THIS house was Andrea Doria's. Here he lived; (181)

Parent and child! How oft where now we rode (180) And here at eve relaxing, when ashore,
Over the billow, has a wretched son,

Or yet more wretched sire, grown grey in chains,
Labor'd, his hands upon the oar, his eyes
Upon the land-the land, that gave him birth;
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,

"Tis still the noblest dwelling-even in Genoa!
And hadst thou, Andrea, lived there to the last,
Thou hadst done well; for there is that without,
That in the wall, which monarchs could not give,
Nor thou take with thee, that which says aloud,
It was thy Country's gift to her Deliverer.

"Tis in the heart of Genoa (he who comes,
Must come on foot) and in a place of stir;
Men on their daily business, early and late,
Thronging thy very threshold. But when there,
Thou wert among thy fellow-citizens,

Thy children, for they hail'd thee as their sire;
And on a spot thou must have loved, for there,
Calling them round, thou gavest them more than life,
Giving what, lost, makes life not worth the keeping.
There thou didst do indeed an act divine;
Nor couldst thou leave thy door or enter in,
Without a blessing on thee.

Thou art now
Again among them. Thy brave mariners,
They who had fought so often by thy side,
Staining the mountain-billows, bore thee back;
And thou art sleeping in thy funeral-chamber.

Where, when the south-wind blows, and clouds on
clouds

Gather and fall, the peasant freights his bark,
Mindful to migrate when the king of floods
Visits his humble dwelling, and the keel,
Slowly uplifted over field and fence,
Floats on a world of waters-from that low,
That level region, where no Echo dwells,
Or, if she comes, comes in her saddest plight,
Hoarse, inarticulate on to where the path
Is lost in rank luxuriance, and to breathe
Is to inhale distemper, if not death;

Where the wild-boar retreats, when hunters chafe
And, when the day-star flames, the buffalo-herd,
Afflicted, plunge into the stagnant pool,
Nothing discern'd amid the water-leaves,
Save here and there the likeness of a head,
Savage, uncouth; where none in human shape
Come, save the herdsman, levelling his length
Of lance with many a cry, or, Tartar-like,
Urging his steed along the distant hill
As from a danger. There, but not to rest,
I travell'd many a dreary league, nor turn'd
(Ah then least willing, as who had not been?)
When in the South, against the azure sky,

Thine was a glorious course; but couldst thou Three temples rose in soberest majesty,

there,

Clad in thy cere-cloth-in that silent vault,
Where thou art gather'd to thy ancestors-
Open thy secret heart and tell us all,
Then should we hear thee with a sigh confess,
A sigh how heavy, that thy happiest hours
Were pass'd before these sacred walls were left,
Before the ocean-wave thy wealth reflected, (184)
And pomp and power drew envy, stirring up
The ambitious man,' that in a perilous hour
Fell from the plank. (185)

A FAREWELL.

AND now farewell to Italy-perhaps
For ever! Yet, methinks, I could not go,
I could not leave it, were it mine to say,
"Farewell for ever!"

Many a courtesy,
That sought no recompense, and met with none
But in the swell of heart with which it came,
Have I experienced; not a cabin-door,
Go where I would, but open'd with a smile;
From the first hour, when, in my long descent,
Strange perfumes rose, as if to welcome me,
From flowers that minister'd like unseen spirits;
From the first hour, when vintage-songs broke forth,
A grateful earnest, and the Southern lakes,
Dazzlingly bright, unfolded at my feet;
They that receive the cataracts, and ere-long
Dismiss them, but how changed-onward to roll
From age to age in silent majesty,

Blessing the nations, and reflecting round
The gladness they inspire.

Gentle or rude,
No scene of life but has contributed
Much to remember-from the Polesine,

The wondrous work of some heroic race.2

But now a long farewell! Oft, while I live,
If once again in England, once again
In my own chimney-nook, as Night steals on,
With half-shut eyes reclining, oft, methinks,
While the wind blusters and the pelting rain
Clatters without, shall I recall to mind
The scenes, occurrences, I met with here,
And wander in Elysium; many a note
Of wildest melody, magician-like,
Awakening, such as the Calabrian horn,
Along the mountain-side, when all is still,
Pours forth at folding-time; and many a chant,
Solemn, sublime, such as at midnight flows
From the full choir, when richest harmonies
Break the deep silence of thy glens, La Cava;
To him who lingers there with listening ear,
Now lost and now descending as from Heaven!

Shakspeare seems to have delighted in them, and in some of his soliloquies has used them four and five times in succession; an example I have not followed in mine. As in the following instance, where the sub-tinguished, the anthem stopt! A darkness succeeded, ject is solemn beyond all others:

The north-east wind. This description was writ- has such a bridge. The most celebrated in this counten in June, 1816.

Note 14, page 44, col. 2.

speaking, escaped observation. If I cannot supply the deficiency, I will not follow their example; and hap

Mine but for those, who, like Jean Jacques, delight.

"J'aime beaucoup ce tournoiement, pourvu que je py should I be, if by an intermixture of verse and sois en sûreté."-Les Confessions, 1. iv.

Note 18, page 45, col. 2.

Like him who, in the days of Minstrelsy. Petrarch, Epist. Rer. Sen. 1. v, ep.

Note 19, page 45, col. 2.

Before the great Mastino.

3.

Mastino de la Scala, the Lord of Verona. Cortusio, the ambassador and historian, saw him so surrounded.-L. 6.

This house had been always open to the unfortunate. In the days of Can Grande, all were welcome; Poets, Philosophers, Artists, Warriors. Each had his apartment, each a separate table; and at the hour of dinner, musicians and jesters went from room to room. Dante, as we learn from himself, found an asylum there.

Lo primo tuo rifugio, e'l primo ostello Sarà la cortesia del gran Lombardo, Che'n su la scala porta il santo uccelle. Their tombs in the public street carry us back into the times of barbarous virtue; nor less so do those of the Carrara Princes at Padua, though less singular and striking in themselves. Francis Carrara, the Elder, used often to visit Petrarch in his small house at Arqua, and followed him on foot to his grave. Note 20, page 46, col. 1.

And shall I sup where Juliet at the Masque. The old Palace of the Cappalletti, with its uncouth balcony and irregular windows, is still standing in a lane near the market-place; and what Englishman can behold it with indifference?

When we enter Verona, we forget ourselves, and are almost inclined to say with Dante,

Vieni a veder Montecchi, e Cappalletti.

Note 21, page 46, col. 1.
Such questions hourly do I ask myself.

It has been observed that in Italy the memory sees more than the eye. Scarcely a stone is turned up that has not some historical association, ancient or modern; that may not be said to have gold under it.

prose, of prose illustrating the verse, and verse embellishing the prose, I could furnish my countrymen on their travels with a pocket-companion.

An old huntsman of the family met her in the haze
of the morning, and never went out again.
She is still known by the name of Madonna Bianca.
Note 26, page 47, col. 1.

Still glowing with the richest hues of art.
Several were painted by Giorgione and Titian; as,
for instance, those of the Fondaco de Tedeschi and
the Ca' Grimani.-See VASARI.

The stutterer was in an agony; the word was inexorable. It was to no purpose that Harlequin suggested another and another. At length, in a fit of despair, he pitched his head full in the dying man's stomach, and the word bolted out of his mouth to the most distant part of the house."-See MOORE'S View of Society in Italy.

Note 31, page 47, col. 2.

A vast Metropolis.

"I love," says a late traveller, "to contemplate, as 88

Note 40, page 49, col. 2.

Down which the grizzly head of old Faliero

Roll'd from the block.

I float along, that multitude of palaces and churches," in the records of the Republic; and his house has, which are congregated and pressed as on a vast raft." from that time to this, been called La Corte del Mil-"And who," says anothor, "can forget his walk lioni," the house of the rich man, the millionnaire. through the Merceria, where the nightingales give It is on the canal of S. Giovanni Chrisostomo, and, you their melody from shop to shop, so that, shutting as long as he lived, was much resorted to by the your eyes, you would think yourself in some forest- curious and the learned. glade, when indeed you are all the while in the middle of the sea? Who can forget his prospect from the great tower, which once, when gilt, and when the sun struck upon it, was to be descried by ships afar off; or his visit to St. Mark's church, where you see nothing, tread on nothing, but what is precious; the floor all agate, jasper; the roof mosaic; the aisle hung with the banners of the subject cities; the front and its five domes affecting you as the work of some unknown people? Yet all this will presently pass away; the waters will close over it; and they, that come, row about in vain to determine exactly where it stood."

Note 32, page 47, col. 2.
Ere yet the Cafila came.-

A Caravan.

Note 33, page 48, col. 2.
Playing at Mora.

A national game of great antiquity, and most probably the "micare digitis" of the Romans.

Note 34, page 48, col. 2.

-twelve Procurators.

The procuratorship of St. Mark was the second dignity in the Republic.

Note 35, page 49, col. 1.

The brass is gone, the porphyry remains.
They were placed in the floor as memorials. The
brass was engraven with the words addressed by the
Pope to the Emperor, "Super aspidem," etc.

Note 36, page 49, col. 1.

Of the proud Pontiff

Alexander III. He fled in disguise to Venice, and is said to have passed the first night on the steps of San Salvatore. The entrance is from the Merceria, near the foot of the Rialto; and it is thus recorded, under his escutcheon, in a small tablet at the door: Alexandro III. Pont. Max. pernoctanti.

Note 37, page 49, col. 1.

-resounding with their feet.

Of him and his conspiracy I had given a brief account; but he is now universally known through a the admiration of other countries as of his own. Writer, whose poetical talents command as much

Note 41, page 49, col. 2.

A short inscription on the Doge's chair
Led to another on the wall yet shorter.
Marino Faliero dalla bella moglie: altri la gode ed
egli la mantiene.

Locus Marini Faletri, decapitati pro criminibus.

Note 42, page 49, col. 2.
Carmagnola.

"Il Conte, entrando in prigione, disse: Vedo bene chi'o son morto, e trasse un gran sospiro."-SANUTO.

Note 43, page 49, col. 2.

And bore away to the canal Orfano.

A deep channel behind the island of S. Giorgo Maggiore.

Note 44, page 50, col. 1.

"Who were the Six we supp'd with yesternight ?" An allusion to the Supper in Candide.-C. xxvi.

Note 45, page 50, col. 1. "Who answer'd me just now?"

See Schiller's Ghost-seer.-C. i.

Note 46, page 50, col. 1.

"But who stands there, alone among them all?" See the history of Bragadino, the Alchymist, as related by Daru.-Hist. de Venise, c. 28.

A person yet more extraordinary is said to have appeared there in 1687.

"Those, who have experienced the advantages which all strangers enjoy in that City, will not be surprised that one who went by the name of Signor Gualdi was admitted into the best company, though none knew who or what he was. He remained there some months; and three things were remarked con

See Petrarch's description of them, and of the tour-cerning him-that he had a small but inestimable nament-Rer. Senil. 1. 4, ep. 2.

Note 38, page 49, col. 1.

-some from merry England.

collection of pictures, which he readily showed to any body-that he spoke on every subject with such a mastery as astonished all who heard him-and that he never wrote or received any letter, never real-quired any credit or used any bills of exchange, but paid for everything in ready money, and lived respectably, though not splendidly.

“Recenti victoriâ exultantes," says Petrarch, luding, no doubt, to the favorable issue of the war in France. This festival began on the 4th of August,

1364.

Note 39, page 49, col. 1.

And lo, the madness of the Carnival.

"This gentleman being one day at the coffee-house, a Venetian nobleman, who was an excellent judge of pictures, and who had heard of Signor Gualdi's Among those the most followed, there was always collection, expressed a desire to see them; and his a mask in a magnificent habit, relating marvellous request was instantly granted. After contemplating adventures and calling himself Messer Marco Mil- and admiring them for some time, he happened to lioni. Millioni was the name given by his fellow-cast his eyes over the chamber-door, where hung a citizens in his life-time to the great traveller, Marco portrait of the Stranger. The Venetian looked upon Polo. "I have seen him so described," says Ramusio, it, and then upon him. This is your portrait, Sir,'