RIMINI

RIMINI

"THE land where I was born sits by the seas, Upon that shore to which the Po descends, With all his followers, in search of peace. Love, which the gentle heart soon apprehends, Seized him for the fair person which was ta'en From me, and me even yet the mode offends. Love, who to none beloved to love again

Remits, seized me with wish to please, so strong, That, as thou seest, yet, yet it doth remain. Love to one death conducted us along,

But Cainà waits for him our life who ended": These were the accents uttered by her tongue. Since I first listened to these souls offended,

I bowed my visage, and so kept it till— "What think'st thou?" said the bard; when I unbended,

And recommenced: "Alas! unto such ill

How many sweet thoughts, what strong ecstasies,

Led these their evil fortune to fulfil!"

And then I turned unto their side my eyes,

And said, "Francesca, thy sad destinies
Have made me sorrow till the tears arise.

But tell me, in the season of sweet sighs,

By what and how thy love to passion rose, So as his dim desires to recognise?"

Then she to me:

"The greatest of all woes

Is to remind us of our happy days

In misery, and that thy teacher knows. But if to learn our passion's first root preys Upon thy spirit with such sympathy,

I will do even as he who weeps and says. We read one day for pastime, seated nigh, Of Lancelot, how love enchained him too. We were alone, quite unsuspiciously. But oft our eyes met, and our cheeks in hue All o'er discoloured by that reading were: But one point only wholly us o'erthrew; When we read the long-sighed-for smile of her, To be thus kissed by such devoted lover, He who from me can be divided ne'er Kissed my mouth, trembling in the act all over. Accursed was the book and he who wrote! That day no further leaf we did uncover. While thus one spirit told us of their lot, The other wept, so that with pity's thralls I swooned as if by death I had been smote, And fell down even as a dead body falls."

DANTE.

Tr. Lord Byron.

RAVENNA

DANTE

DANTE am I,-Minerva's son, who knew
With skill and genius (though in style obscure)
And elegance maternal to mature

My toil, a miracle to mortal view.

Through realms Tartarean and celestial flew
My lofty fancy, swift-winged and secure;
And ever shall my noble work endure,
Fit to be read of men, and angels too.
Florence my earthly mother's glorious name;
Step-dame to me,-whom from her side she thrust,
Her duteous son: bear slanderous tongues the

blame;

Ravenna housed my exile, holds my dust;
My spirit is with Him from whom it came,—
A Parent envy cannot make unjust.

GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO.

Tr. Francis C. Gray.

RAVENNA

Or all the cities in Romanian lands,

The chief, and most renowned, Ravenna stands, Adorned in ancient times with arms and arts,

And rich inhabitants, with generous hearts. JOHN DRYDEN.

RAVENNA

SWEET hour of twilight! in the solitude
Of the pine forest, and the silent shore
Which bounds Ravenna's immemorial wood,
Rooted where once the Adrian wave flowed o'er
To where the last Cæsarean fortress stood,
Evergreen forest; which Boccaccio's lore
And Dryden's lay made haunted ground to me,
How have I loved the twilight hour and thee!

The shrill cicalas, people of the pine,

Making their summer lives one ceaseless song, Where the sole echoes, save my steed's and mine, And vesper bells that rose the boughs along: The specter huntsman of Onesti's line,

His hell-dogs and their chase, and the fair

throng

Which learned from this example not to fly
From a true lover,-shadowed my mind's eye.

LORD BYRON.

RAVENNA

"TIS MORN, and never did a lovelier day
Salute Ravenna from its leafy bay:
For a warm eve and gentle rains at night
Have left a sparkling welcome for the light,

And April, with his white hands wet with flowers, Dazzles the bride-maids, looking from the towers: Green vineyards and fair orchards, far and near, Glitter with drops; and heaven is sapphire clear, And the lark rings it, and the pine-trees glow, And odours from the citrons come and go,

And all the landscape-earth and sky and seaBreathes like a bright-eyed face, that laughs out openly.

"T is nature full of spirits, waked and loved. E'en sloth, to-day, goes quick and unreproved; For where's the living soul-priest, minstrel, clown,

Merchant, or lord--that speeds not to the town? Hence happy faces, striking through the green Of leafy roads, at every turn are seen;

And the far ships, lifting their sails of white Like joyful hands, come up with scattered light,

Come gleaming up, true to the wished-for day, And chase the whistling brine, and swirl into the

bay.

LEIGH HUNT.