And, as he gazed, his homestall through his tears 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 A dismal prison-house, and life itself, Life in its prime, a burden and a curse To him who never wronged them? Who that breathes Would not, when first he heard it, turn away A consciousness how soon we shall be gone, At length the day departed, and the moon Waters and woods and cloud-capt promontories, So fast it flowed, her tongue so voluble, Thy pharos, Genoa, first displayed itself, Burning in stillness on its craggy seat; Among its golden groves and fruits of gold, As with the radiance of the setting sun, GENOA. HIS house was Andrea Doria's. Here he lived;1 And here at eve relaxing, when ashore, Held many a pleasant, many a grave discourse With them that sought him, walking to and fro 'The Piazza Doria, or, as it is now called, the Piazza di San Matteo, insignificant as it may be thought, is to me the most interesting place in Genoa. It was there that Doria assembled the people, when he gave them their liberty (Sigonii Vita Doria); 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: S. C. Andreæ de Auria Patria Liberatori Munus Publicum. The streets of old Genoa, like those of Venice, were constructed only for foot-passengers. As on his deck. 'Tis less in length and breadth A house of trade,1 the meanest merchandise "Tis in the heart of Genoa (he who comes, 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. Nor couldst thou leave thy door or enter in, Thou art now Again among them. Thy brave mariners Clad in thy cere-cloth-in that silent vault, When I saw it in 1822, a basket-maker lived on the ground floor, and over him a seller of chocolate. A A Open thy secret heart and tell us all, Then should we hear thee with a sigh confess, MARCO GRIFFONI. W AR is a game at which all are sure to lose, 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 sinking 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 reflection came at last; and after a victory, the most splendid 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 'Alluding to the Palace which he built afterwards, and in which he twice entertained the Emperor Charles the Fifth. It is the most magnificent edifice on the bay of Genoa. 2 Fiesco. For an account of his Conspiracy, see Robertson's "History of Charles the Fifth." or the ploughshare broke the furrow. The frenzy Yet had left a languor more alarming than itself. the burden must be borne, the taxes be gathered; and, year after year, they lay like a curse on the land, the prospect on every side growing darker and darker, till an old man entered the senatehouse 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 in the cradle, his wealth had accumulated 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 struggle 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 to be 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 Sicily and even to Egypt, now lived only as for his heirs, though there were none to inherit; giving no longer to any -but lending to all-to the rich on their bonds and the poor on their pledges; lending 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 sate in his gown of frieze, till every |