Immortal juice—was wrecked in savage sea,
Confiding to the waves his amorous pains ;
The sea relenting sends the strains
To the far leafy groves, glad to repeat
Echoes than old Arion's shell more sweet.'

The following stanzas are from 'Polyphemus :'—

'Cyclops-terrific son of Ocean's god!—

Like a vast mountain rose his living frame;
His single eye cast like a flame abroad,
Its glances glittering as the morning beam.
A mighty pine supported where he trod

His giant steps, a trembling twig for him,
Which sometimes served to walk with, or to drive
His sheep to pasture, where the sea-nymphs live.

His jet-black hair in wavy darkness hung,
Dark as the tides of the Lethean deep,
Loose to the winds, and shaggy masses clung
To his dread face; like a wild torrent's sweep
His beard far down his rugged bosom flung
A savage veil; while scarce the massy heap
Of ropy ringlets his vast hands divide,
That floated like the briny waters wide.

Not mountainous Trinacria ever gave

Such fierce and unformed savage to the day-
Swift as the winds his feet, to chase or brave
The forest hordes, whose battle is his play,
Whose spoils he bears; o'er his vast shoulders wave
Their variegated skins, wont to dismay

The shepherds and their flocks. And now he came
Driving his herds to fold 'neath the still twilight beam.

With hempen cords and wild bees' wax he bound
A hundred reeds, whose music wild and shrill,
Repeated by the mountain echoes round,

Shook every trembling grove, and stream, and hill.
The ocean heaves, the Triton's shells resound

No more; the awe-struck vessel's streamers fill
With the shook air, and bear in haste away;
Such was the giant's sweetest harmony.'

Gongora's labours do not appear to have materially improved his worldly circumstances; for at his death in 1627 he held merely the office of titular chaplain to the king. But he was re

warded with the profound admiration of a numerous party, between whom and the followers of Lope de Vega there was a sharp contest for public favour. None of his imitators, however, had the native talent of Gongora, and they soon divided into two sectsthe first called Cultoristos, retaining only the pedantry of their founder; and the second aspiring to his genius by revelling in the wildest regions of fancy, and seeking strange ideas as well as eccentric language. These were called Conceptistos, from the conceptos, conceptions, or råther conceits, of which they were the authors.

QUEVEDO.

1580-1645.

The lofty character and fertile genius of the Spanish nation had long lived and flourished in spite of the crushing power of civil despotism, and the still more formidable terrors of the stake and the dungeon. But the energies of the people were at length exhausted, and the national genius blighted. It is true that national crime as yet had been but as a worm at the root of literature, and that the heroes who followed the standards of Ferdinand, Isabella, and Charles V., and who executed the bloody mandates of Philip II., could glory in the talents of Boscan, Cervantes, Lope de Vega, and their contemporaries; but the canker had touched even these, and in their successors the decay spread rapidly and widely, till every branch of literature drooped and withered.

Among the last Spanish poets of renown was Don Francisco Gomez de Quevedo y Villegas, a man who, in his actions as well as in his writings, displayed both originality and judgment, but became the victim of the misrule under which he had the misfortune to live.

He was born of a noble family at Madrid in 1580, and was brought up in the palace by his widowed mother, who was one of the ladies of the royal household. She died when he was still very young, and he was sent by his guardian to the university of Alcalá. Here he is said to have obtained the degree of doctor in theology at fifteen years of age, and to have acquired the Latin, Greek, Hebrew, Arabic, French, and Italian languages, besides pursuing the usual routine of scholastic studies, including theology, law, belles lettres, philology, natural philosophy, and medicine.

He was not only distinguished among students as a prodigy of knowledge, but he acquired in the world the character of an accomplished cavalier. Though born with both his feet turned in, he excelled most men in physical strength, and in the skilful use of weapons. On one occasion a person took advantage of the darkness in which churches are shrouded during Passion-week, to insult a lady attending mass at St Martin's. Though both parties were unknown to Quevedo, he came forward to the lady's assistance, and forced the insulter into the street. There they drew on each other, and Quevedo ran his antagonist through the body. He turned out to be a distinguished nobleman, and Quevedo was obliged to fly. He took refuge in Italy, and thence, at the invitation of the viceroy, Don Pedro Giron, Duke of Ossuna, he repaired to Sicily. Quevedo now became a statesman; he was employed by the duke in the most important affairs of Naples and Sicily, where he established order by his integrity and severity; and he conducted several important embassies to Rome and Madrid. At this time he was frequently pursued by assassins, desiring to rid themselves of one who looked so strictly after abuses. After a brilliant political career, he became involved in the disgrace of the Duke of Ossuna. He was arrested, and removed to his country-seat, where he was confined for three years; and so rigorously, that though in bad health, he could not for some time obtain leave to visit a town in the neighbourhood for medical advice. At length, on a strict examination of his papers, Quevedo's innocence was acknowledged, and he was set at liberty. He now demanded indemnification for his wrongs, and the payment of arrears due to him. Instead of obtaining these, he was threatened with renewed exile, and ordered to quit the court. This mandate he found means of evading, and he was even nominated one of the secretaries of the king; but he retired of his own accord to his estate of La Torre de Juan Abad, where he spent many years in tranquillity, devoting himself wholly to literary pursuits. It is probable that about this time he wrote the poems which were published as those of the Bachelor de la Torre, as well as most of his other works, both in poetry and prose. These writings abound in wit and satire, displaying that independence of mind which is seldom welcome in courtly circles; and they kept alive the attention of those who considered themselves the objects of his animadversions. He had now passed fifteen years in comparative quietude, and he seems almost to have forgotten the intrigues of which he was formerly the victim. But he was one of those men who seem marked by destiny for misfortune. He thus playfully, yet bitterly, alludes to the ill-luck that seemed to follow him:

'My fortunes are so black they might serve me for ink; I might be used as an image of a saint. If the country-people want rain, they have only to turn me out of doors, and they are sure of a deluge; if they want sun, let me be well wrapped up in a cloak, and it will shine though it were midnight; I am always mistaken for some object of vengeance, and receive the blows intended for another. If but a tile is to fall, it waits till I pass under. If I would borrow from any one, I meet so rude a reception that, instead of borrowing, I am obliged to lend my patience. Every fool prates to me; every old woman makes love; every poor person begs; every prosperous one is insolent. If I travel, I am sure to miss my way; if I play, I always lose; every friend forsakes, and every enemy sticks to me. I find scarcity of water at the sea, but abundance of it in taverns, mingled with my wine. I have given up all occupation, for I know that if I were to turn hosier, people would go barelegged; and if physician, no one would fall ill. If I am gallant towards a woman, she accepts or refuses me-both are equally disastrous. If a man wished to die neither by poison nor by pestilence, he has but to intend some kindness towards me, and he will not live an hour. unpropitious is my star that I submit, and endeavour to conciliate its pride by my adoration.'

So

This evil star induced him once more to visit Madrid, where in 1641 he was arrested at midnight as the author of certain libels against the government, and to the injury of public morals. His estate was confiscated, and he was not permitted even to give information of his apprehension, or to send to his house for a change of linen. He was thrown into a narrow dungeon in a convent, where he remained at least two years in extreme misery. Writing to the Duke of Olivarez to solicit an inquiry into his case, 'A year and ten months,' says he, 'have passed since I was thrown into prison on the eve of the conception of our Lady, at half-past ten at night, when I was dragged in the depth of winter - without a cloak and without a shirt-in my sixty-first year, to this royal convent of San Marcos de Leon, where I have remained all the time mentioned, in the most rigorous confinement; sick with three wounds, which have festered from the effects of cold and the damp arising from a stream that flows near my pillow; and not being allowed a surgeon, it has been a pitiful sight to see me cauterise them with my own hands. So great is my poverty, that my life has been supported by charity; my hardships have struck every one with horror. I have only one sister, a nun among the barefooted Carmelites: I can hope for nothing from her, but that she should commend me to divine compassion. I protest before God, our Lord, that I am guilty of no other crime than not having lived an exemplary life; so that my sins have arisen from my follies.

i

I acknowledge-for so my sins persuade—that there is mercy in this cruelty, for I am myself the voice of my conscience, and I accuse my life. I am a corpse in all except the sepulture, which is the repose of the dead. My friends are terrified by my calamity, and no hope is left me except in you. No mercy can bestow many years on me, nor the utmost cruelty deprive me of many. I do not, my lord, seek this interval, which in the course of nature must be short, for the sake of living longer, but of living well for a little while.' This memorial had the effect of drawing attention to his case: the accusation was examined; it was found to have been unfounded; the real author of the libel was ascertained, and Quevedo was liberated. He retired to his country residence, sick and broken-hearted, and died in 1645, in his sixty-sixth year.

Quevedo may, without hesitation, be pronounced the most ingenious of Spanish writers next to Cervantes; and his mind was endowed with a degree of practical judgment which is seldom found in combination with so much versatility. His talent for the rapid composition of verses was scarcely inferior to that of Lope de Vega; and if he could have ruled the taste of the nation, instead of being ruled by it, he might have become, if not a poet of the highest rank, at least a classic writer of unrivalled merit. But he was too early wedded to conventional forms of

every kind; it may indeed be said that he was steeped in all the

colours of his age; for he had imbibed some portion of all the styles which were at that period struggling for ascendancy in Spain; and lofty as his spirit was in other respects, he does not seem to have felt the independence of native genius. Of all the Spanish writers his mental character bears the greatest resemblance to that of Voltaire. Like him he possessed an inexhaustible vein of pleasantry, a comical gaiety even on serious subjects, the art of compelling the abuses of society to appear before the bar of public opinion; and great versatility both of knowledge and talent, with a passion for attempting every style, and leaving monuments of his genius on every topic. A considerable part of his writings were taken from him in his lifetime, and among these were his theatrical pieces and his historical works, so that he cannot, as he had hoped, lay claim to distinction in every department of literature. But notwithstanding the loss of a number of manuscripts, which have never been recovered, his remains form eleven large volumes, eight of which are prose and three verse.

Quevedo published none of his own poems except those which appeared, as we have mentioned, under the assumed name of the Bachelor de La Torre. After his death, his nephew and heir added what others he could find, but he says that they do not compose the twentieth part of what was written. He arranged