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Or as in scorn, yet more and more inclining
To tempt the danger where it menaced most),
A sea of vapor roll'd. Methought we went
Along the utmost edge of this, our world;
But soon the surges fled, and we descried
Nor dimly, though the lark was silent yet,
Thy gulf, La Spezzia. Ere the morning-gun,
Ere the first day-streak, we alighted there;
And not a breath, a murmur! Every sail
Slept in the offing. Yet along the shore
Great was the stir; as at the noontide hour,
None unemploy'd. Where from its native rock
A streamlet, clear and full, ran to the sea,
The maidens knelt and sung as they were wont,
Washing their garments. Where it met the tide,
Sparkling and lost, an ancient pinnace lay
Keel-upward, and the fagot blazed, the tar
Fumed from the caldron; while, beyond the fort
Whither I wander'd, step by step led on,
The fishers dragg'd their net, the fish within
At every heave fluttering and full of life,
At every heave striking their silver fins
'Gainst the dark meshes.

Soon a boatman's shout
Re-echoed; and red bonnets on the beach,
Waving, recall'd me. We embark'd and left
That noble haven, where, when Genoa reign'd,
A hundred galleys shelter'd—in the day,
When lofty spirits met, and, deck to deck,
Doria, Pisani (178) fought; that narrow field
Ample enough for glory. On we went,
Ruffling with many an oar the crystalline sea, (179)
On from the rising to the setting sun,
In silence-underneath a mountain-ridge,
Untamed, untamable, reflecting round
The saddest purple; nothing to be seen
Of life or culture, save where, at the foot,
Some village and its church, a scanty line,
Athwart the wave gleam'd faintly. Fear of ill
Narrow'd our course, fear of the hurricane,
And that yet greater scourge, the crafty Moor,
Who, like a tiger prowling for his prey,
Springs and is gone, and on the adverse coast
(Where Tripoli and Tunis and Algiers
Forge fetters, and white turbans on the mole
Gather, whene'er the Crescent comes display'd
Over the Cross) his human merchandise
To many a curious, many a cruel eye
Exposes. Ah, how oft where now the sun
Slept on the shore, have ruthless cimeters
Flash'd through the lattice, and a swarthy crew
Dragg'd forth, ere-long to number them for sale,
Ere-long to part them in their agony,
Parent and child! How oft where now we rode (180)
Over the billow, has a wretched son,
Or yet more wretched sire, grown grey in chains,
Labor'd, his hands upon the oar, his eyes

Upon the land-the land, that gave him birth;
And, as he gazed, his homestall through his tears
Fondly imagined; when a Christian ship
Of war appearing in her bravery,

A voice in anger cried, "Use all your strength!"

But when, ah when, do they that can, forbear To crush the unresisting? Strange, that men, Creatures so frail, so soon, alas' to die,

Should have the power, the will to make this world
A dismal prison-house, and life itself,
Life in its prime, a burden and a curse

To him who never wrong'd them! Who that breathes
Would not, when first he heard it, turn away
As from a tale monstrous, incredible?
Surely a sense of our mortality,

A consciousness how soon we shall be gone,
Or, if we linger-but a few short years-
How sure to look upon our brother's grave,
Should of itself incline to pity and love,
And prompt us rather to assist, relieve,
Than aggravate the evils each is heir to.

At length the day departed, and the moon Rose like another sun, illumining Waters and woods and cloud-capt promontories, Glades for a hermit's cell, a lady's bower, Scenes of Elysium, such as Night alone Reveals below, nor often-scenes that fled As at the waving of a wizard's wand, And left behind them, as their parting gift, A thousand nameless odors. All was still; And now the nightingale her song pour'd forth In such a torrent of heart-felt delight, So fast it flow'd, her tongue so voluble, As if she thought her hearers would be gone Ere half was told. 'Twas where in the north-west. Still unassail'd and unassailable,

Thy pharos, Genoa, first display'd itself,
Burning in stillness on its craggy seat;
That guiding star, so oft the only one,
When those now glowing in the azure vault,
Are dark and silent. "Twas where o'er the sea,
For we were now within a cable's length,
Delicious gardens hung; green galleries,
And marble terraces in many a flight,
And fairy-arches flung from cliff to cliff,
Wildering, enchanting; and, above them all,
A Palace, such as somewhere in the East,
In Zenastan or Araby the blest,
Among its golden groves and fruits of gold,
And fountains scattering rainbows in the sun,
Rose, when Aladdin rubb'd the wondrous lamp;
Such, if not fairer; and, when we shot by,
A scene of revelry, in long array
The windows blazing. But we now approach'd
A City far-renown'd;' and wonder ceased.

XXIII.

GENOA.

THIS house was Andrea Doria's. Here he lived; (181) And here at eve relaxing, when ashore,

Held many a pleasant, many a grave discourse (182)
With them that sought him, walking to and fro
As on his deck. 'Tis less in length and breadth
Than many a cabin in a ship of war;
But 'tis of marble, and at once inspires
The reverence due to ancient dignity.

He left it for a better; and 't is now

A house of trade, (183) the meanest merchandise Cumbering its floors. Yet, fallen as it is,

1 Genoa.

"Tis still the noblest dwelling-even in Genoa ! And hadst thou, Andrea, lived there to the last, Thou hadst done well; for there is that without, That in the wall, which monarchs could not give, Nor thou take with thee, that which says aloud, It was thy Country's gift to her Deliverer.

"Tis in the heart of Genoa (he who comes,
Must come on foot) and in a place of stir;
Men on their daily business, early and late,
Thronging thy very threshold. But when there,
Thou wert among thy fellow-citizens,

Thy children, for they hail'd thee as their sire;
And on a spot thou must have loved, for there,
Calling them round, thou gavest them more than life,
Giving what, lost, makes life not worth the keeping.
There thou didst do indeed an act divine;
Nor couldst thou leave thy door or enter in,
Without a blessing on thee.

Thou art now Again among them. Thy brave mariners, They who had fought so often by thy side, Staining the mountain-billows, bore thee back; And thou art sleeping in thy funeral-chamber.

there,

Clad in thy cere-cloth-in that silent vault, Where thou art gather'd to thy ancestorsOpen thy secret heart and tell us all,

Thine was a glorious course; but couldst thou Three temples rose in soberest majesty, The wondrous work of some heroic race.2

Then should we hear thee with a sigh confess,
A sigh how heavy, that thy happiest hours
Were pass'd before these sacred walls were left,
Before the ocean-wave thy wealth reflected, (184)
And pomp and power drew envy, stirring up
The ambitious man,' that in a perilous hour
Fell from the plank. (185)

A FAREWELL.2

AND now farewell to Italy-perhaps For ever! Yet, methinks, I could not go, I could not leave it, were it mine to say, "Farewell for ever!"

Many a courtesy, That sought no recompense, and met with none But in the swell of heart with which it came, Have I experienced; not a cabin-door, Go where I would, but open'd with a smile; From the first hour, when, in my long descent, Strange perfumes rose, as if to welcome me, From flowers that minister'd like unseen spirits; From the first hour, when vintage-songs broke forth, A grateful earnest, and the Southern lakes, Dazzlingly bright, unfolded at my feet; They that receive the cataracts, and ere-long Dismiss them, but how changed-onward to roll From age to age in silent majesty, Blessing the nations, and reflecting round The gladness they inspire.

Gentle or rude, No scene of life but has contributed Much to remember-from the Polesine,

1 Fiesco.

Where, when the south-wind blows, and clouds on clouds

2 Written at Susa, May 1, 1822.

Gather and fall, the peasant freights his bark,
Mindful to migrate when the king of floods *
Visits his humble dwelling, and the keel,
Slowly uplifted over field and fence,
Floats on a world of waters-from that low,
That level region, where no Echo dwells,
Or, if she comes, comes in her saddest plight,
Hoarse, inarticulate-on to where the path
Is lost in rank luxuriance, and to breathe
Is to inhale distemper, if not death;
Where the wild-boar retreats, when hunters chafe
And, when the day-star flames, the buffalo-herd,
Afflicted, plunge into the stagnant pool,
Nothing discern'd amid the water-leaves,
Save here and there the likeness of a head,
Savage, uncouth; where none in human shape
Come, save the herdsman, levelling his length
Of lance with many a cry, or, Tartar-like,
Urging his steed along the distant hill
As from a danger. There, but not to rest,
I travell'd many a dreary league, nor turn'd
(Ah then least willing, as who had not been?)
When in the South, against the azure sky,

But now a long farewell! Oft, while I live, If once again in England, once again

In my own chimney-nook, as Night steals on,
With half-shut eyes reclining, oft, methinks,
While the wind blusters and the pelting rain
Clatters without, shall I recall to mind
The scenes, occurrences, I met with here,
And wander in Elysium; many a note
Of wildest melody, magician-like,
Awakening, such as the Calabrian horn,
Along the mountain-side, when all is still,
Pours forth at folding-time; and many a chant,
Solemn, sublime, such as at midnight flows
From the full choir, when richest harmonies
Break the deep silence of thy glens, La Cava;
To him who lingers there with listening ear,
Now lost and now descending as from Heaven!

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narrow limits of our language allow us no other distinction of epic and tragic measures."―JOHNSON.

It is remarkable that he used them most at last. In the Paradise Regained they occur oftener than in the Paradise Lost, in the proportion of ten to one; and let it be remembered that they supply us with another close, another cadence; that they add, as it were, a string to the instrument; and, by enabling the Poet to relax at pleasure, to rise and fall with his subject, contribute what is most wanted, compass, variety.

Note 7, page 42, col. 1. St. Bruno's onceThe Grande Chartreuse. It was indebted for its foundation to a miracle; as every guest may learn there from a little book that lies on the table in his cell, the cell allotted to him by the fathers.

"In this year the canon died, and, as all believed, in the odor of sanctity: for who in his life had been so holy, in his death so happy? But false are the judgments of men; as the event showeth. For when the hour of his funeral had arrived, when the mourners had entered the church, the bearers set down the bier, and every voice was lifted up in the Miserere, suddenly, and as none knew how, the lights were ex

Shakspeare seems to have delighted in them, and in some of his soliloquies has used them four and five times in succession; an example I have not followed in mine. As in the following instance, where the sub-tinguished, the anthem stopt! A darkness succeeded,

ject is solemn beyond all others:

a silence as of the grave; and these words came in sorrowful accents from the lips of the dead. "I am summoned before a Just God!A Just God judgeth me!I am condemned by a Just God!"

In the church, says the legend," there stood a young man with his hands clasped in prayer, who from that time resolved to withdraw into the desert. It was he whom we now invoke as St. Bruno." Note 8, page 42, col. 1. -that house so rich of old, So courteous.

To be, or not to be, that is the question.
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And, by opposing, end them.

They come nearest to the flow of an unstudied eloquence, and should therefore be used in the drama; but why exclusively? Horace, as we learn from himself, admitted the Musa Pedestris in his happiest hours, in those when he was most at his ease; and we cannot regret her visits. To her we are indebted for more than half he has left us; nor was she ever at his elbow in greater dishabille, than when he wrote the celebrated Journey to Brundusium.

Note 3, page 41, col. 1.

-like him of old. The Abbot of Clairvaux. 66

To admire or despise St. Bernard as he ought," says Gibbon," the reader, like myself, should have before the windows of his library that incomparable landscape."

Note 4, page 41, col. 1.

That winds beside the mirror of all beauty. There is no describing in words; but the following lines were written on the spot, and may serve perhaps to recall to some of my readers what they have seen in this enchanting country.

I love to watch in silence till the Sun

Sets; and Mont Blanc, array'd in crimson and gold,
Flings his broad shadow half across the Lake;
That shadow, though it comes through pathless tracts
Of ether, and o'er Alp and desert drear,
Only less bright, less glorious than himself.
But, while we gaze, 'tis gone! And now he shines
Like burnish'd silver; all, below, the Night's.-
Such moments are most precious. Yet there are
Others, that follow them, to me still more so;
When once again he changes, once again
Clothing himself in grandeur all his own:
When, like a Ghost, shadowless, colorless,
He melts away into the Heaven of Heavens;
Himself alone reveal'd, all lesser things
As though they were not!

Note 5, page 41, col. 2.

Two dogs of grave demeanor welcomed me.

Berri, so remarkable for his sagacity, was dead. His skin is stuffed, and is preserved in the Museum of Berne.

Note 6, page 42, col. 1.

But the Bise blew cold.

The words of Ariosto.

Ricca-e cortesa a chiunque vi venîa.
Milton was there at the fall of the leaf.

Note 9, page 42, col. 2.
Bread to the hungry.

They distribute, in the course of the year, from thirty to thirty-five thousand rations of food; receiving travellers of every description.-LE PERE BISELX,

Prieur.

Note 10, page 42, col. 2.

Dessaix, who turn'd the scale.

"Of all the generals I ever had under me, Dessaix possessed the greatest talents. He loved glory for itself." Note 11, page 43, col. 1.

And gather'd from above, below, around.

The Author of Lalla Rookh, a Poet of such singular felicity as to give a lustre to all he touches, has written a song on this subject, called the Crystalhunters.

Note 12, page 43, col. 1.
nor long before.

M. Ebel mentions an escape almost as miraculous. L'an 1790, le nommé Christian Boren, propriétaire de l'auberge du Grindelwald, eut le malheur de se jeter dans une fente du glacier, en le traversant avec un troupeau de moutons qu'il ramenoit des pâturages de Bâniseck. Heureusement qu'il tomba dans le voisinage du grand torrent qui coule dans l'intérieur, il en suivit le lit par-dessous les voûtes de glace, et arriva au pied du glacier avec un bras cassé. Cet homme est actuellement encore en vie."

Manuel du Voyageur. Art. Grindelwald.

Note 13, page 43, col. 2.

a wondrous monument.

Almost every mountain of any rank or condition

The north-east wind. This description was writ-has such a bridge. The most celebrated in this counten in June, 1816. try is on the Swiss side of St. Gothard.

Note 14, page 44, col. 2.

speaking, escaped observation. If I cannot supply the deficiency, I will not follow their example; and hap

Mine but for those, who, like Jean Jacques, delight. "J'aime beaucoup ce tournoiement, pourvu que je py should I be, if by an intermixture of verse and prose, of prose illustrating the verse, and verse em sois en sûreté."-Les Confessions, l. iv. bellishing the prose, I could furnish my countrymen on their travels with a pocket-companion.

Note 15, page 44, col. 2.
-just where the Abbot fell.

"Où il y a environ dix ans, que l'abbé de St. Maurice, M. Cocatrix, a été précipité avec sa voiture, ses chevaux, sa cuisinière, et son cocher."-Descript. du Valais, p. 120.

Note 16, page 45, col. 1.
Painted by Cagliari.

Commonly called Paul Veronese.

Note 17, page 45, col. 1.
-quaffing gramolata.

A sherbet half-frozen.

Note 18, page 45; col. 2.

Like him who, in the days of Minstrelsy. Petrarch, Epist. Rer. Sen. 1. v, ep. 3. Note 19, page 45, col. 2.

Before the great Mastino.

Mastino de la Scala, the Lord of Verona. Cortusio, the ambassador and historian, saw him so surrounded.-L. 6.

This house had been always open to the unfortunate. In the days of Can Grande, all were welcome; Poets, Philosophers, Artists, Warriors. Each had his apartment, each a separate table; and at the hour of dinner, musicians and jesters went from room to room. Dante, as we learn from himself, found an asylum there.

Lo primo tuo rifugio, e'l primo ostello
Sarà la cortesia del gran Lombardo,
Che'n su la scala porta il santo uccelle.

Their tombs in the public street carry us back into the times of barbarous virtue; nor less so do those of the Carrara Princes at Padua, though less singular and striking in themselves. Francis Carrara, the Elder, used often to visit Petrarch in his small house at Arqua, and followed him on foot to his grave.

Note 20, page 46, col. 1.

And shall I sup where Juliet at the Masque.

The old Palace of the Cappalletti, with its uncouth balcony and irregular windows, is still standing in a lane near the market-place; and what Englishman can behold it with indifference?

When we enter Verona, we forget ourselves, and are almost inclined to say with Dante,

Vieni a veder Montecchi, e Cappalletti.

Note 21, page 46, col. 1.

Such questions hourly do I ask myself.

It has been observed that in Italy the memory sees more than the eye. Scarcely a stone is turned up that has not some historical association, ancient or modern; that may not be said to have gold under it.

Note 22, page 46, col. 1.

Twice hast thou lived already;
Twice shone among the nations of the world.

Note 23, page 46, col. 2.

In this neglected mirror.

As this is the only instance, with which I am acquainted, of a Ghost in Italy since Brutus sat in his tent, I give it as I received it; though in the catastrophe I have been anticipated by a distinguished writer of the present day.

It was first mentioned to me by a friend, as we were crossing the Apennines together.

All our travellers, from Addison downward, have diligently explored the monuments of her former existence; while those of her latter have, comparatively

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Note 30, page 47, col. 2.

That child of fun and frolic, Arlecchino.

A pleasant instance of his wit and agility was exhibited some years ago on the stage at Venice.

"The stutterer was in an agony; the word was in-
exorable. It was to no purpose that Harlequin sug-
At length, in a fit of
gested another and another.
despair, he pitched his head full in the dying man's
stomach, and the word bolted out of his mouth to
the most distant part of the house"-See MOORE'S
View of Society in Italy.

Note 31, page 47, col. 2.
A vast Metropolis.

"I love," says a late traveller, "to contemplate, as

I float along, that multitude of palaces and churches," in the records of the Republic; and his house has, which are congregated and pressed as on a vast raft." from that time to this, been called La Corte del Mil-"And who," says anothor, "can forget his walk lioni," the house of the rich man, the millionnaire. through the Merceria, where the nightingales give It is on the canal of S. Giovanni Chrisostomo; and, you their melody from shop to shop, so that, shutting as long as he lived, was much resorted to by the your eyes, you would think yourself in some forest- curious and the learned.

glade, when indeed you are all the while in the middle of the sea? Who can forget his prospect from the great tower, which once, when gilt, and when the sun struck upon it, was to be descried by ships afar off; or his visit to St. Mark's church, where you see count; but he is now universally known through a Of him and his conspiracy I had given a brief acnothing, tread on nothing, but what is precious; the Writer, whose poetical talents command as much floor all agate, jasper; the roof mosaic; the aisle hung the admiration of other countries as of his own. with the banners of the subject cities; the front and its five domes affecting you as the work of some unknown people? Yet all this will presently pass away; the waters will close over it; and they, that come, row about in vain to determine exactly where it stood."

Note 32, page 47, col. 2.
Ere yet the Cafila came.-

A Caravan.

Note 33, page 48, col. 2.
Playing at Mora.

A national game of great antiquity, and most probably the "micare digitis" of the Romans.

Note 34, page 48, col. 2.

twelve Procurators.

The procuratorship of St. Mark was the second dignity in the Republic.

Note 35, page 49, col. 1.

The brass is gone, the porphyry remains.

They were placed in the floor as memorials. The brass was engraven with the words addressed by the Pope to the Emperor, "Super aspidem," etc.

Note 36, page 49, col. 1.
Of the proud Pontiff-

Alexander III. He fled in disguise to Venice, and is said to have passed the first night on the steps of San Salvatore. The entrance is from the Merceria, near the foot of the Rialto; and it is thus recorded, under his escutcheon, in a small tablet at the door: Alexandro III. Pont. Max. pernoctanti.

Note 40, page 49, col. 2.

Down which the grizzly head of old Faliero
Roll'd from the block.

Note 38, page 49, col. 1. -some from merry England. "Recenti victoriâ exultantes," says Petrarch, alluding, no doubt, to the favorable issue of the war in France. This festival began on the 4th of August,

1364.

Note 41, page 49, col. 2.

A short inscription on the Doge's chair
Led to another on the wall yet shorter.

Marino Faliero dalla bella moglie: altri la gode ed egli la mantiene.

Locus Marini Faletri, decapitati pro criminibus.

Note 42, page 49, col. 2.

Carmagnola.

"Il Conte, entrando in prigione, disse: Vedo bene chi'o son morto, e trasse un gran sospiro."-Sanuto. Note 43, page 49, col. 2.

And bore away to the canal Orfano.

A deep channel behind the island of S. Giorgo Maggiore.

Note 44, page 50, col. 1.

"Who were the Six we supp'd with yesternight ?" An allusion to the Supper in Candide.-C. xxvi.

Note 46, page 50, col. 1.

"But who stands there, alone among them all?" See the history of Bragadino, the Alchymist, as related by Daru.-Hist. de Venise, c. 28.

A person yet more extraordinary is said to have appeared there in 1687.

46

Those, who have experienced the advantages which all strangers enjoy in that City, will not be surprised that one who went by the name of Signor Gualdi was admitted into the best company, though none knew who or what he was. He remained there some months; and three things were remarked con

Note 37, page 49, col. 1.

-resounding with their feet.

See Petrarch's description of them, and of the tour-cerning him-that he had a small but inestimable nament-Rer. Senil. 1. 4, ep. 2.

collection of pictures, which he readily showed to any body-that he spoke on every subject with such a mastery as astonished all who heard him-and that he never wrote or received any letter, never repaid for everything in ready money, and lived required any credit or used any bills of exchange, but spectably, though not splendidly.

Note 39, page 49, col. 1.

"This gentleman being one day at the coffee-house, a Venetian nobleman, who was an excellent judge of pictures, and who had heard of Signor Gualdi's collection, expressed a desire to see them; and his

And lo, the madness of the Carnival. Among those the most followed, there was always a mask in a magnificent habit, relating marvellous request was instantly granted. After contemplating adventures and calling himself Messer Marco Mil- and admiring them for some time, he happened to lioni. Millioni was the name given by his fellow-cast his eyes over the chamber-door, where hung a citizens in his life-time to the great traveller, Marco portrait of the Stranger. The Venetian looked upon Polo. "I have seen him so described," says Ramusio, it, and then upon him. This is your portrait, Sir,'

"

Note 45, page 50, col. 1. "Who answer'd me just now?"

See Schiller's Ghost-seer.-C. i.

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