COUNT UGOLINO.

[Dante Alighieri, born at Florence, May, 1265; died at Ravenna, July or September, 1321. The author of the Divina Commedia, or The Vision of Hell, Purgatory, and Paradise. He also wrote the Vita Nuova, the Concito, or The Banquet, and other works; but it is by the Vision that his memory is perpetuated. The following is from Cary's translation. Of the many English versions of this poem Longfellow's is the most recent. Count Ugolino, who relates his sufferings to the poet, was the chief of one of three parties who were competing for the sovereignty of Pisa. By treachery he became victor, only to be himself betrayed by the Archbishop Ruggieri, who reported to the people that their castles had been sold to the citizens of Florence and of Lucca. The count was seized, cast into prison with two of his sons and two grandsons, and they were all starved to death.?)

His jaws uplifting from their fell repast,

That sinner wiped them on the hairs o' the head,
Which he behind had mangled, then began:
"Thy will obeying, I call up afresh

Sorrow past cure; which, but to think of, wrings
My heart, or ere I tell on't. But if words
That I may utter shall prove seed, to bear
Fruit of eternal infamy to him,

The traitor whom I gnaw at, thou at once

Shalt see me speak and weep. Who thou mayest be
I know not, nor how here below art come:
But Florentine thou seemest of a truth,
When I do hear thee. Know, I was on earth
Count Ugolino, and the Archbishop he
Ruggieri. Why I neighbour him so close.
Now list. That through effect of his ill thoughts
In him my trust reposing, I was ta'en
And after murder'd, need is not I tell.
What therefore thou canst not have heard, that is,
How cruel was the murder, shalt thou hear,
And know if he have wrong'd me. A small grate
Within that mew, which for my sake the name
Of famine bears, where others yet must pine,
Already through its opening several moons
Had shown me, when I slept the evil sleep
That from the future tore the curtain off.
This one, methought, as master of the sport,
Rode forth to chase the gaunt wolf, and his whelps,
Unto the mountain which forbids the sight
Of Lucca to the Pisan. With leau brachs
Inquisitive and keen, before him ranged

Edn

1Rev. Henry Francis Cary, M.A., born at Birmingham, 1772; died in London, 14th August, 1844. cated at Oxford; sometime vicar of Bromley Abbat's, Staffordshire; and afterwards assistant-librarian in the British Museum. In his latter years he enjoyed a pension of £200 a year from government. He won much reputation by his translations, and especially by his version of The Divine Comedy, which Southey said was

"a translation of magnitude and difficulty, executed with perfect fidelity and adinirable skill."

This is the subject of one of Sir Joshua Reynold's most powerful paintings.

Lanfranchi with Sismondi and Gualandi.
After short course the father and the sons
Seem'd tired and lagging, and methought I saw
The sharp tusks gore their sides. When I awoke
Before the dawn, amid their sleep I heard
My sous (for they were with me) weep and ask
For bread. Right cruel art thou, if no pang
Thou feel at thinking what my heart foretold;
And if not now, why use thy tears to flow?
Now had they waken'd; and the hour drew near
When they were wont to bring us food; the mind
Of each misgave him through his dream, and I
Heard, at its outlet underneath lock'd up
The horrible tower: whence, uttering not a word,
I look'd upon the visage of my sons.

I wept not: so all stone I felt within.

They wept and one, my little Anselm, cried,
'Thou lookest so! Father, what ails thee?' Yet
I shed no tear, nor answer'd all that day
Nor the next night, until another sun
Came out upon the world. When a faint beam
Had to our doleful prison made its way,
And in four countenances I descried
The image of my own, on either hand
Through agony I bit; and they, who thought
I did it through desire of feeding, rose

O' the sudden, and cried, 'Father, we should grieve
Far less, if thou wouldst eat of us: thou gavest
These weeds of miserable flesh we wear:
And do thou strip them off from us again.'
Then, not to make them sadder, I kept down
My spirit in stillness. That day and the next
We all were silent. Ah, obdurate earth!
Why open'dst not upon us? When we came
To the fourth day, then Gaddo at my feet
Outstretch'd did fling him, crying, 'Hast no help
For me, my father!' There he died; and e'en
Plainly as thou seest me, saw I the three
Fall one by one 'twixt the fifth day and sixth:
Whence I betook me, now grown blind, to grope
Over them all, and for three days aloud
Call'd on them who were dead. Then, fasting got
The mastery of grief." Thus having spoke,
Ouce more upon the wretched skull his teeth
He fastened like a mastift's 'gainst the bone,
Firm and unyielding.

The Inferno-Canto xxxiii.

"what could induce him to think I would poison my house with a solan goose?"

I must write a civil answer to Mrs. Maxwell's note. I daresay she will not think of alluding

'It is more than your mistress is," retorted the lady; let it be thrown out directly before Mr. Maxwell sees it."

The housekeeper retired, and Mrs. Maxwell resumed her cogitations, the subject of which was how to obtain an introduction to the French noblesse who had recently taken up their abode in Edinburgh.

"Gracious me!" said she, as she hastily rung the bell, "how could I be so stupid?there is nothing in the world that old Lady Crosby is so fond of as a solan goose, and I understand she knows all the French people, and that they are constantly with her. -Bryce," she continued, as the housekeeper obeyed her summons, "is the goose a fine bird?"

"Very fine indeed, madam; the beak is broken, and one of the legs is a little ruffled, but I never saw a finer bird.'

"Well, then, don't throw it away, as I mean to send it to my friend Lady Crosby, as soon as I have written a note."

Mrs. Bryce once more retreated, and Mrs. Maxwell, having selected a beautiful sheet of note-paper, quickly penned the following

effusion:

"My dear Lady Crosby,-Permit me to request your acceptance of a solan goose, which has just been sent me from Maxwell Hall. Knowing your fondness for this bird, I am delighted at having it in my power to gratify you. I hope that you continue to enjoy good health. This is to be a very gay winter. By the bye, do you know any one who is acquainted with the French noblesse? I am dying to meet with them. Ever, my dear Lady Crosby, yours truly, M. MAXWELL."

Lady Crosby being out when this billet reached her house, it was opened by one of her daughters.

"Bless me, Maria!" she exclaimed to her sister, "how fortunate it was that I opened this note; Mrs. Maxwell has sent mamma a solan goose!"

"Dreadful!" exclaimed Eliza; "I am sure if mamma hears of it she will have it roasted immediately, and Captain Jessamy, of the Lancers, is to call to-day, and you know a roasted solan goose is enough to contaminate a whole parish.—I shall certainly go distracted!" "Don't discompose yourself," replied Maria; "I shall take good care to send it out of the house before mamma comes home; meanwhile,

pretty deaf, and may never be a bit the wiser."

"I think," said Eliza, "we had better send the goose to the Napiers, as they were rather affronted at not being asked to our last musical party; I daresay they will make no use of it, but it looks attentive."

"An excellent thought," rejoined Maria. No sooner said than done; in five minutes the travelled bird had once more changed its quarters.

"A solan goose!" ejaculated Mrs. Napier, as her footman gave her the intelligence of Lady Crosby's present. "Pray, return my compliments to her ladyship, and I feel much obliged by her polite attention. Truly," continued she, when the domestic had retired to fulfil this mission, "if Lady Crosby thinks to stop our mouths with a solan goose, she will find herself very much mistaken. I suppose she means this as a peace-offering for not having asked us to her last party. I suppose she was afraid, Clara, my dear, you would cut out her clumsy daughters with Sir Charles."

"If I don't, it shall not be my fault," replied her amiable daughter. "I flirted with him in such famous style at the last concert, that I thought Eliza would have fainted on the spot. But what are you going to do with the odious bird?" "Oh, I shall desire John to carry it to poor Mrs. Johnstone."

"I wonder, mamma, that you would take the trouble of sending all the way to the Canongate for any such purpose; what good can it do you to oblige people who are so wretchedly poor?"

Why, my dear," replied the lady, "to tell you the truth, your father, in early life, received such valuable assistance from Mr. Johnstone, who was at that time a very rich man, as laid the foundation of his present fortune. Severe losses reduced Mr. Johnstone to poverty; he died, and your father has always been intending, at least promising to do something for the family, but has never found an opportunity. Last year, Mrs. Johnstone most unfortunately heard that he had it in his power to get a young man out to India, and she applied to Mr. Napier on behalf of her son, which, I must say, was a very ill-judged step, as showing that she thought he required to be reminded of his promises, which, to a man of any feeling, must always be a grating circumstance; but I have often observed, that poor people have very little delicacy in such points; how

ever, as your papa fancies sometimes that these people have a sort of claim on him, I am sure he will be glad to pay them any attention that costs him nothing.'

Behold, then, our hero exiled from the fashionable regions of the West, and laid on the broad of his back on a table, in a small but clean room, in a humble tenement in the Canongate, where three hungry children eyed with delight his fat legs, his swelling breast, and magnificent pinions.

"Oh, mamma, mamma,” cried the children, skipping round the table, and clapping their hands, "what a beautiful goose! how nice it will be when it is roasted! You must have a

mistress, "if here be not our identical solan goose come back to us, with Lady Bethune's compliments! I know him by his broken beak and ruffled leg; and as sure as eggs are eggs, that's my master's knock at the door!" Run, Bryce! fly!" cried Mrs. Maxwell in despair; "put it out of sight! give it to the house-dog!”

Away ran Mrs. Bryce with her prize to Towler; and he, not recollecting that he had any favour to obtain from any one, or that he had any dear friends to oblige, received the present very gratefully, and, as he lay in his kennel,

"Lazily mumbled the bones of the dead;"

"Hush, little chatter-box," said her brother Henry, a fine stripling of sixteen, seeing tears gather in his mother's eyes.

"My dear boy," said Mrs. Johnstone, “it goes to my heart to think of depriving these poor children of their expected treat, but I think we ought to send this bird to our benefactress, Lady Bethune. But for her, what would have become of us? While the Napiers, who owe all they have to your worthy and unfortunate father, have given us nothing but empty promises, she has been a consoling and ministering angel, and I should wish to take this opportunity of showing my gratitude; trifling as the offering is, I am sure it will be received with kindness."

"I am sure of it," replied Henry; "and I will run and buy a few nuts and apples to console the little ones for losing their expected feast."

The children gazed with lengthened faces as the goose was carried from their sight, and conveyed by Henry to the house of Lady Bethune, who, appreciating the motives which had dictated the gift, received it with benevolent kindness.

THE KNIGHT'S TALE.

[Geoffrey Chaucer, born in London, 1328; died there 25th October, 1400. "The Father of English poetry." There are few authentic records of his life; but it seems to be generally accepted that he studied at Oxford and Cambridge; visited the Continent-as a soldier, according to some accounts-entered the Inner Temple to study

law, and was "fined two shillings for beating a Fran

ciscan friar in Fleet Street;" was a favourite of John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, whose sister-in-law became

his wife; and he received an annuity of twenty marks from Edward III. He was appointed comptroller of wool at the port of London, and was sent as an envoy to Genoa. At another time he was sent to France to treat of a marriage between Richard, Prince of Wales, and a daughter of the French king. In the early years of the reign of Richard II. he became involved in political disturbances, and fled to Holland. He returned to London soon after, and was committed to the Tower, but was released on disclosing the names of his associates in the late conspiracy. He subsequently became master of the works at Westminster, and soon after at Windsor. He was buried in Westminster Abbey, near the

chapel of St. Bennet. His chief poems are: The Cunterbury Tales; The Romaunt of the Rose, translated from the French; Troilus and Creseide: The Court of Love; The Complaint of Pitie: The Assembly of Foules; The House of Fame: The Legend of Good Women; The Flower and the Leaf; Chaucer's Dream, &c. Thomas Warton wrote: "His genius was universal, and adapted to themes of unbounded variety; and his merit was not less in painting familiar manners with humour and propriety, than in moving the passions, and representing the beautiful or grand objects of nature with grace and

sublimity." In the following extracts, the orthography is, as far as possible, modernized.]

[Theseus, Duke of Athens, captured in war two cousins of Thebes, Palamon and Arcite, and condemned them to perpetual imprisonment. From the window of their cell the prisoners saw Emelie, sister of the queen, and

love of her filled their hearts. This caused the first misunderstanding that had ever arisen between these faithful friends. Arcite was released from prison, but exiled from the realms of Theseus.]

"O dear cousin Palamon, quod he,
Thine is the victory of this aventure;
Full blissfully in prison to endure:
In prison? Nay certes, but in paradise.
Well hath fortune yturned thee the dice,
That hath the sight of her, and I the absence.
For possible is, since thou hast her presence,
And art a knight, a worthy and an able,
That by some chance, since fortune is changeable,
Thou mayest to thy desire sometime attain:
But I that am exiled, and barreyne
Of all grace, and in so great despair,
That there n' is water, earth, fire ne air,
Ne creature that of them maked is,
That may me help or comfort in this.

Alas! why plainen men so in commune
Of purveance, of God, or of fortune,
That giveth them full oft in many a guise
Much better than they can themselves devise?
Some man desireth for to have richess,
That cause is of his murder or great sickness;
And some man would out of his prison fain,
That in his house is of his servants slain.
Infinite harms ben in this matere;
We wot never what thing we prayen here."

[Arcite at length returned in disguise to Athens, and entered the Duke's household as a servant, where he was privileged to see his lady every day. He became a favourite and was promoted, but not discovered. Palamon, meanwhile, escaped from prison, and, whilst hiding in the woods, encountered his rival. They were to engage in a duel, but were interrupted by Theseus, who, upon learning the truth, appointed a tournament in which the knights might decide their claims to the lady. The day came: Arcite had placed himself under the protection of Mars; Palamon had obtained that of Venus. A hundred knights followed each leader.]

Up goth the trumpets and the melodie; And to the lists ride the companie

By ordinance, through the city large,

Hanging with cloth of gold and not with serge
Full like a lord this noble Duke can ride,
And these two Thebans upon either side;
And after rode the queen and Emelie;
And after them of ladies another companie:
And after them of commons after their degree.
And thus they passeden through that city,
And to the lists comen they be-time:

It was not of the day yet fully prime,

When set was Theseus full rich and high,
Ipolita, the queen, and Emelie,
And other ladies in degrees about.
Unto the seats presseth all the rout,
And westward thorough the gates of Mart,
Arcite, and eke the hundred of his part,
With banners red, is enter'd right anon;
And in that same moment Palamon
Is, under Venus, eastward in the place,
With banner white and hardy cheer and face.
In all the world to seeken up and down,
So even without variation,

There never were such companies twey:
For there was none so wise that coulde say
That any had of other advantage

Of worthiness, nor of estate, nor of visage,
So even were they chosen for to guess:
And in two ranges (ranks) fair they them 'dress.
When that their names read were every one,
That in their number guile were there none;
Then were the gates shut and cried was loud-
"Do now your devoir, young knightes proud."
The heralds left their pricking up and down,
Now ringin trumpets loud and clarion.
There is no more to say, but east and west
In goeth the spears steadily in the rest;
There, see men who can joust and who can ride:
In goeth the sharp spur into the side:
There shiveren shaftes upon shieldes thick:
He feeleth through the hearte soon the prick:
Up springen spears twenty foot on hight;
Out gon the swordes as the silver bright:
The helms they to-hewen and to-shred;1
Out burst the blood with stern streames red;
With mighty maces the bones they to-breste;'
He through the thickest of the throng 'gan thrust:
There stumble steedes strong, and down can fall;
He rolleth under foot as doth a ball:
He presseth on his foe with a truncheon,
And he him hurtleth with his horse adown:
He through the body hurt is and sith then take
Maugre his head, and brought unto the stake,
As forword (agreement) was, right there he must
Another lad is on that other side:
And sometime bids them, Theseus, to rest,
Them to refresh and drinken if them lest (li-t).

[abile.

Full oft a-day have these same Thebans two Together met and wrought each other woe: Unhorsed hath each other of them twey. There was no tiger in the vale of Galgopley, When that her whelp is stole when it is lite (little), So cruel on the hunt as is Arcite,

For jealous heart, upon this Palamon:

Nor in Belmarie there n' is so fell lion

That hunted is, or for his hunger wud (mad),

No of his prey desireth so the blood,

As Palamon to slay his foe Arcite:
The jealous strokes on their helmets bite:
Ont runneth blood on both their sides red.

Sometime an end there is of every deed:
For ere the sun unto the reste went
The strong King Emetrius 'gan hent!
This Palamon as he fought with Arcite,

And made his sword deep in his flesh to bite;
And by the force of twenty is he take,
Unyielding, and is drawen to the stake:
And in the rescue of this Palamon

The strong King Ligurgius is borne adown:
And King Emetrius, for all his strength,
Is borne out of his saddle his sworde's length,
So hit him Palamon ere he were take:

But all for nought, he was brought to the stake.
His hardy heart might him helpen nought;
He must abiden when that he was caught
By force and eke by composition.

Who sorroweth now, but woeful Palamon,
That must no more go again to fight?
And when that Theseus had seen that sight,
Unto the folk that foughten thus each one
He cried, "Ho!-no more, for it is done.
I will be true judge and not partie.
Arcite of Thebes shall have Emelie,
That by his fortune hath her fairly won."
Anon there is a noise of people begun
For joy of this, so loud and high withal,
It seemed that the liftes (skies) would fall.
What can now fair Venus do above?

What saith she now? what doth this queen of love
But weepeth so for wanting of her will,
Till that her teares in the liftes fill.

She said, "I am a-shamed, doubtless."

Saturnus said, "Daughter, hold thy peace:
Mars hath his will, his knight hath all his boon,
And by mine head, thou shalt be eased soon."
The trump'ters with the loud minstrelsy,
The heralds that so loudly yell and cry,
Ben in their joy for weal of Dan2 Arcite.
But hearkeneth me and stay the noise a lit'e,
What a miracle there befell anon.

This fierce Arcite hath off his helm ydone,
And on his courser for to show his face
He pricketh end-long in the large place,
Looking upward upon this Emelie,
And she again cast him a friendly eye,
(For women as to speaken in commune,
They follow all the favour of fortune)
And was all his in cheer as in heart.
Out of the ground a fury infernal start-
From Pluto sent at the request of Saturne-
For which his horse for fear 'gan to turn,
And leapt aside and foundered as he leap;
And ere that Arcite may take any kepe (care)
He pitched him on the pomel (top) of his head,
That in the place he lay as he were dead.

[Arcite, dying, sent for Emelie and Palamon.]

1 Catch or attack; Emetrius being one of Arcite's supporters. 2 Lord.

"Alas the woe, alas the paines strong
That I for you have suffered and so long!
Alas the death, alas my Emelie!
Alas, departing of our companie!
Alas mine hearte's queen, alas my wife!
Mine hearte's lady, ender of my life!
What is this world, what asken men to have?
Now with his love, now in his cold grave
Alone withouten any companie.
Farewell my sweet, farewell mine Emelie!
And soft, take me in your armes twey,
For love of God, and hearkeneth what I say.
"I have here with my cousin Palamon
Had strife and rancour many a day agone
For love of you, and eke for jelousie;
And Jupiter so wis my soule gie 3

To speaken of a servant properly,
With all circumstances truely,

That is to say, truth, honour, and knighthede,
Wisdom, humbl'ess, estate and high kindrede,
Freedom, and all that 'longeth to that art,
So Jupiter have of my soule part,

As in this world right now ne know I non'
So worthy to be loved as Palamon,
That serveth you, and will do all his life;
And if that ever ye shall be a wife,
Forget not Palamon, that gentle man."

And with that word his speech to fail began.
But on his lady yet cast he his eye;
His last word was, "Mercy, Emelie."

Infinite ben the sorrows and the tears Of old folk and folk of tender years, In all the town for death of this ThebanFor him there weepeth both child and man.

[Emelie, Palamon, and Theseus were the chief mourners for the dead knight, and their grief endured long. But-]

By processe and by length of certain years, All stenten is the mourning and the tears.

[The Duke summoned Emelie and Palamon to his presence, and spoke thus :-]

"The first Mover of the cause above
When he first made the fair chain of love,
Great was th' effect and high was his intent;
Well wist he why and what thereof he meant;
For with that fair chain of love he bond
The fire, the water, the air, and eke the lond,
In certain bonds that they may not flee:
That same Prince and Mover eke (quod he)
Hath 'stablisht in this wretched world adoun
Certain of days and duration

To all that are engendered in this place. . . .

"Lo, the oak that hath so long a nourishing From the time that it 'ginneth first to spring,

3 So direct me.