NOTE TO "POEMS WRITTEN IN YOUTH." Private reasons-some of which have reference to the sin of plagiarism, and others to the date of Tennyson's first poems— have induced me, after some hesitation, to republish these, the crude compositions of my earliest boyhood. They are printed verbatim, without alteration from the original edition, the date of which is too remote to be judiciously acknowledged.—E. A. P. His first publication, I believe, was as early as 1827.—ED. ROME. A hall in a palace. ALESSANDRA and CASTIGLIONE. Aless. Thou art sad, Castiglione. Cas. Sad-not I. O, I'm the happiest, happiest man in Rome: 99 "Politian was a juvenile production, and is the least meritorious work Poe has left.-ED. Aless. Methinks thou hast a singular way of showing Thy happiness. What ails thee, cousin of mine? Why didst thou sigh so deeply? Cas. Did I sigh? I was not conscious of it. It is a fashion, When I am very happy. Aless. Thou didst. indulged Did I sigh? (sighing.) Thou art not well. Thou has Too much of late, and I am vexed to see it. Cas. (musing) Nothing, fair cousin, nothing-not Wears it away like evil hours and wine. I will amend. Aless. Do it. I would have thee drop Cas. I will drop them. Aless. Thou wilt-thou must! Attend thou also more To thy dress and equipage,-they are over plain For thy lofty rank and fashion: much depends Aless. Then see to it ! Pay more attention, sir, To a becoming carriage: much thou wantest In dignity. Cas. Much, much-O, much I want In proper dignity. Aless. (haughtily) Thou mockest me, sir. Cas. (abstractedly) Sweet, gentle Lalage! I speak to him-he speaks of Lalage! Sir count! (places her hand on his shoulder) what, art thou dreaming? He's not well! What ails thee, sir? Cas. (starting) Cousin !-fair cousin!—madam! Enter DI BROGLIO. Di Brog. My son, I've news for thee.—Hey, what's I' the pouts? Kiss her, Castiglione !—kiss her, Aless. Of Britain, Earl of Leicester ? Di Brog. What! Politian The same, my love. We'll have him at the wedding. A man quite young Gay, volatile, and giddy, is he not, And little given to thinking? Di Brog. Far from it, love. No branch, they say, of all philosophy So deep abstruse he has not mastered it: Aless. 'Tis very strange ! I have known men have seen Politian, And sought his company. They speak of him Cas. Ridiculous! Now I have seen Politian, From common passions. Di Brog. Children, we disagree. Let us go forth and taste the fragrant air Politian was a melancholy man ? [Exeunt. |