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his library, poring over books and maps, learn more Greek sculpture-in some earlier day perhaps or so much in the time, as he who, with his eyes and A tomb, and honor'd with a hero's ashes. his heart open, is receiving impressions, all day long, The water from the rock fillid, overflow'd it; from the things themselves ?' How accurately do they Then dash'd away, playing the prodigal, arrange themselves in our memory, towns, rivers, And soon was lost-stealing unseen, unheard, mountains; and in what living colors do we recall Through the long grass, and round the twisted roota the dresses, manners, and customs of the people! Our Of aged trees; discovering where it ran sight is the noblest of all our senses. " It fills the By the fresh verdure. Overcome with heat, mind with most ideas, converses with its objects at I threw me down; admiring, as I lay, the greatest distance, and continues longest in action That shady nook, a singing-place for birds, without being tired.” Our sight is on the alert when That grove so intricate, so full of flowers, we travel; and its exercise is then so delightful, that More than enough to please a child a-Maying. we forget the profit in the pleasure.

Like a river, that gathers, that refines as it runs, The sun was down, a distant convent-bell like a spring that takes its course through some rich Ringing the Angelus ; and now approach'd vein of mineral, we improve and imperceptibly--nor The hour for stir and village-gossip there, in the head only, but in the heart. Our prejudices The hour Rebekah came, when from the well leave us, one by one. Seas and mountains are no She drew with such alacrity to serve longer our boundaries. We learn to love, and esteem, The stranger and his camels. Soon I heard and admire beyond them. Our benevolence extends Footsteps; and lo, descending by a path itself with our knowledge. And must we not return Trodden for ages, many a nymph appear'd, better citizens than we went? For the more we Appeard and vanish'd, bearing on her head become acquainted with the institutions of other Her earthen pitcher. It call’d up the day countries, the more highly must we value our own. Ulysses landed there; and long I gazed,

Like one awaking in a distant time. (159) I threw down my pen in triumph. “The question,” said I, “ is set to rest for ever. And yet—".

At length there came the loveliest of them all, “And yet—" I must still say. The wisest of men Her little brother dancing down before her; seldom went out of the walls of Athens; and for that And ever as he spoke, which he did ever, worst of evils, that sickness of the soul, to which we Turning and looking up in warmth of heart are most liable when most at our ease, is there not And brotherly affection. Stopping there, after all a surer and yet pleasanter remedy, a remedy She join'd her rosy hands, and, filling them for which we have only to cross the threshold ? X With the pure element, gave him to drink; Piedmontese nobleman, into whose company I fell at And, while he quench'd his thirst, standing on tiptoe, Turin, had not long before experienced its efficacy : Look'd down upon him with a sister's smile, and his story, which he told me without reserve, Nor stirr'd till he had done, fix'd as a statue. was as follows.

“I was weary of life, and, after a day, such as few Then hadst thou seen them as they stood, Canore, have known and none would wish to remember, was Thou hadst endow'd them with immortal youth; hurrying along the street to the river, when I felt a And they had evermore lived undivided, sudden check. I turned and beheld a little boy, who Winning all hearts—of all thy works the fairest. had caught the skirt of my cloak in his anxiety to solicit my notice. His look and manner were irre

XIII. sistible. Not less so was the lesson he had learnt.

BANDITTI. “There are six of us; and we are dying for want of food.' — Why should I not,' said I to myself, 're

"Tis a wild life, fearful and full of change, lieve this wretched family? I have the means; and The mountain-robber's. On the watch he lies, it will not delay me many minutes. But what, if it Levelling his carbine at the passenger; does ? The scene of misery he conducted me to, I And, when his work is done, he dares not sleep. cannot describe. I threw them my purse ; and their burst of gratitude overcame me. It filled my eyes

Time was, the trade was nobler, if not honest; it went as a cordial to my heart. “I will call again When they that robb'd, were men of better faith (160) to-morrow,' I cried. Fool that I was, to think of Than kings or pontiffs, when, such reverence leaving a world, where such pleasure was to be had The Poet drew among the woods and wilds, and so cheaply!'"

A voice was heard, that never bade to spare,

Crying aloud, “ Hence to the distant hills!

Tasso approaches; he, whose song beguiles

The day of half its hours; whose sorcery

Dazzles the sense, turning our forest-glades
It was a well

To lists that blaze with gorgeous armory,
Of whitest marble, white as from the quarry ;

Our mountain-caves to regal palaces. And richly wrought with many a high relief,

Hence, nor descend till he and his are gone.

Let him fear nothing."
Assuredly not, if the last has laid a proper foundation. And by the path that, wandering on its way,

When along the shore, (1611 Knowledge makes knowledge as money makes money, nor ever perhaps so fast as on a journey.

Leads through the fatal grove where Tully fell

(Grey and o'ergrown, an ancient tomb is there), Cross the brown heath, ere-long to wag their beards He came and they withdrew: they were a race Before my lady-abbess, and discuss Careless of life in others and themselves,

Things only known to the devout and pure For they had learnt their lesson in a camp;

O'er her spiced bowl—then shrive the sisterhood, But not ungenerous. 'T is no longer so.

Sitting by turns with an inclining ear Now crafty, cruel, torturing ere they slay

In the confessional. The unhappy captive, and with bitter jests

. He moves his lips Mocking misfortune; vain, fantastical,

As with a curse then paces up and down, Wearing whatever glitters in the spoil ;

Now fast, now slow, brooding and muttering on, And most devout, though when they kneel and pray, Gloomy alike to him the past, the future. With every bead they could recount a murder. As by a spell they start up in array, (162)

But hark, the nimble tread of numerous feet! As by a spell they vanish–theirs a band,

-"T is but a dappled herd, come down to slake Not as elsewhere of outlaws, but of such

Their thirst in the cool wave. He turns and aims As sow and reap, and at the cottage-door

Then checks himself, unwilling to disturb
Sit to receive, return the traveller's greeting; The sleeping echoes.
Now in the garb of peace, now silently

Once again he earths ;
Arming and issuing forth, led on by men

Slipping away to house with them beneath, Whose names on innocent lips are words of fear,

His old companions in that hiding-place, Whose lives have long been forfeit:

The bat, the toad, the blind-worm, and the newt;

Some there are And hark, a footstep, firm and confident,
That, ere they rise to this bad eminence,

As of a man in haste. Nearer it draws ;
Lurk, night and day, the plague-spot visible, And now is at the entrance of the den.
The guilt that says, Beware; and mark we now Ha! 't is a comrade, sent to gather in
Him, where he lies, who couches for his prey The band for some great enterprise.
At the bridge-foot, in some dark cavity

Who wants Scoop'd by the waters, or some gaping tomb,

A sequel, may read on. The unvarnish'd tale, Nameless and tenantless, whence the red fox

That follows, will supply the place of one. Slunk as he enter'd. There he broods, in spleen

"T was told me by the Marquis of Ravina, Gnawing his beard; his rough and sinewy frame

When in a blustering night he shelter'd me O'erwritten with the story of his life:

In that brave castle of his ancestors On his wan cheek a sabre-cut, well-earn'd

O'er Garigliano, and is such indeed In foreign warfare ; on his breast the brand

As every day brings with it—in a land Indelible, burnt in when to the port

Where laws are trampled on, and lawless men He clank'd his chain, among a hundred more Walk in the sun; but it should not be lost, Dragg’d ignominiously; on every limb

For it may serve to bind us to our country.
Memorials of his glory and his shame,
Stripes of the lash and honorable scars,

And channels here and there worn to the bone
By galling fetters.

He comes slowly forth,

Three days they lay in ambush åt my gate, (163) Unkennelling, and up that savage dell

Then sprung and led me captive. Many a wild Anxiously looks; his cruise, an ample gourd We traversed; but Rusconi, 't was no less, (Duly replenish'd from the vintner's cask),

March'd by my side, and, when I thirsted, climb'd Slung from his shoulder; in his breadth of belt

The cliffs for water; though, whene'er he spoke, Two pistols and a dagger yet uncleansed,

"T was briefly, sullonly; and on he led, A parchment scrawld with uncouth characters, Distinguish'd only by an amulet, And a small vial, his last remedy,

That in a golden chain hung from his neck, His cure, when all things fail. No noise is heard,

A crystal of rare virtue. Night fell fast, Save when the rugged bear and the gaunt wolf When on a heath, black and immeasurable, Howl in the upper region, or a fish

He turn'd and bade them halt. 'Twas where the earth
Leaps in the gulf beneath—But now he kneels Heaves o'er the dead—where erst some Alaric
And (like a scout when listening to the tramp Fought his last fight, and every warrior threw
Of horse or foot) lays his experienced ear

A stone to tell for ages where he lay.
Close to the ground, then rises and explores,
Then kneels again, and, his short rifle-gun

Then all advanced, and, ranging in a square, Against his cheek, waits patiently.

Stretch'd forth their arms as on the holy. cross

Two Monks, From each to each their sable cloaks extending, Portly, grey-headed, on their gallant steeds, That, like the solemn hangings of a tent, Descend where yet a mouldering cross o’erhangs Cover'd us round; and in the midst I stood, The grave of one that from the precipice

Weary and faint, and face to face with one, Fell in an evil hour. Their bridle-bells

Whose voice, whose look dispenses life and death, Ring merrily; and many a loud, long laugh

Whose heart knows no relentings. Instantly Re-echoes ; but at once the sounds are lost. A light was kindled, and the Bandit spoke. Unconscious of the good in store below,

“I know thee. Thou hast sought us, for the sport The holy fathers have turn'd off, and now Slipping thy blood-hounds with a hunter's cry;


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And thou hast found at last. Were I as thou, None else were by; and, as I gazed unseen,
I in thy grasp as thou art now in ours,

Her youth, her innocence and gaiety
Soon should I make a midnight-spectacle,

Went to my heart; and, starting up, I cried,
Soon, limb by limb, be mangled on a wheel, • Fly-for your life!' Alas, she shriek’d, she fell ;
Then gibbeted to blacken for the vultures.

And, as I caught her falling, all rush'd forth.
But I would teach thee better-how to spare. ‘A Wood-nymph!' said Rusconi. •By the light,
Write as I dictate. If thy ransom comes,

Lovely as Hebe! Lay her in the shade.'
Thou livest. If not—but answer not, I pray, I heard him not. I stood as in a trance.
Lest thou provoke me. I may strike thee dead; • What,' he exclaim'd with a malicious smile,
And know, young man, it is an easier thing • Wouldst thou rebel ?' I did as he required.
To do it than to say it. Write, and thus.”— • Now bear her hence to the well-head below.

A few cold drops will animate this marble.
I wrote. “'T is well,” he cried. “A peasant-boy, Go! ”T is an office all will envy thee;
Trusty and swift of foot, shall bear it hence. But thou hast earn'd it.'
Meanwhile lie down and rest. This cloak of mine

As I stagger'd down,
Will serve thee; it has weather'd many a storm." Unwilling to surrender her sweet body;
The watch was set; and twice it had been changed, Her golden hair dishevell’d on a neck
When morning broke, and a wild bird, a hawk, Of snow, and her fair eyes closed as in sleep,
Flew in a circle, screaming. I look'd up,

Frantic with love, with hate, Great God! I cried
And all were gone, save him who now kept guard, (I had almost forgotten how to pray)
And on his arms lay musing. Young he seem'd, Why may I not, while yet—while yet I can,
And sad, as though he could indulge at will Release her from a thraldom worse than death?
Some secret sorrow. “Thou shrink'st back," he said. "T was done as soon as said. I kiss'd her brow
“ Well may'st thou, lying, as thou dost, so near And smote her with my dagger. A short cry.
A ruffian-one for ever link'd and bound

She utter'd, but she stirred not; and to heaven To guilt and infamy. There was a time

Her gentle spirit fled. 'Twas where the path When he had not perhaps been doemd unworthy, In its descent turn'd suddenly. No eye When he had watch'd that planet to its setting, Observed me, though their steps were following fast And dwelt with pleasure on the meanest thing But soon a yell broke forth, and all at once That Nature has given birth to. Now 't is past. Levell’d their deadly aim. Then I had ceased

To trouble or be troubled, and had now “Wouldst thou know more? My story an old one. (Would I were there!) been slumbering in my grave I loved, was scorn'd; I trusted, was betray'd ;

Had not Rusconi with a terrible shout And in my anguish, my necessity,

Thrown himself in between us, and exclaim'd, Met with the fiend, the tempter-in Rusconi. Grasping my arm,' 'Tis bravely, nobly done! Why thus ? he cried. Thou wouldst be free, and Is it for deeds like these thou wear'st a sword ? darest not

Was this the business that thou camest upon ? Come and assert thy birth-right while thou canst.

-But 't is his first offence, and let it pass. A robber's cave is better than a dungeon;

Like the young tiger he has tasted blood, And death itself, what is it at the worst,

And may do much hereafter. He can strike What, but a harlequin's leap?'. Him I had known, Home to the hilt.' Then in an under-tone, Had served with, suffer'd with; and on the walls

• Thus wouldst thou justify the pledge I gave, Of Capua, while the moon went down, I swore When in the eyes of all I read distrust ? Allegiance on his dagger.

For once,' and on his cheek, methought, I saw
Dost thou ask

The blush of virtue, • I will save thee, Albert ;
How I have kept my oath? Thou shalt be told,

Again, I cannot.' Cost what it may.—But grant me, I implore,

Ere his tale was told, Grant me a passport to some distant land,

As on the heath we lay, my ransom came; That I may never, never more be named.

And in six days, with no ungrateful mind,
Thou will, I know thou wilt.

Albert was sailing on a quiet sea.
Two months ago,

-But the night wears, and thou art much in need When on a vineyard-hill we lay conceald

Of rest. The young Antonio, with his torch, And scattered up and down as we were wont,

Is waiting to conduct thee to thy chamber.
I heard a damsel singing to herself,

And soon espied her, coming all alone,
In her first beat Up a path she came

Leafy and intricate, singing her song,
A song of love, by snatches; breaking off

This region, surely, is not of the earth.'
If but a flower, an insect in the sun

Was it not dropt from heaven? Not a grove, Pleased for an instant; then as carelessly

Citron, or pine, or cedar, not a grot The strain resuming, and, where'er she stopt,

Sea-worn and mantled with the gadding vine, Rising on tiptoe underneath the boughs

But breathes enchantment. Not a cliff but flings To pluck a grape in very wantonness.

On the clear wave some image of delight,
Her look, her mien and maiden-ornaments

Some cabin-roof glowing with crimson flowers,
Show'd gentle birth ; and, step by step, she came
Nearer and nearer to the dreadful snare.

1 Un pezzo di cielo caduto in terra.-Sannazaro.

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Some ruin'd temple or fallen monument,

And eager to enjoy.
To muse on as the bark is gliding by,

Let us go round,
And be it mine to muse there, mine to glide, And let the sail be slack, the course be slow,
From day-break, when the mountain pales his fire That at our leisure, as we coast along,
Yet more and more, and from the mountain-top, We may contemplate and from every scene
Till then invisible, a smoke ascends,

Receive its influence. The Cumæan towers,
Solemn and slow, as erst from Ararat,

There did they rise, sun-gilt; and here thy groves When he, the Patriarch, who escaped the Flood, Delicious Baiæ. Here (what would they not ?) Was with his household sacrificing there- The masters of the earth, unsatisfied, From day-break to that hour, the last and best, Built in the sea ; and now the boatman steers When, one by one, the fishing-boats come forth, O'er many a crypt and vault yet glimmering, Each with its glimmering lantern at the prow, O'er many a broad and indestructible arch, And, when the nets are thrown, the evening-hymn The deep foundations of their palaces ; Steals o'er the trembling waters.

Nothing now heard ashore, so great the change,

Everywhere Save when the sea-mew clamors, or the owl Fable and Truth have shed, in rivalry,

Hoots in the temple. Each her peculiar influence. Fable came,

What the mountainous Isle, And laugh'd and sung, arraying Truth in flowers, Seen in the South? "T is where a Monster dwelt,? Like a young child her grandam. Fable came; Who hurl'd his victims from the topmost cliff; Earth, sea and sky reflecting, as she flew,

Then and then only merciful, so slow, A thousand, thousand colors not their own:

So subtle were the tortures they endured. And at her bidding, lo! a dark descent

Fearing and fear'd he lived, cursing and cursed ; To Tartarus, and those thrice happy fields,

And still the dungeons in the rock breathe out Those fields with ether pure and purple light Darkness, distemper.—Strange, that one so vile Ever invested, scenes by him described,'

Should from his den strike terror through the world, Who here was wont to wander, record

Should, where withdrawn in his decrepitude, What they reveald, and on the western shore Say to the noblest, be they where they might, Sleeps in a silent grove, o'erlooking thee,

“Go from the earth!" and from the earth they went. Beloved Parthenope.

Yet such things were—and will be, when mankind,
Yet here, methinks,

Losing all virtue, lose all energy ;
Truth wants no ornament, in her own shape And for the loss incur the penalty,
Filling the mind by turns with awe and love, Trodden down and trampled.
By turns inclining to wild ecstacy,

Let us turn the prow, And soberest meditation.

And in the track of him who went to die,» (164) Here the vines

Traverse this valley of waters, landing where Wed, each her elm, and o'er the golden grain A waking dream awaits us. At a step Hang their luxuriant clusters, chequering

Two thousand years roll backward, and we stand, The sunshine; where, when cooler shadows fall, Like those so long within that awful place, And the mild moon her fairy net-work weaves, Immovable, nor asking, Can it be? The lute, or mandoline, accompanied

Once did I linger there alone, till day By many a voice yet sweeter than their own,

Closed, and at length the calm of twilight came, Kindles, nor slowly; and the dance ? displays

So grateful, yet so solemn! At the fount, The gentle arts and witcheries of love,

Just where the three ways meet, I stood and look'd, Its hopes and fears and feignings, till the youth

('T was near a noble house, the house of Pansa), Drops on his knee as vanquish'd, and the maid,

And all was still as in the long, long night Her lambourine uplifting with a grace,

That follow'd, when the shower of ashes fell, Nature's and Nature's only, bids him rise.

When they that sought Pompeii, sought in vain; But here the mighty Monarch underneath,

It was not to be found. But now a ray, He in his palace of fire, diffuses round

Bright and yet brighter, on the pavement glanced, A dazzling splendor Here, unseen, unheard,

And on the wheel-track worn for centuries, Opening another Eden in the wild,

And on the stepping-stones from side to side, He works his wonders; save, when issuing forth

O’er which the maidens, with their water-urns, In thunder, he blots out the sun, the sky,

Were wont to trip so lightly. Full and clear, And, mingling all things earthly as in scorn,

The 'moon was rising, and at once reveal'd Exalts the valley, lays the mountain low,

The name of every dweller, and his craft; Pours many a torrent from his burning lake,

Shining throughout with an unusual lustre, And in an hour of universal mirth,

And lighting up this City of the Dead. What time the trump proclaims the festival,

Here lived a miller; silent and at rest Buries some capital city, there to sleep

His mill-stones now. In old companionship The sleep of agestill a plow, a spade

Still do they stand as on the day he went, Disclose the secret, and the eye of day

Each ready for its office—but he comes not. Glares coldly on the streets, the skeletons,

And here, hard by, (where one in idleness Each in his place, each in his gay attire,

1 Capree.

2 Tiberius. 1 Virgil.

2 The Tarantella.
3 The Elder Pliny.

4 Pompeii.

Has stopt to scrawl a ship, an armed man; unwilling to hear it, for it bears some resemblance to And in a tablet on the wall we read

that of the Merchant of Venice. Of shows ere-long to be) a sculptor wrought, We were now arrived at a pavilion that commandNor meanly; blocks, half-chisellid into life, ed one of the noblest prospects imaginable ; the Waiting his call. Here long, as yet attests mountains, the sea, and the islands illuminated by The trodden floor, an olive-merchant drew the last beams of day; and, sitting down there, he From many an ample jar, no more replenish'd ; proceeded with his usual vivacity; for the sadness, And here from his a vintner served his guests that had come across him, was gone. Largely, the stain of his o'erflowing cups

There lived in the fourteenth century, near BoFresh on the marble. On the bench, beneath, logna, a widow-lady of the Lambertini family, called They sate and quaff”d, and look'd on them that pass'd, Madonna Lucrezia, who in a revolution of ihe state Gravely discussing the last news from Rome. had known the bitterness of poverty, and had even But lo, engraven on a threshold-stone,

begged her bread; kneeling day after day like a That word of courtesy, so sacred once,

statue at the gate of the cathedral : her rosary in her Hail! At a master's greeting we may enter.

left hand and her right held out for charity; her long And lo, a fairy palace! everywhere,

black veil concealing a face that had once adorned a As through the courts and chambers we advance,

court, and had received the homage of as many sonFloors of mosaic, walls of arabesque,

nets as Petrarch has written on Laura. And columns clustering in Patrician splendor.

But fortune had at last relented; a legacy from a But hark, a footstep! May we not intrude?

distant relation had come to her relief; and she was And now, methinks, I hear a gentle laugh,

now the mistress of a small inn at the foot of the Ap And gentle voices mingling as in converse !

ennines; where she entertained as well as she could, - And now a harp-string as struck carelessly,

and where those only stopped who were contented And now-along the corridor it comes

with a little. The house was still standing, when in I cannot err, a filling as of baths!

my youth I passed that way; though the sign of the -Ah, no, 't is but a mockery of the sense,

White Cross, the Cross of the Hospitallers, was no Idle and vain! We are but where we were;

longer to be seen over the door; a sign which she Still wandering in a City of the Dead !

had taken, if we may believe the tradition there, in

honor of a maternal uncle, a grand-master of that XVI.

Order, whose achievements in Palestine she would THE BAG OF GOLD.

sometimes relate. A mountain-stream ran through I DINE very often with the good old Cardinal *** the garden; and at no great distance, where the road and, I should add, with his cats; for they always sit turned on its way to Bologna, stood a little chapel, in at his table, and are much the gravest of the com- which a lamp was always burning before a picture pany. His beaming countenance makes us forget his of the Virgin, a picture of great antiquity, the work age; nor did I ever see it clouded till yesterday, of some Greek artist. when, as we were contemplating the sun-set from his Here she was dwelling, respected by all who knew terrace, he happened, in the course of our conversa- her; when an event took place, which threw her tion, 10 allude to an affecting circumstance in his into the deepest affliction. It was at noon-day in early life.

September that three foot-travellers arrived, and, He had just left the University of Palermo and seating themselves on a bench under her vine-tellis, was entering the army, when he became acquainted were supplied with a flagon of Aleatico by a lovely with a young lady of great beauty and merit, a girl, her only child, the image of her former self. Sicilian of a family as illustrious as his own. Living The eldest spoke like a Venetian, and his beard was near each other, they were often together; and, at short and pointed after the fashion of Venice. In his an age like theirs, friendship soon turns to love. But demeanor he affected great courtesy, but his look inhis father, for what reason I forget, refused his con- spired little confdence; for when he smiled, which sent to their union; till, alarmed at the declining he did continually, it was with his lips only, not wib health of his son, he promised to oppose it no longer, his eyes; and they were always turned from yours. if, after a separation of three years, they continued His companions were bluff and frank in their mani. as much in love as ever.

ner, and on their tongues had many a soldier's oath. Relying on that promise, he said, I set out on a In their hats they wore a medal, such as in that age long journey, but in my absence the usual arts were was often distributed in war; and they were evi. resorted to. Our letters were intercepted ; and false dently subalterns in one of those Free Bands which rumors were spread—first of my indifference, then were always ready to serve in any quarrel, if a ser. of my inconstancy, then of my marriage with a rich vice it could be called, where a battle was little more heiress of Sienna; and, when at length I returned than a mockery; and the slain, as on an opera-stage, to make her my own, I found her in a convent of were up and fighting to-morrow. Overcome with the Ursuline Nuns. She had taken the veil ; and I, said heat, they threw aside their cloaks ; and, with their he with a sigh—what else remained for me?—I went gloves tucked under their belts, continued for some into the church.

time in earnest conversation. Yet many, he continued, as if to turn the conver. At length they rose to go; and the Venetians thus sation, very many have been happy though we were addressed their Hostess. “Excellent Lady, may we not; and, if I am not abusing an old man's privilege, leave under your roof, for a day or two, this bag of let me tell you a story with a better catastrophe. It gold ?” “You may," she replied gaily. “But rememwas told to me when a boy; and you may not be ber, we fasten only with a latch. Bars and bolts,

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