(Such the dominion of thy mighty voice,
Thy voice, VELINO, uttered in the mist)

Hear thee and answer thee, were left at length
For others still as noon; and on we strayed
From wild to wilder, nothing hospitable
Seen up or down, or bush or green or dry,
That ancient symbol at the cottage-door,
Offering refreshment when LUIGI cried,

Well, of a thousand tracks we chose the best!'
And, turning round an oak, oracular once,
Now, lightning-struck, a cave, a thorough-fare
For all that came, each entrance a broad arch,
Whence many a deer, rustling his velvet coat,
Had issued, many a gipsy and her brood
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, chequering

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 rain-bow's splendour (somewhere in the east
Rain-drops were falling fast) a rivulet
Sported as loth to go; and on the bank
Stood (in the eyes of one, if not of both,
Worth all the rest and more) a sumpter-mule
Well-laden, while two menials as in haste
Drew from his ample panniers, ranging round
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,

Its 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, one with various game,
In rich confusion 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,
Yet younger, bearing on a falconer's glove,
As in the golden, the romantic time,
His falcon hooded. Like some spirit of air,
Or fairy-vision, such as feigned of old,
The Lady, while her courser pawed the ground,
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,
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.

27*

***.

MONTORIO.

GENEROUS, and ardent, and as romantic as he could be, MONTORIO was in his earliest youth, when, on a summerevening, not many years ago, he arrived at the Baths of With a heavy heart, and with many a blessing on his head, he had set out on his travels at day-break. It was his first flight from home; but he was now to enter the world; and the moon was up and in the zenith, when he alighted at the Three Moors,* a venerable house of vast dimensions, and anciently a palace of the Albertini family, whose arms were emblazoned on the walls.

Every window was full of light, and great was the stir, above and below; but his thoughts were on those he had left so lately; and retiring early to rest, and to a couch, the very first for which he had ever exchanged his own, he was soon among them once more; undisturbed in his sleep by the music that came at intervals from a pavilion in the garden, where some of the company had assembled to dance.

But, secluded as he was, he was not secure from intrusion; and Fortune resolved on that night to play a frolic in his chamber, a frolic that was to determine the colour of his life. Boccaccio himself has not recorded a wilder; nor would he, if he had known it, have left the story untold.

At the first glimmering of day he awaked; and, looking round, he beheld-it could not be an illusion; yet

*I Tre Mauri.

any thing so lovely, so angelical, he had never seen before -no, not even in his dreams—a Lady still younger than himself, and in the profoundest, the sweetest slumber by his side. But while he gazed, she was gone, and through a door that had escaped his notice. Like a Zephyr she trod the floor with her dazzling and beautiful feet, and, while he gazed, she was gone. Yet still he gazed; and, snatching up a bracelet which she had dropt in her flight, 'Then she is earthly!' he cried. But whence could she come? All innocence, all purity, she must have wandered in her sleep.'

When he arose, his anxious eyes sought her every where; but in vain. Many of the young and the gay were abroad, and moving as usual in the light of the morning; but, among them all, there was nothing like Her. Within or without, she was nowhere to be seen; and, at length, in his despair he resolved to address himself to his Hostess.

Who were my nearest neighbours in that turret ?'

"The Marchioness de **** and her two daughters, the Ladies Clara and Violetta; the youngest beautiful as the day!'

And where are they now?'

'They are gone; but we cannot say whither. They set out soon after sun-rise.'

At a late hour they had left the pavilion, and had retired to their toilet-chamber, a chamber of oak richly carved, that had once been an oratory, and afterwards, what was no less essential to a house of that antiquity, a place of resort for two or three ghosts of the family. But, having long lost its sanctity, it had now lost its terrors; and, gloomy as its aspect was, Violetta was soon