. As on that Sabbath-eve when he arrived, 
 ‘ J’arrive essouffié, tout en nage; le cur me bat, je vois 
 
 de loin les soldats 4 leur poste ; j’accours, je crie d’une voix 
 
 étouffée. I] étoit trop tard,’ See Les Confessions. L. 1. 
 
 P.10,1.9. Hesate him down and wept—wept till the morning, 
 “* Liines of eleven syllables occur almost in every page of 
 Milton; but though they are not unpleasing, they ought 
 not to be admitted into heroic poetry; since the narrow 
 limits of our language allow us no other distinction of epic 
 and tragic measures.”—Johnson. : 
 It is remarkable that he used them most at last. In the 
 Paradise Regained they occur oftener than in the Paradise 
 Lost in the proportion of ten to one; and let it be remem- 
 bered that they supply us with another close, another ca- 
 dence ; that they add, as it were, a string to the instrument ; 
 and, by enabling the poet to relax at pleasure, to rise and. 
 fall with his subject, contribute what is most wanted, com- 
 pass, variety. se Ba go Mas Lin Supt 
 Shakspeare seems to have delighted in them, and in 
 some of his soliloquies has used them four and ‘five times 
 in succession; an example I have not followed in mine. 
 As in the following instance, where the subject is solemn 
 beyond all others. a a 
 To beor not to be, &c.. ae og 
 They come nearest to the flow: of an unstudied eloquence, 
 and should therefore be used in the drama; but why exclu- 
 sively ? Horace, as we learn from himself, admitted the 
 Musa Pedestris in his happiest hours, in those when he 
 was most at his ease ; and we cannot regret her visits. To, 
 her we are indebted for more than half he has left us; nor 
 was she ever at his elbow in greater dishabille, than when 
 he wrote the celebrated Journey to Brundusium. 
 

 
 \ 
 
 ae 
 us ¥ 
 
 246 _ NOTES. 
 
 | P. 12, 1. 6—Like him of old 
 “To admire or despise St. Bernard as he ought,” says 
 Gibbon, “ the reader, like myself, should. nave apoe the 
 _ windows of his library, that incomparable landscape.” 
 
 P.12,1.9. That winds beside the mirror of all beauty, 
 ' There is no describing in words ; meant liowine Ines 
 written on the spot, and may serve perhaps to recall 
 of my readers what they have seen a emia 
 try. ; Svan’ eS 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 % 
 4 ay 
 we 
 
 Bie ee aes a 4 oe 
 __ Tlove to watch In silenee till the sun tls 
 Sete; and Mont Blanc, arrayed in crimson and gold, 
 Flings his broad shadow half across the lake; — . 
 Thats adow, though it comes through pathless tracts 
 er, and o’er Alp and desert drear, 
 ! s bright, less glorious than himself. 
 , while we gaze, ’tis gone! - And now he shines 
 bs ie Li e burnished silver; all, below, the night’s. 
 Such moments are most precious. Yet there are 
 Others, that follow fast, more precious still ; 
 When once again he changes, once again 
 Clothing himself in grandeur all his own ; 
 » When, like a ghost, shadowless, colourless, . 
 He melts away into the heaven of heavens; % 
 Hlimself alone revealed, all lesser things 
 As though they were not! 
 
 s 
 
 P. 15,1.10. Two dogs of grave demeanour welcomed me, 
 Berri, so remarkable for his sagacity, was dead. His 
 skin is stuffed, and is preserved in the Museum of Berne. 
 
 P. 17,1.14. But the Bise blew cold ; i 
 The northeast wind. This description was written in 
 June, 1816. 
 
 P. 19,1. 4. St. Bruno’s once— : 
 It was indebted for its foundation to a miracle; as every 
 guest may learn there from a little book that lies on the 
 table in bis cell, the cell allotted-to him by the fathers. 
 “In this year the canon died, and, as.all believed, in the 
 odour of sanctity: for who in his life had’ been so holy, in 
 his death so happy? But false are the judgments of men ; 
 as the event showcth. For when the hour of his funeral 
 had arrived, when the mourners: had entered the church 
 the bearers set down the bier, and every voice was lifted 
 up in the Miserere, suddenly and as none knew how, the 
 lights were extinguished, and the anthem stopt! A dark- 
 . ei a oer 
 . is a 
 

 
 NOTES. Dae 
 
 ness succeeded, a silence as of vr graves and these words 
 came in sorrowful accents from. the. lips of the dead. “I 
 am summoned before a just God !—A just God judgetp me 
 —I am condemned by a just God 1992 
 
 “Tn the church,” says the legend, *¢ there ‘stood a young 
 man with his han¢ s clasped in prayer, who from that time 
 resolved to. raw into the dager It was ne wha we 
 now invoke as St. Bruno.” - aie 
 
 B19, 1. 16 shat house so rich of ld, ° 
 Cartons. Rhee ale ae 
 
 The words of Ariosto. me 5 i Se 
 .% * Ricca—e cortese a chiunque- vi venia. m= 
 The valley was formerly called Acqua Bat. a, 
 
 P. 20,1.15. Bread to the hungry tne 
 In the course of the year they entertain from thi 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 -. thirty-five thousand travellers. Le Pére Biselz, Prieur, 
 
 P. 22,1.14. Dessaix, who turned the scale. 
 “Of all the generals I ever had under me, Dessaix pos- 
 sessed the greatest talents. He loved glory for Ne " 
 
 Pp, 24,1.14. And gathered from above, bette around, 
 
 The author of Lalla Rookh, a poet of such singular feli- 
 city as to give.a lustre to all he touches, has written a song 
 on this subject, called the Chrystal-hunters. » 
 
 "| P. 24,116. Once, nor long before, % 
 
 M. Ebel mentions an escape almost as miraculous. 
 
 P, 29, 1. 15.—a wondrous monument 
 Almost every. mountain of any rank or condition has 
 such a bridge: The most celebrated in this country is on 
 the Swiss side of St. Gothard. 
 
 P. 42,1.5. Before the great Mastino 
 Mastino de ie Scala, the Lord of Verona. Cortusio, the 
 ambassador and historien, saw him so surrounded. L. 6. 
 This house had been always open to the unfortunate. In 
 the days of Can Grande all were welcome; poets, philoso- 
 phers, artists, warriors. Each had his apartment, each a 
 separate table; and at the‘hour of dinner musicians and 
 jesters went from room to room. Dante, as we learn from 
 himself, found an asylum there. 
 
 ™~ 
 
248 4s NOTES. 
 
 * a primo tuo r e’ ell 
 he wv Legein Cicada tee eo 7 
 ‘ mie the Che’n su la scala porta il santo uccello. 
 ©) Their tombs in the public street carry us back into the 
 _ times of barbarous virtue; nor less so do those of the Car- 
 "Yara princes a ; Padua, though less singular and striking i in 
 - themselves. Francis Carrara, the Elder, used often to visit 
 ‘Petrarch i in his small house at Arqua, and followed him on 
 cal - foot to his grave. 
 
 +P. 43.1.9. My omelet, and a flagon of hill-wine, 
 ~ Originally thus : 
 My omelet, and a trout, that, as the sun 
 Shot his last ray through Zanga’ s leafy grove, 
 Leaped ata golden fly, had happily 
 Fled from al! eyes; 
 Zanga is the name of a beautiful villa near Bergamo, in 
 which Tasso finished his tragedy 7 Torrismondo. It still 
 belongs to his family. 
 
 P. 43, 1. 14. Bartering my bread and salt for empty praise. 
 After 1. 14, in the MS. 
 
 That evening, tended on with verse ana song, 
 
 I closed my eyes in heaven, but not to sleep; 
 
 A Columbine, my nearest neighbour there, 
 
 In her great bounty, at the midnight hour 
 
 Bestowing on the world two Harlequins. 
 
 Chapelle and Bachamont fared no better at Salon, a cause 
 
 d’une comédienne, qui s’avisa d’accoucher de deux petits 
 comédiens. 
 
 P. 44, 1. 3. And shall I sup where Juliet at the Masque 
 
 The old palace of the Cappaletti, with its uncouth balco- 
 ny and irregular windows, is still standing in a lane near 
 the Market-place ; and what Englishman can behold it with 
 indifference ? 
 
 When we enter Verona, we forget ourselves, and are al- 
 most inclined to. say with Dante, 
 
 Vieni a veder Montecchi, e Cappelletti. 
 
 _P. 44,1. 6. Such questions hourly do I ask myself ; 
 
 ‘It has been observed that in Italy the memory sees more 
 - than the eye. Scarcely a stone is turned up that has not 
 _ '»some‘ historical association, ancient or modern; that may 
 not be said to have gold under it: 
 
 » 
 
NOTES. ‘ 
 
 P. 44, 1.18. Would they had loved. thee less, &c. Bs: 
 From the sonnet of Filicaja. Italia! Italia! &e. a, 
 
 P. 45,1.1. Twice hast thou lived already ; gt Se 
 Twice shown among the nations of the world, ; 
 ‘All our travellers, from Addison downward, have dili- 
 gently explored the monuments of her former « existence ; _ 
 while those of her latter have, comparatively speaking, es- 
 caped observation. If I cannot supply the deficiency, I | . 
 will not follow their example ; and happy should I be, if, by” 
 an intermixture of verse and prose, of prose illustrating the — 
 verse and verse embellishing the prose, I could furnish my 
 countrymen on their travels with a pocket companion. 
 
 P. 46,1. 1. - In this neglected mirror , 
 This is the only instance, with which Iam acquainted, 
 of a ghost'in Italy since Brutus sat in his tent. 
 
 P. 49, 1.17. Issuing forth, 
 An old huntsman of the family met her in the haze of 
 
 ' the morning, and never went out again. 
 
 She is still known by the name of Madonna Bianca. 
 
 P. 50,1.16. Still glowing with the richest hues of art, 
 
 Several were painted by Giorgione and Titian; as, for 
 instance, those of the. Fondaco de’ Tedeschi and “the Ca’ 
 Grimani. See Vasari. 
 
 P. 51,:L Aa-the tower of Ezzelin— 
 Now an observatory. On the wall there isa long inscrip- 
 tion : “ Piis carcerem adspergite lacrymis, ” &e. 
 Ezzelino is seen by Dante in the river of blood. 
 
 P. 51,1. 7. Him or his horoscope ; 
 
 Bonatti was the great astrologer of that day; and all 
 the little princes of Italy contended for him. It was 
 from the top of the tower of Forli that he gave his sig- 
 nals to. Guido Novello. At the first touch of a bell the 
 count put on his armour; at the second he mounted his 
 horse, and at the third iuavened out to battle. His victo- 
 ries were ascribed to Bonatti; and not perhaps without 
 reason. How many triumphs were due to the sooth-sayers 
 of old Rome! - ; r 
 
 . P. 51, 1. 21.—the lagging mules ; 
 The passage boats are drawn up and down the Brea. Figs 
 17 . 
 
*, 
 
 950 ss NOTES. 
 
 P. 52, 1.2. That child of fun and frolic, Arlecchino. 
 
 A pleasant instance of his wit and agility was exhibited 
 some years ago on the stage at Venice. 
 
 “The stutterer was in an agony; the word was inexora- 
 ble. It was to no purpose-that Harlequin suggested ano- 
 ther and another. At length, in a fit of despair, he pitched 
 his head full in the dying man’s stomach, and the word 
 bolted out of his mouth to the most distant part of the house. oo 
 —WSee Moore’s View of Society in Italy. ; 
 
 P. 53, 1. 8. 2 vast metropolis, 
 
 “T love,” says a traveller, “to contemplate, as I float 
 along, that multitude of palaces and churches, which are. 
 congregated and pressed as on a vast raft.”—‘t And who 
 can forget his walk through the Merceria, where the night- 
 ingales give you their melody from shop to shop, so that, 
 shutting your eyes, you would think yourself in’ some fo- 
 rest-glade, when indeed you are all the while in the middle 
 of the sea? Who can forget his prospect from the great 
 tower, which once, when gilt, and when the sun struck — 
 upon it, was to be descried by ships afar off ; or his visit to 
 St. Mark’s church, where you see nothing, tread on no. 
 thing, but what is precious; the floors all agate, jasper ; 
 the roof mosaic; the aisle hung with the banners of the 
 subject cities; the front and its five domes affecting you as 
 the work of some unknown people.? Yet all this will pre- 
 sently pass away ; the waters will close over it; and’ they, 
 that come, row about in vain to determine exactly where it 
 stood.” 
 
 P. 58,1. 3.. Playing at Mora 
 A national game ‘of great antiquity, and most probably 
 the “ micare digitis” of the Romans. 
 
 P. 61, 1.13. The brass is gone, the porphyry remains, 
 
 They were placed in the floor as memorials. 'The brass 
 was engraven with the words addressed by the pope to the 
 emperor, “Super aspidem et basiliscum ambulabis,” &c. 
 Thou shalt tread upon the asp and the basilisk: the lion 
 and the dragon thou shalt trample under foot. 
 
 P, 61, 1,16, Of the proud pontiff— 
 Alexander ILI. He fled in disgnise to Venice, and is said 
 to have passed the first night on the steps of San Salvatore. 
 
NOTES. oe 
 
 The entrance is from the Merceria, near the foot of the 
 Rialto; and it is thus recorded, under his escutcheon, in a 
 small tablet at the door : Alexandro III. Pont. Max. per- 
 noctanti. 
 
 P. 62,1. 8. “Surely those aged limbs have need of rest !” 
 See ‘Geoffroy de Villehardouin, in Script. Byzant. T. Xx. 
 
 P. 62, 1. 18.—resounding with their feet, 
 See Petrarch’s description of them. and of the tourna- 
 ment. Rer. Senil. 1.4, ep. 2. 
 
 P. 63; 1. 7.—some of fair renown 
 ; From England, 
 Recenti victoria exultantes, says Petrarch; alluding, no 
 doubt, to the favourable issue of the war in France. ‘This 
 festival began on the 4th of August, 1364. 
 
 P. 63, 1.19. And lo, the madness af the carnival, 
 
 Among those the most followed, there was always a 
 mask in a magnificent habit, relating marvellous adven- 
 tures, and calling himself Messer Marco Millioni. Millioni 
 was the name given by his fellow-citizens in his life-time 
 to the great traveller Marco Polo. “I have seen him so 
 described,” says Ramusio, “in the Records of the Repub- 
 lic; and his house has, from that time to this, been ealled 
 La ‘Corte del Millioni,” the palace ofthe rich man, the mil- 
 lionaire. It is on the canal of S. Giovanni Chrisostomo; 
 and, as long as he lived, was much resorted to by the cu- 
 rious and the learned. 
 
 P. 63, 1. 24.—the archangel, 
 
 In atto di dar la benedittione, says Sansovino; and per- 
 forming the same office as the Triton on the tower of the 
 winds at Athens. 
 
 P..64, 1. 8.— the marble stairs 
 La Scala de’ Giganti. 
 
 —P. 66, 1. 6.—the canal Orfano, 
 _ A deep channel behind the island of S. Giorgio Mag- 
 giore. 
 
 P. 66, 1.11. | Yet what 80 gay as Venice? 
 
 “ How fares it with your world ?” says his highness the ’ 
 
 devil to Quevedo, on their first interview in the lower re- 
 
 - 
 
 J 
 
a 
 
 
 
 e re 
 252 we NOTES. & . a 
 gions. “ Do I prosper there ?”” “ Much as wel I spelieve® 
 “ But tell me truly. How is my good. city of Venice? 
 Flourishing ?” ‘More than ever.” “'Then. ‘a am bane 
 no-apprehension. All must go well.” 
 
 P. 66, 1, 22. « Who were the six we supped with tate A an . 
 An allusion to the supper in Candide. c. XXVi. 
 
 P. 67,1. 3. “ Who answered me just es ‘ 
 
 See Schiller’ s Ghost-seer- ci. | a, ai " 
 P. 67, 1.7. “ But who moves ‘there, alone among them x. 
 
 See the history of Bragadino, the alchymist, as related 
 Daru. Hist. de Venise. c. 28. 
 
 The person that follows was yet more extraordinary, and 
 is said to have appeared there in 1687. See Hermippus 
 Redivivus. 
 
 “Those who have experienced the advantages which’ all 
 strangers enjoy in that city, will not be surprised that one 
 who went by the name of Signor Gualdi was admitted into 
 the best company, though none knew who or what he was. 
 He remained there some months; and three things were 
 remarked concerning him—that he had a small but inesti- 
 mable collection of ‘pictures, which he readily showed to 
 any body—that he spoke on every subject with such a 
 mastery as astonished all who heard him—and that he 
 never wrote or received any letter, never required any cre- 
 dit, or used any bills of exchange, but paid for every thing 
 in ready money, and lived respectably, though not splen- 
 didly. # 
 
 re This gentleman being one day at. the coffee-house, a 
 Venetian nobleman, who was an excellent judge of pictures, 
 and who had heard of Signor Gualdi’s collection, expressed 
 a desire to.see them ; and his request was instantly granted. 
 After contemplating and admiring them for some time, he 
 happened to cast his eyes over the chamber door, where 
 hung. a portrait of the stranger. The Venetian looked upon 
 it, and then upon him. ‘ This is your portrait, sir,’ said 
 he Signor Gualdi. The other made no answer but by a 
 low bow. ‘ Yet you look,’ he continued, ‘like a man of 
 fifty ; and I know this:picture to be of the hand of Titian, 
 who has been dead one hundred and thirty years. How is 
 this possible?’ ‘It is nut easy,’ said Signor Gualdi 
 gravely, ‘to know all things that are possible; but there is 
 
 * 
 
we § Pei 
 
 . * 
 % ~ *xetes. 253 
 _ 
 certainly no crime in my being like a picture of Titian’s.’ 
 The Venetian perceived that he had given offence, and took 
 his leave. : 
 “Tn the evening he could not forbear mentioning what 
 _. _ had passed to some of his friends, who resolved to satisfy 
 © themselves the next day by seeing the picture. For this 
 - "purpose they went to the coffee-house about the time that 
 Signor Gualdi was accustomed to come -there; and, not 
 4 ting with him, inquired at his lodginys, where they 
 Tearnt that he had set an hour before for Vienna. This affair 
 Bs made a great stir at the time.” os 
 
 P. 68, 1.11. All eye, all ear, no where and every where, 
 
 A Frenchman of high rank, who had been robbed at Ve- 
 nice, and had complained in conversation of the negligence 
 of the police, saying that they were vigilant only as spies 
 on the stranger, was on his way back to the Terra Firma, 
 when his gondola stopped suddenly in the midst of the 
 waves. He inquired the reason; and his gondoliers point- 
 ed to a boat witht a red flag, that had just made them a sig- 
 nal. It arrived;’and he was called on board. ‘ You are 
 the Prince de Craon? ‘Were ‘you not robbed on Friday 
 evening ?—I was,—Of what ?—Of five hundred ducats.— 
 And where were they ?—In a green purse.—Do you suspect 
 any body ?—I do, a servant.—W ould you know him again? 
 —Certainly.” The interrogator with his foot turned aside 
 an old cloak that lay there; and the prince beheld his purse 
 in the hand of a dead man. “Take it, and remember that 
 none set their feet again in a country where they have pre- 
 sumed to doubt the wisdom of the government.” 
 
 i eg 71, 1]. 12. ~ Then in close converse, 
 I am indebted for this thought to some unpublished tra- 
 vels by the author of Vathek. iia ; 
 
 P. 72, |. 4.—and he sung, 
 As in the time when Venice was herself, 
 
 Goldoni, describing his excursion with the Passalacqua, 
 has left. us a lively picture of this class of men. 
 
 We were no sooner in the middle of that. great lagoon 
 which encircles the city, than our discreet gondolier drew 
 the curtain behind us, and let us float at the will of the 
 waves, At length night came on, and we could not tell 
 where we were. “ What is the hour?” said I to the gon- 
 
 : 
 
 air Pi, 
 
254 m NOTES: ' * 
 
 dolier. “I cannot guess, sir’; but, if Ve am not mistaken, it 
 
 is the lover's hour.” “ Let us go home,” I replied ; and he 
 turned the prow homeward, singing, as he rowed, the 
 twenty-sixth. strophe of the sixteenth canto of the J erusalem > 
 Delivered. 
 
 P. 73,1. 5, Nor sought my threshold, 
 At Venice, if you have la riva in casa, you step from 
 your boat into the hall. See,Rose’s Letters from the North 
 of Italy. 
 
 Eta, ts The y young Bianca found her father’s door, 
 
 Bianca Capello. It had been shut, if we may believe the 
 novelist Malespini, by a baker’s boy, as. he passed by at 
 day-break ; and in her despair she fled with her lover to 
 Florence, where he fell by assasination. Her beauty, and 
 her love adventure as here related, her marriage afterwards 
 with the grand duke, and that fatal banquet at which they 
 were both poisoned by’ the carnival, his protest, have, ren- 
 dered her history a romance. 
 
 P. 74,1.1. Tt was St. ‘Mary'é eve, - 
 
 This circumstance took place at Venice on the first of 
 
 February, the eve of the feast of the purification of the 
 Virgin, A. D. 944, Pietro Candiano, Doge® 
 
 P. 75, 1.13. Her veil, transparent as the gossamer, 
 
 Among the Habiti Antichi, in that: admirable book of 
 wood-cuts ascribed to Titian, (A. D. 1590,) there is one 
 - entitled Sposa Venetiano a Castello. It was taken from an 
 old painting in the Scuola di S. Giovanni Evangelista, and 
 by the writer is believed to sl one es the brides 
 here described. 
 
 PR. 15, 1.20. That venerable structure 
 San Pietro di Castéllo, the patriarchal church of Venice. 
 
 P. 78, 1.15. They had surprised the corsairs where they lay 
 In the lagoons of Caorlo. - The creek is still called Jl 
 Porto delle Donzelle. 
 
 Lge Re a8 2 Laid at his feet; . 
 ‘They are described by Evelyn and La Lande ; and were 
 to be seen in the treasury of St. Mark very lately. 
 
 P, 80; 1, 1.—the Rialto . 
 An English abbreviation. Rialto is the name, not of the 
 
poe 
 y _ NOTES. ‘ 255 
 
 bridge, but of the island from which it is called; and the 
 Venetians say il ponte di Rialto, as we say Westminster 
 bridge. . : 
 
 In that island is the exchange; and I have often walked 
 ' there as on classic ground. In the days. of Antonio and 
 Bassanio it was second to none. “I sotto-portichi,” says 
 Sansovino, writing in 1580; “sono ogni giorno frequentati 
 da i mereatanti Fiorentini, Genovesi, Milanesi, Spagnuoli, 
 Turchi, e d’altre nationi diverse del mondo, i quali vi con- 
 currono in tanta copia, che questa piazza é annoverata fra 
 le prime dell’ universo.’ It was there that the Christian 
 held discourse with the Jew ; and Shylock refers to it when 
 he says, 
 
 Signor Antonio, many a time and oft, — 
 _ ° Inthe Rialto you have rated me— 
 
 “ Andiamo a Rialto”—“ L’ora di Rialto”—were .on every 
 tongue; and continue so to the’ present day; as we learn 
 from the comedies of Goldoni, and particularly from his 
 Mercanti.. . 
 
 There is a place adjoining, called Rialto Nuovo; and so 
 called, according to Sansovino, perche fu: fabricato dopo il 
 vecchio. 
 
 P. 81,1. 4. Twenty are sitting as in judgment there ; 
 
 The council of ten and the Giunta, nel quale, says Sanu- 
 to, fi messer lo doge. The Giunta at the first examination 
 consisted of ten patricians, at the last of twenty. 
 
 This story and the tragedy-of the Two Foscari were 
 published, within a few days of each other, in November, 
 1821. 
 
 P. 83, 1.23. That maid at once the noblest, fairest, best, 
 
 She was a Contarini; a name coeval with the republic, 
 and illustrated by eight doges.. On the occasion of their 
 marriage the Bucentaur came out in its splendour; and a 
 bridge of. boats was tlirown across the Canal Grandé for 
 the bridegroom and. his retinue of three hundred horse. 
 Sanuto dwells with pleasure on the cestliness of the dresses 
 and the magnificence of the processions by land and water. 
 The tournaments in the place of St. Mark lasted three days, 
 and were attended by thirty thousand people. 
 
 P. 84, 1.24. To him whose name, among the greatest now, 
 Francesco Sforza. His father, when at workin the field, 
 
256 NOTES. 
 
 was accosted by some soldiers and asked if he would enlist. 
 “Let me throw my mattock at that oak,” he replied, “and 
 if it remains. there, I will.” It. remained there ; and the 
 peasant, regarding it as a sign, enlisted.. He became sol- 
 ' dier, general, prince; and his grandson, in the palace at © 
 Milan, said to Paulus Jovius, ‘* You behold these guards 
 and this grandeur. 1 owe every thing to the branch of an 
 oak, the branch that held my grandfather’s mattock.” 
 
 P. 85, 1.5. Ihave transgressed, offended wilfully ; ; 
 It was a high crime to solicit’ the intercession of any fo- 
 reign prinee. 
 
 P. 87, 1. 17,—the Invisible Three! 
 The state inquisitors. For an account of their authority, 
 see page 68. 
 
 Pi 89,1. 6. °F found’ him on his knees Aefiere the cross, 
 He was at mass.—M. Sanuto. 
 
 1 iP. 90. 1, 27 3 ele wrote it on the tomb 
 - Veneno sublatus. The tomb i is in the church of St. Ele- 
 na. 
 
 P. 90, 1.4. Among the Lie in his leser-book 
 A remarkable instance, among others in the annals of 
 Venice, that her princes were merchants, her merchants 
 princes. 
 
 P. 90, 1. 16.—the. Pisan, 
 Count Ugolino. Inferno, 32. 
 
 P. 94, 1.15. And from that hour have kindred spirits vee 
 “ T-visited once more,” says Alfieri, “the tomb of our 
 master in love, the divine Petrarch; and there, as at Ra- 
 venna, consecrated a day to meditation and verse.” 
 He visited also the house; and in the album there wrote 
 a sonnet worthy of Petrarch himself. '~ 
 
 O Camaretta, che gia in te chiudesti 
 Quel Grande alla cui. fama é angusto il mondo, é&c. 
 
 P. 96, 1.1. Neglect the place where, in a graver mood, 
 This ‘village, says Boccaccio, hitherto almost unknown 
 even at Padua, is soon to become famous through the - 
 world ;.and the sailor on the Adriatic will prostrate himself, 
 when he discovers the Euganean hills. “ Among them,” 
 
NOTES. 257 
 
 will he say, “sleeps the poet who is our glory. Ah, un- 
 happy Florence! You neglected him—You deserved him 
 not.” ao, aaa ; 
 
 P. 96,1.5. Half-way up 
 He built his house, So 
 “T have built, among the Euganean hills, a small house, 
 decent and proper; in which I hope to-pass the rest of my 
 days, thinking always of my dead or absent friends.” 
 Among those still living was Boccacio; who is thus men- 
 tioned by him in his will. “To Don Giovanni of Certaldo, 
 for a winter gown at his evening studies, I leave fifty 
 
 golden florins; truly little enough for so great a man.” 
 
 When the Venetians oyerran the country, Petrarch pre- 
 pared. for flight. _“ Write your name over your door,” said 
 one of his friends, “ and you will be safe.” “ I am not so 
 sure of that,” replied Petrarch, and fled with his books to 
 Padua. His books he left to the republic of Venice, laying, 
 as it wore, a foundation for the library of St. Mark; but 
 they exist no longer. His legacy to Francis Carrara, a 
 Madonna painted by Giotto, is still preserved in the cathe- 
 
 dral of Padua. Z 
 
 7 P. 97, 1. 4.—in its chain it hangs 
 Affirming itself to be the very bucket which Tassoni in 
 his mock heroics has celebrated as the cause of war between 
 Bologna and Modena five hundred years ago. 
 
 P. 98, 1.3. °Zis of a lady in her earliest youth, 
 
 This story is, I believe, founded on fact; though the time 
 and place are uncertain. Many old houses in England lay 
 claim to it. 
 
 Except in this instance and another (p. 123), I have 
 every where followed history or tradition; and-I would 
 here disburden my conscience in pointing out these excep- 
 tions, lest the reader should be misled by them. 
 
 . P, 108, 1. 3.—and what a light broke forth, 
 Among other instances of her ascendancy at the close 
 of the thirteenth century, it is related that Florence saw 
 twelve of her citizens assembled at the court of Boniface 
 the eighth, as ambassadors from different parts of Europe 
 and Asia. Their names are mentioned in Zoscana Illus- 
 trata. 
 
258 : NOTES. 
 
 te * 
 P. 108, 1.8. In this chapel wrought 
 A chapel of the holy virgin in the churel’ of the Carmel- 
 ites. It is adorned with his paintings, and all the great 
 artists of Florence studied there; Lionardo da Vinci, Fra 
 eres Andrea del Sarto, Michael Angelo, Raphael, 
 Cc. 
 He had no stone, no inscription, says one of his biogra- 
 Phers, for he was thought little of in his lifetime. 
 Se alcun cercasse i] marmo, 0 il nome mio, 
 La Chiesa e if mario, una capella e i} nome. 
 It.was there that Michael Angelo received the blow on 
 his face. See Vasari, and Cellini. 
 
 P.109, 1.4. The seat of stopp that runs along the wall, 
 
 It exists no longer, the wall having been taken down ; 
 but enough of him remains elsewhere. Boccaccio delivered 
 his a on the Divina Commedia in the.church of 8. 
 Stefano 
 
 P. 109, 1. 5.—the belfry-tower, 
 It was designed by Giotto, as we read in his epitaph. 
 
 P..109, 1. 12, Many a transgressor sent to his account 
 Inferno. 33. A more dreadful vebealy for.satire cannot 
 well be coapekineel. 
 
 P.110,1.1. That they might serve to be the gates of heaven, 
 A saying of Michael Angelo. , They are the work of 
 
 _ Lorenzo Ghiberti. 
 
 P. 110, 1.15. Nor then forget that chamber of the dead, 
 The Chapel de’ Depositi, in which are the tombs of the 
 Medici, by Michael Angelo. - 
 
 P.111, 1:1. That is the Duke Lorenzo. “Mark him well. 
 He ied early; living only to become the father of Ca- 
 therine de Medicis. Had an evil spirit assumed the human 
 shape to propagate mischief, he could not have done better. 
 The statue is larger than the life, but not so large as to 
 shock belief. It is the most real and unreal ea that ever 
 came from the‘chisel. 
 
 P.111.1.10. . On that thrice hallowed day, 
 The day of All Souls. Il di de Morti. 
 
 . 
 
& ae 
 
 NOTES. tes 959 
 
 P.111,1.17. Jt must be known—the writing on the wall 
 Exoriare aliquis nostris ex ossibus ultor! 
 Perhaps there is nothing in language more affecting than 
 
 his last testament. It is addressed “To God, the Deli- — 
 
 verer,” and was found steeped in his blood. 
 
 P. 114, 1. 12.—she who bore them sak. 
 of the children. that survived her, one fell by a brother, 
 one by a husband, and a third murdered his wife. But that 
 family was soon to become extinct. It is some consolation 
 
 to reflect that their country did not go unrevenged for the © 
 
 calamities which they had brought upon her. How many 
 of them died by the hands of each other! . 
 
 P. 116, 1. 11.—drawn on the wall 
 By Vasari, who attended him on this occasion. 
 - Jets Thuanus de Vita oH i. 
 
 P. 116, 1.14. From the sad looks of him oh could have told, 
 It was given out that they had died of a contagious fever ; 
 
 and funeral orations were publicly pronounced in their 
 
 honour. . 
 
 Alfieri has written a tragedy on the subject; if it may 
 be said so, when he has altered sO ae the story and 
 the characters. 
 
 F. 117, 1. 2.—Cimabuée 
 
 He was the father of modern painting, and the master of 
 Giotto, whose talent he discovered inthe way here alluded 
 to. 
 
 “ Cimabud stood still, and, having considered the boy 
 and his work, he asked him if he would go and live with 
 him at Florence. To which the boy answered that, if his 
 father was willing, he would go with all his heart. »_Va. 
 Sart. 
 
 Of Cimabué little now remains at Florence, except his 
 celebrated Madonna, larger than the life, in Santa Maria 
 Novella. It was painted, according to Vasari, in a garden 
 near Porta S. Piero, and when finished, was carried to the 
 church in solemn procession with trumpets before it. The 
 garden lay without the walls; and such was the rejoicing 
 there on the occasion, that the suburb received the name of 
 Borgo Allegri, a name it still bears, though now a itis of 
 the city. 
 
260 | NOTES. 
 
 
 
 | P/117, Lb 11. ‘Beautiful Florence, ey 
 It is somewhere mentioned that Michael Angelo when 
 he set out from Florence to build the dome of St. Poter’ 85 
 turned his horse round in the road to contemplate once 
 more that of the cathedral, as it rose in the gray of the 
 morning from among the pines and cypresses of the city, 
 and that he said after a pause, “Come te non vogliot Me- 
 glio di te non. posso!* He never indeed spoke of it but with 
 admiration; and, if we may believe tradition, his tomb by 
 his own desire was to be so placed in the Santa Croce as 
 that from it might be seen, when the doors of the church 
 stood open, that ere work of Bruneleschi. 
 
 P. 118, 7 6, Came out into the meadows ; 
 
 Once, on a bright ‘November morning, I set out and 
 traced them, as I conceived, step by step; beginning and 
 ending in the church of Santa Maria Novella. It was a 
 walk delightful i in itself, and in its associations. . 
 
 P. 118, 1. 13. - Round ihe green hill they went, 
 
 I have here followed Baldelli. It has been said that 
 Boccaccio drew from his imagination. But is it likely, 
 when he and his readers were. living within a mile or two 
 of the spot? ‘Truth or fiction, it furnishes a pleasant pic- 
 ture of the manners and amusements. of the Florentines in 
 that day. 
 
 P2119, 1.11... The =e banquet by the fountain-side, 
 At three o’clock. ‘Three hours after sun-rise, according 
 ‘ta the old manner of reckoning. 
 
 B. 120, 1. 11.—his lowly roof and scanty farm, 
 Now belonging by inheritance to the Rangoni, a Mode- 
 nese family. 
 
 P. 120, 1. 19. “Tis his own siescvaee drew it from himself 
 
 See a very interesting letter from Machiavel to Frances- 
 co Vettori, dated the 10th of December, 1513. 
 
 P. 121, 1. 12. —sung of old 
 . For au green wine ; 
 ‘La Verdea. It is celebrated uy Rinuccini, Reni, and 
 
 * Like thee I will not build one, Better than thee I cannot. 
 
 5 
 > 
 
is NOTES. 261 
 .* 
 
 . 
 
 _ * most of the Tuscan poets; nor is it unnoticed by some of 
 ours. °° « ; : “ 
 Pp? Say he had been at Rome, and seen the relics, 
 y = Drunk your Verdea wine, &c.—Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 
 P. 121, 1.15. Seven years a prisoner at the city-gate 
 
 Galileo came to Arcetri at the close of the year 1633; 
 and remained there, while. he lived, by an order of the In- 
 quisition. - It is. without the walls, near the Porta Romana. 
 
 He was buried with all honour in the church of the 
 Santa Croce. ; 
 
 P.121,1.17. His villa, (jusily was it called the Gem,) 
 _ _ Il Giojello.: 
 P, 121, 1.23. There, unseen, 
 
 Milton went to Italy in 1638. “There it was,” says he, 
 “that I found and visited the famous Galileo grown old, a 
 prisoner to the Inquisition.” “Old and blind,” he might 
 have said. Galileo, by his own account, became blind in 
 December, 1637. Milton, as we learn from the date of Sir 
 Henry Wotton’s letter to him, had not left England on the 
 18th of April following.—See Tiraboschi, and Wotton’s 
 Remains. 
 
 P. 122, 1.19. ‘So near the yellow Tiber’s— 
 They rise within thirteen miles of each other. 
 
 P.123,1.10. Hands, clad in gloves of steel, held up imploring, 
 It was in this manner that the. first, Sforza went down, 
 when he perished in the Pescara, 
 
 P. 125, 1.6. And lo, an afom on that dangerous sea, 
 
 Petrarch, as we learn from himself, was on his way to 
 Incisa ; whither his mother was retiring. He was’ seven 
 months old at the time. : 
 
 A most extraordinary deluge, accompanied by signs and 
 prodigies, happened a few years aftearwards. “On that 
 night,” says Giovanni Villani, “a hermit, being at prayer 
 in his hermitage above Vallombrosa, heard a furious tramp- 
 ling as of many horses ; and, crossing himself and hurrying 
 to the wicket, saw a multitude of infernal horsemen, all 
 black and terrible, riding by at full speed. When in the 
 name of God he conjured some of them to tell him their 
 purpose, they replied, ‘“ We are going, if it be his pleasure, 
 
 - to drewn the city of Florence for its wickedness.” ‘ This 
 
262 NOTES. 
 
 account,” says he, “ was given me by the Abbot of Vallom- 
 brosa, who had questioned the holy man Limself.” xi. 2. 
 
 P. 126, 1. 10. Towerless, 
 There were the *“ Nobili di pit and the “ Nobili di 
 Loggia.” ’ 
 
 P. 127,110. At the bridge-foot ; 
 
 Giovanni Buondelmonte was on the point of marrying 
 an Amidei, when a widow of the Donati family made him 
 break his engagement-in tho manner here described. 
 
 The Amidei washed away the affront with his blood, at- 
 _tacking him, says G. Villani, at the foot of.the Ponte Vec- 
 
 chio, as he was coming leisurely along in his white mantle 
 on his white palfrey ; and hence many years of slaughter. 
 
 O Buondelmonte, quanto mal fuggisti ~~ 
 Le nozze sue, per: gli altrui conforti '—Dante. 
 
 P. 128,1.3. Ithad been well hadst thot slepl on, Imelda, 
 The story is Bolognese, and is told by Cherubino Ghira- 
 dacci in his history of Bologna. Her lover was of the 
 Guelphic party, her brothers of the Ghibelline; and no 
 sooner was this act of violence made known than an enmi- 
 ty, hitherto but half-suppressed, broke out into open war. 
 
 a 
 
 The Great Place was a scene of battle and bloodshed for » 
 
 forty successive days; nor was a reconciliation accomplish- 
 _ed till six years afterwards, when the families and their 
 adherents met there once again, and exchanged the kiss of 
 peace before the cardinal legate; as the rival families of 
 Florence had already done in the Place of S. Maria Novella. 
 
 Every house on. the-occasion was hung with tapestry and 
 garlands of flowers. 
 
 P. 128, 1. 9.—from the wound 
 ' Sucking the poison, - 
 The Saracens had introduced among them the practice 
 of poisoning their daggers. 
 
 P.128;1.10. Yer; when bicueie came, 
 Worse followed, 
 
 It is remarkable that the noblest works of festa genius 
 have been produced in times of tumult; when every man 
 was his own master, and all things were open to all. Ho- 
 mer, Dante, and Milton appeared in such times; and we 
 may add Virgil. 
 
NOTES. . 263 
 
 P. 129, 1. 7. In every palace was the laboratory, 
 As in those of Cosmo I. and his son, Francis.—Sismondi, 
 xvi. 205. : 
 
 P. 129,1.15. Cruel Tophana ; ae: . 
 
 A Sicilian, the inventress of many poisons; the most 
 
 célebrated of which, from its transparency, was called Ac- 
 quetta, or Acqua Tophana. Sheth 
 
 P. 129, 1.17. A sign infallible of coming ill, . 
 
 The cardinal, Ferdinand de’ Medici, is said to have been 
 preserved in this manner by a ring which he wore on his 
 finger: as also Andrea, the husband ‘of Giovanna, queen of 
 Naples. 
 
 P. 129, 1. 24. One in the floor—now left, alas, unlocked. 
 - Il Trabocchetto. See Vocab. degli Accadem. della Crus- 
 ca. See also Dict. de l’Académie Francoise. Art. Oubliettes. 
 
 P. 130,1.8. There, at Caiano, 
 Poggio-Caiano, the favourite villa of Lorenzo; where he 
 often took the diversion of hawking. Pulci sometimes went 
 out with him; though, it seems, with little ardour. See La 
 Caccia col Falcone, where he is described as missing ; and 
 as gone into a wood, to rhyme there. Le 
 
 , P. 130, 1.11. With his wild lay— 
 The Morgante Maggiore. He used to recite it at the 
 table of Lorenzo in the mannef.of the ancient rhapsodists. 
 
 = 
 P. 131, 1.3. Of that old den far wp among the hills, - 
 
 Caffaggiolo, the favourite retreat of Cosmo, “the father 
 of his country.” Eleonora di Toledo was stabbed there on | 
 the 11th of July, 1576, by her husband Pietro de’ Medici ; 
 and on the 16th of the same month Isabella de’ Medici was 
 strangled by hers, Paolo Giordano Orsini, at his villa of 
 Cerreto. ‘They were at Florence, when they were sent for, 
 each in her turn, Isabella under the pretext of a hunting- 
 party ; and each in her turn went to die. 
 
 Isabella was one of the most beautiful and accomplished 
 women of the age. In the Latin, French, and Spanish lan- 
 guages she spoke not only with fluency, but elegance ; and 
 in her own she excelled as an improvisatrice, accompany- 
 ing herself on the lute. On her arrival at dusk, Paolo pre- 
 sented her with two beautiful greyhounds, that she might 
 
264 NOTES. 
 
 male a trial of their speed in the morning ; and at supper 
 was gay beyond measure. When he retired, he sen én 
 her into his apartment; and, pressing her ‘tend rly t6 re 
 
 
 
 bosom, slipped a cord round her neck. She w ried at 
 ‘loren: ith great pomp; but at her burial, 
 thelerirs divulged itself. Her face was black on : 
 Eleonora appears to have had a presentiment. of her fate. 4 
 
 
 
 
 She went when required; but, before she set out, took leave 
 of her son, thee a child, weeping long and bitterly over him. 
 
 P. 131,1.9. But lo, the sun is setting; di. 
 I have endeavoured to describe an Italian sun-set asI 
 have often seen it. The conttsion 3 is borrowed from that 
 celebrated passage in Dante, a. a. 
 
 _ Era gia pon &e. 
 P.132, 1.1. Je was an hour ofan haat. 
 ~ Befvre 1. 1. in the MS. 
 
 The sun scent ite the eastern sky. 
 Flamed like a furnace, while the western glowed : 
 As if another day was dawning there. « 
 
 
 
 P.-132, 1. 15. —when armies met, * 
 
 The Roman and the Carthagenian. Such was the ani- 
 mosity, says Livy, that an earthquake,-which turned the 
 course of rivers and overthrew cities and mountains, was 
 felt. by none of the combatants. xxii. 5. 
 
 P. 133; tT. 2. And by a brook 
 A tradition. It has been called, from time immemorial, 
 I] Sanguinetta. 
 
 _ P. 137,1.9. Such the dicta of thy mighty voice, 
 An allusion to-the Cascataé delle Marmore, a celebrated 
 fall of the Velino near Terni. 
 
 ~ Pp 187, 1.14.—nd bush or green or dry, 
 
 A sign in our country as old as Shakspeare, and still 
 used in Italy. “ Une branche d’arbre, attachée @ une maison 
 rustique, nous annonce les moyens de nous refraichir. 
 Nous y trouvons du lait et des ceufs frais; nous voila con- » 
 tens. Mem. de Goldoni.. 
 
 There is, or was very lately, in Florence a Count wine- 
 house with this inscription over the door, Al buon vino non » 
 bisogna frasca. Good wine needs no bush., It was much. 
 
So =” 
 
 NOTES. 265 
 
 r _ Se by Salvator Rosa, who drew a portrait - his 
 _ hostess. 
 
 Pp. 138 ei4. A narrow glade dupelded sich as spring 
 ~ This upper region, a country of dews and dewy lights, 
 as described by Virgil and Pliny, and still, I believe, called 
 La Rosa, is full of beautiful scenery. “Who does not wish 
 ~ to follow the footsteps of Cicero there, to visit the Reatine 
 Tempe and the Seven Waters ? 
 
 ee P. 139, i. 3.—a sumpter- mule 
 - ~ Many of these circumstances were suggested by a land- 
 scape of Annibal Caracci, now in the Louvre. 
 
 i 140, lL 2. filling the land with splendour— 
 
 - 
 
 ‘Perhaps the m pont beautiful villa of that day was the 
 Villa Mada dt ‘It is now a ruin; but enough remains of 
 the plan a the grotesque-work to eenty Vasari’s account 
 of it. 
 
 The Pastor Fido, if not the Aininte: used to be often re- 
 presented there; and a theatre, such as is here described, 
 was to be seen in the gardens very lately. 
 
 P.141,1.5. Fair forms appeared, murmuring melodious verse 
 
 A fashion for ever reviving in such a climate. In the 
 year 1783, the Nina of Paesiello was ae ge in a small 
 wood r near Caserta. 
 
 -P. 144, 1. 4.—the Appian, 
 
 The street of the tombs in Pompeii may serve to give 
 us some idea of the Via Appia, that Regina Viarum, i in its 
 splendour. It is perhaps the most ited vestige of anti- 
 quity that remains to us. 
 
 P. 144, 1. 11. Horace himself— 
 
 And Augustus in his litter, coming at a still slower rate. 
 He was borne along by slaves; and the gentle motion 
 allowed him to read, write, and employ himself as in his 
 cabinet. Though Tivoli is only sixteen miles from the 
 city, he was always two nights on the road.— Suetonius. 
 
 P. 144, 1. 21. Where his voice faltered 
 At the words “Tu Marcellus eris.” The story is so 
 beautiful, that every reader must wish it to be true. 
 
me 
 
 ts oe | 
 266 NOTES. 
 
 P. 145, 1. 7.—the centre of their universe, 
 From the golden pillar in the Forum the ways ran to the 
 gates, and from the gates to the extremities of the empire. 
 
 P. 146,11. To the twelve tables, — 
 The laws of the twelve tables were inscribed on pillars 
 of brass, and ‘placed in the most. conspicuous part ‘of the 
 forum. Dion. Hal. 
 
 P. 146, 1. 21. A thousand torches turning night to day, 
 An allusion to Cesar in his Gallic triumph. Adscendit 
 Capitolium ad lumina, &c. Suetonius. 
 
 P. 147, 1. 6. On those so young, well pleased with ail they see, 
 
 In the triumph of ASmilius, nothing affected the Roman 
 people like the children of Perseus. Many wept; nor could 
 
 any thing else attract notice, till et were gone by. Plu- 
 me 
 
 tarch. 
 
 P. 148, 1. 13. “ae she who said, 
 Taking the fatal cup between her hands, 
 Sophonisba. “The story of the marriage and the polos 
 is well known to every reader. " 
 
 P. 160, 1.7. How many realms, pastoral and warlike, lay 
 Forty-seven, according to Dionys. Halicar. 1. IV. 
 
 P. 163, 1.21. Wander like strangers 
 It was not always 80. There were once within her walls 
 “* more erected spirits.” 
 “ Let me recall to your mind,” says Petrarch in a letter 
 
 “/ 
 
 s 
 
 to old Stephen Colonna, “ the walk we took together ata — 
 late hour in the broad street that leads from your palace to ¥ 
 the Capitol. To me it seems as yesterday, though it was 
 
 ten years ago. When we arriyed where the four ways 
 rneet, we stopped; and, none interrupting us, di oursed 
 loag on the fallen fortunes of your house, Fixing your 
 eyes steadfastly upon me, and then turning the away full 
 of tears, “I have nothing now,” you said, “to leave my 
 ‘children, But a still greater calamity awaits me—I shall” 
 inherit from them all”? You remember the words, no 
 doubt; words so fully accomplished. I certainly do; and 
 as distinctly as the old sepulchre in the corner, on which 
 we were leaning with our elbows at Vcd time.” Epist. 
 Famil. viii. 1. 
 
 The sepulchre here alluded to must have been that of 
 
 - 
 
ie =U fo 
 
 - 
 - 
 
 NOTES. 267 
 
 Bibulus; and what an interest it derives from this anec- 
 dote! Stephen Colonna was a hero worthy of antiquity ;_. 
 and in his distress was an object, not of pity, but of reve- 
 rence. When overtaken by his pursuers and questioned 
 by those who knew him not, “I am Stephen Colonna,” he 
 replied, “a citizen of Rome ™ and, when in the last extre- 
 mity of battle a voice cried out to him, “ Where is now 
 your fortress,Colonna?” ‘“ Here,” he answered gaily, lay- 
 ing his hand on his heart. ; 
 
 P. 164, 1.12. Music and painting, sculpture, rhetoric, 
 - Music; and from the loftiest strain to the lowliest, from 
 a Miserere in the Holy Week to the shepherd’s humble 
 offering in Advent; the last, if we may judge from its 
 effects, not the least subduing, perhaps the most so. 
 
 Once, as I was approaching Frescati in the sunshine of 
 a cloudless December morning, I observed a rustic group 
 by the road-side, before an image of the Virgin, that 
 claimed the devotions of the passenger from a niche in 
 a vineyard-wall. Two young men from the mountains of 
 the Abruzzi, in their long brown cloaks, were playing a 
 Christmas carol. Their instruments. were a hautboy and a 
 bagpipe ; and the air, wild and simple as it was, was such 
 as she might accept with pleasure. The ingenuous and 
 smiling countenances of these rude minstrels, who seemed 
 so sure that she heard them, and the unaffected delight of 
 their little audience, all younger than themselves, all stand- 
 ing uncovered, and moving their lips in prayer, would have 
 arrested the most careless traveller. 
 
 P.164,1.13. And dazzling light and darkness visible, 
 
 Whoever has entered the church of St. Peter’s or the 
 Pauline chapel, during the exposition of the holy sacrament 
 there, will not soon forget the blaze of the altar, or the dark 
 circle of worshippers kneeling in silence before it. 
 
 - P. 164, 1.18. Bre they came, 
 
 An allusion to the prophecies concerning Antichrist. 
 See the interpretations of Mede, Newton, Clarke, &c.; not 
 to mention those of Dante and Petrarch. 
 
 P. 169, 1.6. And from the latticed gallery came a chant 
 Of psalms most saint-like, most angelical, 
 
 There was said to be in the choir, among others of the 
 
 sisterhood, a daughter of Cimarosa. . 
 
968. NOTES. 
 
 P..170, 1.4. ?Zwas in her utmost need; nor, while she lives, 
 Her back was at that time turned to the people ; but in 
 his countenance might bé read all that was passing. The 
 cardinal who officiated, was a venerable old man, evi- 
 dently unused to the ceremony, and much affected by it. 
 
 P. 171, 1..9.—the black pall, the requiem. 
 Among other ceremonies a pall was thrown over her, 
 and a requiem sung. 
 
 P. 172, 1. 4. Unsheaths his wings 
 He is of the beetle-tribe. 
 
 P. 173,1.4. Those trees, religious once and always green, 
 Pliny mentions an extraordinary instance of longevity 
 in the ilex. “‘ There is one,” says he, “in the Vatican, older 
 than’ the city itself. An Etruscan inscription in letters of 
 brass attests that even in those days the tree was held sa- 
 cred:” and it is remarkable that there is at this time on 
 the Vatican mount an ilex of great antiquity. It is ina 
 grove just above the palace garden, ‘ 
 
 P. 173, 1.9. (So some aver, and who would not believe ?) 
 I did not tell you that just below the first fall, on the side 
 
 of the rock, and hanging over that torrent, are little ruins . 
 which they show you for Horace’s house, a curious situa- _ 
 
 tion to observe the 
 
 Preceps Anio, et Tiburni lucus, et uda a 
 Mobilibus pomaria rivis. 
 
 Gray’s Letters. 
 
 P, 183, 1. 6. When they that robbed were men of better faith, 
 Alluding to Alfonso: Piccolomini. He was hanged at 
 Florence, March 16, 1591. 
 
 P. 183. 1.18. When along the shore, 
 
 Tasso was returning from Naples to Rome, and had ar- 
 rived at Mola di Gaéta, when he received this tribute of 
 respect. ‘The captain of the troop was Marco di Sciarra. 
 See Manso. Vitadel'Tasso. Ariosto had a similar adven- 
 ture with Filippo Pachione. See Baruffaldi. 
 
 P.188,1.1. Three days they lay in ambush at my gate, 
 This story was written in the year 1820, and is founded 
 
 
 
 me 
 
oa w 
 
 PR els a. aN 
 ae ae ce 
 
 NOTES. Bic 269 
 s 
 
 on the many narratives which at that time were circulating 
 in Rome and Naples. 
 
 P..215, 1.1. They sland between the mountains and the sea ; 
 The temples of Peestumn are three in number; and have 
 survived, nearly nine centuries, the total destruction of the 
 city. Tradition is silent concerning them ; but they must 
 have existed now between two and three thousand years. 
 
 P. 216, 1.17. The air is sweet with violets, running wild 
 The violets of Peestum were as proverbial as the roses. 
 Martial mentions them with the honey of Hybla. 
 
 P. 216, 1.20. Those thoughts so precious and so lately lost, 
 The introduction to his treatise on glory. Cic. ad Att. 
 xvi. 6. For an account of the loss of that treatise, see Pe- 
 trarch, Epist. Rer. Senilium. xv. i. and Bayle, Dict. in 
 
 ~ Alcyonius. 
 
 P. 218, 1.8. ’Tis said a stranger in the days of old . 
 They are said to have been discovered by accident about 
 the middle of the last century. 
 
 P. 218, 1. 12.—and Posidonia rose, 
 * Originally a Greek city under that name, and afterwards 
 + a Roman city under the name of Pestum. See Mitford’s 
 Hist. of Greece, chap. x. sect. 2. It was surprised and de- 
 stroyed by the Saracens at the beginning of the tenth cen- 
 tury. 
 
 P. 221,1.10. The fishing-town, Amalfi. 
 
 Amalfi fell after three hundred years of prosperity; but 
 the poverty of one thousand fishermen is yet dignified by 
 the remains of an arsenal, a cathedral, and the palaces of 
 royal merchants. Gibbon. 
 
 P, 222,1.8. <A hospital, that, night and day, received 
 The pilgrims of the west ; 
 It was dedicated to Saint John. 
 
 P. 223, 1.1. Grain from the golden vales of Sicily, 
 There ‘is at this day in Syracuse a street called La Strada 
 degli Amalfiteni. 
 
- 
 
 7 2 
 ea 
 7c 
 
 
 
 % ai 
 
 or aie -* 
 Ds. * ? « te le ; ‘eng 
 
 AT oe game Si : wy i, 
 al a 22 ae Not thus ! d they return, , ee 
 
 le The tyrant slain ; " 
 It was: a year, 839. Se Mis, ‘Art. Chronici 
 eg agme <. 
 
 224, 1. Be be Me their npetigent? ! 
 
 B: sicrtcat says Giannone, they made themselves famous 
 through the world. ‘The Tari) Aacattten were a cia 
 ae . all nations; and their maritime code regulate 
 
 'y where the commerce of the sea. Many churches 1 in 
 tebe were by them built and endowed; by them was 
 "fird nded in. Palestine that most renowned military order 
 of St. John of J erusalem ; and who does not know that the 
 dpariner’ 8. compass was invented by a citizen of Amalfi? 
 
 P, 225, 1 1.“ What hangs behind that curtain?” 
 This story, ifa a story it can be called, is fictitious ; and: 
 have done little more than give it as T received it, ‘It has 
 already appeared in prose; but with many alterations oe 
 
 additional circumstances. 
 The abbey of Monte Cassino is the most ancient and 
 
 venerable house of the Benedictine order. It is situated 
 
 within fifteen leagues of Naples on the inland road to 
 Rome ; and no house is more hospitable. . 
 P. 225, 1.8. For life is surely there and visible change, 
 ‘There are many miraculous pictures in Italy ; ; but none 
 
 
 
 
 influence. 
 
 At Arezzo, in the Sued of St. pede there is diidesd 
 
 over the great altar a fresco painting of the Fall of the 
 _ Angels, which has a singular story belonging to it. It was 
 painted in the fourteenth century by Spinello Aretino, who 
 - has there represented Lucifer as changed into a shape so 
 monstrous and terrible, that it is. said to have haunted the 
 artist in his dreams, and to have hastened his death, de- 
 ranging him in mind and body. In the upper part St. 
 Michael is seen in combat with the dragon : : the fatal trans- 
 formation is in the lower part of thé picture. Vasari. 
 
 P. 229,1.6. Within a crazed and Mitared vehicle, 
 Then degraded, and belonging to a Vetturino. 
 
 ~ P, 229, 1.8. A shield as splendid as the Bardi wear, 
 A Florentine family of great antiquity. In the sixty-third 
 
 Sa 
 
 <A believe, were ever before described = radlignabt im the «4 
 
 
 
 * * 
 
 ¢ 
 
aa 
 “ 
 
 
 
 Oe ie + a 
 sale o of Franco sdéchelht we read, 1, that a stranger, suddenly — 
 enteri ‘ing Giotto’s study, threw down a shield and departed, 
 saying, “ Paint me my arms in that shield ; ” and that Giotto, 
 looking after him, exclaimed, “ Who is. he? What is he? 
 He says, Paint me my arms, as if he was one of the Bardi! 
 What arms does he heat 7B aay 
 
 * Py 939, ie 12. Dovid Piatt 
 
 « Paganino Doria, ‘Nicolo Pisani; those great seamen, — 
 who balanced for so many years the fortunes of Genoarand 
 
 Venice. $53 - 
 
 P. 232, 1. 14. Ruffling with many an oar the erystalline sed, 
 The Feluca is a large boat for rowing and sailing, much 
 used in the Mediterranean. 
 P. 233, 1.12. How oft where now we rode 
 Every reader of Spanish poetry is acquainted with that 
 
 ‘affecting romance of Gongora, 
 
 we 
 
 Amarrado al duro banco, &c. 
 Lord Holland has translated it in his Life of Lope de 
 Vega. 
 
  P. 236,11. Here he lived ; 
 The Piazza Doria, or, as it is now galled: the Piazza di 
 
 San Matteo, . insignificant as it may be thought, is to me the. 
 
 st interesting “place i in Genoa. It was there that Doria 
 
 271 
 
 assembled the people, when he gave them their liberty, : 
 
 -(Sigonii Vita Dorie) ; ; and on one side of it is the church 
 he lies buried in, on the other a house, originally of very 
 small dimensions, with this inscription: 8. C. Andree de 
 Auria Patrie Liberatori Munus Publicum. — 
 
 The streets of old Genoa, like those of Venice, were con- 
 structed only for foot passengers. 
 
 P. 236, 1. 3. Held many a plemsce, many a grave discourse, 
 See his Life by Sigonio. 
 
 P. 236, 1.10. A house of trade 
 When [I saw it in 1822, a basket-maker lived on the 
 ground-floor, and over him a seller of chocolate. 
 
 P. 237, 1. 21. . Before the ocean-wave thy wealth reflected, 
 
 Alluding to the palace which he built afterwards, and in — 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 ' NOTE Bf: 
 which he twice entertained the pte Cl e 
 It is the most magnificent edifice on the bi eke 
 
 Py237, 1,23. Theambitious man, that ue vw t 
 “Fell from the plank. .. 
 
 For an account of the conspiracy of Pesto, se Raha P 
 son’s History of the Emperor Charles the Fifth. , 
 
 P, 241, 1. 4.—the historian, a 
 
 * Who he is, I have yet to. learn. The story was tol 
 
 ~ me many years ago by a great reader of the old annalist 
 but I have searched every where for it in vain, 
 
 
 
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