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'Mid sights and sounds like these my life may close: As dwells the gather'd lightning in its cloud, So let it be—for then I shall repose.

Encompass'd with its dark and rolling shroud,

Till struck,-forth Hies the all-ethereal dart!

And thus, at the collision of thy name,
I have been patient, let me be so yet,

The vivid thought still flashes through my frame, I had forgotten half I would forget,

And for a moment all things as they were But it revives—Oh! would it were my lot

Flit by me;-they are gone-I am the same. To be forgetful as I am forgot!

And yet my love without ambition grew; Feel I not wroth with those who bade me dwell

I knew thy state, my slation, and I knew
In this vast lazar-house of many woes?

A princess was no love-mate for a bard;.
Where laughter is not mirth, nor thought the mind, I told it not, I breathed it not, it was
Nor words a language, nor even men mankind; Sufficient to itself, its own reward;
Where cries reply to curses, shrieks to blows, And if my eyes reveal'd it, they, alas!
And each is tortured in his separate hell-

Were punish'd by the silentness of thine,
For we are crowded in our solitudes-

And yet I did not venture to repine. Many, but each divided by the wall,

Thou wert to me a crystal-girded shrine, Which echoes Madness in her babbling moods ; Worshipp'd at holy distance, and around While all can hear, none heed his neighbour's call Hallow'd and meekly kiss'd the saintly, ground; None! save that one, the veriest wretch of all,(1) Not for thou wert a princess, but that Love Who was not made to be the mate of these, Had robed thee with a glory, and array'd Nor bound between Distraction and Disease. Thy lineaments in beauty that dismay'dFeel I not wroth with those who placed me here ? Oh! not dismay'd—but awed, like one above; Who have debased me in the minds of men, And in that sweet severity there was Debarring me the usage of my own,

A something which all softness did surpassBlighting my life in best of its career,

I know not how—thy genius master'd mine-
Branding my thoughts as things to shun and fear?

My star stood still before thee:-if it were
Would I not pay them back these pangs again, Presumptuous thus to love without design,
And teach them inward Sorrow's siified groan ? That sad fatality hath cost me dear;
The struggle to be calm, and cold distress,

But thou art dearest still, and I should be
Which undermines our stoical success?

Fit for this cell, which wrongs me—but for ther. No!-still too proud to be vindictive-1

The very love which lock’d me to my chain Have pardon’d princes' insults, and would die.

Hath lighten'd half its weight; and for the rest, Yes, sister of my sovereign ! for thy sake

Though heavy, lent me vigour to sustain, I weed all bitterness from out my breast,

And look to thee with undivided breast, It hath no business where thou art a quest;

And foil the ingenuity of Pain.(4) 'Thy brother hates—but I can not detest; (2)

Thou pitiest not-but I can not forsake.

It is no marvel—from my very birth

My soul was drunk with love, which did pervade
Look on a love which knows not to despair, (3) And mingle with whale'er I saw on earth;
But all unquench'd is still my better part,

Of objects all inanimale I made Dwelling deep in my shut and silent heart

Idols, and out of wild and lonely flowers,

His name was Agostino Mosti. Tasso says of him, in a le:ter lo was, however, impregnable to the appeal; and Tasso, in another his sister, ed usa meco ogni sorte di rigore ed inumanità.'” ode to the princesses, whose pity be invoked in the name of Hobhouse.

their own mother, who had hersell known, if not the like horrors, (1) “This fearsul picture is finely contrastea with that which the like solitude of imprisonment, and biuerness of soul.

"ConTasso draws of himself in youth, when nacure and meditation sidered merely as poems,” says Black, “these canzoni are exwere forming his wild, romantic, and impassioned genius. In- tremely beautiful; but, if we contemplate them as the productions deed, the great excellence of the Lament consists in the ebbing or a mind diseased, they form important documents in the history and flowing of the noble prisoner's soul ;-his feelings often of man.” Life of Tasso. come suddenly from afar off, --sometimes gentle airs are breath (5) “ As to the indifference which the Princess is said to have ing, and then all at once arise the storms and tempesi, -the exhibited for the missorlunes of Tasso, and the little effort she gloom, though black as night while it endures, gives way to fre- made to oblain bis liberty, this is one of the negative arguments quent bursis of radiance,-and when the wild strain is closed, rounded on an hypothesis, that may be easily destroyed by a vur pily and commiseration are blended with a sustaining and thousand others equally plausible. Was not the Princess anxious elevating sense of the grandeur and majesty of his character." | lo avoid her own ruin? In taking too warm an interest for the Wilson.

poet, did she not risk destroying hersell, without saving him." (2) Not long after his imprisonment, Tasso appealed to the Foscolo. mercy of Alfonso, in a canzone of great beauty, couched in (4) “ Tasso's profound and unconquerable love for Leonora, terms so respectful and pathetic, as must have moved, it might sustaining itself without hope throughout years of darkness and be thought, the severest boso lo relent. The heart of Alfonso solitude, breathes a moral dignity over all his sentiments, and

I thought mine enemies had been but man,
But spirits may be leagued with them-all Earth
Abandons—Heaven forgets me;—in the dearth
Of such defence the Powers of Evil can,
It may be, tempt me further,-and prevail
Against the outworn creature they assail.
Why in this furnace is my spirit proved
Like steel in tempering fire ? because I loved ?
Because I loved what not to love, and see,
Was more or less than mortal, and than me.


And rocks, wbereby they grew, a paradise, Where I did Jay me down within the shade Of waving trees, and dream'd uncounted hours, Though I was chid for wandering; and the wise Shook their white aged heads o'er me, and said of such materials wretched men were made, And such a truant boy would end in woe, And that the only lesson was a blow;And then they smote me, and I did not weep, But cursed them in my heart, and to my haunt Return'd and wept alone, and dream'd again The visions which arise without a sleep. And with my years my soul began to pant With feelings of strange tumult and soft pain ; And the whole heart exhaled into one want, But undefined and wandering, till the day I found the thing I sought-and that was thee; And then I lost my being, all to be Absorb'd in thine-the world was past away'Thou didst annihilate the earth to me!

I loved all solitude-but little thought
To spend I know not what of life, remote
From all communion with existence, save
The maniac and his tyrant;—had I been
Their fellow, many years ere this had seen
My mind like theirs corrupted to its grave,
But who hath seen me writhe, or heard me rave ?
Perchance in such a cell we suffer more
Than the wreck'd sailor on his desert shore;
The world is all before him—mine is here,
Scarce twice the space they must accord my bier.
What though he perish, he may lift his eye
And with a dying glance uphraid the sky,
I will not raise my own in such reproof,
Although 't is clouded by my dungeon roof.

Yet do I feel at times my mind decline,(1)
But with a sense of its decay:-I see
Unwonted lights along my prison shine,
And a strange demon, who is vexing me
With pilfering pranks and petty pains, below
The feeling of the healthful and the free;
But much to one, who long hath suffer'd so,
Siekness of heart, and narrowness of place,
And all that may be borne, or can debase.

I once was quick in feeling-that is o'er ;-
My scars are callous, or I should have dash'd
My brain ainst these bars, as the sun flash'd
In mockery through them ;-if I bear and bore
The much I have recounted, and the more
Which hath no words,—'t is that I would not die,
And sanction with self-slaughter the dull lie
Which snared me here, and with the brand of

Stamp Madness deep into my memory,
And woo Compassion to a blighted name,
Sealing the sentence which my toes proclaim.
Nomit shall be immortal !-and I ma
A future temple of my present cell,
Which nations yet shall visit for my sake.
While thou, Ferrara ! when no longer dwell
The ducal chiefs within thee, shalt fall down,
And crumbling piecemeal view thy hearthless halls,
A poet's wreath shall be thine only crown,-
A poet's dungeon thy most far renown,
While strangers wonder o'er thy unpeopled walls!(2)
And thou, Leonora !-hou who wert ashamed
That such as I love-who blush'd to hear
To less than monarchs that thou couldst be dear,
Go! tell thy brother, that my heart, untamed
By grief, years, weariness—and it may be
A taint of that he would impute to me-
From long infection of a den like this,
Where the mind rots congenial with the abyss,
Adores thee still:---and add--that when the towers
And battlements which guard his joyous hours
Of banquet, dance, and revel, are forgot,
Or left untended in a dull repose,
This-this-shall be a consecrated spot!
But thou—when all that Birth and Beauty thror's

ve feel the strength and power of his noble spirit in the un- and as if I were overcome by an unwonted numbness and oppres opbraiding devotedness of his passion.” Wilson.

sive stupor."-Opere, t. viii. p. 258. 1) "Nor do I lament,” wrøle Tasso, shortly after his con- (2) “Those who indulge in the dreams of earthly retribution finement, " that my heart is deluged with almost constant misery, will observe, that the cruelty of Alfonso was not left without its that my head is always heavy and often painful, that my sight recompense, even in his own person. He survived the affection and hearing are much impaired, and that all my frame is become of his subjects and of his dependants, who deserted him at his spare and meagre; but passing all this with a short sigh, what death; and suffered bis body to be interred without princely or I would bewail is the infirmily of my mind. My mind sleeps, decent honours. His last wishes were neglected; his testament not thinks; my fancy is chill, and forms no pictures; my neg- cancelled. His kinsman, Don Cæsar, shrank from the excommuligent senses will no longer furnish the images of things; my nication of the Vatican, and, after a short struggle, or rather

hand is sluggish in writing, and my pen seems as if it shrunk suspense, Ferrara passed away for ever from the dominion of from the office. I feel as if I were chained in all my operations, the house of Este.” Hobhouse.

Of magic round thee is extinct-shalt have

As none in life could rend thee from my heart. One half the laurel which o'ershades my grave.(1) Yes, Leonora! it shall be our fate No power in death can tear our names apart, To be entwined for ever-but too late!(2)

(1) In July, 1886, after a confinement of more than seven years, spirit of imagination. Perhaps there is no instance of this so Tasso was released from his dungeon. In the hope of receiving very affecting and so very sublime as the case of Tasso. They his tnother's dowry, and of again beholding his sister Cornelia, who have seen the dark, horror-striking dungeon-hole at Fera he shortly after visited Naples, where his presence was welcomed rara, in which he was confined seven years under the imputation with every demon tration of esteem and admiration. Being on of madness, will have had this truth impressed upon their hearts a visit at Mola di Gaela, he received the following remarkable in a manner never to be erased. In this vault, of which the sight tribute of respect. Marco di Sciarra, the notorious captain of a makes the bardest heart shudder, the poet employed himself in numerous troop of banditti, hearing where the great poel was, finishing and correcting his immortal epic poem. Lord Byron's sent to compliment him, and offered him not only a sree passage, Lament on this subjeci is as sublime and profound a lesson in but protection by the way, and assured him that he and his folo morality, and in the pictures of the recesses of the human soul, lowers would be proud to execute his orders. See Manso, Vila as it is a production most eloquent, most pathetic, most vigorous, del Tasso, p. 219.-E.

and most elevating among the gifts of the Muse. The bosom (2) “The pleasures of imagination have been explained and which is not louched with it—the fancy which is not warmed, justified by Addison in prose, and by Akenside in verse; but there the understanding which is not enlightened and exalted by it, is are moments of real life when it's iniseries and its necessities seem not fit for human intercourse. If Lord Byron had written nothing Lo overpower and destroy them. The history of mankind, how. but this, to deny him the praise of a grand poet would have been ever, furnisbes proofs, that no bodily suffering, no adverse cir- Nagrant injustice or gross stupidity.” Sir E. Brydgos. cumslances, operating on our material nature, will extinguish the

Beppo ;


ROSALIND. Farewell, Monsieur Traveller : look you lisp, and wear strange suits ;
disable all the benefits of your own country; be out of love with your nativity; and
almost chide God for mak ng you that countenance you are ; or I will scarce 'bink
that you have swam in a Gondola. As you Like it, Act IV. Sc. 1.

Annotation of the Commentators.
That is, been at Venice, which was much visited by the young English gentlemen

of those limes, and was then wbal Paris is now be seat of all dissoluteness. S. A.

With fiddling, feasting, dancing, drinking, mas

quing, And other things which may be had for asking.

*T is known, at least it should be, that throughout

All countries of the Catholic persuasion,
Some weeks before Shrove Tuesday comes about,

The people take their fill of recreation,
And buy repentance, ere they grow devout,

However high their rank, or low their station,


The moment night with dusky mantle covers

The skies (and the more duskily the better),

(1) Roger Ascham, Queen Elizabeth's tutor, says, in his School- It will, at any rale, show that I can write cheerfully, and repel master" Although I was only nine days al Venice, I saw, in the charge of monotony and mannerism." He wished Mr. Murray that little lime, more liberty to sin, than ever I heard tell of in lo accept of Beppo as a free gift, or, as be chose to express it, the city of London in nine years."

as part of the contract for Canto Fourth of Childe Harold;" Beppo was written at Venice, in October 1817, and acquired adding, however, -" if it pleases, you shall have more in the great popularity immediately on its publication in the May of the

same mood; for I know the Italian way of life, and, as for the following year. Lord Byron's lelters show that he allached very verse and the passions, I have them still in tolerable vigour." little importance to it at the time. He was not aware that he The Right Honourable John Hookham Frere bas, then, by Lord had opened a new vein, in which his genius was destined to work Byron's confession, the merit of having first introduced the out some of its brightest triumphs, “I have written,” he says Bernesque style into our language; but his performance, entitled 10 Mr. Murray, “a poem humorous, in or after the excellent “ Prospectus and Specimen of an intended National Work, by manner of Mr. Whistlecraft,' and founded on a Venetian anecdote William and Roberi Whistlecraft, of Stowmarket, in Suffolk, which amused me. It is called Beppo-the short name for Giu- Harness and Collar Makers, intended to comprise the most inseppo,-that is, the Joe of the Italian Joseph. It has politics and teresting Particulars relating 10 King Arthur and his Round ferocity.” Again—Whistlecraft is my immediate model, but Table,” though it delighted all elegant and learned readers, obBerni is the father of that kind of writing; which, I think, suits lained at the lime little notice from the public at large, and is our language, loo, very well. We shall see by this experiment. already almost forgotten. For the causes of this failure, about

which Mr. Rose and others have written at some length, *"He one day received by the mail a copy of Whistlecraft's spectus and specimen of an inter.ded national work, and, moved pears needless to look further than the last sentence we have been by its playfulness, immediately after receiving it begin Beppo. quoting from the letters of the author of the more successful wbicb he finished at a silting." Gali,

Beppo. Whistlecraft had the verse: it bad also the humour, the



The time less liked by husbands than by lovers 'T is as we take a glass with friends at parting,

Begins, and prudery flings aside her felter, In the stage-coach or packet, just at starting.
And gaiety on restless tiptoe hovers,

Giggling with all the gallants who beset her;
And there are songs and quavers, roaring, humming,

And thus they bid farewell to carnal dishes,
Guilars, and every other sort of strumming.

And solid meats, and highly-spiced ragouts,

To live for forty days on ill-dress'd fishes,

Because they have no sauces to their stews,
And there are dresses splendid, but fantastical,

A thing which causes many.“ poohs” and “pishes,” Masks of all times and nations, Turks and Jews,

And several oaths (which would not suit the Muse), And harlequins and clowns, with feals gymnastical, From travellers accustom'd from a boy

Greeks, Romans, Yankee-doodles, and Hindoos; To eat their salmon, at the least, with soy;
All kinds of dress, except the ecclesiastical,
All people, as their fancies bit, may choose,

But no one in these parts may quiz the clergy, And therefore humbly I would recommend
Therefore take heed, ye freethinkers ! I charge ye. “The curious in fish-sauce," before they cross

The sea, to bid their cook, or wife, or friend, You'd belter walk about begirt with briars,

Walk or ride to the Strand, and buy in gross Instead of coat and small-clothes, than pul on (Or'if set out beforehand, these may send A single stitch reflecting upon friars,

By any means least liable to loss) Although you swore it only was in fun;

Ketchup, Soy, Chili-vinegar, and Harvey,
They d baul you o'er the coals, and stir the fires Or, by the Lord! a Lent will well nigh starve ye;
Of Phlegethon with every mother's son,

Nor say one mass to cool the caldron's bubble
Tbat boild your bones, unless you paid them double. That is to say, if your religion 's Roman,

And you at Rome would do as Romans do,
But, saving this, you may put on whate’er

According to the proverb, -although no man, You like by way of doublet, cape, or cloak,

If foreign, is obliged to fast; and you, Such as in Monmouth-street, or in Rag Fair,

If Protestant, or sickly, or a woman,

Would rather dine in sin on a ragoutWould rig you out in seriousness or joke;

Dine and be d--d! I don't mean to be coarse, And even in Italy such places are, With prettier names in softer accents spoke,

But that's the penalty, to say no worse. For, bating Covent Garden, I can hit on

No place that's callid “Piazza” in Great Britain. (1)

Of all the places where the carnival

Was most facetious in the days of yore,
This feast is named the carnival, (2) which, being For dance, and song, and serenade, and ball,
Interpreted, implies “farewell to flesh :"

And masque, and mime, and mystery, and more So call'd, because the name and thing agreeing, Than I have time to tell now, or at all,

Through Lent they live on fish both salt and fresh. Venice the bell from every city bore,-
But why they usher Lent with so much glee in, And at the moment when I fix my story,

Is more than I can tell, although I guess That sea-born city was in all her glory.

vit, and even the poetry of the Italian model; but it wanted the The beginning is like any other season; towards the middle you life of actual manners, and the strength of stirring passions. begin to meet masques and mummers in sunshine : in the last Mr. Frere had forgol, or was, with all his genius, until to profil tifteen days the plot thickens; and during the three last all is by remembering, that the poets, whose style he was adopting, hurly-burly. Bul to paint these, which may be almost consialways made their style appear a secondary malter. They never dered as a separate festival, I must avail myself of the words of failed to embroider their merriment on the texture of a really in- Messrs. William and Thomas Whistlecraf, in whose · Prospectus

teresting story. Lord Byron perceived this; and avoiding his and Specimen of an intended National Work’I find the description immediate master's one fatal error, and at least equalling him ready made to my hand, observing that, besides the ordinary dra in the excellences which he did display, engaged el once the sym- matis personæ,pathy of readers of every class, and became substantially the founder of a new species of English poetry.

Beggars and vagabonds, blind, lame, and sturdy,

Minstrels and singers, with their various airs, The reader will find an elaborate critique on Mr. Frere's Whis

the tabcr, and the hurdy-gurdy, tecraft, by Ugo Foscolo, in the Quarterly Review, vol. x11.-E.

Juggiers and mountebanks, with apes and bears, (1) In the original MS.

Continue, from the first day to the third day,

An uproar lihe ten thousand Smithfield fairs.'
* For, baling Covent Garden, I can't hit on
A place," eie.-E.

The shops are shut, all business is at a stand, and the drunken

cries heard at night afford a clear proof of the pleasures to which (9) * The carnival,” says Mr. Rose, “though it is gayer or these days of leisure are dedicated. These holidays may surely doiler, according to the genius of tbe nations which celebrate it, be reckoned amongst the secondary causes which contribute to is, in its general character, nearly the same all over the peninsula. the indolence of the Italian, since they reconcile this to his con

The pipe,


Whose course and home we knew not, nor shall

Like the lost Pleiad (5) seen no more below. (know,
They've pretty faces yet, those same Venetians,
Black eyes, arch'd brows, and sweet expressions

Such as ofold were copied from the Grecians, [still; I said that like a picture by Giorgione
In ancient arts by moderns miinick'd ill;

Venetian women were, and so they are,
And like so many Venuses of Titian's

Particularly seen from a balcony (The best 's at Florence (1)-see it, if ye will),

(For beauty 's sometimes best set off afar), They look when leaning over the balcony,

And there, just like a heroine of Goldoni, Or stepp'd from out a picture by Giorgione, (2)

They peep from out the blind, or o'er the bar, XII.

And, truth to say, they ’re mostly very pretty, Whose tints are truth and beauty at their best;

And rather like lo show it, more 's the pity! And when you to Manfrini's palace go, (3)

XVI. That picture (howsoever fine the rest)

For glances beget ogles, ogles sighs, Is loveliest to my mind of all the show;

Sighs wishes, wishes words, and words a letter, It may perhaps be also to your zest,

Which flies on wings of light-heel'd Mercuries, And that's the cause I rhyme upon it so:

Who do such things because they know no better;! 'T is but a portrait of his son, and wife,

And then, God knows, what mischief may arise, And self; but such a woman! love in life !(4) When love links two young people in one fetter, i XIII.

Vile assignations, and adulterous beds, Love in full life and length, not love ideal,

Elopements, broken vows, and hearts, and heads. No, nor ideal beauty, that fine name,

But something better still, so very real,

Shakspeare described the sex in Desdemona
That the sweet model must have been the same, As very fair, but yet suspect in fame,(6)
A thing that you would purchase, beg, or steal, And to this day from Venice to Verona
Were 't not impossible, besides a shame:

Such malters may be probably the same,
The face recalls some face, as 't were with pain, Except that since those times was never known a
You once have seen, but ne'er will see again; Husband whom mere suspicion could inflame

To suffocate a wife no more than twenty,

Because she had a “cavalier servente."
One of those forms which flit by us,

Are young, and fix our eyes on every face:
And, oh! the loveliness at limes we see

Their jealousy (if they are ever jealous)
In momentary gliding; the soft grace,

Is of a fair complexion altogether, The youth, the bloom, the beauty which agree, Not like that sooty devil of Othello's In many a naineless being we retrace,

Which smothers women in a bed of feather,

when we

science, as being of religious institution. Now there is, perhaps, or wisdom;-it is the kind of face to go mad for, because it cannot no offence which is so unproportionably punished by conscience walk out of its frame. There is also a famous dead Christ and live as that of indolence. With the wicked man, it is an intermittent Apostles, for which Bonaparte offered in vain live thousand louis; disease ; with the idle man, it is a chronic one.” Lellers from and of which, though it is a capo d'opera of Tilian, as I am no conThe North of Ilaly, vol. ii. p. 171.

noisseur, I say little, and thought less, except of one figure in it. (1) “At Florence I remained but a day, having a hurry for There are ten thousand others, and some very fine Giorgiones Rome. However, I went to the two galleries, from which one re- amongst them. There is an original Laura and Petrarch, very turns drunk with beauty; but there are sculpture and painting, hideous both. Petrarch has not only the dress, but the seawhich, for the first time, gave me an idea of what people mean by Lures and air of an old woman; and Laura looks by no means like their cant, about those lwo most artificial of the arts. What struck a young one, or a pretly one. What struck me most in the general me most were,-the mistress of Raphael, a portrait; the mistress collection, was the extreme resemblance of the style of the female of Titian, a portrail; a Venus of Tilian, in the Medici gallery--the faces in the mass of pictures, so many centuries or generations Venus ; Canova’s Venus, also in the other gallery," etc. B. Let-old, to those you see and meet every day among the existing Italers, 1817.

lians. The Queen of Cyprus and Giorgione's wise, particularly (2) “I know nothing of pictures mysell, and care almost as the latter, are Venetians as it were of yesterday; the same eyes little; but to me there are none like the Venetian-above all, and expression, and to my mind, there is none finer. You must Giorgione. I remember well lis Judgment of Solomon, in the recollect, however, that I know nothing of painting, and that I Mariscalchi gallery in Bologna. The real mother is beautiful, detest it, unless il reminds me of something I have seen, or think exquisitely beautiful." B. Lelters, 1820.

il possible to see.”—E. (5) The following is Lord Byron's account of his visit to this (4) This appears to be an incorrect description of the picture; as, palace, in April, 1817:—“To-day, I have been over the Manfrini according to Vasari and others, Giorgione never was married, and paiace, famous for its pictures. Amongst them, there is a por- died young.-E. trail of Ariosto, by Titian, surpassing all my anticipation of the (5)“Quæ seplem dici sex tamen esse solent."-Ovid. power of painting or human expression: il is the poetry of portrait, (0) “Look to 'l:and the portrait of poetry. There was also one of some learned in Venice they do let heaven see the pranks lady centuries old, whose name I forgel, but whose features inust They dare not show their busbands; their best conscience always be remembered. I never saw greater beauty, or sweetness, Is-- not to leave undone, bul kcep unknown."-Olhello.-E.

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