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Sacrament there, will not soon forget the blaze of the side of the rock, and hanging over that torrent, the altar, or the dark circle of worshippers kneeling are litle ruins which they show you for Horace's in silence before it.

house, a curious situation to observe the

Præceps Anio, et Tiburni lucus, et uda
Note 149, page 65, col. 2.

Mobilibus pomaria rivis. Gray's Letters
Ere they came.
An allusion to the Prophecies concerning Anti-

Note 159, page 68, col. 2. christ. See the interpretations of Mede, Newton,

Like one awaking in a distant time. Clarke, etc.; not to mention those of Dante and The place here described is near Mola di Gaëta, Petrarch.

in the kingdom of Naples.
Note 150, page 66, col 1.

Note 160, page 68, col. 2.
And from the latticed gallery came a chant

When they that robb'd, were men of better faith.
of psalms, most saint-like, most angelical.

Alluding to Alfonso Piccolomini. · Stupiva cias There was said to be in the choir, among others cuno che, mentre un bandito osservava rigorosamente of the Sisterhood, a daughter of Cimarosa.

la sua parola, il Papa non avesse ribrezzo di mancare Note 151, page 66, col. 2.

alla propria.”—Galluzzi. ii, 364.

He was hanged at Florence, March 16, 1591. 'Twas in her utmost need; nor, while she lives. Her back was at that time turned to the people ;

Note 161, page 68, col. 2. but in his countenance might be read all that was

When along the shore. passing. The Cardinal, who officiated, was a vener- Tasso was returning from Naples to Rome, and able old man, evidently unused to the ceremony and had arrived at Mola di Gaëta, when he received this much affected by it.

tribute of respect. The captain of the troop was Note 152, page 66, col. 2.

Marco di Sciarra. See Manso. Vita del Tasso. Ariosto

had a similar adventure with Filippo Pachione. See The black pall, the requiem.

BARUFFALDI. Among other ceremonies, a pall was thrown over her, and a requiem sung.

Note 162, page 69, col. 1.

As by a spell they start up in array.
Note 153, page 66, col. 2.

"Cette race de bandits a ses racines dans la popuUnsheathes his wings.

lation même du pays. La police ne sait ou les trouver.” He is of the beetle-tribe.

Lettres de CHATEAUVIEUI.
Note 154, page 66, col. 2.

Note 163, page 69, col. 2.
Blazing by fits as from excess of joy.

Three days they lay in ambush at my gate.
For, in that upper clime, effulgence comes

This story was written in the year 1820, and is
Of gladness.

Cary's Dante.

founded on the many narratives which at that time Note 155, page 67, col. 1.

were circulating in Rome and Naples. Singing the nursery-song he learnt so soon. There is a song to the lucciola in every dialect of

Note 164, page 71, col. 2.
Italy; as for instance in the Genoese :

And in the track of him who went to die.
Cabela, vegni a baso ;

The Elder Pliny. See the letters in which his
Ti dajo un cuge de lette.

nephew relates to Tacitus the circumstances of his The Roman is in a higher strain :

death. Bella regina, etc.

Note 165, page 74, col. 1.

The fishing-town, Amalfi.
Note 156, page 67, col. 1.
“ Amalfi fell, after three hundred years

pros
And the young nymph, preparing for the dance.
lo piglio, quando il di giunge al confine,

perity; but the poverty of one thousand fishermen is Le lucciole ne' prati ampj ridotte,

yet dignified by the remains of an arsenal, a catho E, come gemme, le comparto al crine;

dral, and the palaces of royal merchants.”—GIBBON.
Poi fra l'ombre da' rai vivi interrotte
Mi presento ai Pastori, e ognun mi dice:

Note 166, page 74, col. 2.
Clori ha le stelle al crin come ha la Notte. Varano.

A Hospital, that, night and day, received

The pilgrims of the west.
Note 157, page 67, col. 1.

It was dedicated to Saint John.
Those trees, religious once and always green.
Pliny mentions an extraordinary instance of lon-

Note 167, page 74, col. 2. gevity in the ilex. “There is one,” says he, “in the

relics of ancient Greece. Vatican older than the City itself. An Etruscan in

Among other things the Pandects of Justinian were scription in letters of brass attests that even in those found there in 1137. By the Pisans they were taken days the tree was held sacred :" and it is remarkable from Amalfi, by the Florentines from Písa; and they that there

is at this time on the Vatican mount an are now preserved with religious care in the Lauren iler of great antiquity. It is in a grove just above the tian Library. palace-garden.

Note 168, page 78, col. 2.
Note 158, page 67, col. 1.

Grain from the golden vales of Sicily.
(80 some aver, and who would not believe ?)

There is at this day in Syracuse * I did not tell you that just below the first fall, on La Strada degli Amalfitani.

96

a street called

Note 169, page 74, col. 2.

third novel of Franco Sacchetty we read, that a Not thus did they return, stranger, suddenly entering Gioito's study, threw The tyrant slain.

down a shield and departed, saying, “Paint me my It was in the year 839. See Muratori. Art. Chronici arms in that shield;" and that Giotto, looking after Amalphitani Fragmenta.

him, exclaimed, “Who is he? What is he? He says,

Paint me my arms, as if he was one of the Bardi !
Note 170, page 74, col. 2.

What arms does he bear ?"
Serve for their monument.
By degrees, says Giannone, they made themselves

Note 178, page 77, col. 1. famous through the world. The Tarini Amalfitani

Doria, Pisani. were a coin familiar to all nations; and their mari- Paganino Doria, Nicolo Pisani; those great seamen, time code regulated everywhere the commerce of the who balanced for so many years the fortunes of Genoa sea. Many churches in the East were by them built and Venice. and endowed: by them was first founded in Palestine that most renowned military Order of St. John of

Note 179, page 77, col. 1. Jerusalem; and who does not know that the Mari

Ruffling with many an oar the crystalline sea. ner's Compass was invented by a citizen of Amalfi? The Feluca is a large boat for rowing and sailing,

much used in the Mediterranean.
Note 171, page 75, col. 1.
The air is sweet with violets, running wild.

Note 180, page 77, col. 1.

How oft where now we rode. The violets of Pæstum were as proverbial as the roses. Martial mentions them with the honey of Every reader of Spanish poetry is acquainted with Hybla.

that affecting romance of Gongora,
Note 172, page 75, col. 1.

Amarrado al duro banco, etc.
Those thoughts so precious and so lately lost.

Lord Holland has translated it in his Life of Lope
The introduction to his treatise on Glory. Cic. ad Vega.
Att Ivi, 6. For an account of the loss of that treatise,

Note 181, page 77, col. 2. see Petrarch, Epist. Rer.; SENILIUM, XV, i; and BAYLE,

Here be lived. Dict. in Alcyonius.

The Piazza Doria, or, as it is now called, the Piazza Note 173, page 75, col. 2.

di San Matteo, insignificant as it may be thought, is —and Posidonia rose.

to me the most interesting place in Genoa. It was

there that Doria assembled the people, when he gave Originally a Greek City under that name, and afterwards a Roman City, under the name of Pustum. side of it is the church he lies buried in, on the other

them their liberty (Sigonii Vita Doriæ); and on one See Mitford's Hist. of Greece, chap. x, sec. 2. It was surprised and destroyed by the Saracens at the be a house, originally of very small dimensions, with

this inscription: S. C. Andreæ de Auria Patriæ Liberginning of the tenth century.

atori Munus Publicum. Note 174, page 76, col. 1.

The streets of old Genoa, like those of Venice, "What hangs behind that curtain ?"

were constructed only for foot-passengers. This story, if a story it can be called, is fictitious;

Note 182, page 77, col. 2. and I have done little more than give it as I received

Held many a pleasant, many a grave discourse. it. It has already appeared in prose; but with many alterations and additional circumstances.

See his Life by Sigonio. The abbey of Monte Cassino is the most ancient

Note 183, page 77, col. 2. and venerable house of the Benedictine Order. It is

A house of trade. situated within fifteen leagues of Naples, on the inland road to Rome; and no house is more hospitable. When I saw it in 1822, a basket-maker lived on

the ground-floor, and over him a seller of chocolate. Note 175, page 76, col. 1. For life is surely there, and visible change.

Note 184, page 78, col. 1. There are many miraculous pictures in Italy; but Before the ocean-wave thy wealth reflected. none, I believe, were ever before described as malig- Alluding to the Palace which he built afterwards, nant in their influence.

and in which he twice entertained the Emperor

Charles the Fifth. It is the most magnificent edifice Note 176, page 76, col. 2.

on the bay of Genoa. Within a crazed and tatter'd vehicle. Then degraded, and belonging to a Vetturino.

Note 185, page 78, col. 1.

The ambitious man, that in a perilous hour
Note 177, page 76, col. 2.

Fell from the plank.
A shield as splendid as the Bardi wear.

Fiesco. See Robertson’s History of the Empero. A Florentine family of great antiquity. In the sixty- Charles the Fifth.

97

Miscellaneous Poems.

ODE TO SUPERSTITION

While the lone shepherd, near the shipless main," I. 1.

Sees o'er her hills advance the long-drawn funeral

train. HENCE, to the realms of Night, dire demon, hence!

II. 1.
Thy chain of adamant can bind
That little world, the human mind,

Thou spakest, and lo! a new creation glow'd. And sink its noblest powers to impotence.

Each unhewn mass of living stone Wake the lion's loudest roar,

Was clad in horrors not its own, Clot his shaggy mane with gore,

And at its base the trembling nations bow'd. With flashing fury bid his eye-balls shine ;

Giant Error, darkly grand, Meek is his savage, sullen soul, to thine!

Grasp'd the globe with iron hand. Thy touch, thy deadening touch has steel'd the

Circled with seats of bliss, the Lord of Light breast,

Saw prostrate worlds adore his golden height. Whence, through her April-shower, soft Pity smiled;

The statue, waking with immortal powers, Has closed the heart each godlike virtue bless'd,

Springs from its parent earth, and shakes the To all the silent pleadings of his child."

spheres ;

The indignant pyramid sublimely towers, At thy command he plants the dagger deep,

And braves the efforts of a host of years. At thy command exults, though Nature bids him weep!

Sweet Music breathes her soul into the wind; I. 2.

And bright-eyed Painting stamps the image of the When, with a frown that froze the peopled earth,»

mind. Thou dartedst thy huge head from high,

II. 2. Night waved her banners o'er the sky,

Round their rude ark old Egypt's sorcerers rise! And, brooding, gave her shapeless shadows birth,

A timbrellid anthem swells the gale, Rocking on the billowy air,

And bids the God of Thunders hail;' Ha! what withering phantoms glare !

With lowings loud the captive God replies. As blows the blast with many a sudden swell,

Clouds of incense woo thy smile, At each dead pause, what shrill-toned voices yell!

Scaly monarch of the Nile ! The sheeted spectre, rising from the tomb,

But ah! what myriads claim the bended knee!' Points to the murderer's stab, and shudders by;

Go, count the busy drops that swell the sea. In every grove is felt a heavier gloom,

Proud land! what eye can trace thy mystic lore, That veils its genius from the vulgar eye:

Lock'd up in characters as dark as night ? The spirit of the water rides the storm,

What eye those long, long labyrinths dare explore,' And, through the mist, reveals the terrors of his form. To which the parted soul oft wings her flight;

Again to visit her cold cell of clay,
I. 3.

Charm'd with perennial sweets, and smiling at decay!
O'er solid seas, where Winter reigns,
And holds each mountain-wave in chains,

II. 3. The fur-clad savage, ere he guides his deer

On yon hoar summit, mildly bright By glistering star-light through the snow,

With purple ether's liquid light, Breathes softly in her wondering ear

High o'er the world, the white-robed Magi gaze Each potent spell thou badest him w.

On dazzling bursts of heavenly fire; By thee inspired, on India's sands,

Start at each blue, portentous blaze, Full in the sun the Bramin stands;

Each Aame that fits with adverse spire. And, while the panting tigress hies

But say, what sounds my ear invade To quench her fever in the stream,

From Delphi's venerable shade? His spirit laughs in agonies,

The temple rocks, the laurel waves! Smit by the scorchings of the noontide beam. “The God! the God !” the Sibyl cries.' Mark who mounts the sacred pyre,

Her figure swells, she foams, she raves ! Blooming in her bridal vest :

Her figure swells to more that mortal size!
She hurls the torch! she fans the fire !

Streams of rapture roll along,
To die is to be blest :

Silver notes ascend the skies :
She clasps her lord to part no more,

Wake, Echo, wake and catch the song,
And, sighing, sinks! but sinks to soar.

Oh catch it, ere it dies !
O'ershadowing Scotia's desert coast,
The Sisters sail in dusky state,

1 An allusion to the Second-sight. And, wrapt in clouds, in tempests tost,

2 See that fine description of the sudden animation of the Weave the airy web of Fate;

Palladium, in the second book of the Æneid.
3 The bull, Apis.

4 The Crocodile.

5 According to an ancient proverb, it was less difficult is 1 Written in early youth.

Egypt to find a god than a man. 9 The sacrifice of Iphigenia.

6 The Hieroglyphics.

7 The Catacombe 3 Lucretius, I. 63.

8 "The Persians," says Herodotus, "have no temples, altas 4 The funeral rite of the Hindoos.

or statues. They sacrifice on the tops of the highest mountains." 5 The Futes of the Northern Mythology. See Mallet's An- I. 131. tiquities.

9 Æn. VI. 46, etc.

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The Sibyl speaks, the dream is o'er,

Her touch unlocks the day-spring from above, The holy harpings charm no more.

And lo! it visits man with beams of light and love, In vain she checks the God's control;

His madding spirit fills her frame, And moulds the features of her soul,

VERSES Breathing a prophetic fame. The cavern frowns; its hundred mouths unclose! WRITTEN TO BE SPOKEN BY MRS. SIDDONS.' And in the thunder's voice, the fate of empire flows!

Yes, 't is the pulse of life! my fears were vain; III. 1.

I wake, I breathe, and am myself again. Mona, thy Druid-rites awake the dead!

Still in this nether world ; no seraph yet! Rites thy brown oaks would never dare

Nor walks my spirit, when the sun is set, Even whisper to the idle air ;

With troubled step to haunt the fatal board, Rites that have chain'd old Ocean on his bed.

Where I died last—by poison or the sword; Shiver'd by thy piercing glance

Blanching each honest cheek with deeds of night, Pointless falls the hero's lance.

Done here so oft by dim and doubtful light. Thy magic bids the imperial eagle fly,'

-To drop all metaphor, that liutle bell And blasts the laureate wreath of victory.

Callid back reality, and broke the spell. Hark, the bard's soul inspires the vocal string! No heroine claims your tears with tragic tone; At every pause dread Silence hovers o'er:

A very woman-scarce restrains her own! While murky Night sails round on raven-wing,

Can she, with fiction, charm the cheated mind, Deepening the tempest's howl, the torrent's roar;

When to be grateful is the part assign'd? Chased by the Morn from Snowdon's awful brow,

Ah no! she scorns the trappings of her Art; Where late she sate and scowl'd on the black wave

No theme but truth, no prompter but the heart! below.

But, Ladies, say, must I alone unmask ?
III. 2.

Is here no other actress ? let me ask.
Lo, steel-clad War his gorgeous standard rears! Believe me, those, who best the heart dissect,
The red-cross squadrons madly rage,

Know every Woman studies stage-effect. And mow through infancy and age;

She moulds her manners to the part she fills, Then kiss the sacred dust and melt in lears

As Instinct teaches, or as Humor wills; Veiling from the eye of day,

And, as the grave or gay her talent calls, Penance dreams her life away ;

Acts in the drama till the curtain falls. In cloister'd solitude she sits and sighs,

First, how her little breast with triumph swells While from each shrine still, small responses rise.

When the red coral rings its golden bells ! Hear, with what heart-felt beat, the midnight-bell

To play in pantomime is then the rage, Swings its slow summons through the hollow pile!

Along the carpet's many-color'd stage ; The weak, wan votarist leaves her twilight-cell,

Or lisp her merry thoughts with loud endeavor, To walk, with taper dim, the winding aisle ;

Now here, now there in noise and mischief ever! With choral chantings vainly to aspire,

A school-girl next, she curls her hair in papers, Beyond this nether sphere, on Rapture's wing of fire. And mimics father's gout, and mother's vapors ; III. 3.

Discards her doll, bribes Betty for romances ; Lord of each pang the nerves can feel,

Playful at church, and serious when she dances; Hence with the rack and reeking wheel.

Tramples alike on customs and on toes, Faith lifts the soul above this little ball!

And whispers all she hears to all she knows; While gleams of glory open round,

Terror of caps, and wigs, and sober notions ! And circling choirs of angels call,

A romp! that longest of perpetual motions ! Canst thou, with all thy terrors crown'd,

-Till tamed and tortured into foreign graces, Hope to obscure that latent spark,

She sports her lovely face at public places; Destined to shine when suns are dark ?

And with blue, laughing eyes, behind her fan, Thy triumphs cense! through every land,

First acts her part with that great actor, MAN. Hark! Truth proclaims, thy triumphs cease!

Too soon a flirt, approach her and she flies! Her heavenly form, with glowing hand,

Frowns when pursued, and, when entreated, sighs! Benignly points to piety and peace.

Plays with unhappy men as cats with mice; Flush'd with youth her looks impart

Till fading beauty hints the late advice. Each fine feeling as it flows;

Her prudence dictates what her pride disdain'd, Her voice the echo of a heart

And now she sues to slaves herself had chain'd! Pure as the mountain-snows :

Then comes that good old character, a Wife, Celestial transports round her play,

With all the dear distracting cares of life ; And softly, sweetly die away.

A thousand cards a day at doors to leave, She smiles! and where is now the cloud

And, in return, a thousand cards receive; That blacken'd o'er thy baleful reign?

Rouge high, play deep, to lead the ton aspire, Grim darkness furls his leaden shroud,

With nightly blaze set Portland-place on fire ; Shrinking from her glance in vain.

Snatch half a glimpse at Concert, Opera, Ball,

A meteor, traced by none, though seen by all; I see Tacitus, l. ziv, c. 29. 2 This remarkable event happened at the siege and sack of Jerusalem, in the last year of the eleventh century. Matth. 1 After a Tragedy, performed for her benefit, at the Theatre Pari, p. 34.

Royal in Drury-lane, April 27, 1795.

FROM EURIPIDES. THERE is a streamlet issuing from a rock. The village-girls, singing wild madrigals, Dip their white vestments in its waters clear, And hang them to the sun. There first I saw her. Her dark and eloquent eyes, mild, full of fire, 'Twas heaven to look upon; and her sweet voice, As lunable as harp of many strings, At once spoke joy and sadness to my soul!

And, when her shatter'd nerves forbid to roam,
In very spleen-rehearse the girls at home.

Last, the grey Dowager, in ancient flounces,
With snuff and spectacles the age denounces ;
Boasts how the Sires of this degenerate Isle
Knelt for a look, and duell'd for a smile.
The scourge and ridicule of Goth and Vandal,
Her tea she sweetens, as she sips, with scandal ;
With modern Belles eternal warfare wages,
Like her own birds that clamor from their cages;
And shuffles round to bear her tale to all,
Like some old Ruin, “ nodding to its fall!"

Thus Woman makes her entrance and her exit; Not least an actress, when she least suspects it. Yet Nature oft peeps out and mars the plot, Each lesson lost, each poor pretence forgot ; Full oft, with energy that scorns control, At once lights up the features of the soul; Unlocks each thought chain'd down by coward Art, And to full day the latent passions start! -And she, whose first, best wish is your applause, Herself exemplifies the truth she draws. Born on the stage—through every shifting scene, Obscure or bright, tempestuous or serene, Sull has your smile her trembling spirit fired! And can she act, with thoughts like these inspired ? Thus from her mind all artifice she flings, All skill, all practice, now unmeaning things! To you, uncheck’d, each genuine feeling flows; For all that life endears—to you she owes.

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Oh, if you knew the pensive pleasure
That fills my bosom when I sigh,
You would not rob me of a treasure
Monarchs are too poor to buy.

But lo, at last he comes with crowded sail!
Lo, o'er the cliff what eager figures bend!
And hark, what mingled murmurs swell the gale!
In each he hears the welcome of a friend.

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