And thou hast found at last. Were I as thou, I wrote. " 'T is well, he cried. A peasant-boy, Trusty and swift of foot, shall bear it hence. Meanwhile lie down and rest. This cloak of mine Will serve thee; it has weather'd many a storm.» The watch was set; and twice it had been changed, When morning broke, and a wild bird, a hawk, Flew in a circle, screaming. I look'd up, And all were gone, save him who now kept guard, . Wouldst thou know more? My story is an old one. I loved, was scorn'd, I trusted, was betray'd; And in my anguish, my necessity, Met with the fiend, the tempter-in Rusconi. Of snow, and her fair eyes closed as in sleep, Frantic with love, with hate, Great God!' I cried, (I had almost forgotten how to pray) Why may I not, while yet-while yet I can, Release her from a thraldom worse than death? 'Twas done as soon as said. I kiss'd her brow, And smote her with my dagger. A short cry She utter'd, but she stirr'd not; and to heaven Her gentle spirit fled. 'T was where the path In its descent turn'd suddenly. No eye Observed me, though their steps were following fast. But soon a yell broke forth, and all at once Levell'd their deadly aim. Then I had ceased To trouble or be troubled, and had now (Would I were there!) been slumbering in my grave, Had not Rusconi with a terrible shout Thrown himself in between us, and exclaim'd, 'Why thus? he cried. 'Thou wouldst be free and darest Is it for deeds like these thou wear'st a sword? not. Come and assert thy birth-right while thou canst. Dost thou ask Thou shalt be told, Cost what it may.—But grant me, I implore, Grant me a passport to some distant land, That I may never, never more be named. Thou wilt, I know thou wilt. How I have kept my oath? Two months ago, When on a vineyard-hill we lay conceal'd And scattered up and down as we were wont, I heard a damsel singing to herself, And soon espied her, coming all alone, In her first beauty. Up a path she came, Leafy and intricate, singing her song, A song of love, by snatches; breaking off If but a flower, an insect in the sun Pleased for an instant; then as carelessly The strain resuming, and, where'er she stopt, Rising on tiptoe underneath the boughs To pluck a grape in very wantonness. Her look, her mien and maiden-ornaments Show'd gentle birth; and, step by step, she came, Nearer and nearer, to the dreadful snare. Was this the business that thou camest upon? Ere his tale was told, -But the night wears, and thou art much in need Of rest. The young Antonio, with his torch, Is waiting to conduct thee to thy chamber. XV. NAPLES. THIS region, surely, is not of the earth.' Un pezzo di cielo caduto in terra.-SANNAZARO. Some ruin'd temple or fallen monument, And be it mine to muse there, mine to glide, When he, the Patriarch, who escaped the Flood, Every where Yet here, methinks, Truth wants no ornament, in her own shape Here the vines Wed, each her elm, and o'er the golden grain By many a voice yet sweeter than their own, Its hopes and fears and feignings, till the youth But here the mighty Monarch underneath, He works his wonders; save, when issuing forth And eager to enjoy. Let us go round, And let the sail be slack, the course be slow, What the mountainous Isle, Seen in the South? "T is where a Monster dwelt, 2 Who hurl'd his victims from the topmost cliff; Then and then only merciful, so slow, So subtle were the tortures they endured. Say to the noblest, be they where they might, << Go from the earth! and from the earth they went. Yet such things were-and will be, when mankind, Losing all virtue, lose all energy; And for the loss incur the penalty, Let us turn the prow, Once did I linger there alone, till day Closed, and at length the calm of twilight came, So grateful, yet so solemn! At the fount, Just where the three ways meet, I stood and look'd, ("T was near a noble house, the house of Pansa), And all was still as in the long, long night That follow'd, when the shower of ashes fell, When they that sought Pompeii, sought in vain; It was not to be found. But now a ray, Bright and yet brighter, on the pavement glanced, And on the wheel-track worn for centuries, And on the stepping-stones from side to side, O'er which the maidens, with their water-urns, Were wont to trip so lightly. Full and clear, The moon was rising, and at once reveal'd The name of every dweller, and his craft; Shining throughout with an unusual lustre, And lighting up this City of the Dead. Has stopt to scrawl a ship, an armed man; They sate and quaff'd and look'd on them that pass'd, But lo, engraven on a threshold-stone, As through the courts and chambers we advance, And columns clustering in Patrician splendour. XVI. THE BAG OF GOLD. it, for it bears some resemblance to that of the Merchant of Venice. We were now arrived at a pavilion that commanded one of the noblest prospects imaginable; the mountains, the sea, and the islands illuminated by the last beams of day; and, sitting down there, he proceeded with his usual vivacity; for the sadness, that had come across him, was gone. There lived in the fourteenth century, near Bologna, a widow-lady of the Lambertini family, called Madonna Lucrezia, who in a revolution of the state had known the bitterness of poverty, and had even begged her bread; kneeling day after day like a statue at the gate of the cathedral; her rosary in her left hand and her right held out for charity; her long black veil concealing a face that had once adorned a court, and had received the homage of as many sonnets as Petrarch has written on Laura. But Fortune had at last relented; a legacy from a distant relation had come to her relief; and she was now the mistress of a small inn at the foot of the Appennines; where she entertained as well as she could, and where those only stopped who were contented with a little. The house was still standing, when in my youth I passed that way; though the sign of the White Cross,' the Cross of the Hospitallers, was no longer to be seen over the door; a sign which she had taken, if we may believe the tradition there, in honour of a maternal uncle, a grand-master of that Order, whose achievements in Palestine she would sometimes relate. A mountain-stream ran through the garden; and at no great distance, where the road turned on its way to Bologna, stood a little chapel, in which a lamp was always burning before a picture of the Virgin, a picture of great antiquity, the work of some Greek artist. I DINE Very often with the good old Cardinal *** and, I should add, with his cats; for they always sit at his Here she was dwelling, respected by all who knew table, and are much the gravest of the company. His her; when an event took place, which threw her into beaming countenance makes us forget his age; nor did the deepest affliction. It was at noon-day in September I ever see it clouded till yesterday, when, as we were that three foot-travellers arrived, and, seating themcontemplating the sun-set from his terrace, he hap-selves on a bench under her vine-trellis, were supplied pened, in the course of our conversation, to allude to an affecting circumstance in his early life. He had just left the University of Palermo and was entering the army, when he became acquainted with a young lady of great beauty and merit, a Sicilian of a family as illustrious as his own. Living near each other, they were often together; and, at an age like theirs, friendship soon turns to love. But his father, for what reason I forget, refused his consent to their union; till, alarmed at the declining health of his son, he promised to oppose it no longer, if, after a separation of three years, they continued as much in love as ever. ip Relying on that promise, he said, I set out on a long journey, but in my absence the usual arts were resorted to. Our letters were intercepted; and false rumours were spread-first of my indifference, then of my constancy, then of my marriage with a rich heiress of Sienna; and, when at length 1 returned to make her my own, I found her in a convent of Ursuline Nuns. She had taken the veil; and I, said he with a sigh-what else remained for me?-I went into the church. Yet many, he continued, as if to turn the conversation, very many have been happy though we were not; and, if I am not abusing an old man's privilege, let me tell you a story with a better catastrophe. It was told to me when a boy; and you may not be unwilling to hear with a flagon of Aleatico by a lovely girl, her only child, the image of her former self. The eldest spoke like a Venetian, and his beard was short and pointed after the fashion of Venice. In his demeanour he affected great courtesy, but his look inspired little confidence; for when he smiled, which he did continually, it was with his lips only, not with his eyes; and they were always turned from yours. His companions were bluff and frank in their manner, and on their tongues had many a soldier's oath. In their hats they wore a medal, such as in that age was often distributed in war; and they were evidently subalterns in one of those Free Bands which were always ready to serve in any quarrel, if a service it could be called, where a battle was little more than a mockery; and the slain, as on an opera-stage, were up and fighting to-morrow. Overcome with the heat, they threw aside their cloaks; and, with their gloves tucked under their belts, continued for some time in earnest conversation. At length they rose to go; and the Venetian thus addressed their Hostess. « Excellent Lady, may we leave under your roof, for a day or two, this bag of gold?» You may, she replied gaily. But remember, we fasten only with a latch. Bars and bolts, we have none 'La Croce Bianca. in our village; and, if we had, where would be your should divert their thoughts; a precaution in this security?» instance at least unnecessary, Lorenzo having lost his heart to another. 1 In your word, Lady.» «But what if I died to-night? Where would it be then?» said she, laughing. The money would go to the Church; for none could claim it.. To him she flies in her necessity; but of what assistance can he be? He has just taken his place at the bar, but he has never spoken; and how stand up alone, « Perhaps you will favour us with an acknowledg- unpractised and unprepared as he is, against an array ment.. If you will write it. An acknowledgment was written accordingly, and she signed it before Master Bartolo, the Village-physician, who had just called by chance to learn the news of the day; the gold to be delivered when applied for, but to be delivered (these were the words) not to one-nor to two-but to the three; words wisely introduced by those to whom it belonged, knowing what they knew of each other. The gold they had just released from a miser's chest in Perugia; and they were now on a scent that promised more. that would alarm the most experienced? Were I as mighty as I am weak,» said he, my fears for you would make me as nothing. But I will be there, Gianetta; and may the Friend of the Friendless give me strength in that hour! Even now my heart fails me; but, come what will, while I have a loaf to share, you and your Mother shall never want. I will beg through the world for you.» The day arrives, and the court assembles. The claim is stated, and the evidence given. And now the defence is called for-but none is made; not a syllable is uttered; and, after a pause and a consultation of some minutes, the Judges are proceeding to give judgment, silence having been proclaimed in the court, when Lorenzo rises and thus addresses them. They and their shadows were no sooner departed, than the Venetian returned, saying, « Give me leave to set my seal on the bag, as the others have done;» and she placed it on a table before him. But in that moment she was called away to receive a Cavalier, who had just dismounted from his horse; and, when she came back, it was gone. The temptation had proved irresis-long. tible; and the man and the money had vanished together. « Wretched woman that I am! she cried, as in an agony of grief she fell on her daughter's neck, What will become of us! Are we again to be cast out into the wide world?-Unhappy child, would that thou hadst never been born!» and all day long she lamented; but her tears availed her little. The others were not slow in returning to claim their due; and there were no tidings of the thief: he had fled far away with his plunder. A process against her was instantly begun in Bologna; and what defence could she make; how release herself from the obligation of the bond? Wilfully or in negligence she had parted with it to one, when she should have kept it for all; and inevitable ruin awaited her! Go, Gianetta, said she to her daughter, take this veil which your mother has worn and wept under so often, and implore the Counsellor Calderino to plead for us on the day of trial. He is generous, and will listen to the Unfortunate. But, if he will not, go from door to door; Monaldi cannot refuse us. Make haste, my child; but remember the chapel as you pass by it. Nothing prospers without a prayer.▾ Alas, she went, but in vain. These were retained against them; those demanded more than they had to give; and all bade them despair. What was to be !done? No advocate; and the cause to come on to morrow! Now Gianetta had a lover; and he was a student of the law, a young man of great promise, Lorenzo Martelli. He had studied long and diligently under that learned lawyer, Giovanni Andreas, who, though little of stature, was great in renown, and by his contemporaries was called the Arch-doctor, the Rabbi of Doctors, the Light of the World. Under him he had studied, sitting on the same bench with Petrarch; and also under his daughter, Novella, who would often lecture to the scholars, when her father was otherwise engaged, placing herself behind a small curtain, lest her beauty | « Reverend Signors. Young as I am, may I venture to speak before you? I would speak in behalf of one who has none else to help her; and I will not keep you Much has been said; much on the sacred nature of the obligation-and we acknowledge it in its full force. Let it be fulfilled, and to the last letter. It is what we solicit, what we require. But to whom is the bag of gold to be delivered? What says the bond? Not to one -not to two-but to the three. Let the three stand forth and claim it.» From that day, (for who can doubt the issue?) none were sought, none employed, but the subtle, the eloquent Lorenzo. Wealth followed Fame; nor need I say how soon he sat at his marriage-feast, or who sat beside him. XVII. A CHARACTER. ONE of two things Montrioli may have, . At morn the minister exacts an hour; He clanks his fetters to disturb my peace. Ce pourroit être, says Bayle, la matière d'un joli problême: on pourroit examiner si cette fille avançoit, ou si elle retardoit le profit de ses auditeurs, en leur cachant son beau visage. Il y auroit cent choses à dire pour et contre là-dessus. Of wealth and power, renouncing willingly What men most covet, wealth, distinction, power, And they, the few, that have it ere they earn it, These dangerous gifts placed in their idle hands, For manhood most mature or reverend age, XVIII. SORRENTO. He who sets sails from Naples, when the wind There would I linger-then go forth again, And hover round that region unexplored, Where to Salvator (when, as some relate, By chance or choice he led a bandit's life, Yet oft withdrew, alone and unobserved, To wander through those awful solitudes) Nature reveal'd herself. Unveil'd she stood, In all her wildness, all her majesty, As in that elder time, ere Man was made. There would I linger-then go forth again; And he who steers due east, doubling the cape, Discovers, in a crevice of the rock, The fishing-town, Amalfi. (165) Haply there 1 Tasso. 1 A heaving bark, an anchor on the strand, May tell him what it is; but what it was, Cannot be told so soon. The time has been, When on the quays along the Syrian coast, 'T was ask'd and eagerly, at break of dawn, « What ships are from Amalfi ?» when her coins, Silver and gold, circled from clime to clime; From Alexandria southward to Sennaar, And eastward, through Damascus and Cabul And Samarcand, to thy great wall, Cathay. Then were the nations by her wisdom sway'd; The pilgrims of the west; (166) and, when 't was ask'd; For three hundred years Losing their liberty, they left mankind A legacy, compared with which the wealth They are now forgot, The tyrant slain; (169) though then the grass of years There now to him who sails Under the shore, a few white villages, Scatter'd above, below, some in the clouds, Some on the margin of the dark blue sea, And glittering through their lemon-groves, announce The region of Amalfi. Then half-fallen, A lonely watch-tower on the precipice, Their ancient land-mark, comes. Long may it last; Though now he little thinks how large his debt, |