For the world's granary; thou, whose sky heaven Of an invader? is it they, or ye, gilds With brighter stars, and robes with deeper blue; And form'd the Eternal City's ornaments Where earthly first, then heavenly glory made In feeble colors, when the eye-from the Alp Nods to the storm-dilates and dotes o'er thee, Nearer and nearer yet, and dearer still Are yet to come,-and on the imperial hill By the old barbarians, there awaits the new, Throned on the Palatine, while lost and won Rome at her feet lies bleeding; and the hue Of human sacrifice and Roman slaughter, Of Tiber, thick with dead; the helpless priest, But those, the human savages, explore Nine moons shall rise o'er scenes like this and set; Had but the royal Rebel lived, perchance Oh! when the strangers pass the Alps and Po, Why sleeps the idle avalanches so, To topple on the lonely pilgrim's head? Roll'd over Pharaoh and his thousands,-why That to each host the mountain-gate unbar, In a soil where the mothers bring forth men : Of the poor reptile which preserves its sting Is more secure than walls of adamant, when The hearts of those within are quivering. Are ye not brave? Yes, yet the Ausonian soil Against Oppression; but how vain the toil, What is there wanting then to set thee free, Vials of wrath but emptied to refill And flow again, I cannot all record That crowds on my prophetic eye: the earth The bloody scroll of our millennial wrongs Like to a harpstring stricken by the wind, To sense and suffering, though the vain may scoff, Those who overthrew proud Xerxes, where yet lie To read the future; and if now my fire The dead whose tomb Oblivion never knew, Are the Alps weaker than Thermopyla ? Is not as once it shone o'er thee, forgive! A spirit forces me to see and speak, A softer glimpse; some stars shine through thy night. And many meteors, and above thy tomb Leans sculptured Beauty, which Death cannot blight; And from thine ashes boundless spirits rise To give thee honor, and the earth delight; Thy soil shall still be pregnant with the wise, The gay, the learn'd, the generous, and the brave, Native to thee as summer to thy skies, Conquerors on foreign shores, and the far wave,7 Discoverers of new worlds, which take their name;s For thee alone they have no arm to save, And all thy recompense is in their fame, A noble one to them, but not to theeShall they be glorious, and thou still the same? Oh! more than these illustrious far shall be The being and even yet he may be born- By fresh barbarians, on thy brow replaced; Yet through this centuried eclipse of wo And make it broader; the same brilliant sky Which cheers the birds to song shall bid them glow, And raise their notes as natural and high; And look in the sun's face with eagle's gaze, "He who once enters in a tyrant's hall As guest is slave, his thoughts become a booty, And the first day which sees the chain enthral A captive, sees his half of manhood gone-10 The soul's emasculation saddens all His spirit; thus the Bard too near the throne Quails from his inspiration, bound to please,How servile is the task to please alone! To smooth the verse to suit his sovereign's ease And royal leisure, nor too much prolong Aught save his eulogy, and find, and seize, Or force, or forge fit argument of song? Thus trammell'd, thus condemn'd to Flattery's trebles. de toils through all, still trembling to be wrong: For fear some noble thoughts, like heavenly rebels, Should rise up in high treason to his brain, He sings, as the Athenian spoke, with pebbles |In's mouth, lest truth should stammer through his strain, But out of the long file of sonneteers And Italy shall hail him as the Chief Of Freedom wreathe him with as green a leaf. But in a farther age shall rise along The banks of Po two greater still than he; The world which smiled on him shall do them wrong Till they are ashes, and repose with me. The first will make an epoch with his lyre His fancy like a rainbow, and his fire, Like that of Heaven, immortal, and his thought Borne onward with a wing that cannot tire: Pleasure shall, like a butterfly new caught, Flutter her lovely pinions o'er his theme, And Art itself seem into Nature wrought By the transparency of his bright dream.The second, of a tenderer, sadder mood. Shall pour his soul out o'er Jerusalem; He, too, shall sing of arms, and Christian blood Shed where Christ bled for man; and his high haru Shall, by the willow over Jordan's flood, Revive a song of Sion, and the sharp Conflict, and final triumph of the brave And pious, and the strife of hell to warp Their hearts from their great purpose, until wave The red-cross banners where the first red Cross Was crimson'd from his veins who died to save Shall be his sacred argument; the loss Of years, of favor, freedom, even of fame Contested for a time, while the smooth gloss Of courts would slide o'er his forgotten name, And call captivity a kindness, meant To shield him from insanity or shame, Such shall be his meet guerdon! who was sent To be Christ's Laureat-they reward him well! Florence dooms me but death or banishment, Ferrara him a pittance and a cell, Harder to bear and less deserved, for I Had stung the factions which I strove to quell But this meek man, who with a lover's eye Will look on earth and heaven, and who will deign As poor a thing as e'er was spawn'd to reign. Yet it will be so-he and his compeer, In penury and pain too many a year, To the kind world, which scarce will yield a teer A heritage enriching all who breathe With the wealth of a genuine poet's soul, And to their country a redoubled wreath, Unmatch'd by time; not Hellas can unroll Through her olympiads such names, though one Of hers be mighty-and is this the whole Of such men's destiny beneath the sun? Must all the finer thoughts, the thrilling sense, The electric blood with which their arteries run, Their body's self-tuned soul with the intense Feeling of that which is, and fancy of That which should be, to such a recompense Conduct shall their bright plumage on the rough Storm be still scattered? Yes, and it must be ; For, form'd of far too penetrable stuff, These birds of Paradise but long to flee Back to their native mansion, soon they find Earth's mist with their pure pinions not agree, And die or are degraded, for the mind Succumbs to long infection, and despair, And vulture passions flying close behind, Await the moment to assail and tear; And when at length the winged wanderers stoop, Then is the prey-bird's triumph, then they share The spoil, o'erpower'd at length by one fell swoop. Yet some have been untouch'd who learn'd to bear, Some whom no power could ever force to droop, Who could resist themselves even, hardest care! And task most hopeless; but some such have been, And if my name among the number were, That destiny austere, and yet serene, Were prouder than more dazzling fame unblest; The Alp's snow summit nearer heaven is seen, Than the volcano's fierce eruptive crest, Whose splendor from the black abyss is flung, While the scorch'd mountain, from whose burning A temporary torturing flame is wrung, Shines for a night of terror, then repels [breast Its fire back to the hell from whence it sprung, The hell which in its entrails ever dwells. CANTO IV. MANY are poets who have never penn'd Of passion, and their frailties link'd to fame, And be the new Prometheus of new men, Than aught less than the Homeric page may bear; One noble stroke with a whole life may glow Or deify the canvass till it shine With beauty so surpassing all below, That they who kneel to idols so divine Break no commandment, for high heaven is there Transfused, transfigurated: and the line Of poesy, which peoples out the air With thought and beings of our thought reflected Art shall resume and equal even the sway, Ye shall be taught by Ruin to revive In Roman works wrought by Italian hands, Such as all flesh shall flock to kneel in: ne'er Such sight hath been unfolded by a door As this, to which all nations shall repair, And lay their sins at this gate of heaven. And the bold Architect unto whose care The daring charge to raise it shall be given, Whom all arts shall acknowledge as their lord Whether into the marble chaos driven His chisel bid the Hebrew,13 at whose word Israel left Egypt, stop the waves in stone, Or hues of Hell be by his pencil pour'd Over the damn'd before the Judgment throne,14 Such as I saw them, such as all shall see, Or fanes be built of grandeur yet unknown, The stream of his great thoughts shall spring from me, 15 The Ghibelline, who traversed the three realms Which form the empire of eternity. Amidst the clash of swords, and clang of helms, The age which I anticipate, no less Shall be the Age of Beauty, and while whelms Calamity the nations with distress, The genius of my country shall arise, A Cedar towering o'er the Wilderness, Lovely in all its branches to all eyes, Fragrant as fair, and recognized afar, Wafting its native incense through the skies. Sovereigns shall pause amidst their sport of war, Wean'd for an hour from blood, to turn and gaze On canvas or on stone; and they who mar All beauty upon earth, compell'd to praise, Shall feel the power of that which they destroy, And Art's mistaken gratitude shall raise To tyrants, who but take her for a toy, Emblems and monuments, and prostitute To bear a burden, and to serve a need, Who toils for nations may be poor indeed, But free; who sweats for monarch is no more Than the gilt chamberlain, who, clothed and fee'd, Stands sleek and slavish, bowing at his door Ard how is it that they, the sons of fame, From lowliness, or tempted thence in vain, The inner war of passions deep and fierce? Thy pride, thy wealth, thy freedom and even that, The sway of petty tyrants in a state; [other, Which make men hate themselves, and one an- Florence! when this lone spirit, which so long To fly back to thee in despite of wrong, Who has the whole world for a dungeon strong, The ashes thou shalt ne'er obtain-Alas! As in the old time, till the hour be come [a tea Cosi se guardi fiso Pensar ben dei ch' ogni terren' piacere. Canzone, in which Dante describes the person Beatrice, Strophe third. 3. I would have had my Florence great and free. 4. The dust she dooms to scatter. Page 511, line 103. "Ut si quis predictorum ullo tempore in fortiam dicti: communis pervenerit, tallis perveniens igne comburatur, sic quod moriatur." Second sentence of Florence against Dante. and the fourteen accused with him.-The Latin is worthy of the sentence. 5 Where yet my boys are, and that fatal she. This lady, whose name was Gemma, sprung from of Donati. Corso Donati was the principal adversary one of the most powerful Guelf families, named of the Ghibellines. She is described as being "Admodum morosa, ut de Xantippe Socratis philosophi conjuge scriptum esse legimus," according to Giannozzo Manetti. But Lionardo Aretino is scar dalized with Boccace, in his life of Dante, for saying that literary men should not marry. "Qui il Boccaccio non ha pazienza, e dice, le mogli esser contrarie agli studj; e non si ricorda che Socrate il più nobile filosofo che mai fosse, ebbe moglie e In which he represents Right, Generosity, and figliuoli e uffici della Repubblica nella sua Città; e Temperance as banished from among men, and Aristotele che, &c., &c., ebbe due mogli in varj seeking refuge from Love, who inhabits h's bosom. Itempi, ed ebbe figliuoli, e ricchezze assai.-E Marec "L'Esilio che m' è dato onor mi tegno. Cader tra' buoni è pur di lode degno." Sonnet of Dante, The statue of Moses on the monument of fullic-e Catone-e Varrone-e Seneca-ebbero Conquerors on foreign shores, and the far wave. He who once enters in a tyrant's hall, &c. SONETTO Di Giovanni Battista Zappi. Chi è costui, che in dura pietra scolto, Quest' è Mose; ben me 'l diceva il folto Onor del mento; e 'l doppio raggio in fronte, E gran parte del Nume avea nel volto. 14. Over the damn'd before the Judgment throne. Page 515, line 94 The Last Judgment, in the Sistine chapel. 15. The stream of his great thoughts shall spring from me I have read somewhere (if I do not err, for I can not recollect where) that Dante was so great a favorite of Michael Angelo's, that he had designed the whole of the Divina Commedia; but that the volume containing these studies was lost by sea. 16. Her charms to pontiff's proud, who but employ, &c. 17. "What have I done to thee, my people?" Page 516, line 41. "E scrisse più volte non solamente a particolari cittydini del reggimento, ma ancora al popolo, e intra l'altre una Epistola assai lunga che comincia: - Popule mi, quid feci tibi?'" Vita di Dante, scritta da Lionardo Arotino. |