Of air and diet, landing and as gaily,

Near the Dogana-on the Great Canal,

As tho' thou knewest where to dine and sleep.

First didst thou practise Patience in BOLOGNA, Serving behind a Cardinal's gouty chair,

Laughing at jests that were no laughing matter; Then teach the Art to others in FERRARA

-At the Three Moors-as Guide, as CiceroneDealing out largely in exchange for pence

Thy scraps of Knowledge-thro' the grassy street Leading, explaining-pointing to the bars

Of TASSO's dungeon, and the latin verse,

Graven in the stone, that yet denotes the door

Of ARIOSTO."

Many a year is gone

Since on the RHINE we parted; yet, methinks,

I can recall thee to the life, Luigi;

In our long journey ever by my side,

O'er rough and smooth, o'er apennine, maremma;

Thy locks jet-black, and clustering round a face Open as day and full of manly daring.

Thou hadst a hand, a heart for all that came,

Herdsman or pedler, monk or muleteer;

And few there were, that met thee not with smiles.

Mishap passed o'er thee like a summer-cloud.

Cares thou hadst none; and they, who stood to

hear thee,

Caught the infection and forgot their own.

Nature conceived thee in her merriest mood,

Her happiest not a speck was in the sky;

And at thy birth the cricket chirped, Luigi,

Thine a perpetual voice-at every turn

A larum to the echo. In a clime,

Where all the world was gay, thou wert the gayest, And, like a babe, hushed only by thy slumbers;

Up hill and down, morning and noon and night, Singing or talking; singing to thyself

When none gave ear, but to the listener talking.

XIII.

OVER how many tracts, vast, measureless,
Nothing, from day to day, from year to year,
Passes, save now and then a cloud, a meteor,
A famished eagle ranging for his prey;

While on this spot of earth, the work of man,
How much has been transacted! Emperors, Popes,
Warriors, from far and wide, laden with spoil,
Landing, have here performed their several parts,
Then left the stage to others. Not a stone

In the broad pavement, but to him who has

An eye, an ear for the Inanimate World,

Tells of Past Ages.

In that temple-porch,

(The brass is gone, the porphyry remains,)

Did BARBAROSSA fling his mantle off,

And, kneeling, on his neck receive the foot
Of the proud Pontiff-thus at last consoled
For flight, disguise, and many an aguish shake
On his stone-pillow.* In that temple-porch,
Old as he was, so near his hundredth year,
And blind his eyes put out-did DANDOLO
Stand forth, displaying on his ducal crown

The cross just then assumed at the high altar.

There did he stand, crect, invincible,

Tho' wan his cheeks, and wet with many tears,

* See Note.