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adverse circumstances, have kept alive a flame, which may well be considered as imperishable, since the "ten thousand tyrants” of the land have failed to quench its brightness. We present our readers with a few of the minor effusions, in which the indignant though unavailing regrets of those who, to use the words of Alfieri, are “slaves, yet still indignant slaves,"1 have been feelingly portrayed.
The first of these productions must, in the original, be familiar to every reader who has any acquaintance with Italian literature.
ITALIA ! oh, no more Italia now !
Scarce of her form a vestige dost thou wear: She was a queen with glory mantled--thou,
A slave, degraded, and compellid to bear. (care
Chains gird thy hands and feet; deep clouds of Darken thy brow, once radiant as thy skies ;
And shadows, born of terror and despairShadows of death have dimm'd thy glorious eyes. Italia! oh, Italia now no more !
For thee my tears of shame and anguish flow; And the glad strains my lyre was wont to pour
Are changed to dirge-notes: but my deepest woo Is, that base herds of thine own sons the while Behold thy miseries with insulting smile.
VINCENZO DA FILICAJA.
WHEN from the mountain's brow the gathering
shades Of twilight fall, on one deep thought I dwell: Day beams o'er other lands, if here she fades,
Nor bids the universe at once farewell. But thou, I cry, my country! what a night
Spreads o'er thy glories one dark sweeping pall ! Thy thousand triumphs, won by valour's might
And wisdom's voice--what now remains of all ? And see'st thou not th' ascending flame of war Burst through thy darkness, reddening from afar?
Is not thy misery's evidence complete ?
If it be victory thus but to retard defeat.
She that cast down the empires of the world, And, in her proud triumphal course through
Rome, Dragg'd them, from freedom and dominion hurld,
Bound by the hair, pale, humbled, and o'ercome: I see her now, dismantled of her state,
Spoild of her sceptre, crouching to the ground Beneath a hostile car—and lo! the weight
Of fetters, her imperial neck around ! Oh ! that a stranger's envious hands had wrought
This desolation ! for I then would say, “Vengeance, Italia !”-in the burning thought
Losing my grief : but 'tis th' ignoble sway Of vice hath bow'd thee! Discord, slothful case, Theirs is that victor car; thy tyrant lords are these.
CARLO MARIA MAGGI.
FRANCESCO MARIA DE CONTI.
THE SHORE OF AFRICA.
I cry aloud, and ye shall hear my call,
Arno, Sessino, Tiber, Adrian deep, (sleep
And blue Tyrrhene! Let him first roused from Startle the next ! one peril broods o'er all. It nought avails that Italy should plead,
Forgetting valour, sinking in despair,
At strangers' feet !-our land is all too fair;
Her death alone may now appease her foes.
PILGRIN! whose steps thosc desert sands explore,
Where verdure never spreads its bright array; Know, 'twas on this inhospitable shore
From Pompey's heart the life-blood ebb'd away.
Twas here betray'd he fell, neglected lay; Nor found his relics a sepulchral stone,
Whose life, so long a bright triumphal day, O'er Tiber's wave supreme in glory shone ! Thou, stranger! if from barbarous climes thy birth, Look round exultingly, and bless the earth
Where Rome, with him, saw powerand virtue die; But if 'tis Roman blood that fills thy veins, Then, son of heroes ! think upon thy chains,
And bathe with tears the grave of liberty.
1 " Schiavi siam, ma schiavi ognor frementi."- ALFIERI.
JEU-D' ESPRIT ON THE WORD "BARB.” Why, he can heel the lavolt; and wind a fiery
barb, as well as any gallant in Christendom. He's [" It was either during the present or a future visit to the
the very pink and mirror of accomplishment. same friends, that the jeu-d'esprit was produced which Mrs Hemans used to call her sheet of forgeries' on the use of the
SHAKSPEARE. word Barb. A gentleman had requested her to furnish him
Fair star of beauty's heaven ! to call thee mine, with some authorities from the old English writers, proving
All other joys I joyously would yield; that this term was in use as applied to a steed. She very shortly supplied him with the following imitations, which
My knightly crest, my bounding barb resign, were written down almost impromptu : the mystification suc- For the poor shepherd's crook and daisied field; ceeded perfectly, and was not discovered until some time after
For courts or camps no wish my soul would prove, wards."-Memoir, p. 43.]
So thou wouldst live with me, and be my love ! THE warrior donn'd his well-worn garb,
EARL OF SURREY's Poems. And proudly waved his crest,
For thy dear love my weary soul hath grown He mounted on his jet-black barb,
Heedless of youthful sports : I seek no more And put his lance in rest. PERCY's Reliqucs. Or joyous dance, or music's thrilling tone,
Or joys that once could charm in minstrel lore, Eftsoons the wight, withouten more delay, Or knightly tilt where steel-clad champions meet, Spurr'd his brown barb, and rode full swiftly on Borne on impetuous barbs to bleed at beauty's feet.
As a warrior clad
But mounted on a barb as white
As the fresh new-born light, On this dread hour. Why am I not in arms ?
So the black night too soon Bring my good lance, caparison my steed !
Came riding on the bright and silver moon, Base, idle grooms ! are ye in league against me?
Whose radiant heavenly ark Haste with my barb, or, by the holy saints,
Made all the clouds, beyond her influence, seem Ye shall not live to saddle him to-morrow!
E'en more than doubly dark,
COWLEY. No sooner had the pearl-shedding fingers of the young Aurora tremulously unlocked the oriental portals of the golden horizon, than the graceful
THE FEVER DREAJ. flower of chivalry and the bright cynosure of
[Amongst the very few specimens that have been preserved ladies' eyes-he of the dazzling breastplate and
of Mrs Hemans's livelier effusions, which she never wrote swanlike plume-sprang impatiently from the
with any other view than the momentary amusement of her couch of slumber, and eagerly mounted the noble own immediate circle, is a letter addressed about this time to barb presented to him by the Emperor of Aspra
her sister who was then travelling in Italy. The following montania. SIR PHILIP SIDNEY'S Arcadia.
extracts from this familiar epistle may serve to show her facility in a style of composition which she latterly entirely
discontinued. The first part alludes to a strange fancy proSee'st thou yon chief whose presence seems to rule duced by an attack of fever, the description of which had The storm of battle? Lo ! where'er he moves given rise to many pleasantries-being an imaginary voyage Death follows. Carnage sits upon his crest
to China, performed in a cocoa-nut shell with that eminent
old English worthy, John Evelyn.] Fate on his sword is throned—and his white barb, As a proud courser of Apollo's chariot,
APROPOS of your illness, pray give, if you please, Seems breathing fire. POTTER'S Æschylus. Some account of the converse you held on high seas
With Evelyn, the excellent author of “ 'Sylva,” Oh ! bonnie look'd my ain true knight, A work that is very much prized at Bronwylfa. His barb so proudly reining;
I think that old Neptune was visited ne'er I watch'd him till my tearfu' sight
In so well-rigg'd a ship, by so well-matched a pair. Grew amaist dim wi' straining.
There could not have fallen, dear H., to your lot any Border Minstrelsy. Companion more pleasant, since you're fond of
And his horticultural talents are known, 1 The family of the late Henry Park, Esq., Wavertree Lodge, near Liverpool.
Just as well as Canova's for fashioning stone.
Of the vessel you sail'd in, I just will remark For you know I'm so fond of the land of Corinne That I ne'er heard before of so curious a bark. That my thoughts are still dwelling its precincts Of gondola, coracle, pirogue, canoe,
within, I have read very often, as doubtless have you ; And I read all that authors, or gravely or wittily, Of the Argo conveying that hero young Jason; Or wisely or foolishly, write about Italy; (tour, Of the ship moord by Trajan in Nemi's deep basin; From your shipmate John Evelyn's amusing old Of the galley (in Plutarch you'll find the description) To Forsyth's one volume, and Eustace's four, Which bore along Cydnus the royal Egyptian ; In spite of Lord Byron, or Hobhouse, who glances Of that wonderful frigate (see “Curse of Kehama”) At the classical Eustace, and says he romances. Which wafted fair Kailyal to regions of Brama, ---Pray describe me from Venice, (don't think it And the venturous barks of Columbus and Gama.
a bore,) But Columbus and Gama to you must resign a The literal state of the famed Bucentaur, Full half of their fame, since your voyage to China, And whether the horses, that once were the sun's, (I'm astonish'd no shocking disaster befel,) Are of bright yellow brass, or of dark dingy bronze; In that swift-sailing first-rate—a cocoa-nut shell ! For some travellers say one thing, and some say
pother. I hope, my dear H., that you touch'd at Loo Choo, And I can't find out which, they all make such a That abode of a people so gentle and true, Oh ! another thing, too, which I'd nearly forgot, Who with arms and with money have nothing to do. Are the songs of the gondoliers pleasing or not? How calm must their lives be! so free from all fears These are matters of moment, you'll surely allow, Of running in debt, or of running on spears !
For Venice must interest all-even now. Oh dear! what an Eden !-a land without money! It excels e'en the region of milk and of honey, These points being settled, I ask for no more Or the vale of Cashmere, as described in a book
[Florence. Full of musk, gems, and roses, and call'd “ Lalla But should wish for a few observations from Rookh."
Let me know if the Palaces Strozzi and Pitti
Are finish'd; if not 'tis a shame for the city But, of all the enjoyments you have, none would To let one for ages—was e'er such a thing? e'er be
Its entablature want, and the other its wing. More valued by me than a chat with Acerbi, Say, too, if the Dove (should you be there at Easter, Of whose travels-related in elegant phrases- And watch her swift flight, when the priests have I have seen many extracts, and heard many praises, released her) And have copied (you know I let nothing escape) Is a turtle, or ring-dove, or but a wood-pigeon, His striking account of the frozen North Cape. Which makes people gulls in the name of Religion? I think 'twas in his works I read long ago
Pray tell if the forests of famed Vallombrosa (I've not the best memory for dates, as you know,) Are cut down or not; for this, too, is a Cosa Ofa warehouse, where sugar and treacle were stored, About which I'm anxious-as also to know Which took fire (I suppose being made but of board) If the Pandects, so famous long ages ago, In the icy domains of some rough northern hero, Came back (above all, don't forget this to mention) Where the cold was some fifty degrees below zero. To that manuscript library called the Laurentian. Then from every burnt cask as the treacle ran out, And in streams, just like lava, meander'd about, Since I wrote the above, I by chance have You may fancy the curious effect of the weather,
[doubt; The frost, and the fire, and the treacle together. That the horses are bright yellow brass beyond When my first for a moment had harden'd my last, So I'll ask you but this, the same subject pursuing, My second burst out, and all melted as fast; Do you think they are truly Lysippus's doing? To win their sweet prize long the rivals fought on, - When to Naples you get, let me know, if you will, But I quite forget which of the elements won. If the Acqua Toffana's in fashion there still;
For, not to fatigue you with needless verbosity, But a truce with all joking—I hope you'll excuse 'Tis a point upon which I feel much curiosity.
I should like to have also, and not written shabbily, Since I know you still love to instruct andamuse me, Your opinion about the Piscina mirabile; For hastily putting a few questions down, And whether the tomb, which is near Sannazaro's, To which answers from you all mywishes will crown; Is decided by you to be really Maro's.
A PRIZE POEM,
(In 1820, the Royal Society of Literature advertised their intention of awarding a prize for the best poem on “Dartmoor; and, as might have been expected, many competitors entered the field. In the following June, the palm was awarded to Mrs Hemans for the composition which follows.
She thus writes to the friends who had been the first to convey to her the pleasing intelligence of her success :
• What with surprise, bustle, and pleasure, I am really almost bewildered. I wish you had but seen the children, when the prize was announced to them yesterday.
The Bishop's kind communication put us in possession of the gratifying intelligence a day sooner than we should otherwise have known it, as I did not receive the Secretary's letter till this morning. Besides the official announcement of the prize, his despatch also contained a private letter, with which, although it is one of criticism, I feel greatly pleased, as it shows an interest in my literary success, which, from so distinguished a writer as Mr Croly, (of course you have read his poem of Paris,) cannot but be highly gratifying."]
AMIDST the peopled and the regal isle,
1 “In some parts of Dartmoor, the surface is thickly strewed withi stones, which in many instances appear to have been collected into piles, on the tops of prominent hillocks, as if in imitation of the natural Tors. The Stone-barrows of
In gloom and silence fearfully profound,
Yet hast thou thy memorials. On the wild, Still rise the cairns, of yore all rudely piled,"
Dartmoor resemble the cairns of the Cheviot and Grampian hills, and those in Cornwall."-See Cooke's Topographical Survey of Devonshire.
But hallow'd by that instinct which reveres
Here, at dim midnight, through the haunted
shade, On druid-harps the quivering moonbeam play'd, And spells were breathed, that fill'd the deepening
gloom With the pale, shadowy people of the tomb. Or, haply, torches waving through the night Bade the red cairn-fires blaze from every height, Like battle-signals, whose unearthly gleams Threw o'er the desert's hundred hills and streams, A savage grandeur; while the starry skies Rang with the peal of mystic harmonies, As the loud harp its deep-toned hymns sent forth To the storin-ruling powers, the war-gods of the
Yet what avails it if each moss-grown heap Still on the waste its lonely vigils keep, Guarding the dust which slumbers well beneath (Nor needs such care) from each cold season's
breath? Where is the voice to tell their tale who rest, Thus rudely pillow'd, on the desert's breast ? Doth thesword sleep beside them? Hath there been A sound of battle midst the silent scene Where now the flocks repose?-did the scythed car Here reap its harvest in the ranks of war? And rise these piles in memory of the slain, And the red combat of the mountain-plain ?
But wilder sounds were there: th’imploring cry That woke the forest's echo in reply, But not the heart's! Unmoved the wizard train Stood round their human victim, and in vain His prayer for mercy rose; in vain his glance Look d up, appealing to the blue expanse, Where in their calm immortal beauty shone Heaven's cloudless orbs. With faint and fainter
It may be thus :--the vestiges of strife,
Bound on the shrine of sacrifice he lay,
But ages roll’d away: and England stood With her proud banner streaming o'er the flood; And with a lofty calmness in her eye, And regal in collected majesty, To breast the storm of battle. Every breeze Bore sounds of triumph o'er her own blue seas; And other lands, redeem'd and joyous, drank The life-blood of her heroes, as they sank
1 Flint arrow-lieads have occasionally been found upon Dartmoor.
9 “ Virere fortes ante Agamemnona
Multi; sed omnes illachrymabiles
Nocte, carent quia vate sacro."-HORACE.
of which is a Cromlech, whose three rougla pillars of granite support a ponderous table-stone, and form a kind of large irregular tripod.
4 In some of the Druid festivals, fires were lighted on all the cairns and eminences around, by priests, carrying sacred torches. All the household fires were previously extinguished, and those who were thought worthy of such a privilege, were allowed to relight them withi a flaming brand, kindled at the consecrated cairn-fire.