Imágenes de página


art, *

Thy choral memory of the bard divine, And weave their web again ; some, bow'd Thy love of Tasso, should have cut the knot

and bent, Which ties thee to thy tyrants ; and thy lot Wax gray and ghastly, withering ere their Is shameful to the nations,-most of all,

time, Albion ! to thee : the Ocean queen should And perish with the reed on which they leant;

Some seek devotion, toil, war, good, or crime, Abandon Ocean's children ; in the fall According as their souls were form’d to sink Of Venice think of thine, despite thy watery or climb: wall.

23. 18. I lov'd her from my boyhood-she to me

But ever and anon of griefs subdued

There comes a token like a scorpion's sting, Was as a fairy city of the heart,

Scarce seen, but with fresh bitterness imbued; Rising like water-columns from the sea,

And slight withal may be the things which Of joy the sojourn, and of wealth the mart; And Otway, Ratcliff, Schiller, Shakspeare's Back on the heart the weight which it would


fling Had stamp'd her image in me, and even so, Although I found her thus, we did not part, A tone of music,-summer's eve

or spring,

Aside for ever : it may be a sound Perchance even dearer in her day of woe,

A flower--the wind-the ocean-which shall Than when she was a boast, a marvel, and

wound, a show.

Striking the electric chain wherewith we are 19.

darkly bound; I can repeople with the past and of The present there is still for eye and thought,

24. And meditation chasten'd down, enough ; And how and why we know not, nor can And more, it may be, than I hoped or sought ;

trace And of the happiest moments which were Home to its cloud this lightning of the mind, wrought

But feel the shock renew'd, nor can efface Within the web of my existence, some The blight and blackening which it leaves From thee, fair Venice ! have their colours

behind, caught :

Which out of things familiar, undesign'd, There are some feelings Time cannot be. When least we deem of such, calls up to view numb,

The spectres whom no exorcism can bind, Nor Torture shake, or mine would now be The cold—the changed-perchance the dead cold and dumb.

anew, 20,

The mourn’d, the loved, the lost—too many! But from their nature will the tannen grow

--yet how few! Loftiest on loftiest and least shelter'd rocks,

Wearied with the contemplation of Rooted in barrenness, where nought below Of soil supports them 'gainst the Alpine

scenes so humiliating to the eye of shocks

man,--the Poet and the Pilgrim, for Of eddying storms ; yet springs the trunk, they are now confessedly the same, and mocks

rejoices to escape into the pure soliThe howling tempest, till its height and frame tude of nature, and to sooth his mind Are worthy of the mountains from whose with the survey of less transitory blocks

beauties. At Arqua, the little hamlet Of bleak, gray, granite, into life it came, where Petrarch spent the last years of And grew a giant tree ;-the mind may his life, and where his house, chair, grow the same.

&c. are still shewn to travellers, ex21. Existence may be borne, and the deep root

actly as the relics of Shakspeare are at Of life and sufferance makes its firm abode Stratford-upon-Avon, Byron is filled In bare and desolated bosoms : mute with admiration of the modest retreat The camel labours with the heaviest load, selected by this illustrious poet, and And the wolf dies in silence,not bestow'd enters fully, for a moment, into the In vain should such example be; if they,

quiet and self-subdued spirit of one Things of ignoble or of savage mood, with whom, in general, he appears to Endure and shrink not, we of nobler clay


little in common.
May temper it to bear,-it is but for a day.

32. All suffering doth destroy, or is destroy'd,

And the soft quiet hamlet where he dwelt Even by the sufferer; and, in each event,

Is one of that comp. xion which seems made Ends:Some, with hope replenish'd and For those who their mortality have felt, rebuoy'd,

And sought a refuge from their hopes decay'd Return to whence they came—with like intent,

In the deep umbrage of a green hill's shade,

Which shows a distant prospect far away * Venice Preserved ; Mysteries of Udol. Of busy cities, now in vain display'd, pho; the Ghost-seer, or Armenian ; the For they can lure no further ; and the ray Merchant of Venice; Othello.

Of a bright sun can make sufficient holiday,


nities of petty tyrants, is well fitted to Developing the mountains, leaves, and call up that mist of morbid contempt flowers,

through which Lord Byron delights And shining in the brawling brook, where-by, to look upon the frail pageants of exClear as its current, glide the sauntering hours

ternal grandeur. With a calm languor, which, though to the eye Idlesse it seem, hath its morality.

At Florence he seems to have If from society we learn to live,

thought of little except the statues in 'Tis solitude should teach us how to die; thegallery, and the tombs in the church It hath no flatterers ; vanity can give of Santa Croce. This, we think, is the No hollow aid ; alone-man with his God first time that he has ever come directmust strive.

ly upon the subject of art ; and alThe description of an Italian even though he is careful to tell us how ing on the banks of the Bretna, is one much he prefers a single green valley, of the most beautiful passages in the

or roaring cataract, and all the masterpoem. The poetry of Nature, which pieces of the chisel and the pencil

, he has learned 'from Wordsworth, still his soul is so conversant with ideal seems to be heightened and improved creations of loveliness, majesty, and in his hands, by the unseen influence terror, that he speaks of the Venus, of the more glorious scenes and cli- the Apollo, and the Laocoon, in a style mates to which he has transferred it.

which our readers will easily acknow27.

ledge to be far superior to any thing The Moon is up, and yet it is not night

which the admiration of art had beSanset divides the sky with her-a sea

fore embodied in English Poetry. Of glory streams along the Alpine height

49. Of blue Friuli's mountains ; Hcaven is free From clouds, but of all colours seems to be There, too, the goddess loves in stone, and

fills Melted to one vast Iris of the West, Where the Day joins the past Eternity ;

The air around with beauty ; we inhale While on the other hand, meek Dian's crest

The ambrosial aspect, which, beheld, instils Floats through the azure air-an island of Part of its immortality; the veil the blest !

Of heaven is half undrawn ; within the pale 28.

We stand, and in that form and face behold A single star is at her side, and reigns

What Mind can make, when Nature's self

would fail ; With her o'er half the lovely heaven; but still Yon sunny sea heaves brightly, and remains And to the fond idolaters of old Rolled o'er the peak of the far Rhætian hill, Envy the innate flash which such a soul could

mould. As Day and Night contending were, until Nature reclaim'd her order :-gently flows

There is something to us inexThe deep-dyed Brenta, where their húes instil pressibly touching in the transition The odorous purple of a new-born rose, from this splendid enthusiasm to the Which streams upon her stream, and glass'd mournful shades of the Florentine within it glows,

cemetry. Never was more deep mean29.

ing conveyed in one line than in the Fi’d with the face of heaven, which, from eighth of this stanza. afar,

54. Comes down upon the waters; all its hues,

In Santa Croce's holy precincts lie From the rich sunset to the rising star,

Ashes which make it holier, dust which is Their magical variety diffuse :

Even in itself an immortality, And now they change ; a paler shadow strews Though there were nothing save the past, Its mantle o'er the mountains ; parting day

and this, Dies like the Dolphin, whom each pang im- The particle of those sublimities

bues With a new colour as it gasps away,

Which have relaps'd to chaos :-here repose The last still loveliest, til—'tis gone and Angelo's, Alfieri's bones, and his,

The starry Galileo, with his woes ;

Here Machiavelli's earth, return'd to whence We must not venture upon Fer

it rose. rara. The strain of sentiment is in

Although the Venus is the only general quite the same with that of his Lament of Tasso. But Ferrara is great statue of which he speaks when

at Florence, we prefer to quote his only one of a long line of half-peo

verses concerning the Apollo and the pled cities, and perished sovereignties, Loacoon at the saine time. through which he passes; and the

160. view of such scenes, where all the

Go see misery that is appears so distinctly to Laocoon's torture dignifying painbe the necessary consequence of the A father's love and inortal's agony envious jealousies and brutal marig. With an immortal's patience blending:-- Vaix

all is gray.

[ocr errors][ocr errors]

The struggle , vain, against the coiling strain Which reigns when mountains tremble, and
And gripe, and deepening of the dragon's the birds

Plunge in the clouds for refuge, and with.
The old man's clench ; the long envenomed draw

From their down-toppling nests; and bel, Rivets the living links,the enormous asp

lowing herds Enforces pang on pang, and stifles gasp on Stumble o'er heaving plains, and man's dread gasp.

hath no words. :61.

Or view the Lord of the unerring bow, Far other scene is Thrasimene now;
The God of life, and poesy, and light Her lake a sheet of silver, and her plain
The Sun in human limbs arrayed, and brow Rent by no ravage save the gentle plough ;
All radiant from his triumph in the fight ; Her aged trees rise thick as once the slain
The shaft hath just been shot—the arrow Lay where their roots are; but a brook hath

With an immortal's vengeance; in his eye A little rill of scanty stream and bed
And nostril beautiful disdain, and might, A name of blood from that day's sanguine
And majesty, flash their full lightnings by,

rain ;
Developing in that one glance the Deity. And Sanguinetto tells ye where the dead

Made the earth wet, and turn'd the unwill.
But in his delicate form dream of Love, ing waters red.
Shaped by some solitary nymph, whose breast Venice, Lombardy, and Tuscany,
Long'd for a deathless lover from above, rich as they are in relics of fallen
And madden'd in that vision--are exprest

grandeur and inimitable art, and still
All that ideal beauty ever bless'd
The mind with in its most unearthly mood, plays herself both in beauty and sub-

more so in scenes where nature disWhen each conception was a heavenly guest A ray of immortality-and stood,

limity, are, after all, only the avenues Starlike, around, until they gathered to a god! to the main attraction of the poet and

From the smiling beauties of the the poem. Even Greece, with all her Vale of Arno, he rushes to breathe natural graces, and all her heroie reagain, an atmosphere more congenial collections, wants that majestic charm to his soul, among the rugged defiles of unapproached greatness, which of Thrasimene the imperishable mo

binds the heart of every profound nument of Carthagenian skill and Ro- thinker to the contemplation of the man despair. It is well known that skeleton of Rome. It was here that an earthquake, which shook all Italy, the nature of man arrayed itself in occurred during the battle, and was greatness so terrific, that it almost meunfelt by any of the combatants, rited the name of a disguise. It was 62.

here that imagination and passion, I roam

disdaining all individual hopes, and By Thrasimene's lake, in the defiles feelings, and exactions, concentrated Fatal to Roman rashness, more at home ; themselves with unswerving pertinaciFor there the Carthaginian's warlike wiles

ty in the idea of country. Come back before me, as his skill beguiles The host between the mountains and the

A Roman thought himself great and shore,

noble, not because he was himself, not Where Courage falls in her despairing files, for any thing that himself had done or And torrents, swoln to rivers with their gore, could do, but simply because his birth Beek through the sultry plain, with legions and home were in the eternal city, scatter'd o'er.

All other men are vain. The Roman 63. Like to a forest fell’d by mountain winds ;

only was proud. He looked him

upon And such the storm of battle on this day,

self as a being animated with the inAnd such the phrenzy, whose convulsion spirations of a nobler nature than is blinds

given to other men. Even the Greek, To all save carnage, that, beneath the fray, with all his philosophy, poetry, art, An earthquake reeld unheededly away! and eloquence, was regarded as an inNone felt stern Nature rocking at his feet, genious animal of a lower species, And yawning forth a grave for those wholay Nay, the Greeks, rich as their accom, Upon their bucklers for a winding-sheet ; plishments were, seem to have acknowSuch is the absorbing hate when warring ledged their inferiority, whenever they nations meet! 64.

were brought into actual contact either The Earth to them was as a rolling bark

with the bodies or the spirits of these Which bore them to Eternity ; they saw

“ Men of Iron."* The Ocean round, but had no time to mark The motions of their vessel ; Nature's law, * We had lately sent to us a translation In them suspended, reckd not of the awe of an Elegy, by Williain Augustus Schle,


site :


All round us ; we but feel our way to err : Oh Rome! my country! city of the soul! The ocean hath his chart, the stars their map, The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, And Knowledge spreads them on her ample Lone mother of dead empires ! and control

lap; In their shut breasts their petty misery. But Rome is as the desart, where we steer What are our woes and sufferance ? Come Stumbling o'er recollections ; now we clap and see

Our hands, and cry • Eureka !' it is clear The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way When but some false mirage of ruin rises O'er steps of broken thrones and temples, Ye !

82. Whose agonies are evils of a dayA world is at our feet as fragile as our clay. The trebly hundred triumphs ! and the day

Alas! the lofty city! and alas ! 79.

When Brutus made the dagger's edge surpass The Niobe of nations ! there she stands, The conqueror's sword in bearing fameaway! Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe; Alas, for Tully's voice, and Virgil's lay, An empty urn within her withered hands, And Livy's pictur'd page !—but these shall Whose holy dust was scatter'd long ago ;

be The Scipio's tomb contains no ashes now ;

Her resurrection; all beside-decay. The very sepulchres lie tenantless

Alas, for Earth, for never shall we see Of their heroic dwellers : dost thou flow, That brightness in her eye she bore when Old Tiber! through a marble wilderness ?

Rome was free! Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle

83. her distress!

Oh thou, whose chariot rollid on Fortune's 80.

wheel, The Goth, the Christian, Time, War, Flood, Triumphant Sylla! Thou, who didst subdue and Fire,

Thy country's foes ere thou would pause to Have dealt upon the seven-hill'd city's pride ; feel She saw her glories star by star expire, The wrath of thy own wrongs, or reap the And up the steep barbarian monarchs ride,

due Where the car climb'd the capitol ; far and Of hoarded vengeance till thine eagles flew wide

O'er prostrate Asia ;-thou, who with thy Temple and tower went down, nor left a frown

Annihilated senates—Roman, too, Chaos of ruins ! who shall trace the void, With all thy vices, for thou didst lay down O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light, With an atoning smile a more than earthly And say, “ here was, or is,' where all is doubly night?

84. 81.

The dictatorial wreath,—couldst thou diThe double night of ages, and of her,

vine Night's daughter, Ignorance, hath wrapt To what would one day dwindle that which


Thee more than mortal ? and that so supine gel , from which our correspondent supposes By aught than Romans Rome should thus

be laid ? that Lord Byron has borrowed not a little of the spirit, and even of the expressions, of She who was named Eternal, and array'd the Fourth Canto. We cannot, we must

Her warriors but to conquer-she who veil'd confess, observe any thing more than such Earth with her haughty shadow, and discoincidences, as might very well be expected

play'd, from two great poets contemplating the Until the o'er-canopied horizon fail'd,

The opening of the German Her rushing wings--Oh! she who was Alpoem appears to us to be very striking ; but

mighty hail'd ! the whole is pitched in an elegiac key. Lord

85. Byron handles the same topics with the Sylla was first of victors ; but our own deeper power of a tragedian.

The sagest of usurpers, Cromwell; he Trust not the smiling welcome Romecan give, Too swept off senates while he hewed the With her green fields, and her unspotted sky; Down to a block_immortal rebel ! See Parthenope hath taught thee how to live, Let Rome, imperial Řome, now teach to die.

What crimes it cost to be a moment free

And famous through all ages! but beneath "Tis true, the land is fair as land may be, His fate the moral lurks of destiny; One radiant canopy of azure lies

His day of double victory and death O'er the seven hills far downward to the sea, Beheld him win two realms, and, happier, And upward where yon Sabine heights arise.

yield his breath. Yet sorrowful and sad, I wend my way Through this long ruined labyrinth, alone

87. Each echo whispers of the elder day, And thou, dread statue ! yet existent in I see a monument in every stone.

The austerest form of naked majesty,


and wrap

same scene

thou yet

Thou who beheldest, 'mid the assassins' din, Without an ark for wretched man's abode, At thy bath'd base the bloody Cæsar lie, And ebbs but to reflow !-Renew thy rain. Folding his robe in dying dignity,

bow, God! An offering to thine altar from the queen Of gods and men, great Nemesis ! did he die, which the poet pours out his indigna

After several magnificent stanzas, in And thou, too, perish, Pompey ? have ye been Victors of countless kings, or puppets of a

tion on the present political degradascene ?

tion of Rome and Italy, he adverts to 88.

the fantastic but generous designs of And thou, the thunder-stricken nurse of Rienzi, the friend of Fetrarch, who Rome!

perished in a vain attempt to restore She-wolf! whose brazen-imaged dugs impart the Roman republic in the fourteenth The milk of conquest yet within the dome

century. Where, as a monument of antique art,

114. Thou standest:-Mother of the mighty heart,

Rienzi! last of Romans! While the tree Which the great founder suck'd from thy

Of Freedom's withered trunk puts forth a leaf, wild teat,

Even for thy tomb a garland let it bem Scorch'd by the Roman Jove's etherial dart, The forum's champion, and the peous And thy limbs black with lightning-dost


Her new-born Numa thou—with reign, Guard thine immortal cubs, nor thy fond alas ! too brief. charge forget ?

115. 89.

Egeria! sweet creation of some heart Thou dost ;- but all thy foster-babes are Which found no mortal resting-place so fair dead

As thine ideal breast; whate'er thou art The men of iron; and the world hath rear'd

Or wert, a young Aurora of the air, Cities from out their sepulchres: men bled The nympholepsy of some fond despair ; In imitation of the things they fear'd,

Or, it might be, a beauty of the earth, And fought and conquer'd, and the same Who found a more than common votary there course steer'd,

Too much adoring ; whatsoe'er thy birth, At apish distance ; but as yet none have, Thou wert a beautiful thought, and softly Nor could, the same supremacy have near’d,

bodied forth. Save one vain man, who is not in the grave,

116. But, vanquish'd hy himself, to his own

The mosses of thy fountain still are sprinkler slaves a slave

With thine Elysian water-drops ; the face 90.

Of thy cave-guarded spring, with years unThe fool of false dominion--and a kind

wrinkled, Of bastard Cæsar, following him of old Reflects the meek-eyed genius of the place, With steps unequal; for the Roman's mind Whose green wild margin now no more erase Was modell’d in a less terrestrial mould, Art's works ; nor must the delicate waters With passions fiercer, yet a judgment cold, sleep, And an immortal instinct which redeem'd Prisoned in marble, bubbling from the base The frailties of a heart so soft, yet bold,

Of the cleft statue, with a gentle leap Alcides with the distaff now he seem'd The rill runs o'er, and round, fern, flowers, At Cleopatra's feet,--and now himself he beam'd,

117. 91.

Fantastically tangled ; the green hills And came—and saw—and conquer'd ! But

Are clothed with early blossoms, through the the man

grass Who would have tamed his eagles down to flee, The quick-eyed lizard rustles, and the bills Like a train'd falcon, in the Gallic van, Of summer-birds sing welcome as ye pass ; Which he, in sooth, long led to victory, Flowers fresh in hue, and many in their class, With a deaf heart which never seem'd to be Implore the pausing step, and with their dyes, A listener to itself, was strangely fram'd ;

Dance in the soft breeze in a fairy mass ; With but one weakest weakness-vanity,

The sweetness of the violet's deep blue eyes, Coquettish in ambition-still he aim'd- Kiss'd by the breath of heaven, seems coAt what ? can he.avouch- -or answer what

loured by its skies. he claim'd ?


Here didst thou dwell, in this enchanted And would be all or nothing-nor could

cover, wait

Egeria! thy all heavenly bosom beating For the sure grave to level him ; few years For the far footsteps of thy mortal lover ; Had fix'd him with the Cæsars in his fate, The purple Midnight veil'd that mystic On whom we tread : For this the conqueror meeting

With her most starry canopy, and seating The arch of triumph! and for this the tears Thyself by thine adorer, what befel ? And blood of earth flow on as they have flowed, This cave was surely shap'd out for the An universal deluge, which appears

and ivy, creep,




« AnteriorContinuar »