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-Thy muffled friend his nectarine-wall pursues, Who boasts of more (believe the serious strain)
What time the sun the yellow crocus woos, Sighs for a home, and sighs, alas ! in vain.
Screened from the arrowy North ; and duły hies! Thro' each he roves, the tenant of a day,
To meet the morning-rumour as it flies ;

And, with the swallow, wings the year away !”
To range the murmuring market-place, and view
The motley groups that faithful TENIERS drew.

When Spring bursts forth in blossoms thro' the
And her wild music triumphs on the gale, [vale,

Oft with my book I muse from stile to stile ;?
Oft in my porch the listless noon beguile,

Page 20, col, 2, line 25.
Framing loose numbers, till declining day

Oft o'er the mead, at pleasing distance, pass, Thro' the green trellis shoots a crimson ray; Cosmo of Medicis took most pleasure in his Apennine Till the West-wind leads on the twilight hours,

villa, because all that he commanded from its windows And shakes the fragrant bells of closing flowers. was exclusively his own. How unlike the wise Athenian, Nor boast, 0 Choisy, seat of soft delight,

who, when he had a farm to sell, directed the crier to proThe secret charm of thy voluptuous night.

claim, as its best recommendation, that it had a good Vain is the blaze of wealth, the pomp of power !

neighbourhood !–Plut. in Vit. Themist. Lo, here, attendant on the shadowy hour,

Page 21, col. 1, line 8.
Thy closet-supper, served by hands unseen,
Sheds, like an evening-star, its ray serene,

And through the various year, the various day, To hail our coming. Not a step profane

Horace commends the house, longos quæ prospicit Dares, with rude sound, the cheerful rite restrain;


Distant views contain the greatest variety, both And, while the frugal banquet glows revealed,

in themselves, and in their accidental variations. Pure and unbought 3—the natives of my field ; While blushing fruits thro' scattered leaves

Page 21, col. 1, line 34. invite,

Small change of scene, small space his home requires, Still clad in bloom, and veiled in azure light ;- Many a great man, in passing through the apartments With wine, as rich in years as HORACE sings, of his palace, has made the melancholy reflection of the With water, clear as his own fountain flings, venerable Cosmo: “Questa è troppo gran casa à si poca The shifting side-board plays its humbler part,

famiglia."-MACH. Ist. Fior. lib. vii. Beyond the triumphs of a Loriot's art.

“Parva, sed apta mihi,” was Ariosto's inscription over

his door in Ferrara ; and who can wish to say more? I Thus, in this calm recess, so richly fraught

confess," says Cowley, “I love littleness almost in all With mental light, and luxury of thought,

things. A little convenient estate, a little cheerful house, My life steals on ; (0 could it blend with thine !)

a little company, and a very little feast."-Essay vi. Careless my course, yet not without design.

When Socrates was asked why he had built for himself So thro’ the vales of Loire the bee-hives glide, so small a house: “Small as it is,” he replied, “I wish I The light raft dropping with the silent tide ; could fill it with friends."-PHÆDRUS, iii. 9. So, till the laughing scenes are lost in night,

These indeed are all that a wisman can desire to The busy people wing their various flight,

assemble ; “ for a crowd is not company, and faces are

but a gallery of pictures, and talk but a tinkling cymbal, Culling unnumbered sweets from nameless flowers,

where there is no love."
That scent the vineyard in its purple hours.
Rise, ere the watch-relieving clarions play,

Page 21, col. 1, line 37.
Caught through St. James's groves at blush of day;
Ere its full voice the choral anthem flings

From every point a ray of genius flows !
Thro' trophied tombs of heroes and of kings.

By these means, when all nature wears a lowering counHaste to the tranquil shade of learned ease, 4

tenance, I withdraw myself into the visionary worlds of art; Tho' skilled alike to dazzle and to please ;

where I meet with shining landscapes, gilded triumphs, Tho' each gay scene be searched with anxious eye,

beautiful faces, and all those other objects that fill the

mind with gay ideas.--ADDISON. Nor thy shut door be passed without a sigh.

It is remarkable that Antony, in his adversity, passed If, when this roof shall know thy friend no more,

some time in a small but splendid retreat, which he called Some, formed like thee, should once, like thee, ex- his Timonium, and from which might originate the idea Invoke the lares of his loved retreat, [plore ; of the Parisian Boudoir, that favourite apartment, l'on And his lone walks imprint with pilgrim-feet ; se retire pour étre seul, mais l'on ne boude point. Then be it said, (as, vain of better days,

STRABO, 1. xvii. Plut. in Vit. Anton. Some grey domestic prompts the partial praise) “ Unknown he lived, unenvied, not unblest ;

Page 21, col 1, line 13. Reason his guide, and Happiness his guest.

At GUIDO's call, &c. In the clear mirror of his moral page,

Alluding to his celebrated fresco in the Rospigliosi We trace the manners of a purer age.

Palace at Rome. His soul, with thirst of genuine glory fraught,

Page 21, col. 1, line 60.
Scorned the false lustre of licentious thought.

And still the Few best loved and most revered
-One fair asylum from the world he knew,
One chosen seat, that charms with various view !

The dining-room is dedicated to Conviviality; or, as
Cicero somewhere expresses it, “Communitati vitæ atque

victûs." There we wish most for the society of our friends ; 1 Fallacem circum, vespertinumque pererro and, perhaps, in their absence, most require their portraits. Sæpe forum.--HOR.

The moral advantages of this furniture may be illus2 Tantôt, un livre en main, errant dans les préries

trated by the story of an Athenian courtesan, who, in the

BOILEAU. midst of a riotous banquet with her lovers, accidentally 3 Dapes inemtas.


cast her eye on the portrait of a philosopher, that hung 4 Innocuas amo delicias doctamque quietem.

opposite to her seat; the happy character of wisdom and

postulat lumen. Not so the picture gallery ; which requires a north light, uti colores in ope, propter constantiam luminis, immutata permaneant qualitate. This disposition accords with his plan of a Grecian house.

Page 21, col. 2, line 35.

Like those blest Youths, See the Legend of the Seven Sleepers.—GIBBON, C. 33.

virtue struck her with so lively an image of her own unworthiness, that she instantly left the room; and, retiring home, became ever afterwards an example of temperance, as she had been before of debauchery.

Page 21, col. 1, line 61.

Rise round the board A long table and a square table,” says Bacon, “ seem things of form, but are things of substance; for at a long table a few at the upper end, in effect, sway all the business.” Perhaps Arthur was right, when he instituted the order of the round table. In the town-house of Aix-laChapelle is still to be seen the round table, which may almost literally be said to have given peace to Europe in 1748. Nor is it only at a congress of Plenipotentiaries that place gives precedence.

Page 21, col. 1, line 65. Read ancient books, or dream inspiring dreams; Before I begin to write, says Bossuet, I always read a little of Homer; for I love to light my lamp at the sun.

The reader will here remember that passage of Horace, Nunc veterum libris, nunc somno, &c. which was inscribed by Lord Chesterfield on the frieze of his library.

Page 21, col. 2, line 44.

with knowledge health ; Milton“ was up and stirring, ere the sound of any bell awaked men to labour, or to devotion;" and it is related of two Students in a suburb of Paris, who were opposite neighbours, and were called the morning-star and the evening-star - the former appearing just as the latter withdrew-that the morning-star continued to shine on, when the evening-star was gone out for ever.

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Page 21, col. 2, line 1. And, when a sage's bust arrests thee there, Siquidem non solum ex auro argentove, aut certe ex ære in bibliothecis dicantur illi, quorum immortales animæ in iisdem locis ibi loquuntur: quinimo etiam quæ non sunt, finguntur, pariuntque desideria non traditi vultus, sicut in Homero evenit. Quo majus (ut equidem arbitror) nullum est felicitatis specimen, quam semper omnes scire cupere, qualis fuerit aliquis.--Plin. Nat. Hist.

Cicero, in the dialogue entitled Brutus, represents Brutus and Atticus as sitting down with him in his garden at Rome, by the statue of Plato; and with what delight does he speak of a little seat under Aristotle in the library of Atticus! “Literis sustentor et recreor; maloque in illa tua sedecula, quam habes sub imagine Aristotelis, sedere, quàm in istorum sella curuli!”-Ep. ad Att. iv. 10.

Nor should we forget that Dryden drew inspiration from
the “majestic face" of Shakspeare; and that a portrait of
Newton was the only ornament of the closet of Buffon.-
Ep. to Kneller. Voyage à Montbart.
In the chamber of a man of genius we

Write all down :
Such and such pictures ;—there the window;

the arras, figures,
Why, such and such.

Page 21, col. 8, line 5. Which gathers round the Wise of every Tongue, Quis tantis non gaudeat et glorietur hospitibus, exclaims Petrarch.--Spectare, etsi nihil aliud, certè juvat.-Homerus apud me mutus, imò verò ego apud illum surdus sum. Gaudeo tamen vel aspectû solo, et sæpe illum amplexus ac suspirans dico: O magne vir, &c.—Epist. Var. lib. 20.

Page 21, col. 2, line 52. Catch the blest accents of the wise and great. Mr. Pope delights in enumerating his illustrious guests. Nor is this an exclusive privilege of the poet. The Medici Palace at Florence exhibits a long and imposing catalogue. “ Semper hi parietes columnæque eruditis vocibus resonuerunt."

Page 22, col. 1, line 20.
Sheds, like an evening-star, its ray serene,
At a Roman supper statues were sometimes employed
to hold the lamps.

-aurea sunt juvenum simulacra per ædes,
Lampadas igniferas manibus retinentia dextris.

LUCR. ii. 24. A fashion as old as Homer !-Odyss. vii. 100

On the proper degree and distribution of light we may consult a great master of effect. Il lume grande, ed alto, e non troppo potente, sarà quello, che renderà le particole de' corpi molto grate.-Tratt. della Pittura di LIONARDO DI VINCI, c. xli.

Hence every artist requires a broad and high light. Michael Angelo used to work with a candle fixed in his hat.-Condivi. Vita di Michelagnolo. Hence also, in a banquet-scene, the most picturesque of all poets has thrown his light from the ceiling.–Æn. i. 726. And hence the “ starry lamps” of Milton, that

from the arched roof Pendent by subtle magic,

yielded light As from a sky.

Page 22, col. 1, line 30. Beyond the triumphs of a Loriot's art. At the petits soupés of Choisy were first introduced those admirable pieces of mechanism, afterwards carried to perfection by Loriot, the Confidente and the Servante; a table and a side-board, which descended, and rose again covered with viands and wines. And thus the most luxurious Court in Europe, after all its boasted refinements, was glad to return at last, by this singular contrivance, to the quiet and privacy of humble life.—Vie Privée de Louis XV. ii. 43.

Between line 30 and line 31, were these lines, since omitted :

Hail, sweet Society! in crowds unknown,
Though the vain world would claim thee for its own.
Still where thy small and cheerful converse flows,
Be mine to enter, ere the circle close.
When in retreat Fox lays his thunder by,
And Wit and Taste their mingled charms supply;
When SIDDONS, born to melt and freeze the heart,
Performs at home her more endearing part;
When He, who best interprets to mankind
The winged messengers from mind to mind,


Page 21, col. 2, line 18.
As her fair self reflected seems to rise!

After line 18, in a former edition.
But hence away! yon rocky cave beware!
A sullen captive broods in silence there !
There, tho' the dog-star flame, condemned to dwell
In the dark centre of its inmost cell,
Wild Winter ministers his dread controul
To cool and crystallise the nectared bowl.
His faded form an awful grace retains;
Stern tho' subdued, majestic tho' in chains !

Page 21, col. 2, line 21.

These eyelids open to the rising ray, Your bed-chamber, and also your library, eays Vitruvius, should have an eastern aspect; usus enim matutinum

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and gone

'Twas Autumn; thro' Provence had ceased

; The vintage, and the vintage-feast. The sun had set behind the hill, The moon was up, and all was still, And from the Convent's neighbouring tower The clock had tolled the midnight-hour, When Jacqueline came forth alone, Her kerchief o'er her tresses thrown; A guilty thing and full of fears, Yet ah, how lovely in her tears ! She starts, and what has caught her eye? What_but her shadow gliding by? She stops, she pants; with lips apart She listens—to her beating heart ! Then, thro' the scanty orchard stealing, The clustering boughs her track concealing, She flies, nor casts a thought behind, But gives her terrors to the wind; Flies from her home, the humble sphere Of all her joys and sorrows here, Her father's house of mountain-stone, And by a mountain-vine o’ergrown. At such an hour in such a night, So calm, so clear, so heavenly bright, Who would have seen, and not confessed It looked as all within were blest? What will not woman, when she loves ? Yet lost, alas ! who can restore her?She lifts the latch, the wicket moves; And now the world is all before her.

Up rose St. Pierre, when morning shone; - And Jacqueline, his child, was gone! Oh what the madd’ning thought that came? Dishonour coupled with his name! By Condé at Rocroy he stood ; By Turenne, when the Rhine ran blood. Two banners of Castile he gave Aloft in Notre Dame to wave; Nor did thy cross, St. Louis, rest Upon a purer, nobler breast. He slung his old sword by his side, And snatched his staff and rushed to save; Then sunk-and on his threshold cried, « Oh lay me in my grave! -Constance ! Claudine ! where were ye then? But stand not there, Away! away!

Thou, Frederic, by thy father stay.
Though old, and now forgot of men,
Both must not leave him in a day.”
Then, and he shook his hoary head,
“ Unhappy in thy youth!” he said.
“ Call as thou wilt, thou call'st in vain;
No voice sends back thy name again.
To mourn is all thou hast to do;
Thy play-mate lost, and teacher too.”

And who but she could soothe the boy,
Or turn his tears to tears of joy?
Long had she kissed him as he slept,
Long o'er his pillow hung and wept;
And, as she passed her father's door,
She stood as she would stir no more.
But she is

for ever!
No, never shall they clasp her—never!
They sit and listen to their fears;
And he, who thro' the breach had led
Over the dying and the dead,
Shakes if a cricket's cry he hears !

Oh! she was good as she was fair.
None-none on earth above her!
As pure in thought as angels are,
To know her was to love her.
When little, and her eyes, her voice,

every gesture said “ rejoice,"
Her coming was a gladness;
And, as she grew, her modest grace,
Her downcast look 'twas heaven to trace,
When, shading with her hand her face,
She half inclined to sadness.
Her voice, whate'er she said, enchanted ;
Like music to the heart it went.
And her dark eyes—how eloquent !
Ask what they would, 'twas granted.
Her father loved her as his fame;
-And Bayard's self had done the same!

Soon as the sun the glittering pane
On the red floor in diamonds threw,

sang again,
Till the last light withdrew.
Every day, and all day long,
He mused or slumbered to a song.
But she is dead to him, to all!
Her lute hangs silent on the wall;
And on the stairs, and at the door
Her fairy-step is heard no more !

she sung and

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At every meal an empty chair

St. Pierre sat by, nor saw nor smiled. Tells him that she is not there;

His eyes were on his loved Montaigne ; She, who would lead him where he went,

But every leaf was turned in vain. Charm with her converse while he leant;

Then in that hour remorse he felt, Or, hovering, every wish prevent;

And his heart told him he had dealt At eve light up the chimney-nook,

Unkindly with his child. Lay there his glass within his book;

A father may awhile refuse; And that small chest of curious mould,

But who can for another chuse ? (Queen Mab’s, perchance, in days of old,) When her young blushies had revealed Tusk of elephant and gold ;

The secret from herself concealed, Which, when a tale is long, dispenses

Why promise what her tears denied, Its fragrant dust to drowsy senses.

That she should be De Courcy's bride? In her who mourned not, when they missed her, -Wouldst thou, presumptuous as thou art, The old a child, the young a sister?

O'er Nature play the tyrant's part, No more the orphan runs to take

And with the hand compel the heart? From her loved hand the barley-cake.

Oh rather, rather hope to bind No more the matron in the school

The ocean-wave, the mountain-wind; Expects her in the hour of rule,

Or fix thy foot upon the ground To sit amid the elfin brood,

To stop the planet rolling round. Praising the busy and the good.

The light was on his face; and there The widow trims her hearth in vain.

You might have seen the passions driven She comes not--nor will come again.

Resentment, Pity, Hope, DespairNot now, his little lesson done,

Like clouds across the face of Heaven, With Frederic blowing bubbles in the sun; Now he sighed heavily; and now, Nor spinning by the fountain-side,

His hand withdrawing from his brow, (Some story of the days of old,

He shut the volume with a frown, Barbe Bleue or Chaperon Rouge half-told

To walk his troubled spirit down : To him who would not be denied ;)

-When (faithful as that dog of yore? Not now, to while an hour away,

Who wagged his tail and could no more) Gone to the falls in Valombrè,

Manchon, who long had snuffed the ground, Where 'tis night at noon of day;

And sought and sought but never found, Nor wandering up and down the wood,

Leapt up and to the casement flew, To all but her a solitude,

And looked and barked, and vanished thro'. Where once a wild deer, wild no more,

“ 'Tis Jacqueline ! 'Tis Jacqueline !" Her chaplet on his antlers wore,

Her little brother laughing cried.
And at her bidding stood.

“I know her by her kirtle green,
She comes along the mountain-side;
Now turning by the traveller's seat,-

Now resting in the hermit's cave,-
The day was in the golden west;

Now kneeling, where the pathways meet, And, curtained close by leaf and flower,

To the cross on the stranger's grave. The doves had cooed themselves to rest

And, by the soldier's cloak, I know In Jacqueline's deserted bower;

(There, there along the ridge they go) The doves—that still would at her casement D'Arcy so gentle and so brave! peck,

Look up—why will you not?” he cries, And in her walks had ever fluttered round

His rosy hands before his eyes ; With purple feet and shining neck,

For on that incense-breathing eve True as the echo to the sound.

The sun shone out, as loth to leave. That casement, underneath the trees,

“See_to the rugged rock she clings ! Half open to the western breeze,

She calls, she faints, and D'Arcy springs ; Looked down, enchanting Garonnelle,

D'Arcy so dear to us, to all; Thy wild and mulberry-shaded dell,

Who, for you told me on your knee, Round which the Alps of Piedmont rose,

When in the fight he saw you fall,
The blush of sunset on their snows:

Saved you for Jacqueline and me!"
While, blithe as lark on summer-morn,
When green and yellow waves the corn,

And true it was! And true the tale ! When harebells blow in every grove,

When did she sue, and not prevail ?
And thrushes sing “ I love ! I love !”.
Within (so soon the early rain

Five years before—it was the night

That on the village-green they parted,
Scatters, and 'tis fair again ;

The lilied banners streaming bright
Though many a drop may yet be seen
To tell us where a cloud has been)

O’er maids and mothers broken-hearted;

The drum--it drowned the last adieu,
Within lay Frederic, o'er and o'er
Building castles on the floor,

When D'Arcy from the crowd she drew. And feigning, as they grew in size,

“ One charge I have and one alone, New troubles and new dangers;

Nor that refuse to take, With dimpled cheeks and laughing eyes,

My father-if not for his own, As he and Fear were strangers.

Oh for his daughter's sake!"


1 Cantando " Io amo! Io amo!"-Tasso.

2 Argus.


Inly he vowed_-'twas all he could ;

They gather as they goAnd went and sealed it with his blood.

Sabot, and coif, and collerette, Nor can ye wonder. When a child,

The housewife's prayer, the grandam's blessing! And in her playfulness she smiled,

Girls that adjust their locks of jet, Up many a ladder-path 1 he guided

And look and look and linger yet, Where meteor-like the chamois glided,

The lovely bride caressing;
Thro' many a misty grove.

Babes that had learnt to lisp her name,
They loved—but under Friendship’s name; And heroes he had led to fame.
And Reason, Virtue fanned the flame,
Till in their houses Discord came,

But what felt D'Arcy, when at length
And 'twas a crime to love.

Her father's gate was open flung? Then what was Jacqueline to do?

Ah, then he found a giant's strength; Her father's angry hours she knew,

For round him, as for life, she clung ! And when to soothe, and when persuade;

And when, her fit of weeping o'er, But now her path De Courcy crossed,

Onward they moved a little space, Led by his falcon through the glade

And saw an old man sitting at the door, He turned, beheld, admired the maid;

Saw his wan cheek, and sunken eye And all her little arts were lost !

That seemed to gaze on vacancy, De Courcy, Lord of Argentiere!

Then, at the sight of that beloved face, Thy poverty, thy pride, St. Pierre,

At once to fall upon his neck she flew; Thy thirst for vengeance sought the snare. But—not encouraged-back she drew, The day was named, the guests invited;

And trembling stood in dread suspense, The bride-groom, at the gate, alighted;

Her tears her only eloquence! When up the windings of the dell,

All, all—the while—an awful distance keeping; A pastoral pipe was heard to swell,

Save D'Arcy, who nor speaks nor stirs ; And lo, an humble Piedmontese,

And one, his little hand in hers, Whose music might a lady please,

Who weeps to see his sister weeping. This miessage thro' the lattice bore,

Then Jacqueline the silence broke. (She listened, and her trembling frame

She clasped her father's knees and spoke, Told her at once from whom it came)

Her brother kneeling too; “ Oh let us fly—to part no more !"

While D'Arcy as before looked on,
Tho’ from his manly cheek was gone
Its natural hue.

“ His praises from your lips I heard, That morn ('twas in Ste. Julienne's cell,

Till my fond heart was won ; As at Ste. Julienne's sacred well

And, if in aught his Sire has erred, Their dream of love began)

Oh turn not from the Son !That morn, ere many a star was set,

She, whom in joy, in grief you nursed; Their hands had on the altar met

Who climbed and called you father first,
Before the holy man.

By that dear name conjures-
--And now, her strength, her courage spent, On her you thought-but to be kind !
And more than half a penitent,

When looked she


inclined ? She comes along the path she went.

These things, for ever in her mind, And now the village gleams at last ;

Oh are they gone from yours? The woods, the golden meadows passed,

Two kneeling at your feet behold; Where, when Toulouse, thy splendour shone, One-one how young ;--nor yet the other old. The Troubadour would journey on

Oh spurn them not—nor look so coldTransported—or, from grove to grove,

If Jacqueline be cast away, Framing some roundelay of love,

Her bridal be her dying day. Wander till the day was gone.

-Well, well might she believe in you ! “ All will be well, my Jacqueline !

She listened, and she found it true.” Oh tremble not-but trust in me.

He shook his aged locks of snow ; The Good are better made by Ill,

And twice he turned, and rose to go. As odours crushed are sweeter still;

She hung ; and was St. Pierre to blame, And gloomy as thy past has been,

If tears and smiles together came ? Bright shall thy future be !"

“Oh no-begone! I'll hear no more.” So saying, thro' the fragrant shade

But, as he spoke, his voice relented. Gently along he led the maid,

“ That very look thy mother wore While Manchon round and round her played :

When she implored, and old Le Roc consented. And, as that silent glen they leave,

True, I have done as well as suffered wrong. Where by the spring the pitchers stand,

Yet still I love him as my own; Where glow-worms light their little lamps at eve, – Nor canst thou, D'Arcy, feel resentment long ; And fairies revel as in fairy-land,

For she herself shall plead, and I atone. (When Lubin calls, and Blanche steals round,

Henceforth,” he paused awhile, unmanned, Her finger on her lip, to see;

For D'Arcy's tears bedewed his hand ; And many an acorn-cup is found

“ Let each meet each as friend to friend, Under the greenwood tree)

All things by all forgot, forgiven. From every cot above, below,

And that dear Saint-may she once more de

scend 1 Called in the language of the country Pas-de-l'Echelle.

To make our home a heaven !

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