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f 9 
 
MODERN POETS 
 
 AND 
 
 POETRY OF SPAIN. 
 
 By, JAMES KENNEDY, Esq., 
 
 HER BRITANNIC MAJESTY'S JUDGE IN THE MIXED COURT 
 OF JUSTICE AT THE HAVANA. 
 
 LONDON: 
 LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, AND LONGMANS. 
 
 1853. 
 
UN!vER3ITY| 
 
 PRINTED UY RICHARD TAYLOR, 
 BED LION COURT, FLEET STREET. 
 
TO 
 THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 
 
 GEOEGE, EARL OF CAELISLE, 
 
 My Loud, 
 
 I HAVE sought permission to inscribe 
 your Lordship's name on this page, as a favour appro- 
 priate to my work, under the considerations in which 
 it originated. 
 
 I began these translations, partly as a means of 
 acquiring an accurate knowledge of the Spanish lan- 
 guage, and partly as a relaxation from other studies 
 and pursuits, about the time when your Lordship, in 
 the course of your statesmanlike visit to America, 
 made, in 1843, a lengthened stay in Cuba, studying 
 the circumstances of those countries, which are soon, 
 perhaps, to take a yet more prominent place, than 
 they do at present, in the history of the world. 
 
 a3 
 
IV 
 
 The discussions I heard respecting that visit — 
 for it was then considered an extraordinary one — 
 raised in my mind many suggestions, as to the benefits 
 that must accrue to the public from the observations 
 of individual travellers. Accordingly as each one 
 might have his special object in view, his sphere of action 
 or opportunities of learning, so the knowledge he ac- 
 quired might be proportionately imparted. The com- 
 munity at large had always evinced the greatest in- 
 terest in the accounts given by travellers of their 
 visits to foreign countries, as was shown by the 
 favourable reception uniformly given to their works. 
 Of these many that were published were well deserving 
 of the popularity they obtained, especially as with 
 regard to Spain there were several that left little for 
 any future writer to supply of ordinary information. 
 In one respect, however, all such works appeared to 
 me to be deficient, though their failure was almost 
 unavoidable, in the case of transient visitors, in their 
 being unable to convey any adequate idea of the state 
 of mental culture among the people they visited. 
 
 Yet this, to a philosophic reader, would be un- 
 doubtedly the truest test of the state of civilization to 
 which any nation had attained. Such a reader would 
 not be contented with merely a recital of the every- 
 day occurrences of travelling, nor yet mth general or 
 statistical information respecting any people, obtained 
 from ordinary sources. He would rather seek to 
 follow them into the occupations of private life and 
 
into their favourite courses of thought and feeling, 
 judging of these by the studies of their better classes 
 of society, in their hours of relaxation or for domestic 
 enjoyment. As the sagest of the Roman emperors, 
 M. Antoninus, observed, To know any people's minds 
 and inclinations, we should examine their studies 
 
 and pursuits, to riyefioviica avTWV Siaj3/\e7re, /coi touc 
 
 (f)povifiovc, Sia fxev (j)evyovcnv, Sia Be SuoKovaiv. 
 
 Few persons going abroad for a short period, or 
 for a specific purpose, could be expected to acquire 
 such an intimate knowledge of the literature of any 
 country as to be able to render a satisfactory account 
 of it. Where, however, any one had the means and 
 the leisure to do so, that seemed to me the task most 
 worthy for him to undertake. 
 
 As a servant of the public, I considered this 
 more pecuharly a duty ; and I therefore ventured, by 
 extending my studies, to attempt giving a compre- 
 hensive view of Modern Spanish Poetry, and so com- 
 plete the representations of Spanish society and man- 
 ners given by other writers. This I thought best to 
 be done, first, by compiling some critical and biogra- 
 phical notices of the principal modern poets; and, 
 next, by endeavouring to transfuse into Enghsh verse 
 the most favourable specimens of their productions, 
 by which the English reader might in some degree 
 be enabled to judge of their merits. 
 
 Such was the task I then set before me, the 
 results of which I now offer to the public as my con- 
 
VI 
 
 tribution to the store of general knowledge. Por 
 such a work there can be little merit claimed, except 
 that for patient industry. But as a naturahst or col- 
 lector of works of art patriotically endeavours to bring 
 home the most valuable productions or treasiires of 
 other countries, so I trust that this work may also 
 be favourably accepted, as a praiseworthy attempt 
 to enrich our Enghsh literature with what was most 
 interesting in the Spanish. 
 
 I have relied on your Lordship's approval of the 
 design, from your well-known anxiety and constant 
 efforts to improve the moral and social condition of 
 the people, by literary as well as by legislative means. 
 Sharing in the public respect for those efforts on their 
 behalf, and with much thankfulness for the sanction 
 afforded me, I have the honour to subscribe myself, 
 
 Your Lordship's 
 Most obedient, 
 
 Humble Servant, 
 
 J. KENNEDY. 
 
 London, 
 May 6, 1852. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 IHOSE writers are very mucli mistaken who supposej that, 
 consequent upon the long domination of the Moors in Spain, 
 there are to be found in Spanish Hterature any of the ex- 
 uberances of style which are considered the principal charac- 
 teristics of Eastern poetry. In all the Moorish ballads that 
 have been handed down to us, those characteristics, both in 
 thought and expression, abound as much as in the poems of 
 more Eastern nations. But in even the earliest Spanish 
 ballads, contemporary with the Moorish, a very decided dif- 
 ference is to be observed, as they show, on the contrary, a 
 simplicity of expression and propriety of thought, which pre- 
 sent an extraordinary contrast, not only to the Moorish, but 
 also to the early poetry of other European countries. This 
 favourable distinction has continued to the present day. The 
 poetry of the Northern nations of Europe has been marked 
 by extravagances throughout, as contrary to common sense as 
 to good taste and nature. That of the French school has 
 been distinguished by an affectation, a sentimentality and 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 straining after effect^ to say nothing of its peculiar ribaldry 
 and licentiousnessj all equally removed from the true feeling 
 of poetry. Even the Italians, in their poetical virorks, have 
 indulged in strange absurdities, the more remarkable from 
 the good taste that has pervaded their other works of genius. 
 It is only in Enghsh literature that we can find writers im- 
 bued with the same vigour of thought and depth of poetic 
 feeling as the Spanish, and it is therefore only with them 
 that the latter can be classed in considering the relative 
 merits of the poetry of different modern nations. 
 
 If the character of the poetry may be taken as the criterion 
 by which to judge of the degree of civilization to which any 
 people had attained in the earlier period of their history, 
 Spain has a good right to claim the first place among the 
 nations of Europe, when emerging from that period deno- 
 minated the Dark Ages. While the popular poetry of other 
 nations at that period was almost entirely occupied vrith 
 childish stories of giants and supernatural beings, or in mag- 
 nifying the outrages of their heroes, and even of their oui- 
 laws, as if they were honourable exploits, instead of merely 
 murder and rapine, the Spanish bards were engaged in cele- 
 brating the patriotism and prowess of their Christian war- 
 riors in strains not unworthy of the deeds they commemo- 
 rated. Those strains have been made sufficiently well-known 
 to the English reader by the labours of Southey and Lock- 
 hart, for which the student of Spanish literature must feel 
 the utmost respect and gratitude, as well as by those of 
 Eodd, Bowring and others. From their translations the 
 character of those warriors vrill be found to have been 
 distinguished, differently from those of other nations in that 
 age, for the milder virtues combined with pure chivabous 
 enterprise. If, as apparently was the case, the great cham- 
 pion, known as the Cid, especially was deserving of the emi- 
 
INTRODUCTION. ix 
 
 nently honourable character depicted for him by the poets, 
 the popular feeling must have attained something of the 
 same tone when he was adopted as the first object of national 
 regard. Coming of a chivalrous race, engaged in a sacred 
 warfare, the Cid combined in his character all that was most 
 noble in human conduct, and gave to his countrymen a fame 
 which they knew full well how to appreciate. Thus the 
 spirit which the ballads breathed in recounting his exploits 
 was one in unison with that of the people. Each Spaniard 
 of after-times, in hstening to those recitals, felt he had no 
 need to connect himself with fabulous narratives. He could 
 say, like Diomede, — " Of this race and blood do I boast myself 
 to be"— 
 
 Tavrrjs tol yeverjs TC Koi alfiaros ev)(^ofiai civai, 
 
 and so feeling could identify himself truly with his heroes. 
 
 Formed originally of very different races, Celts and Goths, 
 mixed with the descendants of Romans and Phoenicians or 
 Carthaginians, the Spaniards had against the Moors become 
 amalgamated into one people, whose great bond of union was 
 their religion more even than their country. This holy cause 
 ennobled their conduct, and gave them higher aims and mo- 
 tives than any ordinary warfare could do ; so that acting con- 
 stantly under the sense of such feelings, their national cha- 
 racter assumed the staid bearing, which has always since so 
 favourably distinguished it. Hence also the national litera- 
 ture, even in its lightest productions, assumed the tone of 
 high moral and practical tendency which it has generally 
 borne, far removed from the comparatively triiling topics 
 which formed the staple subjects of the literature of neigh- 
 bouring countries. 
 
 There is another mistake into which some writers have 
 fallen, in supposing that Spain owed her civihzation entirely 
 to the Moors. The Arab conquest undoubtedly entailed on 
 
INTKODUCTION. 
 
 her for many ages a succession of enlightened as well as war- 
 like rulers, who are justly to be classed among the greatest 
 patrons of literature and art ; but they fostered rather than 
 founded the sciences that afterwards flourished under their 
 rule, and which they found preparing to burst forth in the 
 country they conquered. Though their forefathers might 
 have come from the seats of learning in the East, such as 
 they then were, the immediate conquerors of Spain were 
 natives of the neighbouring parts of Africa, where the sci- 
 ences had not flourished in any remarkable degree before the 
 conquest, and where they did not rise subsequently to any 
 eminence. The learned Lampillas, who has given us a very 
 able Vindication of Spanish Literature, in answer to the at- 
 tacks of some Italian critics, might justly have gone further 
 than he has done as to its merits under the Moorish domina- 
 tion. Rather than as owing her advances in learning and 
 civilization to the Moors, it is more probable that these were 
 the remains of former civilization, existing among the Roman 
 colonies on the dissolution of the empire. At that time 
 Spain was essentially inhabited by descendants of Romans, 
 as it still continues to be, mainly, to the present day. Latin 
 had become the language of the country, and the best of 
 the later Latin authors, Seneca, Lucan, Martial, Quinctilian 
 and others, were natives of the Peninsula. The Romans had 
 planted sixty-seven colonies there, and in the time of Vespa- 
 sian could enumerate 360 cities inhabited by them. These 
 would undoubtedly retain their municipal institutions, and 
 were perhaps more retentive of Roman manners than were 
 even the towns of Italy. The original inhabitants had been 
 driven into the mountains of Catalonia, Cantabria and Lusi- 
 tania. They were of Celtic origin, and their descendants in 
 those provinces still show that origin by a different pronun- 
 ciation of the language imposed on the country by the Ro- 
 
INTRODUCTION. XI 
 
 mans j while the Castillians, being of purer descent from them, 
 speak even now a language little different from that in com- 
 mon colloquial use under the Emperors. The lower orders, in 
 fact, speak an idiom nearer to it than do the educated classes, 
 showing that the main race of the people, in Madrid for in- 
 stance, remains essentially Roman. In Betica or Andalusia 
 and the South of Spain, the descendants of Eomans had be- 
 come incorporated with those of Phoenician or Carthaginian 
 and a few Greek colonists, forming together a race perhaps 
 still more civilized than the new-comers. Thus the Moors 
 found the people they had conquered in a high state of civili- 
 zation, scarcely affected by former conquests, and they had 
 only the merit of accepting and continuing the mental cul- 
 ture which they found there, and which they had not pos- 
 sessed in their native deserts. 
 
 The Goths and Vandals had swept like a hurricane over 
 Spain j but they passed over it without leaving any consider- 
 able traces of their conquest. This is clear from the circum- 
 stance of so few Northern words remaining in the language 
 of the country. At the entrance of the Moors into Spain, 
 the dominant party there was certainly of Gothic descent; 
 but they had already lost their Northern idioms, and were 
 immerged in the mass of the people they had conquered, in 
 the usual course of such events, as the Scandinavians soon 
 did in Normandy and the Normans in England. When the 
 races had begun to amalgamate in Spain, the distinctive lines 
 might have been longer discernible in the South, if it had not 
 been for the Moorish invasion. This soon repeated the events 
 of former conquests, in the extermination of the fighting men 
 and the enslaving of the other classes, who became feudatories 
 or worse. Those who escaped to the mountains of the North 
 constituted a nucleus of resistance, which was no doubt much 
 strengthened in their subsequent contests by the aid of the 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Christian population left of necessity among the Moors, who 
 thus became dangerous as internal enemies, though they had 
 been tolerated at first as valuable dependents. The war that 
 then arose in Spain, and continued for upwards of 600 years, 
 was imbued, on the part of the Christians, with all those ingre- 
 dients of religious as well as patriotic feeling that render wars 
 remarkable for desperate conflict. On the part of the Moors, 
 it is but justice toward them to say, that for chivalrous honour 
 and bravery they proved themselves in no respect inferior to 
 their opponents, who, thus engaged in generous rivalry, be- 
 came distinguishable for the same virtues. 
 
 The circumstances of the wars between the Christians and 
 the Moors were too near to the every-day experience of the 
 people to allow of any imaginary addition to the legends of 
 the times, and they were too engrossing in importance and 
 interest to require any heightening. The ballads founded 
 upon them, therefore, assumed almost the matter-of-fact air 
 of history, and this seemed hence to become the characteristic 
 of all the subsequent literature of Spain. It is true that 
 romances abounded in which giants and other absurdities of 
 knight-errantry might be found, but they were principally of 
 foreign origin, and did not become incorporated in the na- 
 tional poetry. This national poetry was always true to its 
 mission, for it may be observed that the poets of Spain have 
 seldom or never gone beyond their own history for their 
 heroes ; they have rather instinctively followed the maxim of 
 the great lyrist of old, not to select objects of admiration from 
 strangers, but to seek them at home, — 
 
 Ou8' dWoTpimu cpares 
 'A.v8pl (j)cpeiv Kpfira-ovfs, 
 O'lKodev pdrfve. 
 
 Thus also they were secure of the sympathy of their audience, 
 and found patriotism the best inspirer of j)oetry. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 None of the Spanish poets^ of either former or present 
 timesj can be said to have attained the highest rank ; yet as 
 they have always shown a predilection for subjects of real in- 
 cident and passion or feeling, they have gained, in perhaps a 
 greater degree than those of any other modem nation, that 
 hold upon the popular affections which arises from all earnest 
 participation in kindred sentiments. This might arise partly 
 from the national character developed, as before intimated, in 
 the Moorish wars, and partly from the personal tendencies of 
 the respective individuals. Whilst in other countries the 
 poets were generally to be found among the classes dependent 
 upon the rich and powerful, in Spain they were persons gene- 
 rally of the highest classes. Some were of royal rank, others 
 were eminent as statesmen, and others, if not of the same 
 high station, were yet equally engaged in military service or the 
 active business of life. Three of the most favourite poets, Gar- 
 cdasso de la Vega,,Manrique, and Cadahalso, died the death of 
 soldiers from wounds received in warfare. Ercilla, author of 
 the chief poem in the Spanish language, which may be con- 
 sidered an Epic, was a participant in the wars he so graphi- 
 cally describes. Cervantes received three wounds at the battle 
 of Lepanto, by one of which he lost an arm. Calderon de la 
 Barca passed many years of his life in the campaigns in the 
 Low Countries, where he gained great military reputation ; 
 and Lope de Vega was one of the few adventurers in the " In- 
 vincible Armada" who were fortunate enough to return to 
 their native country. Such men were not likely to indulge 
 in dreamy idealities, or idle reveries, and fantastic imagina- 
 tions, the offspring of morbid temperaments and sedentary 
 habits. On the contrary, they were only calculated to adopt 
 that peculiar manliness of style and sentiment, which their 
 successors, from example, from national character, and from 
 being placed in similar circumstances of life, have continued. 
 
XIV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Howfar those circumstances have affected the modem litera- 
 ture of Spain may be best seen from the memoirs hereafter 
 detailed of the principal poets individually. Our present 
 purpose in this Introduction is only to make general obser- 
 vations to lead to the conclusions that may be deduced from 
 them. 
 
 Spaiuj as it has been already observed^ cannot boast of 
 having ever produced a poet of the highest class, meaning by 
 that term, one of such high creative genius as to stamp his 
 character, not only on the literature of his own age and 
 country, but also on that of all successive ages within his 
 possible influence. Of such poets the world has only seen 
 four or five at the utmost, with the exception of the inspired 
 writers, referring to Homer, Dante, Shakespeare, Milton, and 
 perhaps we may add, Byron. With these, Virgil and other 
 imitators must not be classed, however great the talents they 
 may have displayed, nor yet other writers of greater originality 
 and even genius, who have, however, confined themselves to 
 minor works or those on less important subjects. Of such 
 writers of great original genius, who did not aim at works of 
 the highest order, Spanish literature may claim as many as 
 that of any other country. With them the English reader 
 has been made acquainted more fully than with the writers 
 of most other modern countries, by the works of Bouterwek 
 and Sismondi, translated respectively by Mrs. Eoss and Wil- 
 ham Roscoe, and now by the more comprehensive work of 
 Mr. Ticknor (New York, 1849 ; London, 1850), who has sup- 
 plied the deficiencies the others had left in the course of their 
 inquiries. Of these works Sismondi's is little more than a 
 repetition of Bouterwek's, without the acknowledgement 
 made which was in justice due to his original. That however 
 was in reality so jejune in treating of the materials at the 
 command of the writer, as almost to warrant the use of his ma- 
 
INTRODUCTION. XV 
 
 terials for a livelier production. Another work has been lately 
 published on Spanish literature by Mr. A. F. Foster (Edinburgh, 
 1851), compiled in like manner from former writers, which, 
 for succinct and able treatment of the subject, may perhaps 
 be recommended as the one best suited to the general reader. 
 But Mr. Ticknor's book must remain the great work of re- 
 ference to the older Spanish authors, as he has left little for 
 future writers to supply respecting them. Yet neither has 
 he gone scarcely any further than Bouterwek, who wrote 
 at the beginning of this century, and since whose time so 
 many writers have arisen in Spain superior to any perhaps 
 that have preceded them. In such works we have more 
 cause to congratulate ourselves on having any one to under- 
 take the labour of going over so wide a field, than to com- 
 plaia of his stopping short at a point where less was known 
 of Spanish literature, and where it became so much more in- 
 teresting as connected with our own times. But as all the 
 compilers now -mentioned have so confined their labours to 
 works written previously to the present century, it may be 
 considered acceptable, in continuation of them, that the pre- 
 sent essay should be offered to the public. This is, however, 
 also undertaken on a more extended and somewhat different 
 plan ; not merely giving short notices of the several authors 
 and their works, as in the nature of a catalogue or dictionary, 
 but taking only the principal poets for a particular account of 
 their history, and giving translations from their works most 
 characteristic of their genius or best suited for translation, for 
 the purpose of enabling the critical notices respecting them to 
 be better understood. 
 
 In treating of the literature of any country historically, it 
 may perhaps be considered necessary to give a catalogue of 
 every person who has published a book of any pretensions to 
 notice, whatever the different gradations of talent between 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 the authors; but for the general reader, the better course 
 seems rather to be to pass by those works which the nation 
 had not accepted as to be incorporated in the national Htera- 
 ture, and to dwell extendedly on those which, by repeated 
 editions, were entitled to be considered of that character. 
 Bouterwek^s work on Spanish literature, which appears to 
 have been his own performance, and which certainly does 
 great credit to his industry, is an exempHfication of the 
 former course. The volume on Portuguese literature, under 
 his name, which he acknowledges to have been the contribu- 
 tion of a friend, is not so liable to the same objection, and 
 may be considered written according to the other. It* is so 
 difficult a task, and so enviable a lot for any one to attain to 
 excellence above his fellows, that beyond its being due to his 
 own merits, it is an advantage to others to show them by his 
 example the way to attain to the same eminence. Johnson, 
 in his Lives of the English Poets, has given us a work ad- 
 mirable for its criticisms as well as for the other lessons it 
 conveys for general conduct in life ; but those criticisms 
 would have lost much of their effect, if they had not had ap- 
 pended to them the works to which they referred. Biogra- 
 phy, to be worthy of study, should be something more than 
 a mere enumeration of those particulars of a man's life which 
 are of the common class of every-day events, so as to be the 
 reflex of every one's in his station. If any man's life be at 
 all more memorable than that of ordinary mortals, the means 
 by which he obtained his reputation alone merit a lengthened 
 consideration for an example for others. With authors those 
 claims must rest on their writings, which will speak for them- 
 selves ; but this cannot be the case with foreign authors, as 
 few readers of other nations can ever be expected to have ac- 
 quired their language so perfectly as to understand the essen- 
 tial beauty of their poetry. To enable such readers therefore 
 
INTRODUCTION. XVU 
 
 to understand their works^ or even the criticisms upon them, 
 a translation is necessary, on which again much depends, not 
 only in respect of faithfulness but also of felicity of transcript, 
 to render the beauties of the original sufficiently perceptible. 
 Many rules have been given by critics for the benefit of 
 translators from the earliest times till now, to which it is not 
 necessary here to refer further than to state the plan upon which 
 these translations have been made. In a didactic or historical 
 work, the more precisely the translation is made according to 
 the letter of the original, the greater merit may it be con- 
 sidered to possess. But in works of imagination, especially 
 of poetry, it may be more important to attend to the spirit 
 of the original than to the literal construction. The main 
 thoughts contained in each passage should be as faithfully 
 given in the one case as in the other, though it may not be 
 necessary, and sometimes not even becoming, to have the 
 same regard to details. With poetry, the translator should 
 make it his great aim to consider how his author would have 
 expressed the same thoughts if he had been writing in English 
 verse, and thus mould the original ideas into synonymous 
 poetical expressions, as far as the idioms of the two languages 
 and the requirements of metre will allow. It would be a poor 
 vanity in a translator to think of improving on his original, 
 so far as to make any alteration or addition merely for that 
 purpose. But where any words admit of synonyms with dif- 
 ferent shades of meaning, it is certainly his right, if not his 
 duty, to adopt the one he thinks most suitable. Sometimes 
 it may seem to him accordant with good taste to make a more 
 decided alteration, and in every language there are many ex- 
 pressions sufficiently poetical and appropriate, which if con- 
 strued literally into another would appear otherwise. These 
 the author, it may be supposed, would have altered himself, 
 under the same circumstances, and the other, therefore, in so 
 
 b 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 doingj would be only acting on his presumed wishes. In all 
 cases much must be left of necessity to the translator's judge- 
 ment, and he, with every care he can take, must still be con- 
 tent to share, with Pope and Dryden and the greatest masters 
 of rhyme, the consciousness of scarcely ever being able fully 
 to convey the conceptions of a foreign author. The shackles 
 of rhyme also require something to be sacrificed to them, so 
 as of themselves alone to prevent any exact copy being given 
 in verse. Yet still acting on the above considerations, and 
 by rejecting expletives in some cases and adding a few in 
 others, in following up the train of ideas suggested by the 
 original, we may hope to succeed perhaps not only in giving 
 the meaning, but something also of the spirit even of foreign 
 authors. 
 
 It is fortunate for any writer to have his works sent forth 
 to the world in any language of more than usual ascendency, 
 such as the Latin or English, whereby to obtain for himself, 
 if he can claim it, the most extended reputation. But it is 
 more fortunate for a translator under similar circumstances, 
 because languages of such a character are almost of necessity 
 mixed languages, acquiring from that cause an extraordinary 
 nerve and richness, which render translations into them to be 
 made more easily and satisfactorily than from them into a 
 poorer. The English is essentially suited for such a purpose, 
 as, being compounded of the French and German languages, 
 it becomes a double one, combining the nerve of the one 
 with the facility of expression of the other, and the copious- 
 ness arising from the union of both. The Latin is still more 
 a mixed language, the roots of which are yet to be developed, 
 notwithstanding all the labours of philologists, who have 
 erred in wandering after imaginary extinct languages for its 
 derivations, instead of looking into those yet existing. Con- 
 sidering the Spanish to be the direct descendant of the Latin, 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 it may be a matter of surprise that, though a very sonorous 
 language, it cannot be termed a rich one. Abounding in 
 long words (sesquipedalia verba), it loses in precision and 
 strength vrhat is gained in sound, and thus the ideas are en- 
 cumbered when simplification was required. The compara- 
 tively monosyllabic character of the English language has in 
 this respect an immense advantage for the translator, as it 
 enables him to give the sentiments of the original more con- 
 cisely than one from it into another. Having also more 
 synonyms with different shades of meaning, a greater preci- 
 sion may be lost or gained, according to the circumstances 
 and the judgement applied to them. Thus a translation may 
 sometimes be even superior to the original, from its giving the 
 ideas more distinctly, and as it is the test of good writing to 
 find how it reads in another language, so with really superior 
 authors it may be a matter of little importance in what ver- 
 sion their thoughts are expressed. " Words are the daughters 
 of earth, but thoughts are the sons of heaven." It is not 
 presumed hereby that the following translations all come 
 under this consideration, but with the advantages above ex- 
 pressed, it may be hoped that, as exotics in a greenhouse, 
 these flowers of Spanish poetry may be found pleasing repre- 
 sentations of what they were in their native soil, even if they 
 cannot be made entirely denizens of our own. 
 
 Differing entirely from those writers who suppose that the 
 best days of Spanish literature have gone by, and believing, 
 on the contrary, that it never has been more truly original 
 and flourishing than during the present and preceding ages, 
 it might be justly considered presumptuous in any new author 
 to present such opinions to the world without showing the 
 grounds on which they were founded. Bouterwek and his 
 copyist, Sismondi, together with their criticisms on the several 
 Spanish poets, contented themselves with giving merely a few 
 
 b2 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 lines from the more favoured ones in their original language, 
 without any translation whereby to enable those ignorant of 
 it to judge even of the thoughts they contained. They thus 
 resemble the wiseacre in Hierocles (the S^oXao-TtAro?, which 
 word Johnson has strangely translated ' pedant/ taking the 
 primary for the intended meaning); who brought a stone as 
 a description of a building. In so doing, they have seldom 
 given even favourable specimens ; but if they had, there are 
 few authors who can be rightly estimated by isolated pass- 
 ages, or even by any one short poem. Almost all authors 
 are unequal in their productions, and many seem, by an acci- 
 dental felicity, to have produced some one effusion to which 
 none of their other efforts could ever approach. As instances 
 of this, we may note Heber's 'Palestine;' Pringle's lines, 
 ' Afar in the Desert,' and Leyden's ' Ode to an Indian Gold 
 Coin,' which Colton has pronounced, in his opinion, "to 
 come as near to perfection as the sublunary Muse can 
 arrive at." 
 
 It is only by several well-sustained efforts that any author 
 has a right to be placed among poets, and it would not be 
 just, therefore, to judge of any without such a consideration 
 of their productions. In all the translations here given, the 
 most characteristic specimens of the style of each writer have 
 been sought, particularly those containing what seemed to be 
 his favourite course of thought, while .selecting entire, though 
 generally short, poems for that purpose. With the exception 
 of the Duke de Rivas, the poets enumerated in this work have 
 not published poems of any great length, and therefore the 
 plan adopted may be considered altogether appropriate to the 
 object in view. 
 
 With regard to the metres chosen, no rule has been at- 
 tempted of taking the original strictly for a guide, where the 
 style of verse, in a different language, would not admit of it 
 
INTRODUCTION. XXI 
 
 easily. Perhaps the truest definition of Poetry may be given 
 in the words of our great poet — 
 
 " Thoughts that voluntary move 
 Harmonious numbers — " 
 
 for it may be observed, that the finest passages are generally 
 the easiest for translation and for rhyme. Thus keeping the 
 original constantly in view as the guide, the verse has been 
 adopted as the thoughts seemed to indicate the metre most 
 appropriate. 
 
 With the disadvantage of rhyme, in a foreign language, no 
 apology is requisite for the ruggedness of any lines which the 
 critic may point out. I difiier totally from those writers, 
 Coleridge and others, who afiiect a contempt for finished ver- 
 sification, and rely entirely on the brilliancy of their ideas. 
 Whatever is worth doing at all is worth doing well, according 
 to the writer's best capability, ■ and the reader's ear ought 
 surely to be as much consulted as his mind is sought to be 
 engaged. Those who have had to write " nonsense verses " 
 at school or college, have no right to excuse themselves from 
 labouring to make their lines run smoothly. If, therefore, 
 any of the following translations are not so rendered, it will 
 occasion the writer much regret that his best efforts for that 
 purpose have been unsuccessful. 
 
 Another complaint may be anticipated, that this work does 
 not comprehend authors either in prose or the drama. The 
 fault, if it be one, must be admitted, with the observation, 
 that the task undertaken was felt sufficient of itself to require 
 the best exertions of the writer. According to the plan laid 
 dovm of giving only entire pieces, in the case of including 
 either prose or dramatic writers, the work would have been 
 increased to an inordinate extent, or the plan must have been 
 adopted of giving extracts, which would be contrary to the 
 
XXU INTRODUCTION. 
 
 opinion expressed of the best course to be pursued. If this 
 attempt should meet with public approbation, some one else 
 may be induced to continue the further service. If it should 
 not, the labour expended on a larger work would be so much 
 more given in vain. In the one case, the failure might be 
 ascribed to having attempted too much; in the other, the 
 approbation might not have been gained but for the efforts 
 having been directed undividedly to what was thus only within 
 the reach of accomplishment. 
 
 In sequence of the remark before made, of the manly style 
 of thought, feeling and expression which had characterized 
 the older Spanish writers, from their having been persons 
 generally who had engaged in the active affairs of life, the 
 reader may perhaps feel interested in tracing how the same 
 causes have produced the same effects with their successors. 
 From the memoirs hereafter detailed, it may be seen that no 
 fewer than six out of the twelve had to suffer the evils of exile 
 for public or private opinions, of whom three so died unhap- 
 pily in foreign countries. Three others, though not actually 
 exiled, were subjected to long and cruel imprisonment for the 
 same causes, while two out of the remaining three had to take 
 their share of burdens in the public service during the troubled 
 state of the country. Such men could have no mawkish 
 sentiments to develope, and no fantastic feelings to indulge. 
 What they felt, they felt deeply ; what they observed, they 
 observed distinctly, and thus were enabled to give their 
 thoughts and feelings clearly and strongly. 
 
 But in addition to the causes assigned for the superior 
 character of modern Spanish poetry in particular, there is 
 one other to be suggested, the association of which may per- 
 haps occasion some surprise, though it may not be for that 
 the less indubitable. This is the fact of the later Spanish 
 writers having, perhaps unconsciously, but unmistakenly. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 taken better models than their predecessors by preferring the 
 study of English literature to that of the French. This fact, 
 though without the full inference that might have been drawn 
 from it, has been observed by a German author, F. J. Wolf, 
 of the Imperial Library at Vienna, who has published a col- 
 lection of modern Spanish poetry, with biographical notices, 
 Paris, 1837, in two volumes — ' Floresta de Rimas Modernas 
 Castellanas.' It is an interesting collection, but being all 
 given in the Spanish language, is only available to those who 
 are acquainted with it. In the introduction to this work. Wolf 
 treats of the " efforts of Melendez and the Salamanca school 
 to give a new splendour to Spanish poetry, partly by the 
 study and imitation of the ancient and good Spanish writers, 
 taking advantage of the national forms, and partly by making 
 it more profound and substantial, imitating not only and ex- 
 clusively the French, but also and especially the English." 
 (Page 15.) 
 
 During the early part of the last century, consequent upon 
 the accession of the Bourbons to the throne, the writers of 
 verse in Spain, who obtained most favour among their con- 
 temporaries, formed their style avowedly upon the model of 
 what was called the French school, and thus taking examples 
 unworthy of imitation, became still more wretched as copyists. 
 Towards the end of the century, however, a feeling arose, on 
 the other side, in favour of the study of English literature, 
 which has led to the happiest results. Of the twelve poets 
 whose lives and poems it is the purpose of this work to deli- 
 neate, no fewer than ten may be observed acquainted in no 
 inconsiderable degree with the best English authors and pro- 
 ficient in the Enghsh language. Two only, Breton de los Her- 
 reros and Zorrilla, seem not to have extended their studies so 
 far. With the peculiar humorous vein of the former, perhaps 
 the deficiency may not be considered as leaving any merit 
 
XXIV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 to be supplied. But it does seem a matter of regret that a 
 person of Zorrilla's exalted genius should have confined his 
 studies so much to French writers, and so have deprived him- 
 self of the expansion necessary for the highest flights of poetry. 
 France has never produced a great painter or a great poet. 
 The very language, so monotonous and unmusical, in having 
 the accent almost invariably on the last syllable of the words, 
 seems opposed to rhythmical cadence, and not to admit of the 
 highest excellence either in oratory or poetry. Whatever may 
 be the cause, it is evident that such excellence has not been 
 attained in the language, and therefore the best works in it 
 cannot be models for imitation when they are only themselves 
 of an inferior value. 
 
 Beyond the writers enumerated hereafter, whose memoirs 
 and writings are to be considered worthy of fuller notice, 
 there are several others who, as especially coming under the 
 consideration above suggested, may here be noticed in further 
 corroboration of the statements we have made. 
 
 1. Juan de Escoiquiz, tutor to Ferdinand VII., one of the 
 most upright, if not most successful, public men of his time, 
 published, in 1798, an epic poem ' On the Conquest of Mexico,' 
 which showed considerable poetical ability, though it did not 
 obtain much popular favour. In 1797 he published a trans- 
 lation of Young's ' Night Thoughts,' from the English into 
 Spanish verse, and in 1814 a translation of Milton's ' Paradise 
 Lost.' Of the former, a translation in prose had been pre- 
 viously published by Cristoval Caldera. Escoiquiz died in 
 1814. 
 
 2. Jose de Cadalso or Cadahalso, born 1741, was a person 
 of rank and fortune, who had travelled much in his youth, 
 and become proficient in various foreign languages and lite- 
 ratures, especially the English. He wrote several works, 
 both in prose and verse, which were received with great 
 
INTUODUCTION. 
 
 favour at the time, and have been repubhshed frequently 
 since his death. The last edition was in 1818, in three vo- 
 lumes, under the editorship of the late learned Navarrete, 
 who appended to them an interesting biography of the au- 
 thor. Among the miscellanies are several translations from 
 the English, which language, we are informed, Cadalso not 
 only studied himself assiduously, but induced Melendez 
 Valdes to adopt for peculiar study also. This eminent poet ' 
 was in early hfe so assisted by Cadalso as to have been pro- 
 nounced his " best work," and he, as may be seen hereafter, 
 seems sedulously to have followed the good counsels and ex- 
 ample given him by his friend. Cadalso, like so many other 
 of the principal poets of Spain, had embraced a military 
 career, in which, having been ordered with his regiment to 
 the siege of Gibraltar, he there received a wound of which he 
 died a few days after, the 27th February, 1782. His death 
 was a great loss to Spanish literature, and it was equally 
 lamented by the English in the besieged fortress, by whom 
 he was much esteemed from previous friendly communi- 
 cations. 
 
 3. The Conde de Noronia, bom 1760, died 1816, another 
 poetical writer of considerable reputation, was also engaged 
 in military service, in which he attained high rank, and with 
 the division of the Spanish army under his command, gained 
 the victory at the battle of San Payo over the French. He 
 was appointed ambassador successively at Berne and St. Pe- 
 tersburgh, and was celebrated as a diplomatist for his know- 
 ledge of English and other languages. Notwithstanding an 
 active life in the pubUc service, he found leisure for literary 
 pursuits, and in 1800 pubhshed a collection of poems in two 
 volumes. Among these are to be observed several transla- 
 tions from the English, of which one of Dryden's celebrated 
 ' Ode for St. Cecilia's Day,' rendered into Spanish verse with 
 
XXvi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 much spirit, deserves particular mention. The best of his 
 poems seems an ' Ode on the Death of Cadalso/ by whose side 
 he was present when he received his wound. The Conde 
 further attempted an epic, in twelve cantos, entitled ' Om- 
 miada/ detailing the events in the reign of Abderaman, the 
 last of the Ommiades, which poem was published in two vo- 
 lumes in 1816. For the purpose of assisting him in this 
 work, he had translated several pieces from the Arabic and 
 other eastern languages into Spanish verse, published since 
 at Paris in 1833. 
 
 4. Juan Maria Maury, who died in 1846, was another 
 writer of considerable talent. He was sent early in life to 
 France, and completed his education in England, becoming 
 thereby well acquainted with the language and Hterature of 
 both countries. His principal work is a poem entitled, ' Es- 
 vero y Almedora,' in twelve cantos, published at Paris in 1840. 
 It is founded on the adventures of a passage-at-arms, held 
 against all comers, in 1434, at the bridge of Orbiza, near 
 Leon, and contains several interesting scenes spiritedly de- 
 scribed. His earliest work was a poem he called 'British 
 Aggression,' published in 1806, the sentiments of which he 
 seems afterwards to have considerably modified. Maury ap- 
 pears to have been a person of very amiable character, and 
 much esteemed by all who knew him, judging by the manner 
 in which Del Rio and others write respecting him. In his 
 latter years he resided almost entirely at Paris, and gained 
 for himself the extraordinary merit of being esteemed also a 
 correct writer of French verse, by his translations of the prin- 
 cipal Spanish poets into that language. This work, published 
 in two volumes at Paris in 1826, entitled, 'Espagne Poetique, 
 Choix de Poesies Castellanes depuis Charles Quint jusqu'k 
 nos jours,' is, as the name imports, a selection of Spanish 
 poetry with critical and biographical notices, made with much 
 
INTHODUCTION. XXVll 
 
 taste and judgement^ and forming altogether a very interest- 
 ing work for the French student of Spanish literature. It is 
 dedicated to his friends Arriaza and Quintana, in a poetical 
 epistle, from which the following extract may be considered 
 acceptable in corroboration of the previous remarks : — 
 
 " Sans doute, Emmanuel, aux champs de Tamise 
 Triomphe une vertu qu'aillenrs tu crus permise, 
 Et qui Ik fier gdnie a vavi le trident. 
 Jeune j'y respirai I'orgueil independant ; 
 La, j'admirai I'accord, merveille alors unique. 
 Qui regie et garantit, sur le sol britannique 
 Au trone ses splendeurs, aux grands I'autorite, 
 Aux citoyens leurs droits, qu'on nomma liberte, 
 Et le temps destructeur y consacre, y conserve 
 Le plus beau monument eleve par Minerve." 
 
 5. Jose Joaquin Mora, born at Cadiz, 1783, and yet hap- 
 pily surviving, is another modern poet of great merit. When 
 the French invaded Spain, he entered a regiment of dragoons 
 in the national cause, and was made prisoner in 1809, in con- 
 sequence of which he was detained in France sis years. He 
 took advantage of this residence in that country to pursue his 
 studies, and on the return of peace he undertook the editor- 
 ship of the ' Scientific and Literary Chronicle of Madrid,' 
 which, in 1820, he converted into ' The Constitutional.'' In 
 1833 he had to emigrate to London, where he wrote and 
 published several periodical and other works, under the 
 auspices of Messrs. Ackerman, besides various translations. 
 He afterwards went to Buenos Ayres, Chili and BoHvia, from 
 which last republic he returned to London as Consul-General, 
 and pubhshed, in 1840, his principal work, entitled ' Spanish 
 Legends.' This work, which is highly praised by Ochoa, gives, 
 as the title imports, descriptive accounts of various events in 
 the history of Spain, according to what seems to be the 
 favourite formula of modern Spanish poetry. Another work 
 he published, in 1836, entitled 'Poetical Meditations,' is 
 
XXVlll INTRODUCTION. 
 
 founded principally on Blair's celebrated poem, ' The Grave/ 
 Wolf pronounces him excelling in his satirical essays, which, 
 he says, are full of grace and ease. 
 
 In addition to the writers mentioned above, and those 
 whose works form the main purpose of this work hereafter in 
 detail, many others have appeared, both during the latter 
 part of the last century and during the present^ who have 
 shown much talent, and have been deservedly received with 
 much favour by their countrymen. It will be sufficient for 
 us here to give the names of Cienfuegos, Tapia, Lista, Gal- 
 lego, S. Bermudez de Castro, Garcia Gutierrez and Pastor 
 Diaz among them ; and to meet any observation that may be 
 suggested on account of no fuller notice being taken of them, 
 it may be allowed me to state, that I have notwithstanding 
 read and examined carefully all their works, and those of 
 many others whose names it is needless to recapitulate. I 
 would further add, that in so doing, although there was cer- 
 tainly much in them to admire, yet there was nothing in 
 them, in my judgement, suited for translation to interest 
 English readers, whose tastes it was my duty principally to 
 consult. Some of those just mentioned and others omitted, I 
 have personally known and appreciated in private life, but in 
 all the selections and criticisms made or repeated, I have 
 allowed no consideration to weigh with me, except the respect 
 due to superior merit alone. So much of this superior merit 
 seemed to me to exist in modern Spanish literature, that I 
 ventured to think the English public would receive favour- 
 ably this attempt to make them acquainted vnth it. If it 
 should fail, the blame must attach to the translator ; if it be 
 received favourably, there is yet a rich mine of intellectual 
 wealth in store to reward the labours of those who choose to 
 undertake it. 
 
 The student who wishes to follow in the same course, will 
 
INTRODUCTION. XXIX 
 
 find the way much prepared for him in the various collections 
 of ancient and modern poetry lately published. Those by 
 Maury and Wolf have been already mentioned. Quintana 
 has, in the late edition of his great work, brought down the 
 series of national poets to the beginning of this century ; and 
 Ochoa has, lastly, given a very valuable addition to his other 
 labours of criticisms and compilation, in his Notices for a 
 Library of contemporary Spanish writers; — 'Apuntes para 
 una BibUoteca de Escritores Espanoles contemporaneos,^ in 
 two volumes, Paris, 1847. Ferrer del Rio has also con- 
 ferred a great service on the national literature, by giving a 
 series of biographical sketches, ably written, of the principal 
 Spanish writers of the present day, 'Galeria-de la Literatura 
 Espanola,' published by Mellado, at Madrid, 1846. From 
 these works, when no other authority is mentioned as of 
 distinct character, the notices in this work have been com- 
 piled, except in a few instances, which will be found also 
 generally stated when they have been obtained from private 
 information. The facts, of necessity, could not but be learned 
 from such sources, and the translator is only answerable for 
 the selection of those he thought worthy of being repeated, 
 and the arrangement, in addition to the criticisms that coin- 
 cided with his own judgement, for his adoption. 
 
 In conclusion of these introductory remarks, it now only 
 remains necessary further to observe, that the rules of Spanish 
 versification are very similar to the English, being dependent 
 upon accents, according to the rhythm adopted on certain 
 syllables of each line, whether alternately or further removed. 
 The rule as to rhyme is also the same, admitting of single 
 or double rhymes, used in one case or the other, according as 
 the accent is on the last syllable of the final word or the pen- 
 ultimate. The latter, however, is more common in Spanish 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 than in English, where it seems only suited for the livelier 
 strains of verse. 
 
 But in addition to the usual method of using rhymes, de- 
 pendent in English and most other languages upon the con- 
 sonants rather than the vowels, the Spaniards have a form of 
 verse of which the rhyme is dependent on the vowel only, 
 and the consonants may be entirely dissimilar. This form of 
 verse they call Asonantes, in contradistinction to the other, 
 which they call Consonantes, or full and perfect rhyme. Thus 
 in the first stanza of the ' Alcazar of Seville,' the words pro- 
 lijas and cornisas are Consonantes or full rhymes, but in the 
 following verses miran and distintas are Asonantes, as also 
 risa and evitan. The Spaniards conceive the Asonantes to 
 be a form peculiar to themselves, but it is one common to 
 many other nations, in the earlier stages of poetical compo- 
 sition. In the earliest Spanish poems, asonants and conso- 
 nants were used together promiscuously, as may be observed 
 particularly in the early poems in the Galician dialect; and 
 it is curious to trace in this respect, as well as in many 
 of their words, vestiges of their Celtic descent, this same 
 form being also one of the prominent features of Celtic versi- 
 fication. In their modern asonante verse, the Spanish poets 
 usually exclude consonantes, and that form continues in 
 much favour, probably on account of the words in their lan- 
 guage, as in the Latin, having generally so much the same 
 sound as to make a variation pleasing to the ear, to break the 
 monotonous effect of a too frequent recurrence of similar ter- 
 minations. For this reason, no doubt, it was that the Latin 
 poets did not adopt the system of rhymes, and for the same 
 also it is common now in Spanish poems to have lines occa- 
 sionally to which no other line presents a rhyme, giving 
 thereby a pleasing effect to the whole. In our language, on 
 
INTRODUCTION. XXXI 
 
 the contrary^ where, from the ruggedness of its character, the 
 terminations vary so exceedingly as to make them often even 
 difficult to be found for the purposes of rhyme, the recurrence 
 of rhyme gives a more pleasing sound to the ear from the 
 degree of surprise that is thus occasioned. In Spanish they 
 might easily be made of one vowel termination for a long 
 poem, so that the difficulty in it is to avoid the too frequent 
 recurrence of the same sound. 
 
 Martinez de la Rosa has boasted of the variety of rhymes 
 in Spanish ; but he refers to double as well as single rhymes, 
 and in this and in other respects is carried away by his 
 ardour, in admiration of his country^ s language, much further 
 than the facts will be found to support him. Thus he also 
 praises the number and variety of metres used in it as extra- 
 ordinary, when in fact they are no more so than any other 
 neighbouring language could present. It may be justly con- 
 ceded, that poetry has been cultivated lately in Spain with 
 much assiduity and success ; but there is no peculiarity in the 
 language to give it an advantage over others in respect to 
 metres. The strict censorship which has weighed down the 
 energies of the country, with regard to most subjects of public 
 discussion, has had the effect of directing talent to the cultiva- 
 tion of poetry, as almost the only road to literary reputation. 
 This it is, combined with the sensitive character of the na- 
 tion, that has made their poets attain the eminence we are 
 bound in justice to award them ; and it is fortunate for them 
 that they have in their language so admirable an exponent of 
 their genius, as it must in fairness be allowed, though the 
 merit still remains pecuUarly their own. 
 
 The following is a summary Hst of the principal Modern 
 Spanish Poets whose memoirs and writings it is the object 
 of this work more particularly to make known to the English 
 public, given with a statement of dates respecting their lives, 
 
xxxii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 for the purpose of enabling the reader to compare more 
 easily the periods in which they flourished. They are, it will 
 be observed, twelve in number, and the Ust has been divided 
 into two parts, as marking an evidently distinctive character 
 of the poetry in the former and latter part of the epoch which 
 they have rendered memorable. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 I. JovBLLANOs Born 1744. Died 1811. Age 67. 
 
 II. Iriarte Bom 1750. Died 1791. Age 41. 
 
 III. Melendez Valdes . . . Bom 1754. Died 1817. Age 63. 
 
 IV. Leandro Moratin . . . Bom 1760. Died 1828. Age 68. 
 V. Arriaza Bora 1770. Died 1837. Age 67. 
 
 VI. Quintana Bom 1772. Living 1851. Age 79. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 VII. Martinez de la Rosa . . Bom 1789. Living 1851. Age 62. 
 
 VIII. The Duke DE RivAS . . Bom 1791. Living 1851. Age 60. 
 
 IX. Breton de los Herreros Bom 1796. Liviag 1851. Age 55. 
 
 X. Heredia Bom 1803. Died 1839. Age 35. 
 
 XL EsPRONCBDA Bom 1810. Died 1842. Age 32. 
 
 XII. ZoRRiLLA Bom 1817. Living 1851. Age 34. 
 
PRELIMINARY NOTE. 
 
 For readers unacquainted with the Spanish language, it may be 
 perhaps most advisable, in this place, to affix a few short instruc- 
 tions for the proper prouunciation of such names and words as are 
 to be found in the following pages. 
 
 1. The vowels in Spanish have each invariably their peculiar 
 sound ; not as in Enghsh, where each has two or more sounds, 
 making them in fact so distinct as strictly requiring to be de- 
 signated by different characters, or after the manner of the Hebrew 
 points. Thus a has always the broad open sound found in the 
 English words arm, arrack. 
 
 e, long or short, as in the English words ere, ever. 
 
 i and y, as in machine, syntax. 
 
 o, long or short, as in ore, host, hostage. 
 
 u has uniformly the sound of oo in food. The Celtic sound of 
 this vowel, preserved in France and Portugal, is unknown in Spain, 
 and also in the Basque or Biscayan language. 
 
 2. Of the consonants, 6 has a softer sound than in English, and 
 approaches to v, which again is made to sound like b. Thus the 
 city of the Havana is, in Spanish spelling. La Habana, and the 
 river Bidasoa is written Vidasoa. 
 
 c, before a, o, u, is to be pronounced hard, as in English ; before 
 e or i, it is to be sounded like th in thin, though in the provinces 
 
 c 
 
xxxiv PRELIMINARY NOTE. 
 
 this pronunciation is giving way to the French and English mode 
 of sounding the letter. Thus the name of the great Roman orator 
 is pronounced Thithero. ch has always the soft sound it usually 
 has in English, as in chat, check, chin, choke, chum. 
 
 d, at the end of a word, is generally pronounced like th : thus 
 Madrid is Madrith ; ciudad, a city, is pronounced thiudath ; other- 
 wise, both d and t are spoken as inEnghsh, or slightly more den- 
 tally. 
 
 f has the same sound as in English. 
 
 g is an aspirate, like our h, more or less guttural, according to 
 the word. The soft sound of this letter, as in gem, left by the 
 Celts in Italy and Portugal, is unknown in Spain, as is also the 
 soft sound of the letter^'. 
 
 h may be said to be invariably a silent letter, and seems only 
 used to prevent two vowels running into each other, so as to form 
 a diphthong. 
 
 j is a very harsh guttural, like the Hebrew Cheth. Thus Juan 
 (John) is to he pronounced strongly, Hwan ; Jose (Joseph) also 
 strongly, Hose. 
 
 The letters k, I, m, n, p, are the same as in English. 
 
 5 or qu has the sound of our k : thus que (that) is the same as 
 the Italian che. 
 
 r, s, t have the same sounds as in English, except that the first 
 has one somewhat rougher, especially when two come together. 
 
 IE is a strong guttural, for which _;' is now generally used, as 
 Don Quijote. 
 
 z is pronounced as th : thus Cadiz is soimded Cadith. 
 
 The Spaniards consider their II and n, or n with a circumflex, 
 distinct letters, but they are in fact only the letters Z or w vrith 
 the sound of i after them, as in the English words million, minion, 
 being the same sound that the French and Italians express by 
 gn, or gl. Several names may be found in the body of this work 
 
PRELIMINAKY NOTE. XXXV 
 
 altered according to our mode of spelling, though in the headings 
 retained as in the original, as Padillia instead of Padilla. For the 
 sake of preserving the sound free from constant explanation or 
 confusion, the like course has been sometimes adopted with regard 
 to other words, as, for instance, the name of the river Genii or 
 XenU, represented in EngUsh as Henil. 
 
 Two or more vowels coming together are enunciated so as to 
 lOrm one syllable generally in Spanish, and especially in poetry, 
 yet nevertheless so as to allow of each vowel to be sounded di- 
 stinctly, as each syllable is also. 
 
 With regard to accents, the general rule is, that it should be 
 placed on the penultimate syllable. There are many exceptions, 
 but in print these are always marked by the accent (') on the 
 vowel indicated, except in words of two syllables, which, if ending 
 in a consonant, have generally the accent on the last syllable, if 
 ending in a vowel, on the first, without being notified. 
 
 From these notices it may be observed, that the Spanish lan- 
 guage is remarkable for two sounds, the guttural and the predo- 
 minatmg ih, which distinguish it from the two sister dialects of 
 Italy and Portugal, while it is deficient in the soft sound of g and 
 j, found so frequently used in the latter. These two assimilate 
 so much to each other that natives of either country understand 
 those of the other readily, while they cannot those of Spain, show- 
 ing that the influence of the Gothic and Moorish invaders was im- 
 pressed there on the pronunciation of the common language, though 
 it was not extended to altering materially the language itself. 
 
 Besides the soft sound of the g, there are two other sounds un- 
 known in Spanish, though common in Portugal and France, left 
 by their former Celtic inhabitants, those of the sh or French _;, 
 and the disagreeable nasal pronunciation of the letter n. The lat- 
 ter is very slightly given in Bon, and a few other words, but the 
 other is unknown. In Portuguese it is so prevalent that they 
 even use it for Latin words which it would be difficult to recognize 
 at first as the originals from which the others were derived ; thus 
 the words pluvia, plorare, transformed in Spanish into lluvia, 
 
 c2 
 
XXXVl PRELIMINARY NOTE. 
 
 llorar, are in Portuguese further transformed into chuva {shuva), 
 chorar (shorar). The natives of Galicia speak a dialect more 
 aUied to Portuguese than the Spanish, being of more decided 
 Celtic descent, like the Portuguese, than the rest of the people of 
 the Peninsula. The natives of Catalonia speak a dialect half 
 French, half Spanish, virhich may be considered the representative 
 of the ancient Proven9al or Limoisin. It is very guttural as well 
 as nasal. The Basque or Biscayan language is entirely distinct 
 from the modern Spanish, and also from the Latin, the Celtic, or 
 that of any neighbouring country, and is well deserving of study. 
 It has no harsh or disagreeable sounds in it, and abounds in 
 vowels, many words having not a single consonant in them. 
 
 r E lit errataS 
 
 Page-ll, line 18, instead of" make it a well," read " use it for a well.' 
 
 — 60? — 7, suffice read sufSces. 
 
 — 66; — 11, sensibly read sensitively. 
 
 — 157, — 23, sage read shade. 
 
 — 271, — 29, nineteen read eighteen. 
 
 — 301, — 12, • Corsair read Corsairs. 
 
 Page 145, line 4, " has been announced," &c. This statement is erroneous, 
 the reference having been made to Mr. J. Russell's Life of Gonzalo de Cor- 
 dova, translated from Quintana's first volume, London, 1851. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Dedication iii 
 
 Introduction. On the character of Spanish Poetry, Ancient 
 and Modern. — Causes affecting it suggested from considera- 
 tions of Roman civiUzation, Moorish wars, and personal 
 history of the principal Poets. — Works on Spanish litera- 
 ture : Remarks on translation and language. — References to 
 other modern Poets. — Spanish metres and versification vii 
 
 Preliminary Note. On the pronunciation of Spanish names 
 
 and words xxxiii 
 
 PART I. 
 
 I. GASPAR MELCHOR DE JOVELLANOS. 
 
 Memoir of 3 
 
 Epistle to Cean Bermudez, on the Vain Desires and Studies 
 
 of Men 18 
 
 To Galatea's Bird 30 
 
 To Enarda.— 1 32 
 
 To Enarda.— II 33 
 
XXXvhi CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 II. TOMAS DE IRIARTE. 
 
 Memoir of 37 
 
 Epistle to Don Domingo de Iriarte, on his Travelling to 
 
 various Foreign- Courts 46 
 
 The Bear, the Monkey and the Hog 63 
 
 The Ass and the Flute 55 
 
 The Two Rabbits 56 
 
 The Lamb and his Two Advisers 58 
 
 The Flint and the Steel 59 
 
 III. JUAN MELENDEZ VALDES. 
 
 Memoir of 61 
 
 Juvenilities 77 
 
 The Timid Lover 79 
 
 My Village Life 81 
 
 Remembrances of Youth 84 
 
 Of the Sciences 87 
 
 The Disdainful Shepherdess 90 
 
 IV. LEANDRO FERNANDEZ MORATIN. 
 
 Memoir of 95 
 
 Dedication of the Mogigata to the Prince of the Peace 106 
 
 Epistle to Don Gaspar de Jovellanos, sent from Rome 108 
 
 V. JUAN BAUTISTA DE ARRUZA. 
 
 Memoir of 113 
 
 Tempest and War, or the Battle of Trafalgar 1 23 
 
 The Parting .^ 132 
 
 VI. MANUEL JOSE QUINTANA. 
 
 , Memoir of 141 
 
 To the Spanish Expedition for the Promotion of Vaccination 
 
 in America, under Don Francisco Balmis 162 
 
 On the Battle of Trafalgar 158 
 
CONTENTS. XXXIX 
 
 PART II. 
 
 VII. FRANCISCO MARTINEZ DE LA ROSA. 
 
 Page- 
 Memoir of 169 
 
 Remembrance of Spain, written in London in 1 8 11 1 83 
 
 Return to Granada, October 27, 1831 185 
 
 Epistle to the Duque de Frias, on the Death of the Duquesa 190 
 
 Anacreontic 199 
 
 Bacchanalian 200 
 
 VIII. ANGEL DE SAAVEDRA, DUKE DE RIVAS. 
 
 Memoir of 203 
 
 The Alcazar of SeviUe 224 
 
 IX. MANUEL BRETON DE LOS HERREROS. 
 
 Memoir of 249 
 
 Satirical Letrillias. — III • 268 
 
 Satirical Letrillias.— IV 260 
 
 Satirical Letrillias.— VII 262 
 
 X. JOSE MARIA HEREDIA. 
 
 Memoir of 265 
 
 Sonnet. Dedication of the Second Edition of his Poems, to 
 
 his Wife 275 
 
 To his Horse 276 
 
 The Season of the Northers 277 
 
 Poesy, an Ode 280 
 
 Ode to Night 285 
 
xl CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 XI. J0S6 DE ESPRONCEDA. 
 
 Memoir of 2.91 
 
 To Spain, an Elegy. London, 1829 305 
 
 The Condemned to Die 308 
 
 The Song of the Pirate 314 
 
 To Harifa, in an Orgy 318 
 
 XII. JOSE ZORRILLA. 
 
 Memoir of 323 
 
 The Christian Lady and the Moor 336 
 
 Romance, The Waking 339 
 
 Oriental Romance, Boabdil 343 
 
 The Captive 345 
 
 The Tower of Munion 347 
 
 The Warning 350 
 
 Meditation 352 
 
 NOTES 357 
 
MODEEN POETS 
 
 ■^- AND 
 
 POETEY OE SPAIN. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 B 
 
GASPAE, MELOHOR DE JOVELLANOS. 
 
 An able and distinguished writer in the Madrid Keview 
 has observed, that if the question were asked as to which is 
 the first great name in modern Spanish Kterature, the answer 
 must unquestionably be — JoveUanos. It seems, therefore, only 
 a just deference to his merits, though it is but a fortuitous 
 coincidence in the order of dates, that we have to place his 
 name first' in the series of modern Spanish poets. It is, 
 however, to his State Papers and his writings on Political 
 Economy that he principally owes his reputation ; though it 
 is a proud consideration for Spanish literature, that, as re- 
 gards him, as well as Martinez de la Rosa and the Duke de 
 Rivas, she has to place the names of eminent statesmen 
 among her principal poets. 
 
 JoveUanos was born the 5th of January, 1744, at Gijon, a 
 town in the Asturias, of which his father was Regidor or 
 one of the chief Magistrates. His family connections were 
 of the class called Nobles, answering to the Noblesse of 
 
 b2 
 
4 CASPAR MELCHOB DE JOVELLANOS. 
 
 France, and were moreover very influential and sufficiently 
 wealthy. To take advantage of the preferments these offered 
 him, he was destined in early youth, being a younger son, for 
 the church, in which he entered into the first orders for the 
 purpose of holding several benefices that were given him. 
 He studied consecutively at Oviedo, Avila and Osma, where 
 he distinguished himself so much to the satisfaction of those 
 interested in his fortunes, that he was removed, in 1764, to 
 the University of Alcala de Henares, and shortly afterwards 
 to Madrid to study law. His friends and relatives, having 
 become aware of his great talents, had now induced him to 
 abandon the clerical profession and engage in secular pur- 
 suits. A person of his rank iii those days was not at liberty 
 to practise as an advocate, though the young Noble, under 
 court favour, might administer the law ; and thus he was, in 
 1767, when only in his twenty-fourth year, appointed judge 
 of criminal cases at Seville. In this office he conducted him- 
 self with great ability and humanity, appearing to have been 
 the first to abandon the employment of torture for obtaining 
 confessions, which system has scarcely yet been discarded on 
 the Continent. As characteristic of him, it may here be 
 added, that he is reported to have been the first of the higher 
 magistrates in Spain who gave up the use of the official wig ; 
 so that his unusual dress, combined with his youth, made 
 him on the bench more observed than perhaps even his talents 
 would at first have rendered him. 
 
 Whatever objections might have been made, if cause could 
 be found, he seems, after having served nearly ten years as 
 judge in the criminal courts, to have been advanced, with the 
 approbation of all parties, to the office of judge in civil cases, 
 also at Seville. This was an office much more agreeable to 
 his inclinations, though the salary was no higher than what 
 he had previously enjoyed. He had, however, other duties 
 
GASPAK MELCHOR DE JOVELLANOS. 5 
 
 also entrusted to him of minor character^ though of propor- 
 tionate emolument, and thereupon he resigned his benefices 
 in the church, which he had held till then, and to the duties 
 of which he had strictly attended. Beyond this act of dis- 
 interestedness, he seems to have given his brother magistrates 
 no inconsiderable inquietude at the same time by refusing- 
 some emoluments of office to which they considered them- 
 selves entitled. But their minds were soon relieved from the 
 apprehensions his conduct might occasion them, as at the end 
 of four years he was, in 1778, appointed judge of criminal 
 cases at Madrid j an office generally considered of eminent 
 promotion, but which he accepted with regret. 
 
 In after times, every letter and every notice of Jovellanos 
 that could be found was eagerly sought and treasured up ; 
 and from these and his own memorandums, it appears 
 he had good reason to consider the years he passed at 
 Seville as the happiest of his life. Honoured in his public 
 capacity and beloved in his social circle, he passed whatever 
 time he could spare from his official or private duties in lite- 
 rary pursuits. It was then he wrote or prepared most of the 
 lighter works which entitle him to be ranked among the poets 
 of the age ; the tragedy of " Pelayo," and comedy of " The 
 Honourable Delinquent," both which were highly esteemed 
 by his countrymen, as well as most of his minor poems. He 
 did not however confine himself to such recreations, but at 
 the same time entered on graver studies for the public ser- 
 vice, on which his fame was eventually established. 
 
 Shortly after Jovellanos joined the courts at Seville, he had 
 for one of his colleagues Don Luis Ignacio Aguin-e, a person 
 of high literary attainments, who had travelled much, and 
 brought with him, as stated by Bermudez, many works in 
 English on Political Economy. To understand these, Jovel- 
 lanos immediately, under Aguirre's guidance, proceeded to 
 
6 GASPAR MEIiCHOR DE JOA'^ELLANOS. 
 
 learn the English language, of which he soon obtained a 
 competent knowledge. He then studied the science, then 
 newly dawning, from the works his friend afforded him, and 
 made himself a master of it, so as to give him a name among 
 the most eminent of its professors. Not contented with 
 these pursuits, his active mind was still further engaged in 
 whatever could tend to the benefit of society in the place of 
 his labours. He seems indeed to have always had before 
 him the consideration of what might be the fullest duties 
 his station imposed on him, beyond the mere routine of 
 official services. Not confining himself to these, much less 
 giving himself up to passive enjoyments, however harmless 
 or honourable in themselves, he seemed then and through 
 life as ever acting under the sense of a great responsibility, 
 as of the requirements of Him "who gave his servants 
 authority, and to every man his work." Thus he instituted 
 a school at Seville for children, reformed the course of prac- 
 tice at the hospitals, attended to the keeping of the public 
 walks and grounds in good order, and was foremost in every 
 case where charity called or good 'services were required. 
 Artists and men of genius found in him a friend, who, by 
 advice and other aid, was always ready to their call ; and it 
 was observed that his only passion was for the purchase of 
 books and pictures, of which respectively he formed good 
 collections. 
 
 On giving up his duties at Seville, Jovellanos travelled 
 through Andalusia, and, as was his custom in all the places 
 he visited, made notes of whatever useful information he 
 could obtain respecting them, many of which were afterwards 
 published in a topographical work he assisted in bringing 
 forward. On arriving at Madrid, where his fame had pre- 
 ceded him, he was at once chosen member of the different 
 learned societies, to several of which he rendered valuable 
 
GASPAK MELCHOR DE JOVELLANOS. 7 
 
 services. At Seville he had already prepared a sketch of his 
 great work, entitled " Agrarian Law," in which he treated 
 of the law and tenure of land, its cultivation, and other topics 
 connected with it. This work he then published in an ex- 
 tended form, in which it has been reprinted several times, 
 separately as well as in his collected works. In the several 
 societies he also read many papers, one of which, " On Public 
 Diversions," deserves to be named particularly, as containing 
 much curious information, as well as many excellent sugges- 
 tions for public advantage, on points which statesmen would 
 do well to remember more frequently than they are in the 
 habit of doing. 
 
 On leaving Seville, Jovellanos regretted that he had to 
 engage again in criminal cases, for which he had a natural 
 aversion. After fulfilling these duties at Madrid a year and 
 a half, he therefore sought another appointment, and obtained 
 one in the Council of Military Orders, more agreeable to his 
 inclinations. In this office it was his duty to attend to the 
 affairs of the four military orders of Spain, and in his visits 
 to their properties and other places on their behalf, he was 
 entrusted with various commissions, which he fulfilled with 
 his accustomed zeal. In those visits he had to go much to 
 his native province, and he took advantage of his influence to 
 make roads, which were much needed there, and the benefits 
 of which he Uved to see appreciated. He incited the mem- 
 bers of the Patriotic Society of Oviedo, and others connected 
 with the Asturias, to explore the mineral wealth of the country, 
 rich in mines of coal and iron, then scarcely known. For 
 the study of such pursuits he founded the Asturian Institute, 
 and raised subscriptions to have two young men educated 
 abroad in mathematics and mining, who were afterwards to 
 teach those sciences at the Institute. Every day of his life 
 indeed seems to have been employed on some object of public 
 
a GASPAR MELCHOR DE JOVELLANOS. 
 
 utility, or in studies connected with such objects j following 
 the ancient maxim to do nothing trifling or imperfectly : — 
 M.r]Sev ivepyrjfia eiKfj, fxrjSev aXXa<; rj kuto, dewprjfia crvfi- 
 ifKripwrmov t^9 rk'xyr]^ ivepyeWco. 
 
 Though exact in the fulfilment of his ofiicial duties, and 
 other various commissions entrusted to him by the govern- 
 ment to report on the state of the provinces, it is wonderful 
 to consider the industry with which he followed other pur- 
 suits. He studied botany and architecture, on which he wrote 
 several treatises ; and though each of those subjects would have 
 been a sufficient task for ordinary men, to him they were only 
 relaxations from his favourite science of political economy. 
 
 Bent on the promotion of law and other reforms in the 
 state, he became connected with the Conde de Cabarrus, who, 
 though a Frenchman by birth, had obtained high employments 
 in Spain, and who, as a person of superior talent and discern- 
 ment, was also convinced of the necessity of such measures. 
 As too often is the case with able and honest statesmen, the 
 Conde de Cabarrus fell, whUe attempting to effect these re- 
 forms, under the intrigues of his enemies, and Jovellanos be- 
 came involved in his disgrace. He had been sent, in 1790, 
 into the provinces in fulfilment of the duties of his office ; 
 when, having heard on the road of his friend's ill fortune, he 
 returned at once to offer him whatever assistance he might 
 have in his power. He had, however, no sooner arrived in 
 Madrid, where the Conde was under arrest, than, without 
 being allowed to communicate with him, Jovellanos received a 
 royal order to return immediately to his province. 
 
 The terms in which this order was conveyed convinced 
 Jovellanos that he was to share in the disgrace of his friend, 
 and to consider himself banished from court. He therefore 
 proceeded philosophically to settle himself in his paternal 
 abode with his brother, their father being now deceased, with 
 
GASPAR MELCHOR DE JOVELLANOS. 9 
 
 his books and effects, and engaged in the improvement of 
 their family estates. His expectations proved correct, as in 
 this honourable exile he had to pass seven years, though not 
 altogether unemployed, as he had several commissions en- 
 trusted to him similar to those he had previously discharged. 
 But still Jovellanos, unbowed by political reverses, continued 
 the same ardent promoter of public improvement. For the 
 Asturian Institute, which he had founded for the purpose of 
 teaching principally mineralogy and metallurgy, and which 
 he personally superintended, he wrote his very able work on 
 Public Instruction, and compiled elementary grammars of 
 the French and English languages, in which he showed him- 
 self proficient to a degree truly astonishing. 
 
 In his official duties, having to go carefully in inspection 
 over the Asturias and other neighbouring provinces, he noted 
 his observations in diaries, which have been fortunately pre- 
 served, and which contain much valuable information. In 
 these he has gathered all he could learn relative to the pro- 
 ductions of the provinces, and the state in which he found 
 them and the people, as embodied in his reports thereon to 
 the government, with an account of the ancient remains and 
 public buildings, making copies of whatever he found most 
 interesting in the archives of the several convents, cathedrals 
 and corporations. Some of these copies now possess a peculiar 
 value, from the damages that have since accrued to many of 
 the originals from time and the events of the subsequent wars. 
 
 If it were not for the disparagement of being considered in 
 banishment, Jovellanos could have felt himself contented. 
 He had not only honourable employment, as before stated, 
 but he also received several notices of approbation from the 
 government, especially as regarded the Institute, to which 
 notices he perhaps paid a higher regard than they deserved. 
 He seems himself to have felt this ; for in one of his letters he 
 
10 CASPAR MELCHOR DE JOVELLANOS. 
 
 writes — " I will not deny that I desire some public mark of 
 appreciation by the government, to gain by it that kind of 
 sanction which merit needs in the opinion of some weak 
 minds. But I see that this is a vain suggestion, and that 
 posterity will not judge me by my titles, but by my works/' 
 
 This was written on a rumour having reached Gijon of the 
 probability of his being soon restored to favour at court. 
 Those under whose intrigues he had fallen had now passed 
 away in their turn : a favourite of a more powerful grade was 
 in the ascendant, Godoy, the Prince of the Peace, to whose 
 mind had been suggested the advisability of gathering round 
 him persons of acknowledged probity and knowledge, for the 
 support of his government. Jovellanos had returned home, 
 in October 1797, from one of his journeys of inspection, when 
 he found the whole town in a state of rejoicing. On inquiring 
 the cause, he was told it was because news had been received 
 of his nomination as ambassador to Russia. A few days 
 afterwards the rejoicings were renewed, on the further intelli- 
 gence of his being nominated a member of the government 
 itself, as Minister of Grace and Justice. 
 
 In this office it might have been hoped that a happier 
 career was before him ; but evil fortune on the contrary now 
 followed him, and more fatally than ever. His former banish- 
 ment from court was owing to the endeavours he had made 
 to remove those abuses into which all human institutions 
 have a tendency to fall, rendering frequently necessary a cor- 
 rection of those abuses, to preserve what was most valuable 
 in' the institutions themselves. His next misfortune arose 
 from personal differences with the reigning favourite, whose 
 greater influence it was his error not to have perceived. 
 Jovellanos had been restored to favour at the instance of 
 Godoy ; but as this was without his seeking, he felt himself 
 under no obligation to maintain him as the head of the go- 
 
GASPAR MELCHOK DE JOVELLANOS. 11 
 
 vernment, for which he was totally unfit. Jovellanos joined 
 in an opposition to him, which for a short time succeeded in 
 depriving Godoy of office. But his influence at court con- 
 tinued, and thus Jovellanos was in his turn dismissed, after 
 holding the office of minister only about eight months, and 
 ordered to return to Gijon. 
 
 Unhappily the favourite carried his resentment further; 
 and Jovellanos was, on the 13th of March, 1801, arrested in 
 his bed at an early hour of the morning, and sent as a pri- 
 soner through the country to Barcelona, thence to Mallorca, 
 where first in the Carthusian convent, and afterwards in the 
 castle of Bellver more strictly, he was closely confined, with- 
 out any regard paid to his demands to know the accusation 
 against him. Here his health was severely afiected, as well 
 as his feehngs outraged, by the unjust treatment to which he 
 was subjected. Still he was not one to sink under such evils. 
 He was rather one of those " who, going through the valley 
 of misery, make it a well." He turned accordingly to the 
 resources of literature, and employed himself in writing and 
 translating from Latin and French several valuable treatises 
 on architecture, and other works, on the history of the island, 
 and of the convent, besides several poems, among which the 
 Epistle to Bermudez, his biographer, deserves particular notice. 
 
 Another work he then wrote is no less deserving of men- 
 tion, showing the attention he had paid to English affairs, 
 entitled " A Letter on EngUsh Architecture, and that called 
 Gothic," in which he treated of English architecture from 
 the time of the Druids, dividing it into the Saxon, Gothic 
 and modern periods. He describes the buildings according 
 to the epochs, especially St. Paul's and others of the seven- 
 teenth century, coming down to the picturesque style of 
 gardening then adopted in England, with notices of the 
 different sculptors, painters and engravers, as well as archi- 
 
13 GASPAK MELCHOR DE JOVELLANOS. 
 
 tects, and also of the authors who had written on the Fine 
 Arts in England. This work has not been pubUshed, but 
 Bermudez states he had the manuscript. 
 
 After being seven years a prisoner, Jovellanos was in 1808 
 released on the abdication of Charles IV. and the consequent 
 fall of Godoy. This release was announced to him in terms 
 of official brevity, and he replied by an earnest demand to be 
 subjected to a trial, for the purpose of having the cause of 
 his imprisonment made manifest. Before, however, an answer 
 could be returned, Ferdinand had, under Napoleon's dicta- 
 tion, also ceased to reign, and Jovellanos was called upon to 
 take a prominent place in the intrusive government of king 
 Joseph. This he could not be supposed from his antecedent 
 character to be willing to accept. On the contrary, being 
 chosen by the National party a member of the Central Junta, 
 he engaged with his accustomed energy on the other side 
 until the Eegency was formed, principally under his influence, 
 to carry on the struggles for independence. 
 
 On this being effected, Jovellanos wished to retire to his 
 native city apart from public affairs. At his advanced age, 
 with cataracts formed in his eyes, and after his laborious life 
 and painful imprisonment, rest was necessary for him ; but 
 he could not attain it. One of his first efforts in the Central 
 Junta was to draw up a paper on the form of government to 
 be adopted, and this he strongly recommended to be founded 
 as nearly as possible on the model of the English constitu- 
 tion. But he was far too enlightened for the race of men 
 with whom he had to act, and his prepossessions for EngHsh 
 institutions were made a reproach against him, observes the 
 editor of the last edition of his works, even by those who 
 were striving to introduce the principles of the Constituent 
 Assembly into Spain. 
 
 The miserable intrigues and jealousies of the leading mem- 
 
GASFAR MELCHOR DE JOVELLANOS. 13 
 
 bers of the National party caused Jovellanos much anxiety. 
 But he had fulfilled his duties as a Deputy, and those having 
 ceased, he left Cadiz in February, 1810, to return to the 
 Asturias, in a small sailing vessel. After a long and danger- 
 ous passage, during which they were in great danger of 
 shipwreck, they arrived at Muros in Galicia, in which pro- 
 vince he had to remain more than a year, in consequence of 
 the Asturias being in the possession of the French, to whom 
 he had now become doubly obnoxious. 
 
 In July, 1811, however, the French having left that part 
 of Spain, Jovellanos was enabled to return to his native city, 
 where he was again received as he always had been with 
 every token of popular respect. He seems to have been 
 always looked upon there with undeviating favour and grati- 
 tude, as their most honourable citizen and public benefactor. 
 No one knew of his coming, says his biographer, but he was 
 observed to enter the church, and kneel before the altar near 
 his family burying-place, when the whole town was roused 
 simultaneously, and a spontaneous illumination of the houses 
 took place, with other tokens of public congratulations and 
 rejoicing. 
 
 Here he now hoped to have a peaceful asylum for his latter 
 years, engaged in the objects of public utility for which he 
 had formerly laboured. But those labours were to be begun 
 again. His favourite " Asturian Institute," which he truly 
 said, in one of his discourses, was identified with his existence, 
 had been totally dismantled and used for barracks by the 
 French. Having obtained authority from the Regency to 
 do so, he began to put the building again into repair, and 
 collect together the teachers and scholars. Having done 
 this, he announced by circulars that it would be reopened 
 the 30th of November following, when the news of the 
 French returning compelled him again to fly on the 6th of 
 
14 GASPAR MELCHOR DE JOVELLANOS. 
 
 that month. He set sail in a miserable coasting vessel for 
 Ribadeo, where a ship was ready to take him to Cadiz or 
 England as he might desire, in virtue of instructions given 
 by the Regency, and in accordance with the English govern- 
 ment. But further misfortunes only awaited him. The vessel 
 in which he had to take refuge was cast on shore in a storm 
 near the small port of Vega, on the confines of Asturias ; and 
 there, worn out with fatigue, and under a pulmonary affection, 
 brought on by exposure to the weather, he died the 27th of 
 November, 1811, a few days after his landing. 
 
 The news of his death was spread rapidly through Spain, 
 notwithstanding the interrupted state of communications, 
 and was everywhere received with regret as a national cala- 
 mity. Those who had opposed his views did justice to the 
 uprightness of his motives and character; and the Cortes, 
 now assembled, passed a decree, by which in favour of his 
 patriotism and public services, he was declared Benemerito 
 de la Patria. This beautiful and classical acknowledgement 
 of his worth was then also remarkable as a novelty, though 
 it has been since rendered less honourable, by being awarded 
 to others little deserving of peculiar distinction. 
 
 The hfe of Jovellanos, as intimately connected with the 
 history of his country, is well deserving of extended study. 
 But our province is rather to consider him as a poet. Emi- 
 nent as a statesman for unimpeachable integrity and for wise 
 administration of justice, he carried prudent reforms into 
 every department under his control, in which, though sub- 
 jected to many attacks, he proved himself, by a memoir 
 published shortly before his death, in justification of his 
 public conduct, to have been fully warranted. This memoir, 
 for heartfelt eloquence, deserves to be ranked with Burke^s 
 Letter to the Duke of Bedford. Jovellanos has been com- 
 pared by his countrymen to Cicero. A writer in the Foreign 
 
GASPAE MELCHOR DE JOVELLANOS. 15 
 
 Quarterly Review has instituted an ingenious parallel between 
 him and Montesquieu. With either, or with Burke, he may 
 be observed to have possessed the philosophy and feeling, 
 which give eloquence its chief value and effect. 
 
 As a prose writer, Jovellanos, for elegance of style and 
 depth of thought, may be pronounced without a rival in 
 Spanish hterature. As a dramatist, he only gave the pubhe 
 a tragedy and comedy, both of which continue in much 
 favour with the pubhc. The latter, " The Honourable De- 
 linquent " is particularly esteemed ; but it is a melodrame 
 rather than a comedy, according to our conceptions. It turns 
 on the principal character having been forced into fighting a 
 duel, and who, having killed his opponent, is sentenced to 
 die ; but after the usual suspenses receives a pardon from the 
 king. There are several interesting scenes and much good 
 writing in the piece; but no particular delineation of cha- 
 racter, to bring it any more than the other into the higher 
 class of dramatic art. It has, however, been observed, that 
 it only needs to have been written in verse to make it a per- 
 fect performance, and this alone shows the hold it must have 
 on the Spanish reader. 
 
 As a poet, Jovellanos is chiefly to be commemorated for 
 his Satires. Two of these, in which he lashes the vices and 
 follies of society at Madrid, — " girt with the silent crimes of 
 capitals," — are pronounced by the critic in the Madrid Review 
 to be "highly finished" compositions. They were, in fact, 
 the only poems he himself published, and those anonymously. 
 With the strength of Juvenal, they have also his faults, and 
 abound too much in local allusions to be suited for transla- 
 tion. In somewhat the same style were several epistles he 
 addressed to difierent friends, of which the one written to 
 his friend and biographer Bermudez has been chosen for 
 this work, as most characteristic of the author. Like his 
 
16 GASPAR MELCHOB DE JOVELLANOS. 
 
 Other Satires, it is written in blank verse ; which style, though 
 not entirely unknown in Spain, he had the merit of first 
 bringing into favour. He probably gained his predilection 
 for it from his study of Milton, for whose works he .had 
 great admiration, and of whose Paradise Lost he translated 
 the first book into Spanish verse. 
 
 The Epistle to Bermudez is remarkable as written with 
 much earnestness, in censure not only of the common vices 
 and follies of mankind, but in also going beyond ordinary 
 satirists into the sphere of the moralist, to censiu'e the faults 
 of the learned. What our great modern preacher Dr. Chal- 
 mers has termed the " practical atheism " of the learned, was 
 indeed the subject of rebuke from many English writers, as 
 Young and Cowper, but may be looked for in vain in the 
 works of others. Jovellanos had no doubt read the former, 
 at least in the translation of his friend Escoiquiz, and medi- 
 tated on the sentiment, — "An undevout astronomer is mad," 
 even if not in the original. It can scarcely be supposed that 
 he was so well acquainted with English literature as to have 
 read Cowper; but there are several passages in his Epistles 
 of similar sentiments. The praise of wisdom especially, in 
 the one to Bermudez, — by which we may understand, was 
 meant the wisdom urged by the kingly preacher of Jeru- 
 salem, or the rule of conduct founded on right principles, in 
 opposition to mere learning, — is also that of our Christian 
 poet : — 
 
 Knowledge and wisdom, far from being one, 
 Have ofttimes no connexion. Knowledge dwells 
 In heads replete with thoughts of other men ; 
 Wisdom in minds attentive to their own. 
 
 In his hours of leisure, Jovellanos employed himself in 
 composing occasional verses at times, for the amusement of 
 the society in which he lived, without thinking of their being 
 
GASPAR MELCHOR DE JOVELLANOS. 17 
 
 ever sought for publication. These, however, have been lately 
 gathered together with much industry and exactness in the 
 last edition of his collected works, published by Mellado at 
 Madrid in five volumes, 1845. As the last and fullest, it is 
 also the best collection of them, four other editions of them 
 previously pubhshed having been comparatively very deficient 
 with regard to them. Besides those, there were various re- 
 prints of several others of his works, which were all received 
 with much favour, both in Spain and abroad. 
 
 JoveUanos was never married, and in private life seems to 
 have considered himself under the obligations of the profes- 
 sion for which he was originally intended. His character 
 altogether is one to which it would be difficult to find a 
 parallel, and is an honour to Spain as well as to Spanish 
 literature. His virtues are now unreservedly admitted by all 
 parties of his countrymen, who scarcely ever name him except 
 with the epithet of the illustrious JoveUanos, to which desig- 
 nation he is indeed justly entitled, no less for his writings, 
 than for his many public and private virtues and services to 
 his country. These may be forgotten in the claims of other 
 generations and succeeding statesmen ; but his writings must 
 ever remain to carry his memory wherever genius and worth 
 can be duly appreciated. 
 
 The charge of writing a memoir of JoveUanos was entrusted 
 by the Historical Society of Madrid to Cean Bermudez, 
 who fulfilled it with afiectionate zeal, Madrid, 1814 j several 
 other notices of his life have appeared in Spain, including 
 that by Quintana, which has been copied by Wolf. The 
 English reader will find an excellent one in the Foreign 
 Quarterly Review, No. 10, February, 1830; and the Spanish 
 scholar a further very eloquent encomium on his talents and 
 merits in Quintana's second Introduction to his collection of 
 Spanish Poetry. 
 
JOVELLANOS. 
 
 EPISTLE TO CEAN BERMUDEZ, 
 
 ON THE VAIN DESIRES AND STUDIES OF MEN. 
 
 Arise, Bermudo, bid thy soul beware : 
 
 Thee raging Fortune watches to ensnare ; 
 
 And, lulling others^ hopes in dreams supine, 
 
 A fell assault she meditates on thine. 
 
 The cruel blow which suffer'd from her rage 
 
 Thy poor estate will not her wrath assuage. 
 
 Till from thy breast her fury may depose 
 
 The blissful calm to innocence it owes. 
 
 Such is her nature, that she loathes the sight 
 
 Of happiness for man in her despite. 
 
 Thus to thine eyes insidious she presents 
 
 The phantasies of good, with which she paints 
 
 The road to favour, and would fain employ 
 
 Her arts thy holds of virtue to destroy. 
 
 Ah ! heed her not. See her to rob thee stand 
 
 Ev'n of the happiness now in thy hand. 
 
 'Tis not of her ; she cannot it bestow : 
 
 She makes men fortunate ; — but happy ? No. 
 
GASPAR MELCHOB, DE JOVELLANOS. 19 
 
 Thou think'st it strange ! Dost thou the names confound 
 
 Of Fortune with feUcity as bound ? 
 
 Like the poor idiots, who so foohsh gaze 
 
 On the vain gifts and joys which she displays, 
 
 So cunning to exchange for real good. 
 
 cheat of human wisdom ! say withstood. 
 
 What does she promise, but what beings born 
 
 To our high destiny should hold in scorn ? 
 
 In reason^s balance her best offers weigh, 
 
 And see what worthless lightness they betray. 
 
 There are who, burning in the track of fame, 
 Wear themselves ruthless for a sounding name. 
 Buy it with blood, and fire, and ruin wide ; 
 And if with horrid arm is death descried. 
 Waving his pennon as from some high tower. 
 Their hearts swell proud, and trampling fierce they scour 
 The field o'er brothers' bodies as of foes ! 
 Then sing a triumph, while in secret flows 
 The tear they shed as from an anguish'd heart. 
 
 Less lofty, but more cunning on his part, 
 Another sighs for ill-secure command : 
 With flatteries solicitously plann'd, 
 Follows the air of favour, and his pride 
 In adulation vile he serves to hide, 
 
 c 2 
 
20 CASPAR MELCHOa DE JOVELLANOS. 
 
 To exalt himself; and if he gain his end 
 
 His brow on all beneath will haughty bend ; 
 
 And sleep, and joy, and inward peace, the price 
 
 To splendour of command, will sacrifice : 
 
 Yet fears the while, uncertain in his joy. 
 
 Lest should some turn of Fortune's wheel destroy 
 
 His power in deep oblivion overthrown. 
 
 Another seeks, with equal ardour shown, 
 For lands, and gold in store. Ah ! lands and gold. 
 With tears how water' d, gain'd with toils untold ! 
 His thirst unquench'd, he hoards, invests, acquires ; 
 But with his wealth increased are his desires ; 
 And so much more he gains, for more will long : 
 Thus, key in hand, his coffers full among ; 
 Yet poor he thinks himself, and learns to know 
 His state is poor, because he thinks it so. 
 
 Another like illusion his to roam 
 From wife and friends, who flying light and home. 
 To dedicate his vigils the long night 
 In secret haunts of play makes his delight, 
 With vile companions. Betwixt hope and fear 
 His anxious breast is fluctuating drear. 
 See, with a throbbing heart and trembling hand. 
 There he has placed his fortune, all to stand 
 
GASPAR MELCHOK DK JOVELLANOS. 21 
 
 Upon the turning of a die ! 'Tis done : 
 The lot is cast ; what is it ? has he won ? 
 Increased is his anxiety and care ! 
 But if reversCj Heaven ! in deep despair, 
 O'erwhelm'd in ruin, he is doom'd to know 
 A life of infamy, or death of woe. 
 
 And is he happier, who distracted lies 
 A slave beneath the light of beauty's eyes ? 
 Who fascinated watches, haunts, and prays, 
 And at the cost of troubles vast essays, 
 'Mid doubts and fears, a fleeting joy to gain ? 
 Love leads him not : his breast could ne'er profane 
 Admit Love's purer flame; 'tis passion's fire 
 Alone that draws him, and in wild desire 
 He blindly headlong follows in pursuit : 
 And what for all his toils can he compute ? 
 If gain'd at length, he only finds the prize 
 Bring death and misery ev'n in pleasure's guise. 
 
 Then look on him, abandon'd all to sloth. 
 Who vacant sees the hours pass long and loth 
 O'er his so useless life. He thinks them slow, 
 Alas ! and wishes they would faster go. 
 He knows not how to employ them ; in and out 
 He comes, and goes, and smokes, and strolls about, 
 
22 GASPAR MELCHOR DE JOVELLANOS. 
 
 To gossip ; turns, returns, with constant stress 
 Wearying himself to fly from weariness. 
 But now retired, sleep half his life employs, 
 And fain would all the day, whose light annoys. 
 Fool ! wouldst thou know the sweetness of repose ? 
 Seek it in work. The soul fastidious grows 
 Ever in sloth, self-gnawing and oppress'd. 
 And finds its torment even in its rest. 
 
 But if to Bacchus and to Ceres given. 
 Before his table laid, from morn to even. 
 At ease he fills himself, as held in stall : 
 See him his stomach make his god, his all ! 
 Nor earth nor sea suffice his appetite ; 
 Ill-tongued and gluttonous the like unite : 
 With such he passes his vain days along. 
 In drunken routs obscene, with toast and song. 
 And jests and dissolute delights ; his aim 
 To gorge unmeasured, riot without shame. 
 But soon with these begins to blunt and lose 
 Stomach and appetite : he finds refuse 
 Ofifended Nature, as insipid food. 
 The savours others delicacies viewed. 
 Vainly from either India he seeks 
 For stimulants; in vain from art bespeaks 
 Fresh sauces, which his palate will reject ; 
 His longings heighten' d, but life's vigour wreck'd; 
 
GASPAR MELCHOR DE JOVBLLANOS. 33 
 
 And thus worn out in mid career the cost, 
 Before life ends he finds his senses lost. 
 
 bitter pleasures ! 0, what madness sore 
 Is theirs who covet them, and such implore 
 Humbly before a lying deity ! 
 How the perfidious goddess to agree 
 But mocks them ! Though perhaps at first she smile, 
 Exempt from pain and misery the long while 
 She never leaves them, and in place of joy 
 Gives what they ask, with weariness to cloy. 
 If trusted, soon is found experience taught 
 What ill-foreseen condition they have sought. 
 Niggard their wishes ever to fulfil. 
 Fickle in favour, vacillating still. 
 Inconstant, cruel, she afBicts today. 
 And casts down headlong to distress a prey, 
 Whom yesterday she flattered to upraise : 
 And now another from the mire she sways 
 Exalted to the clouds ; but raised in vain. 
 With louder noise to cast him down again. 
 Seest thou not there a countless multitude. 
 Thronging her temple round, and oft renew'd. 
 Seeking admittance, and to offer fraught 
 With horrid incei^se, for their idol brought ? 
 Fly from her; let not the contagion find 
 The base example enter in thy mind. 
 
24 GASPAK MELCHOa DE JOVELLANOS. 
 
 Fly, and in virtue thy asylum seek 
 
 To make thee happy : trust the words I speak. 
 
 There is no purer happiness to gain 
 
 Than the sweet calm the just from her attain. 
 
 If in prosperity their fortunes glide, 
 
 She makes them free from arrogance and pride ; 
 
 In mid estate be tranquil and content ; 
 
 In adverse he resign' d whate'er the event : 
 
 Implacable, if Envy's hurricane 
 
 O'erwhelm them in misfortunes, even then 
 
 She hastes to save them, and its rage control ; 
 
 With lofty fortitude the nobler soul 
 
 Enduing faithful ; and if raised to sight. 
 
 At length they find the just reward requite. 
 
 Say is there aught to hope for prize so great 
 
 As the immortal crown for which they wait ? 
 
 But is this feeling then, I hear thee cry. 
 That elevates my soul to virtue high. 
 This anxious wish to investigate and know. 
 Is it blameworthy as those passions low ? 
 Why not to that for happiness repair ? 
 Wilt thou condemn it ? No, who would so dare, 
 That right would learn his origin and end ? 
 Knowledge and Virtue, sisters like, descend 
 From heaven to perfect man in nobleness ; 
 And far removing him, Bermudo, yes ! 
 
GASPAR MELCHOR DE JOVELLANOS. 25 
 
 From vice and errors they will make him free. 
 
 Approaching even to the Deity. 
 
 But seek them not, in that false path to go 
 
 Which cunning Fortune will to others show. 
 
 Where then ? to Wisdom's temple only haste ; 
 
 There thou wilt find them. Her invoke ; and traced. 
 
 See how she smiles ! press forward ; learn to use 
 
 The intercession of the kindly Muse 
 
 To make her be propitious. But beware. 
 
 That in her favour thou escape the snare. 
 
 The worship, which the vain adorer pays. 
 
 She never him propitiously surveys, 
 
 Who insolently seeking wealth or fame. 
 
 Burns impure incense on her altar's flame. 
 
 Dost thou not see how many turn aside 
 
 From her of learning void, but full of pride ? 
 
 Alas for him, who seeking truth, for aid 
 
 Embraces only a delusive shade ! 
 
 In self conceit who venturing to confide, 
 
 Nor virtue gain'd, nor reason for his guide. 
 
 Leaves the right path, precipitate to stray 
 
 Where error's glittering phantoms lead the way ! 
 
 Can then the wise hope happiness to feel 
 
 In the chimseras sought with so much zeal ? 
 
 Ah, no ! they all are vanities and cheats ! 
 
 See him, whom anxious still the morning greets, 
 
26 GASPAR MELCHOR DE JOVELLANOS. 
 
 Measuring the heavens, and of the stars that fly 
 The shining orbits ! With a sleepless eye. 
 Hasty the night he reckons, and complains 
 Of the day's light his labour that detains ; 
 Again admires night's wonders, but reflects 
 Ne'er on the hand that fashion'd and directs. 
 Beyond the moons of Uranus he bends 
 His gaze ; beyond the Ship, the Bear, ascends : 
 But after all this, nothing more feels he : 
 He measures, calculates, but does not see 
 The heavens obeying their great Author's will. 
 Whirling around all sUent ; robbing still 
 The hours from life, ungratefully so gone. 
 Till one to undeceive him soon draws on. 
 
 Another, careless of the stars, descries 
 The humble dust, to scan and analyse. 
 His microscope he grasps, and sets, and falls 
 On some poor atom ; and a triumph calls. 
 If should the fool the magic instrument 
 Of life or motion slightest sign present. 
 Its form to notice, in the glass to pore. 
 What his deluded fancy saw before ; 
 Yields to the cheat, and gives to matter base 
 The power, forgot the Lord of all to trace. 
 Thus raves the ingrate. 
 
GASPAR MELCHOR DE JOVELLANOS. 27 
 
 Anotter the meanwhile 
 To scrutinize pretends^ in learning's style, 
 The innate essence of the soul sublime. 
 How he dissects it, regulates in time ! 
 As if it were a subtile fluid, known 
 To him its action, functions, strength and tone ; 
 But his own weakness shows in this alone. 
 
 'Twas given to man to view the heavens on high. 
 But not in them the mysteries of the sky j 
 Yet boldly dares his reason penetrate 
 The darksome chaos, o'er it to dilate. 
 With staggering step, thus scorning heavenly light, 
 In error's paths he wanders, lost in night. 
 Confused, but not made wise, he pores about. 
 Betwixt opinion wavering and doubt. 
 Seeking for light, and shadows doom'd to feel, 
 He ponders, studies, labours to unseal 
 The secret, and at length finds his advance ; 
 The more he learns, how great his ignorance. 
 Of matter, form, or motion, or the soul. 
 Or moments that away incessant roll. 
 Or the unfathomable sea of space. 
 Without a sky, without a shore to trace. 
 Nothing he reaches, nothing comprehends. 
 Nor finds its origin, nor where it tends ; 
 
28 GASPAR MELCHOR DE JOVELLANOS. 
 
 But only sinking, all absorbed, may see 
 In tbe abysses of eternity. 
 
 Perhaps, thence stepping more disorder'd yet, 
 He rushes his presumptuous flight to set 
 Ev'n to the throne of God ! with his dim eyes 
 The Great Inscrutable to scrutinize ; 
 ' Sounding the gulf immense, that circles round 
 The Deity, he ventures o^er its bound. 
 "What can he gain in such a pathless course 
 But endless doubts, his ignorance the source ? 
 He seeks, proposes, argues, thinking vain. 
 The ignorance that knew to raise, must fain 
 Be able to resolve them. Hast thou seen 
 Attempts that e^er have more audacious been ? 
 What ! shall an atom such as he excel 
 To comprehend the Incomprehensible ? 
 Without more light than reason him assign'd. 
 The limits of immensity to find ? 
 Infinity's beginning, middle, end ? 
 Dost Thou, Eternal Lord, then condescend 
 To admit man to Thy councils, or to be 
 With his poor reason in Thy sanctuary ? 
 A task so great as this dost Thou confide 
 To his weak soul ? 'Tis not so, be relied. 
 My friend. To know God in His works above. 
 To adore Him, melt in gratitude and love ; • 
 
GASPAR MELCHOR DE JOVELLANOS. 39 
 
 The blessings o'er thee lavishM to confess. 
 To sing His glory, and His name to bless ; — 
 Such be thy study, duty and employ ; 
 And of thy life and reason such the joy. 
 Such is the course that should the wise essay, 
 While only fools will from it turn away. 
 Wouldst thou attain it ? easy the emprise ; 
 Perfect thy being, and thou wilt be wise : 
 Inform thy reason, that its aid impart 
 Thee truth eternal : purify thy heart. 
 To love and follow it : thy study make 
 Thyself, but seek thy Maker's light to take : 
 There is high Wisdom's fountain found alone : 
 There thou thy origin wilt find thee shown ; 
 There in His glorious work to find the place 
 'Tis thine to occupy : there thou mayst trace 
 Thy lofty destiny, the crown declared 
 Of endless life, for virtue that's prepared. 
 
 Bermudo, there ascend : there seek to find 
 That truth and virtue in the heavenly mind. 
 Which from His love and wisdom ever flow. 
 If elsewhere thou dost seek to find them, know. 
 That darkness only thou wilt have succeed. 
 In ignorance and error to mislead. 
 Thou of this love and wisdom mayst the rays 
 Discern in all His works. His power and praise 
 
30 GASPAR MELCHOK DE JOVELLANOS. 
 
 That tell around us, in the wondrous scale 
 
 Of high perfection which they all detail ; 
 
 The order which they follow in the laws, 
 
 That bind and keep them, and that show their cause. 
 
 The ends of love and pity in their frame : 
 
 These their Creator's goodness all proclaim. 
 
 Be this thy learning, this thy glory's view ; 
 
 If virtuous, thou art wise and happy too. 
 
 Virtue and truth are one, and in them bound 
 
 Alone may ever happiness be found. 
 
 And they can only, vidth a conscience pure. 
 
 Give to thy soul to enjoy it, peace secure ; 
 
 True liberty in moderate desires. 
 
 And joy in all to do thy work requires ; 
 
 To do well in content, and calmly free : 
 
 All else is wind and misery, vanity. 
 
 TO GALATEA'S BIRD. 
 
 SILLY little bird ! who now 
 On Galatea's lap hast got, 
 
 My unrequited love allow 
 To envy thee thy lot. 
 
GASPAR MELCHOR DK JOVELLANOS. 31 
 
 Of the same lovely mistress both 
 
 Alike the captives bound are we ; 
 But thou for thy misfortune loth, 
 
 Whilst I am willingly. 
 
 Thou restless in thy prison art, 
 
 Complaining ever of thy pains ; 
 While I would kisses, on my part, 
 
 Ev'n lavish on my chains. 
 
 But, ah ! how different treating us. 
 
 Has scornful Fate the lot assign'd ! 
 With me she 's always tyrannous. 
 
 But with thee just as kind. 
 
 A thousand nights of torment borne, 
 
 A thousand days of martyrdom, • 
 By thousand toils and pains, her scorn 
 
 I cannot overcome. 
 
 Inestimable happiness, 
 
 A mere caprice for thee has got ; 
 So bathed in tears, in my distress, 
 
 I envy thee thy lot. 
 
 And there the while, with daring heel. 
 
 Thou tread'st in arrant confidence. 
 Without a heart or hope to feel. 
 
 Or instinct's common sense. 
 
32 GASPAB MELCHOR DE JOVELLANOS. 
 
 In the embraces, which my thought. 
 
 Not even in its boldest vein, 
 Could scarce to hope for have been brought, 
 
 Presumptuous to attain. 
 
 TO ENAEDA.— I. 
 
 Lovely Enarda ! young and old 
 
 All quarrel with me daily : 
 Because I write to thee they scold. 
 
 Perhaps sweet verses gaUy. 
 
 "A judge should be more grave," they say. 
 
 As each my. song accuses ; 
 " From such pursuits should turn away 
 
 As trifling with the Muses." 
 
 " How wofully you waste your time ! " 
 Preach others ; but, all slighting. 
 
 The more they scold, the more I rhyme ; 
 Still I must keep on writing. 
 
 Enarda's heart and mind to praise. 
 
 All others far excelling. 
 My rustic pipe its note shall raise. 
 
 In well-toned measures telling. 
 
GASPAR MELCHOR DE JOVELLANOS. 33 
 
 I wish, extolling to the skies. 
 
 Her beauty's high perfection 
 To sing, and all her witcheries 
 
 Of feature and complexion : 
 
 With master pencil to portray 
 
 Her snowy neck and forehead. 
 And eyes that round so roguish play. 
 
 And lips like carmine florid. 
 
 And let the Gates go at will. 
 
 To where they most prefer it. 
 Who withering frowns and sneerings still 
 
 Give me for my demerit. 
 
 In spite of all, with wrinkled pate. 
 
 The censures each rehearses, 
 Enarda I will celebrate 
 
 For ever in my verses. 
 
 TO ENARDA.— II. 
 
 Cruel Enarda ! all in vain. 
 
 In vain, thou view'st with joyful eyes 
 The tears that show my grief and pain, 
 
 Thyself exulting in my sighs. 
 
34 GASPAR MELCHOR DE JOVELLANOS. 
 
 The burning tears that bathe my cheek, 
 With watching shrunk, with sorrow pale, 
 
 Thy lightness and caprice bespeak, 
 Thy guilt and perfidy bewail. 
 
 Those signs of sorrow, on my face. 
 Are not the obsequies portrayed 
 
 Of a lost good, nor yet the trace 
 Of tribute to thy beauties paid. 
 
 They are the evidence alone 
 
 There fix'd thy falsehood to proclaim ; 
 Of thy deceits the horror shown. 
 
 Of my delirium the shame. 
 
 I weep not now thy rigours o'er. 
 Nor feel regret, that lost to me 
 
 Are the returns, which false before 
 Thou gavest, or favours faithlessly. 
 
 I weep o'er my delusions blind ; 
 
 I mourn the sacrifices made. 
 And incense to a god unkind 
 
 On an unworthy altar laid. 
 
 I weep the memory o'er debased 
 
 Of my captivity to mourn. 
 And all the weight and shame disgraced 
 
 Of such vile fetters to have borne. 
 
CASPAR MELCHOR DTD JOVELLANOS. 35 
 
 Ever to my lorn mind retm-nM 
 
 Are thoughts of homage offer'd ill^ 
 Disdains ill borne, affection spurn'd, 
 
 And sighs contemn' d, recurring still. 
 
 Then, ah, Enarda ! all in vain 
 
 Thou think' st to please thee with my grief : 
 Love, who now looks on me again 
 
 With eyes of pity and relief, 
 
 A thousand times has me accost. 
 
 As thus my tears to censure now, 
 " To lose them thou hast nothing lost ; 
 
 Poor creature ! why then weepest thou ?" 
 
 d2 
 
II. 
 
 TOMAS DE IRIARTE. 
 
 Of all the modem Spanish poetSj Iriarte seems to have ob- 
 tained for his writings the widest European reputation. He 
 was born the 18th September 1750, at Teneriffe in the Canary 
 Islands, where his family had been some time settled, though 
 the name shows it to have been of Basque origin. His uncle, 
 Juan d^ Iriarte, also a native of the same place, was one of the 
 most learned men of his age, and to him the subject of this 
 memoir was indebted for much of the knowledge he acquired, 
 and means of attaining the eminence in literature he suc- 
 ceeded him in possessing. Juan de Iriarte had been partly 
 educated in France, and had afterwards resided some time in 
 England, so as to acquire a full knowledge of the language 
 and literature of those countries. He was also a proficient 
 in classical learning, and wrote Latin with great precision, as 
 his writings, published by his nephew after his death, evince ; 
 Madrid, two volumes, 4to. 1774. Having been appointed 
 keeper of the Royal Library at Madrid, he enriched it with 
 many valuable works, in upwards of 2000 MSS. and 10,000 
 volumes. He was an active member of the Royal Spanish 
 Academy, and one of the principal assistants in compiling the 
 
38 TOMAS DE IRIARTE. 
 
 valuable dictionary and grammar published by that learned 
 Society, as well as other works. 
 
 At the instance of this uncle, Tomas Iriarte went to Madrid 
 in the beginning of 1764, when not yet fourteen years of 
 age, and under that relative's able guidance completed his 
 studies, learning at the same time the English and other 
 modern languages. He was already far advanced in a know- 
 ledge of classical literature, and it is stated that some Latin 
 verses he wrote, on leaving his native place, showed such 
 proficiency as to surprise his friends, and make them enter- 
 tain great expectations of his future success. Some of his 
 Latin compositions, published afterwards among his works, 
 prove him to have been a scholar of very considerable ac- 
 quirements. Classical literature does not seem in modern 
 times to be much studied in Spain, and Iriarte is the only 
 distinguished writer among the modern Spanish poets who 
 can be pointed out as conspicuous for such attainments. 
 Thus they have failed in apprehending one of the chief beau- 
 ties of modern poetry, so remarkable in Milton and Byron, 
 and our other great poets, who enrich their works with re- 
 ferences that remind us of what had most delighted us in 
 those of antiquity. 
 
 In 1771 his uncle died, and Tomas Iriarte, who had already 
 been acting for him in one of his offices as Interpreter to the 
 Government, was appointed to succeed him in it. He was 
 afterwards, in 1776, appointed Keeper of the Archives of the 
 Council of War ; and these offices, with the charge of a paper 
 under the influence of the government, seem to have been 
 the only public employments he held. From one of his 
 epistles, however, he appears to have succeeded to his uncle's 
 property, and thus to have had the means as also the leisure 
 to give much of his time to the indulgence of literary tastes. 
 He was very fond of paintings and of music, to which he 
 
TOMAS DE I.RIARTE. 39 
 
 showed his predilection, not only by his ability to play on 
 several instruments^ but also by writing a long didactic poem 
 on the art, entitled ' Musica/ This he seems to have con- 
 sidered as giving him his principal claim to be ranked as a 
 poet, though the world preferred his other writings. 
 
 When yet under twenty years of age, Iriarte had already 
 appeared as a writer of plays, some of which met with con- 
 siderable approbation. Of these it will be sufficient for us 
 here to observe, that Moratin, the first great dramatic poet 
 of Spain in modem times, pronounced one of them, 'The 
 Young Gentleman Pacified,-' to have been " the first original 
 comedy the Spanish theatre had seen written according to 
 the most essential rules dictated by philosophy and good 
 criticism." 
 
 Besides several original plays, Iriarte translated others 
 from the French, from which language he also translated the 
 'New Eobinson' of Campe, which passed through several edi- 
 tions. From Virgil he translated into Spanish verse the fiirst 
 four books of the Mneid, and from Horace the Epistle to the 
 Pisos. These, though censured by some of his contempo- 
 raries so as to excite his anger, were altogether too superior 
 to those attacks to have required the vindication of them he 
 thought proper to publish. Horace seems to have been his 
 favourite author ; but he had not learned from him his philo- 
 sophical equanimity, wherewith to pass over in silent endu- 
 rance the minor miseries of life. Thus he allowed himself, 
 throughout his short career, to be too much afiected by those 
 ungenerous attacks, which mediocrity is so apt to make on 
 superior merit. The names of those censurers are now prin- 
 cipally remembered by his notices of their writings ; an ho- 
 nour, which men of genius, in their hours of irritation, too 
 often confer on unworthy opponents. Thus a large portion 
 of his collected works consists of these controversial notices. 
 
40 TOMAS BE IRIARTE. 
 
 which, as usual in such cases, only impair the favourable 
 effect produced by the remainder on the mind of the reader. 
 Those works were first published in a collected form in six 
 volumes, in 1786; afterwards in eight volumes, in 1805. 
 
 From Iriarte's poetical epistles, which are eleven in num- 
 ber, he appears to have been a person of a very kindly dispo- 
 sition, as Quintana describes him, living in friendly inter- 
 course with the principal literary characters of Spain, espe- 
 cially with the amiable and ill-fated Cadahalso, to whom, in 
 one of those epistles, he dedicated his translations from Ho- 
 race. The others also are mainly on personal topics, and 
 display his character advantageously, though, as poetical 
 compositions, they have not been received so favourably as 
 some of his other works. 
 
 The fame of Iriarte may be said to rest on his literary 
 fables, which have attained a popularity, both at home and 
 abroad, equalled by few other works. They are eighty-two 
 in number, and all original, having, as their title indicates, a 
 special reference to literary questions, though they are also 
 all sufficiently pointed to bear on those of ordinary life. Like 
 Sir Joshua Reynolds's Discourses on Painting, they convey 
 general instructions to all, while professing an application to 
 one particular pursuit. They are written with much vivacity 
 and ease, yet vrith an appropriate terseness that adds to their 
 effect. Martinez de la Rosa, equally eminent as a statesman, 
 a poet and a critic, observes of them, that if he had not left 
 compositions of any other class, they would have extended his 
 reputation as a poet ; and adds, " that they abound in beauties, 
 though frequently wanting in poetical warmth, so as to re- 
 commend this valuable collection, unique in its class, as one 
 of which Spanish literature has to be proud." 
 
 Of these fables, first published in 1782, so many editions 
 have appeared, that it would 'be a very difficult task to enu- 
 
TOMAS DE IRIARTE. 41 
 
 merate them. There is scarcely a provincial town in Spain, 
 of any consequence, in which they have not been reprinted. 
 Several editions have appeared in France, two in New York, 
 and three in Boston, where they have been used in teaching 
 Spanish. Several of the fables have been imitated by Florian, 
 and translations have been made into other languages. Of 
 these translations, one in French verse was published by M. 
 LanoSj Paris, 1801, and another, in prose, by M. L^Homandie, 
 ibid. 1804: into German they were translated by Bertuch, 
 Leipzic, so early as 1788, and into Portuguese, by Velladoli, 
 in 1801. 
 
 I am not aware of more than one edition of them in En- 
 gland, that published by Dulau, 1809; but there have been 
 no fewer than three translations of them into English verse ; 
 first by Mr. Belfour, London, 1804, another by Mr. Andrews, 
 ibid. 1835, and a third by Mr. Rockliff, ibid. 1851. 
 
 The same popularity attended another work which Iriarte 
 prepared for the instruction of youth, named ' Historical 
 Lessons,^ published posthumously, about twenty editions of 
 which have since appeared, principally from its having been 
 adopted as a text-book for schools. Of this also an edition 
 has been published in London by Boosey, and a translation 
 into English. Iriarte's industry appears to have been of the 
 most practical character, and his endeavours were as wisely 
 as they were unremittingly directed to make his countrymen 
 wiser and better in their future generations. If a man's 
 worth may be estimated by such labours, few persons have 
 ever lived who were so entitled to the gratitude of posterity, 
 as few have ever effected so much as he did in the short career 
 that was afforded him. 
 
 In private life, in the leisure allowed from his studies and 
 duties, he indulged much, as has been already stated, in the 
 recreation of music; and in praise and explanation of that 
 
42 tomas de iriartb. 
 
 favourite art he wrote his largest work, ' Music/ a didactic 
 poem, in five cantos. Of this work, which was first published 
 in 1780, the fifth separate edition appeared in 1805^ since 
 which I have not heard of any other. It has, however, had the 
 good fortune to be translated into several foreign languages ; 
 into German by Bertuch, in 1789 ; into Italian by the Abbe 
 Garzia, Venice, 1789 ; into French by Grain vUle, Paris, 1 800 ; 
 and into EngUsh by Mr. Belfour, London, 1807. The last- 
 mentioned translation is made with much exactness and ele- 
 gance into heroic verse ; though, as the original had the fault 
 usual to aU didactic poems of not rising to any high poetical 
 power, the translation must share the fault to at least an 
 equal extent. 
 
 In the Italian version, a letter is quoted from the celebrated 
 Metastasio, in which he speaks of the style of Iriarte's 
 poem as " so harmonious, perspicuous and easy, as to unite 
 the precision of a treatise with the beauties common to 
 poetry." It is said also that Metastasio further pronounced 
 the poem to be " not only excellent, but to be considered un- 
 common, in having successfully treated a subject so difficult, 
 and apparently so little adapted to poetry." It is to be ob- 
 served that Iriarte had warmly eulogized Metastasio in the 
 book, so as to merit the commendation. The first canto is con- 
 fined to treating the subject artistically, and will therefore 
 prove less to the taste of the general reader than the other 
 cantos, which are of a .more interesting character, and may be 
 read with pleasure by persons who do not understand music 
 as a science. The third canto especially is written with much 
 spirit in its praise, as connected with devotion. The second 
 canto treats of the passions as they may be expressed by 
 music, including martial music. The fourth minutely dis- 
 cusses theatrical music, with its excellences and defects. 
 The fifth explains it, as calculated for the amusement of 
 
TOMAS DE laiARTE. 43 
 
 societies, or individuals in solitude. The poem concludes 
 with pointing out what ought to be the study of a good com- 
 poser, and by a proposal for the establishment of an academy 
 of musiCj or scientific body of musicians, anticipating the 
 benefit to science that would result from such an institution. 
 This poem, the ' Musica,^ and the Epistles, are written in a 
 very favourite style of versification in Spain, denominated the 
 Silva, which consists of lines of eleven syllables, varied occa- 
 sionally with others of seven, rhyming at the pleasure of the 
 writer. The ' Literary Fables ' are written in various metres ; 
 Martinez de la Rosa observes in upwards of forty different 
 kinds, appropriate to the characteristics of the subjects, which 
 naay be more perceptible to a native ear than to a foreigner's. 
 It is certainly true that this gives a variety to the work which 
 is well suited to the purposes the author had in view. He 
 was wise enough to know that truths hidden in the garb of 
 fiction will often be felt effectually, where grave precepts 
 would not avail, 
 
 Kai irov n Koi ^pSrcov (j)pevas 
 'Ynep Tov d\7)d^ \6yoVy 
 AcSaibaKjievoi ^evSeiri noiKiKois 
 'E^aTraTavTi p.v6oi, 
 
 and thus conveyed his lessons in examples, with a moral, which 
 could be quickly understood and easily remembered. 
 
 With regard to the objection made to these fables, that 
 they are often deficient in poetical warmth or colouring, it 
 may be observed that the subjects would scarcely admit of 
 any. Iriarte was certainly a writer of more poetic taste than 
 talent, and it must be acknowledged that his genius, judging 
 by the works he left, was not one to soar to the higher flights 
 of poetry. He felt this himself, as he intimates in his Epistle 
 to his brother; and, choosing a subject like Music for a di- 
 dactic poem, or writing familiar epistles on occasional sub- 
 
44 TOMAS DE IRIARTE. 
 
 jects, did not give himself much scope for fancy, much less for 
 passion. But as applied to the fables, the objection was un- 
 necessary. If they desei-ved praise for their vivacity of style, 
 that very circumstance, independent of the subjects, rendered 
 them passionless, awaQewaTa, as Longinus remarks, where 
 stronger feelings could scarcely be brought into connexion 
 with such discussions. The great difficulty in such cases 
 is, when metres are chosen to suit the subject, abounding in 
 pyrrhics, trochees, and such measures, as the same great 
 critic adds, to guard, lest the sense be lost in too much re- 
 gard to the sound, raising only attention to the rhythm, in- 
 stead of exciting any feeling in the minds of the hearers. 
 
 Of the five fables chosen for translation, the two first were 
 taken from Bouterwek, and the third on account of its having 
 been particularly noticed by Martinez de la Rosa. The 
 Epistle to his Brother was selected partly on account of its 
 notices of other countries, as a foreigner's judgement of 
 them ; and partly as being most characteristic of the writer, 
 showing his tastes and dispositions more perhaps than the 
 rest. The reader generally feels most interested in such 
 parts of the works of favourite writers, especially when their 
 private history gives the imagination a right to ask sympathy 
 for their sufferings. 
 
 Nothing is to be found in Iriarte's works to show any 
 peculiar opinions on religion, though the tendency of his 
 mind is everywhere clearly seen, as leading to freedom of 
 thought, instead of subjection to dogmas. In his poem on 
 Music, as already intimated, some devotional rather than free- 
 thinking principles are developed ; yet it is said that it was 
 from a suspicion of his being affected by the French philo- 
 sophy of the day he fell under the censure of the Inquisition, 
 and was seized in 1786, and imprisoned three years in the 
 dungeons of that institution. What was the particular offence 
 
TOMAS DE I11IA.BTE. 45 
 
 imputed to him has not been stated. It could be no question 
 of a political character, for he was in the employment of the 
 government, and was amenable to it for any misdeeds. It 
 probably was from some private cause, under the cloak of a 
 question of faith, that he had to undergo this imprisonment, 
 during which it is said he had to submit to severe penances 
 before he could obtain his liberty. After he had obtained it, 
 he returned to his studies and wrote further, a monologue, 
 entitled ' Guzman,' and some Latin maccaronic verses on the 
 bad taste of some writers then in vogue. But his spirits 
 were no doubt broken down, as his health and strength 
 were undermined ; and thus it was that he died two years 
 after, though his death was imputed to his sedentary habits 
 and gout, the 17th of September, 1791, when he had just 
 completed his forty -first year. 
 
 This untimely death was a serious loss to Spanish litera- 
 ture. With his great and varied acquirements and unre- 
 mitting industry, the world might have expected stiU more 
 valuable works from him, when, at the age of thirty-six, in 
 the best period of a man's existence for useful labours, he 
 was cast into that dungeon, from which he seems to have 
 been permitted to come out only to die. The last Auto da fe 
 in Spain was celebrated in 1781 ; but the Inquisition had 
 other victims whose sufierings were no less to be deplored, 
 though not made known. If Iriarte was one, he had un- 
 questionably the consciousness of being enabled to feel, though 
 not dying "an aged man," yet that in his comparatively 
 short life, he had not lived in vain for his own good name, 
 and the benefit of posterity. 
 
TOMAS DE IRIARTE. 
 
 EPISTLE TO DON DOMINGO DE IRIARTE, 
 
 ON HIS TRAVELLING TO VARIOUS FOREIGN COURTS. 
 
 He who begins an instrument to play. 
 With some preludings, will examine well 
 How run the fingers, how the notes will swell, 
 
 And bow prepares, or breath for his essay ; 
 Or if to write the careful penman's aim, 
 
 He cuts and proves his pen, if broad or fine ; 
 
 And the bold youths, to combat who incHne, 
 Strike at the air, as trial of the game : 
 
 The dancer points his steps with practised pace ; 
 
 The orator harangues with studied grace ; 
 
 The gamester packs his cards the livelong day ; 
 
 I thus a Sonnet, though worth nothing, trace. 
 Solely to exercise myself this way. 
 If prove the Muse propitious to my lay. 
 
TOMAS DE IBIARTE. 47 
 
 It seems to me, dear brotherj that Apollo 
 A course divine now does not always follow, 
 Nor please to dictate verses of a tone. 
 Worthy a sponsor such as he to own ; 
 But rather would be human, and prefer 
 To prose in rhymes of warmthless character ; 
 Without the enthusiasm sublime of old. 
 And down the wings of Pegasus would fold, 
 Not to be borne in flight, but gently strolPd. 
 
 You who forgetful of this court now seek 
 Those of the east and north to contemplate. 
 
 Forgive me, if in envy I may speak. 
 That to indulge it has allow'd you fate 
 
 The tasteful curiosity! to view 
 With joy the land, so famed and fortunate. 
 
 Which erst a Tully and a Maro knew. 
 To which jEmilius, Marius service paid. 
 Which Regulus and the Scipios obey'd. 
 
 Long would it be and idle to recall 
 The triumphs, with their blazonries unfurl'd. 
 
 Matchless of her, that once of Europe all 
 Was greater part, metropolis of the world. 
 
48 TOMAS DE IRIABTE. 
 
 I only ask of you, as you may read. 
 
 How in AvernuSj destined to succeed, 
 
 Anchises show'd iEneas, in long line. 
 
 The illustrious shades of those, who were to shine 
 
 One day the glory of the Italian shore. 
 
 Now you, more favoured than the Trojan chief. 
 Not in vain prophecy, but tried belief, 
 
 From what you see, by aid of history's lore. 
 
 To admire the lofty state which Rome possess'd. 
 The which her ruins and remains attest. 
 
 From our Hispanian clime I cannot scan 
 With you the column of the Antonine, 
 
 The fane or obelisk of the Vatican, 
 Or the Capitol, and Mount Palatine ; 
 
 I cannot see the churches, or the walls. 
 The bridges, arches, mausoleums, gates. 
 
 The aqueducts, palaces, and waterfalls. 
 
 The baths, the plazas, porticos, and halls. 
 The CoUseum's, or the Circus' fates ; 
 
 But still the immortal writings 'tis for me. 
 
 Of Livy, Tacitus, Cicero, to see ; 
 I see Lucretius, Pliny, Juvenal, 
 Augustus, Maro and Msecenas all ; 
 
 With their names is the soul exalted high, 
 
 Heroic worth and honour to descry ; 
 
TOMAS DE IRIARTE. 49 
 
 And so much more that model imitates 
 
 A nation now, so much more to be gain'd. 
 Is seen it but to approach the lofty heights 
 
 Of splendour, wealth, fame, power, that Kome attain'd. 
 
 From the benignant lands that richly gleam 
 Beneath the Tiber's fertilizing stream, 
 You next will pass, where borfie as he arose. 
 Through colder realms the mighty Danube flows. 
 Girded in pleasant borders 't is for you 
 The Austrian Vienna there to view ; 
 To admire the monarch, warlike, good and wise. 
 With the magnanimous Prussian king who vies 
 An army brave and numerous to sway ; 
 Chosen and hardy, forward to obey. 
 Whom as companions honour'd he rewards. 
 And not as slaves abased a lord regards. 
 There agriculture flourish you will see ; 
 Public instruction is promoted free ; 
 The arts extended rapidly and wide ; 
 
 And these among, in culture and esteem. 
 That with which Orpheus tamed the furious pride 
 
 Of forest beasts, and cross'd the Lethe's stream : 
 There all the tales of wonderful effect. 
 Of music's art divine, with which are deck'd 
 The ancient Greek and Latin histories. 
 No longer will seem fables in your eyes. 
 
50 TOMAS DE IKIARTE. 
 
 When near you may applaud the loftinesSj 
 The harmony^ and the consonance sublime. 
 
 All that in varied symphonies to express 
 Has power the greatest master of our time ; 
 
 Haydn the great, and merited his fame, 
 
 Whom to embrace I beg you in my name. 
 
 But now the confines of the GSrman land 
 I see you leaving, for the distant strand 
 Of Britain's isle your rapid course to take, 
 And tour political around to make. 
 
 There in the populous court, whose walls' long side 
 Bathes the deep Thames in current vast and wide, 
 A nation's image will before your eyes 
 In all things most extraordinary rise. 
 Not rich of old, but happy now we see 
 By totally unshackled industry. 
 
 A nation Uberal, but ambitious too ; 
 Phlegmatic, and yet active in its course j 
 
 Ingenuous, but its interests to pursue 
 Intent ; humane, but haughty ; and perforce 
 
 Whate'er it be, the cause it undertakes. 
 Just or unjust, defends without remorse. 
 
 And of all fear and danger scorn it makes. 
 There with inevitably great surprise. 
 
 What in no other country we may see, 
 You will behold to exert their energies 
 
 Men act and speak with perfect liberty. 
 
TOMAS DE lEIARTE. 51 
 
 The rapid fortune too you will admire 
 Which eloquence and valour there acquire ; 
 Nor power to rob has wealth or noble birth 
 The premiums due to learning and to worth. 
 
 You will observe the hive-like multitude 
 Of diligent and able islanders, 
 
 Masters of commerce they have well pursued, 
 Which ne'er to want or slothfulness defers ; 
 
 All in inventions useful occupied. 
 In manufactures, roads, schools, arsenals. 
 Experiments in books and hospitals. 
 
 And studies of the liberal arts to guide. 
 There you will know in fine what may attain 
 
 An education wise ; the skilful mode 
 Of patriotic teaching, so to train 
 
 Private ambition, that it seek the road 
 Of public benefit alone to gain : 
 
 The recompense and acceptation just. 
 
 On which founds learning all its hope and trust j 
 And a wise government, whose constant aim 
 Is general good, and an eternal fame. 
 
 Midst others my reflections I would fain. 
 In some description worthy of the theme, 
 
 (If it were not beyond my powers) explain. 
 The varied scenes, enchantment all that seem, 
 
 E 3 
 
52 TOMAS DE IRIARTB. 
 
 Which the Parisian court on your return 
 
 Prepares, and oiFers you surprised to learn. 
 Polish'd emporium of Europe's courts, 
 
 The which with noble spectacles invites. 
 With public recreations and resorts. 
 
 That give to life its solace and delights j 
 Brilliant assemblages ! and these among. 
 
 The chief and most acceptable to gain. 
 Of all to this new Athens that belong. 
 
 To enjoy the fellowship of learned men ; 
 With useful science, or with taste alone. 
 Who enlighten foreign nations, and their own. 
 
 But I, who from this narrow corner write. 
 
 In solitude, while shaking off the dust 
 From military archives, ill recite 
 
 What I, travelling Secretary ! trust 
 Yourself will better practically see. 
 Whilst I can only know in theory. 
 
 Continue then your journey on in health ; 
 From tongue to tongue, from land to land proceed : 
 To be a statesman eminent your meed. 
 
 Acquire each day with joy your stores of wealth. 
 Of merit and instruction ; I the while. 
 
 As fits my mediocrity obscure. 
 Will sing the praise of quiet from turmoil ; 
 
 Saying, as Seneca has said of yore ; — 
 
TOMAS DE miARTE. 53 
 
 " Let him, who power or honours would attain, 
 
 On the high court^'s steep precipice remain. 
 
 I wish for peace, that sohtude bestows, 
 
 Seeluse to enjoy the blessings of repose. 
 
 To pass my life in silence be my fate, 
 
 Unnoticed by the noble, or the great : 
 
 That when my age, without vain noise or show, 
 
 Has reachM the bounds allotted us below. 
 
 Though a plebeian only to pass by. 
 
 Perhaps I yet an aged man may die. 
 
 And this I do believe, no death of all 
 
 Than his more cruel can a man befall, 
 
 Who dying, by the world too truly known. 
 
 Is of himself most ignorant alone." 
 
 TABLES. 
 
 THE BEAR, THE MONKEY AND THE HOG. 
 
 A Bear, with whom a Piedmontese 
 
 A wandering living made, 
 A dance he had not learn'd with ease. 
 
 On his two feet essay'd : 
 
54 TOMAS DE IRIABTE. 
 
 And, as he highly of it thought. 
 
 He to the Monkey cried, 
 " How 's that 1" who, being better taught, 
 
 " 'Tis very bad," replied. 
 
 " I do beUeve," rejoin'd the Bear, 
 
 " You little favour show : 
 For have I not a graceful air, 
 
 And step with ease to go ?" 
 
 A Hog, that was beside them set, 
 Cried, " Bravo ! good ! " said he ; 
 
 " A better dancer never yet 
 I saw, and ne'er shall see." 
 
 On this the Bear, as if he turn'd 
 His thoughts within his mind. 
 
 With modest gesture seeming learn'd 
 A lesson thence to find. 
 
 " When blamed the Monkey, it was cause 
 
 Enough for doubting sad; 
 But when I have the hog's applause. 
 
 It must be very bad ! " 
 
 As treasured gift, let authors raise 
 
 This moral from my verse : 
 'Tis bad, when wise ones do not praise ; 
 
 But when fools do, 'tis worse. 
 
TOMAS DE laiARTE. 55 
 
 THE ASS AND THE FLUTE, 
 
 This little fable heard, 
 It good or ill may be ; 
 
 But it has just occurrM, 
 Thus accidentally. 
 
 Passing my abode, 
 
 Some fields adjoining me, 
 A big Ass on his road 
 
 Came accidentally; 
 
 And laid upon the spot, 
 A I'lute he chanced to see, 
 
 Some shepherd had forgot. 
 There accidentally. 
 
 The animal in front. 
 
 To scan it nigh came he, 
 
 And snuffing loud as wont. 
 Blew accidentally. 
 
 The air it chanced around 
 The pipe went passing free, 
 
 And thus the Flute a sound 
 Gave accidentally. 
 
56 TOMAS DE IRIARTE. 
 
 " ! then," exclaim'd the Ass, 
 " I know to play it fine ; 
 
 And who for bad shall class 
 The music asinine ?" 
 
 Without the rules of art, 
 Ev'n asses, we agree. 
 
 May once succeed in part, 
 Thus accidentally. 
 
 THE TWO RABBITS. 
 
 Some shrubs amidst to shun 
 
 The dogs he saw pursue, 
 I will not call it run. 
 
 But say a rabbit flew. 
 
 From out his hiding-place 
 A neighbour came to see, 
 
 And said, " Friend, wait a space : 
 What may the matter be ?" 
 
 " What should it be ?" he cried ; 
 
 " I breathless came in fear. 
 Because that I espied 
 
 Two scoundrel greyhounds near." 
 
TOMAS DE IRIARTE. 57 
 
 "Yes/' said the other, "far 
 
 I see them also there ; 
 But those no greyhounds are ! " 
 
 "What?"— "Setters, I'll declare." 
 
 " How, setters do you say ? 
 
 My grandad just as much ! 
 They are greyhounds, greyhounds, they ; 
 
 I saw them plainly such." 
 
 " They are setters ; get along : 
 
 What know you of these matters ?" — 
 
 " They are greyhounds ; you are wrong :" — ■ 
 " I tell you they are setters." 
 
 The dogs while they engage 
 
 In these contentious habits, 
 Come up, and vent their rage 
 
 On my two thoughtless rabbits. 
 
 Who minor points affect. 
 So much about to quarrel, 
 
 And weightier things neglect. 
 Let them take the moral. 
 
58 TOMAS DE IRIARTE. 
 
 THE LAMB AND HIS TWO ADVISERS. 
 
 A FARM there was, with a poultry-yard, 
 Where roved an old bantam about ; 
 
 And laid at his ease, a pig was barr'd 
 In a sty close by without. 
 
 A lamb moreover was raised up there ; 
 
 We know it does so befaU : 
 Together in farms these animals fare. 
 
 And in good company all. 
 
 " Well, with your leave,'^ said the pig one day 
 To the lamb, " what a happy life ! 
 
 And healthful too, to be sleeping away, 
 One's time without cares or strife ! 
 
 " I say there is nothing, as I am a pig, 
 Like sleeping, stretch'd out at ease ; 
 
 Let the world go round with its whirligig. 
 And cares just as it may please." 
 
 The other the contrary chanced to tell 
 The same little lamb, to take heed ; 
 
 " Look, innocent ! here, to live right well. 
 Sleep very little indeed. 
 
TOMAS DE IRIAllTE. 59 
 
 " Summer or winter, early to rise 
 
 Witli the stars the practice seek ; 
 For sleeping the senses stupefies. 
 
 And leaves you languid and weak." 
 
 Confused, the poor lamb the counsels compares. 
 
 And cannot perceive in his mind, 
 That contrary each advising declares, 
 
 But how he himself is inclined. 
 
 And thus we find authors the practice make. 
 
 To hold, as infallibly true, 
 The rules they fancy themselves to take. 
 
 And in their own writings pursue. 
 
 THE FLINT AND THE STEEL, 
 
 Cruelly bent, it chanced the Flint 
 Ill-treated the Steel one day ; 
 
 And wounding, gave it many a dint. 
 To draw its sparks away. 
 
 When laid aside, this angry cried 
 To that, " What would your value be 
 
 Without my help ?" the Flint replied, 
 " As much as yours, sir, but for me." 
 
60 TOMAS DE laiARTE. 
 
 This lesson I write, my friends to incite ; 
 
 Their talents, however great. 
 That they must study with them unite, 
 
 To duly cultivate. 
 
 The Flint gives light with the help of the Steel, 
 And study alone will talent reveal ; 
 For neither suffice if found apart. 
 Whatever the talent or the art. 
 
III. 
 
 JUAN MELENDEZ VALDES. 
 
 For a hundred years after the time of Calderon de la Barca, 
 who died in 1687, there appeared in Spain no writer of 
 sufficient merit to be classed among those eminent cha- 
 racters, who had done so much honour to Spanish literature 
 in the seventeenth century. Verses were published in suffi- 
 cient abundance, which foimd readers and even .admirers, 
 merely from the necessity the public felt of having something 
 to read and to admire, as of the fashion of the day. But they 
 were written with a perversion of taste and a deficiency of 
 talent, which was truly astonishing, in the successors of such 
 authors, as had immediately preceded them. 
 
 This depression of literature, however, could not be ex- 
 pected to continue long, among a people of such imaginative 
 and deep passioned character as the Spanish, whose native 
 genius was by far too buoyant, to be affected for any length 
 of time by inferior models, even under dynastic influences. 
 Accordingly, towards the end of the eighteenth century, it 
 might have become apparent to an attentive observer, that 
 another order of writers was about to be called forth, and 
 that the nation was prepared to welcome the advent of true 
 
62 JUAN MBLENDEZ VALDES. 
 
 genius whenever it was to be recognized. Learned societies 
 had been established throughout Spain; education on a 
 sound basis had been sedulously promoted; and the country 
 was wealthy, and sufficiently flourishing to give incitement to 
 the arts, which are the attendants of public prosperity. 
 
 At this epoch appeared Melendez Valdes, the restorer of 
 Spanish poetry, as his admirers with much justice termed 
 him ; who then showed by his writings, that the old inspira- 
 tion of the national genius was yet capable of being revived 
 in all its former grace and strength; and who by the in- 
 fluence of his example further roused the energies of other 
 men of genius to follow in his steps. 
 
 This highly gifted poet was born the 11th of March, 1754, 
 at Eibera del Fresno in the province of Estremadura, where 
 his parents were of what was called noble families, and, what 
 was more important, in respectable circumstances. The good 
 disposition noticed in the son determined them to destine 
 him for study, and to award him a becoming education. 
 Thus, having learned the rudiments of Latin at home, he was 
 sent to study philosophy, or what was called philosophy, at 
 Madrid, under the charge of the Dominican Fathers of St. 
 Thomas, where his application and advancement gained him 
 the esteem of his tutors and fellow-pupils. Thence he was 
 sent by his parents in 1770 to Segovia, to study with his 
 only brother, who was private secretary to the bishop of that 
 city, and with whom he was confirmed in that fondness for 
 reading, and taste for acquiring books, which might be called 
 the passion of his whole life. The bishop, who was a distant 
 relation, pleased with his talents and inclination for study, 
 sent him in 1772 to Salamanca, the alma mater of Spain, 
 and assisted him to proceed in the study of law, in which 
 he distinguished himself wherever he had an opportunity ; so 
 that, says his biographer, " appearing absorbed in the pursuit 
 
JUAN MELENDEZ VALDES. 63 
 
 of that career^ no one would have judged him the same 
 young man, whose indination for poetry and learning was 
 soon after to place him at the head of the elegant literature 
 of his country." 
 
 Fortunately for Melendez, continues his biographer, there 
 happened then to be at Salamanca Don Jose de Cadalso, " a 
 man celebrated for extensive erudition, combined with more 
 than ordinary talent for poetry and letters, and a zeal for the 
 glory and advancement of his country, learned in the school, 
 and under the inspiration of virtue. Generous and affable, 
 always lively, and at times satirical without branching off 
 into maliciousness, his conversation was kind and instructive, 
 and his principles indulgent and steadfast." This eminent 
 individual, already well known in the literary world by several 
 works published in 1773 and 1773, immediately recognized 
 the value of Melendez : he took him to his house to live with 
 him, showed him the beauties and defects of the older writers, 
 taught him how to imitate them, and opened to him the 
 road to become acquainted with the literature of the learned 
 nations of Europe. "He afforded him an instruction yet 
 more precious, in the beautiful example he gave him to love 
 all writers of merit, to rise superior to envy, and to cultivate 
 letters without degrading them by unworthy disputations. 
 The eulogies Cadalso bestowed on his contemporaries are a 
 public testimony of this noble character ; and the works of 
 Melendez, where there is not a single line detracting from 
 the merit of any one, and his whole literary career, exempt 
 from all attack, show how he profited by the lessons of his 
 master." 
 
 The Anacreontic style, in which Cadalso excelled, was also 
 that first cultivated by Melendez ; and the former, seeing the 
 progress of his pupil, and the first efforts of his Muse, un- 
 reservedly acknowledged him his superior, and in prose and 
 
64 JUAN MELENDEZ VALDES. 
 
 verse announced him as the restorer of good taste and the 
 better studies of the University. This kindly union was 
 maintained until the death of Cadalso, at the siege of 
 Gibraltar; and the "Elegiac song of Melendez on this mis- 
 fortune, will be, as long as the Spanish language endures, a 
 monument of affection and gratitude, as well as an example 
 of high and beautiful poetry." 
 
 Beyond the instructions which he received from Cadalso, 
 Melendez was aided by the example and counsels of other di- 
 stinguished persons then residing at Salamanca, among whom 
 were two, favourably known as writers of verse, Iglesias and 
 Gonzalez. These, though they were soon eclipsed by the 
 young poet, admitted him to their friendship. By the latter 
 he was brought into communication with the illustrious 
 Jovellanos, then Judge of the High Court at Seville; and 
 between them soon was instituted a correspondence, which 
 has been in great part preserved, though as yet unpubUshed ; 
 a valuable monument, says Quintana, in which are seen, 
 " livingly portrayed, the candour, the modesty and virtuous 
 feelings of the poet, the alternate progress of his studies, 
 the different attempts in which he essayed his talents, and 
 above all, the profound respect and almost idolatry with 
 which he revered his Maecenas. There may be seen how he 
 employed his time and varied his tasks. At first he appUed 
 himself to Greek, and began to translate Homer and Theo- 
 critus into verse ; but learning the immense difficulty of the 
 undertaking, and not stimulated to it by the bent of his 
 genius, he shortly abandoned it." 
 
 He then dedicated himself to the English language and 
 literatui-e, for which he was said to have ever had an exceed- 
 ing great predilection, observing, " that to the Essay on the 
 Human Understanding, he should owe all his life the httle he 
 might know how to acquire." As books came to his hands. 
 
JUAN MELENDEZ VALDES. 65 
 
 he went on reading and forming his judgements upon them, 
 the which he transmitted to his friend. Thus "by all the 
 means in his power he endeavoured to acquire and increase 
 that treasury of ideas, which so much contributes to perfec- 
 tion in the art of writing, and without which verses are 
 nothing more than frivolous sounds." 
 
 His application to study, however, soon proved more than 
 his health and strength would permit. He was obliged to 
 leave Salamanca, and repair to the banks of the Tormes, 
 which he has made famous in song, and there, by long atten- 
 tion to the regimen imposed on him, he fortunately recovered. 
 About this time his brother died in 1777, their parents 
 having' died previously ; and Melendez suffered much grief, 
 as might naturally be expected, on being thus left alone 
 of his family, the more painful in his state of health. Jovel- 
 lanos urged him to join him at Seville, but he declined the 
 invitation, observing, that " the law of friendship itself, which 
 commands us to avail ourselves of a friend in necessity, also 
 commands that without it, we should not take advantage of 
 his confidence." 
 
 Study, to which he now returned to engage himself with 
 more intensity than ever, was the best alleviant of his sorrow, 
 and time as usual at length allayed it. " He then gave him- 
 self up to the reading and study of the English poets : Pope 
 and Young enchanted him. Of the former, he said that four 
 lines of his ' Essay on Man ' were worth more, taught more, 
 and deserved more praise than all his own compositions." 
 The latter he attempted to imitate, and in effect did so, in 
 the poem on ' Night and Solitude,' but in remitting it to his 
 friend, expressed with much feeling his sense of its deficien- 
 cies compared with the original. Thomson also he studied, 
 and Gesner, in his lonely exercises by the Tormes, and ac- 
 knowledged how much he was indebted to the former for 
 
66 JUAN MELENDEZ VALDES. 
 
 many thoughts with which he subsequently enriched his 
 pastoral poems. 
 
 Thus having prepared himself to appear before the literary 
 world as a candidate for fame, an opportunity soon occurred 
 for him to obtain distinction. The Spanish Academy had 
 been proposing subjects for prizes, and then having given 
 one for an Eclogue, ' On the happiness of a country life,' 
 Melendez felt himself in his element, and sent in his Essay 
 for the prize. This succeeded in receiving the first. The 
 second was awarded to Iriarte, who showed his mortification 
 on account of the preference, more sensibly than was be- 
 coming, under the circumstances. 
 
 In the following year, 1781, Melendez went to Madrid, 
 where his friend Jovellanos had already been appointed 
 Councillor of the Military Orders, when for the first time 
 they met. Melendez was already in the road to fame, which 
 his friend had foretold for him; and Jovellanos, delighted 
 with the realization of his hopes and endeavours, received 
 him into his house, introduced him to his society, and took 
 every opportunity of advancing his interests. It was the 
 custom of the Academy of San Fernando to give triennial 
 celebrations, with much solemnity, for the distribution of 
 prizes, when eloquence, poetry and music were tasked to do 
 honour to the fine arts. One of these celebrations was about 
 to take place ; Jovellanos was engaged to pronounce a dis- 
 course, and Melendez was invited to exercise his genius on 
 the same subject, as the first literary characters of preceding 
 times had already given the example. Melendez acceded, 
 and delivered accordingly his Ode on the Glory of the Arts, 
 which was received with rapturous admiration, and ever since 
 seems to have been considered his masterpiece. 
 
 In the midst of these successes, Melendez received the 
 Professorship of Humanities in his University, and in the 
 
JUAN MELENDEZ VALDES. 67 
 
 following year, 1783, proceeded to the degree of Licentiate, 
 and in 1783 to that of Doctor of Law, having shortly before 
 the last married a lady of one of the principal families of 
 Salamanca. But as his professorship gave him little occupa- 
 tion, and his marriage no family, he remained free to con- 
 tinue his favourite studies. 
 
 In 1784, on the occasion of peace being made with En- 
 gland, and the birth of twin Infantes, to give hopes of secure 
 succession to the throne, the city of Madrid prepared magni- 
 ficent celebrations of rejoicings, and among the rest, a prize 
 was proposed for the two best dramatic pieces that might be 
 offered within sixty days, under the condition that they 
 should be original, appropriate, and capable of theatrical 
 pomp and ornament. Out of fifty-seven dramas that were 
 offered, the prize was awarded to the one sent in by Me- 
 lendez, ' The Bridals of Comacho the Rich,' a pastoral 
 comedy, which, however, though abounding in poetical pass- 
 ages, was found on representation wanting in effect, so as to 
 be coldly received on the stage, where it has not since been 
 attempted. 
 
 This ill-success gave occasion to several detractors of 
 Melendez to pour forth the effusions of envy or disappoint- 
 ment against him, to which he gave no other answer than by 
 the publication of his poems in a collected form. This was 
 in 1785 ; and the manner in which they were received, it 
 could be said, had had no parallel in Spain. Pour editions, 
 of which three were furtive, were at once taken up, and all 
 classes of persons seemed to have the book in hand, com- 
 menting on its excellences. The lovers of ancient poetry, 
 who saw so happily renewed the graces of Garcilasso, of 
 Leon and Herrera, and "even improved in taste and per- 
 fection," saluted Melendez as the restorer of the Castillian 
 Muses, and hailed the banishment of the prosaic style which 
 
 'f2 
 
68 JUAN MELENDEZ VALDES. 
 
 had previously prevailed. The applauses extended beyond 
 the kingdom, and found especially in Italy the admiration 
 repeated, as well as in France and England, vrhere several 
 of the poems are said to have been imitated. 
 
 Great as was his success in literature, it was not enough 
 provision for his daily needs, notwithstanding the help of his 
 professorship ; and Melendez accordingly applied for and ob- 
 tained an office as a local judge at Zaragoza, of which he 
 took possession in September 1789. The duties of this 
 office were too onerous to admit of much study ; but he was 
 soon removed, in 1791, to the chancery of Valladolid, where 
 he had more leisure, and where he remained till 1797, when 
 he was appointed Fiscal of the Supreme Court at Madrid. 
 During this time he wrote apparently little ; but he prepared, 
 and in 1797 published, another edition of his works with 
 two additional volumes, enriched with many new poems, in 
 which he " had elevated his genius to the height of his age;" 
 — " descriptive passages of a superior order, elegies powerful 
 and pathetic, odes grand and elevated, philosophic and moral 
 discourses and epistles, in which he took alternately the 
 tone of Pindar, of Homer, of Thomson, and of Pope, and 
 drew from the Spanish lyre accents she had not previously 
 learned." 
 
 But notwithstanding the great merit of many of these 
 poems, the biographer of Melendez had it to confess that 
 this publication was not. so favourably received as the first 
 had been ; and attempts to account for it partly by the cir- 
 cumstances of the times, and partly by what was new not being 
 on the whole so finished and well -sustained in interest as his 
 former poems. Some of them also met with decided dis- 
 favour ; especially one, ' The Fall of Lucifer/ which showed 
 that his genius was not of the severer cast calculated for 
 graver and higher subjects allied to the epic, any more than 
 
JUAN MELENDEZ VALDES. 69 
 
 to the dramatic. But the merits of Melendez in his own 
 sphere are too great, and his fame is too well-founded to lose by 
 acknowledgements which must be made in truth and justice. 
 It is not improbable that he had been urged by his admirers 
 to these attempts, to which his own inclinations would not 
 have led him, and it might thus have been the easiness of 
 his disposition that made him yield to suggestions which 
 ended in faUure. 
 
 In the prologue which he affixed to this edition, Melendez 
 attempted to prove that poetic studies derogated nothing 
 from the judicial dignity, and that they had no incompati- 
 bility with the duties and talents of a public man or man of 
 business. But without following him or his biographer into 
 such a discussion, we may concede the point so far, that any 
 one undertaking responsible duties from the State, is bound 
 to give them his best and undivided energies. If, however, 
 he has any hours of leisure free from those responsibilities, it 
 is surely only an extension of his duty for him to employ 
 them in attempting to make his fellow-men wiser and better, 
 or happier, in the manner most congenial to his disposition 
 or talents. Melendez certainly had no need to exculpate 
 himself in this respect, having been "long remembered at 
 Zaragoza and VaUadolid as a model of integrity and applica- 
 tion, for his zeal in arranging amicably all disputations in 
 his power, for his affability and frankness in listening to 
 complaints, and for the humane and compassionate interest 
 with which he visited the prisoners, accelerating their causes, 
 and affording them assistance, with an inseparable adhesion to 
 justice." It was for his detractors, — and Melendez had them, 
 notwithstanding the amiability of his character and the supe- 
 riority of his talents, — to make these objections, if they could 
 have done so. His resorting to such apologies only gave 
 
70 JUAN MELENDEZ VALDES. 
 
 the appearance of a consciousness of weakness, which was not 
 becoming either in the one character or the other. 
 
 Shortly after the publication of this edition, Melendez went 
 to Madrid to take possession of his new office. The advanced 
 age of his predecessor in it had for some time prevented his 
 due attention to its duties, so that Melendez had many arrears 
 to dispose of in addition to the ordinary services, through all 
 which he laboured with much assiduity and credit. But they 
 were the last satisfactory events of his life, which was hence- 
 forth to be passed in reverses and misery. Yet at that time 
 he seemed to be in the height of prosperity. Holding an 
 elevated post under the government, of which his friend 
 Jovellanos was a member, and respected both at home and 
 abroad as one of the first literary characters of the age, he 
 might have justly hoped to be free from any of the darker 
 misfortunes of life. This exemption, however, was not to be 
 his lot, serving under a despotic government, of which the 
 head, Charles IV., was one of the weakest-minded of mortals, 
 guided by a favourite such as Godoy. When Jovellanos fell 
 under this favourite^s resentment, to make the blow inflicted 
 on that illustrious individual more poignant, it was extended 
 to others, whose only fault was that they shared his esteem. 
 Melendez was ordered away from Madrid within twenty-four 
 hours, though his friends procured for him soon after a com- 
 mission from the government as inspector of barracks at Me- 
 dina del Campo, where he gave himself up again to study and 
 such duties as were assigned him. Beyond these, however, 
 he particularly exerted himself, it is recorded, in attending to 
 the sick at the hospitals, providing that they should not be 
 sent out into the world, as had often been previously the 
 case, imperfectly cured or clothed, and unable to effect their 
 livelihood. 
 
JUAN MELENDEZ VALDES. 71 
 
 In this humble occupation he might have been supposed 
 exempt at least from further malignity, but unfortunately 
 some sycophant of power thought it would be pleasing to the 
 favourite to have a frivolous accusation forwarded against 
 him, which had the effect of his being sent on half salary to 
 Zamora. There he was fortunate enough to have the in- 
 trigues against him made known, and in June 1803, he re- 
 ceived a royal order to have his full salary allowed, with 
 liberty to reside where he pleased. He would have preferred 
 Madridj but he found it most prudent to return to Salamanca, 
 and there, arranging his house and library, began to enjoy a 
 more peaceful life than what he had passed since he left the 
 University. 
 
 The literary world might now have hoped for further efforts 
 of genius in this asylum, and perhaps some superior work 
 worthy of his talents and fame ; but his spirits had been 
 broken down by adversity and injustice, and his attention 
 was distracted by hopes and fears, from which he could never 
 free himself. A poem on Creation, and a translation of the 
 ^neid, were the fruits of six years' retirement from the world ; 
 and he proposed another edition of his works, which however 
 he did not accomphsh, on the rapid succession of events 
 which again called him forth to a short period of active life, 
 and subsequent years of suffering. 
 
 The revolution of Aranjuez brought Melendez to Madrid, 
 in the hopes of recovering his former employments ; but in 
 the troubled state of the country, he soon wished to return 
 to his house, without being able to effect it. The French 
 had now made themselves masters of the capital, and Me- 
 lendez was unfortunately induced to take office under them. 
 This conduct was contrary, not only to the course taken by 
 Jovellanos and his other friends, but also to the whole tenor 
 of his former life and opinions. His easy temper, which had 
 
73 JUAN MELENDEZ VALDES. 
 
 at all times led him submissive to the wishes of those who 
 had his confidence^ no doubt on this occasion had been in- 
 fluenced by persons near him, and he might have thought it 
 a hopeless struggle to contend with Napoleon. 
 
 Having however engaged in this unpatriotic service, he 
 was sent as a commissioner, on the part of the intrusive go- 
 vernment, to the AsturiaSj where the people had already risen 
 in vindication of the national independence. Melendez and 
 his colleague were seized by the populace, notwithstanding 
 the efforts of the local authorities, who had placed them for 
 security in the prison, the doors of which were forced, and 
 they were led out to be put to death. All entreaties were in 
 vain. Melendez protested his attachment to the national 
 cause, and even began reciting some patriotic verses he had 
 been writing, but the excited multitude would not hear him. 
 They added inssults to menaces, and as a great favour only 
 permitted them to confess before they should be executed. 
 Thus a little time was gained; but this was at length con- 
 cluded and they were tied to a tree, and the party prepared 
 to shoot them, when a dispute arose whether they should be 
 shot from in front or behind as traitors, a piece of etiquette 
 in such cases considered of importance. The latter counsel 
 prevailed, and the prisoners had to be loosened and tied 
 again accordingly, when the authorities and religious orders 
 of the place, with a particular Cross famous among them, ap- 
 peared approaching for their rescue. The people hereon be- 
 came calmed, and Melendez and his colleague were taken 
 bacli to the prison, whence they were soon permitted to re- 
 turn to Madrid. 
 
 On the success of the Spanish army at Bailen, the French 
 retired from the capital, and Melendez remained at Madrid, 
 hoping, through the influence of Jovellanos, to be taken into 
 favour with the constitutional party. But fortune again 
 
JUAN MBLENDEZ VALDES. 73 
 
 seemed to side with the French, and they returned to Ma- 
 drid, when Melendez was again induced to join them, and ac- 
 cepted office as Councillor of State and President of a Board 
 of Public Instruction. Thus he inevitably compromised him- 
 self in a cause which was not that of his heart or principles, 
 and whose apparently irresistible strength could only have 
 excused his adhesion to it. This supposition, however, also 
 proved erroneous ; and when the French armies had to aban- 
 don Spain, Melendez, with their other principal adherents, 
 had to fly with them also, having had the further misfortune 
 to have his house plundered, and his valuable library destroyed, 
 by the very marauders for whose sake he had lost all his hopes 
 of the future at home. 
 
 Before entering France, Melendez, kneeling down, kissed 
 the Spanish soil, saying, "I shall not return to tread thee 
 again." His apprehensions, notwithstanding his anxiety to 
 do so, proved correct. He passed four years in France, re- 
 siding at Toulouse, Montpelier, Nismes and Alaix, as circum- 
 stances compelled him, in great privation and with bodily 
 sufi'erings, the more aggravating, in his advanced age, the 
 bitter remembrances of the past. A paralytic affection first 
 incapacitated him from all exertion, and finally, an apoplectic 
 attack terminated his existence, at Montpelier, on the 24th 
 May, 1817, in the arms of his wife, who had followed him 
 through all the vicissitudes of life, and surrounded by the 
 companions of his exile. A monument was afterwards placed 
 to his memory in the cemetery by the Duke de Frias. 
 
 Notwithstanding the indecision of his character in public 
 life, Melendez was in private remarkable for laborious appli- 
 cation to his studies and duties. His reading was immense, 
 and his desire unceasing to be useful, and to contribute, by 
 all the means in his power, to the well-being of his fellows. 
 His kindness of heart is conspicuous in all his writings, which 
 
74 JUAN MELENDEZ VALDES. 
 
 also portray the diffidence of his own powers, ascribed to him 
 by his biographer. 
 
 His principal objects of veneration seem to have been the 
 writings of Newton and Locke. The former, as the " Great 
 Newton/' is often named by him. Pope he took for his model 
 avowedly in poetry, and he strove to imitate the moral and 
 philosophic tone of that great poet's writings, whose elegance 
 of style he certainly rivalled. Nothing in Spanish verse had 
 been ever produced to equal the sweetness of his verses, their 
 easy tone, and sparkling thoughts and expression. He was 
 much attached to drawing, but had no inclination for music, 
 not even to the charms of song, the more singular in one 
 whose ear for the melody of verse appears to have been so 
 sensitive. To the very last he seems to have been endeavour- 
 ing to improve his poems, which have been thus observed to 
 have often lost in strength and expression what they gained 
 in cadence. 
 
 "The principles of his philosophy were benevolence and 
 toleration; and he belonged to that race of philanthropists 
 who hope for the progressive amelioration of the human race, 
 and the advent of a period, when civilization, or the empire of 
 the understanding, extended over the earth, will give men 
 that grade of perfection and felicity compatible with the 
 faculties and the existence of each individual. Such are the 
 manifestations of his philosophic poems, and such a state he 
 endeavoured to aid in producing by his talents and labours." 
 
 His influence as a poet has certainly been very great. All 
 the writers in Spain, who immediately succeeded him, espe- 
 cially Quintana, showed evident proofs of having profited by 
 the lessons his example gave them, and those lessons seem to 
 have sunk deeply into the minds of successive generations, so 
 as to leave no doubt of their continuing in the same course. 
 
 After his arrival in France, Melendez wrote a few short 
 
JUAN MBLENDEZ VALDES. 75 
 
 poemSj which, notwithstanding his age and failing health, 
 showed his spirit was still the same, and his imagination as 
 lively as ever. At Nismes he prepfired an edition of his 
 works, which the Spanish government published at their cost 
 after his death, when they also gave his widow the pension 
 allotted for her, as according to her husband's former rank. 
 This edition has been the one subsequently several times re- 
 printed, with a biography by the eminent Quintana, worthy 
 of himself and of his master. The prologue to it, by Me- 
 lendez, is very interesting, and from it we learn, with regret, 
 that upon the destruction of his library, "the most choice 
 and varied he had ever seen belonging to a private individual, 
 in the formation of which he had expended a great part of his 
 patrimony and all his literary life," he had lost what he con- 
 sidered some of his best poems, and some tracts, in prose, 
 which he had prepared for the press, on Legislation, on CivU 
 Economy, the Criminal Laws, on Prisons, Mendicancy and 
 other subjects. 
 
 The misfortunes of Melendez were certainly much to be 
 lamented, but throughout them he could unquestionably con- 
 sole himself with the conviction of having been actuated ever 
 by upright motives, and of leaving to his country an impe- 
 rishable name. His literary career had been an eminently 
 successful one, and he had felt the full enjoyment of fame. 
 In the prologue, above mentioned, he refers very feelingly to 
 the reverses to which he had been subjected, but also with 
 apparent satisfaction to the various editions and notices of 
 his works, published both in Spain and abroad. 
 
 In leaving revised his works, published afterwards by the 
 government, Madrid 1820, Melendez left also this positive 
 direction: "Although I have composed many other poems, 
 these appear to me the least imperfect, and I therefore forbid 
 the others to be reprinted under any pretext. I earnestly 
 
76 JUAN MELENDEZ VALDES. 
 
 request this of the editor, and expect it of his probity and 
 good feehng, that he will fulfil this, my willj in every re- 
 spect." In accordance with this request, many of his earlier 
 works have been, with much propriety, omitted, and the re- 
 mainder have been considerably corrected; at the same time 
 that a great number of poems are added, that had not been 
 previously published. The best edition of his works is that 
 by Salva, Paris 1832. 
 
 Melendez enjoyed in his day a higher reputation than 
 readers at present are willing to concede him, comparing him 
 with the other poets that have since appeared in Spain. But 
 the merits of wi-iters should be considered, in justice, rela- 
 tively only to those who have preceded them, and by this 
 standard he is certainly fully entitled to the eulogiums which 
 his contemporaries awarded him. 
 
MELENDEZ VALDES. 
 
 JUVENILITIES. 
 
 When I was yet a child, 
 
 A child Dorila too, 
 To gather there the flowerets wild, 
 
 We roved the forest through. 
 
 And gaily garlands then. 
 With passing skill display' d. 
 
 To crown us both, in chUdish vein. 
 Her little fingers made. 
 
 And thus our joys to share. 
 
 In such our thoughts and play. 
 
 We pass'd along, a happy pair, 
 The hours and days away. 
 
 But ev'n in sports like these. 
 Soon age came hurrying by ! 
 
 And of our innocence the ease 
 Malicious seem'd to fly. 
 
78 JUAN MELENDEZ VALDES. 
 
 I knew not how it was. 
 
 To see me she would smile ; 
 And but to speak to her would cause 
 
 Me pleasure strange the while. 
 
 Then beat my heart the more, 
 When flowers to her I brought ; 
 
 And she, to wreathe them as before, 
 Seem'd silent, lost in thought. 
 
 One evening after this 
 
 We saw two turtle-doves. 
 With trembling throat, who, wrapt in bliss, 
 
 Were wooing in their loves. 
 
 In manifest delight. 
 
 With wings and feathers bow'd, 
 Their eyes fixM on each other bright, 
 
 They languish' d, moaning loud. 
 
 The example made us bold. 
 
 And with a pure caress. 
 The troubles we had felt we told. 
 
 Our pains and happiness. 
 
 And at once from our view 
 
 Then, like a shadow, fled 
 Our childhood and its joys, but new. 
 
 Love gave us his instead. 
 
JUAN MELENDEZ VALDES. 79 
 
 THE TIMID LOVER. 
 
 In tlie sharp pains the tyrant Love 
 
 Since first I saw thee made me feel, 
 To thee a thousand times above, 
 
 I come those pains to heal. 
 My village girl ! but soon as nigh 
 
 To thee I find my way. 
 If e'er so bold to be I try, 
 
 I know not what to say. 
 
 My voices fail, and mournful sighs. 
 
 Malicious phrenzy watching o'er. 
 The place of them alone supplies ; 
 
 While mocks my efibrts more 
 The traitor god, when anxious by 
 
 My thoughts to speak I pray; 
 If e'er so bold to be I try, 
 
 I know not what to say. 
 
 Then feels his fire so strong my soul, 
 Meseems to die my only fate. 
 
 My tears in torrents freely roll, 
 And with deep groanings wait. 
 
80 JUAN MELENDEZ VALDES. 
 
 To move thy feeling heart's reply ; 
 
 But vainly, all astray, 
 If e'er so bold to be I try, 
 
 I know not what to say. 
 
 I know not what, in trembling fear. 
 
 That seals my lips, as yet to learn 
 A foolish hope, thou mayst ev'n here 
 
 My hapless love discern. 
 I feel T must for ever fly 
 
 From thy side far away ; 
 If e'er so bold to be I try, 
 
 I know not what to say. 
 
 Alas ! if thou couldst, my adored ! 
 
 But hear those sighs, and thoughts expvess'd, 
 What happiness 'twould me afford ! 
 
 I should be, Phyllis, blest. 
 But woe is me ! beneath thine eye. 
 
 To sink in mock'd dismay, 
 If e'er so bold to be I try, 
 
 I know not what to say. 
 
JUAN MELENDEZ VALDES. 81 
 
 MY VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 When able happily am I 
 
 To my poor village to escape, 
 
 From all the city's noise to fly, 
 And cares of every shape ; 
 
 Like a new man my spirits give 
 Me then to feel, ia joyous link ; 
 
 For only then I seem to live. 
 And only then to think. 
 
 The insufferable hours that there 
 In weariness to me return' d. 
 
 Now on a course so gently bear. 
 Their flight is scarce discern' d. 
 
 The nights that there in sloth and play 
 Alone their occupations keep. 
 
 Here with choice books I pass away, 
 And in untroubled sleep. 
 
 With the first dawn I wake, to change 
 Kejoiced the soft bed's balmy rest. 
 
 Through the life-giving air to range. 
 That free dilates the breast. 
 
82 JUAN MELENDEZ VALDES. 
 
 It pleases me the heavens to view. 
 
 Overspread with red and golden glows, 
 
 When first his lustres to renew, 
 His splendours Phoeb,us shows. 
 
 It pleases me, when bright his rays, 
 
 Above the zenith fiery shine. 
 To lose me in the thick wood's maze, 
 
 And in their shade recline. 
 
 When languidly he hides his head. 
 
 In last reflection, even then 
 The mountain heights I eager tread, 
 
 To follow him again. 
 
 And when the night its mantle wide 
 Extends around of beaming lights^ 
 
 Their motions, measuring as they glide, 
 My watchful eye recites. 
 
 Then to my books return' d, with awe, 
 
 My wondering thoughts, to trace, rehearse 
 
 The course of that portentous law, 
 That rules the universe. 
 
 From them, and from the lofty height 
 Of such my thoughts, I then descend 
 
 To where my rustic friends await, 
 My leisure to attend. 
 
JUAN MELENDEZ VALDES. 83 
 
 And with them taking up the part^ 
 
 They give me in their toils and cares 
 To share, with jokes that merry start, 
 
 Away the evening wears. 
 
 About his crops one tells me all, 
 
 Another all about his vines. 
 And what their neighbours may befall 
 
 Each many a tale combines. 
 
 I ponder o'er each sage advice; 
 
 Their proverbs carefully I store ; 
 Their doubts and quarrels judge concise, 
 
 As arbitrator o'er. 
 
 My judgements all extol they free, 
 
 And all together talking loud ; 
 For innocent equality 
 
 Reigns in their breasts avow'd. 
 
 Then soon the servant comes to bring 
 The brimming jugs, and next with these 
 
 The mirthful girl supplies the ring 
 With chestnuts, and the cheese. 
 
 And all, in brotherly content. 
 
 Draw nearer round, to pass untold 
 The sparkling cups, that wine present 
 
 Of more than three years old. 
 
 g2 
 
84 JUAN MELENDEZ VALDES. 
 
 And thus my pleasant days to pass, 
 In peace and happiness supreme, 
 
 (For so our tastes our pleasures class,) 
 But like a moment seem. 
 
 REMEMBRANCES OF YOUTH. 
 
 Like a clear little stream. 
 That with scarcely a sound, 
 
 Through the plain among flowers. 
 Glides whirling around, 
 
 So the fugitive years 
 
 Of my easy life sped. 
 Amidst laughter and play. 
 
 Like a dream have fled. 
 
 On that dream to look back. 
 
 Oft in wonder I dwell ; 
 Nor to tear me have power 
 
 From its pleasing spell. 
 
 On each side in soft ease, 
 
 With friends cherished and gay, 
 
 In diversions and dance. 
 In banquets and play, 
 
JUAN MELENDEZ VALDBS. 85 
 
 With roses Cytheran 
 
 Sweet martyrdoms twine, 
 Of the blinded ring join'd 
 
 To deliriums of wine. 
 
 And hopes so fallacious. 
 
 Bright castles that shone 
 In the air as upraised, 
 
 By the wiads overthrown. 
 
 With the Muses to crown 
 
 The grave tasks, that are born 
 Of wisdom, with laurel 
 
 Their sons to adorn : 
 
 Here a thousand retreats 
 
 Of charm' d leafy arcade. 
 That to slumber beguile. 
 
 In freshness and shade : 
 
 There beyond in the bowers 
 
 Of sweet Cnidus arise. 
 As of fear and desire. 
 
 Half mingled, the sighs : 
 
 There the broad river spreads, 
 
 Showing soft its delights, 
 To oblivion of all 
 
 Whose crystal invites ; 
 
86 JUAN MELENDEZ VA.LDES. 
 
 With a gaze of desire 
 
 The fair banks I descend. 
 
 And to the false waters 
 My thirsty lips bend j 
 
 For a full draught I seek. 
 But feel suddenly by. 
 
 Disenchant me the call 
 Of a friendly cry : — 
 
 " Where impelled dost thou go. 
 In such bUnd madness, where ? 
 
 0, fool ! round thy footsteps 
 Hid dangers are there ! 
 
 " The wild fancy restrain, 
 Light ill-omen'd is this. 
 
 Where but lures thee to whelm 
 A fatal abyss. 
 
 " Of thy happier years 
 Is the verdure dispelled. 
 
 And what were then graces 
 Now vices are held. 
 
 " Thou art man ! it befits 
 Thee repenting in truth. 
 
 To gild virtuous with toils 
 The errors of youth ! " 
 
JUAN MELENDEZ VALDES. 87 
 
 I yield, from the current 
 
 I tremblingly fly : 
 But with eyes looking back, 
 
 Repeat with a sigh, — 
 
 " If to fall be a sin. 
 
 What hast thou, Nature, meant ? 
 The path made so easy. 
 
 So sweet the descent ? 
 
 " How blest are the creatures, 
 
 With instincts secure, 
 Whom to swerve from the right 
 
 No perils allure ! " 
 
 OF THE SCIENCES. 
 
 I APPLIED myself to science. 
 In its great truths believing. 
 
 That from my troubles I hence 
 Some ease might be receiving. 
 
 ! what a sad delusion ! 
 
 What lessons dear I learn'd me ! 
 To verses in conclusion. 
 
 And mirth and dance I turn'd me. 
 
88 JUAN MELENDEZ VALDES. 
 
 As if it were that life could 
 Produce so little trouble. 
 
 That we with toils and strife would 
 Make each one of them double. 
 
 I stand by smiHng Bacchus, 
 In joys us wont to wrap he ; 
 
 The wise, Dorila, lack us 
 The knowledge to be happy. 
 
 What matters it, if even 
 
 In fair as diamond splendour, 
 
 The Sim is fix'd in heaven ? 
 Me light he 's born to render. 
 
 The moon is, so me tell they. 
 With living beings swanny ; 
 
 " There may be thousands," well they 
 Can never come to harm me ! 
 
 From Danube to the Ganges, 
 History tells how did he 
 
 The Macedonian launch his 
 Proud banner fierce and giddy ! 
 
 What 's that to us, to entice us, 
 
 If only half this valley, 
 To feed our lainbs suffice us. 
 
 With all our wants to tally ? 
 
JUAN MELENDEZ VALDES. 89 
 
 If not, leave all to justice : 
 
 Give me some drink, o'erpower'd 
 With but to name this goddess, 
 
 I feel myself a coward. 
 
 They much who study ever 
 
 Have thousand plagues annoy them ; 
 
 Which in their best endeavour 
 
 Their peace and joy destroy them : 
 
 And then what do they gather ? 
 
 A thousand doubts upspringing. 
 Which other puzzlings farther 
 
 Them other doubts are bringing. 
 
 And so through life they haste on, 
 
 One enviable truly ! 
 Disputes and hates to waste on. 
 
 And ne'er agreeing throughly. 
 
 My shepherd girl ! but bring me 
 
 Then wine abundant very. 
 And fear not songs I '11 sing thee. 
 
 As endlessly and merry. 
 
90 JUAN MELENDEZ VALDES. 
 
 THE DISDAINFUL SHEPHERDESS. 
 
 If, as thou sayst, thou lovest me well, 
 Dear girl, those scomfulnesses cease ; 
 
 For love can ne'er in union dwell 
 With such asperities. 
 
 Show sharp disdain, to phght if e'er 
 Another proffers thee his troth ; 
 
 To two at once to listen fair 
 Is an offence to both. 
 
 Let one be chosen, so to prove 
 
 How great your happiness may be ; 
 
 Thou calmly to enjoy his love. 
 And he to love thee free ; 
 
 Above all maids to extol thee most ; 
 
 And thou to tenderness incline, 
 To yield repaying him the boast 
 
 His love gives forth for thine. 
 
 Reserve and rigour to preside 
 In love, is like the ice in spring, 
 
 That robs fair May of all its pride. 
 The flocks of pasturing : 
 
JUAN MELENDEZ VALDES. 91 
 
 But kindness, like the gentle rain, 
 
 Which April gives to glad the field, 
 Which makes all flourishing the plain, 
 
 And seeds their stores to yield. 
 
 Be not disdainful then, but kind : 
 Know not to certain beauteous eyes 
 
 Alone all beauty is confined. 
 Or locks of golden dyes. 
 
 Vain puff'd-up beauty will appear, 
 
 But like some showy ivy stem ; 
 They may surprise, but fruitless, ne^er 
 
 Have any valuing them. 
 
 If joiu'd with kindness, like the vine 
 It seems, with fruitful stores arrayed ; 
 
 Where all contentedly recline. 
 Beneath its peaceful shade : 
 
 And whose green stems, the elm around. 
 
 When twining with adorning grace 
 Its leaves, will hold it also bound. 
 
 Firm in its fond embrace. 
 
 Flower of a day is beauty^s bloom ; 
 
 Time leaves it soon behind : if e'er 
 Thou doubt'st my word, let Celia's doom 
 
 The lesson true declare. 
 
92 JUAN MELENDEZ VALDES. 
 
 Celiaj for witching beauty famed 
 Once far and wide, so foolish proud, 
 
 A thousand captives who contemned 
 That all before her bow'd, 
 
 Now worn by years would blindly try 
 Who to her service may be won ; 
 
 But finds all from her turn to fly, 
 To look at her finds none. 
 
 For with her snow and rose the beams 
 And lustre of her eyes are flown, 
 
 And like a wither'd rose-tree seems. 
 Sad, wrinkled and alone. 
 
 ^Tis but ingenuous kindness true. 
 
 The maid that loves in honour's bonds. 
 
 Who listens to her lover sue. 
 And tenderly responds ; 
 
 Who at his pleasantries will smile, 
 Who dances with him at the feast, 
 
 Eeceives the flowers his gift, the while 
 His love with like increased ; 
 
 Who him her future husband sees. 
 Is neither coy nor feels ashamed. 
 
 For he as hers, and she as his. 
 The village through are named, 
 
JUAN MELENDEZ VALDES. 93 
 
 That always like the dawn will seem, 
 
 When calm its Ught shines o'er the plain, 
 
 And keeping all beneath her beam 
 Bound captive in her chain : 
 
 Years without clouding pass away ; 
 
 Care to oppress her ne'er affects ; 
 Ev'n rivaby forgives her sway. 
 
 And envy's self respects. 
 
 Her cheerfulness and happy vein, 
 
 Being to latest age to share. 
 Delight of all the shepherd train. 
 
 Enchantment of the fair. 
 
 Be then, my Amaryllis ! kind ; 
 
 Cease those disdainfulnesses, cease ; 
 For with thy pleasing grace combined 
 
 Such harshness ill agrees. 
 
 The heavens ne'er form'd thee perfect thus. 
 
 Surpassingly of matchless cost. 
 That such high gifts should ruinous 
 
 Be miserably lost. 
 
 Be kind, receive thy lover's vow. 
 
 And all the village thou wilt find. 
 Who murmur at thy coldness now. 
 
 To praise thee then as kind. 
 
94 JUAN MEIiENDEZ VALDES. 
 
 Thus sang Belardo, at her door. 
 His shepherd girl to wait upon. 
 
 Who scornful; from her casement o'er. 
 Bids him be silent and begone. 
 
IV. 
 LEANDRO EEENANDEZ MORATIN. 
 
 Spanish writers have in general too mucli overrated the 
 merits of their national dramas, and foreigners have too often 
 repeated the eulogies, as if they were deserved. Like those 
 of antiquity, the Spanish, though they abound in passages of 
 much poetry and feeling, are almost entirely deficient in that 
 delineation of individual character, which constitutes the 
 highest class of the art. Thus all the representations may 
 be observed of the same description of personages and inci- 
 dents, given often with much ingenuity, bat also often in the 
 worst taste, and always betokening a Hmited power of inven- 
 tion. Of this school Calderon de la Barca was the great 
 type, both as regards his merits and defects. Lopez de Vega 
 too, though his comedies are more representations of manners 
 and every-day life than Calderon' s, only showed his capability 
 of something better, if he had allowed his genius to seek a 
 reputation for perfectness, rather than for fecundity. The in- 
 ferior order of writers mistook the errors of these for excel- 
 lences, and thus exaggerjited them. 
 
 There were not, however, wanting in Spain persons of 
 better judgement, who observed those errors with a view to 
 
96 LEANDKO FERNANDEZ MORATIN. 
 
 correct them, and among whom the prominent place is due to 
 the two Moratins, father and son. Of these the former seems 
 to have been the first of his countrymen who openly de- 
 nounced the wrong tendencies of the national dramatists; 
 and the latter, following in the same track, may be pro- 
 nounced the great reformer of the Spanish stage, to whom it 
 owes some of its best productions. 
 
 The elder Moratin was one of the ablest writers of verses 
 in Spain during the last century, before the new sera of 
 poetry arose, and his merits, if not of themselves superior to 
 those of his contemporaries, have had an advantage over 
 them, in connexion with the reputation of the son, who has 
 rendered them more celebrated by a pleasing memoir of his 
 father, prefixed to his works. From this we learn, that if 
 the father did not attain a high rank himself as a poet or 
 dramatist, yet he well deserves to be remembered as a bold 
 and judicious critic, who, both by precept and example, 
 efiiected much good in his own day, and still more by instill- 
 ing good lessons into the mind of the son, so as to enable 
 him to attain his merited success. 
 
 In the words of this memoir, " Calderon at that time en- 
 joyed so high a reputation, that it appeared a sacrilegious 
 hardihood to notice defects in his comedies or sacramental 
 pieces, which, repeated annually on the stage ^th every pos- 
 sible pomp and appliance, delighted the vulgar of all classes, 
 and perpetuated the applauses of their famous author. Mo- 
 ratin published three Discourses, which he entitled, ' Exposi- 
 tion of the Misconceptions of the Spanish Theatre,' written 
 with the good judgement of a man of taste, and with the zeal 
 of a citizen interested in the progression and literary glory of 
 his country. In the first he showed the defects in which the 
 old plays abounded; as also the modern, with which poets, 
 without rule or plan, supplied the players, sanctioning every 
 
LEANDRO FERNANDEZ MORATIN. 97 
 
 time more irregularity and ignorance. In the two foUowingj 
 he proved that the Autos of Calderon, so admired by the 
 multitude, ought not to be suffered in a country that prided 
 itself as civilized. It is unnecessary to say what opposition 
 these discourses encountered; it is enough to add, that the 
 third was scai'cely published when the government prohibited 
 the repetition of what he had condemned : — a memorable 
 epoch in the annals of the Spanish stage, which can never re- 
 member, without praise, that judicious and intrepid writer to 
 whom it owed so useful a reform." 
 
 Of this able critic, Leandro Moratin was the only son that 
 survived childhood. He was born at Madrid, the 10th of 
 March, 1760, and in his earliest years is described as having 
 been remarkable for infantile grace and vivacity. At (our 
 years of age, however, he unfortunately had a severe attack of 
 the smallpox, which not only left its disfigm-ing mai-ks on his 
 countenance, but also seemed to have changed his character, 
 making him the rest of his life shy and reserved. As he 
 grew up he shunned all playfellows; like Demophilus, he 
 was a man among boys, — Ketvo? yap iv iraurlv veos — and 
 devoting himself to drawing and making juvenile verses, pm-- 
 sued his favourite studies in secret, so that even the father 
 seemed not to have been ever fully aware of the bent of his 
 son's genius. 
 
 The elder Moratin, whose father had been jewel-keeper to 
 Isabel Farnesi, widow of Philip V., had been brought up to 
 the profession of the law, in which he had not acquired any 
 eminence, though he had some as an author. Seeing his 
 son's talent for drawing, he had fii-st intended him to take 
 advantage of it as an artist, but finally placed him with a 
 brother, Miguel de Moratin, who was a jeweller, to learn his 
 occupation. In his earlier years the younger Moratin had 
 been only at an obscure private school in Madrid, but he had 
 
 H 
 
98 JLBANDllO FERNANDEZ MOEATIN. 
 
 good examples and lessons at home, and recourse to his 
 father's library, where he found all the best works in Spanish 
 literature, for secret study, beyond the tasks set in routine for 
 his education. In 1779 the Spanish Academy, in the course 
 of its objects for the promotion of literary pursuits, had 
 offered, as a subject for a prize poem. The Taking of Granada; 
 when the Accessit was awarded to a competitor who had signed 
 himself Efren de Lardnoz y Morante. On this person being 
 called for, Leandro Moratin, to the surprise of his father, 
 presented himself as the author, producing the rough copy of 
 the verses he had sent. This was naturally a source of great 
 delight to the father, who might thus foresee, in hope at 
 least, his son's future success. But he did not live to witness 
 it, having died the following year, at only forty-two years of 
 age, leaving a widow dependent on his son's labours as a 
 working jeweller. At this business he continued, therefore, 
 combining however with it his former studies, as far as his 
 leisure permitted him. 
 
 In 1782 he obtained the honour of another Accessit from 
 the Academy for a Satire on* the vicious practices introduced 
 into the Spanish language, and a greater feeling thereupon 
 arose in his favour from literary persons who remembered his 
 father, with the respect due to his merits. Hence, also, 
 Leandro Moratin, notwithstanding his natural reserve, was 
 drawn from his retirement into the company of several young 
 men of kindred tastes and pursuits, whose conversation and 
 society had great and good effect on his mind and future 
 efforts. 
 
 In 1785 he published an edition of his father's poems, 
 with reflections, which may be considered his first essay on 
 criticism and declaration of opinion on matters of taste, ac- 
 cording to the precepts of the purest classicism, then so much 
 in fashion. From his earliest years he had been much at- 
 
LEANDRO FERNANDEZ MORATIN. 99 
 
 tached to the theatre, then sunk to the low state which he so 
 feehngly describes in the preUminary discourse to his Come- 
 dies, subsequently published ; and having witnessed his father's 
 anxiety to reform its abuses, he felt it a sort of inheritance 
 left him to attempt the task. He had already begun one of 
 his plays, which however he had not sufficient leisure to com- 
 plete, on account of the demands for his daily labour ; but 
 about this time his mother died, and Leandro had then only 
 his own wants to consider. 
 
 At the same time the good and great Jovellanos, whose 
 notice he had attracted, proposed him as secretary to the 
 Conde de Cabarrus, then going to Paris on a special mission, 
 where accordingly Leandro went with that able and enlight- 
 ened statesman, in January 1787, returning to Madrid in the 
 January following. Shortly after the Conde and Jovellanos 
 fell into ill-favour at court, and all their friends were involved 
 in their fall. Moratin took shelter in the obscurity of his 
 original occupation, and so escaped notice. He completed 
 his play, but could not get it rep];esented, and in the course 
 of delays had the hcense for it withdrawn. He wished to be 
 exempt from labour for maintenance, to give himself up to 
 his favourite studies, but sought in vain for other means of 
 attaining this end than from the favour of the government. 
 A change in the ministry having now occurred, he wrote a 
 petition, in verse, to the Conde de Florida Blanca, in which, 
 humorously depicting his wants, he asked a small benefice 
 in the church. This, though a very small one, was granted 
 him, and thereupon he had to take the first orders of the 
 tonsure. Shortly afterwards, Godoy, Prince of the Peace, 
 came into power, and beciame a still more effectual patron for 
 Moratin, on whom he conferred other benefices and favours, 
 to the amount of about £600 a year sterling, so that he be- 
 ll 2 
 
100 LEANDRO FERNANDEZ MORATIN. 
 
 came at oncCj for his position in life, wealthy, and enabled to 
 devote himself entirely to literature. 
 
 It has been the fashion lately for all parties to decry Godoy, 
 and there can be no doubt that he was guilty of much mis- 
 conduct in the exercise of power. But he was in this only 
 acting according to the circumstances in which he was placed, 
 and the favourite and minister of a weak-minded and despotic 
 monarch could not be expected to have acted much otherwise 
 than he did. In the memoirs he published in his later years 
 in his justification, Godoy has, in a tone of apparent sincerity 
 and earnestness, sometimes amounting even to eloquence, 
 shown that often he could not have acted otherwise, and that 
 his faults were the faults of his position, while his merits 
 were his own. He declares that he was the first minister in 
 Spain who curbed the power of the Inquisition, and that he 
 had never instituted any prosecution for private opinions. 
 His treatment of Jovellanos he might well excuse to himself, 
 as a return for hostility manifested to him under circum- 
 stances that he might consider to warrant it. But of other 
 eminent men of learning and of the arts he was the munifi- 
 cent patron, of Melendez among others, and of Moratin more 
 especially. The former dedicated to him the second edition 
 of his works, and Moratin now one of his plays, which had 
 been received with much favour. From this dedication, a 
 judgement may be formed by the translation, of the spirit of 
 Moratin, that, while under the sense of great obligations, he 
 did not condescend, like other poets, to flatter his Maecenas's 
 vanity by ascriptions of descent from ancient kings or other 
 fictions; but dwelt only on his personal qualities, and the 
 great power which he undoubtedly possessed, as exercised 
 in his favour. The same spirit Moratin showed in his letter 
 to Jovellanos, in which adulation could less be imputed 
 
LEANDRO FERNANDEZ MORATIN. 101 
 
 to him, as that illustrious individual was in disgrace at court, 
 and no longer the dispenser of the favours of the govern- 
 ment. 
 
 But Moratin showed the independence of his character still 
 more decidedly, in refusing the request made by Godoy that 
 he should write eulogistic verses on a lady of the court ; and 
 it is to the honour of Godoy, we are informed, that though 
 he was at first angry at the refusal, he passed it over without 
 subsequent notice. 
 
 To another request made by Godoy, for an ode on the 
 Battle of Trafalgar, Moratin acceded, though it is stated with 
 considerable disinclination to the task. He could not, he re- 
 phed at first, celebrate a lost battle, and as Hermosillia tells 
 us, could not hide from himself the ridiculousness of having 
 to represent a complete defeat as a glorious triumph, though 
 the " dreaded Nelson " had fallen in it. He felt bound, how- 
 ever, to obey the favourite and to reconcile his task to justice, 
 wrote his ' Shade of Nelson,' in imitation of the Prophecy of 
 Nereus, and of the Tagus by Fray Luis de Leon. In this 
 poem, he represents Nelson appearing the same night on the 
 heights of Trafalgar, and foretelling England's approaching 
 ruin, notwithstanding the victory which had been gained " so 
 dearly, as to be in reality a discomfiture." He observes, that 
 " Napoleon, having overcome the Austrians, would now turn 
 all his energies to the conquest of England, while Spain 
 would raise a mightier fleet to join him. He therefore coun- 
 selled his countrymen to abandon their ambitious projects 
 and make peace, and to create disunion in foreign countries 
 by corrupting their cabinets, for the purpose of maintaining 
 their preponderance." The thoughts are expressed in elegant 
 poetical language, but the whole argument shows how little 
 feeling he had in favour of the subject. In the last edition 
 of his works prepared for publication before his death, he 
 
102 LEANDKO FERNANDEZ MORAXIN. 
 
 took care to have it omitted^ but it has been again inserted 
 in subsequent editions. 
 
 Prior to tbis, however, he bad had a full opportunity of 
 judging- the character of the English nation. He had ob- 
 tained permission to go abroad from Godoy, who also muni- 
 ficently gajre him the means for that purpose. He first went 
 to Paris, where he had scarcely arrived, in September 1792, 
 when hearing a great tumult in the streets, and looking out 
 for the occasion of it, he saw the head of the Princess de 
 Lamballe borne along by the infuriated multitude on a pike. 
 Horror-struck at the sight, he immediately left Paris for 
 London, as, says his biographer, " anxious to contemplate for 
 the first time true liberty arrayed in popular forms, without 
 the mortal convulsions of licentiousness, or the withering 
 foot-marks of oppression." Here he stayed about a year, 
 taking notes of the lively impressions made on him of the 
 ''character, ideas, traditions, legislation, and political and 
 commercial tendency of that singular nation, so worthy of 
 being studied." It may be allowed us to regret that those 
 notes were never published, and perhaps the censor's license 
 for them could not have been obtained. The only fruit of his 
 visit was a translation of Hamlet, which he published in 1798, 
 on his return. 
 
 On leaving England, Moratin psissed through Flanders and 
 some parts of Germany and Switzerland to Italy, whence, after 
 visiting all the principal cities there, he returned to Spain in 
 December 1796. Previous to his amval in Madrid, he had 
 been appointed Secretary Interpreter of languages, a valuable 
 appointment in itself, but still more so to him, as it left him 
 sufficient leisure for study. He took advantage of this to 
 proceed with several dramas with which he enriched the 
 Spanish stage, and had projected others which he felt under 
 the necessity of abandoning. In several of his pieces, and 
 
LEANDRO PEttNANDEZ MORATIN. 103 
 
 especially in the Mogigata^ whicli Maury translates La Fe- 
 melle TartuflPe, he had offended the clerical party, so that he 
 was denounced to the Inquisition, and though preserved from 
 their power under the protection of Godoy, he was subjected 
 to many and great annoyances. In consequence of these, he 
 determined to give up further writing for the stage, content- 
 ing himself with producing afterwards only some translations 
 from the French, and with preparing his most valuable work, 
 'On the Spanish Theatre.' This work treats the subject histo- 
 rically, and abounds with much interesting information as 
 well as sound criticisms. On it he passed the latter years of 
 his life, so that it was not published until after his death. 
 
 Shortly after his return from Italy he was named one of a 
 commission to reform the stage, and on this proving insuffi- 
 cient for the purposes intended, he was appointed Director of 
 Theatres by royal order. No one, it might be thought, could 
 be better adapted for this office, and it would have seemed 
 one agreeable to his inclinations ; but he declined it, preferring 
 to effect the reforms he recommended by example rather than 
 by exercise of authority. 
 
 The events of the ]9th March, 1808, deprived Godoy of 
 his power, and the French armies soon after entered Madrid. 
 Moratin had remained at his post in the execution of the 
 duties of his office, and became involved in the course of pro- 
 ceedings, the final character of which he could not foresee. 
 He was set down as one of the French party, and so exposed 
 to public obloquy, that when the French had to evacuate 
 Madrid, he felt himself under the necessity of going with 
 them. When they returned he returned with them, and was 
 appointed, by Joseph Buonaparte, Chief of the Eoyal Library, 
 an appointment which was most congenial to his taste, and 
 which would have been exceedingly appropriate for him to 
 accept, had it been only from the national government. 
 
104 LEANDRO FERNANDEZ MORATIN. 
 
 As it was, he had to fly from Madrid a second time with 
 the intruders, and henceforth there was nothing for him in 
 hfe but privations to endure. Some houses which he had 
 bought had been seized, and one of them sold. Another, 
 which was restored to him, had been much injured, and his 
 books and property destroyed. His benefices were denied 
 him; a merchant, with whom he had entrusted his money, 
 became bankrupt ; and a dependent, in whom he had confided, 
 by his defalcation brought a further heavy loss on his means. 
 He had at first retired to France, but having been excepted 
 from the list of the proscribed by Ferdinand VII., he returned 
 to Spain, and for a length of time resided at Barcelona. But 
 the Inquisition was attempting to rise again into power, and 
 Moratin, naturally of a timid disposition, felt himself marked 
 out for a victim. He cordd not submit to live subject to be 
 watched and kept in constant alarm ; and even when this 
 oiBce was finally put down, he felt the frequent recurrence of 
 public commotions more agitating than he could endure. He 
 therefore determined again to retire to France, first to Bay- 
 onne, in 1833, and afterwards to Bordeaux, to live with a 
 friend, named Silvela, who had a seminary at that place, and 
 in whose society he felt sure of enjoying domestic happiness. 
 
 Through his whole life, Moratin seems to have required 
 the aid of friends on whom to rely for daily needs and atten- 
 tions ; and it was fortunate for him, in his advanced age and 
 under the pressure of infirmities, to possess such a resting- 
 place as in Silvela's establishment. Shortly after this friend 
 removed to Paris, where also Moratin followed him, and there 
 he died, the 31st June, 1828. He was buried in the ceme- 
 tery of Pere la Chaise, in one of the lines to the right of the 
 chapel, between the remains of Moliere and Lafontaine, where 
 a simple monument, with a cinerary urn, marks his grave. 
 
 " There," says his biographer, " in a foreign land, lies a ccle- 
 
LKANDRO FERNANDEZ MORATIN. 105 
 
 brated Spaniard, to whom his country did not offer sufficient 
 security to allow him to die tranquilly in her bosom. A man 
 averse to all party feeling, obedient to existing authority, whe- 
 ther of fact or of right, absorbed in his studies, teacher from 
 his retirement of the purest morality, incapable of injuring 
 any one, or of exciting disorder even indirectly, he had to 
 wander forth many years, not proscribed, but driven away by 
 apprehensions too justly entertained." 
 
 After his death there were several editions of his works 
 pubhshed, both in France and Spain : the last one in the col- 
 lection of Spanish authors by Rivadeneyra, Madrid 1848, as 
 the last seems most correct and complete. This republication 
 is more interesting, as also containing, in the same volume, 
 the works of his father, Nicolas Moratin. It is to be re- 
 gretted that other works of his, yet existing in manuscript, 
 have not been added, especially the account of his travels. 
 
 Moratin was an exceedingly careful writer, and very fasti- 
 dious in the correction of his verses. His admirers, especially 
 those of the classic school, have praised him as a great lyric 
 poet, even superior to Melendez. This, however, he felt was 
 not justj and without derogating from his merits, we must 
 pronounce him far inferior to that eminent poet, whose works 
 surpassed all that had preceded him in Spanish poetry. The 
 fame of Moratin must rest on his plays, into which, however, 
 it is not the object of this work to enter, confined as it is to 
 lyric poetry. They are only five in number, and, like Sheri- 
 dan's, are remarkable for neatness and elegance of dialogue, 
 as much as for incident and character. The Spanish theatre 
 owes all its subsequent merit to Moratin; he reformed the 
 taste of the times by giving the stage better works than it 
 had previously possessed, and assuredly was thus one of the 
 greatest public benefactors of his age. 
 
LEANDRO FERNANDEZ MORATIN. 
 
 DEDICATION OF THE COMEDY OF THE MOGIGATA 
 TO THE PKINCE OF THE PEACE. 
 
 This moral fiction, which the facile Muse, 
 
 Thalia kind inspired, and which await 
 
 The numerous crowds that throng the Spanish scene. 
 
 Therein acquiring voice, and life, and form, 
 
 To thee I now present, with feelings pure 
 
 Of gratitude and love. By other path 
 
 The difficult height of Pindus to ascend, 
 
 In vain have I aspired, in vain ; and oft 
 
 Have wept me baffled, o^er the bold attempt. 
 
 How often, striking the Aonian chords, 
 
 To win her have I sought, so fleeting, coy, 
 
 The beauty that in silence I adore ! 
 
 To imitate the voice and harmony. 
 
 Which Echo erst repeated in the woods 
 
 Of green Zurgiien : oft as Clio waked 
 
LEANDRO FERNANDEZ MOUATIN. 107 
 
 The trampet that diffuses martial rage, 
 
 I wish'd, with her sublimest ardour fired, 
 
 To celebrate the lofty deeds of Spain : 
 
 From her proud neck as beating, broken off. 
 
 The barbarous yoke ; the conqueror in turn 
 
 Conquered on the burning sands of Libya : 
 
 Numantia with the miseries appeased. 
 
 Proud Rome was doomed to know, abandon'd prey 
 
 To frightful mihtary outrages : 
 
 Cortes, in the valley of Otumba, 
 
 Lord of the golden standard, at his feet 
 
 The sceptre of the West ! but angrily, 
 
 Menander's muse offended, soon reproved 
 
 My error, and the lyre and pastoral pipe 
 
 Snatch'd from me, and the clarion of Mars. 
 
 " Follow," she said to me, '' the only track 
 Which my voice indicates, if thou wouldst seek 
 The honour, that despite of silent death. 
 May make thy name immortal. I in love 
 A thousand times upon thy infant hp 
 Have printed a soft kiss, and bade thee sleep 
 To the repeated heavenly tones I raised. 
 Thou my delight wast ever, and my care ; 
 And the propitious gifts, which Nature shed 
 On thee, it was my joy to cultivate. 
 Now with loud festive acclamation sounds 
 
108 LEANDKO FERNANDEZ MOBATIN. 
 
 Thy country's scene in thy just praise^ on high 
 Thy glory to affirm. Thou follow on 
 To sacred Helicon^ which Cynthia bathes 
 With her immortal light, the Muses' crown 
 Of ivy and of laurel there to gain." 
 
 Be not offended. Sir, if e'er so poor 
 The tribute that I dedicate ; and what 
 Could worthy be the greatness of thy name ? 
 The gift is humble, the desire is rich j 
 And not sufficing more my sterile vein. 
 What I can give I offer. Prostrate thus. 
 On the rude altars he has raised, is wont 
 The husbandman to heap the simple fruits 
 Of his fields gather'd round ; and offering them 
 To the high tutelar deity he adores. 
 Spreads them forth grateful, incenses and flowers. 
 
 EPISTLE TO DON GASPAR DE JOVELLANOS, 
 
 SENT FROM ROME. 
 
 Yes ! the pure friendship, that in kindly bonds 
 Our souls united, durable exists, 
 Illustrious Jovino ! nor can time. 
 
LEANDRO FERNANDEZ MORATIN. 109 
 
 Nor distance, nor the mountains us between, 
 Nor stormy seas hoarse roaring, separate 
 Remembrance of thee from my memory. 
 
 The sound of Mars, that now sweet peace awhile 
 Suspends, has long unhappy silence placed 
 On my affection. Thou I know content 
 Livest in obscure delicious quietude, 
 For ever with untiring zeal inspired 
 To aid the public weal ; of virtue e'er. 
 And talent, the protector and the friend. 
 
 These verses which I frame unpolish'd, free. 
 Though not corrected with thy learned taste, 
 In truth announce to thee my constant faith. 
 And so may Heaven but soon to me return 
 The hour again to see thee, and relate 
 Familiarly discoursing, to my view 
 Whatever of its varied scenes the world 
 Presented. From my native shores to those 
 "Which bathes the Seine, blood-stain^'d and turbulent ; 
 The daring Briton's, master of the sea. 
 To the bold Belgian's ; from the deep-flowing Rhine 
 To the high tops of Apennine snow-crown'd. 
 And that height- further, which in burning smoke 
 Covers and ashes over Naples wide. 
 The different nations I have visited. 
 
110 LEANDRO FERNANDEZ MORATIN. 
 
 Acquiring useful knowledge, never gained 
 By learned reading in retired abodes. 
 For there we cannot see the difference great 
 Which chxaate, worship, arts, opinions. 
 And laws occasion. That is found alone, 
 If thou wouldst study man, in man himself. 
 
 Now the rough Winter, which augments the waves 
 Of Tiber, on his banks has me detain'd. 
 Inhabitant of Rome. ! that with thee 
 'T were granted me to rove through her, to scan 
 The wonderful remains of glories past. 
 Which Time, whose force can naught resist, has spared ! 
 Thou nursling of the Muses and the Arts, 
 Faithful oracle of bright history. 
 What learning thou wouldst give the affluent lip ; 
 What images sublime, by genius fired. 
 In the great empire^s ruin thou wouldst find ! 
 Fell the great city, which had triumph' d o'er 
 The nations the most warlike, and with her 
 Ended the Latin valour and renown. 
 And she who to the Betis from the Nile 
 Her eagles proudly bore, the child of Mars, 
 The Capitol with barbarous trophies deck'd. 
 Conducting to her car of ivory bound 
 Great kings subdued, amid the hoarse applause 
 Of wide-throng'd forums, and the trumpet's sounds, 
 
LEANDRO FERNANDEZ MORATIN. Ill 
 
 Who to the world gave laws, now horrible 
 Night covers her. She perish' d, nor expect 
 More tokens of her ancient worth to find. 
 
 Those mouldering edifices, which the plough 
 Breaks through in shapeless masses, once they were 
 Circuses, strong palaces, and theatres ; 
 Proud arches, costly baths, and sepulchres ; 
 Where thou mayst hear perchance, for so 't is said. 
 In the deep silence of the gloomy shade, 
 A funeral lament, they only tell 
 The glory of the people of Quirinus. 
 And this to future races but remains 
 The mistress of the world, illustrious Rome ! 
 This and no more remain'd ? of all her arts 
 And dreaded power ? What could not aught avail 
 Her virtue, wisdom, valour, all conjoint. 
 With such her opulence, the law severe 
 To mitigate, or stay the blows of fate ? 
 
 Alas ! if all is mortal — if to Time 
 Alike the strong wall and the tender flower 
 Must yield — if that will bronze and porphyry break. 
 Destroying them and burying in dust. 
 For whom so guards unhappy Avarice 
 His treasuries untouch'd ? for whom foretells 
 Immortal fame, the adulation vile 
 
112 LEANDRO FERNANDEZ MORATIN. 
 
 That crimes and violence traitorous exalts ? 
 For wliat so hastening to the tomb runs on 
 The human race, revengeful, envious, 
 And haughty ? Why, if all that e'er exists^ 
 And what man sees is all but ruins ? all. 
 For never to return the hours fly past 
 Precipitate, and to their end but lead. 
 Of the most lofty empires of the earth, 
 The perishable splendour. The Deity, 
 That hidden animates the universe. 
 Alone eternal lives, and He alone 
 Is powerful and great. 
 
JUAN BAUTISTA DE ARRIAZA. 
 
 In the history of the literature of every country, it is interest- 
 ing to observe with what noiseless steps true genius generally 
 proceeds to win popular favour, compared with the means to 
 which mediocrity resorts for whatever share of notice it can 
 attain. There are some writers who, with great talent, have 
 some counterbalancing deficiency, respecting whose merits 
 more discussion will be consequently excited, than respecting 
 the superior quahties of others, not liable to the same obser- 
 vations. To obtain that kind of notoriety, it is often requisite 
 to belong to some school or party, whose praise will give a 
 temporary importance to works written, according to their 
 taste or system, while those out of their pale wiU be passed 
 over with at best only cold commendations. In Spain, as else- 
 where, poetry has had its classical and romantic schools, and 
 the merits of all writers, belonging to one or the other of 
 them, were fully set forth by their respective partisans ; while, 
 if there happened to be one who could not be claimed by 
 either, like Arriaza, he was allowed to pass comparatively 
 unnoticed by the critics of the day. 
 
 Of this very pleasing author no detailed biography has 
 
114 JUAN BAUTISTA DB ARRIAZA. 
 
 been published ; and his claims to be considered one of the 
 first modern poets of Spain seem to be scarcely recognized by 
 his countrymen, who read with surprise the commendations 
 passed on him abroad. Thus they have allowed seven edi- 
 tions of his works to be circulated and exhausted, without 
 satisfying our curiosity by any of those particulars of private 
 life, with which we love to consider the characters of worth 
 and genius. All we are informed of him, in the short notices 
 given of Arriaza by Wolf, Maury and Ochoa, is, that he was 
 born at Madrid, in the year 1770, where the last-mentioned 
 writer also says he died, in 1837. 
 
 From his name, it would seem that he was of Basque de- 
 scent, and his family connections must have been "noble'' 
 and influential, from his career through life, though we have 
 no account given of them. We learn, however, that he was 
 educated at the Seminary of Nobles at Madrid, whence he 
 was afterwards sent a cadet to the Military College at Se- 
 govia, and that he finally entered the navy. In one of his 
 Epistles, in verse, he informs us that he was engaged in the 
 expedition to Oran, and thence sailed to Constantinople, of 
 which he gives a poetical description. 
 
 In 1798 he had to quit this service, on account of a disease 
 of the eyes ; and he then published the first edition of his 
 poems. In 1803 he was appointed Secretary of Legation at 
 London, and there wrote his principal poem, ' Emilia,' which 
 was published at Madrid in the year following. The subject 
 was the wish of a lady of fortune to bring up orphan children 
 and others to the study of the fine arts; and it contains 
 many fine passages, but was left unfinished. 
 
 In 1805 he went to Paris, where also he resided some time. 
 On his return to Spain, he took part in the struggles against 
 the French, having entered the ranks as a soldier, and having 
 by his verses also vehemently instigated his countrymen to 
 
JUAN BAUTISTA DE ARRIAZA. 115 
 
 rise against the invaders. Of all the poets of the day, 
 he seems to have been the most prolific in those patriotic 
 effusions, which, no doubt, agreeing so well with the national 
 temperament, had no small effect in keeping up the spirit of 
 the Spanish people throughout the war. When the French 
 entered Madrid, Arriaza, while engaged in resisting them, 
 had a brother killed by his side, fighting in the same cause, 
 to whose memory he has given a tribute of affection accord- 
 ingly among his verses. 
 
 In the subsequent discussions in Spain respecting the go- 
 vernment, Arriaza took part with those who advocated the 
 rights of the absolute king. For this advocacy, on the re- 
 turn of Ferdinand VII. to full power, he received his reward, 
 having been appointed Knight of the Order of Charles III., 
 and Secretary of Decrees, besides receiving several other minor 
 favours and offices. Henceforth Arriaza seems to have passed 
 his life at court, in the quiet enjoyment of literary pursuits. 
 He might be considered the Poet Laureate of Spain, as he 
 seems to have allowed scarcely any opportunity to pass by 
 unhonoured, of paying homage to the court in celebration 
 of birthdays and other such occasions. His works abound 
 with these loyal effusions, though they might generally have 
 been better omitted. 
 
 It must, however, be said, in justice, that he was evidently 
 sincere in those principles, to which he adhered under all 
 circumstances, even when the Constitutionalists were in the 
 ascendent. Once only he was betrayed into an eulogium of 
 the other line of opinions, which had an effect rather ludi- 
 crous, so far as he was concerned in it. In 1830, when the 
 constitution of 1812 had been anew promulgated, a friend of 
 his, Don Luis de Onis, was appointed minister from Spain to 
 Naples, and a banquet having been given him on his depart- 
 ure, Arriaza was induced to write verses on the occasion, 
 
 i2 
 
116 JUAN BAUTISTA DE ARRIAZA. 
 
 whichj full of apparent enthusiasm, abounded in spirit and 
 beautiful images, beyond his usual facility and fulness of ex- 
 pression. Carried away, no doubt, by the contagion of the 
 company, he gave way to what, in soberer mood, he would have 
 thought most dangerous doctrines. He painted the envoy as 
 going " to Parthenope to announce our revolution ; '•" adding, 
 " To Parthenope that is now groaning beneath flowery chains, 
 and to whom, though her syrens celebrate her in songs of 
 slavery, thou wilt be the Spanish Tyrtseus, and raise them to 
 the high employ to sing of country and virtue ; " praising the 
 heroism of Riego as to be offered as an example, " to throw 
 down the holds of oppression." The Neapolitan government 
 obtained notice of this composition, and actually used it as 
 sufficient cause for objecting to receive Don Luis as Spanish 
 minister, " because he was coming to inculcate revolutionary 
 principles." Arriaza heard with horror that he was stigmatized 
 as a liberal, and was urgent to disclaim such opinions, not- 
 withstanding what he had written. Don Luis meanwhile 
 was detained at Rome, until, by a strange coincidence, the 
 revolution broke out at Naples also, and he entered the city 
 almost as in fulfilment of the prophecy, that he was to be the 
 harbinger of it. 
 
 The best edition of Arriaza's works is that of 1839, printed 
 at the Royal Press of Madrid, of which the one of Paris, 1834, 
 is a reprint. They consist of almost all varieties of song, and 
 are almost all equally charming. His satirical pieces even 
 are light and pleasing, as well as his anacreontic and erotic 
 effusions, while his patriotic songs and odes breathe a spirit 
 well suited to the subjects. 
 
 Maury, who has made him better known abroad by his 
 praises than others, his contemporaries, seems to have regarded 
 him with especial favour. He says of him : — " Depuis Lope de 
 Vega, M. d' Arriaza est le seul de nos poetes qui nous semble 
 
JUAN BAUTISTA DE AKEIAZA. 117 
 
 penser en vers. La nature le fit poete, les evenements Font 
 fait auteur. II etait arrive k sa reputation litteraire sans y 
 pretendre, il Taccrue pour ainsi dire k son corps defendant." 
 In truth he seems to have poured forth his verses without effortj 
 as a bird does its song, with a simplicity and truthfulness 
 which went to the heart of the hearer, and left in it a sensation 
 of their being only the echoes of its own. As Maury has well 
 observed, "parlent h la raison et h I'esprit, comme au coeur 
 et k I'imagination, elles offrent en meme temps aux amateurs 
 de la langue Castillane les sons harmonieux et les tournures 
 piquantes qui la distinguent avec une grande elegance de 
 diction et une clarte rare chez la plupart de nos ecrivains." 
 
 It is true that his style is exceedingly easy, and the ex- 
 pression generally very clear, but it must also be acknow- 
 ledged, on the part of the translator, that obscurities are 
 frequently to be found in his lines, when he must discover a 
 meaning for himself. It was Arriaza's own doctrine in the 
 prologue to his works, " that there can be no true expression 
 of ideas where there does not reign the utmost clearness of 
 diction; that what the reader does not conceive at the first 
 simple readiag, cannot make in his imagination the prompt 
 effect required, and much less move his heart in any way. 
 This clearness," he observes, " should also be associated with a 
 constant elegance of expression ; though he does not consider 
 this elegance to consist in a succession of grammatical in- 
 versions, or revolving adjectives, or metaphor on metaphor, 
 but the mode most select and noble of saying things be- 
 comingly to the style in which they are written.^' 
 
 Arriaza was eminently what the French call a poete de 
 societe; and thus his verses were favourites with the higher 
 classes particularly. He abjured the practices of the Roman- 
 ticists who affected to despise the shackles of metre, as if the 
 melody of verse, being merely mechanism, were of inferior 
 
118 JUAN BAUTISTA DE ABRTAZA. 
 
 consideration. On tlie contrary, he intimates that he considers 
 it of primary importance, as if " whether a statue should be 
 made of wax or marble." Thus he made cadence a principal 
 study, and his verses becoming thereby better adapted for 
 music, obtained greater vogue in the higher circles by means 
 of accompaniments. Some even seem to have been expressly 
 written for that purpose j for instance, among other pieces of 
 a domestic character, one, a very pleasing Recitative, in which 
 his wife and daughter join him in thanksgiving for his reco- 
 very from a dangerous illness. Though generally far from 
 being impassioned, some of his verses are fuU of tender feel- 
 ing, as the 'Young Sailor's Farewell.' This may be pro- 
 nounced the most popular piece of modem poetry in Spain, 
 being most in the memories of those whom he himself calls 
 "the natural judges in these matters, the youth of both 
 sexes, in whose lively imagination and sensible hearts may 
 find better acceptation, the only two gifts with which I may 
 rejoice to have endowed my verses, naturalness and har- 
 mony." 
 
 Arriaza must have acquired in his youth the rudiments of 
 a sound education, and he was distinguished in later life for 
 a knowledge of the French, Italian and English languages. 
 Still he was not considered by his contemporaries as a person 
 of extensive reading ; and thus we do not find in his works 
 any allusions or illustrations of a classical character, though 
 it is almost ludicrous to observe with what pertinacity he 
 introduces the personages of the heathen mythology, on all 
 occasions where he can do so. Some of his ideas also run 
 into the ridiculous, as in one of his best pieces, ' La Profecia 
 del Pirineo,' he says, that on the heroic defenders of Zaragoza 
 "there were at once on their faithful brows raining bombs 
 and laurels." 
 
 The Ode to Trafalgar, notwithstanding its being liable to 
 
JUAN BAUTISTA DE AURIAZA. 119 
 
 the observation above madcj of too frequent invocations of 
 the Muses, is an admirable exemplification of an appropriate 
 poem on such a subject. This battle, no doubt on account 
 of its decisive effect, has been more celebrated than others. 
 But it must be acknowledged to have been an unequal fight 
 between the British and the Spanish portion of the allied 
 fleet, as the former were in a high state of discipline, and the 
 latter were newly levied and hurried out of port, before the 
 officers and men had become sufficiently acquainted with one 
 another to take their respective parts, with the precision 
 necessary for such an occasion. Yet it is well known that 
 the Spaniards fought with desperate and unswerving courage 
 throughout, and their poets were therefore well warranted in 
 taking the subject, as one doing honour to the national 
 bravery. 
 
 The circumstances of the battle have lately again come 
 into discussion in Spain, with naturally considerable warmth, 
 on M. Thiers, in his History of the Consulate and the Em- 
 pire, having been guilty of the extraordinary error to allege 
 that the Spanish fleet fled, the greater part of them, from 
 the battle, when, in fact, it was only the division of the 
 French Admiral Dumanoir that had done so. This he did 
 " for the purpose of preserving a naval division for France," 
 as Dumanoir himself afterwards stated, in his justification, 
 though he was disappointed in that patriotic wish, having 
 been met a few days after by Sir Robert Calder's squadron, 
 when all his four ships were taken in a less renowned combat. 
 
 The translation of the Ode has been made as nearly into 
 the same metre with the original, as the forms of verse used 
 in the two languages would admit. That of the ' Farewell ' 
 may be considered in the same light also, though the original 
 has the first and fourth lines rhyming together, and the second 
 with the third. This is an old and common form in Spanish 
 
120 JUAN BAUTISTA DE ARBIAZA. 
 
 poetry, and agrees well with our alternate lines of eight and 
 six syllables, which Johnson considered "the most soft and 
 pleasing of our lyric measures." In the Ode, it is interesting 
 to observe not only the manly style of sentiment throughout, 
 but also the absence of any ungenerous feeling against the 
 English. Arriaza had, however, both as a seaman and a di- 
 plomatist, while resident in England, had sufficient opportu- 
 nities of learning to think more justly of the Enghsh charac- 
 ter than some other writers of the Continent. 
 
 Beyond his poems, Arriaza wrote several political pam- 
 phlets. The first was pubhshed at Seville in 1809, after the 
 battle of Talavera,. when the English, notwithstanding the 
 victory, had to retreat into Portugal, giving occasion to the 
 French party in Spain to allege that they were about to 
 abandon the country to the French, and keep possession of 
 the principal ports. In this pamphlet, which he entitled the 
 'Pharos of PubHc Opinion,' Arriaza combated these suspi- 
 cions, and by a strenuous assertion of the good faith of the 
 English, succeeded in disabusing the minds of his country- 
 men of what he termed " such malignant insinuations." 
 
 The second pamphlet he termed 'Virtue of Necessity,' 
 shortly after the disastrous battle of Ocania; and its object 
 was to stimulate the English government and nation to give 
 more assistance than they had yet done, by money and other- 
 wise. He proposed in return to give the English free right 
 of commerce with the Spanish colonies in America, at least 
 for a stated period, observing that they already had extensive 
 dealings with them by contraband, and that the free com- 
 merce would make the English neutral, at least, in the ques- 
 tion of the colonies wishing to declare themselves independent, 
 while otherwise it would be their interest to have them inde- 
 pendent. This pamphlet especially is full of sound states- 
 manlike ideas, and proves how well he was acquainted with 
 
jrAN BAUTISTA DE ARRIAZA. 131 
 
 the state of public feeling in England, on the several parti- 
 culars respecting which he was writing. 
 
 A third pamphlet he wrote in Enghsh, and published it in 
 London in 1810, where he was then sent on the part of the 
 Spanish government. This he entitled ' Observations on the 
 system of war of the Allies in the Peninsula;' and he endea- 
 voured in it to urge the English to send more troops to the 
 Peninsula, at certain points, where he considered they would 
 be of most avail in disconcerting the plans of the French, and 
 assisting the Guerrilla warfare the Spaniards were carrying 
 on. He explained the determined fidehty of the Spaniards 
 to the cause of their independence, but showed they would 
 be insufficient to effect it, without the assistance he came to 
 seek. This pamphlet was favouo-ably received in England, 
 and was noticed in Parliament j and the author had the good 
 fortune to hope that his efforts had been successful, as he 
 says, " The English government then sent greater reinforce- 
 ments to their army, which emerging from its inaction, 
 acquired the superiority preserved until the happy conclu- 
 sion of the war." 
 
 For these and other writings, Arriaza received the thanks 
 of the Regency in the name of the king, and had just cause 
 to consider that a sufficient counterbalance to the misrepre- 
 sentations made of his conduct in France, and elsewhere, by 
 the opposite party. In a note affixed to the last edition of 
 his poems, he complains that in a work pubhshed in France, 
 ' Biography of Contemporary Characters,' there was an article 
 respecting him " fuU of errors, even regarding the most public 
 circumstances of his life," which he seems to have considered 
 written from party feeling. If his surmises were correct, it 
 is the more to be regretted that he did not take the best 
 means of correcting those misrepresentations, by- giving an 
 authentic biographical account of his career in reply. He might 
 
122 JUAN BAUTISTA DE ARRIAZA. 
 
 thus not only have done justice to himself, but also have 
 satisfied the desires of his admirers, who would naturally have 
 felt sufficient interest in his fame to have rejoiced in those 
 details. Whatever may be the course which a man of genius 
 takes in public life from honest principles, he may always 
 rely on finding in literature a neutral harbour where he may 
 retire in confidence from all turmoils, and expect full justice 
 awarded to his motives and memory. In the midst of poli- 
 tical contentions, where so much always depends on circum- 
 stances with which we are little acquainted, it is often diffi- 
 cult at the time to know what is the proper course to follow. 
 It is enough for us that those we admire have ever been di- 
 stinguished for their sincerity and uprightness in the conduct 
 they pursued. 
 
 With regard to Arriaza, our greatest regret must be that, 
 with his apparently extreme facility of versification, and capa- 
 bility of elevating his mind to the conception of nobler sub- 
 jects, he confined his genius so much to trivial events of the 
 day, and thus wrote for his contemporaries instead of for 
 posterity. 
 
JUAN BAUTISTA DE ARRIAZA. 
 
 TEMPEST AND WAR, 
 
 THE BATTLE OF TRAFALGAR. 
 
 ODE. 
 
 I FAIN would sing of victory j 
 But know, the God of harmony, 
 
 Dispenser of renown, 
 For fortune's turn has little care, 
 And bids superior valour bear. 
 
 Alone, the immortal crown. 
 
 See in his temple, shining yet. 
 Those at Thermopylse who set 
 
 Of manly fortitude 
 Examples rare, or 'neath thy wall 
 "Who, sad Numantia, shared thy fall, 
 
 But falling unsubdued. 
 
134 JUAN BAUTISTA DE AERIAZA. 
 
 There are to whom has fate bestow'd 
 The lot, that always on the road 
 
 Of docile laurels borne. 
 Success should fly their steps before. 
 And in their hands events in store 
 
 Should lose each cruel thorn. 
 
 As heroes these the vulgar choose. 
 If not as gods, but I refuse 
 
 Such homage for the mind ; 
 And in BeUona's doubtful strife. 
 Where fortune's angry frowns are rife. 
 
 There heroes seek to find. 
 
 ! true of heart, and brave as true ! 
 Illustrious CHo, turn thy view 
 
 Afar the vast seas o'er j 
 For deeds, in spite of fate abhorr'd, 
 Than these more worthy to record 
 
 Ne'er pass'd thy view before. 
 
 To abase the wealthy Gades, see, 
 From haunts of deep obscurity. 
 
 The feUest Fury rise ! 
 And from her direful hand launch'd forth. 
 Transformed the forests of the North, 
 
 She floating walls supplies. 
 
JUAN BAUTISTA DE ARRIAZA. 125 
 
 Her envy is the city fair 
 
 Of Hercules, so proudly there, 
 
 Couch'd on the Atlantic gates ; 
 Girt by the sea, that from the west 
 Comes fraught with gold, and her behest 
 
 Before her bending waits. 
 
 With venal aid of hate assists 
 Unfruitful England, throne of mists. 
 
 Whose fields no sun behold ; 
 Which Plora with false smile has clad 
 In sterile green, where flowers look sad. 
 
 And love itself is cold. 
 
 Greedy the poison gold to seize. 
 They with the monster Avarice, 
 
 The peace of Spain abhor ; 
 And by their horrid arts increased. 
 Turn ev'n the treasures of the East 
 
 To instruments of war. 
 
 Their proud Armada, which the main 
 Tosses to heaven, or threats in vain 
 
 To engulf, they mustering show : 
 Ye suffer it not, ye pupils brave 
 Of the Basans, and to the wave 
 
 Launch yours to meet the foe. 
 
126 JUAN BAUTISTA DE ARRIAZA. 
 
 As by conflicting winds close driven. 
 The dark clouds o'er the vavdt of heaven 
 
 Across each other fly ; 
 And troubling mortals with the roar, 
 The electric fluids flashing o'er 
 
 Dispute the sway on high. 
 
 So from both sides the battle roU'd, 
 The sails their wings of flame unfold, 
 
 And ship to ship they close ; 
 Combined, ! day of hapless fame. 
 Four elements with man proclaim 
 
 The unequal war that rose. 
 
 Who in the whirlwind of dense smoke, 
 To Mars that in fit incense woke. 
 
 Prom hollow ordnance sent. 
 With iron flames, a countless host. 
 Sounds that unhinging shakiag cross'd 
 
 The eternal firmament, — 
 
 Who in that lake of fire and blood, 
 Midst crashing masts and raging flood 
 
 Of havoc and its train, — 
 Who by the light the picture shows. 
 May not your blood-stain'd brows disclose, 
 
 ! noble chiefs of Spain ? 
 
JUAN BAUTISTA DE ARRIAZA. 137 
 
 With crimson dyed, or with the brand 
 Of sulphurous powder, firm ye stand, 
 
 As in the conflict dire. 
 The sacrilegious giants rear'd. 
 Serene the shining gods appear' d. 
 
 Midst roUing clouds of fire. 
 
 Shouts forth your courage hoarsely high 
 Bellona's metal roar, the cry 
 
 The combat to inflame ; 
 Nor fear ye mortals, when ye view 
 The streams of blood the waves imbue. 
 
 Your prowess that proclaim. 
 
 With iron clogg'd the air, the breath 
 Is drawn each with a dart of Death, 
 
 Whose skeleton immense 
 Eises exulting o'er the scene, 
 To see such fury rage, and glean 
 
 His devastation thence. 
 
 ! how he crops youth's fairest flowers, 
 Or grief o'er life for ever lowers ! 
 
 See there for vengeance strains 
 One arm for one that off is torn, 
 Or when away the head is borne, 
 
 Erect the trunk remains. 
 
128 JUAN BAUTISTA DE ARRIAZA. 
 
 But, ah ! what fiery column broke 
 There to the windj and mid dense smoke 
 
 Then to the abyss down threw 
 Heads, bodies, arms and woods confused. 
 And hands yet with the swords unloosed 
 
 They for their country drew ! 
 
 Struck by the sound groans Trafalgar ; 
 Olympus shakes as in the war 
 
 The savage Titans waged. 
 When through the waves their forges loWi 
 ^tna, Vesuvius, and untold 
 
 Volcanoes burning raged. 
 
 Trembling the monsters of the deep 
 Against each other beating, sweep 
 
 Off to the Herculean Strait ; 
 In horror heaven is clouded o'er, 
 Lashing the seas the north winds roar. 
 
 In shame infuriate. 
 
 Of its own rage, the foaming brine, 
 Is born the tempest, fearful sign 
 
 Of more disastrous night j 
 Mars at the view restrains his cry ; 
 Bark Scylla and Charybdis high, 
 
 The fiends whom wrecks delight. 
 
JUAN BATJTISTA DE ARRIAZA. 129 
 
 Swift as a thunderbolt ye comej 
 The unhappy relics to consume 
 
 Of fire, ye winds and waves ! 
 0, Night ! who may thy fearfulness, 
 Thy vast amount of woes express. 
 
 Without the tear it craves ! 
 
 Yield to the cruel element 
 
 At length the ships, that long, unbent 
 
 Its haughtiest rage defied; 
 Men sink yet living, and for e'er 
 Closes o'er them their sepulchre, 
 
 The insatiable tide. 
 
 Save him, Minerva ! who around 
 
 From East to West, the earth's wide bound, 
 
 Was happier once thy care ! 
 Urania, this thy votary save ! 
 0, Love ! how many fond hearts crave 
 
 That one's last sigh to share ! 
 
 Some to their much-loved country swim. 
 That horror-struck retires, and dim 
 
 In quicksands seems to fly; 
 Hid by the waves them death unveils, 
 And to the wreck'd-worn seamen's wails 
 
 They only fierce reply. 
 
130 JUAN BAUTISTA DE AERIAZA. 
 
 Never may Time, in his long flight, 
 Join day more terrible and night : 
 
 But who in such a strife, 
 Who constant overcame such fate. 
 Where may we danger find so great 
 
 For dauntless heart in life ? 
 
 0, Clio ! where ? yet midst that rage. 
 With golden pen and deathless page. 
 
 Thou lovest the brave to greet ; 
 Gravina, Alava, each name 
 Write, and Eseanio's, echoes fame 
 
 Olympic vrill repeat. 
 
 And others, but my voice repels 
 The love that in my memory dwells ; 
 
 O, Cosmo ! hard thy lot ! 
 O, Muses ! him the laurels give, 
 Whose friend is only left to live. 
 
 And weep him unforgot. 
 
 Tried adverse fortune to endure. 
 Your valour proved sublime and pure, 
 
 0, Mariners of Spain ! 
 Your life yom* country's shield and strength. 
 Defended and avenged at length. 
 
 She will be yet again. 
 
JUAN BAUTISTA DE ARMAZA. 131 
 
 The Lion and the Eagle yet 
 
 May have them Neptune's arm abet, 
 
 Now England's slave and boast ; 
 Who from her lofty poops shall view 
 Your troops resistless pouring through 
 
 In torrents on her coast. 
 
 Suffice it now, as tribute paid. 
 
 Her great Chief's death ; the Thames to shade, 
 
 Doubling with grief her gloom : 
 That cover'd thus with honoured scars. 
 She sees you wait, in happier wars. 
 
 The combat to resume. 
 
 Ye go, as on the Libyan shore 
 The lion walks, that fiercely tore 
 
 The hunter's cunning snare ; 
 That not ingloriously o'erborne. 
 Calmly and fear'd, though bleeding, worn — 
 
 Regains his sandy lair. 
 
 K 3 
 
]32 JUAN BAUTISTA DE ARRIAZA. 
 
 THE PARTING. 
 
 Sylvia ! the cruel moment 's near, 
 
 When I must say farewell ! 
 For hark ! the cannon's sounds we hear 
 
 Of my departure tell. 
 Thy lover comes to give thee now 
 
 The last adieu, and part ! 
 With sorrow overcast his brow. 
 
 And sorrowful his heart. 
 
 Come, object of my love divine ! 
 
 Reach me those beauteous arms : 
 Woidd fate my happy lot assign 
 
 My home and rest thy charms. 
 The blow that threatens its decree 
 
 To give, I should not meet ; 
 For sooner then than part, 't would see 
 
 Me dying at thy feet. 
 
 ! had our passion equal force. 
 
 Or been of equal growth. 
 The grief of absence might its course 
 
 Divide between us both ! 
 
JUAN BAUTISTA DE ARRIAZA. 133 
 
 But thou a face indifferent, 
 
 Or pleased, dost give to view, 
 Whilst I have not ev'n breath content 
 
 To say to thee. Adieu. 
 
 A gentle river murmui'ing by. 
 
 In calmness bathes the plain. 
 And of its waters the supply 
 
 Sees beauteous flowers attain ; 
 In silence thou, my lonely grief. 
 
 Dost bathe my wretched breast. 
 And Sylvia's pity in relief 
 
 For me canst not arrest. 
 
 But what, my Sylvia, dost thou say ? 
 
 What means that tender sigh ? 
 Why do I see, mid tears that stray. 
 
 Shine forth thy beaming eye ? 
 As opens to the sun opposed 
 
 On some clear day the cloud, 
 And his rays make the drops disclosed 
 
 To sparkle as they flow'd. 
 
 On me dost thou those languid eyes 
 
 Turn with that tender gaze ? 
 Loses thy cheek its rosy dyes. 
 
 Nor beauty less displays ? 
 
134 JUAN BATJTISTA DE AERIAZA 
 
 Thy ruby lips a moment brief 
 Thou opest, and sorrow seals ! 
 
 How fair the very show of grief 
 Itself in thee reveals ! 
 
 Insensate ! how I wildly thought 
 
 My bitter griefs would gain 
 Some ease, if thou wert also taught 
 
 A portion of my pain ! 
 Pardon the error that deceived, 
 
 O, Sylvia ! I implore ; 
 Me more thy sorrow now has grieved, 
 
 Than thy disdain before. 
 
 My bliss ! I pray no more to swerve ! 
 
 Calm those heart-breaking pains : 
 Thy grief to have, does not deserve 
 
 All that the world contains. 
 May all life's hours, in calm serene. 
 
 Be ever pass'd by thee ; 
 And all that darker intervene 
 
 Reserved alone for me ! 
 
 For me, whose lonely wretched doom 
 By heaven has been decreed 
 
 To bear fate's cruelty and gloom, 
 Wherever it may lead. 
 
JUAN BAUTISTA DE AURIAZA. 135 
 
 But not on thee, so lovely born, 
 
 Form'd of a power divine, 
 To hold ev^n fate a subject sworn 
 
 To every will of thine. 
 
 Whilst thou my absence mayst lament, 
 
 Thy comfort mayst descry. 
 By fate a thousand lovers sent 
 
 More to thy choice than I. 
 Some one she pleases me above 
 
 To favour chance may show ; 
 But one to love thee as I love. 
 
 That none can ever know. 
 
 'T was not thy graces won my heart, 
 
 Nor yet thy faultless face ; 
 But 't was some sympathy apart 
 
 I might from birth retrace. 
 I long a picture loved to draw 
 
 Of charms I fancied true. 
 And thy perfections when I saw. 
 
 The original I knew. 
 
 No traveller upon the ground 
 
 By sudden hghtning thrown. 
 The blow could more at once confound. 
 
 Left helpless and alone. 
 
136 JUAN BAUTISTA DE ARRIAZA. 
 
 Than I to see that beauteous brow. 
 
 In hapless love was lost ; 
 At thy feet forced at once to bow, 
 
 To adore whate'er the cost. 
 
 But I depart, alas ! the pain 
 
 No words can e'er express ; 
 Heaven only knows it that can scan 
 
 The inmost heart's recess ; 
 And saw the hours of deep delight. 
 
 So ftdl now long pass'd by, 
 That all my wishes' utmost height 
 
 Heap'd up could satisfy. 
 
 Now while the breezes fair avail. 
 
 The waves are gently stirr'd. 
 And of the mariners the hail 
 
 Confused afar is heard : 
 Now from the deep's tenacious hold 
 
 The anchor's fangs they heave. 
 And all conspiring are enroU'd 
 
 Me swifter death to give. 
 
 Now with a vacillating foot 
 The slender boat I tread. 
 
 Soon destined from the bank to shoot. 
 As to the great bark sped. 
 
JUAN BAUTISTA DE ARRIAZA. 137 
 
 Sylvia, in this sad moment's pause, 
 
 ! what a mournful crowd 
 Of thoughts around thy lover close. 
 
 To assault him and o'ercloud ! 
 
 The sweet requital in return 
 
 Thou givest my love I know ; 
 And kind remembrances discern 
 
 All thy affections show ; 
 Whilst here each proof assures me well 
 
 That naught thy heart can move ; 
 But in my absence, who can tell 
 
 If thou wilt faithful prove ? 
 
 For those divine attractions whence 
 
 Now all my joys arise. 
 Perhaps may fate the cause dispense 
 
 Of all my miseries ; 
 And whilst I absent and forlorn 
 
 My pledges lost deplore. 
 Some rival gains of me in scorn 
 
 The enchantments I adore ! 
 
 But no, my bhss, my glory ! ne'er 
 
 Were given the winds in vain 
 Those vows, which envied me to share 
 
 The universe my gain. 
 
138 JUAN BAUTISTA DE ARRTAZA. 
 
 Let us time's tyranny defy. 
 And distance, constant thus 
 
 Remaining in that changeless tie, 
 That then united us. 
 
 When rises first the beamy sun. 
 
 When sets his beauteous ray. 
 When moon and stars their courses run. 
 
 On thee my thoughts will stay. 
 From that enchanting form my heart 
 
 No moment will be free ; 
 And traitress thou, when I depart 
 
 Wilt ne'er ev'n think of me ! 
 
 At lonely hours across my thought 
 
 GuK'd in the ocean vast. 
 The scenes to memory will be brought 
 
 With thee I saw and pass'd. 
 Then will my sorrows make me feel 
 
 My lot more dark to be. 
 And thou more cruel than the steel 
 
 Wilt ne'er ev'n think of me ! 
 
 " There first her matchless form I saw ; 
 
 There first my faith I swore ; 
 And from her flattering lips could draw 
 
 The happy 'Yes' they wore !" 
 
JUAN BAUTISTA DE ARRIASiA. 139 
 
 As these reflections by me file, 
 
 Kise griefs in like degree ; 
 And thou, who knows, if thou the while 
 
 Wilt e'er ev'n think of me ? 
 
 Then as I hours of glory call 
 
 Those when I thee beheld ; 
 And of my griefs the sources all 
 
 When from thy sight repelFd ; 
 A thousand times the thoughts enhance 
 
 The doom 't is mine to see, 
 Meanwhile who knows, if thou perchance 
 
 Wilt e'er ev'n think of me ? 
 
 When in the heavens I view unfurl'd 
 
 The awful signs arise, 
 With which the Ruler of the world 
 
 Poor mortals terrifies j 
 When sounds are in the deepest caves 
 
 Of horrid thunderings nigh, 
 And of the seas the troubled waves 
 
 Rage furiously on high ; 
 
 When by the south wind is impell'd 
 
 The proud Tyrrhenian main, 
 As if from its deep bosom swell'd 
 
 To assault the starry train ; 
 
140 JUAN BAUTISTA DE ARBIAZA. 
 
 When the despairing steersman turns 
 To prayer^ instead of skill, 
 
 Seeing his bark the ocean spurns 
 The plaything of its will ; 
 
 Amid the hoarse and troubled cries 
 
 The people raise around, 
 While shines the sword before their eyes 
 
 Of death, to strike them bound ; 
 Ev'n then will I my love's farewell 
 
 In that dark hour renew. 
 And to the winds my sighs shall tell — 
 
 Sylvia ! my life. Adieu ! 
 
VI. 
 MANUEL JOSE QUINTANA. 
 
 Connecting the present age of modern Spanish poetry with 
 that of the past generation, by a happily protracted existence, 
 as well as by the style and tone of his writings, the venerable 
 subject of this memoir still survives, to close a life of active 
 usefulness in a healthy and honoured old age. 
 
 Quintana was born at Madrid, the 11th April, 1773, of 
 a respectable family of Estremadura. He received his pri- 
 mary education in classical learning at Cordova, whence he 
 proceeded to Salamanca, and graduated there in canon and 
 civil law. In this university he had the advantage of study- 
 ing under Melendez Valdes, by whom he was soon favourably 
 noticed, and was made known to the illustrious Jovellanos, 
 by whose counsels also he had the good fortune to be assisted. 
 Thus his natural disposition for the study of elegant hterature 
 was encouraged, both by precept and example, under two 
 such able directors, to take a higher course than the mere 
 study of law, for which profession he was destined. 
 
 Having been admitted an Advocate of the Supreme Court, 
 he has held various appointments, as fiscal of the tribunal 
 of commerce, and censor of theatres; afterwards chief clerk 
 
143 MANUEL JOSE QUINTANA. 
 
 of the Siecretary-General to the Central Junta of Government, 
 secretary of decrees and interpretation of languages, member 
 of the censorship to the Cortes, and of the commission for 
 the formation of a new plan of education. In the last, he 
 was charged with the duty of drawing up a report of all the 
 works on the subject presented to the government, which 
 was, in 1835, approved of by the Cortes. 
 
 In the two former of these emplojrments he was interrupted 
 by the French invasion, when he took an active part against 
 the invaders. Receiving afterwards the other offices mentioned, 
 he wrote many of the proclamations and other addresses which 
 were put forth on the part of the national government, during 
 the struggle for independence. Throughout those eventful 
 times, he was in the most advanced rank of the party that 
 advocated constitutional rights, so that when Ferdinand VII. 
 returned to the possession of absolute power, in 1814, he 
 was, amongst the proscribed, made a prisoner, and confined in 
 the castle of Pamplona. 
 
 There he was kept six years, without being allowed to com- 
 municate with his friends, or make use of his pen. On the 
 constitutional government becoming re-established, he was 
 released, and restored to his offices as secretary for the inter- 
 pretation of languages, and member of the board of censors. 
 In 1821, the directorship-general of public education having 
 been formed, he was made president, until 1823, when the 
 constitution was again set aside, and he was again deprived 
 of his employments. 
 
 Hereupon Quintana retired to Estremadura to his family, 
 and lived there till the end of 1838, when he was permitted 
 to return to Madrid, to continue his labours and literary 
 studies. The following year he was named member of the 
 board for the museum of natural sciences, and in 1833 was re- 
 established in his former employment, as secretary for inter- 
 
MANUEL JOSB QUINTANA. 143 
 
 pretations, for which his knowledge of the French, Enghsh 
 and other languages rendered him qualified, and also reap- 
 pointed president of the council of public instruction. He 
 was shortly after appointed preceptor to her present Majesty, 
 Queen Isabel II., and although ever maintaining strong libe- 
 ral principles, has been since, under the administration of 
 Narvaez, named a senator of the kingdom. 
 
 Quintana first appeared as an author in 1795, when he 
 published a small volume of poems, among which was an Ode 
 to the Sea, considered one of his best compositions. The 
 greater part, however, of them were of unequal merit, and 
 those have been omitted in subsequent editions : the next 
 one was published in 1803, and it has been reprinted with 
 additions several times. The best and most complete edition 
 of his poetical works was published at Madrid, in ^ 182D^n 
 two volumes, entitled, ' Poems, including the patriotic odes 
 and tragedies, the Duke of Viseo, and Pelayo.' Of this edition 
 five or six surreptitious reprints have been made at Bordeaux 
 and elsewhere, the laws regarding copyright having only 
 lately been made accordant with justice in Spain as regards 
 authors, though they do not yet extend them protection 
 against piratical republications from abroad. 
 
 The tragedy of the ' Duke of Viseo,^ imitated from the En- 
 glish, the ' Castle Spectre ' of Lewis, was brought forward in 
 1801, and that of ' Pelayo ' in 1805. The latter, on a favourite 
 subject of their ancient history, was received with much 
 favour by his countrymen, as were also many of his patriotic 
 odes and poems, written in a spirit accordant with the national 
 feeling. Most of these were at the time inserted in two 
 periodical works he had under his direction ; the first, ' Varie- 
 dades de Ciencias, Literatura y Artes,' and the second, the 
 'Seminario Patriotico,' which was of a political character. 
 
144 MANUEL JOSE QUINTANA. 
 
 and established to promote, and sustain the spirit of inde- 
 pendence, against the French invasion. 
 
 Beyond his original poems, Quintana has done an im- 
 portant service to Spanish literature by publishing ' A Col- 
 lection of select Spanish Poetry,' altogether in six volumes, 
 Madrid, 1830-33, with critical and biographical notices, re- 
 printed in Paris by Baudry, 1838. These notices are written in 
 a tone of great impartiality and fairness, and are preceded by 
 a Dissertation, as an Introduction, on the History of Spanish 
 Poetry, which, written as it is with eminent ability, Mr. 
 Wiffen has shown great judgement in translating, prefixed to 
 his very correct and elegant version of the works of Garcilasso 
 de la Vega, London, 1833. Besides this valuable collection 
 of Spanish poetry, Quintana has favoured the public with a 
 work in three volumes, — 'Lives of celebrated Spaniards,' of 
 which the first volume was published in 1807, the other two 
 in 1830 and 1833 respectively. 
 
 The first volume, which has been translated into English 
 by Mr. Preston, London, 1823, contains the lives of the 
 earlier heroes of Spanish history, — the Cid Campeador, 
 Guzman the Good, Roger de Lauria, the Prince of Viana, 
 and Gonzalo de Cordova ; all bearing impressions of the en- 
 thusiastic and poetic feelings, characteristic of the compara- 
 tively youthful period of life at which they were written. It 
 was Quintana's intention to have proceeded with a series of 
 > like biographies ; but the subsequent public events, in which 
 he had to take so active a part, interrupted the task, and 
 when he resumed it, after the lapse of twenty years, it was 
 under the influence of other feelings. He then proceeded 
 principally with the lives of persons distinguished in American 
 history ; the second volume containing those of Vasco Nunez 
 de Balboa and Francisco Pizarro ; and the third volume those 
 
MANUEL JOSE QUINTANA. 145 
 
 of Alvaro de Luna, and Bartolome de las Casas. Of these 
 two volumes, the former has been translated into English by 
 Mrs. Hobson, Edinburgh, 1833 ; and of the third a transla- 
 tion has been announced, London, 1851 j both, and the latter 
 especially, well deserving of study. 
 
 In the first volume, treating of heroes, whose history, 
 almost lost in the obscurity of remote times, might be con- 
 sidered among the fabulous legends prevailing everywhere in 
 the first formations of society, it seemed only appropriate to 
 give a colouring of poetry, to characters of whose actions 
 nothing could be judged, except by their outward bearing. 
 But in the others he could write as a philosophic historian, 
 inquiring into the motives of actions, and teaching lessons of 
 public morality by individual examples. The life of Alvaro 
 is thus particularly interesting, depicting the caprices of 
 fortune, as they affect 
 
 The wish indulged in courts to shine, 
 And power too great to keep or to resign. 
 
 In the other lives he maintains the high tone of feeling 
 shown in his beautiful Ode to Balmis, the philanthropic 
 introducer of vaccination into America, where the ravages of 
 the disease, so graphically described by Humboldt, had made 
 this benefit more peculiarly desirable. 
 
 The generous sentiments expressed in this ode are such 
 as to do honour not only to Quintana, but also to the nation, 
 where they are in the present generation adopted, as we find 
 them repeated emphatically by so popular a writer as Larra. 
 More than thirty years had elapsed after writing that ode, 
 when Quintana, in the Life of the enthusiastic Las Casas, 
 proved his consistency of character and principles, by main- 
 taining them in a work of historical character, as he had done 
 in poetry in his youth. 
 
 In the prologue to the third volume he says, " The author 
 
 L 
 
146 MANUEL JOSE QTJINTANA. 
 
 will be accused of little regard for the honour of his country, 
 when he so frankly adopts the sentiments and principles of 
 the Protector of the Indians, whose imprudent writings have 
 been the occasion of so much opprobrium, and of sub- 
 ministering such arms to the detractors of Spanish glories. 
 But neither the extravagance or fanatical exaggerations of Las 
 Casas, nor the abuse which the mahgnity of strangers have 
 made of them, can erase from deeds their nature and cha- 
 racter. The author has not gone to imbibe them from sus- 
 picious fountains ; nor to judge them as he has done, has he 
 regarded other principles than those of natural equity, or 
 other feelings than those of his own heart. Documents care- 
 fully appended for this purpose, and the attentive perusal of 
 Herrera, Oviedo, and others our own writers as impartial and 
 judicious as those, give the same result in events and opinions. 
 What then was to be done ? To deny the impressions received, 
 and repel the decision which humanity and justice dictate, on 
 account of not compromising what is called the honour of 
 the country ? But the honour of a country consists in actions 
 truly great, noble and virtuous of its inhabitants; not in 
 gilding with justifications, or insufficient exculpations, those 
 that unfortunately bear on themselves the seal of being 
 iniquitous and cruel. To strangers who to depress us, accuse 
 us of cruelty and barbarity in our discoveries and conquests 
 of the New World, we might reply with other examples on 
 their own part, as or more atrocious than ours, and in times 
 
 and under circumstances sufficiently less excusable 
 
 " The great ■ glories and usefulnesses, which result from 
 expended conquests and dominations, are always bought at a 
 great price, whether of blood, or violence, or reputation and 
 fame : unhappy tribute to be paid even by nations the most 
 civilized, when the impulse of destiny bears them to the same 
 situation. Glorious, without doubt, was for us the discovery 
 
MANUEL JOSE QUINTANA. 147 
 
 of the New World ! But at what cost was it bought ! For 
 myself what affects me, leaving apart as not required here 
 the question of the advantages which Europe has derived 
 from that singular event, I will say, that wherever I find, 
 whether in the past or the present, aggressors and aggrieved, 
 oppressors and oppressed, on no account of ulterior utility, 
 nor even of national consideration, am I able to incline myself 
 to the former, or to fail in sympathizing with the latter. I 
 may have put therefore into this historical question more 
 entireness and candour than is commonly expected, when 
 referring to-our own conduct, but no odious prejudices, nor 
 an inclination to injure or detract. Let us everywhere give 
 some place in books to justice, now that unfortunately it is 
 wont to have so little left it in the affairs of the world." 
 
 Holding such high opinions in all his writings, it may be 
 seen that the youth of Spain cannot have a better guide to 
 take for private study than those writings, the best prepara- 
 tives for honourable exertion in life; and Quintana^s own 
 history shows, that whatever misfortunes may befall any one 
 individually, he does not labour or suffer in vain, who labours 
 or suffers honestly in a just cause. In another part of the 
 same prologue, Quintana says of his own lot, " Of this variety 
 of circumstances and continued alternations, from good to ill, 
 and from ill to good, not small has been the part fallen to 
 the author of this work. Drawn by the force of events from 
 his study and domestic lares, flattered and excessively exalted 
 now, afterwards borne down and contemned, falling into im- 
 prisonment and proceeded against capitally, destined to a 
 long and perhaps indefinite detention, deprived during it of 
 communications and even of his pen, released from it, when 
 he least hoped, to rise and prosper, and descending again 
 soon to be endangered, he has experienced all, and nothing 
 now can be to him new. Let it not be supposed from this 
 
 L 2 
 
148 MANUEL JOSE QQINTANA. 
 
 that he puts it forth here as a merits and less, that he pre- 
 sents it in complaint. For of whom should I complain ? Of 
 men ? These in the midst of my greatest calamities, with 
 very few exceptions, have shown themselves constantly re- 
 gardful, benevolent, and even respectful towards me. Of 
 fortune ? And what pledges had she given me to moderate 
 for me the rigour with which she treated the rest ? Were 
 they not of as much or more value than I ? Political and 
 moral turbulences are the same as the great physical dis- 
 orders, in which the elements becoming excited, no one is 
 sheltered from their fury." 
 
 Resigning himself thus to his fate, Quintana seems to have 
 learned the philosophical secret of preserving his equanimity 
 in all the vicissitudes of life, to the enjoyment of a tranquil 
 old age. The privilege of attaining this is a favour to every 
 one, to whom it is granted ; but its highest enjoyments must 
 be consequent only on a life of active usefulness, with a con- 
 science void of offence. The man of cultivated mind, who 
 has been called upon to do or to suffer more than others his 
 fellows in the turmoils of the world, may then be supposed 
 to receive his greater reward in the remembrances of scenes, 
 happier perhaps in the retrospect than in the reality, which 
 may have given them even the semblance of a longer exist- 
 ence. As perspectives appear lengthened, according to the 
 number and variety of objects that intervene to the view, so 
 life itself may appear to have been longer or shorter, accord- 
 ing to the memory and character of events witnessed in its 
 course. Described as a person of athletic form, yet unbowed 
 by the burden of fourscore years, Quintana, as before observed, 
 still survives, to receive the honour justly due to him for his 
 honourable exertions through life, the remembrances of which 
 may thus give him more pleasurable enjoyments, than can be 
 supposed to fall to the lot of ordinary mortals. 
 
MANUEL JOSE QUINTANA. 149 
 
 As a poetj if a foreigner may be allowed to express an opi- 
 nion, for which he has no native authority to adduce, Quiu- 
 tana may be said to be more eloquent than poetical. As 
 QuintiUan said of Lucan, both also natives of Spain, " ut 
 dieam quod sentio, magis oratoribus quam poetis annume- 
 randus." Quintana's eloquence consists in earnestness more 
 than in flights of fancy. His favourite subjects were the glo- 
 ries of his country ; ■ and his patriotic odes, in which he endea- 
 voured to incite his countrymen to imitate the examples of 
 their forefathers, have been pronounced his best compositions. 
 He has as a poet paid his tribute of admiration to beauty and 
 the arts ; but his whole soul seems to be poured forth when 
 pathetically mourning over the dimmed glories of his country, 
 as when at the thought " of our miserable squadrons flying 
 before the British," he turns to the PadiUias and Guzmans 
 of former days, " when the Spaniard was master of half of 
 Europe, and threw himself upon unknown and immense seas 
 to give a new world to men." 
 
 As a patriotic poet Quintana has been compared to Be- 
 ranger, and is said to have had the same power over the minds 
 of his countrymen. If the parallel be correct, it may be 
 curious to consider how characteristically these two poets ap- 
 peal to the feelings of their admirers j one by songs and in- 
 cidents, which though often trivial, yet speak to the heart in 
 its most sensitive points, while the other proceeds to the same 
 object by martial odes of commanding austerity. Besides the 
 Ode to Balmis, the other one in this work, on the Battle of 
 Trafalgar, has been chosen for translation, as most likely to 
 interest the English reader, though it may not be in itself so 
 much to be admired as some others of his poems. The reader 
 will perhaps observe a constrained style in it, even beyond 
 that of translatidn, — sentiments forced, as if the subject had 
 not been taken voluntarily. It must not therefore be looked 
 
150 MANUEL JOSE QUINTANA. 
 
 upon as a favourable specimen of Quintana's genius^ like the 
 Ode to Balmis, which more fully shows the character of his 
 mind. 
 
 Quintana, more than other poets of his time, has written in 
 one style of verse, as in imitation of the Pindaric ode, or of 
 our Gray and- Dryden. Thus with free metres and often 
 unfettered by rhyme, he has a staid measured tone, well suited 
 to the subjects he has generally adopted. They are con- 
 sidered in Spain as of an elegiac character ; and as accordant 
 with them, they have fallen in the translation into the form 
 of our elegies, or the heroic lines with alternate rhymes, the 
 style of verse which Dryden, a high authority on such a ques- 
 tion, pronounced " the most magnificent of all the measures 
 which our language afibrds." 
 
 Much as Quintana has published, both of his own works 
 and of the works of others, for the advancement of sound 
 learning and moral instruction, we have still great cause to 
 regret that the circumstances of the times in which he has 
 lived have prevented him from publishing more. Not only 
 has he been interrupted in the course of those instructive 
 biographies, of which we have such valuable beginnings, but 
 we might have hoped, if he had lived in more peaceful times, 
 that he would have given the world some work, of a character 
 more distiactively his own, to place his name still higher in 
 the history of elegant literature. It was one of the maxims 
 of the wise JoveUanos, " that it was not sufficient for the pur- 
 poses of good government to keep the people qiiiet, but that 
 they ought to be kept contented." Without this condition 
 the other cannot be expected ; and for all public commotions, 
 therefore, the rulers are always most responsible, as unmindful 
 of this truth. The greatest evil is, when the whole literary 
 world has thus also further cause to complain of their mis- 
 deeds, as affecting those who were endowed with talents of a 
 
MANUEL JOSE QUINTANA. 151 
 
 higher order, such as to make all men interested in their 
 well-being. It is to be hoped that we are now, under the 
 benignant reign of Isabel the Second, entitled to expect a 
 more liberal government, and the advent of a still brighter 
 sera for the literature of Spain. 
 
 Taking the space of eighty years, as comprehending the 
 period during which modern Spanish poetry has been pecu- 
 liarly distinguished for superior excellence, we may now make 
 a further division of this period, into the former and latter 
 parts of it. All the poets, whose lives we have hitherto traced, 
 wrote their principal works previously to the year 1810 ; after 
 which time we have a succession of writers, whose genius may 
 perhaps be found to take a yet wider range of thought and 
 feeling, consequent on the extended field of knowledge, which 
 later events presented to their observation. 
 
MANUEL JOSE QUINTANA. 
 
 TO THE SPANISH EXPEDITION FOR THE 
 PROMOTION OF VACCINATION IN AMERICA, 
 
 UNDER DON FRANCISCO BALMIS. 
 
 Fair Virgin of the world, America ! 
 
 Thou who so innocent to heaven display'st 
 Thy bosom stored with plenty's rich array. 
 
 And brow of gentle youth ! Thou, who so graced 
 The tenderest and most lovely of the zones 
 
 Of mother Earth to shine, shouldst be of fate 
 The sweet delight and favour'd love it owns. 
 
 That but pursues thee with relentless hate. 
 Hear me ! If ever was a time mine eyes. 
 
 When scanning thy eventful history, 
 Did not burst forth in tears ; if could thy cries 
 
 My heart e'er hear unmoved, from pity free 
 
MANUEL JOSE QUINTANA. 153 
 
 And indignation ; then let me disclaim'd 
 
 Of virtue be eternally as held. 
 And barbarous and wicked be one named 
 
 As those who with such ruin thee assail'd. 
 
 In the eternal book of life are borne, 
 
 Written in blood, those cries, which then sent forth 
 Thy lips to Heaven, such fury doom'd to mourn. 
 
 And yet agaiast my country call iu wrath. 
 Forbidding glory and success attend 
 
 The fatal field of crimes. Will they ne'er cease ? 
 WUl not the bitter expiation end 
 
 Sufficed of three eventful centuries ? 
 We are not now those who on daring's wing. 
 
 Before the world, the Atlantic's depths disdain' d. 
 And from the silence found thee covering, 
 
 That fiercely tore thee, bleeding and enchain'd ! 
 
 " No, ye are not the same. But my lament 
 
 Is not for this to cease : I could forget 
 The rigours which my conquerors relent. 
 
 Their avarice with cruelties beset : 
 The crime was of the age, and not of Spain. 
 
 But when can I forget the evils sore 
 WTiich I must miserably yet sustain ? 
 
 Among them one, come, see what I deplore, 
 
]54 MANUEL JOSE QUINTANA. 
 
 If horror will not you deter. From you, 
 
 Your fatal ships first launched, the mortal pest. 
 The poison that now desolates me flew. 
 
 As in doom'd plains by ruthless foes oppress'd, 
 As serpent that incessantly devours, 
 
 So ever from your coming, to consume 
 Has it raged o^er me. See here, how it lowers ! 
 
 And in the hidden place of death and gloom. 
 Buries my children and my loves. Aflbrds 
 
 Your skill no remedy ? ! ye, who call 
 Yourselves as of America the lords. 
 
 Have pity on my agony. See, fall 
 Beneath your insane fury, not sufficed 
 
 One generation, but a hundred slain ! 
 And I expiring, desolate, unprized, 
 
 Beseech assistance, and beseech in vain." 
 
 Such were the cries that to Olympus rose, 
 
 When in the fields of Albion found remote, 
 Variola's fell havocs to oppose. 
 
 Kind Nature show'd the happy antidote. 
 The docile mother of the herd was found 
 
 Enrich'd with this great gift ; there stored attent 
 Where from her copious milky founts around 
 
 She gives so many life and aliment. 
 Jenner to mortals first the gift reveal'd : 
 
 Thenceforward mothers to their hearts could press 
 
MANUEL JOSE QUINTANA. 155 
 
 Their children without fear to lose them heal'd ; 
 
 Nor feared thenceforward in her loveliness 
 The maiden, lest the fatal venom spoil 
 
 Her cheek of roses, or her brow of snow. 
 All Europe then is joinM in grateful toil. 
 
 For gift so precious and immense to know, 
 In praises loud to echo Jennei-'s name ; 
 
 And altars to his skill to raise decrees, 
 There to long ages hallowing his fame. 
 
 Beside their tutelar divinities. 
 
 Of such a glory at the radiant light, 
 
 With noble emulation filFd his breast, 
 A Spaniard rose, — " Let not my country slight," 
 
 He cried, " on such a great occasion's test. 
 Her ancient magnanimity to employ. ^ 
 
 'T is fortune's gift discovering it alone ; 
 That let an Englishman his right enjoy. 
 
 Let Spain's sublime and generous heart be shown, 
 Giving her majesty more honour true, 
 
 By carrying this treasure to the lands 
 Which most the evil's dire oppressions knew. 
 
 There, for I feel a deity commands. 
 There will I fly, and of the raging wave 
 
 Will brave in bearing it the furious strife ; 
 America's infested plains to save 
 
 From death, as planting there the tree of life." 
 
156 MANUEL JOSE QUINTANA. 
 
 He spoke, and scarcely from his burning lip 
 
 These echoes had beneficently flow'd, 
 When floating in the port, prepared the ship, 
 
 To give' commencement to so blest a road. 
 Moved spreading her white canvas to the air. 
 
 On his fate launch'd himself the aeronaut. 
 Waves of the sea, in favouring calmness bear. 
 
 As sacred, this deposit to be brought 
 Through your serene and liquid fields. There goes 
 
 Of thousand generations long the hope ; 
 Nor whelm it, nor let thunder it oppose ; 
 
 Arrest the lightning, with no storms to cope. 
 Stay them until that from those fertile shores 
 
 Come forth the prows, triumphant in their pride. 
 That fraught remote with all their golden stores. 
 
 With vice and curses also come allied. 
 
 Honour to Balmis ! 0, heroic soul ! 
 
 That in such noble toil devotest thy breath. 
 Go fearless to thy end. The dreadful roll 
 
 Of ocean always hoarse, and threatening death ; 
 The fearful whirlpool's aU-devouring throat. 
 
 The cavem'd rock's black face, where dash'd by fate, 
 Break the wreck'd barks, the dangers they denote 
 
 Greatest are not most cruel thee that wait. 
 Prom man expect them ! Impious, envious man, 
 
 In error wrapp'd and blind, will prove him bent, 
 
MANUEL JOSE QUINTANA. 157 
 
 When hush'd against thee is the hurricane. 
 
 To combat rough the generous intent. 
 But firmly and secure press forward on ; 
 
 And hold in mind, when comes for strife the day. 
 That without constant, anxious toil, can none 
 
 Hope glory's palms to seize, and bear away. 
 
 At length thou comest ; America salutes 
 
 Her benefactor, and at once her veins 
 The destined balm to purify deputes. 
 
 A further generous ardour then regains 
 Thy breast ; and thou, obedient to the hand 
 
 Divine that leads thee, turn'st the sounding prow 
 Where Ganges rolls, and every Eastern land 
 
 The gift may take. The Southern Ocean now 
 Astonished sees thee, o'er her mighty breast 
 
 Untiring passing. Luzon thee admires. 
 Good always sowing on thy road impress'd : 
 
 And as it China's toilsome shore acquires, 
 Confucius from his tomb of honoured fame, 
 
 If could his venerable form arise. 
 To see it in glad wonder might exclaim, 
 
 " 'T was worthy of my virtue, this emprise ! " 
 
 Right worthy was it of thee, mighty sage ! 
 Worthy of that divine and highest light, 
 
158 MANUEL JOSE QUINTANA. 
 
 Which reason and which virtue erst array'd 
 
 To shine in happier days, now quench'd in night. 
 Thou, Balmis ! never mayst return ; nor grows 
 
 In Europe now the sacred laurel meet 
 With which to crown thee. There in calm repose, 
 
 Where peace and independence a retreat 
 May find, there rest thee ! where thou mayst receive 
 
 At length the august reward of deeds so blest. 
 Nations immense shall come for thee to grieve, 
 
 Raising in grateful hymns to Heaven address'd 
 Thy name with fervorous zeal. And though now laid 
 
 In the cold tomb's dark precincts thou refuse 
 To hear them, listen to them thus convey'd 
 
 At least, as in the accents of my Muse. 
 
 ON THE BATTLE OE TRAFALGAR. 
 
 Not with an easy hand wills Eate to give 
 Nations, or heroes, power and renown : 
 
 Triumphant Rome, whose empire to receive 
 A hemisphere submissively bow'd down. 
 
MANUEL JOSE QUINTANA. 159 
 
 Yielding itself in silent servitude^ 
 
 How often did she vanquish'd groan ? repell'd 
 As she her course of loftiness pursued ! 
 
 Her ground to Hannibal she scarcely held ; 
 Italian blood of Trevia the sands. 
 
 And wavy Thrasymenus deeply dyed, 
 And Roman matrons the victorious bands 
 
 Of Cannae nigh approaching them descried, 
 As some portentous comet fearful lower. 
 
 Who drove them thence ? Who from the Capitol 
 Turn'd on the throne, that founded Dido's power. 
 
 The clouds that threatened then o'er them to roll ? 
 Who in the fields of Zama, from the yoke 
 
 They feared, with direful slaughter to set free, 
 At length the sceptre of great Carthage broke. 
 
 With which she held her sovereignty, the sea ? 
 
 Unswerving courage ! that alone the shield 
 
 That turns adversity's sharp knife aside : 
 To joy turns sorrow ; bids despair to yield 
 
 To glory, and of fortune Jearns to guide 
 The dubious whirlwind, victory in its train ; 
 
 For a high-minded race commands its fate. 
 0, Spain ! my country ! covering thy domain. 
 
 The mourning shows how great thy suffering state ; 
 But still hope on, and with undaunted brow. 
 
 From base dejection free, behold the walls 
 
160 MANUEL JOSE QUINTANA. 
 
 Of thy own lofty GadeSj which avow 
 
 Thy strength, though fate them now awhile appals ; 
 Which though affrighted, hlushing in their shame, 
 
 As bathing them around the waves extend. 
 Yet loud thy sons' heroic deeds proclaim. 
 
 Far on the sounding billows they defend. 
 
 From the proud castled poop that crowns his high 
 
 Indomitable ship, the Briton round 
 Look'd, on his power and glory to rely. 
 
 And boastful cried, " Companions renown'd ! 
 See, there they come : new trophies to attain 
 
 Wait your unconquer'd arms ; the feeble pines 
 That Spain prepares for her defence in vain : 
 
 Fate from our yoke exemption none assigns. 
 We are the sons of Neptune. Do they dare 
 
 To plough the waves before us ? Call to mind 
 Aboukir's memorable day ! to share 
 
 Another such a triumph : let us find 
 One moment as sufficing us to come. 
 
 To conquer, and destroy them.. Grant it me. 
 Kind fate ! and let us crown'd with laurels home 
 
 Our wealthy Thames again returning see." 
 
 He spoke, and spread his sails. With swimming prows 
 Opening the waves, they follow him elate. 
 
MANUEL JOSE QUINTANA. 161 
 
 Conquerors of winds and waves. With dauntless brow 
 
 The Spaniards view them, and in calmness wait, 
 Contemning their fierce arrogance, and high 
 
 Their bosoms beating with indignant rage. 
 Just anger ! sacred ardour ! " There come nigh 
 
 Those cruel foes, who hasten war to wage. 
 And spin our blood, when we reposed secure 
 
 Beneath the wings of peace. They who are led 
 By avarice vile ; who friendship's laws abjure ; 
 
 Who in their endless tyranny o'erspread 
 Would hold condemn'd the seas ; who to unite. 
 
 As brothers, pride and insolence of power 
 With treachery and rapacity delight ; 
 
 Who " — ^but with mantle dark night brings the hour 
 To enwrap the world. Wandering round the shrouds 
 
 Are frightful shades, dire slaughter that portend 
 And fearful expectations raise. Through opening clouds 
 
 The day displays the field, where wildly blend 
 Fury and death ; and horrid Mars the scene 
 
 Swells loud with shouts of war, upraised in air 
 His standard high. To answer intervene 
 
 From hollow brass the mortal roarings glare. 
 The echo thunders, and the waves resound. 
 
 Dashing themselves in rage to Afric's shore : 
 In confiict fly the ships to ships around. 
 
 By rancour moved. Less violent its store 
 
 M 
 
163 MANUEL JOSE QUINTANA. 
 
 Of heap'd-up ice in mountains, the South Pole 
 
 Emits immense, loud thundering through the waves 
 To glide, and on the adventurous seaman roll. 
 
 Nor with less clamour loosen'd from their caves 
 Rush the black tempests, when the East and North, 
 
 Troubling the heavens enraged in furious war. 
 And dire encounter, all their strength put forth. 
 
 And shake the centre of the globe afar. 
 
 Thrice the fierce islander advanced to break 
 
 Our squadron's wall, confiding in his might : 
 Thrice by the Spanish force repulsed, to shake 
 
 His hopes of victory he sees the fight. 
 Who shall depict his fury and his rage. 
 
 When with that flag before so proud he saw 
 The flag of Spain invincible engage ? 
 
 'T is not to skill or valour to o'erawe, 
 Solely he trusts to fortune for success. 
 
 Doubling his ships, redoubhng them again. 
 From poop to prow, from side to side to press. 
 
 In an unequal fight is made sustain 
 Each Spanish ship a thousand, thousand fires ; 
 
 And they with equal breath that death receive 
 So send it back. No, not to my desires. 
 
 If heaven would grant it me, could I achieve 
 The task that day's heroic deeds to tell, 
 
 Not with a hundred tongues ; hid from the sun 
 
MANUEL JOSE QUINTANA. 163 
 
 By smoke, Fame's trumpet shall their praises swell, 
 And bronze and marble for their names be won. 
 
 At length the nioment comes, when Death extends 
 
 His pale and horrid hand, to signalize 
 Great victims. Brave Alcedo to him bends. 
 
 And nobly Moyua, with Castanios, dies. 
 And Alcaic,, Churruca, also ye ! 
 
 Of Betis and Guipuzcoa the pride. 
 ! if Fate knew to spare, would it not be 
 
 Enough to soothe, upon your brows allied 
 Minerva's olive with Mars' laurels seen ? 
 
 From your illustrious and inquiring mind 
 What could the world, or stars, their mysteries screen ? 
 
 Of your great course the traces left behind 
 The Cyclades are full, nor less the seas 
 
 Of far America. How seeks to mourn. 
 New tears from her sad heart her grief to appease, 
 
 The widow'd land such heroes from her torn ; 
 And still she sheds them o'er your cruel fate. 
 
 ! that ye two could live, and I in place 
 Of grief, of sorrowing song, to consecrate 
 
 To you the funeral accents that I raise. 
 Might have opposed my bosom to the stroke. 
 
 And thus my useless life my country give ! 
 That I might thus your cruel lot revoke. 
 
 To bear the wounds, so that ye two might live ! 
 
 M 2 
 
164 MANUEL JOSE QUINTANA. 
 
 And she might proudly raise her front anew, 
 Victorious crown'd with rays of glory bright, 
 
 Her course 'gainst arduous fortune to pursue, 
 Triumphant in your wisdom and your might. 
 
 Yet fell ye not, ye generous squadrons ! there. 
 
 Without revenge and slaughter. Spreading wide, 
 Kivers of English blood your powers declare. 
 
 And Albion also horror-struck descried 
 Mountains of bodies weigh, a heavy pile. 
 
 On her so proud Armada. Nelson, too ! 
 Terrible shade ! 0, think not, no, that vile 
 
 My voice to name thee, e'er an insult threw 
 On thy last sigh. As English I abhor. 
 
 But hero I admire thee. O, thy fate ! 
 Of captive ships a crowd, the spoils of war. 
 
 The Thames awaits, and now exults elate 
 To hail with shouts the conqueror's return ! 
 
 But only pale and cold beholds her Chief ! 
 Great lesson left for human pride to learn. 
 
 And worthy holocaust for Spanish grief. 
 
 Yet still the rage of Mars impels the arm 
 Of destiny ; mow'd down unnumber'd lives. 
 
 By fury launch'd, voracious flames alarm ; 
 
 On every side planks burning. Loosely drives 
 
MANUEL JOSE QUINTANA. 165 
 
 Each ship a fierce volcano ; blazing high 
 
 Through the wide air 't is raisedj and thrown again 
 With horrid bursting in the seas to lie, 
 
 EnguK'd. Do other havocs yet remain ? 
 YeSj for that Heaven, displeased to see such foes. 
 
 Bids the inclement north winds rise to part 
 The furious combatants, and day to close 
 
 In stormy night. 'T is order' d, and athwart 
 They throw themselves the miserable barks. 
 
 Lashing the waves on high with cruel wings. 
 As each this new unequal combat marks 
 
 For ruin, falls the mast, and over swings 
 Trembhng beneath the assault. The hulls divide. 
 
 And where the gaping seams the waves invite. 
 They enter, while the dying Spaniards cried, 
 
 " ! that we were to perish, but in fight ! " 
 
 In that remorseless conflict, high in air. 
 
 Then shining forth their glorious forms displayed 
 The mighty champions, who of old to bear 
 
 The trident and the spear, supreme had made 
 Before the Iberian flag the nations bow. 
 
 There Lauria, Trovar, and Bazan were seen. 
 And Aviles, their brother heroes now 
 
 Of Spain to welcome, and in death convene. 
 " Come among us," they cried, " among the brave 
 
 You emulate. Already you have gain'd 
 
166 MANUEL JOSE QUINTANA. 
 
 Your fair reward. The example that you gave 
 
 Of valour, Spain in constancy sustained 
 Her warriors shows, inciting to prepare 
 
 For other conflicts they undaunted greet. 
 Look to the city of Alcides ! there 
 
 Gravina, A\a.vk and Escanio meet ! 
 Cisneros and a hundred more combine 
 
 There in firm column, with proud hopes to bless 
 Our native land. Come, fly ye here, and shine 
 
 In heaven their stars of glory, and success." 
 
MODEEN POETS 
 
 AND 
 
 POETRY OP SPAIN. 
 
 PART II. 
 
VII. 
 ERANCISOO MARTINEZ DE LA ROSA. 
 
 Throughout the civilized world, and even beyond it, this 
 eminent statesman has long been heard of, as one who, vifhile 
 devoting his life faithfully to promote the welfare of his own 
 country^ had exerted himself no less assiduously for the gene- 
 ral interests of mankind. As an orator, a statesman and a 
 poHtical writer, he has thus obtained a deservedly high Euro- 
 pean reputation, due to his services and merits. In Spain he 
 is further known as one of the first literary characters of 
 whom his country has to boast, and as a dramatist and lyric 
 poet of a very superior order. 
 
 Martinez de la Rosa was born the 10th March, 1789, at 
 Granada, where also he received his education, completing it 
 at the University in that city. Before the age of twenty he 
 had gone through the usual course of study in the ancient 
 and some of the modern languages, in philosophy, mathe- 
 matics, canon and civil law, with such success as to have 
 been enabled to undertake a professorship of philosophy there, 
 perfecting himself in the art of oratory, in which his natural 
 talents already had become manifest, as they soon afterwards 
 gave him the means of greater distinction. From those pur- 
 
170 FRANCISCO MARTINEZ DE LA ROSA. 
 
 suits he was called away^ in 1808^ on the occurrence of the 
 French invasion^ to take an active part in the struggle for 
 national independence, into which he entered with youthful 
 ardour, by public declamations, and by writing in a periodical 
 instituted to maintain it. 
 
 As the French arms advanced victoriously, Martinez de la 
 Rosa, with others of the party who had been most conspicuous 
 in their opposition to them, had to take refuge in Cadiz. 
 He was first employed to proceed to Gibraltar, as his future 
 colleague, the Conde de Toreno, had been sent to London, to 
 obtain a cessation of hostilities, in the war then yet existing 
 between England and Spain, and concert measures of alliance 
 against the French. In this mission he had the desired suc- 
 cess, having further obtained from the governor of Gibraltar 
 arms and ammunition, which enabled the Spanish forces 
 under Castanios to march and obtain, at Bailen, the memo- 
 rable triumph of the 19th July, 1808. In consequence of 
 this victory, the French had to evacuate Madrid, and the 
 Central Junta was formed, superseding the first actors in the 
 conflict. On this, Martinez de la Rosa took advantage of the 
 circumstances to go to England, and observe there himself, 
 says his biographer, the celebrated Pacheco, "in its birth- 
 place, where it was natural, complete and necessary, that re- 
 presentative system, which the spirit of reform wished to 
 bring over for the people of the Continent." Wolf says he 
 had there a diplomatic commission, adding, that he took ad- 
 vantage of it " to familiarize himself with the English consti- 
 tution, for which he always had a great predilection." 
 
 Whether he had public duties entrusted to him or not, 
 Martinez de la Rosa seems then to have stayed some time in 
 London, studying the workings of the parliamentary system, 
 the good fruits of which he, as Mirabeau had before him, 
 found in his legislative career. There he printed, in 1811, 
 
FRANCISCO MARTINEZ DE LA ROSA. 171 
 
 his poem, Zaragoza, written in competition for the prize offered 
 by the Central Junta, in celebration of the defence of that 
 city in 1809, and there also he wrote several other poems. 
 The one of Zaragoza seems not to have been reprinted in 
 Spain till the publication of his collected poems in Madrid in 
 1833, and no adjudication ever was made on the compositions 
 prepared at the suggestion of the Junta, but it is stated that 
 the judges had unanimously agreed to confer on him the 
 premium offered in the name of the nation. 
 
 In 1811 the French armies had driven the assertors of 
 national independence from all the other principal parts of 
 Spain to Cadiz, and there the Cortes were convoked to meet. 
 There then, Martinez de la Rosa returned, and though not 
 yet of the age required by law to be chosen a Deputy, he 
 took part in all the deliberations of the national councils, and 
 was appointed Secretary to the commission on the freedom of 
 the press. Meanwhile the siege of Cadiz was commenced by 
 the French and pressed unremittingly ; but the spirit of the 
 defenders did not fail them. Martinez de la Rosa and Quin- 
 tana continued their literary labours, and the former pro- 
 duced a comedy and a tragedy, both of which were received 
 with much favour. The latter continues a favourite on the 
 stage, on a subject well chosen from Spanish history, and en- 
 titled the ' Widow of Padillia.' To use his own words, " It 
 was represented, for the first time, in July 1812, and in days 
 so unfortunate, that it could not be produced even in the 
 theatre at Cadiz, on account of the great danger from the 
 bombs of the enemy, which had nearly caused, a little before, 
 the destruction of the building, crowded at the time with a 
 numerous audience. For this reason they had to erect a 
 theatre of wood in another part of the city, at a distance from 
 where the French artillery had directed their aim." 
 
 Shortly after this the siege was raised, and the French 
 
173 FRANCISCO MARTINEZ DE LA ROSA. 
 
 having again evacuated Madrid, the Cortes were convoked to 
 assemble there, when Martinez de la Rosa was elected Deputy 
 for his native city. He had throughout the struggle joined 
 the most active members of the hberal party, Arguelles, 
 Quintana and others, who, all honourable and patriotic cha- 
 racters, had acted in perfect sincerity in forming the Consti- 
 tution of 1813, as it was called, which they hoped would 
 secure the future freedom of the country. 
 
 In this, however, they found themselves mistaken ; the re- 
 presentative system had scarcely time to develope its advan- 
 tages, when it was overthrown entirely on the return of Fer- 
 dinand to Spain, who, by his decree of the 4th of May, 1814, 
 annulled the Constitution, and dissolved the Cortes. Had he 
 been contented with this, as in re-assumption of the regal 
 authority exercised by his predecessors, the liberal party 
 might have had only to lament the abrupt termination of 
 their hopes. But, unfortunately, proceedings still more arbi- 
 trary were commenced against their leaders individually, of a 
 nature unknown, even in Spain, till then, and in comparison 
 with which the rule of the Prince of the Peace was a pattern 
 of toleration. As those leaders had not been guilty of any 
 act which could make them amenable to any legal tribunal, 
 Ferdinand VII. took on himself to pass the sentences he 
 chose to inflict on them for the opinions they had held, and 
 the conduct they had pursued, in the momentous struggle for 
 national independence, resulting in his restoration. The par- 
 tisans of the Absolute King wished to extort from Martinez 
 de la Rosa a retractation of the opinions he had maintained ; 
 but they miscalculated his character. He refused to hsten 
 to their overtures, and he was sentenced to ten years' impri- 
 sonment in the penal settlement of Gomera in Africa. 
 
 In 1830 a reaction took place, and the constitutional party 
 again obtained possession of the government. Martinez de 
 
FRANCISCO MARTINEZ DE LA ROSA. 173 
 
 la Rosa had then passed six years of unjust imprisonment, 
 when he was recalled to Spain, and was received, in his native 
 city, with triumphal arches erected to welcome him, and other 
 tokens of public respect and rejoicing. At the first election 
 of deputies afterwards for the Cortes, he was sent with that 
 character from Granada, but his sentiments on pubhc affairs 
 had become considerably modified. Others of the liberal 
 party had returned from exile or imprisonment with exaspe- 
 rated feelings ; but Martinez de la Eosa had employed his 
 time more philosophically, in considering the means that 
 should be adopted, to use his own expression, " for resolving 
 the problem, most important for the human race, how to 
 unite order with hberty." Avoiding all extreme opinions, he 
 gave his support to the ministry he found existing and their 
 successors, as the means of preserving order, until they fell 
 under the combination of unworthy jealousies among their 
 own party, and the constant attacks of those holding the ex- 
 treme opinions of democracy and absolutism. 
 
 On the 1st March, 1831, Martinez de la Rosa was called 
 on to form a ministry, which duty he finally undertook, 
 though he had at first strenuously declined it. He had good 
 reason to decHne it, as the king himself was throughout that 
 period plotting against his own ministers and government, to 
 re-establish himself in absolute power. At the end of June, 
 Martinez de la Rosa found himself under the necessity of 
 tendering his resignation, and insisting upon its being ac- 
 cepted, though both the king and the council at first refused 
 to do so. The moderate course which he wished to follow 
 pleased neither party ; and even he, who had suffered six years 
 of unjust imprisonment in the popular cause, was now looked 
 on as a traitor by the people, and ran great risk of being 
 murdered in a public commotion raised in the city. Had he 
 chosen to take a more decisive part, either on the one side or 
 
174 FRANCISCO MARTINEZ DE LA ROSA. 
 
 the other, the weight of his character would no doubt have 
 given it the preponderance. As it was, the question was de- 
 cided by the invasion of the French under the Due d'Angou- 
 leme, who restored Ferdinand VII. to his former authority. 
 
 When the French entered Spain, the constitutionahst go- 
 vernment had retired to Seville; but Martinez de la Rosa 
 had been obliged, from illness, to remain at Madrid. There 
 being called upon to give in his adhesion to the authority 
 imposed by foreign arms on the nation, he declined to do so, 
 and thought himself fortunate in having no severer penalty 
 to suffer thereupon, than to have his passport given him to 
 go from Spain, while others had to suffer so much more 
 severely. He then retired to Paris, where he resided eight 
 years, paying occasional visits to Italy, and though not pro- 
 scribed directly as an exile, yet he was not allowed to return 
 to his country. 
 
 During those eight years he devoted his leisure to hte- 
 rary pursuits, and composed most of those works on which 
 his fame must permanently rest ; such as his poem, ' Arte 
 Poetica / his very beautiful ' Ode on the Death of the Duchess 
 de Frias,' and several plays; among them the 'Tragedy of 
 the Conspiracy of Venice,' considered the best of all he had 
 written. Thus occupied in endeavouring to make future 
 generations wiser and better, Martinez de la Rosa gained 
 increased respect at home with his increased reputation 
 abroad ; and on the moderating of the fii'st angry party-feel- 
 ings in Spain, was at the end of eight years allowed to return 
 to Granada. 
 
 The events of 1830 had produced the effect in Spain of 
 milder councils being adopted in the government, which pre- 
 vailed still more on the Queen Christina assuming power, 
 first on the illness of the king, and afterwards as Regent on 
 his death in 1833. Martinez de la Rosa had then been per- 
 
FRANCISCO MARTINEZ DE LA ROSA. 1 75 
 
 mitted to return to Madrid, and in this latter year he pub- 
 lished the first collection of his poems, dedicating himself to 
 writing at the same time his ' Life of Perez del Pulgar,' one 
 of the old warriors of Spain, and other works. From these 
 labours he was then called to undertake again the duties of 
 government. The existing ministry formed under a former 
 line of policy, was not suitable to the exigences of the times, 
 rendered still more pressing now by the pretensions of Don 
 Carlos to the throne. It was necessary to oppose those pre- 
 tensions, by obtaining the zealous aid of the constitutional 
 party; and Martinez de la Eosa was chosen as the leader, 
 embodying in himself the characteristics of moderation and 
 just principles, to form a ministry. 
 
 It does not become a foreigner, least of all in a purely 
 literary work, to enter in judgement on any questions of a 
 political nature. The best-intentioned persons in the world 
 may take different views of the same question, under the 
 same emergences, and the wisdom of any particular measure 
 is not always to be judged of by the result. In the conflicts of 
 contending parties, the most unscrupulous and daring may 
 often succeed, where wiser and better men may fail. Of 
 Martinez de la Eosa, his biographer has observed, that " he 
 was one of those men who would not conspire even for good 
 ends unlawfully; and that if he could not obtain what he 
 wished by just means, he would cross his arms, and leave the 
 rest to Providence." The events of those years present 
 much ground for regret for all parties, and it is a truly 
 honourable consideration for such a one as Martinez de la 
 Eosa, that, acting according to the best of his judgement 
 on many very difficult occasions, he might have been com- 
 pelled to yield to force and violence, without any imputation 
 on his probity or statesmanship. 
 
 But if it be beyond our consideration of duty to enter on 
 
176 FRANCISCO MARTINEZ DE LA ROSA. 
 
 questions of internal polity, there are two others, connected 
 with his administration, to which we may venture to refer, as 
 to be judged of by those great principles of right and justice, 
 which are applicable to all times and all countries, and be- 
 come thus fairly subject to commendation or censure, as 
 affecting the general interests of mankind. 
 
 Though Martinez de la Rosa bad been one of the principal 
 actors among those who had established the Constitution of 
 1813, for which also he suffered as a prisoner and an exile, 
 he learned soon to perceive that it required considerable 
 modifications in a country like Spain, where the people were 
 not fully prepared to receive it. One of his first measures 
 then was to promulgate what might be termed a new Consti- 
 tution, called the Estatuto Real, the general wisdom and 
 propriety of which may be admitted, or at least not disputed, 
 while one part of it may be pronounced indefensible. This 
 was in the design to subvert the ancient rights of the Basque 
 people, by amalgamating their provinces into the kingdom, 
 without obtaining or asking their assent. This was a mea- 
 sure unjust in itself; and because unjust, also impolitic ; lead- 
 ing to a long-protracted struggle, in which the whole force 
 of Spain being employed, army after army was destroyed, 
 and general after general disgraced, by a comparatively in- 
 considerable number of undisciplined peasantry. When En- 
 gland sought to incorporate the Parliaments of Scotland and 
 Ireland into that of the United Kingdom, it was sought by 
 what might be called legal, though not always honourable 
 means. On the same principle, the consent of the Basques 
 ought to have been obtained by the Spanish government, 
 rather than the attempt made, furtively or forcibly, to deprive 
 them of their ancient privileges. 
 
 On another great question affecting humanity, it is pleasing 
 to consider Martinez de la Rosa among the foremost cha- 
 
FRANCISCO MARTINEZ DE LA ROSA. 177 
 
 racters of the age, in attempting the suppression of the slave 
 trade with Africa. In 1817 a treaty was made between En- 
 gland and Spain to suppress this traffic, which, after the expe- 
 rience of a few years, it was found necessary to make more 
 stringent. Propositions to this eiFect were therefore made 
 year after year to successive Spanish governments by the Bri- 
 tish, but in vain, until in 1835 Lord Palmerston was successful 
 enough to find in him a minister of Spain, who had the courage 
 to consent to those suggestions. The treaty of that year was 
 then entered into, and signed on the part of the two coun- 
 tries, by Sir George Villiers, now Earl of Clarendon, and 
 Martinez de la Rosa, which has had the desired effect of pre- 
 venting the trade being protected by the Spanish flag. But 
 this able statesman has done still more, to entitle him to the 
 respect of all who look with interest on this important ques- 
 tion. One of the stipulations of the treaty declared that a 
 penal law should be passed in Spain, in accordance with it, 
 to punish all Spanish subjects found infringing it. This 
 stipulation no other Spanish minister could be found to fulfil ; 
 and after the lapse of ten years, having again come into 
 power, it was left for him in good faith to accomplish the 
 engagement he had previously undertaken. Accordingly in 
 1845, he passed a law, answering the purposes required, which 
 received the approbation of the British government, and which 
 seems to have been so far effective in its application. 
 
 Great, undoubtedly, is the praise due to those philanthropic 
 statesmen, who, even at the Congress of Vienna, agreed to 
 protect the liberty of Africa. But much greater must be 
 . acknowledged due to one who, unsupported almost in his ovra 
 country, having to oppose himself to a strong colonial in- 
 terest, and the cry they raised against him of acting in sub- 
 servience to a foreign power, yet had the moral courage to 
 follow the dictates of justice and humanity, on behalf of an 
 
 N 
 
178 I'RANCISCO MARTINEZ DE LA ROSA. 
 
 injured race, notwithstanding all the enmity he had to en- 
 counter in so doing. 
 
 In 1836 Martinez de la Rosa had to yield his place in the 
 government to other hands; and in 1840 he thought proper 
 to retire again to Paris, engaging himself in those literary 
 pursuits from which he had latterly heen estranged. It is 
 not our province to follow his political course, through the 
 different public questions on which he had to act. During 
 the four intermediate years various ministries were formed, 
 to some of which he had to give an honourable support, to 
 others as honourable an opposition; but the Regency of 
 Espartero he avoided to acknowledge. When this fell under 
 the attack of Narvaez, he came forward again into public hfe, 
 and accepted office for a short time in the government ; but 
 seemed resolved to take the first opportunity of giving up 
 the post of active exertion for one of more private character, 
 though of no less pubhc utility. Accordingly, on the acces- 
 sion of Pius IX. to the Papacy, he was appointed Ambassador 
 to Rome, which important office he still continues to hold, 
 for the advantage of the Roman Catholic church itself, as 
 well as of his own country, in the several questions that have 
 come since under discussion, subject to his intervention. 
 
 As a politician, Martinez de la Rosa has been conspicuous for 
 constant rectitude and consistency of principles. " Not even 
 in moments of the utmost defamation," says his biographer, 
 " has a word been ever raised against his purity of conduct, 
 nor have his greatest enemies ever permitted themselves to 
 impugn in the least his intentions." As an orator, he has 
 had few to equal him in his time, none to surpass him ; but - 
 his eloquence has been modelled by his character to persuade 
 and defend rather than attack ; and thus, if not abounding in 
 brilliant sallies, it has been found of more essential service 
 to the cause of good government. 
 
FRANCISCO MARTINEZ ME LA ROSA. 179 
 
 Beyond the ' History of Perez del Pulgar,' Martinez de la 
 Rosa Las written several other works in prose, one of which, 
 the latest, entitled ' Spirit of the Age,' is in fact, so far as 
 yet published, a History of the French Revolution, preceded 
 by a few general observations on political questions. It has 
 already advanced to six volumes, and becoming a political 
 and philosophical history of contemporaneous events, may be 
 extended to the utmost limits. A novel which he wrote 
 earlier in life, 'Donna de Solis,' is acknowledged a failure, 
 as showing " that no man, however eminent, can write suc- 
 cessfully on all kinds of subjects.^' 
 
 The principal literary success which Martinez de la Rosa 
 has had, seems to have been as a dramatist ; but into those 
 works it would be impossible to enter, to treat them with 
 justice, except by making them a prominent subject of con- 
 sideration. His poems, published as before stated in 1833, 
 contain compositions in various styles, from the light Ana- 
 creontic to the project of an Epic Poem on the Wars of 
 Granada, of which, however, he has only published fragments. 
 Besides a translation of Horace's ' Art of Poetry,' he has also 
 given the world an ' Ars Poetica,' for the benefit of his own 
 countrymen, which he has enriched with many excellent 
 notes and criticisms. 
 
 Some of the rules laid down in this ' Ars Poetica ' are well 
 worthy of study, as giving room for reflection, for carrying 
 their suggestions even further than he has done. Thus, while 
 insisting on the young poet depending on the excellency of 
 his ear for the melody of verse, instead of having to count 
 the syllables for the requisite purpose, he obsei'ves, that as 
 the ancients regulated their metres by time, making so many 
 long or short feet of equivalent measure, of which the judge- 
 ment must depend on the cadence, so in the verses of the 
 best Spanish poets, there are often some lines containing 
 
 N 2 
 
180 FEANCISCO MARTINEZ DE LA ROSA. 
 
 three or four more syllables than others, to which they form 
 the counterpart, and which are read in the same measure, 
 with increased pleasure for the variation. 
 
 The same observation may apply to English verse, though 
 perhaps not so fully. Many of our syllables containing 
 shortly sounded vowels, such as a Hebrew scholar might call 
 Sheva and its compounds, pronounced distinctly, but two in 
 the time of an ordinary syllable, may be found to give an 
 elegance to the line, which would sound faulty with only one 
 of them. But we may go further, and observe, that as in 
 music the melody may be continued by the pause, instead of 
 a note in the bar, so in a line, a pause with one or more long 
 syllables may have the effect of a syllable, instead of the 
 sound or foot to make up the measure. Readers of poetry 
 will not require to be reminded of instances of this adapta- 
 tion of sounds, and if they notice any such lines in these 
 translations, they will perceive that they have been written 
 in accordance with the precepts referred to. 
 
 It must be acknowledged, that in the generality of his 
 poems, Martinez de la Rosa has not risen to any such height 
 of sublimity or fancy as to give him a place in the superior 
 class of poets. But one of the latest critical writers, Ferrer 
 del Rio, who has given a more disparaging estimate of his 
 poetical talents than justice might award, pronounces the 
 ' Epistle to the Duke de Frias ' as a composition for which 
 "judges the most grave and least complaisant might place him 
 on the top of Parnassus." The ' Remembrance of Spain,' Del 
 Rio declares to be poor in images, without feeling or depth, 
 but with much of pastoral innocency. The ' Return to Spain * 
 is, according to him, a mere itinerary of his travels, more 
 than an expression of pleasure on escaping from past evU. 
 But in the ' Epistle to the Duke de Frias,' he finds " true-felt 
 inspiration, an appropriate expression, and a plan well traced 
 
IHANCISCO MARTINEZ DE LA KOSA. 181 
 
 out/' — "without vagueness or artificial labour, but with 
 phrases that soften and ideas that satisfy the mind," be- 
 coming the subject. 
 
 Another anonymous critic finds the writer dwelling too 
 much on the remembrance of his own sorrows, instead of 
 ofi«ring consolation to the mourner, and some incongruity in 
 felicitating him on having witnessed the last pangs of mor- 
 tality. But these topics, on such an occasion, are true to 
 nature. Grief is apt to be egotistical, and the mind cannot 
 but dwell on the subject in which it is absorbed. Nor is the 
 other a less natural suggestion; and thus we may observe, 
 that the great master of antiquity represents the sweetest of 
 his characters lamenting that she had not been by the side of 
 her lord at such a time, as the height of her misfortune, to 
 receive his last embrace, and his last word to be remembered 
 ever after : — 
 
 ""EiKTop, ifLOL fie fjLtxKKTTa XeXeiyjreTat aXyea Xvypd. 
 Ov yap /xot 6vr]ffK(ou Xe^^av e/c x^lpas Spe^as' 
 
 Ov 8c TL p.01 f iVeS TtVKlVOV CTTOS, OV Tc Kev alfi 
 
 Me[jLP^lji.7]v PVKTas Te Koi rffiara 8aKpv)(€0V(Ta. 
 
 In this ' Epistle to the Duke de Frias,' Martinez de la Kosa 
 has also introduced, as a fit consideration in his grief, the 
 same topic of the instability of earthly things, which " the 
 Roman friend of Rome's least mortal mind " offered him on 
 a similar occasion of sympathy. But it also seems a favourite 
 subject of our poet's thoughts at all times, as befitting the 
 philosopher and the scholar, to dwell on the passing nature 
 of worldly greatness, and so lead the mind to higher sugges- 
 tions than those of the present moment. These ideas he 
 has carried further in another work he has published, ' Book 
 for Children,' in which, like many other eminent characters, 
 who have given the aid of their talents to the development of 
 juvenile minds, he has inculcated lessons of virtue, and the 
 
183 FRANCISCO MARTINEZ DE LA KOSA. 
 
 instinct of good taste, with the feehngs of patriotism and 
 rehgion, as the basis of moral well-being, 
 
 Martinez de la Rosa published his works in a collected 
 form first, in five volumes, 1827-30, at Paris, where they 
 have been again lately reprinted. Besides these, there haye 
 been two editions in Spain, one at Madrid and the other at 
 Barcelona. From Her Catholic Majesty he has received the 
 decoration of the Golden Fleece, the highest order of Spain, 
 besides other similar honours. But the world at large wiU 
 consider his greatest honour to consist in having raised him- 
 self from mediocrity of station, by his talents and exertions, 
 to the high position he has attained "vpithout stain or re- 
 proach," while, by his literary works, he has enabled all man- 
 kind to become benefited by his genius, and interested in his 
 fame. 
 
EEANCISCO MARTINEZ DE LA ROSA. 
 
 REMEMBRANCE OF SPAIN, 
 
 WRITTEN IN LONDON IN 1811. 
 
 I SAW upon the shady Thames 
 
 Unnumber'd ships with riches fraught ; 
 
 I saw the power the nation claims 
 
 Immense, the greatness it has wrought. 
 And arts that such renown have brought. 
 
 But the afflicted mind exhaled 
 A thousand sighs ; again to view 
 
 The flowery banks the wish prevail' d. 
 Where glides the Douro calmly through. 
 Or Henil's streams their course pursue. 
 
 I saw the proud Court's ladies forth 
 Their wealth and grandeur gaily show ; 
 
 I saw the beauties of the North, 
 
 Their bright complexions white as snow. 
 Commingling with the rose's glow. 
 
184 I'RANCISCO MARTINEZ DE LA ROSA. 
 
 Their eyes appear'd of heavenly blue, 
 Their tresses of the purest gold ; 
 
 Their stately forms arose to view, 
 Beneath the veil's transparent fold. 
 As vt^hite and lovely to behold. 
 
 But what avail the gay brocade. 
 The city's silks, and jewels' pride ; 
 
 Or charms in rosy smiles array'd. 
 With brilliant gaiety supplied. 
 That all to beauty are allied ? 
 
 When but is seen my country girl. 
 Clad in her robe of simple white. 
 
 Shamed are the needless silk and pearl ; 
 And by her pure and blooming light 
 Confused hides beauty at the sight. 
 
 Where shall I find in icy clime 
 
 Her black and beaming eyes of fire ? 
 
 That whether scornfully the time. 
 To look, or kindly they desire, 
 To rob me of my peace conspire ? 
 
 Where the black hair that may like hers 
 In hue with ebony compare ? 
 
 Where the light foot that never stirs. 
 When bounding o'er the meadows fair. 
 The lowly flowers that blossom there ? 
 
FRANCISCO MARTINEZ DB LA ROSA. 185 
 
 Maids of tte Henil ! dark ye be ; 
 
 But ne^er would I exchanged resign 
 Your charms for all that here I see, 
 
 Proud Albion shows, of brows that fine 
 
 Ev'n as the polish'd ivory shine. 
 
 0, father Douro ! gentle stream. 
 
 Whose sands a golden store supply, 
 Deign of my heart the wish supreme 
 
 To hear, thy sacred margins by. 
 
 That it may be my lot to die ! 
 
 RETURN TO GRANADA, 
 
 OCTOBER 27, 1831. 
 
 My loved country ! thee again 
 I come at length return'd to see ; 
 
 Thy beauteous soil, thy fields where reign 
 Plenty and joy unceasingly ! 
 
 Thy radiant sun, thy peaceful skies. 
 Yes ! there extended o'er the plain. 
 
 From hill to hill, I see arise 
 
186 I'aANCISCO MARTINEZ DE LA llOSA. 
 
 The far-famed city ! Noble towers^ 
 
 Midst groves of ever-blooming flowers ; 
 Kissing her walls are crystal streams, 
 
 Her valley lofty heights surround, 
 And the snow-topp'd Sierra gleams, 
 
 Crowning the far horizon's bound. 
 
 Not vain thy memory me pursued 
 
 Where'er I stray'd; with that imbued. 
 Troubling my hopes,. my joys, my rest, 
 
 The thoughts my heart and soul oppress'd. 
 On the cold margin of the Thames, 
 
 Or Seine, I thought of thee, and sigh'd 
 Again to view the bank that gems 
 
 Thy Henil's or thy Douro's tide. 
 And if perchance my voice essay'd 
 
 Some gayer song, for short relief. 
 Soon for lament the attempts I made 
 
 Were check' d, and doubled was my grief. 
 
 Vain the delicious Arno show'd. 
 Offering to me her fruitful shore. 
 
 Of peace and loves the soft abode. 
 With flowers enamell'd o'er. 
 
 " More blooming are the plains where flows 
 The gentle Henil through, 
 
FRANCISCO MARTINEZ DE LA ROSA. 187 
 
 And lovelier still Granada shows 
 
 Her pleasant site to view ! " 
 Murmuring such words in mournful thought, 
 
 I oft with tearful eyes repined^ 
 Upraised to Heaven, as memory brought 
 
 My fathers^ homes and hearths to mind. 
 At times the solitary view 
 
 Of rural scenes more seem'd to soothe ; 
 From cities terror-struck I jBiew, 
 
 And breathless, anxious, o'er the uncouth 
 Rough Alps I took my way. 
 
 But not so pure, so vivid show'd 
 Their snowy tops the sun's bright ray, 
 
 As from our snow Sierra glow'd 
 The streams of light, the god of day 
 
 O'er earth and heaven bestow'd. 
 
 My griefs Pompeii flatter'd more : 
 Its fearful ruins, silent streets. 
 Deserted porticos, retreats 
 
 Of men with grass run o'er. 
 And in my troubled mind began 
 
 Grave thoughts to rise, how vain is all 
 The power of miserable man. 
 
 To abase his fame, his pride to gall, 
 How fate delights ! and works that vast 
 
188 FRANCISCO MAKTINBZ DE LA ROSA. 
 
 He rears, and dares eternal call, 
 Throws over with a blast ! 
 Today the traveller, as he roves 
 
 Along the Tiber, has to trace 
 Through ruins, where that was high Jove's 
 
 Triumphant city had its place ! 
 The plough breaks up the fruitful mould. 
 
 The sacred relics now we see 
 Of Herculaneum that enfold. 
 
 As in a darksome tomb ! If be 
 Pompeii's walls still standing, yet 
 
 Are their foundations undermined 
 By age, and as the rude winds threat. 
 
 They tremble to their fall inclined. 
 
 Thus in my youth I saw the tower 
 Of the superb Alhambra lower. 
 Broken, and imminent appal 
 The Douro threatening with its fall. 
 Each rapid moment of my hfe 
 Hasten'd the term with ruin rife ; 
 And of the Alcazar's sovereign pride. 
 
 Where once the Moorish power enchain'd 
 Their fame as left to ages wide. 
 Mine eyes may soon not find descried 
 Its ruins ev'n remain'd. 
 
FRANCISCO MARTINEZ DE LA ROSA. 189 
 
 As that dark image o'er me glooms. 
 
 My heart sinks heavy iu my breast ; 
 I bow myself before the tombs. 
 
 In tears with grief oppressed. 
 
 What is thy magic ? what may be 
 
 The ineffable enchantment found, 
 0, country ! 0, sweet name, in thee ? 
 
 Ever so dear to man the sound ! 
 The sunburnt African will sigh 
 For his parch'd sands and burning sky, 
 Perchance afar, and round the plains 
 However blooming he disdains. 
 
 Ev'n the rude Laplander, if fate 
 In luckless hour him off has torn 
 
 From his own soil, disconsolate 
 WiU to return there longing mourn ; 
 Eijvying the eternal night's repose, 
 His iceboun^ shores and endless snows. 
 
 And I, to whom kind fate assign'd 
 
 My birth within thy happy fold, 
 Granada ! and my growth as kind 
 
 Within thy blissful bounds to mould. 
 Far from my country, and beset 
 With griefs, how could I thee forget ? 
 
190 FRANCISCO MARTINEZ DE LA ROSA. 
 
 On Africa's inhuman shore, 
 To the wreck'd seaman rough and drear, 
 
 Thy sacred name I o'er and o'er 
 Repeated, which the waves to hear 
 
 Back to the Spanish regions bore. 
 On the far Pole's dark furious sea. 
 By the Batavian's energy 
 
 Bridled, again thy name was heard : 
 Heard it the Rhone, the foamy Rhine, 
 
 The Pyrensean heights the word 
 Repeated with the Apennine, 
 And in Vesuvius' burning cave 
 Then iirst the sound the echos gave. 
 
 EPISTLE TO THE DUQUE DE FRIAS, 
 
 « 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF THE DUQUESA. 
 
 From the dark gloomy borders of the Seine, 
 
 Where with black clouds around the heaven extends. 
 
 The earth o'erwhelm'd with snow, the heart with pain, 
 Thee thy unhappy friend his greeting sends ; 
 
FttANCISCO MARTINEZ DE LA EOSA. 191 
 
 To thee still more unhappy ! nor deters 
 
 Him er'n the fear to touch the wounds unheal' d, 
 
 Yet bleeding sore, or see thee how it stirs 
 
 Fresh tears to bathe thine eyes thy sorrows yield. 
 
 What would he be, if man were not to weep ? 
 
 A thousand times I 've thank'd our God, who gave 
 The heart to soothe its griefs in tears to steep ; 
 
 As rain we see subdue the raging wave. 
 
 Weep then, ay, weep ! others, and abler friends 
 
 As faithful, with success may in thine ears 
 Make heard the voice that stoic virtue lends j 
 
 But I, who in the world my cup of tears 
 
 Oft to the dregs have drain' d, no cure could find 
 For grief, but what from grief I might derive ; 
 
 When with vain struggling tired, the powerless mind 
 Submissive ceased beneath the weight to strive. 
 
 Dear friend ! wilt thou believe me ? time will come, 
 When the sharp edge of sorrow worn away, 
 
 That grief and anguish now so burdensome. 
 At length a placid sadness will allay ; 
 
 In which absorb'd, as yet o'erwhelm'd, the soul 
 
 Folds itself up all silently to bear ; 
 Nor seeks nor envies, as around they roll. 
 
 The world's delights or pleasures more to share. 
 
192 FRANCISCO MARTINEZ DE LA ROSA. 
 
 Thou doubt'st perchance ; and once there was a time 
 I also doubted it ; and endless thought 
 
 My deep affliction, and insulting crime 
 To tell me to an end it could be brought. 
 
 And yet it was ! for so from God to man 
 
 That is another mercy, which alone. 
 Amidst so many woes 't is his to scan, 
 
 Aids him this weary life to suffer on. 
 
 Hope then, believe my words, and trust in me : 
 Who in this world the unhappy privilege 
 
 Has bought so dear to speak of misery ? 
 These many years that saw it me assiege, 
 
 Saw me no day but as the plaything vile 
 Of a dire fate, that like a shrub amain 
 
 The hurricane tears up, and raised awhile 
 It fiercely dashes to the earth again. 
 
 I know it true, against the blows of fate, 
 
 When that against ourselves they only glance, 
 
 The firm heart shielded can withstand its hate ; 
 But so it is not oft : and thou, perchance, 
 
 Mayst think 1 never one have lost I loved 
 More than my life. If sorrow will give truce 
 
 Thee for a moment, turn thine eyes disproved 
 To an unhappy orphan, weak, recluse, 
 
FRANCISCO MARTINEZ DE LA ROSA. 193 
 
 And soiTOwing solitary in the world, 
 
 Without scarce one to whom to weep his woe ; 
 
 For to the grave relentless death had hurl'd, 
 One after one, all he was born to know. 
 
 In the same season, thou wilt see sufficed 
 
 Thy loss to open forth the wounds I bear, 
 I lost a mother kind, and idolized. 
 
 My joy, and comforter in every care ; 
 
 On her steps my reaved father to the grave 
 
 Soon followed, and both sank o'erwhelm'd in tears. 
 
 Calling my name afar ; the cries they gave 
 Fell on my heart, but not upon my ears. 
 
 I ran, I flew, I came, but all in vain : 
 
 Both now beneath the fatal stone reposed. 
 And I my height of anguish to attain. 
 
 But found the covering earth yet newly closed. 
 
 Thou in thy grave affliction more hast found 
 
 Thee to console, if possible ; (how turn 
 Rebels against me thy own woes around ! 
 
 From my rude voice perforce thou hast to learn 
 
 That he who fortune flatter'd not before. 
 
 Will neither flatter grief) thou in thy loss 
 Hast found a thousand comforts, which forbore 
 
 My cruel fate to grant my path across ; 
 
194 FRANCISCO MAETINEZ DE LA KOSA. 
 
 Thou soothing saw'st thy wife in her last pains ; 
 
 Her last sigh couldst receive ; couldst press her hands. 
 Her arms raised to thee, and her pledge remains 
 
 In thine, her daughter still thy love demands. 
 
 But I, not veishing it, am in thy breast 
 
 A dagger striking, thus again to view 
 That fatal night's dark image to suggest. 
 
 When life with death its fearful struggles drew. 
 
 Now ended are her pains, for ever o'er ! 
 
 Herself she pray'd for it, with pious eyes 
 To heaven, and hope, amidst the pangs she bore. 
 
 Shone on her brow serene in death to rise. 
 
 ! were it given us to penetrate 
 
 The secrets of the tomb, how oft our grief 
 
 Would it not soften down, however great f 
 In this same moment who of the belief 
 
 Could not assure thee, while thou dost lament. 
 Unhappy, thy lost wife's untimely doom. 
 
 That she is there enjoying permanent 
 
 A lot more happy than this side the tomb ? 
 
 Thou, silent, lowly bendest down thy head ; 
 
 But thou mayst not be silent ; answer me ; 
 Sound, if thou darest it, the abyss to tread. 
 
 That separates thy lost loved wife from thee. 
 
I'RANCISCO MARTINEZ DE LA ROSA. 195 
 
 Take through eternity thy course, and then 
 
 Tell me of where she is, what is her state ? 
 Happy or miserahle ? or again. 
 
 We should rejoice in, or lament her fate ? 
 
 To thee I may repeat it, others gay 
 
 Will laugh at my dark fancy ; not long past 
 
 The time I was by that enchanting bay 
 Of the Tyrrhenian sea ; the city vast, 
 
 Mother of pleasures, I forsook, and bent, 
 
 AbsorVd, my feeble steps, where lowly lies 
 Pompeii; palaces with gardens blent 
 
 And fountains brilliant, shone before my eyes ; 
 
 But deeper penetrates the mind, and sad. 
 
 Slowly along I went with heavy heart : 
 Flowers amid lava grew ! and rich, and glad 
 
 Today the scenes on every side impart 
 
 The towns and villages, which others hide 
 
 That stood as happy there a former day ; 
 Those now that flourish built up by the side 
 
 Of some forgotten that have pass'd away. 
 
 At length I came where we the walls descry 
 
 Of the deserted city, which the abode 
 Proclaimed it was of men in times gone by ; 
 
 Their sepulchres stood bordering the road ! 
 
 o 2 
 
196 FRANCISCO MARTINEZ DE LA ROSA. 
 
 There for a resting-place the traveller stays, 
 
 For shade and for repose : the gate now gain'd. 
 
 Awhile the vacillating foot delays 
 To enter, as if fearing it profaned 
 
 Too bold the mansions of the dead. No word, 
 No sound, no murmur. It would seem that there 
 
 Ev'n Echo's self is mute, no answer heard I 
 Slowly I through the narrow streets repair 
 
 Without a human footstep ! Porticos 
 
 And plazas by no living beings trod, 
 Walls with deserted hearths, and temples rose 
 
 And altars, without victims or a god. 
 
 How little, mean and miserable seem'd 
 
 The world before mine eyes, when there I stood ! 
 
 A bitter smile upon my features gleam' d. 
 
 To think of man's ambition, schemes of blood. 
 
 And projects without end, when by a blast, 
 Like smoke, their good and evil are represt ; 
 
 Ashes a mighty city overcast, 
 
 As light dust covers o'er some poor ants' nest ! 
 
 Thus wrapp'd in mournful thoughts, I paced along 
 That vast and silent precinct, as behind 
 
 Roves some unbodied shade the tombs among ; 
 The ties me yet to this low earth that bind 
 
FRANCISCO MARTINEZ DE LA ROSA. ] 97 
 
 I felt to loosen, and the soul set free 
 
 Launched itself forth, ev'n into endless space. 
 
 Leaving behind it ages. — Couldst thou see 
 What is this wretched life, compared its trace 
 
 With that immensity, most surely, friend. 
 
 In thine eyes would remain congeal'd those tears. 
 
 Which now profuse thou shedd'st, and thou wouldst bend 
 Down on the earth thy gaze, where soon appears, 
 
 Thyself must see, the end of all our toil ; 
 
 The rest that she enjoys beyond the sky. 
 For whom thou weep^st, whilst o^er this care-worn soil 
 
 Dragging hfe's heavy burden, as do I. 
 
 Yet till 't is granted thee to meet again 
 
 Thy lost adored, the moments consecrate 
 Of absence to her memory that remain : 
 
 Thy heart let her remembrance animate ; 
 
 Let thy lips ever her dear name repeat : 
 
 Nor how forget that clear ingenuous mind. 
 That heavenly beauty, generous soul, to meet 
 
 So rare ! the world admired such gifts combined. 
 
 But now I see thee to the dusky grove 
 
 Of cypress and rose-bay trees take thy way ; 
 
 On thy right-hand a crown is hanging, wove 
 Of mournful everlastings ; nor astray 
 
198 FRANCISCO MARTINEZ DE LA ROSA. 
 
 Thine eyes scarce raising, fearing to behold 
 
 The monument of thine eternal grief, 
 That guards her ashes ! Different she consoled, 
 
 Hastening in charity, as for relief 
 
 The poor unhappy and the orphans knew ! 
 
 For whom she ever show'd a parentis care : 
 They who partook her gifts and kindness true, 
 
 Now in long files and slow, thy griefs to share 
 
 Silent and mournful on thy steps attend. 
 
 Around her tomb ; dost thou not hear them ? theirs. 
 Theirs are the tearful sobbings that ascend, 
 
 And cries that interrupt the funeral prayers. 
 
 Not ev'n a flower to deck her sepulchre. 
 
 Have I to send thee ! flowers may not be grown 
 
 To bud in beds of ice ; or if they were. 
 
 They soon would wither at my touch alone. 
 
FKANCISCO MARTINEZ DE LA ROSA. 199 
 
 ANACREONTIC. 
 
 Let the thunder burst, 
 
 Pour out and drink the wine ! 
 Thou never saw'st a thunderbolt 
 
 Strike the tender vine. 
 
 Vesuvius himself 
 
 To Bacchus tribute pays. 
 And spares the vineyard flourishing, 
 
 Where his lava sways. 
 
 In Italy in vain 
 
 I hero sought or sage ; 
 Mine eyes but dusty ruins found. 
 
 Mouldering with age. 
 
 Of Rome the image scarce 
 Remains to be portray'd ; 
 
 A tomb is Herculaneum, 
 Pompeii is a shade. 
 
 But I found Falernum, 
 His nectar rich remained, 
 
 And in memory of Horace, 
 A bottleful I drained. 
 
200 ruANCisco maetinez de la kosa. 
 
 BACCHANALIAN. 
 
 In chorus we sing, of wine, sweet wine. 
 Its power benign, and its flavour divine. 
 
 Against power so sweet , 
 
 No guard is secure. 
 Nor gate, nor yet wall. 
 
 Nor will castle endure. 
 Nor doubtings, nor watchings, 
 
 How strict or demure. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 With thee the fair maiden 
 Shows herself fairer. 
 
 With thee has the matron 
 New beauty to glare her ; 
 
 Ev'n the sad widow 
 Finds love an ensnarer. 
 
 With thee the poor captive. 
 Though heavy his chains. 
 
 Ne'er feels in his feasting 
 Or torments or pains. 
 
 But a plac^ with his lord 
 As an equal he gains. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Chori 
 
FRANCISCO MARTINEZ DE LA ROSA. 
 
 With thee the worn seaman 
 The south wind defies, 
 
 While echoes the thunder 
 . He singing rephes, 
 
 And of winds and the waves 
 Will the fury despise. 
 
 201 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Thou hast power o'er the lip 
 Of the fool and the sage. 
 
 From the breast to root out 
 Gall, venom and rage. 
 
 What rancour and envy 
 Would hide, to assuage. 
 
 With thee will the coward 
 Of courage make show. 
 
 The niggard so vile 
 
 Learn bounteous to grow, 
 
 And the feeble and old 
 Fresh vigour to know. 
 
 Thy colour so pure 
 Outrivals the flowers. 
 
 Thy odorous essence 
 
 The rich myrrh's showers. 
 
 The rosemary honey 
 Thy taste overpowers. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
303 FRANCISCO MAETINEZ DE LA ROSA. 
 
 Oblivion thou givest 
 To troubles and sorrow, 
 
 Joys fleeting a show 
 Of eternal to borrow, 
 
 And robb'st of its horrors 
 The fate of tomorrow. 
 
 In chorus we sing, of wine, sweet wine. 
 Its power benign, and its flavour divine. 
 
VIII. 
 ANGEL DE SAAVEDEA, 
 
 DUKE DE RIVAS. 
 
 There are few persons to whom Fortune can be said to have 
 " come with both hands full/' more truly than to the illus- 
 trious subject of this notice; even the very reverses of life, 
 which have fallen to his lot, have come like favours ; as they 
 have been incurred honourably, and have proved the har- 
 bingers of many advantages. 
 
 Angel de Saavedra was bom at Cordova, the 1st March, 
 1791, the second son of Don Juan Martin de Saavedra, 
 Duke de Rivas, and Donna Maria Ramirez, Marchioness of 
 Andia, Grandees of Spain, both persons not less eminent for 
 private virtues than for their exalted rank. He received 
 his primary education under his father's care ; but he dying 
 in 1802, Angel was then removed to the College of Nobles 
 at Madrid. In accordance with the privileges then enjoyed 
 by youths of noble birth, he was, while yet a child of ten 
 months, nominated a cornet of cavalry, and held a commis- 
 sion as captain when but seven years old. At that age, pur- 
 suing his studies, it was observed that he did not show much 
 
204 THE DUKE DE RIVAS. 
 
 application or inclination for abstruser subjects; but his quick- 
 ness of apprehension, and felicity of memory gave him a supe- 
 riority over his companions, many of whom were distinguished 
 for much greater industry. History and poetry were, from 
 his earliest years, his favourite subjects of study ; and in ori- 
 ginal compositions and translations from the classics, he then 
 already began to show the bent of his genius. At the same 
 time he also began to show his great talent for drawing, in 
 which art, no less than in poetry, he has so much excelled; 
 and it is recorded that for the greatest punishment to be 
 awarded him for juvenile delinquencies, it was found suffi- 
 cient to take away his pencils, and forbid his taking his 
 drawing lesson for the day. 
 
 In 1806 the regiment, to which he was attached, had orders 
 to join Napoleon's army in Germany, with the Spanish con- 
 tingent ; whereupon the Duchess de Rivas, as her son's guard- 
 ian, procured his exchange into the Royal Guard, by which 
 he lost rank, having now only that of a sub-lieutenant, in the 
 rank as a guardsman. Having joined this corps in the be- 
 ginning of 1807, it was the lot of Don Angel to witness the 
 scenes which then occurred in the palace, little creditable to 
 any of the parties, including the arrest of the Prince of the 
 Asturias, afterwards Ferdinand VII., and the proceedings 
 against him. It was perhaps fortunate for the young guards- 
 man that he was so soon called into active service. A privi- 
 leged corps is always a dangerous trial for a young man 
 entering into life ; though, in addition to his own right-mind- 
 edness, he had the good fortune to be joined to the Flemish 
 battalion of the guard, where he became intimate with a 
 young Belgian officer of kindred tastes and character, who, 
 by example and association, confirmed him in his incHnations.. 
 He also became acquainted with some other young men who 
 had the conducting of a literary periodical, to which he con- 
 
THE DUKE DE RIVAS. 205 
 
 tributed several articles, both in prose and verse. For a 
 young man of sixteen, desirous of distinction, this was a 
 privilege which could not fail of producing good results in 
 subsequent improvement, if his early efforts were found to be 
 approved, as an encouragement to continue them. 
 
 From such occupations was Saavedra called away soon, to 
 engage in the important events, upon which the future fate of 
 his country was to depend. Napoleon^s troops had crossed 
 the Pyrenees, and under pretence of marching through the 
 country to Portugal, had seized upon the principal fortresses 
 of Spain. The Court of Madrid, aware too late of the 
 treachery intended, was thrown into irremediable confusion, 
 heightened by the internal dissensions of the royal family. 
 The troops at Madrid were summ'oned in haste to the king 
 at Aranjuez, when Saavedra among them witnessed the piti- 
 able scenes, which ended in the abdication of Charles IV. 
 and the declaration of Ferdinand VII., in whose escort he re- 
 turned to Madrid. But the French armies were already in 
 possession of the country, and had the royal family in their 
 power. They soon had further possession of Madrid, and 
 the guards, in which Saavedra's elder brother, the Duke de 
 Rivas, was also serving with him, were ordered away to the 
 Escurial, as the French leaders were aware of the part they 
 had taken at Aranjuez, and were fearful of their influence 
 with the people, in the course of resistance then widely 
 spreading against the invaders. 
 
 Murat, then chief of the French forces, and of the pro- 
 visional government, had good reason to fear that so in- 
 fluential a body as the Royal Guards, all composed of indivi- 
 duals of rank, might be induced to take part with the insur- 
 rectionists in the rising struggle; and he therefore sent to 
 them to the Escurial, one of the principal Spanish officers, 
 also one of the Royal Guard, who had attached himself to 
 
306 THE DUKE DE BIVAS. 
 
 the French interest, to persuade the others to join the same 
 cause. This officer having accordingly come to the Escurial, 
 called together the members of the guard, and stating to 
 them that the students of the Militaiy College at Segovia 
 were in a state of rebellion against the authorities, expressed 
 Murat's wish that the guards should join the French troops 
 to suppress the movement, to prevent further ill-consequences. 
 The assembly received the proposal at first in silence and 
 perplexity. But it was one of those occasions when a right 
 mind and strong heart availed more than conventional dig- 
 nity ; and thus, though perhaps the youngest person present. 
 Angel de Saavedra rose up, and with all the impetuosity of 
 youth, declared in impassioned language, that " none of the 
 guard would do treason to their country, or become an in- 
 strument of foreign tyranny, for the oppression and punish- 
 ment of their companions in arms." He therefore, in the 
 name of his comrades, gave a positive refusal to the man- 
 date. 
 
 In this, his first harangue, the spirit was as noble, as the 
 sentiments were bold and patriotic. The manner in which 
 it was received showed that it was also in unison with the 
 feelings of the rest of the guard, and Murat's messenger was 
 obUged to content himself with attempting to reprove the 
 young officer, who had ventured to speak before others, so 
 much his superiors in rank and service. But his efforts were 
 of no avail, and he had to return to Madrid, with the infor- 
 mation that the guards were also apparently about to join 
 the national party. These passed the night in watch, with 
 their arms and horses prepared, for whatever might be the 
 result. In the morning they received orders to return to 
 Madrid, and obeying the order, at halting for the night, 
 came to deliberate on the course they should adopt. Some 
 thought it would be better to disperse, and go to their re- 
 
THE DUKE DE RIVAS. 207 
 
 spective provinces, to join the several parties already armed in 
 resistance against the invaders. Others, among whom were 
 the two brothers, Saavedra and the Duke de Rivas, thought 
 it would be better for them to keep united, and join as a 
 body, with their standards, the first effective Spanish force 
 they could meet. Unfortunately there was no one of suffi- 
 cient authority present to command ; and the first suggestion, 
 where most of them naturally wished to share the fates of 
 their families, prevailed. Accordingly they dispersed, and 
 the two brothers entered Madrid secretly, finding that those 
 who remained together were too few to remain as a body, 
 against the numerous bands of the enemy spread over the 
 country. 
 
 The first wish of the brothers was to join Palafox at Zara- 
 goza, and they started for that purpose with false passports ; 
 but found the road too closely beset by the French. In one 
 place, however, they met with a mischance on the other side ; 
 where the people, now risen against the invaders, fancied that 
 the travellers who were going armed so mysteriously, were 
 emissaries of the French, and would listen to no declaration 
 to the contrary. Fortunately there happened to be in the 
 town a comrade of the guard, well known there, who hearing 
 the uproar, came and recognized the prisoners, and assuring 
 the multitude of their true character, made them be received 
 with as much enthusiastic welcome, as they had just before 
 been with violence. 
 
 Turning from this course, the two brothers then hastened 
 back to join the forces under Castanios, flushed with their 
 triumph at Bailen ; and at Sepulveda, Angel Saavedra had 
 his first encounter in fight with the French. With the army 
 he joined, he found about 200 of his comrades of the guards^ 
 and these, as a body, now effected much service in the various 
 skirmishes and actions that took place. They had these with 
 
208 THE DUKE DE RIVAS. 
 
 varied success at Ucles, Tudela, and other places, where the 
 two brothers distinguished themselves by their activity and 
 bravery. At Tudela the Duke had his horse killed, and 
 received several contusions, which resulted in a fever, on 
 account of which his brother had to take him to their mother's 
 care at Cordova. 
 
 Having recovered from this, they again joined the army, 
 and were present at "the memorable battle of Talavera," 
 after which they had to share in the several encounters of 
 Caminias, Madrilejos and Herencia. But now a severer trial 
 awaited them. On the 18th of November, 1809, on the eve 
 of the disastrous battle of Ocania, the French and Spanish 
 forces had an encounter at Antigola, when the Koyal Guards, 
 under the Duke de Rivas, though pressed by superior num- 
 bers, charged three times on the enemy, before they retired, 
 with the loss of one-third of their number, to Ocania. 
 
 In this skirmish. Angel Saavedra had his horse kUled at 
 the beginning of the affray, and then had to fight hand to 
 hand at a disadvantage. Thus he soon received two wounds 
 in the head, and another in the breast from a lance which 
 prostrated him, and left him insensible, while the combatants 
 were riding over him and others laid in the same state. 
 About the middle of the night he recovered his sensibility, 
 and found he had been robbed of his clothes. He attempted to 
 rise, but fell down again, unable to move. Happily for him 
 he had sufficient strength to call to a man he saw near, who 
 proved to be a Spanish soldier seeking for spoils, and he, 
 learning the name of the wounded officer, put him on his 
 horse, and took him to his brother. The Duke, who had 
 already been searching for him, and had sent others out for 
 the same purpose unavaiUngly, now hastened to procure for 
 him medical assistance. With much difficulty he found a 
 surgeon, who, on seeing the patient, declared the case hope- 
 
THE DUKE DE IIIVAS. 209 
 
 lesSj and left him to attend to others. The cold air had 
 arrested the bleeding, which now burst forth from the motion 
 of the horse and the warmth of the room used for the hospital, 
 so as to leave him apparently dying. The Duke was in de- 
 spair, when the people about him brought the barber of the 
 place to dress the wounds, which he did with great skill, 
 giving him hopes of success in saving his brother's life. 
 
 As the morning broke, the drums were heard beating for 
 action, announcing the advance of the enemy. The Duke 
 had barely time to procure a common cart of the country 
 into which to place his brother, who was found to have no 
 fewer than eleven wounds upon him, and send him away with 
 seven other wounded companions, before he had to join his 
 troop. Going slowly along, the seven died by his side one 
 after another, and in a few hours they were overtaken by 
 fugitives, whose flight showed the ill-fortune of the day. 
 Saavedra might have shared this ill-fortune further ; but one 
 of the escort knew the country well and took him along by- 
 paths to a retired place, where his wounds were again dressed, 
 and afterwards to Baeza, in which city he found better attend- 
 ance. There, after three weeks, all his wounds were healed, 
 except the one in the breast, and one in the hip, from which 
 he was lame for some years afterwards. He then was enabled 
 to proceed to his mother at Cordova, and there was received, 
 in his native place, with marks of public respect, which could 
 not fail of being very gratifying to his feelings, though at the 
 expense of so much suffering. 
 
 In the beginning of 1810 the French came marching to- 
 wards Cordova, and Saavedra and his mother fled to Malaga. 
 He had frequent bleeding, apparently from the lungs, and 
 his medical advisers were fearful that any extraordinary exer- 
 tion would have a fatal result. Before they could embark at 
 Malaga for any other place, the French had got possession of 
 
.210 THE DUKE DE RIVAS. 
 
 the city, and Saavedra and the Duchess had to take refuge, 
 disguised, in a fisherman's hut. In this extremity they were 
 found by a Spanish officer in the French interest, who had 
 formerly shared their hospitality at Cordova, and he repaid it 
 now by procuring for them passports and giving them the 
 means to get to Gibraltar, whence they passed over to Cadiz, 
 then the last hope of Spain. 
 
 Arrived at Cadiz, Saavedra was received with the consider- 
 ation due to his merits. He was put into active service, as 
 far as his strength would allow, and on the staff his talents 
 for drawing as well as for ready composition were found of 
 great value. Many of the military reports were written by 
 him ; and he also wrote a defence of the military estabUsh- 
 ments against a pamphlet which had been pubhshed, con- 
 ducting at the same time a military periodical, published 
 weekly, at Cadiz, throughout 1811. Thrown into association 
 with such men as the Conde de Noronia, Arriaza, Quintana, 
 and Martinez de la Rosa, his love for poetry was further ex- 
 cited, and he composed verses like them, some of which have 
 been preserved among his later works, while he has allowed 
 others to be forgotten. He continued also cultivating his 
 taste for drawing, attending the schools at Cadiz to draw 
 from life as well as from the models; while at leisure mo- 
 ments on duty he amused himself with sketching portraits of 
 his comrades, or of the scenes presented to their view. 
 
 But his military duties did not cease at Cadiz. Having 
 been sent out on important commissions with orders, he was 
 led away by his ardour to join in the encounter which took 
 place with the French at Chiclana, in forgetfulness of the 
 commission with which he was charged. Afterwards a divi- 
 sion of the army being found in a state of resistance to the 
 orders of the Regency, on account of their general refusing 
 to acknowledge the Duke of Wellington as commander-in- 
 
THE DUKE DE RIVAS. 311 
 
 chief, Saavedra was sent with full powers to arrest the dis- 
 order. This he did effectually, drawing the division out of 
 Cordova in good order, after deposing the general and other 
 chiefs of the insurrection, who but for this might have brought 
 further reverses on the Spanish arms, such as so many other 
 incapable of&cers had done previously, influenced in like 
 manner by their presumption and self-conceit. 
 
 Saavedra, so far from joining in the vanity and folly of 
 those of his countrymen, who fancied themselves competent to 
 act independently of the British commander, on the contrary, 
 sought to be employed on the staff under the immediate orders 
 of Lord Wellington, but he could not effect it. The wound in 
 his breast again occasioned large effusions of blood from the 
 mouth, and he was obliged to return to Seville, and ultimately 
 was quartered at Cordova. When the war came to an end, 
 he, under these circumstances, retired from military service 
 with the rank of lieutenant-colonel. 
 
 While at Cadiz, Saavedra had joined, unreservedly, in the 
 councils of those who framed and attempted to establish 
 in Spain the constitution of 1813. When Ferdinand VII. 
 returned and set it aside, he therefore fully expected that he 
 would be included in the proscription directed against Mar- 
 tinez de la Rosa and others who had distinguished themselves 
 in the assertion of liberal opinions. But instead of this, the 
 king, who probably considered him more of a military than a 
 political character, received him favourably, and gave him the 
 rank of colonel, assigning him Seville for his residence. There 
 accordingly he retired, and while Spain was subjected to the 
 rule of absolutism, employed himself in literary pursuits and 
 drawing, for which the magnificent paintings of Murillo and 
 other Spanish masters in that city gave one of his inclinations 
 so great an incentive. In 1813 he published a volume of 
 poems, and in the following six years brought forward several 
 
 p2 
 
312 THE DUKE DE RIVAS. 
 
 plays, some ef which were represented at Seville with consider- 
 able applause, and one had the " marked honour of being pro- 
 hibited by the censorship." These he republished in a second 
 edition of his works at Madrid in 1821, but though favourably 
 received at the time, they are all acknowledged now to be of 
 little merit. In fact, at that time, having studied principally 
 the later poets of the classical school as it was termed, his 
 mind had not yet attained that expansiveness and vigour 
 which subsequent years of study were destined to give it. 
 
 In 1820 Saavedra happened to be in Madrid, probably en- 
 gaged in superintending this edition of his works, when the 
 events of that year brought into power the party with whom 
 he had been associated at Cadiz at the time of the siege. 
 With characteristic ardour he entered again into close alliance 
 with them, resuming the principles he had previously main- 
 tained with them. But though now those friends were in 
 office, he sought nothing for himself further than leave to 
 travel into neighbouring countries, which permission he had 
 sought in vain from the previous government. This favour 
 he now obtained, with full salary allowed, and a commission 
 to examine the military establishments of other nations, and 
 to report to the government on their advances and improve- 
 ments. He went accordingly to Paris, and after a careful 
 attention to the duties entrusted to him, was about proceed- 
 ing to Italy, when he was called back to Spain to engage in a 
 new career of public importance. 
 
 Before going to Paris, Saavedra had paid a short visit to 
 his native city, and there formed a close intimacy with Alcala 
 Galiano, one of the most learned and talented men of his age, 
 who, with Don Javier Isturitz (the present respected Minister 
 of her Catholic Majesty at London), was now at the head of 
 the government. Galiano, by the fascination of his eloquence, 
 had completely won the good feelings of the young poet, and 
 
THE DUKE DK RIVAS. 313 
 
 inspired by the desire of having so able and popular a follower 
 in the legislature, had procured his election as Deputy to the 
 Cortes from Cordova. Flattered by the favour shown him 
 by his fellow-townsmen, Saavedra entered with his accus- 
 tomed ardour on his duties, and was appointed Secretary to 
 the Cortes, where he came forward as one of the most vehe- 
 ment speakers in the maintenance of liberal opinions. But 
 those opinions were not responded to by the great mass of 
 the people, and were opposed by the foreign courts of Europe. 
 Saavedra had voted for the removal of the court to Seville, 
 and there further voted for the suspension of the king and 
 his transference to Cadiz, when the entry of the French army 
 re-established Ferdinand on his throne. On the 1st October, 
 1832, Saavedra and Galiano had to take flight from Cadiz to 
 Gibraltar, where he remained till the foUowmg May, when 
 he proceeded to London to join the other emigrants there, 
 Isturitz, Galiano, the celebrated Arguelles, whom his coun- 
 trymen, on account of his remarkable eloquence, have termed 
 the divine, and others. 
 
 Even during his short political career, Saavedra had con- 
 tinued his literary pursuits, and now in London he renewed 
 them, writing his poem ' Florinda ' and minor pieces, as well as 
 continuing his recreative art of drawing. For his participation 
 in the proceedings against the king, he had been sentenced 
 to death, and his property had been sequestrated. This same 
 measure had been visited on his brother, the Duke de Rivas, 
 who had taken part also in the proceedings, and thus Saavedra 
 had become reduced to very straitened circumstances. Their 
 mother, with natural feeling, forwarded him all the supplies 
 in her power; but these were scanty, and it was necessary for 
 him to seek means of subsistence for himself. He therefore 
 determined on going to Italy to perfect himself in the art of 
 painting, as the best means of employment left him, finding 
 
214 THE DUKE DE RIVAS. 
 
 the climate of England also too rigorous for his consti- 
 tution. 
 
 As the Spanish emigrants were forbidden to go to Italy, 
 the Duchess de Rivas besought the Pope's Nuncio at Madrid 
 to grant her son a passport and obtain for him permission to 
 go there for the purposes specified. The Nuncio having 
 communicated with Rome, was enabled to reply, that "as 
 Don Angel Saavedra engaged neither to speak nor to write 
 on political subjects in Italy, nor to frequent English society, 
 his passport would be granted him, assuring him he would 
 there find hospitality and protection.'^ The required securities 
 having been given, and the Nuncio's authorization obtained, 
 on which he had himself written, " Given by express order 
 of His Holiness," Saavedra left London in December, 1824, 
 for Gibraltar, where he remained tUl the June following. In 
 the meantime he there married, according to previous arrange- 
 ment, Donna Maria de la Encarnacion Cueto, daughter of a 
 distinguished colonel of artillery, and then, with his young 
 wife, proceeded to Leghorn. Arrived at this city, and pre- 
 senting his passport to the Roman consul, he was told that, 
 notwithstanding the assurances given him, he was now for- 
 bidden to go to Rome; besides which he received an order 
 from the Tuscan government to leave their territorities within 
 three days. Finding all remonstrances useless, Saavedra now, 
 in right of a passport from Gibraltar, applied for aid to the 
 British consul, who took him to his house, and as the only 
 means of putting him in safety, embarked him on board a 
 small Maltese vessel then about to sail for that island. After 
 a protracted voyage, with wretched accommodations and sub- 
 jected to great peril in a storm, when the men abandoned 
 their tasks, and the captain and Saavedra had to compel 
 them by blows even to resume their labours, they at length 
 reached Malta. Here Saavedra intended to have remained 
 
THE DUKE DE RIVAS. 215 
 
 only until he could obtain the means of returning to Gib- 
 raltar ; but the advantages of climate^ of cheapness of living, 
 and the reception he met with from the English authorities, 
 induced him to continue there, until his stay at length ex- 
 tended to five years' residence. 
 
 Fortunately for him, there happened then to be residing at 
 Malta Mr. J. H. Frere, formerly British Minister at Madrid, 
 vrho, in addition to a highly cultivated taste and great gene- 
 ral knowledge, was well conversant with the Spanish lan- 
 guage and literature also in particular. With this gentleman 
 Saavedra soon entered into terms of intimate friendship, and 
 was taught by him to turn his thoughts from the tame class of 
 poetry he had copied from the French school, and elevate his 
 mind to the high tone of the older poets of Spain, as well as 
 to the study of English literature. These lessons he followed, 
 and thus proved another instance of the remark of Plutarch, 
 that the Muses often suggest the best and most approved 
 productions of genius, taking exile as their means to aid them : 
 Kat r^ap roi'} •jraXaioi'; (w? eoiKev) ai Moverat to KoXKidTa 
 T&v avvTar/fiaTcov koL BoKO/jLCOTaTa, <j)V'yT]v Xd^qvcrai avv- 
 epjov, iireTekeaav. 
 
 At first Saavedra continued his former style of ivriting, 
 but after a short time his mind seemed suddenly to expand, 
 and to act under the influence of another genius. He finished, 
 after his arrival at Malta, his poem of ' Florinda,' and wrote 
 there several plays, of the same character as those he had 
 formerly written, but at the same time showed that a change 
 was coming over his mind, by an ' Ode to the Lighthouse at 
 Malta,' known to the reader by Mr. Frere's translation of it, 
 which for spirit and range of thought proved itself the off- 
 spring of another and truer inspiration. The expectations 
 thus raised were destined to be fully realized, and the poem 
 he then began, and published subsequently, the 'Moro 
 
216 THE DUKE DE RIVAS. 
 
 Esposito,' or ' Foundling Moor/ proved one of a class en- 
 tirely unknown to Spanish literature, but quite in accordance 
 with the national genius, so as to be at once accepted by 
 the Spanish public, as entitled to their unqualified admira- 
 tion. To use the words of his biographer. Pastor Diaz, him- 
 self a writer of considerable reputation, " This work, which 
 had no model, nor has yet had a rival, is one of the most 
 precious jewels of our literature, and in our judgement the 
 most beautiful flower of his poetic crown.'^ 
 
 But it was not to poetry alone that Saavedra gave his 
 attention at Malta. He continued also his application to 
 painting, not having forgotten his original intention of 
 adopting this art professionally. Notwithstanding the ad- 
 vantages he enjoyed there, however, he was anxious to be 
 nearer his own country, and sought permission to go to 
 France, for which purpose he had an English vessel of war 
 assigned to take him to Marseilles. On arriving there, in- 
 stead of being allowed to go to Paris as he desired, he was 
 directed to fix his residence at Orleans, where, having ex- 
 hausted the means afforded him for subsistence, he found it 
 necessary to establish a school for drawing. In this he met 
 with some success, having obtained various pupils and com- 
 missions for portraits, and a painting which he had finished 
 with care and ability having been bought at a high price for 
 the museum of the city. Four others of his paintings are 
 in the choir of the cathedi-al at Seville. 
 
 After a few months' residence at Orleans, the revolution of 
 July, 1830, allowed him to go to Paris, where he found his 
 valued friends Isturitz and Galiano, both, like himself, having 
 moderated the warmth of early opinions by the effect of ob- 
 servation as well as of time. Instead of interfering in poli- 
 tical questions therefore, he continued his artistic labours. 
 Several portraits he had painted appcnvcd in the Exhibition of 
 
THE DUKE UE RIVxVS. 217 
 
 1831 at the Louvre^ and his name is to be found in the list 
 for that year of professional artists established in Paris. In 
 consequence of the cholera having broken out there^ Saavedra 
 soon after retired to Tours, where he finished his poem, the 
 ' Moro Esposito,' and the Tragedy, ' Don Alvaro/ publishing 
 the former at Paris in two volumes, in 1833. 
 
 On the death of Perdinand VII., under the milder sway 
 of Queen Christina, the emigrants hitherto excluded from 
 Spain were allowed to return to their country. Angel 
 Saavedra hastened to take advantage of the amnesty, and 
 arrived in Spain the 1st of January, 1834, to take the oaths 
 required; after which he took up his residence at Madrid, 
 and gave his adhesion to the government over which Martinez 
 de la Rosa then presided. Now, however, an important 
 change came over his fortunes, which brought him still more 
 prominently before the world, and involved him again in the 
 vicissitudes of public life. 
 
 On the 15th of May, 1834, his elder brother died without 
 children; and Angel Saavedra thereupon succeeded to his 
 honours as Duke de Rivas, and to the family estates entailed 
 with the title. As a Grandee of Spain, the new Duke had 
 to take his place in the Chamber of Peers, where he was 
 chosen, on the 24th of July following, second Secretary, and 
 shortly after, first Secretary of the Chamber and Vice-Presi- 
 dent. Here again, as formerly in the Cortes, he then took 
 his part in the public debates, having on several occasions 
 shown himself to possess great oratorical abilities. One 
 speech he made on the exclusion of Don Carlos and his 
 descendants from the Spanish throne, has been particularly 
 mentioned as combining much eloquence with high political 
 considerations. 
 
 But notwithstanding his elevation and parliamentary duties, 
 he still continued his literary pursuits. Having finished the 
 
218 THE DUKE DE RIVAS. 
 
 Tragedy of ' Don Alvaro/ he now brought it forward, and it 
 is not too much to say that never had a drama been produced 
 in Spain of so high a character, or that was attended with 
 such success. At first it was received with wonder, then 
 with long and loud applause ; it was repeated at every theatre 
 in Spain, and still continues to excite the admiration of au- 
 diences, casting into the shade all his former dramatic pro- 
 ductions, and in fact causing a revolution in the dramatic 
 art of the Spanish stage. The old worn-out characters and 
 constantly recurring self-same incidents that had encumbered 
 the scenes have since been swept away, and a higher tone 
 has been in consequence adopted by later writers, though 
 still this remarkable production remains without a rival on 
 the Spanish stage. Yet it is not without faults, and it has 
 been subjected to severe criticisms; but on the representa- 
 tion, so absorbing is the interest which it is said to excite, 
 that all faults are lost sight of in admiration. The subject 
 of the drama is that of the old Greek tragedy. Fatality. 
 Don Alvaro is an CEdipus, destined for misfortune, and not 
 even religion can save him from his mission of crime. " It is 
 a character which belongs to no determinate epoch, perhaps 
 more universal in this as it belongs to all, like the heroes of 
 Shakespeare." There can be no question but that it was 
 the study of Shakespeare which elevated his genius to the 
 production of this masterpiece of the modern Spanish theatre, 
 as had the study of Walter Scott and Byron enabled him to 
 give the world the great poem of the ' Moro Esposito.' 
 
 On the 15th of May, 1836, the Duke de Rivas was called 
 on to join the government formed by his friends Istuiitz and 
 Galiano, to which he consented with much reluctance. But 
 this ministry was doomed to be of short duration, and was 
 overthrown in the midst of popular commotions. The Duke 
 had to take refuge in the house of the British Minister, the 
 
THE DUKE DE EIVAS. 219 
 
 present Earl of Clarendon, where he remained twenty-four 
 days, refusing to emigrate as others of his colleagues had 
 done, though at last he felt himself compelled to do so. 
 With much difficulty he then escaped, and after many perils, 
 passing through Portugal, arrived at Gibraltar. 
 
 The moderate counsels of the Isturitz ministry were not 
 agreeable to the temper of the public, and thus the Duke de 
 Rivas was now driven into banishment by his former friends 
 the liberals, as he had formerly been by their mutual enemies 
 the Absolutists. At Gibraltar he thereupon remained a year, 
 dedicating himself again to poetry and painting, having then 
 composed much of his next, and perhaps most popular work, 
 ' Historical Romances.^ On the promulgation of the con- 
 stitution of 1837, accepted by the Queen, the Duke gave in 
 his adhesion to it, and was thus enabled to return to his 
 family from his second exile, on the 1st of August of that 
 year. 
 
 Jn the ensuing elections, the Duke was elected Senator 
 for Cadiz, when, in consonance with his principles, he gave 
 his general support to the ministry, and distinguished him- 
 self by several animated discourses he pronounced in the 
 Chamber; particularly one in favour of returning to the 
 nunneries their sequestrated properties, and another for 
 maintaining to the Basque provinces their ancient privileges 
 and rights. For this just and disinterested advocacy of their 
 interests, the constituents inhabiting the two provinces of 
 Biscay and Alava respectively elected him to the Senate in 
 1840, though the government which then existed did not 
 think proper to sanction their choice. 
 
 Shortly after this, another change occurred in the govern- 
 ment, and under the administration of Narvaez, the Duke de 
 Rivas was appointed Minister from Her Catholic Majesty to 
 
220 THE DUKE DE KIVAS. 
 
 the Court at Naples, in which city he continued upwards of 
 five years in that mission ; during also the residence of Pius 
 IX. there, while a fugitive from Rome. On the marriage of 
 the Conde de Montemoliu, eldest son of Don Carlos, with a 
 sister of the King of the two Sicilies, he demanded his pass- 
 port, leaving his post, for which he received the approbation 
 of his sovereign. Since his return to Spain, the Duke has 
 been again appointed Vice-President of the Senate, but 
 seems to have taken little part in public affairs. 
 
 Mr. Borrow, in his very amusing work, 'The Bible in 
 Spain,' describes the Duke de Rivas, in 1836, as "a very 
 handsome manj" and so his portraits represent him, agreeing 
 with all the accounts of his personal appearance and courtly 
 manners. Favoured by fortune with the possession of high 
 rank and ample means, he has been still further favoured in 
 his domestic relations, and with a large family, the solace of 
 his age. We have thus traced him through life, distinguished, 
 in every stage in which he has had to exert himself, for 
 eminent ability as well as honourable conduct. As a soldier, 
 engaged in the noblest of causes, the defence of his country, 
 he showed himself conspicuous among the most active and 
 bravest of her defenders. In public life, as an orator, a 
 diplomatist and a statesman, he has proved equally eminent. 
 In private Ufe, he has been no less exemplary for the exercise 
 of the domestic virtues, having in his needs exerted himself 
 to discharge his duty to his family, by the practice of the 
 talents with which he had been endowed, as an artist of 
 superior proficiency. As a dramatist, his works have in 
 that most difficult department gained the fullest success; 
 and in poetry he is the only modern writer in Spain who has 
 given the world a poem of the highest class, combining 
 varied incidents with well-drawn characters and a sustained 
 
THE DUKE DE RIVAS. 
 
 221 
 
 interest. Our greatest poet of modern days felt constrained 
 
 to say, 
 
 I twine 
 My hopes of being remember'd in my line 
 With my land's language ; 
 
 and in such aspirations may the Duke de Rivas indulge in 
 
 the retrospect of his past labours to ensure for him a like 
 
 future remembrance. 
 
 Passing by the poems written under the influence of an 
 
 adhesion to the' rules of the classical school, we find the 
 
 poem of the 'Moro Esposito/ or 'Cordova and Burgos in 
 
 the fifteenth century/ well-deserving of being classed with 
 
 the poetical romances of Sir Walter Scott, on the model of 
 
 which it was written. The subject is the History of the 
 
 Seven Infantes of Lara, made known to the English reader 
 
 by Southey and Lockhart, and it contains many passages of 
 
 extraordinary merit, though severe criticism would point out 
 
 many faults. " To make felt," says his biographer, " or to 
 
 record all the beauties of this book, a book as large would be 
 
 necessary, and they may well compensate for the defects, 
 
 notwithstanding that at times those same beauties make us 
 
 see at what small cost the author might have sent forth his 
 
 work more finished.-'-' As in every-day life, he has joined in 
 
 his narration scenes of the most opposite character, the most 
 
 magnificent descriptions with what is most ludicrous, and 
 
 the tenderest with what is oppressing to sensibility. The 
 
 passages referring to his native city of Cordova are peculiarly 
 
 beautiful, and show the feelings of the exile, as they lean to 
 
 his country, in all ages and under all circumstances, — to 
 
 " sweet Argos " or sacred Athens — 
 
 yevoifiav, 
 tv vXaev cTrecTTt irovrov 
 Trpo^XrjfL dXiKKvcrTOVj aKpav 
 vnb irXaxa Sovviov, 
 Tas Upas OTTtor Trpocrei- 
 
 TTOip,' hv 'KBavas. 
 
233 THE DUKE DE RIVAS. 
 
 The dedication to Mr. Frere has the singularity of being 
 written in the EngUsh language. 
 
 The ' Ode to the Lighthouse at Malta ' is another exempli- 
 fication of the Duke's patriotic feeling, as well as the poem 
 of 'The Exile/ which has been translated into English by 
 Mr. Reade. One of his latest works is in the form of a 
 drama^ but, like those of Lord Byron, it is not intended for 
 the stage. It is entitled, ' Undeception in a Dream/ and re- 
 presents the life of man, contrasting its vicissitudes and events 
 with his hopes and desires. Like the tragedy of ' Alvaro/ it is 
 a highly poetical conception, and worthy of the reputation of 
 the noble writer. 
 
 It has already been intimated that the most popular of the 
 Duke's works is one published at Madrid in 1841, ' Historical 
 Romances/ from which has been taken, for translation, the 
 ' Alcazar of Seville.' These romances are, in fact, ballads on 
 various subjects in Spanish history, written in the ballad 
 measure of octosyllabic lines, with asonante rhymes for the 
 second and fourth of each quatrain, similar to our own ballads. 
 In the prologue to this work the Duke has written a defence 
 of this measure, which required no defence beyond his own 
 adoption of it, with the example of such writers in it as Me- 
 lendez and Arriaza in modern times, and almost aU the best 
 writers in the language previously. Ochoa has praised " above 
 all " the romance of the Conde de Villa Mediana, and readers 
 generally find most interesting the 'Tale of a Veteran/ so 
 that it may require an explanation for the choice of the one 
 taken, that the character of Pedro, surnamed the Cruel, was 
 best known to the English public, as associated v^ith English 
 history. That of the Conde de Villa Mediana is a lively de- 
 scription of some scenes which led to his assassination by order 
 of the king, who was influenced by jealousy ; the ' Tale of the 
 Veteran' gives an account of an adventure in a nunnery, where 
 a nun invites an officer to her cell and poisons him in revenge 
 
THE DUKE DE RIVAS. 223 
 
 for his slight to her sister. She then shows him the corpse 
 of a brother officer, who had already fallen a victim to her 
 arts for the like wrong to herself, and she tells him the whole 
 history of her motives and conduct, while she induces him to 
 dig a grave for the first victim, with whom, she tells her 
 second, that he is also to be placed. 
 
 Few writers have given the world so many works of a 
 superior order, distinguishable separately for varied excel- 
 lence, as the Duke de Rivas. He has concentrated in his 
 later productions all the chief merits of a poet, in the choice 
 of his subjects, in the delineation of character and the power 
 of maintaining throughout the interest of the narrative. If 
 he has failed too often in the mechanical execution, in at- 
 tending to the harmony of verse or poetic expression of the 
 thoughts, these are faults which we may hope will be cor- 
 rected in subsequent editions, so as to leave him still greater 
 claims on the admiration of his readers. 
 
THE DUKE DE RIVAS. 
 
 THE ALCAZAR OF SEVILLE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Magnificent is the Alcazar, 
 
 For wticli Seville is renown' d, 
 Delicious are its gardens. 
 
 With its lofty portals crown'd. 
 With woods all carved elaborate. 
 
 In a thousand forms about, 
 It raises high its noble front 
 
 With cornice jutting out ; 
 And there in ancient characters 
 
 A tablet may be seen, 
 39on 3^etixo Milt ti^tfie palactiS, 
 
 The sculptures placed between. 
 But ill beseem in its saloons 
 
 The modern triflings rear'd. 
 And in its proud courts men without 
 
 The antique vest or beard. 
 
THE DUKE DE RIVAS. 225 
 
 How many a soft and balmy eve, 
 
 In pleasant converse there. 
 Have I with Seville's mirthful sons. 
 
 And Seville's daughters fair. 
 Traversed those blooming bowers along. 
 
 On entering which are rude 
 Gigantic shapes in myrtles cut, 
 
 Of various attitude ; 
 And rose-bay trees, in long arcades. 
 
 With oranges unite. 
 And shady labyrinths form, the which 
 
 To thefts of love invite ; 
 And hidden jets of water spring 
 
 All sudden from the floor. 
 When trod the painted pebbles laid 
 
 In rich mosaic o'er. 
 That sprinkle on the stranger there, 
 
 While shouts of laughter rise. 
 From those who warn'd by former fate 
 
 Now shun such pleasantries ! 
 
 In summer time, at close of day. 
 
 When mid the light cloud's fold. 
 The sun declines, encircling them 
 
 With scarlet and with gold. 
 That bright transparent heaven above. 
 
 With purple mists o'erspread, 
 
226 THE DUKE DB RIVAS. 
 
 Cut in a thousand varied hues, 
 
 By softest zephyrs led, 
 That glowing atmosphere, in which 
 
 One seems to breathe of fire. 
 How temper they the languid frame, 
 
 And soul divine inspire ! 
 The view too of those baths, that gain 
 
 From all who know them praise, 
 And that proud edifice which Moors 
 
 And Goths combined to raise, 
 In some parts harsh, in some more light, 
 
 Here ruins, there repair'd. 
 The different dominations pass'd 
 
 Are thus by each declared ; 
 With records, and remembrances 
 
 Of ages long pass'd by. 
 And of more modern years alike 
 
 To arrest the fantasy. 
 The lemon's and the jasmine's flowers. 
 
 While they the eyes enchant. 
 Embalm the circumambient air 
 
 With sweets they lavish grant. 
 The fountains' murmurs, and afar 
 
 The city's varied cries. 
 With those that from the river near, 
 
 Or Alameda rise. 
 From Triana, and from the bridge. 
 
 All lost, confused amain. 
 
THE DUKE DE RIVAS. 327 
 
 With sound of bells vibrating loud 
 
 In high Hiralda's fane ; — 
 A scene that never is forgot 
 
 Enchanted forms the vsrhole, 
 The thoughts of which unceasing cause 
 
 To beat my heart and soul. 
 
 Many delicious nights, when yet 
 
 My now all-frozen breast 
 Beat warmly, have I seen those halls 
 
 By youthful footsteps press'd ; 
 Fill'd with a chosen concourse gay 
 
 In country dance to meet, 
 Or light quadrille, while festive sounds 
 
 The orchestras repeat : 
 And from the gilded roofs rebound 
 
 The steps, the laugh perchance 
 And talk of happy pairs, by love 
 
 United in the dance ; 
 With sound of music mix'd the while, 
 
 Confused and blended o'er, 
 As sent according echos forth 
 
 From the enamelled floor. 
 
 Yet, ah ! those lovely bowers along 
 I never once have stray'd, 
 
 q2 
 
238 THE DCTKE DE RIVAS. 
 
 But saw as in a mental dream 
 
 Padillia's gentle shade. 
 Flitting before my view to pass. 
 
 Heaving a sigh profound, 
 Light as a vapour, or a cloud 
 
 That skims the trees around. 
 Nor ever entered I those halls. 
 
 But fancjring arise 
 I saw the founder's phantom, stain'd 
 
 With blood congeal'd the dyes. 
 Nor in that vestibule obscure, 
 
 Where with the cornice blend 
 The portraits of the kings, arranged 
 
 In columns to extend. 
 To that which is blue-tiled below, 
 
 And enamelled is on high. 
 Which shows on every side around 
 
 A rich-set balcony, 
 And gilded lattice roof above 
 
 That crowns it with dark shade. 
 But thought I saw upon the ground 
 
 A lifeless body laid ! 
 Yet on that pavement may be seen 
 
 A dark stain to this day ! 
 Indelible, which ages pass 
 
 And never wash away : 
 
THE DUKE DE RIVAS. 229 
 
 ^T is blood that dark tenacious stain ; 
 
 Blood of the murdered dead : 
 Alas ! how many throng it o'er. 
 
 Nor think on what they tread ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Five hundred years shone younger 
 
 The Alcazar to the day, 
 Its lofty walls yet lustrous, 
 
 And faultless its array ; 
 And brilliant were the enamels 
 
 Which its gilded roofs reveal. 
 It show'd itself the mansion fit 
 
 Of the king of proud Castile ; 
 When on one balmy morn it chanced 
 
 Of florid May betide. 
 In that saloon whose balcony 
 
 Is on the plaza's side. 
 Two persons of illustrious mien 
 
 In silence deep were there ; 
 One was a Cavalier, and one 
 
 A Lady passing fair. 
 
 A Barbary carpet richly wove 
 
 Upon the floor was laid. 
 The gift or tribute which the Moor 
 
 Granada's king had paid ; 
 
330 THE DtJKE DE RIVAS. 
 
 A silken curtain, bright with flowers, 
 
 And ribbons curious wrought, 
 With various eastern colours deckM, 
 
 Which to our Spain had brought 
 Venetian galleys, as perchance 
 
 Her Doge's gift of state, 
 Was thrown across the balcony, 
 
 The light to moderate. 
 In the recess in front, with woods 
 
 Well carved, and richly graced 
 With mother-o' -pearl inlayings. 
 
 Was an Oratory placed ; 
 Where of the sovereign Virgin 
 
 The image stood devout. 
 The sculpture somewhat rude, but yet 
 
 Attractions not without ; 
 Which with a plate of silver. 
 
 For ornament was crown'd. 
 Its rim reflecting amethysts. 
 
 And emeralds around. 
 A manuscript of holy prayers. 
 
 Which miniatures adorn, 
 Precious with gold and ivory 
 
 Upon its coverings borne, 
 Was seen there placed upon a stand, 
 
 Form'd of an angel's wings. 
 The figure badly sculptured. 
 
 But with neat finishings. 
 
THE DUKE DE RIVAS. 231 
 
 And on the floor of gold brocade 
 
 A cushion one might see, 
 Which by its sunken pressure show'd 
 
 The marks of bended knee. 
 And on the pure white walls were hung 
 
 Bright arms along the space, 
 And interspersed were banners, 
 
 And trophies of the chase. 
 An ornamental table stood 
 
 In the middle of the floor. 
 On which a well-tuned lute was placed. 
 
 Though partly coverM o'er ; 
 A rich-cut board for game of draughts. 
 
 And a coffer by its side 
 Of silver filigree, and jars 
 
 With chosen flowers supplied. 
 
 The Lady near the balcony 
 
 Sat very pensively. 
 In a great gilded chair of state, 
 
 Whose back was form'd to be 
 A canopy, or cover o'er. 
 
 And in gay carvings down 
 Were lions, castles, and the whole 
 
 Surmounted with a crown. 
 Her dress a silken robe of green. 
 
 Which show'd a various tinge, 
 
332 THE DUKE DE RIVAS. 
 
 In twisted threads, with pearls and gold 
 
 The embroidery and fringe. 
 Her head-dress than the snow appear'd 
 
 Ev'n whiter to behold, 
 And covering o'er the fine clear lawn 
 
 Her long dark tresses roll'd. 
 Her face was heavenly, and her neck 
 
 Divine, but in their hue 
 Like wax, the colour which fear paints. 
 
 And long-known sorrow too. 
 Her eyes were like two beaming suns 
 
 Beneath their lashes tall. 
 Where shone two precious pearly drops 
 
 As ready dovm to fall. 
 She was a lily fair, whom death 
 
 Was rudely threatening seen. 
 For a corroding worm the heart 
 
 Was tearing deep within. 
 Now in her thin pale hands, convulsed 
 
 It seems with fear or doubt. 
 Her kerchief white, of border'd lace 
 
 And points, she twists about ; 
 Or with absorbed distracted mien 
 
 She agitates the air. 
 With fan, whose feathers Araby 
 
 Had sent, the choicest there. 
 
THE DUKE DE RIVAS. 333 
 
 The Cavalier was slightly form'd, 
 
 And of the middle size, 
 With reddish beard, a restless mouth, 
 
 And most unquiet eyes. 
 His visage pale and dry appear' d, 
 
 Nose sharp and of a crook, 
 Nohle his port, but sinister 
 
 And terrible his look. 
 In a red mantle he was wrapped. 
 
 With golden plates o'erspread. 
 And gracefully his cap was placed 
 
 On one side on his head. 
 With measured steps, from end to end, 
 
 He paced along the room, 
 And different passions o'er his face 
 
 Though silent seem'd to come. 
 At times he reddens, darting round 
 
 Fierce looks, that seem to tell. 
 As flames cast forth from eyes of fire. 
 
 The very deeds of hell. 
 And now a fierce and bitter smile 
 
 The extended lip displays. 
 Or on the gilded roof he fix'd 
 
 A darkly lowering gaze. 
 Now hastening on his course, from head 
 
 To foot he trembles o'er. 
 And now proceeds his noble mien 
 
 Of calmness to restore. 
 
234 THE DUKE DE RIVAS. 
 
 Thus have I seen a tiger fierce. 
 
 Now tranquil, now with rage 
 Eevolve himself each side across. 
 
 And round his narrow cage. 
 Thus pacing o'er the carpet there 
 
 His footsteps are not heard. 
 But soundless they, yet were distinct 
 
 As ever that he stirr'd. 
 The crackling of his arms and knees : 
 
 In distant lands, 't is said. 
 That with like noise has Heaven supplied. 
 
 For man to shun in dread, 
 0, wonder rare ! a serpent, named 
 
 Thence Rattlesnake, that springs 
 Quick at the moment it comes nigh. 
 
 And kills whomever it stings. 
 
 The Lady was Padillia, 
 
 That sat in mournful strain; 
 
 And the steim silent Cavalier 
 Don Pedro, King of Spain. 
 
 III. 
 
 As round some solitary tower. 
 
 At setting of the sun. 
 Fierce birds of prey are whirling seen. 
 
 Revolving one by one, 
 
THE DUKE DE RIVAS. 235 
 
 Thus with Don Pedro in their turn 
 
 Have various thoughts a trace, 
 Whose shadows darken as they pass 
 
 The expression of his face. 
 Now occupies his angry mind 
 
 His brother's power and state. 
 Of those whose mother he had slain, 
 
 And birth would criminate. 
 Now of unquietnesses borne, 
 
 Great scorn and insult shown. 
 Or of his failing treasury, 
 
 Nor means to fill it known. 
 Now of the fair Aldonza's charms. 
 
 His fortune 't was to gain, 
 Or of the blood-stain'd forms of those 
 
 He had unjustly slain. 
 Now some projected enterprise. 
 
 Some treaty to defeat. 
 Faith-breaking with Granada's Moor, 
 
 Or treason or deceit. 
 But as the birds the lonely tower. 
 
 The broken heights between. 
 Are all at length, as one by one. 
 
 Retiring hiding seen ; 
 And constant only one remains. 
 
 Revolving it infest. 
 
336 THE DUKE DE RIVAS. 
 
 The fiercest, strongest on the wing, 
 
 That will admit no rest ; 
 Thus all that multitude confused 
 
 Of passions wild and strange, 
 Of which Don Pedro for a while 
 
 Was tangled in the range, 
 At length from breast and head alike 
 
 Fled finding a retreat. 
 And living left distinct alone. 
 
 With horror great replete, 
 The image of Fadrique, 
 
 His eldest brother famed, 
 The pride of knights and Master those 
 
 Of Santiago named. 
 
 Now from Humillia's conquer'd walls, 
 
 With matchless courage won, 
 In triumph had Fadrique come 
 
 O'er vanquish'd Aragon. 
 Where erst the bars, the castles now 
 
 He floating left abroad, 
 And to present the keys he brings 
 
 His brother, king and lord. 
 Well knows the king no rebel he. 
 
 But friend and ally true, 
 And more than Tello madly hates, 
 
 And more than Henry too. 
 
THE DUKE DE RIVAS. 237 
 
 'T was he Fadrique had the charge 
 
 From France to bring the queen, 
 The Lady Blanche, but he allow'd 
 
 A year to intervene. 
 With her in Narbonne he delay' d, 
 
 And rumours thus of those, 
 Which whether true or false alike 
 
 Are poisonous, arose. 
 And in Medina's tower the price 
 
 The Lady Blanche now pays, 
 Of all the palace whisperings, 
 
 And journey's long delays. 
 And on his shoulders yet untouch'd 
 
 His head Fadrique wears. 
 Because of his great wealth and power 
 
 And honour'd name he bears. 
 But, woe for him ! the ladies all 
 
 Him as their idol own. 
 For his gay port and gallant mien, 
 
 And manly courage known. 
 And if he cause the throne no fear. 
 
 In his fidelity. 
 He gives what 's worse, though that were bad. 
 
 The heart strong jealousy. 
 
 Meanwhile the fair PadiUia, 
 
 Whose judgement clear and great. 
 
338 THE DUKE DE RIVAS. 
 
 Her royal lover's secret thoughts. 
 
 Though deepest penetrate, 
 In whom the goodness of her heart 
 
 The enchantment still excels, 
 That in her beauteous face and form 
 
 So marvellously dwells. 
 Unhappy victim lives of fears. 
 
 That ever her attend. 
 Because she loves the king, and sees 
 
 His course in evil end : 
 She knows that based in blood and grief, 
 
 And persecution's train, 
 A palace never is secure. 
 
 No throne can fix'd remain. 
 And she has two young tender girls, 
 
 "Who with another sire, 
 Whate'er their lot, might all have gain'd 
 
 Their hearts could best require ; 
 And in Fadrique's worth she sees 
 
 A stay and partisan. 
 She knows he comes to Seville now, 
 
 And as from words can scan 
 Her fierce lord's brow dark lowering, 
 
 In evil hour he came, 
 And to allay suspicions. 
 
 Or give them higher .aim. 
 At length, though with a trembling lip. 
 
 The silence breaking dared 
 
THE DUKE DE RIVAS. 239 
 
 To speak, and thus the words that pass'd 
 
 Between the two declared : 
 " Your brother then, Fadrique, 
 
 Triumphant comes today ? " 
 " And certainly in coming. 
 
 The wretch makes long delay." 
 " He serves you well, and hero-like. 
 
 As does Humillia show, 
 Of loyalty gives proofs, and brave 
 
 He is "— " Sufficient so." 
 " You may be sure. Sire, that his heart 
 
 Will ever true remain." 
 " Tomorrow still more sure of that." 
 
 Both silent were again. 
 
 IV. 
 
 With joy the Master to receive. 
 
 Through Seville's streets along. 
 Great rumour spreads, and arms resound. 
 
 And men and horses throng. 
 And shouts of welcoming, amidst 
 
 Repeated echoes rise, 
 Which from Hiralda's lofty tower 
 
 Are scatter'd to the skies. 
 Now comes the crowd approaching near. 
 
 But less the shouts resound. 
 
340 THE DUKE DE RIVAS. 
 
 And now the palace gates they reach 
 
 Mid silence all around : 
 As if the Alcazar had enjoy'd 
 
 The privilege to appear. 
 In sight, and still the enthusiast flow. 
 
 And turn it into fear. 
 Thus mute and breathless, motionless. 
 
 The people stood in dread. 
 As if with magical respect 
 
 The plaza^s bounds to tread ; 
 And enters there the Master now, 
 
 With but a scanty train. 
 And of his order some few knights. 
 
 The palace gates to gain. 
 And forward on his course directs. 
 
 As one without alarms. 
 Who goes to meet a brother kind. 
 
 With open heart and arms : 
 Or as some noble chieftain comes. 
 
 For glorious deeds the cause. 
 From grateful monarch to receive 
 
 Due honours and applause. 
 Upon a dark and mettled steed. 
 
 That breathes of foam and fire. 
 And while the bridle scarce restrains. 
 
 Seems proud of its attire. 
 
THE DUKE DE EIVAS. 241 
 
 With a white mantle o'er him cast, 
 
 Flung loosely to the air, 
 O'er which the collar and red cross 
 
 His dignity declare j 
 And cap of crimson velvet girt 
 
 His brows, whereon unfold 
 The winds the feathers' snowy plumes, 
 
 And tassels bound with gold. 
 
 All pale as death, the furious King 
 
 His brother saw from far. 
 When on the plaza entering first. 
 
 And fix'd as statues are, 
 Awhile he stood upon the floor. 
 
 And from his angry eyes 
 Seem'd burning horrid lightning thence 
 
 In flashes to arise. 
 But starting soon, himself around 
 
 He turn'd the room to leave, 
 As if he would some welcome guest 
 
 Right affably receive. 
 When thus Padillia saw him turn, 
 
 Her heart beyond relief 
 Of anguish full, and countenance 
 
 So beauteous mark'd with grief, 
 She rose, and to the balcony 
 
 Went troubled, by the square. 
 
243 THE DUKE DE RIVAS. 
 
 And to the Master motions wild, 
 
 With gestures to declare, 
 In evil hour he comes, and waves 
 
 Her kerchief him away, 
 And by mute signs thus bids him seek 
 
 Safety without delay. 
 Nothing of this he comprehends. 
 
 But for saluting takes 
 The warning, and discreetly thus 
 
 A gaUant answer makes. 
 And to the open'd portal comes. 
 
 With guards and bowmen lined. 
 Who give him passage free, but leave 
 
 His followers behind. 
 
 If he knew not Padillia's signs, 
 
 Don Pedro knew them well. 
 As he before the chamber door 
 
 A moment seemed to dwell. 
 In deep suspense o'er his resolve, 
 
 When turning back his eye. 
 He saw the Lady warn him thus 
 
 By motions thence to fly. 
 O, heaven ! then was that noble act. 
 
 Of pure intent to be 
 What call'd the executioners forth. 
 
 And seal'd the stern decree. 
 
THE DUKE DE RIVAS. 243 
 
 Follow'd by two esquires alone, 
 
 The Master scarce in haste 
 Upon the royal vestibule 
 
 His foot confiding placed, 
 Where various men-at-arms were seen, 
 
 In double iron barr'd, 
 Pacing along as sentinels 
 
 The entrance stairs to guard, 
 When over from the balcony, 
 
 Like fiendish shape of ill, 
 The King looks out, and " Mace-bearers," 
 
 He shouts, " the Master kill." 
 Quick as the lightning in a storm 
 
 Comes ere the thunders call, 
 Six well-appointed maces down 
 
 On Don Fadrique fall. 
 He raised his hand to grasp his sword, 
 
 But in his tabard's gird 
 The hilt was bound, impossible 
 
 To draw it at the word. 
 He fell, a sea of blood around 
 
 Ran from the shatter'd brain, 
 Raising a cry which reached to heaven. 
 
 And doubtless not in vain. 
 Of deed so horrible the news 
 
 At once around was spread, 
 
 r2 
 
244 THE DUKE DE KIVAS. 
 
 And thence the brotherhood and knights 
 
 Together quickly fled. 
 To hide them in their houses fled 
 
 The people, trembUng sore 
 With horror, and the Alcazar's bounds 
 
 Were desert as before. 
 
 'T is said, the sight of blood so much 
 
 Is wont to infuriate 
 The tiger, that he still rends on 
 
 With stomach satiate ; 
 Solely because 't is his delight 
 
 With blood the earth to stain. 
 So doubtless with the King it was 
 
 Such feelings grew amain. 
 For when he saw Fadrique laid, 
 
 Thus prostrate on the ground, 
 After the squires in search he ran 
 
 The palace all around ; 
 Who tremblingly and livid fled 
 
 The apartments various o'er. 
 Nor find they any hiding-place. 
 
 Or whence to fly a door. 
 
THE DUKE DE RIVAS. 245 
 
 One happily at length succeeds, 
 
 To hide or fly outright ; 
 The other, Sancho Villiegas, 
 
 Less happy or adroit. 
 Seeing the King still follow him, 
 
 Enter'd half dead with fear 
 Where was Padillia on her couch. 
 
 With her attendants near ; 
 . They trembling, as she senseless laid, 
 
 And by her side reclined 
 Her two young tender girls, who were 
 
 Angels in form and mind. 
 The unhappy youth still seeing there 
 
 The spectre following nigh, 
 That even this asylum mocks, 
 
 In his arms quickly high 
 Snatches the Lady Beatrice, 
 
 Who scarce six years has known, 
 The child for whom the King has e'er 
 
 The most affection shown. 
 But, ah ! naught serves him this resource. 
 
 As in the desert naught 
 The holy cross avails, that clasps 
 
 The pilgrim hapless caught ; 
 When roars the south wind, burns the sky. 
 
 And seems as if up-driven 
 
246 THE DUKE DE RIVAS. 
 
 A frightful sea, of waves of sand. 
 Commingling earth and heaven ; 
 
 Thus with the child between his arms, 
 And on his knees compressed. 
 
 The furious dagger of the King 
 Was planted in his breast. 
 
 As if that day had witness'd naught 
 
 The palace new or rare. 
 The King sat at the table calm 
 
 To eat as usual there ; 
 Play'd afterwards a game of draughts. 
 
 Then went out pacing slow 
 To see the galleys, arming soon 
 
 To Biscay's shores to go. 
 And when the night the hemisphere 
 
 Had with its mantle veiPd, 
 He enters in the Golden Tower, 
 
 Where he shut up has held 
 The fair Aldonza, whom he took 
 
 Prom S?inta Clara's walls, 
 And as in blind idolatry 
 
 Who now his heart enthralls. 
 With Levi then his treasurer. 
 
 Who though a Hebrew vile 
 
THE DUKE DB RIVAS. 247 
 
 Has all his confidence^ he goes 
 
 On state affairs awhile ; 
 And very late retires to rest, 
 
 With no attendants nigh, 
 Only a Moor, a wretch perforce, 
 
 His favourite waiting by. 
 
 Enter'd the lofty vestibule, 
 
 The Alcazar's tranquil bound. 
 One moment paused the King and pass'd 
 
 His gaze in turn around. 
 A large lamp from the vaulted roof 
 
 "Was hanging loose, and cast 
 Now lights, now shadows, as it swung. 
 
 As by the breezes pass'd. 
 Between the polish'd columns placed 
 
 Two men in armour were. 
 But only two dark figures show'd. 
 
 Watching in silence there. 
 And still was Don Fadrique laid 
 
 Extended on the ground. 
 With his torn mantle o'er him spread. 
 
 In a lake of blood around. 
 The King approach'd him, and awhile 
 
 Attentively survey'd, 
 
348 THE DUKE DE EIVAS. 
 
 And seeing that his brother yet 
 
 Was not entirely dead. 
 Since he perchance as breathing seem'd. 
 
 His breast a heave to make, 
 He gave him with his foot a push. 
 
 Which made the body shake ; 
 Whereon he, giving to the Moor 
 
 His sharpened dagger bare. 
 Said, " Finish him," and quietly 
 
 To sleep went up the stair. 
 
IX. 
 MANUEL BEETON DE LOS HEREEROS. 
 
 In the country of Lope de Vega and Calderon de la Barca^ 
 it was not to be supposed, that on the general revival of the 
 national literature, the drama could be left neglected, in a 
 state unvrorthy of its ancient reputation. From the time of 
 those great writers until the present, notwithstanding the 
 predilection of the Spanish people for the stage, and the en- 
 couragement consequently given for genius to exert itself, no 
 dramas had been produced to equal them in the public ad- 
 miration. The younger Moratin, who may be justly termed 
 the Spanish Moliere, had rather introduced into Spain a new 
 style of drama, that which we call genteel comedy, than fol- 
 lowed the track of the ancient masters. It was reserved for 
 a later writer, the subject of this notice, to appear as a rival 
 to them in the exuberance of composition, and possession of 
 popular favour, though it may be a question for future ages 
 to decide on his relative merit. 
 
 Breton de los Herreros was born at Quel, a small village 
 in the province of Logronio, the 19th December, 1796. Of 
 his early history, we are only informed that he was educated 
 at the school of San Antonio Abad at Madrid, and that he 
 
350 MANUEL BRETON DE LOS HERREROS. 
 
 entered a regiment of infantry as a volunteer, when yet a boy 
 of fourteen. The world at large may be considered to be, 
 with regard to contemporary characters of another nation, in 
 the relation of posterity, making distance have, as Bishop At- 
 terbury remarked to Lord Bolingbroke, the effect of time ; 
 and they will thus inquire eagerly into the particulars of the 
 life of one distinguished for genius, however humble his birth, 
 while they will pass heedlessly by the noblest born personage, 
 who has given them no peculiar right of interest in his history. 
 But, as on reading the life of the Duke de Rivas, we feel it 
 a subject of congratulation, that the lance of a French ma- 
 rauder did not cut off one who was destined to be the orna- 
 ment of his country's literature, so we rejoice again equally 
 that the chance passed away favourably, when a stray ball 
 might have deprived the world of the works of Breton de los 
 Herreros. Serving in his humble line, he was present at 
 various skirmishes with the invaders on their final expulsion 
 from Valencia and Catalonia, at the same time composing 
 patriotic songs on the national triumphs. In 1812, when 
 yet a boy of fifteen, he wrote an Ode to the Constitution, 
 and distinguished himself as an orator among his comrades 
 on the popular subjects of discussion. On the return of 
 Ferdinand VII. to absolute power, he must have been com- 
 pelled to restrain his tendencies for Uberalism, and it may be 
 supposed that his time was at least as well employed in noting 
 the characters of those around him, and the scenes he had to 
 witness, as a storehouse of useful observations for his future 
 writings. 
 
 In 1822 he obtained his discharge from the army, and 
 after various attempts made to obtain an eligible employment 
 in the provinces, he went to Madrid, in the summer of 1824, 
 for the same pui'pose. There again he was equally unsuc- 
 cessful, and as a last resource, took to the director of the 
 
MANUKL BRETON DE LOS HEKBEROS. 351 
 
 theatrCj a comedy whicli he had written some years previously 
 for pastime. Fortunately for him, the director happened to 
 be in want of a new piece to bring out on the king's birth- 
 day, and thinking the one presented would answer his pur- 
 pose, he undertook its production with more than usual care, 
 on account of the occasion. It was accordingly performed on 
 the 34th October, 1834, and met with such decided success, 
 that the literary fame of the author was at once secured. 
 
 The profits accruing from the representation of his come- 
 dies were exceedingly trifling; but his natural inclinations 
 led him to writing for the stage, where he now found 
 himself respected as a successful writer; and as he had 
 no other resource for maintenance, he applied himself to 
 this labour with better hopes. A succession of pieces he 
 wrote were equally successful, produced with a rapidity that 
 reminded the world of the fertility that had characterized 
 the genius of Lope de Vega or Calderon. One of his 
 pieces was so much relished^ that at the close, the audience 
 insisted on its being repeated all over a second time, with 
 which extraordinary demand the actors had to comply. In 
 1831 he brought out his comedy of ' Marcela, or Which of the 
 Three ? ' — the most popular of all his productions, the subject 
 being, which of three lovers, all unworthy of her, the heroine, 
 who is amiability personified, should accept. It was repeated 
 at all the theatres in the kingdom, and went through six 
 editions on publication, besides several surreptitious ones, 
 having some of the verses even passing into "household 
 words," as popular expressions. 
 
 In the same year, 1831, he published a small volume of 
 poems, containing lyrical and miscellaneous pieces, and has 
 since written many more of the same character in the different 
 periodicals of Madrid. None of these are, however, deserving 
 of note, except the satirical ones, many of which abound with 
 
252 MANUEL BRETON DE LOS HERREROS. 
 
 the wit and humour for which his comedies are remarkable. 
 He is now engaged in pubhshing at Madrid a collection of 
 all his works, the last volume being intended to contain the 
 miscellaneous poems, which, corrected and collected together 
 from the different papers in which they at first appeared, will 
 no doubt prove to be more worthy of his fame than those 
 published in 1831. In the lyrical poems he is avowedly a 
 follower of the so-called classical school, and rises no higher 
 than those of the same class that had preceded him ; their 
 utmost praise being to be characterized as — 
 
 Coldly correct and classically duU. 
 
 In the satirical pieces, however, he seems in his proper 
 element, playing on words and treating his rhymes with a 
 command of language truly surprising. For this reason, and 
 on account of the numerous local and national allusions con- 
 tained in them, it is very difficult for a foreigner fully to 
 tmderstand, and almost impossible to be able to translate 
 them. Those pieces attempted in this work may perhaps 
 give some faint image of his style j but they have been chosen 
 as most easy for translation, rather than as the best. Of the 
 Satires published separately after the volume above men- 
 tioned, the most applauded have been those entitled, ' Against 
 the Philharmonic Rage ; ' ' Against the Mania for Writing for 
 the Public/ 'Against the Abuses introduced into Theatrical 
 Declamation J ' 'Moral Epistle on the Manners of the Age;' 
 and ' The Rage for Travelling.' With the Spaniards of the 
 present day as with their Roman ancestors, satire is a 
 favourite species of composition, and it has been observed, 
 that a manual of the history of the national dissensions 
 might be composed out of the works of this popular author 
 alone. 
 
 Breton, independently of his original writings, has had the 
 
MANUEL BRETON DE LOS HERREROS. 253 
 
 editorship of one of the periodicals of Madrid, and occasional 
 engagements connected with others. He also had at one 
 time an appointment in one of the offices of the government, 
 which he seems to have lost in 1840, on his writing some 
 satirical effusion on the change that had then taken place. 
 Literature has been in every age a grievous exaction, for 
 those who had to follow it as a profession, except under 
 pecuhar circumstances. He had only his genius to befriend 
 him, and apparently had not even the virtue of prudence for 
 a counsellor. Thus he has had often to submit to circum- 
 stances, which though harassing at the time, he had the 
 wisdom to make subjects of merriment afterwards, to the 
 gain of his literary reputation. 
 
 In Spain there can scarcely yet be said to be formed a 
 "reading public," notwithstanding the great number of 
 good works that have been lately published, to supply the 
 demand whenever it shall arise. The most evident and 
 flattering of aU the applauses that a hterary man can there 
 receive, are those awarded to dramatic successes, and of these, 
 he has had the reward that was certainly due to him. In 
 such a climate as that of Spain, and with such a people, 
 theatrical amusements are more a matter of popular necessity 
 than they, are in a colder climate, with people of more do- 
 mestic requirements; and yet even in England it may be a 
 cause of surprise, considering the honour given to the author 
 of a successful play, that more works of genius have not been 
 produced for the stage. In both countries there is a com- 
 plaint of the pubhc requiring "novelties;" but the fact is, 
 that in seeking novelties, they are only seeking excellence. 
 When any really good work is presented them, they know 
 how to appreciate it, and in seeking for others even of the 
 same author, they are only expressing their sense of his 
 merits. 
 
254 MANUEL BRETON DE LOS HERREROS. 
 
 In the prospectus of the proposed new edition of his works, 
 he had the satisfaction of stating he had to republish more 
 than sixty original dramas, that had met with a successful 
 reception from the audiences of Madrid. He has besides 
 these produced several that have not been successful, and has 
 translated from the French a great number of others. These 
 have been principally tragedies, and he has adapted them for 
 the Spanish stage, rather than translated them, showing a 
 talent, it has been observed by Del Rio, in so doing equiva- 
 lent to making them to be counted in the number of his ori- 
 ginal works. Del Rio cites as a particular example, the trans- 
 lation from Delavigne's Tragedy of ' The Sons of Edward.' 
 Breton's talent is evidently pre-eminent for comedy ; but he 
 has written several tragedies also, of which one, the ' Merope,' 
 brought forward in 1835, was received with much favour. 
 
 This work, as it has been more than once already intimated, 
 is intended mainly to give an account of the lyrical poetry of 
 Spain as flourishing at present; and, therefore, it would be 
 entering on subjects foreign to om* purpose, to inquire at large 
 into the merits of any specific dramatic performances. The 
 Spanish drama may, no doubt, be worthy of especial study, 
 but I confess that I have not felt it deserving of the extrava- 
 gant praises which some writers have bestowed on it. It would 
 surely be much happier for the people of every country to 
 seek their greatest enjoyments in those of a domestic nature, 
 rather than in those miscellaneous congregations where the 
 quieter virtues can have little exercise. But as human nature 
 is constituted, and public amusements cannot be avoided, it 
 is the duty of every friend of the popular interests to support 
 their being given on the foundation of good taste and moral 
 principles. Though Breton's works do not appear free from 
 all blame in this respect, and though sometimes his witti- 
 cisms may be observed scarcely fitting even for the stage, 
 
MANUEL BRETON DE LOS 1-IEKREROS. 355 
 
 yet they show, on the whole, compared with the dramatic 
 productions of other countries, at least equal refinement, as 
 they certainly do more inventive talent than we can point 
 out elsewhere in our age. 
 
 Larra, the most discriminating critic of Spain, has observed 
 of Breton, "■ that in nothing does his peculiar poetical talent 
 shine more than in the simplicity of his plans. In all his 
 comedies it is known that he makes a study and show of 
 forming a plot extremely simple, — little or no action, little or 
 no artifice. This is conceded to talent only, and to superior 
 talent. A comedy, full of incidents, which any one invents, 
 is easy to be passed off on a public always captivated by what 
 interests and excites curiosity. Breton despises these trivial 
 resources, and sustains and carries to a happy conclusion, 
 amid the continual laughter of the audience, and from ap- 
 plause to applause, a comedy based principally on the- 
 depicting of some comic characters, in the liveliness and 
 quickness of repartee, in the pureness, flow and harmony of 
 his easy versification. In these gifts he has no rival, though 
 he may have them in regard to intention, profoundness or 
 philosophy." 
 
 Ferrer del Rio says of him, " that he has cultivated a style 
 so much his own, that at the first few verses of one of his 
 works, the spectators cry out his name from all parts. Ori- 
 ginality is thus one of the qualities that recommend him. 
 He tyrannizes over the public, obliging them to cast away 
 ill-humour, and laugh against their will from the time the 
 curtain rises till the representation ends, and this the same 
 whether in the comedies they applaud, or those they disap- 
 prove. He is consequently mirthful and witty in the ex- 
 treme, and no one can dispute the palm with him under this 
 consideration. None of his scenes fatigue from weariness; 
 none of his verses fail of fullness and harmony ; they do not 
 
256 MANUEL BRETON DB LOS HERREROS. 
 
 appear made one after another, but at one blow, and as by 
 enchantment. Thus all hail him as a perfect versifier and 
 easy coUoquist. Infinite are the matters he has introduced 
 in his comedies, multiplied the characters sketched by his 
 pen, innumerable the situations imagined, and undoubtedly 
 there is due to him the well-founded ascription of a fertile 
 genius. Originality, wit, easy dialogue, sonorous versifica- 
 tion, an inexhaustible vein, would not be sufficient to form a 
 good comic writer of manners without the criterion of obser- 
 vation, fit for filling up his pictures with exactness. This 
 criterion also he possesses in a high degree." 
 
 High as is this encomium, the writer says of him further, 
 that if it were decreed by Providence that a new race of bar- 
 barians should overrun Spain, destroying libraries and other 
 depositaries of human knowledge, yet the name of Breton de 
 los Herreros would survive the disaster, and some vestige of 
 his comedies would remain. " Histories, books of learning, 
 works of legislation, science, philosophy and politics are, no 
 doubt, more profound than his comedies, though from their 
 peculiar nature not so popular. Thus what we have said is 
 to be understood as a means of distinguishing between 
 writings which, that they may not perish in the course of 
 ages, require studious men to adopt them for a test, and 
 learned men to illustrate them by their commentaries, and 
 those compositions that, to succeed in obtaining the honours 
 of immortaUty, require only a people to recite and transmit 
 them verbally from father to son. The name of Breton may 
 become traditional in Spain, that of other celebrated writers 
 will belong to history." 
 
 Breton has been elected a member of the Royal Spanish 
 Academy, and certainly one so highly gifted as he is in his 
 department, is well deserving of every literary honour. The 
 times are gone by when a writer of comedies could be all in 
 
MANUEL BRETON DE LOS HEKREROS. 257 
 
 all with the public as their favourite author ; but probably 
 there is no other existing in Spain who enjoys so much po- 
 pular regard. As suchj notwithstanding the inferior merit 
 of his lyrical and miscellaneous poetry, excepting his satirical 
 writings, it would have been a blameworthy omission to have 
 left his name out of the list of the modern poets of Spain. 
 It was, however, for this reason more advisable to make the 
 selections from those satirical writings ; though independently 
 of this consideration, it would have been also desirable, in a 
 work attempting to give a general view of modern Spanish 
 poetry, that so essential and popular a branch of it should 
 not be left unnoticed. 
 
 For the poems under this head, Breton has only given the 
 general term " Satirical Letrillias," so that with those trans- 
 lated his numbering only could be adopted for reference. 
 The Letrillia, it may be proper to observe, is what our mu- 
 sical writers call Motetts or small pieces, having generally 
 some well-known proverbial saying for the close of each verse. 
 
MANUEL BRETON DE LOS HERREROS. 
 
 SATIRICAL LETRILLIAS.— III. 
 
 Such is, dear girl, my tendernesSj 
 
 Naught can its equal be ! 
 If thou a dowry didst possess 
 The charms to rival of thy face, 
 
 I would marry thee. 
 
 Thou wert my bliss, my star, my all ! 
 
 So kiud and fair to see ; 
 And me thy consort to instal. 
 At once for witness Heaven I call, 
 
 I would marry thee. 
 
 Thou dost adore me ? yes, and I, 
 
 Thy love so raptures me. 
 If thou wouldst not so anxious try 
 To know my pay, and what I buy, 
 
 I would marry thee. 
 
MANUEL BRETON DE LOS HEEREROS. 
 
 If thou wert not so always coy, 
 
 Ne'er listening to my plea, 
 But when I, fool ! my cash employ 
 To bring thee sweets, or some fine toy, 
 
 I would marry thee. 
 
 If thou must not instructions wait, 
 
 As may mamma agree. 
 To write or speak to me, or state 
 When thou wilt meet me at the gate, 
 
 I would marry thee. 
 
 If 't were not when to dine, the most 
 
 Thy meagre soup bouillie 
 Thou givest, as many airs thou show'st. 
 As Roderic at the hanging-post, 
 
 I would marry thee. 
 
 If for my punishment instead 
 
 Of ease and quiet, we 
 Might not three hungry brothers dread. 
 And mother too, to keep when wed, 
 
 I would marry thee. 
 
 If 't were not when these plagues combine 
 
 With thy tears flowing free, 
 The virtues of a heavenly sign 
 I see must solace me, not thine, 
 
 I would marry thee. 
 
 259 
 
 s3 
 
360 MANUEL BRETON DE LOS HERREROS. 
 
 Go, get another in thy chain, 
 And Heaven for you decree 
 A thousand joys, for me 't is vain j 
 I know thee cheat, and tell thee plain, 
 I will not marry thee. 
 
 SATIRICAL LETRILLIAS.— IV. 
 
 Whene'er Don Juan has a feast at home, 
 I am forgotten as if at Rome ; 
 But he will for funerals me invite. 
 To kill me with the annoyance quite : 
 Well, so be it ! 
 
 Celeste, with thousand coy excuses. 
 Will sing the song that set she chooses, 
 And all about that her environ, 
 Though like an owl, call her a Siren : 
 Well, so be it ! 
 
 A hundred bees, without reposing. 
 Work their sweet combs, with skill enclosing ; 
 Alas ! for an idle drone they strive. 
 Who soon will come to devour the hive : 
 Well, so be it ! 
 
MANUEL BRETON DE LOS HERttEKOS. 261 
 
 Man to his like moves furious war. 
 As if were not too numerous far 
 Alone the medical squadrons straight 
 The world itself to depopulate ! 
 
 Well, so be it ! 
 
 There are of usurers heaps in Spain^ 
 Of catchpoles, hucksterers, heaps again. 
 And of vintners too, yet people still 
 Are talking of robbers on the hill : 
 Well, so be it ! 
 
 In vain may the poor, Conde ! try 
 Thy door, for the dog makes sole reply ; 
 And yet to spend thou hast extollers. 
 Over a ball two thousand dollars : 
 Well, so be it ! 
 
 Enough today, my pen, this preachiag ; 
 A better time we wait for teaching : 
 If vices in vain I try to brand. 
 And find I only write upon sand. 
 Well, so be it ! 
 
263 MANUEL BRETON DE LOS HEEREROS. 
 
 SATIRICAL LETRILLIAS.— VII. 
 
 ! what a blockhead is Don Andres, 
 So spending his gold without measure, 
 
 Who ruins, perhaps, to be a Marquess, 
 His house by the waste of his treasure ! 
 
 A cross on his breast to wear so prim. 
 
 Much be the good it will do to him ! 
 
 Louis is passing the whole long night. 
 In the dance, what a fancy to take ! 
 
 So foolish too, when he easier might 
 
 On his warm soft bed his comfort make ; 
 
 To stretch as be pleased each weary limb : 
 
 Much be the good it will do to him ! 
 
 0, how short-sighted is Avarice ! 
 
 Cenon exposes himself to shame. 
 For the few pounds more he gains amiss. 
 
 To lose his office and his good name ; 
 For a paltry bribe his fame to dim. 
 Much be the good it will do to him. 
 
 And Clara ! what of thee shall I say ? 
 
 When slowly along I see thee go. 
 As if quite lame on the public way. 
 
 And on thy long broad foot bestow 
 
MANUEL BRETON DE LOS HERREROS. 263 
 
 A short narrow shoe for us to see ? 
 Much be the good it will do to thee ! 
 
 Can it be possibly true, Jerome, 
 
 Though yearly he sees his rents decrease. 
 When his fat steward shall bring him home 
 
 His bills, will sign them as he may please ? 
 Without any search to scarcely skim ? 
 Much be the good it will do to him ! 
 
 Fabio wedded with Jane, when above 
 
 A sixpence they neither had, but then 
 " He loved her so ! " Long life to that love. 
 
 Bravo 1 tomorrow if he seem fain 
 To hang himself with vexation grim. 
 Much be the good it will do to him. 
 
 Wouldst thou engage with the bulls in fight. 
 
 My friend ! thy wish to be gratified. 
 When to the best champion known will light 
 
 Some luckless thrust give through the right side ? 
 To try thy skill thou art surely free : 
 Much be the good it will do to thee ! 
 
 Martin goes a poor rabbit to chase. 
 
 When he could buy for a trifle one 
 Fully as good in the market-place; 
 
 And he gets fever-struck by the sun ! 
 
264 MANUEL BKETON DE LOS HEREEROS. 
 
 Well, at the least lie has had his whim : 
 Much be the good it will do to him ! 
 
 If when such a thing he least expects, 
 His house should tumble upon his head. 
 
 Because a doubloon Anton neglects 
 To give for mending the roof instead. 
 
 The hole some rat had made in the rim. 
 
 Much be the good it will do to him ! 
 
 If should some crusty reader exclaim 
 
 Over these lines, — What a wretched style ! 
 
 What a bad taste to make it his aim ! 
 My pen more gracefully could the while 
 
 Have made the verse go easy and trim. 
 
 Much be the good it will do to him ! 
 
X. 
 JOSE MAEIA HEREDIA. 
 
 The people of Cuba have good cause to be proud of a poet 
 born in their island^ whose genius seems always to have found 
 its highest inspiration in expatiating on the charms of the 
 place of his birth. 
 
 Heredia was bom the 31st December, 1803, at Santiago 
 de Cuba, in which city his family had taken refuge when 
 driven away by the revolution from the island of Santo Do- 
 mingo, where they had been previously settled. His father, 
 whose profession was that of the law, was shortly afterwards 
 appointed a Judge in Mexico, where he accordingly went 
 with his family, taking his son there for his education under 
 his special superintendence. This duty he had the privilege 
 allowed him to accomplish, when he died in 1820, leavLag a 
 reputation for ability and uprightness so eminent as to prove 
 highly advantageous to his son in his subsequent necessities. 
 On his father's death, Heredia returned with his mother and 
 three sisters to Cuba, where he had an uncle and other rela- 
 tions residing, and there he engaged in a course of study for 
 
266 JOSE MAEIA HEREDIA. 
 
 the profession of the law, at the termination of which he was, 
 in 1833, admitted an Advocate in the Supreme Court of the 
 island. From his earhest years he had always shown himself 
 possessed of a very studious disposition, and some of his poems 
 seem to have been written when only eighteen years of age. 
 
 In the pursuit of the profession he had adopted, with his 
 talent and energy, Heredia might have hoped soon to acquire 
 a very honourable position ; but unfortunately for his future 
 comfort in Hfe, he had imbibed too strongly the principles 
 then prevailing to consider the domination of Spain as an 
 evil which ought to be removed. It is stated, that there was 
 a conspiracy even then formed to declare the independence of 
 the island, in which he was implicated ; and that on his being 
 denounced to the government in consequence, he was obliged 
 to fly from the island. Proceedings under this charge were 
 notwithstanding instituted against him, under which he was 
 formally declared banished. He thereupon went, in Novem- 
 ber 1823, to New York, where he passed the following three 
 years, appearing, from the accounts that reached his friends, 
 to have lived there during that time in great privations. 
 These, and the variableness of the climate, operating severely 
 on his constitution, as a native of the tropics, were no doubt 
 the causes of his becoming a victim to that fatal disease which 
 terminated his existence a few years afterwards. 
 
 In New York he acquired soon an accurate knowledge of \ 
 the Enghsh language, which enabled him also to become 
 familiarly acquainted with English literature. Of this he 
 showed no inconsiderable tokens, in a volume of poems which 
 he published there in 1825, having included among them j 
 several translations from the English, though he has not ac- / 
 knowledged them generally as such. He continued the same 
 neglect in the edition of his works published subsequently in 
 Mexico in 1832, which was a much superior edition to the 
 
JOSE MARIA HEREDIA. 267 
 
 former, being more than doubled in regard to its contents, 
 and having the poems formerly published now much corrected 
 and improved. 
 
 Not finding his residence in New York offering him any 
 hopes of advancement in life, and despairing of being able to 
 return to his family in Cuba, he determined to go thence to 
 Mexico and seek the assistance of his father's friends in that 
 city. He accordingly went there in 1836, and had scarcely 
 arrived when he was at once appointed to a situation in the 
 office of the Secretary of State. From this minor post he was 
 soon afterwards promoted to discharge various important 
 offices in the provinces, and finally to be named one of the 
 Judges of the Supreme Court of Mexico and a Senator of the 
 Republic. It was while holding one of those appointments 
 as a local judge at Toluca that he published there the second 
 edition of his works just mentioned. 
 
 After the death of Ferdinand VII., in 1833, the Eegent, 
 Queen Christina, wisely accorded a general amnesty to all 
 expatriated Spaniards, when Heredia, notwithstanding the 
 favourable position he held in Mexico, where also he had 
 married in 1837, wished to take advantage of it to return to 
 his family. On making application, however, for permission 
 to do so, he was refused it by the Captain-General of Cuba, 
 and all he could obtain was permission to go there for two 
 months to visit his aged mother and other relatives, subject 
 to the observation of the police. He went there accordingly 
 in 1 836, when, by a singular coincidence, he joined his family 
 again on the same day of the month that thirteen years be- 
 fore he had parted from them. 
 
 On his arrival in Cuba, he was subjected to some of those 
 petty annoyances which military governments too often im- 
 pose on people under their sway. A friend of his who had 
 gone to meet him, found him, notwithstanding his rank in \ 
 
268 JOSE MARIA HBREDIA. 
 
 the Mexican republic, or his reputation as a hterary charac- 
 ter, or his evident state of ill-health, seated on a bench in the 
 court of the government office, to wait his turn at the pleasure 
 of the official, who thought he was showing his dignity by 
 exposing to unnecessary delay those whom he had to note 
 under his inspection. Heredia was so altered that his friend 
 could scarcely recognize him, and his relatives soon had to 
 become apprehensive that his health was seriously endangered. 
 He had given the most solemn assurance to the authorities 
 that he would not in any way during his visit interfere in the 
 public questions of the day, and he fulfilled his promise. If 
 he really had entered in his youth into any plot against the 
 government, the most dangerous conspirator in it could 
 scarcely have been a young man of nineteen, who seems to 
 have been the principal sufferer. But in any case, he had by 
 time and reflection become very altered in sentiment, and his 
 failing strength would not admit of any extraordinary exer- 
 tion, even if he had remained the same enthusiast for poUtical 
 liberty as he was in his youth. He would have wished to 
 stay the remainder of his life vidth his family, but it was his 
 duty to return to Mexico after the expiration of the period 
 allowed him, and there he died of consumption on his return, 
 the 6th May, 1839. After his death, his widow and her chil- 
 dren came to Cuba, where she died the 16th June, 1844, 
 leaving a son and two daughters in the kindly charge of his 
 relatives. 
 
 The Toluca edition of Heredia's poems in two volumes, 
 1832, does great credit to the Mexican press, being one of 
 the best printed Spanish works to be found. But it is ex- 
 tremely scarce, and therefore deserves a more detailed account 
 of it than might be requisite with works better known. In 
 addition to those contained in the first edition, which is yet 
 comparatively frequently to be met with, it contains his phi- 
 
JOSE MARIA HEREDIA. 269 
 
 losophic and patriotic poems, some of which are very spirited, 
 and one, the ' Hymn of the Banished,' an extremely fine one. 
 The copies of the work sent to Havana had these patriotic 
 poems taken out, as otherwise they would have been seized 
 by the authorities ; so that most of the copies of the work ex- 
 isting are deficient with regard to them. In the place of the 
 odes thus taken out, another poem, ' On Immortality,' was 
 inserted, which, however, is principally taken from the Seventh 
 Book of Young's Night Thoughts, though not so stated. The 
 other principal poems, in respect of length, are, ' On the Worth 
 of Women,' and ' the Pleasures of Melancholy.' Of another 
 very fine ode, ' To Niagara,' a very excellent translation into 
 English blank verse has appeared in the United States Re- 
 view. 
 
 In the preface to the second edition, he states that he had 
 been induced to undertake it, upon finding that several of 
 the poems in the first had been reprinted in Paris, London, 
 Hamburg and Philadelphia, and had been received with 
 much favour in his own country, where the celebrated Lista 
 had pronounced him "a great poet." There can be no 
 doubt that other editions would have met with very favour- 
 able reception, had it not been for the circumstance of his 
 being considered an author obnoxious to the Spanish govern- 
 ment. As it is, the Creoles of Cuba have manuscript copies 
 of his poems circulating amongst themselves, generally faulty 
 as dependent on the taste of the individuals who had copied 
 them. The effect of this is apparent in the only edition I 
 am aware of, that has been published in Spain, that of Bar- 
 celona, in 1840, acknowledged to be taken from a manuscript 
 copy, in which not only are some of his best compositions 
 omitted, such as the 'Lines to his Horse,' and the poem 
 entitled, 'The Season of the Northers,' but some others, 
 for instance, the ' Ode to the Sun,' are given imperfectly. In 
 
 y 
 
270 JOSE MAMA HEREDIA. 
 
 return, it gives a poem on receiving the portrait of his 
 mother, which had not appeared in the former editions, and 
 which is not unworthy of being compared with Cowper's on 
 the same subject, though treated differently. 
 
 In the prologue to this edition the editor observes, that 
 " in all his productions is seen an excellency of heart and an 
 imagination truly poetical, enabling us to assert with Lista 
 that he is a great poet, and one of the best of our day." He 
 adds, "the poems of Heredia have, in our judgement, the 
 merit of a purity of language, which unfortunately begins to 
 be unknown in Spain. They are of a kind equally apart 
 from the monotony and servileness, ascribed perhaps with 
 reason to the classicists, and from the extravagant aberration 
 of those who affect to be called Romanticists, and believe 
 they are so, because they despise all rules in their composi- 
 tions, substituting words and phrases unknown to our better 
 writers and poets." 
 
 The language of Heredia in his poems is by the concur- 
 rent opinion of all Spanish critics very pure, and even 
 strangers can feel its simplicity and nature in connexion 
 with the truly poetical thoughts they contain, free from all 
 conceits or affectations. In his best original compositions, 
 the sentiments expressed are generally of a tender and me- 
 lancholy character, as might be expected from his history, of 
 one banished from his country and family, while suffering 
 from privations and ill-health, and at length sinking under 
 a fatal disease. Like many other poets, he thus also writes 
 most affectingly when dwelling on his own personal feelings, 
 as if to verify the declaration of Shelley, that 
 
 . . . . most men 
 Are cradled into poetry by wrong ; 
 They learn in suffering what they teach in song. 
 
 The ' Lines to his Horse ' and ' The Season of the 
 
JOSE MARIA HEREDIA. 271 
 
 Northers' bear intrinsic evidence of their origin, and also 
 the Ode entitled ' Poesy.' This one bears a strong resem- 
 blance in its general tone to the ' Epistle to His Brother ' 
 and the poem of ' Sleep and Poetry ' by Keats, whose cha- 
 racter and fate also were in some degree the same as his. 
 They have the same sentiment, as conscious of fame await- 
 ing them, common to all poets, but peculiarly to those of 
 more sensitive temperament, the ' non omnis moriar,' the hope 
 of immortality, — 
 
 peaSai. <ev iyjrrjkou Ttpoara. 
 
 If the extravagant eulogiums bestowed on the merit of the 
 Sonnet, as a form of verse, by some Italian writers, and 
 echoed by Boileau and others, be at all deserved, Heredia's 
 claims to superiority may be put forward very confidently, in 
 respect of that to 'His Wife' in dedication of the second 
 edition of his works. It contains all the conditions required 
 for a perfect composition of this kind, in the poetical state- 
 ment of the subject, the application of it, the beautiful simile 
 given as a counterpart, and the strikingly appropriate idea 
 with which it closes. Of this idea, the classical reader will 
 at once perceive the elegance and force; but he cannot do 
 so fully, unless he have also seen in the churches of seaport 
 towns on the continent, as for instance, that of Santa Maria 
 del Socorro, at Cadiz, the votive offerings of gratitude for 
 deliverances from danger. 
 
 The ' Ode to Night ' might have been considered worthy 
 of equally unqualified commendation, were it not for the 
 circumstance that twelve out of the nineteen stanzas it con- 
 tains are almost a paraphrase from the Italian of Ippolito 
 Pindemonte. At the time of making the translation here- 
 after given, I had not read that very pleasing writer, but 
 have since found the source of the poem in his ' Poesie Cam- 
 
272 JOSE MABIA HEREDIA. 
 
 pestrij Le quattro parti del giomo/ to which, therefore, 
 justice requires the acknowledgement to be given. It is 
 much to be regretted that Heredia did not distinguish his 
 original compositions in all cases from imitations, as there is 
 no statement with regard to this one, of its having been taken 
 from another author. There are other instances of the same 
 neglect, as in a close translation from Campbell of ' The Ode 
 to the Rainbow,' equally unacknowledged. The interests of 
 literature require that such acknowledgements should be 
 uniformly made, that we should know gold from imitations, 
 and give every one his right and place. As the same Italian 
 poet remarked in his ' Opinioni Politiche,'' 
 
 Conosco aneh'io negli ordini civili 
 
 L'oro dal fango, ed aneh'io veggio che altra 
 
 Cosa 6 il nascere Inglese, ed altra Turco. 
 
 Heredia's original poems, many of them written to, or 
 respecting his near relatives or other friends, betoken so 
 much true poetic feeling, as well as flow of poetical ideas, 
 that we cannot suppose the neglect of which we have com- 
 plained to have been more than an oversight. He might 
 even in some cases have lost remembrance of his obligations, 
 and repeated from memory when he thought he was writing 
 from inspiration. The latter part of his first volume is entirely 
 taken up with "Imitations;" but those we have noticed 
 above are in the second volume, without any distinction from 
 the original poems. 
 
 He had, however, in early life so many privations to en- 
 diu'e, and so many daily necessities for which to make a 
 daily provision, that we may not be surprised at his inexact- 
 ness in minor matters. In the preface to the second edition, 
 he says, that "the revolutionary whirlwind had made him 
 traverse over a vast course in a short time, and that with 
 better or worse fortune he had been an advocate, a soldier, a 
 
JOSE MARIA HEREDIA. 273 
 
 traveller, a teacher of languages, a diplomatist, a journalist, 
 a judge, a writer of history, and a poet at twenty-five years 
 of age. All my writings," he observes, "must partake of 
 the variableness of my lot. The new generation will enjoy 
 serener days, and those who then dedicate themselves to the 
 Muses will be much more happy." On his first going to 
 Mexico, it is to be supposed that he had to enter on military 
 duties in the unsettled state of the country, and that he had 
 some diplomatic commissions entrusted to him by the go- 
 vernment, of which, however, we have no other account. 
 This, in fact, may be said to be the first biographical notice 
 of him pubhshed, obtained from information given by his 
 relatives, who, having been long separated from him, could 
 not explain the particular references more fully. 
 
 As a writer of history, he had published, also in Mexico, a 
 work in four volumes, 8vo. which was chiefly a compilation 
 from Tytler, but with additions in Spanish and Mexican 
 history, suited to the community, for whose benefit it was 
 intended. In this respect, as in so many other parts of his 
 career, the knowledge he had acquired of the English lan- 
 guage was of essential assistance to him, while it was no 
 less evident that his knowledge of English literature had im- 
 proved his taste and strengthened his powers of mind also in 
 his own compositions. 
 
 In private life Heredia appears to have been a most amiable 
 character: courteous, generous, and possessed of the most lively 
 sensibility, he made himself beloved by all who had to enter 
 into communication with him. He was also remarkable for 
 the exceeding great ingenuousness of his disposition, which, 
 while it rendered him incapable of vanity in himself, made 
 him at the same time as incapable of dwelling on the faults 
 of others. Several of his poems show further a religious 
 feeling, which no doubt enabled him to bear with becoming 
 
374 JOSE MARIA HEKEDIA. 
 
 equanimity the various trials to which he had been sub- 
 jected. 
 
 Those trials it seemed were appointed to attend him fur- 
 ther, even if it had pleased the Almighty to prolong his ex- 
 istence. Shortly before his death, the Mexican legislature 
 passed a law declaring that no one should hold any office 
 under the republic who was not a natural born citizen ; and 
 thus he was, among others, deprived of the offices he had 
 held with credit to himself and advantage to the state. If 
 the measure were directed against him personally, it was of 
 short operation, and political intrigues could not avail to de- 
 prive him of the consciousness of having fulfilled his duties 
 honourably, or of the claim he had to leave on the remem- 
 brance of future ages. 
 
JOSE MARIA HEREDIA. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 DEDICATION OF THE SECOND EDITION 
 
 OF HIS POEMS, 
 
 TO HIS WIFE. 
 
 When yet was burning in my fervid veins 
 The fieriness of youth, with many a tear 
 Of grief, 't was mine of all my feelings drear, 
 
 To pour in song the passion and the pains ; 
 
 And now to Thee I dedicate the strains, 
 My Wife ! when Love, from youth's illusions freer, 
 In our pure hearts is glowing deep and clear, 
 
 And calm serene for me the daylight gains. 
 
 Thus lost on raging seas, for aid implores 
 Of Heaven the unhappy mariner, the mark 
 Of tempests bearing on him wild and dark ; 
 
 And on the altars, when are gain'd the shores. 
 
 Faithful to the Deity he adores. 
 
 He consecrates the relics of his bark. 
 
 t2 
 
376 JOSE MAKIA HEREDIA. 
 
 TO HIS HORSE. 
 
 Friend of my hours of melancholy gloom, 
 To soothe me now, come, scouring o'er the plain ; 
 Bear me that I forgetfulness may gain, 
 
 Lost in thy speed from my unhappy doom. 
 
 The fond illusions of my love are gone, 
 Fled never to return ! and with them borne 
 Peace, happiness and hope : the veil is drawn, 
 
 And the bared cheat shows frenzy's end alone. 
 
 ! how the memory of pleasures past 
 Now wearies me ! horrible that soul's state. 
 Of flowers of hope, or freshness desolate ! 
 
 What then remains it ? Bitterness o'ercast. 
 
 This south wind kills me : ! that 1 could rest 
 In sweet oblivion, temporary death ! 
 Kind sleep might moderate my feverish breath, 
 
 And my worn soul again with strength be blest. 
 
 My Horse, my friend, I do implore thee, fly ! 
 Though with the effort break my frame so weak : 
 Grant for thy master's brows he thus may seek 
 
 Sleep's balmy wings spread forth benignantly. 
 
JOSE MARIA HEREDIA. 277 
 
 Let him from thee gain such refreshment kind ; 
 Though much another day it caused me shame, 
 In my mad cruelty and frenzy's blame, 
 
 My crimson'd heels, and thy torn flanks to find. 
 
 Pardon my fury ! beats upon my eye 
 The sorrowing tear. Friend, when my shouts declare 
 Impatience, then the biting spur to spare 
 
 Wait not, but toss thy mane, thy head, and fly. 
 
 THE SEASON OF THE NORTHEKS. 
 
 The wearying summer's burning heat 
 Is now assuaged ; for from the North 
 The winds from frost come shaken forth, 
 'Midst clouds o'er Cuba rushing fleet. 
 And free us from the fever's wrath. 
 
 Deep roars the sea, with breast swell'd high. 
 And beats the beach with lashing waves ; 
 Zephyr his wings in freshness laves, 
 And o'er the sun and shining sky. 
 Veil-like, transparent vapours fly. 
 
278 JOSE MAKIA HEREDIA. 
 
 Hail, happy days ! by you o'erthrown 
 We see the altar, which 'mong flowers 
 May rear'd to Death : attendant lowers, 
 With palid face, vile Fever lone. 
 And with sad brilliancy it shone. 
 
 Both saw the sons, with anxious brow, 
 Of milder realms approaching nigh. 
 Beneath this all-consuming sky : 
 
 With their pale sceptres touchM, they bow. 
 And in the fatal grave are now. 
 
 But their reign o'er, on outspread wing. 
 
 To purify the poisoned air. 
 
 The north winds cold and moisture bear ; 
 Across our fields they sounding spring. 
 And rest from August's rigours bring. 
 
 O'er Europe's gloomy climates wide, 
 Now from the North fierce sweeps the blast ; 
 Verdure and life from earth are past : 
 With snow man sees it whelm'd betide. 
 And in closed dwellings must abide. 
 
 There all is death and grief ! but here. 
 All life and joy ! see, Phoebus smile 
 More sooth through lucid clouds, the while 
 Our woods and plains new lustres cheer, 
 And double spring inspires the year. 
 
JOSE MAKIA HEREDIA. 279 
 
 0, happy land ! his tenderest care 
 TheCj favour'd ! the Creator yields. 
 And kindest smile : ne'er from thy fields 
 
 Again may fate me fiercely tear ! 
 
 0, let my last sun light me there ! 
 
 How sweet it is to hear the rain. 
 My love ! so softly falling thus 
 On the low roof that shelters us ! 
 
 And the winds whistling o'er the plain 
 
 And beUowings of the distant main. 
 
 Fill high my cup with golden wine ; 
 
 Let cares and griefs be driven away ; 
 
 That proved by thee, my thirst to stay. 
 Will, my adored ! more precious shine. 
 So touch'd by those sweet lips of thine. 
 
 By thee on easy seat reclined. 
 My lyre how happy will I string ; 
 My love and country's praise to sing ; 
 
 My blissful lot, thy face and mind, 
 
 And love inefikble and kind ! 
 
380 JOSE MAKIA HEREDIA. 
 
 POESY, AN ODE. 
 
 Soul of the universe, bright Poesy ! 
 Thy spirit vivifies, and, like the blast 
 
 That 's burning in the desert swiftly free. 
 In its course all inflames where it has past. 
 
 Happy the man who feels within his breast 
 
 The fire celestial purely is possessed ! 
 For that to worth, to virtue elevates. 
 
 And to his view makes smile the shadowy forms 
 Confused of joys to come, and future fates : 
 
 Of cruel fortune 'gainst the gathering storms 
 It shields him, causing him to dwell among 
 
 The beings of his own creation bright : 
 It arms him daringly with wings of light. 
 
 And to the world invisible along 
 Bears him, to wondering mortals to unseal 
 The mysteries which the horrid depths reveal. 
 
 High inspiration ! 0, what hours of joy. 
 Deep and inefiable, without alloy. 
 Hast thou benign conceded to my breast ! 
 On summer nights, with brilliant hues impress'd, 
 
JOSE MARIA HEREDIA. 281 
 
 'T is sweet to break with sounding prow the wave 
 Of the dark surging sea, which shows behind 
 
 A lengthen'd streak of light the current gave. 
 'T is sweet to bound where lofty mountains wind, 
 
 Or on thy steed to scour along the plain ; 
 But sweeter to my fiery soul 't is far 
 
 To feel myself whirl'd forward in the train 
 Of thy wild torrent, and as with a star 
 
 The brow decked proudly, hear thy oracles 
 Divine ; and to repeat them, as of old 
 
 Greece listen'd mute to those from Delphic cells 
 The favour'd priestess of Apollo told ; 
 While she with sacred horror would unfold 
 The words prophetic, trembling to refer 
 To the consuming god that frenzied her. 
 
 There is of life a spirit that pervades 
 The universe divine : 't is he who shades 
 All Nature's loveliest scenes with majesty. 
 And glory greater : beauty's self 't is he. 
 Who robes with radiant mantle, and endows 
 Her eye with language eloquent, while flows 
 Soft music from her voice ; 't is he who lends 
 
 To her the magic irresistible. 
 And fatal, which her smile and look attends. 
 
 Making men mad and drunk beneath her spell. 
 
283 JOSE MARIA HEREDIA. 
 
 If on the marble's sleeping forms he breathe, 
 To life they start the chisel's touch beneath : 
 In PhEedra, Tancred, Zorayde he wrings 
 The heart within us deep ; or softly brings 
 Love-fraught delight, as do their strains inspire 
 Anacreon, or Tibullus, or the lyre 
 Of our Melendez, sweetest languishings. 
 Or wrapt in thunder snatches us away 
 With Pindar, or Herrera, or thy lay. 
 Illustrious Quintana ! to the heights, 
 Where virtue, and where glory too invites. 
 By him compels us Tasso to admire 
 Clorinda ; Homer fierce Achilles' ire ; 
 And Milton, elevated all beyond. 
 His direful angel, arm'd of diamond. 
 
 O'er all, though invisible, this spirit dwells ; 
 
 But from ethereal mansions he descends 
 
 To show himself to men, and thus portends 
 His steps the night rain, and the thunder tells. 
 
 There have I seen him : or perhaps serene 
 In the sun's beam, he wanders to o'erflow 
 Heaven, earth and sea, in waves of golden glow. 
 
 On music's accent trembles he unseen ; 
 And solitude he loves, he lists attent 
 The waters' rush in headlong fury sent : 
 
JOSE MAEIA HEREDIA. 
 
 The wandering Arabs o'er their sands he leads, 
 And through their agitated breasts inspires 
 
 A feehng undefined, but great to deeds 
 Of desperate and wild liberty that fires. 
 
 With joy he sits upon the mountain heights, 
 Or thence descends, to mirror in the deep. 
 
 In crystal fixedness, or animates 
 
 The tempest with his cries along to sweep : 
 
 Or if its clear and sparkling veil extend 
 The night, upon the lofty poop reclined. 
 With ecstasy delights to inspire his mind^ 
 
 Who raptured views the skies with ocean blend. 
 
 Noble and lovely is the ardour felt 
 For glory ! for its laurel pants my heart ; 
 And I would fain, this world when I depart. 
 
 Of my steps leave deep traces where I dwelt. 
 
 This of thy favour, spirit most divine ! 
 I well may hope, for that eternal lives 
 Thy glowing flame, and life eternal gives. 
 
 Mortals, whom fate gave genius forth to shine, 
 Haste anxious to the sacred fount, where flows 
 Thy fiery inspiration ; but bestows 
 
 The world unworthy guerdon on their pains : 
 While them a mortal covering enshrouds. 
 Obscure they wander through the listless crowds ; 
 
 283 
 
284 JOSE MARIA HEREDIA. 
 
 Contempt and indigence their lot remains. 
 
 Perchance ev'n impious mockery all their gains : 
 At length they die, and their souls take the road 
 Of the great fount of light whence first they flow'd ; 
 
 And then, in spite of envy, o'er their tomb 
 A sterile laurel buds, ay, buds and grows. 
 
 And thus protects the ashes in the gloom, 
 'Neath its immortal shade ; but vainly shows 
 
 To teach men justice. Ages onward fleet 
 
 The lamentable drama to repeat. 
 Without regret or shame. Homer ! thou divine, 
 Milton sublime, unhappy Tasso thine, 
 
 The fate to tell it. Genius yet the while 
 Faces misfortune undismay'd ; his ears 
 
 Dwell only on the applauses to beguile. 
 His songs will happy gain in future years ; 
 
 His glory, his misfortunes wUl excite 
 
 Sweet sympathy ; posterity will requite 
 Justice against their sires, who thus condemn 
 Him now to grief and misery, shame on them ! 
 From his tomb he will reign ; his cherish'd name 
 WUl beauty with respect and sighs proclaim. 
 
 On her eye gleams the bright and precious tear 
 His burning pages then will draw from her. 
 
 Kind-hearted loveliness ! he sees it near ; 
 His heart beats, he is moved ; and strong to incur 
 
JOSE MARIA HEREDIA. 385 
 
 The cruelty and injustice, is consoled ; 
 And waiting thus his triumph to obtain, 
 
 Enjoying it, though but in death to hold. 
 Flies his Creator's bosom to regain. 
 
 0, sweet illusion ! who has had the power 
 To save himself from thee, who was not born 
 
 Than the cold marble, or the rough trunk lower ? 
 With ardour I embrace, and wait thee lorn. 
 
 Yet of my Muse perchance some happier strains 
 Will me survive, and my sepulchral stone 
 Will not be left to tell of me alone ! 
 
 Perhaps my name, which rancour now detains 
 
 Proscribed, wiU yet resound o'er Cuba's plains. 
 On the swift trumpet of enduring fame ! 
 Correggio, when he saw his canvas flame 
 
 With life, " a painter," it was his to cry, 
 
 "I also am !" — A poet too am I. 
 
 ODE TO NIGHT. 
 
 Night reigns ; in silence deep around 
 Dreams whirl through empty space ; 
 
 Clothing with her pure light the ground. 
 The moon shows bright her face : 
 
286 JOSE MARIA HEREDIA. 
 
 Soft hour of peace ; without a trace 
 
 Of Man, where rise these heights uphurPd, 
 I sit ahandon'd of the world. 
 
 How Nature's quietude august 
 Delights the feeling mind. 
 
 That heeds her voice, and learns to trust 
 Its joys with her to find ! 
 Sweet silence ! here I rest rechned. 
 
 With but the river's murmurings heard. 
 
 Or leaves by gentle breezes stirr'd. 
 
 Now its repose on languid wings. 
 Its freshness Night supplies ; 
 
 To shaded heaven which faithful clings. 
 And blaze of daylight flies : 
 Unseen by that, mysterious lies 
 
 On mount and plain, to please though sad, 
 
 Still beauteous ev'n in horrors clad. 
 
 How is the ecstatic soul impress'd 
 With melancholy thought ! 
 
 The lovely picture here possess'd 
 Sublime with sadness fraught ! 
 How more its music to be sought. 
 
 And peace, than all that may entrance 
 
 The echoes of the noisy dance. 
 
JOSE MARIA HEKEDIA. 387 
 
 Around the proud saloon reflect 
 Eacli face the mirrors there ; 
 
 With diamonds, pearls, and gold bedeck'd, 
 Light dance the gentle fair ; 
 And with their witching grace and air. 
 
 O'er thousand lovers holding sway. 
 
 Their vows and plaudits bear away. 
 
 Lovely is that ! I one day too. 
 When childhood scarce above. 
 
 Through balls and banquets would pursue 
 The object of my love. 
 And from the young beloved I strove. 
 
 As magic treasure, to obtain 
 
 A passing look, or smile to gain. 
 
 But now by cares subdued, and bound 
 By languor and disease. 
 
 Than gilded halls, these plains around 
 Me more the night hours please : 
 To the gay dance preferring these, 
 
 The calm asylum they supply. 
 
 To meditate beneath this sky. 
 
 ! ever shine on me the stars. 
 In a clear heaven as now ! 
 
 And as my Maker that avers, 
 There let me turn my brow. 
 
288 JOSE MARIA HEREDIA. 
 
 ! God of heaven, to Thee I bow ! 
 And raise by night my humble strain. 
 The voice of my consuming pain. 
 
 Thee, also, friendly Moon ! I hail ; 
 
 1 always loved thee dear : 
 
 Thou, Queen of heaven ! me ne'er didst fail. 
 In fortunes fair or drear. 
 To guide, to counsel, and to cheer : 
 
 Thou know'st how oft, to enjoy thy ray, 
 I chide the blaze and heat of day. 
 
 Oft seated on the wide sea-shore, 
 Whose waves reflected thee. 
 
 To muse alone, thou smiling o'er, 
 I pass'd the night hours free ; 
 And 'midst my clouded hopes to see 
 
 Thy face serene, I found relief, 
 
 In sweet complaint to pour my grief. 
 
 For throbs, alas ! my breast with pain, 
 Consumption's wounds to bear ; 
 
 And pales my cheek, as thou must wane 
 Beneath the morning's glare. 
 When I shall sink, grant this my prayer, 
 
 That thy light ne'er to shine defer. 
 
 On thy friend's humble sepulchre. 
 
JOSE MARIA HEREDIA. 289 
 
 But, hark ! what dulcet notes arise 
 The neighbouring woods among ? 
 
 Causing these tender thoughts and sighs 
 My lonely breast to throng. 
 Sweet Nightingale, it is thy song ! 
 
 I always loved thy wood-notes wild, 
 
 Like me from sorrow ne^er beguiled. 
 
 Perish whoe'er for thy soft note 
 Seeks thee to oppress or take. 
 
 Why rather not like me remote. 
 Thee follow through the brake. 
 Where these thick woods our shelter make ? 
 
 Fly free and happy round thy nest ; 
 
 Enslaved I wish none, none oppress'd. 
 
 Night, ancient goddess ! Chaos thee 
 Produced before the sun ; 
 
 And the last sun 't is thine to see 
 When the world^'s course is run ; 
 And the Lord wills his work undone ! 
 
 Hear me, while this life's breath is raised, 
 
 By me thou shalt be loved and praised. 
 
 Before time was, in Chaos vast 
 Thou laid perhaps mightst view 
 
 Thy coming beauties, as forecast 
 Thy destined glories grew : 
 
 u 
 
390 JOSE MAKIA HEREDIA. 
 
 Looking thy veil of shadows through 
 TVith face obscured, to meditate 
 Calm on thy future power and state. 
 
 Thou camest, Queen ! from Ocean's bars 
 At the Creator's voice. 
 
 With sceptre raised, and crown'd with stars. 
 And mantle glittering choice ; 
 And bade the silent world rejoice. 
 
 To see through space thy brow severe 
 
 Shine with the kind moon's silvery sphere. 
 
 How many high truths have I learn'd 
 Beneath thy solemn shade ! 
 
 What inspirations in me burn'd 
 'Mid the wood's silence laid ! 
 In thee I saw sublime display'd 
 
 The Almighty's power, and seized my lyre. 
 
 And fervid dared to Heaven aspire. 
 
 Great Goddess, hail ! in thy calm breast 
 Let me soothe every care ! 
 
 Thy peaceful balm may give me rest 
 From iUs my heart that tear. 
 Sweet pitying friend ! to whom repair 
 
 Poets and mourners for repose, 
 
 0, Night ! in soft peace end my woes. 
 
XI. 
 JOSE DE ESPRONOEDA. 
 
 In the introductory part of this workj while acknowledging 
 the merits of the earlier poets of Spain, it may be remembered 
 that a claim was made in favour of the still superior excel- 
 lences of their successors in the present day. If the reader, 
 who has followed us so far through these notices, has not 
 already come to the same conclusion, his assent may be con- 
 fidently expected to the assertion, in consideration of the sur- 
 passingly poetical genius of the two writers who have now to 
 come under his review. 
 
 In considering the merits of their earlier poets, the best 
 critics of Spain have not been so blinded by national partiality 
 as to be led into awarding them unqualified commendations. 
 In the very able prologue to the ' Moro Esposito ' of the Duke 
 de Rivas, said to have been written by the celebrated Alcaic 
 GalianOj we find an estimation of them which we can adopt, 
 as correct in judgement as it is unexceptionable for an autho- 
 rity. He says, "Though the tenderness of Garcilasso, the 
 warmth of Herrera, the fancy, at once lively and thoughtful, 
 of Rioja, and, above all, those strong feelings of devotion 
 which give to Fray Luis de Leon a character so original, even 
 
 v2 
 
292 JOSE DE ESPKONCEDA. 
 
 when he is most an imitator, are sources of great perfections, 
 and most glorious crowns of the Spanish Parnassus, yet we 
 are obliged to confess, that in the Spanish poets, lyric and 
 pastoral, we see too great a sameness, that their stock of ideas 
 and images is limited and common to them all, and that if 
 varied and choice in expression, they are uniform in their 
 arguments and plans, founding their merit more in the gala 
 and pomp of language, in the floridness and sonorousness of 
 verse, and in the ingenious dexterity of making variations 
 on one theme, than in the vigour and originality of their 
 thoughts, or in the strength and profoundness of the emo- 
 tions which they felt, or which their works excite in the 
 minds of their readers." 
 
 Entirely coinciding in the opinions thus expressed, we feel, 
 on the other hand, with regard to the modern Spanish poets, 
 that while they have fully maintained the grace and beauty 
 that distinguished their predecessors in former ages, their 
 genius has expanded over far wider fields, and embraced sub- 
 jects of as varied and powerful interest as the contemporary 
 poetry of any other country can present to delight or cap- 
 tivate. As instances in support of this opinion, we have, in 
 particular, to refer to the comparatively few but exceedingly 
 brilliant compositions of Espronceda, whose early loss, at only 
 thirty-two years of age, the whole literary world has to de- 
 plore. 
 
 We have great cause to be thankful to Ferrer del Rio that 
 we have any account at all of this very eminent lyric poet, 
 though the one he has given is far from being so full as the 
 admirers of his genius might have desired. From that ac- 
 count, we learn that it was in the spring of 1810, during the 
 most momentous period of the war of independence, a colonel 
 of cavalry, after some long and harassing marches, was obliged 
 to halt at the small town of Almendralejo, in the province of 
 
JOSE DE ESPRONCEDA. 393 
 
 Estremadura, in the face of the enemy, on account of his wife, 
 who had followed him through the campaigns, having there 
 had a son born, the subject of this narrative. We have no 
 other particulars of his earlier years, than that on the conclu- 
 sion of the war his parents settled at Madrid, where he was 
 placed at an early age under the tuition of Lista, a writer 
 who enjoyed considerable reputation at the time as a poet, 
 but whose chief merit consisted in his critical and elementary 
 works. Under such a preceptor, his natural genius found a 
 congenial course of tuition, and verse-making seems to have 
 been a part of his usual studies. It was remarked, that 
 though he was by no means inclined to steady application, 
 yet, that by the force of his quick comprehension, he shone 
 as prominently as others of greater industry, and when a 
 mere boy produced verses which gave tokens of future emi- 
 nence. 
 
 When only fourteen years of age he joined a society of 
 youths who called themselves Numantines, and was elected 
 one of their tribimes. In their meetings, no doubt, there was 
 much intended treason debated, for which, whether deservedly 
 or not, the government of the day thought proper to proceed 
 against them at law, and Espronceda, with others, was sen- 
 tenced to three months' imprisonment in the convent of Gua- 
 dalajera, in which town his father then resided. There, in 
 the solitude of his imprisonment, bis active mind found em- 
 ployment in poetry, and he was bold enough to begin an epic 
 poem on the subject of the national hero, Pelayo. Of this 
 poem there are fragments given among his works, from which 
 we may judge favourably of what it might have proved when 
 completed, containing as it does many striking passages. The 
 representation of Hunger, and the Dream of the King, Don 
 Eoderic, are bold conceptions, and if they were not the addi- 
 
394 JOSE DE ESPRONCEDA. 
 
 tions of after-years, were truly remarkable as the productions 
 of any one at so early an age. 
 
 On his release from the convent he returned to Madrid, 
 but feeling himself under restraint as subject to the observa- 
 tion of the police, and desirous also of visiting other countries, 
 he shortly afterwards went to Gibraltar and thence to Lisbon. 
 There he seems to have been subjected to great privations, 
 which, however, did not prevent his being involved in ro- 
 mantic adventures, characteristic of one of his temperament, 
 such as he subsequently described with all the warmth of 
 poetic feeling. But the ministers of the king, now restored 
 to absolute power by French intervention, could not allow 
 Spanish emigrants to be congregated so near to Spain, and at 
 their instance Espronceda and others were obliged to go from 
 Lisbon to London. How he maintained himself, during these 
 wanderings, we are not informed, but his relatives probably 
 had the means to afford him sufficient for his pressing neces- 
 sities, and the love of adventure would lead him, oftentimes 
 willingly, into situations from which most others would have 
 recoiled. 
 
 In London, we are informed, that he enjoyed the happiest 
 period of his life, though not abounding in resources ; passing 
 his time between his studies and gaieties, which resulted in 
 confirmed dissipation. He learned to read Shakespeare and 
 Milton, as well as Byron, and considering his inclinations, his 
 habits and his writings, we need not be surprised to find him 
 supposed to have taken the last for his model. There he 
 began the series of compositions which place him in the first 
 rank of lyric poets, though we have to lament that they are 
 tinctured with a spirit of such evil character. His ' Elegy to 
 Spain,' dated London, 1829, is in the original written with 
 peculiar sweetness of expression, which Del Rio finds in the 
 
JOSE DE ESPRONCEDA. 295 
 
 style of the Prophet of the Lamentations, and which, though 
 not so well suited for translation as most of his other poems, 
 has been chosen as the effusion of the patriotic muse of Spain, 
 no less worthy of note than others of more general appli- 
 cation. 
 
 From London he passed over to Paris, and happening to be 
 there during the three memorable days of July 1830, he took 
 part in the fearful scenes which then took place with aU the 
 ardour of his character as well as of youth. He joined after- 
 wards the small band of emigrants who crossed the Pyrenees 
 in the hopeless attempt of subverting the despotic sway that 
 then prevailed, resulting in the death of Don Joaquin de Pablo, 
 whom his friends regarded as falling heroically, and to whose 
 memory Espronceda has left a poem of great beauty. Ee- 
 turning to Paris, he entered himself in the rank of the bold 
 spirits who volunteered to lend their aid in the regeneration 
 of Poland, from which, and other similar schemes, he was 
 rescued by the promulgation of the first amnesty, of which 
 he took advantage immediately to return to Spain. 
 
 On his arrival in Madrid, he entered himself in the Royal 
 Guard, where he soon won the goodwill and affections of his 
 officers and comrades, and might have risen to distinction, 
 but for an unfortunate though characteristic occurrence. He 
 had written some verses on passing events connected with the 
 service, which were recited at a banquet, and having been 
 much applauded and passed from hand to hand, came to the 
 knowledge of the ministry, who thereupon, notwithstanding 
 the efforts of his colonel to the contrary, dismissed Espron- 
 ceda from the corps, and banished him to the town of Cuellar. 
 There he composed a work, which he called a novel, under the 
 title of the ' Sancho of Saldania,' but which, though contain- 
 ing some good sketches and descriptions, is only worthy of 
 notice as having been one of his compositions. 
 
296 JOSE DE ESPaONCEDA. 
 
 " On the dawning of liberty in Spain with the promulga- 
 tion of the Estatuto," by Martinez de la Eosa, he came for- 
 ward as a journalist, connected with the paper published as 
 ' The Age/ His proud spirit could not submit to the censor- 
 ship previously existing, but even now he had to feel its in- 
 fluence. The fourteenth number of his paper, the most vio- 
 lent of the time, was found to contain some articles which 
 were forbidden by the censor, and as the time pressed, the 
 editors did not know how to supply the deficiency. The 
 ready genius of Espronceda suggested a scheme, which, after 
 a little hesitation, was adopted : this was to publish the sheet 
 in blank, with merely the headings, which had not been 
 struck out of the manuscript by the censor. Accordingly, 
 the usual sheet appeared with the titles only of the subjects 
 it had originally to bear, namely — "The Amnesty;" "Do- 
 mestic Policy ; " " Letter from Don Miguel and Don Manuel 
 Bravedeed in defence of their honour and patriotism ; " " On 
 the Cortes ; " " Song on the Death of Don Joaquin de 
 Pablo." The efiect was startling, and perhaps more power- 
 ful than the forbidden articles would have proved. The 
 people supplied the deficiencies according to their individual 
 feelings, and the ingenuity of the device had its fullest suc- 
 cess. As the result, the publication of the paper was forbid- 
 den, and the managers had to hide themselves for a time to 
 escape further prosecution. 
 
 In the years 1835 and 1836, there were several serious 
 commotions in Madrid in which he joined, erecting barri- 
 cades in the principal square, and making violent harangues 
 to the people. On both occasions the disturbances were soon 
 put down by the military, and he had to hide himself in the 
 provinces, until, in the year 1840, Espartero having put him- 
 self at the head of the liberal party, the public principles pre- 
 vailed for which Espronceda had so exerted himself. He 
 
JOSE DE ESPRONCEDA. 297 
 
 then came forth again from his retirement, and made himself 
 conspicuous by appearing as an advocate in a case in which 
 a paper named the ' Hurricane ' had been denounced at law 
 for a seditious article it contained. Espronceda's speech in 
 defence, from some passages of it given by Del Rio, appears 
 to have been very energetic, and as inflammatory as the 
 article accused, but he was successful, and the proprietor of 
 the paper was acquitted. 
 
 In the same year, 1840, he published the volume of poems 
 on which his fame rests, as perhaps the first lyric poet that 
 Spain has produced, Most of the contents had been pre- 
 viously given in the periodical publications of Madrid, but it 
 was a great service to literature to have them collected. They 
 contained the fragment of the epic poem, 'Pelayo,' and a 
 short dramatic piece, entitled, 'The Student of Salamanca,' 
 in which his own character is supposed to have been depicted ; 
 as well as the lyric odes and other poems. They are compa- 
 ratively few in number, not exceeding fifteen altogether, but 
 of such rare excellence as to make us regret that so gifted a 
 writer was to be so soon cut off, depriving the literary world 
 of the hopes of still further excellence they gave reason to 
 expect. In the following year, 1841, he published his poem, 
 'The Devil World, El Diablo Mundo,' in four cantos, to 
 which three others were afterwards added, found among his 
 papers after his death. His friends had long feared that he 
 was not destined to attain a prolonged period of life, but their 
 fears were unhappily realized much sooner than they had 
 imagined. 
 
 In December 1841, Espronceda was sent to the Hague 
 as Secretary of Legation, but the coldness of the climate 
 affecting too severely his enfeebled constitution, he was 
 obliged, almost immediately, to return to Spain. He had 
 meanwhile been elected Deputy to the Cortes for Almeria, 
 
298 JOSE DE ESPRONCEDA. 
 
 and he attempted to take accordingly his share of public 
 duties. But his health and strength had been undermined 
 by the life of hazard, of privations and excesses he had un- 
 dergone, and the journey to the Hague in the depth of win- 
 ter seemed to give the final shock to his frame, from which 
 it could not recover. On the 33rd of May, 1842, his friends 
 and admirers were thrown into unexpected grief by hearing 
 that he had died that morning, after what was termed a four 
 days' illness. The immediate cause was said to have been 
 some disorder affecting the throat, and his sufferings have 
 been described by an intimate friend and schoolfellow, who 
 was vrith him at the time, as very painful. The loss to Spain 
 and the whole literary world was as great as it was irreparable ; 
 and so the people seemed to feel it, by the general expression 
 of regret over his fate, such as it seldom falls to the lot of any 
 one to excite. 
 
 The moralist might dilate on the evil courses which pro- 
 bably hastened his death, and all must lament that a man 
 of such extraordinary genius should have sunk under them ; 
 but before we judge any one severely, we should be certain of 
 being able to form a right judgement. The utmost remark, 
 therefore, we permit ourselves to make, may be to consider 
 his history as a lesson to all under similar circumstances of 
 life, that if they will not take heed to a moral in others, they 
 may become a warning themselves. Every man's character 
 may be taken as a whole, in which his good and evil qualities 
 are often so blended together as to make them inseparable. 
 The excesses of youth are often " the flash and outbreak of a 
 fiery miad," which shows itself in its true characters in other 
 respects, though often with the alloy of lower passions to 
 lead them to a fatal end. Thus Byron and Espronceda, two 
 kindred geniuses in our days, have sunk prematurely into the 
 grave, most unhappily, when new fields of glory seemed to 
 
JOSE DE ESPRONCEDA. 399 
 
 be opened before them to retrieve the past errors of life, and 
 make it in future as honourable as they had already rendered 
 it renowned. 
 
 The genius of Espronceda was kindred to Byron's, of whom 
 he has been accused of having been an imitator. But this 
 seems to me unquestionably a mistake. During his residence 
 in England he had certainly acquired a good knowledge of 
 the English language and literature, much to his advantage ; 
 but he could scarcely have acquired such a knowledge of 
 either as to put him in the position of an imitator. The 
 utmost that can be alleged of him in this respect is, that 
 the style of Byron's writing was so congenial to his own taste 
 and talent, as to make him imbibe it intuitively, and so ob- 
 tain a more decided character for his own than perhaps it 
 would have otherwise attained. 
 
 It is certain that Spanish poetry never before presented 
 such depth of thought and feeling, and such fulness and 
 vigour of expression, as he gave to it ; and it is apparent, in 
 every page of his works, that he had studied in a higher 
 school and become imbued with a brighter inspiration than 
 he could have done on the Continent. But what ordinary 
 imitators would have considered the characteristics of Byron 
 as models to follow, he had the good sense entirely to discard. 
 He has none of the egotism and affectation which distinguish 
 that school; and if he indulged in some of its propensities, it 
 is clear that they were the natural results of the circumstances 
 in which he was placed, and not the wilful perversions of mis- 
 directed abilities. His poem to Harifa is written with an 
 earnestness of feeling that must be felt, even through the 
 haze of translation, giving tokens of its origin too distinct 
 to admit any supposition of its being a suggestion from any 
 other source than his own experience of life. Neither in this 
 poem nor in any other of his works is there any of those 
 
300 JOSE DE ESPRONCEDA. 
 
 mysterious suggestions of dark histories^ or of those morbid 
 denunciations of imaginary wrongs which, abound in the pro- 
 ductions of the Byronian school. His complaints are the 
 evident effusions of a mind maddened at finding itself in a 
 state unworthy of its powers, and thus^ instead of venting his 
 rage on others, he turned it against his own misdeeds, in 
 giving way to excesses that he scorned, and which he felt 
 degraded him. But even in his aspirations for higher thoughts, 
 he had the same leaven of earth to keep him from attaining 
 them. He had not learned the lessons which Jovellanos 
 inculcated in the Epistle to Bermudez, to seek wisdom where 
 only it ought to be sought ; as he might have done even from 
 the heathen poet, that the hidden things of God could not 
 be found out, though he were to traverse over all space in 
 search of them. 
 
 AXV oi yap &v ra 6ela, KpiirrovTos Qeov, 
 UlaBeis &v, ovB' ei TrdvT irre^eXdois itk6t<ov. 
 
 In somewhat of the same strain with these lines is the 
 second canto of his poem, the 'Diablo Mundo,' addressed 
 to Theresa, which, however, has no connexion with the rest 
 of the poem to which it is attached. The verses ' To a Star,' 
 contain also poetical thoughts no less exquisite, though per- 
 haps not of so decided a character ; and they are all valuable 
 at least in this, that instead of gilding over vices and follies, 
 they show the confession of one so highly gifted by nature, 
 that the indulgences of sensual gratifications are in reality 
 only sources of unhappiness. 
 
 Two other of his poems, ' The Mendicant ' and 'The Execu- 
 tioner,' are no less distinguishable for the power of thought 
 and expression they display ; but they also unfortunately indi- 
 cate such objectionable tendencies, as to make us regret that 
 his extraordinary talents had not been directed to nobler 
 subjects. Not so the two poems selected for translation. 
 
JOSE DE BSPEONCEDA. 301 
 
 'The Song of the Pirate/ and that of the "^ Criminal Con- 
 demned to Die/ in addition to those previously mentioned. 
 Of these, the latter is one of such peculiarly energetic cha- 
 racter, as to need no comment. The other is one of the most 
 favourite poems known in Spain, and having been set to 
 music, is therefore heard repeated more frequently. It has 
 been said to have been taken from the French, but I believe 
 erroneously. It bears strongly the impress of Espronceda^'s 
 genius ; and if the poem intended be either of those by Floran 
 or Victor Hugo, any one who will take the trouble of com- 
 paring them will observe that they are essentially different, 
 as each also is from the song of Lord Byron's ' Corsair.' 
 
 At the first view of it, the ' Diablo Mundo ' appears to be 
 an imitation of 'Don Juan/ but it would be as unjust to 
 declare it so, as to say the latter had been copied from the 
 various Italian poems written in the same style. Espronceda 
 might have had the idea suggested by reading Lord Byron's 
 poem, or Goethe's 'Faust,' or both, but he has carried it 
 much higher, and given the outlines of a nobler conception 
 than either. He begins by supposing that, absorbed in medi- 
 tation, during the silence of the night, he hears an extraor- 
 dinary noise, which calls back his feelings and arouses them. 
 That confused noise, with sublime music and solemn sound, 
 are all the passions of the world, all the interests found in 
 life, — the affections and hatreds, love, glory, wealth, the vices 
 and the virtues ; they are, in fine, the complaint of the whole 
 universe that comes like a revolving whirlwind, and displays 
 before the fancy a thousand allegorical monsters, traced with 
 inimitable facility and astonishing vigour. 
 
 The visions pass away, the noise goes gradually off, losing 
 itself in the distance, until it ceases, where begins the intro- 
 duction of the poem. The first canto is the exposition of 
 the great drama proposed to be developed. 
 
302 JOSE DE ESPRONCEDA. 
 
 A man bowed down with age and embittered by sorrowful- 
 and useless experience, shuts in despair a book he was read- 
 ing, and mournfully convinced of the barrenness of learning, 
 falls asleep. Death then presents itself, and intones a hymn 
 inviting him to the peace of the grave. With pleasure he 
 feels his benumbed limbs growing stiff with cold, and is 
 enjoying himself in the enervation of his spirit, when Im- 
 mortality suddenly rises up before him and sings another 
 hymn in opposition to that of Death, and like that also offer- 
 ing herself to the man about to die. 
 
 The election is immediate ; he chooses Immortality, and. is 
 re-endowed with youth. The song of this deity, however, 
 does not lead to the immortality of the spirit, but of the 
 material part of man, and it is that he receives. The image 
 of death is invested with melancholy beauty ; it is soft and 
 gentle ; that which is desired when, free from prejudices, we 
 feel the heart worn and the soul discontented. The immor- 
 tality that rises over the pale front of death, effaces it with a 
 magnificent lustre. " It is impossible," says Ros de Olano, 
 who has written the prologue to this beautiful poem, "to ap- 
 proach, by any words of ours whatever, to the luxuriousness 
 of thought, of expression, and of knowledge displayed in this 
 sublime description, the most happy perhaps yet presented 
 in the Spanish language." Grand, extended and immense is 
 the field which the poet has displayed to trace out a course 
 for his hero, and the variety of tones he employs are like the 
 face of the world, over which he has to range. As the cha- 
 racter is developed, the hero, with the body of a man and the 
 soul of a child, is placed in situations equally original and 
 interesting, and the whole scheme is one which gave full 
 scope to the writer for an unlimited work, even if he had 
 been permitted to live to the utmost period of human ex- 
 istence. 
 
JOSE DE ESPRONCEDA. 303 
 
 Del Rio states, that Espronceda was in his public dis- 
 courses an ineffective speaker, and ascribes it to the physical 
 weakness of his frame; he describes him as having been 
 distinguished for sarcasms, and only at intervals powerful in 
 declamation. "In conversation he made an affectation of 
 laughing at the restraints and virtues which are necessary 
 for the order of society, and yet in private life no one was 
 more remarkable for kindness and generosity. When the 
 cholera was raging in Madrid, he was one of the most active 
 in disregarding its attacks, and in attending to the wants of 
 those near him who were suffering from it.'^ " All who knew 
 him loved him, and even to his faults he knew how to give a 
 certain impression of greatness." Del Rio proceeds to de- 
 scribe him as having been graceful in his bearing, endowed 
 with manly beauty, and his countenance marked with a me- 
 lancholy cast that rendered it more interesting. He con- 
 cludes by observing, that notwithstanding the years that 
 have passed since his friends had to lament his loss, a gar- 
 land of everlastings never fails to be found renewed over his 
 grave. 
 
 In 1848 Baudry published another edition of Espronceda's 
 works, at Paris, but, with the exception of the fifth and sixth 
 cantos of the ' Diablo Mundo,' there is no additional poem 
 given, though Del Rio points out six other pieces published 
 in different periodicals. This omission is much to be re- 
 gretted, as undoubtedly every line that proceeded from his 
 pen was worthy of being gathered together as a rare treasure. 
 It is to be hoped that some admirer of his genius may soon 
 collect those scattered relics, and give them in an edition 
 worthy of their character in Spanish literature. Another Life 
 of him also would be most desirable, as in the Paris edition 
 there is only repeated the account given by Ferrer del Rio, 
 which, though ably written as a sketch, is still on the same 
 
304 JOSE DE ESPRONCEDA. 
 
 scale with a number of other writers in the same work of far 
 inferior merits, and utterly unworthy of so great a genius as 
 Espronceda. Spanish versification under his influence has 
 become "revolutionized." He has extended the powers ap- 
 parently even of the language itself, and by the force of his 
 style as well as by the varied character of his poems, has 
 certainly shown its capabilities more decidedly than any poet 
 who preceded him. 
 
JOSE DE ESPRONOEDA. 
 
 TO SPAIN, AN ELEGY. 
 
 LONDON, 1829. 
 
 How solitary is the nation now 
 
 That peopled countries vast a former day ! 
 
 That all beneath her sovereignty to bow. 
 
 From East to West extended once her sway ! 
 
 Tears now profuse to shed, unhappy one, 
 
 Queen of the world ! 'tis thine ; and from thy face, 
 
 Enchanting yet in sorrow, there is none 
 Its overwhelming traces to erase. 
 
 How fatally o'er thee has death pour'd forth 
 Darkness and mourning, horrible and great ! 
 
 And the stern despot in his madden'd wrath 
 Exulted wildly o'er thy low estate. 
 
306 JOSE DE ESPRONCBDA. 
 
 Nothing or great or beautiful he spared^ 
 
 My country ! the young warrior by him fell, 
 
 The veteran fell, and vile his war-axe glared, 
 Pleased all its fury o'er thee to impel. 
 
 Ev'n the pure maiden fell beneath the rage 
 Of the unpitying despot, as the rose 
 
 Condemned the summer's burning sun to engage 
 Her bloom and beauty withering soon must close. 
 
 Come, ! ye inhabiters of the earth. 
 And contemplate my misery ! can there. 
 
 Tell me, be any found of mortal birth 
 
 Bearing the sorrows I am doom'd to bear ? 
 
 I wretched, banish'd from my native land. 
 Behold, far from the country I adore. 
 
 Her former glories lost and high command. 
 And only left her sufferings to deplore. 
 
 Her children have been fatally betray'd 
 
 By treacherous brethren, and a tyrant's power ; 
 
 And these her lovely fertile plains have made 
 Fields o'er which lamentations only lower. 
 
 Her arms extended wide unhappy Spain, 
 Her sons imploring in her deep distress : 
 
 Her sons they were, but her command was vain. 
 Unheard the traitor madness to repress. 
 
JOSE DE ESPRONCEDA. 307 
 
 Whatever could then avail thee, tower or wall. 
 My country ! still amid thy woes adored ? 
 
 Where were the heroes that could once appal 
 The fiercest foe ? where thy unconquer'd sword ? 
 
 Alas ! now on thy children's humbled brow 
 Deeply is shame engraved, and on their eyes. 
 
 Cast down and sorrowfully beating now. 
 The tears alone of grief and mourning rise. 
 
 Once was a time for Spain, when she possess'd 
 
 A hundred heroes in her hour of pride ; 
 And trembling nations saw her manifest 
 
 Her power and beauty, dazzling by their side. 
 
 As lofty shows itself in Lebanon 
 
 The cedar, so her brow she raised on high j 
 
 And fell her voice the nations round upon. 
 As terrifies a girl the thunders nigh. 
 
 But as a stone now in the desert's wild 
 
 Thou liest abandon'd, and an unknown way 
 
 Through strangers' lands, uncertain where, exiled 
 The patriot's doom'd unfortunate to stray. 
 
 Her ancient pomp and power are cover'd o'er 
 
 With sand and weeds contemptuous ; and the foe, 
 
 That trembled at her puissance before. 
 
 Now mocks exulting and enjoys her woe. 
 
 X 2 
 
308 JOSE DE ESPEONCEDA. 
 
 Maidens ! your flowing locks dishevell'd tear^ 
 To give them to the wandering winds ; and bring 
 
 Your harps in mournful company to share 
 With me the sorrowful laments I sing. 
 
 Thus banish'd from our homes afar away 
 Still let us weep our miseries. ! Spain, 
 
 Who shall have power thy torments to allay ? 
 Who shall have power to dry thy tears again ! 
 
 THE CONDEMNED TO DIE. 
 
 His form upon the ground reclined. 
 
 With bitter anguish inward drawn, 
 Full of the coming day his mind. 
 
 That soon will sadly dawn. 
 The culprit waits, in silence laid. 
 
 The fatal moments hastening now, 
 ■In which his last sun's light display'd 
 
 Will shine upon his brow. 
 
 O'er crucifix and altar there. 
 
 The chapel cell in mourning hung. 
 
 From the dim candle's yellow glare 
 A funeral light is flung; 
 
JOSE DE ESPRONCEDA. 309 
 
 And by the wretched culprit's side, 
 
 His face with hood half cover'd o'er, 
 The friar, with trembling voice to guide, 
 
 Is heard his prayers implore. 
 
 His brow then raises he again. 
 
 And slowly lifts to heaven his eyes ; 
 Perhaps a prayer for mercy fain 
 
 May in his grief arise. 
 A tear flows : whence had that release ? 
 
 Was it from bitterness or fear ? 
 Perhaps his sorrows to increase 
 
 Some thought to memory dear ? 
 
 So young ! and hfe, that he had dream'd 
 
 Was full of golden days to glide, 
 Is pass'd, when childhood's tears it seem'd 
 
 As scarcely yet were dried. 
 Then on him of his childhood burst . 
 
 The thought, and of his mother's woe. 
 That he whom she so fondly nursed 
 
 Was doom'd that death to know. 
 
 And while that hopelessly he sees 
 
 His course already death arrest, 
 He feels his life's best energies 
 
 Beat strongly in his breast ; 
 
310 JOSE DE ESPRONCEDA. 
 
 And sees that friar, wlio calmly now 
 Is laid, with sleep no more to strive. 
 
 With age so feebly doomM to bow. 
 Tomorrow will survive. 
 
 But hark ! what noise the silence breaks 
 
 This hour unseasonably by ? 
 Some one a gay guitar awakes 
 
 And mirthful songs reply ; 
 And shouts are raised, and sounds are heard 
 
 Of bottles rattling, and perchance 
 Others, remember'd well, concurr'd 
 
 Of lovers in the dance. 
 And then he hears funereal roll. 
 
 Between each pause in accents high, 
 " Your alms, for prayers to rest the soul 
 
 Of him condemn'd to die." 
 
 And so combined the drunkard's shout. 
 
 The toast, the strifes, and fancies wild 
 Of all that Bacchanalian rout. 
 
 With wanton's songs defiled. 
 And bursts of idle laughter, reach 
 
 Distinct into the gloomy cell. 
 And seem far off ejected each 
 
 The very sounds of hell. 
 
JOSE DE ESPUONCEDA. 311 
 
 And then he hears, funereal roll 
 
 Between each pause, those accents high, 
 
 " Your alms, for prayers to rest the soul 
 Of him condemned to die." 
 
 He cursed them all, as one by one 
 
 The impious echos each express^ ; 
 He cursed the mother as a son 
 
 Who nursed him at her breast : 
 The whole world round alike he cursed. 
 
 His evil destiny forlorn, 
 And the dark day and hour when first 
 
 That wretched he was born. 
 
 II. 
 
 The moon serene illumes the skies. 
 And earth in deepest stillness lies j 
 No sound is heard, the watchdog 's mute, 
 And ev'n the lover's plaintive lute. 
 
 Madrid enveloped lies in sleep ; 
 
 Repose o'er all its shade has cast. 
 And men of him no memory keep 
 
 Who soon will breathe his last. 
 
312 JOSE DB ESPRONCBDA. 
 
 Or if perchance one thinks to wake 
 
 At early dawn, no thoughts whate'er 
 Rise for the wretched being's sake, 
 
 Who death is waiting there. 
 Unmoved by pity's kind control. 
 
 Men hear around the funeral cry, 
 " Your alms, for prayers to rest the soul 
 
 Of him condemn'd to die." 
 
 Sleeps in his bed the judge in peace ; 
 
 And sleeps and dreams of how his store, 
 The executioner, to increase ; 
 
 And pleased he counts it o'er. 
 Only the city's silence breaks. 
 
 And destined place of death portrays. 
 The harden'd workman who awakes 
 
 The scaffolding to raise. 
 
 III. 
 
 Confused and mad his heated mind. 
 With raving feverish dreams combined. 
 The culprit's soul exhaustion press' d, 
 His head sunk heavy on his breast. 
 
JOSE DB ESPRONCEDA. 313 
 
 And in his dreams he life and death 
 
 Confounds, remembers, and forgets ; 
 And fearful struggling every breath, 
 
 And sigh he gives besets. 
 
 And in a world of darkness seems 
 
 As now to stray ; feels fear and cold. 
 And in his horrid madness deems 
 
 The cord his neck infold : 
 And so much more, in desperate fight, 
 
 In anguish to escape his lot. 
 He strives, with so much more the might 
 
 He binds the fatal knot : 
 And voices hears, confused the whole. 
 
 Of people round, and then that cry, 
 " Your alms, for prayers to rest the soul 
 
 . Of him condemned to die ! " 
 
 Or fancies now that he is free ; 
 
 And breathes the fresh pure air, and hears 
 Her sigh of love, the maid whom he 
 
 Had loved in happier years : 
 Beauteous and kind as e'er of old. 
 
 Sweet flower of spring-time's gay resort. 
 As could for love the meads behold. 
 
 Or gallant April court. 
 
314 JOSE DE ESPKONCEDA. 
 
 And joyful he to see her flies, 
 
 And seeks to reach her, but in vain ; 
 For as with anxious hands he tries 
 
 His hoped-for bUss to gain, 
 The illusion suddenly to break, 
 
 He finds the dream deceitful fled ! 
 A cold stiff corpse the shape to take, 
 
 And scaffold in its stead. 
 And hears the mournful funeral knoU, 
 
 And hollow voice resounding nigh, 
 " Your alms, for prayers to rest the soul 
 
 Of him condemned to die I" 
 
 THE SONG OF THE PIRATE. 
 
 The breeze fair aft, all sails on high. 
 
 Ten guns on each side mounted seen. 
 She does not cut the sea, but fly, 
 
 A swiftly sailing brigantine ; 
 A pirate bark, the ' Dreaded ' named, 
 For her surpassing boldness famed, 
 On every sea well known and shore, 
 From side to side their boundaries o'er. 
 
JOSE DE ESPaONCEDA. 315 
 
 The moon in streaks the waves illumes ; 
 
 Hoarse groans the wind the rigging through ; 
 In gentle motion raised assumes 
 
 The sea a silvery shade with blue ; 
 While singing gaily on the poop, 
 The pirate Captain, in a group, 
 Sees Europe here, there Asia lies. 
 And Stamboul in the front arise. 
 
 Sail on, my swift one ! nothing fear ; 
 
 Nor calm, nor storm, nor foeman's force 
 Shall make thee yield in thy career. 
 
 Or turn thee from thy course. 
 Despite the English cruisers fleet 
 
 We have full twenty prizes made ; 
 And see their flags beneath my feet 
 
 A hundred nations laid. 
 My treasure is my gallant bark, 
 
 My only god is liberty ; 
 My law is might, the wind my mark, 
 
 My country is the sea. 
 
 There blindly kings fierce wars maintain, 
 
 For palms of land, when here I hold 
 As mine, whose power no laws restrain. 
 
 Whatever the seas infold. 
 
316 JOSE DE ESPRONCEDA. 
 
 Nor is there shore around whatever, 
 
 Or banner proudj but of my might 
 Is taught the valorous proofs to bear, 
 
 And made to feel my right. 
 My treasure is my gallant bark, 
 
 My only god is liberty ; 
 My law is might, the wind my mark. 
 
 My country is the sea. 
 
 Look when a ship our signals ring, 
 
 Full sail to fly how quick she 's veer'd ! 
 For of the sea I am the king. 
 
 My fury ^s to be feared ; 
 But equally with all I share 
 
 Whatever the wealth we take supplies ; 
 I only seek the matchless fair 
 
 My portion of the prize. 
 My treasure is my gallant bark. 
 
 My only god is liberty ; 
 My law is might, the wind my mark, 
 
 My country is the sea. 
 
 I am condemn'd to die ! I laugh ; 
 
 For, if my fates are kindly sped, 
 My doomer from his own ship's staff 
 
 Perhaps I '11 hang instead. 
 
JOSE DE ESPRONCEDA. 317 
 
 And if I fall, why what is life ? 
 
 For lost I gave it then as due, 
 When from slavery's yoke in strife 
 
 A rover I withdrew. 
 My treasure is my gallant bark, 
 
 My only god is liberty ; 
 My law is might, the wind my mark. 
 
 My country is the sea. 
 
 My music is the north wind's roar. 
 
 The noise when round the cable runs, 
 The bellowings of the Black Sea's shore. 
 
 And rolling of my guns. 
 And as the thunders loudly sound. 
 
 And furious as the tempests rave, 
 I calmly rest in sleep profound, 
 
 So rock'd upon the wave. 
 My treasure is my gallant bark. 
 
 My only god is liberty ; 
 My law is might, the wind my mark. 
 
 My country is the sea. 
 
318 JOSE DE ESPRONCEDA. 
 
 TO HARIFA, IN AN ORGY. 
 
 Thy handj Harifa ! bring it me ; 
 
 Come near, and place it on my brow ; 
 As on some lava's boiling sea 
 
 I feel my bead is burning now. 
 Come, bring with mine thy lips to meet. 
 
 Though they but madden me astray, 
 Where yet I find the kisses beat. 
 
 There left thy loves of yesterday. 
 
 What is virtue, what is joy, 
 
 Or love, or purity, or truth ? 
 The false illusions of a boy. 
 
 The cherished flatteries of my youth. 
 Then bring me wine ; there let me try 
 
 Remembrance drown'd to hold repressed, 
 Without a pang from life to fly ; 
 
 In frenzy death may give me rest. 
 
 O'erspreads my face a burning flood, 
 And red and glaring wildly start 
 
 My eyes forth out in heated blood, 
 And forth leaps restlessly my heart. 
 
JOSE DE ESPRONCEDA. 319 
 
 Woman ! I hate thee ; fly thee — go : 
 I feel thy hands my hands infold, 
 
 And feel them freezing, cold as snow, 
 As snow thy kisses are as cold. 
 
 Ever the same, try, tempters weak ! 
 
 Other endearments to enthral j 
 Another world, new pleasures seek, 
 
 For such your joys I curse them all. 
 Your kisses are a lie j a cheat 
 
 Is all the tenderness you feign ; 
 Your beauty ugly in deceit. 
 
 The enjoyment suffering and pain. 
 
 I wish for love, ethereal, high. 
 
 For some diviner joy my lot; 
 For such my heart will imaged sigh. 
 
 For such as in the world is not. 
 And 't is that meteor light afar. 
 
 The phantom that deceived my mind, 
 The treacherous guide, the vapour star. 
 
 That leads me wandering and blind. 
 
 Why is my soul for pleasure dead, 
 And yet alive to grief and care ? 
 
 Why doom'd in listless stupor laid 
 This arid loathing still to bear ? 
 
320 JOSE DE ESPRONCBDA. 
 
 Why this consuming wild desire, 
 
 This restless passion vague and strange ? 
 
 That well I know I rave, 't is fire^ 
 Yet plunge in its deceitful range. 
 
 Why do I dream of love and joy, 
 
 That I am sure a lie will prove ? 
 Why where fantastic charms decoy. 
 
 Will thus my heart delirious move. 
 If soon it finds for meads and flowers, 
 
 But arid wastes and tangled thorns, 
 And soon a loathing rage o'erpowers 
 
 The mad or mournful love it scorns ? 
 
 Flung as a rapid comet wide, 
 
 On ardent fancy's wings I flew, 
 Where'er my wayward mind espied 
 
 Or joys or triumphs to pursue. 
 I launch' d myself, in daring flight. 
 
 Beyond the world through heavenward space, 
 And found but doubt, and all so bright 
 
 That seem'd, illusive proved the chase. 
 
 Then on the earth I anxious sought 
 
 For virtue, glory, love sublime ; 
 And my worn spirit found there nought 
 
 But fetid dust and loathsome slime. 
 
JOSE DE ESPRONCEDA. 321 
 
 Mid clouds with heavenly hues o'ercast 
 
 Women of virgin lustre shone ; 
 I saWj I touchM them, and they pass'd, 
 
 And smoke and ashes left alone. 
 
 I found the illusion fledj but rife, 
 
 Unquench'd desires their longings crave ; 
 I felt the real, I hated life. 
 
 And peace beUeved but in the grave. 
 And yet I seek, and anxious seek. 
 
 For pleasures still I ask and sigh. 
 And hear dread accents answering speak, 
 
 " Unhappy one ! despair, and die. 
 
 " Die : Life is torment, joy a cheat, 
 
 Hope not for good on earth for thee. 
 But fruitless struggles look to meet 
 
 In thy vain longings endlessly ! 
 For so God punishes the soul 
 
 That in its madness dares espy 
 The unfathom'd secrets of the scroll 
 
 Of truth, denied to mortal eye ! " 
 
 ! cease : no more I ask to know, 
 No more to see : my soul oppress'd 
 
 Is humbly bowM, and prostrate low. 
 Now only asks, and longs for rest. 
 
322 JOSE DE ESPRONCEDA. 
 
 In me let feeling then lie dead, 
 Since died my hopes of happiness. 
 
 Nor joys nor griefs be o'er me spread 
 My soul returning to depress. 
 
 Pass, as in magic optic glass, 
 
 And other youthful hearts deceive. 
 Bright images of glory ! pass. 
 
 That crowns of gold and laurel weave. 
 Pass, ye voluptuous fair ones, on ! 
 
 With dance and mirthful songs attuned, 
 Like vaporous visions, pass, begone ! 
 
 No more my heart to move or wound. 
 And let the dance, and festal din. 
 
 O'er my revolted fancy reign. 
 And fled the night, see morn begin. 
 
 Surprised in senseless stupor's chain. 
 
 Harifa, come ! Like me this woe 
 
 Thou too hast borne ! Thou ne'er dost weep ! 
 But, ah ! how wretched 't is to know 
 
 Feelings so bitter and so deep ! 
 The same our sufferings and care ; 
 
 In vain thou hold'st thy tears apart ; 
 Like me thou also hast to bear 
 
 A wounded and an aching heart ! 
 
XII. 
 JOSE ZORIIILLA. 
 
 It has been said that " the life of a poet is ever a romance." 
 Perhaps this observation may apply equally well to the history 
 of every man of ardent genius who enters with characteristic 
 enthusiasm into the affairs of life^ so as to invest even ordinary 
 circumstances with the glow and hue of his own excited ima- 
 gination. But this is more especially the case with poets who 
 make us participate in their feelings, their joys or their sor- 
 rows, so as to give a character of romance to incidents that 
 with other persons would have passed away as unnoticed. 
 In the course of the preceding narratives, no doubt, many in- 
 stances may be remembered to verify this remark, and the 
 life of the eminent and deservedly popular poet with which 
 we have to close the series, even in his yet youthful career, 
 may be found to afford a further exemplification of it. 
 
 On the 14th February, 1837, a funeral car, over which 
 was placed a crown of laurel, had to traverse the streets of 
 Madrid, bearing to their resting-place in the cemetery, the 
 remains of the talented but wrong-minded Larra, The car 
 was followed by an immense concourse of mourners, princi- 
 
 y2 
 
324 JOSE ZORRILLA. 
 
 pally young men of the first classes of Madrid, who were so 
 testifying their regret for the loss they had sustained. The 
 whole scene presented a spectacle of homage paid to genius, 
 such as had seldom been witnessed. It was such as power 
 might have envied, and as worth scarcely ever attained. Me- 
 lancholy as had been the end of the unhappy being they 
 mourned, envy and hatred had become silenced, moraUty and 
 charity joined in regret, and no one disputed the propriety of 
 the funeral honours paid to the dead. 
 
 It was already late when the ceremonies were concluded, 
 and the darkening shadows of the night, in such a place and 
 on such an occasion, gave the countenances of all assembled 
 an extraordinary character. The shock they had felt, to lose 
 so suddenly from among them one so well-known to them 
 all, in the fulness of youth and intellect, in the height of 
 fame and popularity, without any apparent motive and enve- 
 loped in mystery, was of itself sufficient to penetrate their 
 minds with sorrow. They felt that a bright light had been 
 extinguished, and they feared there was no hope of another 
 arising to shine in its place. A strange spell seemed to 
 have come over the bystanders, and they lingered round the 
 vault with an unaccountable disinclination to separate. 
 
 The eloquent Sefior Eoca de Togares, distinguished both 
 as an orator and a poet, pronounced a discourse he had 
 hastily prepared, in which he portrayed the general sensa- 
 tion of sorrow, as he eulogized the talents and the principal 
 literary successes of the deceased. But his eloquence had 
 only the eficct of exciting still further the prevalent feeling, 
 which was that of something still more appropriate being re- 
 quired to give expression to their grief, and they instinctively 
 looked round for some one to give utterance to it in the lan- 
 guage of mournful inspiration with which to take their final 
 farewell. 
 
JOSE zoaiiiLLA. 325 
 
 At that moment^ in the midst of, it may be supposed^ 
 almost painful silence, a young man, unknown to them, of a 
 slight figure and boyish appearance, stood forward, and with 
 a tremulous voice began reading some verses in unison with 
 their feelings, which at the first accents seemed to seize irre- 
 sistibly on the minds of the listeners. He was himself so 
 much afiected by the scene, and perhaps under the sense of 
 his own temerity, that he could not finish his task, and Roca 
 de Togares took the paper out of his hands and read the 
 verses again audibly. Had they been possessed of only ordi- 
 nary merit, they would no doubt, on such an occasion, have 
 been favourably received; but expressed as they were in 
 highly poetical language, with appropriate sentiments, the 
 effect was to excite the utmost astonishment and admiration. 
 The author's name, Jose Zorrilla, was eagerly called for and 
 repeated on all sides with loud applauses, and they who had 
 followed sorrowfully shortly before the remains of the man of 
 genius they had lost, now returned to the city attending in 
 triumph another poet they had found, with all the tokens of 
 enthusiastic rejoicing. The young poet, on his part, had 
 found an audience ready to welcome him, and he was at once 
 launched forth into that " tide in the affairs of men which 
 taken at the flood leads on to fortune." 
 
 The history of the new aspirant for fame was now an ob- 
 ject of interest, and the public learned that he was the son of 
 Don Jose Zorrilla, a person well known as an eminent lawyer 
 who had held several judicial offices with credit in Spain. It 
 was while holding one of those offices, in Valladolid, that his 
 son, the subject of this narrative, was born there, the 21st of 
 February, 1817. From Valladolid, the father having been 
 promoted to other duties in Burgos, Seville, and finally at 
 Madrid, the son followed him, and received his primary edu- 
 cation in the various cities they inhabited, under circum- 
 
326 JOSE ZORWLLA. 
 
 stances which must have operated powerfully on his mind. 
 On arriving at Madrid he was placed at the Seminary of 
 Nobles, where he remained six years, thus .giving that cele- 
 brated institution the just merit of claiming him, as well as 
 so many others of the ablest writers and pubhc men of Spain, 
 among those they had educated. There he seems to have 
 gone through his course of studies without apparently other 
 distinction than an early inclination to write verses and at- 
 tend the theatres, which predilection his tutors disapproved, 
 but in consideration of his father's position passed over more 
 leniently than they otherwise would have done. This indul- 
 gence, however, there is no doubt gave that decided turn to 
 his mind which led to his subsequent career. 
 
 On leaving the Seminary, Zorrilla had to go to his father 
 at his estate in the province of Castille, where he now lived 
 in retirement, having lost the favour of the government. 
 There soon a discordance rose between them as to his future 
 course in life. The father wished him to graduate in the 
 profession of the law, in which he had acquired wealth and 
 fame, and sent him, notwithstanding his repugnance, to To- 
 ledo, to study in the university of that city. He passed ac- 
 cordingly a year there, but with only sufficient application to 
 go through the ordinary routine respectably. Other studies, 
 more congenial to his taste, engaged all his thoughts. To- 
 ledo is a city rich in historical and poetical remembrances 
 and legends. Its monuments and ruins are among the most 
 interesting that exist in Spain, and in the contemplation of 
 these Zorrilla was constantly absorbed. To Toledo he owed 
 his poetical education, as to it he has dedicated some of his 
 sweetest poetry. He shunned the society of his fellow-stu- 
 dents, and seemed to pass an eccentric and even mysterious 
 life. Out no one knew where, at strange hours, disregarding 
 the university rules and dress and etiquette, allowing his 
 
JOSE ZORRILLA. 
 
 337 
 
 hair to grow long over his shoulders, and composing songs, not 
 to the taste of his tutors, he was considered half-mad, and his 
 father was informed of his strange conduct as not amenable 
 to study and discipline. On going home for the vacation, 
 his father therefore received him with coldness and displea- 
 sure, and made him read law with him, notwithstanding his 
 continued disinclination to it, though in secret he made 
 amends for the restraint by indulging in reading more agree- 
 able to himself. It is recorded more especially that he then 
 studied the Sacred Scriptures, in whose pages he found the 
 truest inspiration of poetry, as he certainly seems in his 
 writings generally to have imbibed the purest principles of 
 morality and religion. 
 
 In the hope of his entering on a more diligent course of 
 study at another place than Toledo, ZorrUla was then sent to 
 VaUadolid, as if by changing universities he could be expected 
 to change the tendency of mind which urged him to his 
 . destiny. There he was watched on aU sides by his father's 
 directions, and it was reported to him that his son stUl con- 
 tinued his former course of conduct ; that instead of passing 
 his hours in study, he was ever out on lonely walks, lying 
 under the shade of trees by the side of the river or the broken 
 rock, absorbed in his own meditations. There is a hint also 
 given, of even the discovery that he had found some dream 
 of youthful love to indulge in, as if it were something extra- 
 ordinary for one of his age and enthusiastic character. The 
 father must have been one of the class that Chateaubriand 
 suffered under, or Mirabeau; and happy it was for Zorrilla 
 that he did not sink into the recklessness of the one or the 
 inanities of the other, while he had also to submit to similar 
 discouragements. As it was, the father came to the conclu- 
 sion that no hope was to be entertained of his son's applica- 
 tion to study, to take that position in the world which he had 
 
328 JOSE ZOBRILLA. 
 
 planned out for him, and in which were centred all his own 
 ideas of honourable activity. He therefore resolved to take 
 him from Valladolid, and sent a trusty messenger to bring 
 him home. 
 
 On the way the messenger gave Zorrilla to understand 
 that his father had resolved to employ him on his estate, to 
 dress the vines and perform other labours of country occupa- 
 tion. It seems the father had even talked about fitting him 
 out in a labourer's working garb, as not being calculated for 
 nobler employment, while he himself was unconscious or care- 
 less of the wonderful power of mind which lay hid from his 
 observation in the son's apparent inability to fulfil his expec- 
 tations. On this intimation, however, Zorrilla at once formed 
 his determination. Shortly before reaching home, he stayed 
 at the house of a relative, where he collected together the few 
 valuable things he could carry away, and appropriating to his 
 necessity a horse belonging to his cousin, he hastened back 
 to Valladolid. There he was fortunate enough to arrive and 
 sell the horse before the messenger sent after him again 
 could arrest him on his flight. He then transferred himself 
 without loss of time to Madrid, where for a length of time 
 he succeeded in escaping the vigilant search made for him 
 by his friends, who not having seen him since he was a boy, 
 were not able now to penetrate his disguise. 
 
 At Madrid under these circumstances, a fugitive from his 
 father's house, he had now passed almost a year, when he 
 came forth before the pubHc, as we have narrated, on the 
 occasion of Larra's funeral. How he had passed those months 
 we are not informed further, than that he had to submit to 
 every kind of annoyances and privations, which he surmounted 
 by the firmness of his determination and the elevated cha- 
 racter of his hopes. He had in the interval sent several 
 pieces of poetry to the diff'erent periodicals, by which his 
 
JOSE ZORRILLA. 329 
 
 name had already become sufficiently known to a number of 
 those who hailed him on the 14th February as supplying the 
 place of the popular writer they had lost. 
 
 On the following day, Zorrilla could say, like Lord Byron, 
 that he awoke and found himself famous. The verses on 
 Larra were in every one's mouth, and all others that could be 
 obtained of his writing were eagerly collected. Editors and 
 proprietors of periodicals were anxious to obtain his coopera- 
 tion for their works, and his period of difficulties had passed 
 away. Before the year closed, the first volume of his poems 
 appeared with an introduction by Pastor Diaz, and that was 
 so eagerly bought that he was induced to bring out others in 
 succession, with a prolificness unknown almost even in Spain. 
 Seven other closely printed volumes of his poems were pub- 
 lished, including several plays, within about three years after- 
 wards, and eight or nine other volumes have appeared since. 
 His works have been reprinted in Paris and in various parts 
 of Spanish America, and received everywhere with unbounded 
 admiration, so as at once to prove him one of the most 
 favourite poets that Spain has produced. 
 
 While he was thus rising to fame and competence, his 
 father, on the other hand, had fallen into misfortune. A high 
 prerogative lawyer, he had maintained the doctrines of abso- 
 lutism, and at length openly espoused the cause of Don 
 Carlos. On the failure of this prince's attempts to gain the 
 throne, the elder Zorrilla, with other adherents, was pro- 
 scribed and had his property confiscated. His son had not 
 heard from him after this event for some years, when he re- 
 ceived a letter from his father from Bayonne, stating, that he 
 was in difficulties, and requesting him to apply to a former 
 friend, whom he named, for a loan for his assistance. Zor- 
 rilla wrote back to say that there was no occasion to incur an 
 obligation from one not related to him, and that he himself 
 
330 JOSE ZORBILLA. 
 
 was happy to have it in his power to send him. the sum re- 
 quired, which he would repeat at stated intervals. This he 
 accordingly did, until he received his father's directions to 
 discontinue it, as not requiring it any more. 
 
 Another instance of Zorrilla's high-mindedness and true 
 Castilian pride has been recorded. On his father's property 
 having been sequestrated by the government, it was intimated 
 to him that if he applied he might have the administration 
 o^ it, which was tantamount to giving him possession of it. 
 But he replied that he would neither apply for it nor ac- 
 cept it, for while his father lived, he could acknowledge 
 no one else as entitled to it. His father having since died, 
 Zorrilla has come by law into possession of his estates, and 
 has thus had the rare fortune, for a poet, to be possessed of 
 considerable wealth. He has had several offers of appoint- 
 ments from the government, but he has declined them, con- 
 tented to live according to his own fancies and occupied vpith 
 his own peculiar pursuits. His extraordinary facility for 
 composing verses is such as scarcely to allow his compositions 
 to be termed studies ; but with them and his attendances at 
 the theatre, and other recreations, or at literary reunions, 
 he is said to pass away his hours in ease and contentment. 
 The first volume of his poems, it has been already intimated, 
 was published before he was twenty-one years of age. Within 
 three years afterwards seven others were published ; and in 
 the eighth, to the poem of 'The Duke and the Sculptor,' was 
 appended the following note to his wife : — " Dedicated to the 
 Senora Matilda O'Reilly de Zorrilla. I began the publica- 
 tion of my poems with our acquaintance, and I conclude them 
 with thy name. Madrid, 10 October, 1840." 
 
 What were the circumstances attending this acquaintance 
 or union, we are not informed ; but it is fortunate for the 
 world that the intimation it might convey of its being the 
 
JOSE ZORRILLA. 331 
 
 conclusion of his literary works has not been fulfilled. Since 
 then he has published ' Songs of the Troubadour/ in three 
 volumesj and other minor poems and plays separately. A 
 larger work he meditated on the conquest of Granada, to be 
 entitled 'The Cross and the Crescent/ has not been com- 
 pleted ; and another he projected with the title ' Maria/ in- 
 tending to celebrate the different characters under which the 
 Holy Virgin is venerated in Roman Catholic countries, he has 
 published, with the greater part supplied by a friend, all very 
 inferior to what might have been expected from him. 
 
 It is much to be regretted that Zorrilla has in all his works 
 allowed carelessnesses to prevail, which too often mar the 
 effect of his verses, and stiU more that he has often inserted 
 some that were of very inferior merit compared with the rest. 
 It is not to be supposed that an author can be equally sus- 
 tained in all his productions, but it is somewhat extraordinary 
 in his volumes to find some poems of such transcendent merit, 
 and others so inferior. These, however, are very few, and 
 probably were hastily composed and hastily published, to 
 supply the demand arising for the day. He is probably the 
 only author in Spain who has profited by the sale of his 
 writings to any extent, and to do this he must have been 
 often under the necessity of tasking his mind severely, with- 
 out regard to its spontaneous suggestions. Thus then, when 
 he found his inspiration failing, he has often had recourse to 
 memory, and repeated from himself, and even from others, 
 verses previously published. It is to be hoped that he may 
 be induced soon to give the world a revised edition of his 
 works, in which the oversights may be corrected, and the 
 poems unworthy of his fame may be omitted. 
 
 On reading over dispassionately the ' Lines to Larra,' by 
 which he was first brought so prominently into notice, it 
 may occasion some surprise to learn they had produced so 
 
333 JOSE ZORRILLA. 
 
 remarkable an effect. If they had previously been read over 
 alone to any one of the auditors, he probably might not have 
 considered them so ideal, so beautiful, or so original as they 
 seemed at the public recital. Some phrase might have ap- 
 peared incomprehensible, some sentiment exaggerated or not 
 true ; some expression or line, hard or weak or forced. He 
 might have observed a want of order or connection in the 
 ideas, or the whole to be vague and leaving no fixed thought 
 in the mind; or he might have pronounced them, as they 
 have been since pronounced, an imitation of Victor Hugo or 
 Lamartine. But to the auditors assembled, in the excited 
 state of their feelings, there was no time for reflection or cri- 
 ticism. It vras a composition of the hour for that particular 
 scene, — for themselves, in language and feelings with which 
 they could sympathize. Thus the verses seized on their 
 minds and electrified them, so that they had no time to 
 dwell on any discussion or dispute of their merits, but yielded 
 at once to the fascination of the melodious verse they heard, 
 and the appropriate application of the homage they testified. 
 In the first volume of poems that Zorrilla published, con- 
 taining his earliest productions, are to be found all the selec- 
 tions made for translation in this work. They may not be 
 so highly finished as some afterwards published, nor so 
 marked by that distinctive character he has made his own ; 
 but they show the first promises of the fruit that was in 
 store, to be afterwards brought to such maturity. As he had 
 scarcely emerged from boyhood when he began to tread the 
 path to fame, his first steps could scarcely fail to betray that 
 sort of uncertainty which attends on all who are going on an 
 unknown road. Thus then through the volume he appears 
 to be seeking a ground whereon to fix his energies and build 
 the temple for his future fame, without being able confidently 
 to fix on any place in prefei-ence. His poetry from the first, 
 
JOSE ZORRILLA. 333 
 
 always sonorous and easy, often evidently spontaneous and 
 true to nature, at times is weak and deficient in the depth of 
 thought that at other times distinguishes it, especially in the 
 compositions of a philosophic cast, which require fuller age 
 and reflection to give them with perfectness. Subject to these 
 remarks, independently of the poems hereafter given in the 
 translations, there are others, 'To Toledo,' 'The Statue of 
 Cervantes,' ' The "Winter Night,' more clearly portraying the 
 peculiar character of his poetry as afterwards developed. 
 
 In the second volume published about six months after- 
 wards, he seems already to have taken his ground and to pro- 
 ceed with a more decided step. The poem, 'The Day with- 
 out Sun,' is full of poetic vigour and richness of description, 
 and several tales of greater length and legendary character 
 show the bent of his mind and the direction it was in future 
 to take. In the third volume it was reserved for his genius 
 to be fully developed. It opens with a magnificent composi- 
 tion, ' To Rome,' in which deep philosophy and reflection are 
 combined with exquisite description, all so clear and distinct 
 as fully to captivate the mind and leave an impression of 
 complete satisfaction. But beyond this it contains the poem 
 'To the last Moorish King of Granada, Boabdil the Little,' 
 which is generally considered his best. He was already re- 
 cognized as an admirable descriptive poet, but he now proved 
 his power of moving the inmost feelings to be as great as his 
 power of imagination. It is undoubtedly a splendid compo- 
 sition and highly finished, so as to be well worthy of study 
 for the Spanish reader, though too long for translation for 
 this work. The same volume contains another poem, also 
 worthy of mention, ' To a Skull,' as written with much force 
 and effect, but in the style of the French imitators of Byron, 
 whom Zorrilla has too much copied, though it must be stated 
 without their affectation and exaggerations. 
 
334 JOSE ZOERILLA. 
 
 In the following volumes he continues the course now so 
 markedly his own as a national poet. He avowedly chooses, 
 as becoming him in that character, subjects taken from the 
 traditions and legends current in Spain, and clothing them 
 in glowing language reproduces them to his delighted readers 
 as the dreams and remembrances of their youth. He is 
 especially partial to the tales connected with the Moorish 
 wars, and in so doing, with great poetic effect, always repre- 
 sents the Moors in the most favourable light. Thus he 
 throughout makes them worthy rivals of the Christians, and 
 thereby renders greater the merit of the conquerors. The 
 richness of his diction is truly extraordinary, often so as to 
 make us lose sight of the paucity of ideas contained in his 
 poems, and that those again are too much the same repeated 
 constantly over. 
 
 If it was a wonderful and admirable triumph for one so 
 young to achieve by one bound the unqualified commenda- 
 tions of his countrymen, and to sustain the success then ac- 
 quired by subsequent efforts, we have still to regret that 
 there were evils attending that precocity to prevent his at- 
 taining apparently the highest excellence. Perhaps there is 
 no one we can point out as so truly exemplifying the maxim 
 " poeta nascitur." He was truly born a poet ; and though 
 he often writes showing that he had been reading Calderon or 
 some other of the elder writers of Spain, or even some of the 
 French poets, yet he always gives the colouring of his own 
 mind to those imitations so as to make them his own. This 
 often again leads him to a mannerism and repetition of him- 
 self; but notwithstanding these faults or occasional errors of 
 carelessness, his compositions always remain uniformly and 
 irresistibly captivating. 
 
 Besides his poems, Zorrilla has published upwards of twenty 
 dramatic pieces, some of which have been repeatedly produced 
 
JOSE ZORRILLA. 335 
 
 on the stage with the fullest success. They are all remark- 
 able for the richness of versification and high tone of poetry 
 which distinguish his lyrical compositions, and, like them, all 
 tend to honour and promote the chivalrous spirit for which 
 the Spanish nation has ever been renowned. 
 
 The modern poetry of Spain shows that her nationality is 
 still as distinct, her genius as elevated, and her sense of 
 honour as pure, as in any former period of her history. It 
 shows itself in unison with the spirit that has always ani- 
 mated the people in their public conduct, in their loyalty and 
 devotion, the same now as a thousand years since, making 
 every hill a fortress and every plain a battle-field, to dispute 
 the ground at every foot with the enemy till they were 
 driven from their soil. The poets of Spain have still, as ever, 
 the most stirring tasks before them, to commemorate the 
 glories of their romantic country, and they are worthy of 
 their task. 
 
JOSE ZORRILLA. 
 
 THE CHRISTIAN LADY AND THE MOOR. 
 
 Hastening to Granada's gates, 
 Came o'er tlie Vega's land. 
 
 Some forty Gomel horsemen^ 
 And the Captain of the band. 
 
 He, entering in the city, 
 
 Check'd his white steed's career ; 
 And to a lady on his arm, 
 
 Borne weeping many a tear. 
 
 Said, " Cease your tears, fair Christian, 
 
 That grief afflicting me, 
 I have a second Eden, 
 
 Sultana, here for thee. 
 
 " A palace in Granada, 
 
 With gardens and with flowers. 
 And a gilded fountain playing 
 
 More than a hundred showers. 
 
JOSE ZOKRILLA. 337 
 
 " And in the Henil's valley 
 
 I have a fortress gray, 
 To be among a thousand queen 
 
 Beneath thy beauty's sway. 
 
 " For over all yon winding shore 
 Extends my wide domain. 
 
 Nor Cordova's, nor Seville's lands, 
 A park like mine contain. 
 
 " There towers the lofty palm-tree. 
 The pomegranate 's glowing there. 
 
 And the leafy fig-tree, spreading 
 O'er hUl and valley fair. 
 
 " There grows the hardy walnut, 
 
 The yellow nopal tall. 
 And mulberry darkly shading 
 
 Beneath the castle wall ; 
 
 " And elms I have in my arcades 
 
 That to the skies aspire, 
 And singing birds in cages 
 
 Of silk, and silver wire. 
 
 " And thou shalt my Sultana be. 
 
 My haUs alone to cheer ; 
 My harem without other fair. 
 
 Without sweet songs my ear. 
 
338 JOSE ZORBILLA. 
 
 " And velvets I will give thee, 
 
 And eastern rich perfumes, 
 From Greece I '11 bring thee choicest veils, 
 
 And shawls from Cashmere's looms : 
 
 " And I will give thee feathers white, 
 To deck thy beauteous brow. 
 
 Whiter than ev'n the ocean foam 
 Our eastern waters know. 
 
 " And pearls to twine amid thy hair. 
 Cool baths when heat 's above. 
 
 And gold and jewels for thy neck. 
 And for thy lips be — love ! " 
 
 " ! what avail those riches all," 
 
 Replied the Christian fair, 
 " If from my father and my friends. 
 
 My ladies, me you tear ? 
 
 " Restore^ me, ! restore me, Moor, 
 To my father's land, my own ; 
 
 To me more dear are Leon's towers 
 Than thy Granada's throne." 
 
 Smoothing his beard, awhile the Moor 
 
 In silence heard her speak ; 
 Then said as one who deeply thinks. 
 
 With a tear upon his cheek. 
 
JOSE ZORRILLA. 339 
 
 " If better seem thy castles there 
 
 Than here our gardens shine, 
 And thy flowers are more beautiful, 
 
 Because in Leon thine ; 
 
 " And thou hast given thy youthful love 
 
 One of thy warriors there, 
 Houri of Eden ! weep no more. 
 
 But to thy knights repair ! " 
 
 Then giving her his chosen steed, 
 
 And half his lordly train. 
 The Moorish chieftain turned him back 
 
 In silence home again. 
 
 ROMANCE. THE WAKING. 
 
 No sound is in the midnight air. 
 
 No colour in its shade. 
 The old are resting free from care, 
 
 Duenna's voice is stay'd ; 
 But when all else in slumber meet, 
 
 We two are waking nigh, 
 She on the grated window's seat. 
 
 And at its foot am I. 
 
 z 2 
 
340 JOSE ZORRILLA. 
 
 I cannot see her beaming eyes, 
 
 Nor her clear brow above. 
 Nor her face with its rosy dyes, 
 
 Nor yet her smile of love : 
 I cannot see the virgin flush 
 
 That heightens her cheek''s glow. 
 The enchantments of that maiden blush, 
 
 She is but fifteen now. 
 
 Nor can my searching eyes behold 
 
 Her form scarce wrapp'd about ; 
 Nor from the flowing garment's fold 
 
 Her white foot peeping out ; 
 As on some gentle river's spring, 
 
 To glide the foam between. 
 Spread forth her snowy floatsome wing. 
 
 The stately swan is seen. 
 
 Nor can I see her white neck shine. 
 
 Or shoulders as they part ; 
 Nor from her face can I divine 
 
 Her restlessness of heart ; 
 While like a guard, too watchful o'er. 
 
 The grated bars I find ; 
 Audacious love is there before. 
 
 Poor virtue is behind. 
 
JOSE ZOllBILLA. 341 
 
 But in despite of that thick grate, 
 
 And shades that round us twine, 
 I have, my dove, to compensate. 
 
 My soul embathed in thine : 
 My lips of fire I hold impressed 
 
 On thine of roses free ; 
 And well I feel there ■'s in that breast 
 
 A heart that beats for me. 
 
 But see along the East arise 
 
 The unwelcome god of day. 
 Enveloped in the humid skies. 
 
 The darkness drive away. 
 And when a maid has watch'd the night. 
 
 With gallant by her side. 
 The bright red dawn has too much light 
 
 Its coming to abide ! 
 
 The smUing morn is shedding round 
 
 Its harmony and hues, 
 And fragrant odours o'er the ground 
 
 The breezes soft difi'use : 
 Robbing the rose, the lily fair. 
 
 And cherish' d pinks they fly, 
 And leave upon the laurels there 
 
 A murmur moaning by. 
 
342 JOSE ZORllILLA. 
 
 Murmurs the fountain's freshening spring. 
 
 Beneath its crystal veil. 
 And the angelic turtles sing 
 
 Their tender mournfal tale ; 
 The love-sick dove the morning light 
 
 Drinks with enraptured throat. 
 Mixing the balmy air so bright 
 
 With her unequal note. 
 
 Paces the while the noble youth 
 
 The garden's paths along. 
 And lowly sings, his soul to soothe. 
 
 His love-inspiring song ; 
 
 " ! soundless midnight hour, again 
 
 Come with thy kindly shade. 
 When rest thy old from cares, and when 
 
 Duenna's voice is stay'd ; 
 For then, while they in slumber meet. 
 
 We two are waking nigh. 
 She on the grated window's seat. 
 
 And at its foot am I." 
 
JOSE ZORRILL.A. 343 
 
 ORIENTAL ROMANCE,— BOABDIL. 
 
 Lady of the dark head-dress, 
 And monkish vest of purple hue. 
 
 Gladly would Boabdil give 
 Granada for a kiss of you. 
 
 He would give the best adventure 
 Of the bravest horseman tried. 
 
 And with all its verdant freshness 
 A whole bank of Darro's tide. 
 
 He would give rich carpets, perfumes, 
 Armours of rare price and force. 
 
 And so much he values you, 
 
 A troop, ay, of his favourite horse. 
 
 " Because thine eyes are beautiful. 
 Because the morning's blushing light 
 
 From them arises to the East, 
 
 And gilds the whole world bright. 
 
 " From thy lips smiles are flowing. 
 From thy tongue gentle peace. 
 
 Light and aerial as the course 
 Of the purple morning's breeze. 
 
344 JOSE ZORRILLA. 
 
 " ! lovely Nazarene, how choice ! 
 
 For an Eastern harem's pride, 
 Those dark locks waving freely 
 
 Thy crystal neck beside. 
 
 " Upon a couch of velvet. 
 In a cloud of perfumed air, 
 
 Wrapp'd in the white and flowing veil 
 Of Mahomet's daughters fair. 
 
 " 0, Lady ! come to Cordova^ 
 There Sultana thou shalt be, 
 
 And the Sultan there. Sultana, 
 Shall be but a slave for thee. 
 
 " Such riches he will give thee. 
 And such robes of Tunisine, 
 
 That thou wilt judge thy beauty. 
 To repay him for them, mean." 
 
 ! Lady of the dark head-dress ! 
 That him a kiss of thee might bless, 
 
 'Resign a realm Boabdil would ! 
 But I for that, fair Christian, fain 
 Would give of heavens, and think it gain, 
 
 A thousand if I only could. 
 
JOSE ZORRILLA. 
 
 THE CAPTIVE. 
 
 345 
 
 I GO, fair Nazarene, tomorrow 
 To queenly Cordova again ; 
 
 Then thou, my song of love and sorrow 
 To hear, no longer mayst complain. 
 Sung to the compass of my chain. 
 
 When home the Christians shall return, 
 In triumph o'er the Moorish foe. 
 
 My cruel destiny wouldst thou learn ? 
 The history of my loves to know. 
 The blood upon their hands shall show. 
 
 Better it were at once to close. 
 
 In this dark tower a captive here, 
 
 The life I suffer now of woes. 
 
 Than that today thou sett'st me clear ; 
 Alas ! thou selPst it very dear. 
 
 Adieu ! tomorrow o'er, thy slave 
 May never vex thy soul again, 
 
 But vain is all the hope it gave : 
 
 Still must I bear the captive's chain. 
 Thine eyes my prison still remain. 
 
346 JOSE ZOKRILLA. 
 
 Fair Christian ! baleful is my star ; 
 What values it this life to me. 
 
 If I must bear it from thee far ? 
 
 Nor in Granada's bowers may be. 
 Nor, my fair Cordova, with thee ? 
 
 Today's bright sun to me will seem 
 A lamp unseasonably by : 
 
 Daughter of Spain, thy beauties gleam 
 Alone my sun and moon on high. 
 The dawn and brightness of my sky. 
 
 Since then I lose thy light today. 
 
 Without that light I cannot live ! 
 
 To Cordova I take my way; 
 
 But in the doom my fortunes give, 
 Alas ! 't is death that I receive. 
 
 A paradise and houri fair 
 
 Has Mahomet promised we shall prove : 
 
 Aye, thou wilt be an angel there. 
 
 And in that blissful realm above 
 We meet again, and there to love. 
 
JOSE ZORRILLA. 
 
 347 
 
 THE TOWER OF MUNION. 
 
 Dark-shadow'd giant ! shame of proud Castille, 
 
 Castle without bridge, battlements or towers, 
 In whose wide haUs now loathsome reptiles steal. 
 
 Where nobles once and warriors held their bowers ! 
 Tell me, where are they ? where thy tapestries gay, 
 
 Thy hundred troubadours of lofty song ? 
 Thy mouldering ruins in the vale decay. 
 
 Thou humbled warrior ! time has quell'd the strong ; 
 Thy name and history to oblivion thrown, 
 The world forgets that there thou standst, Munion. 
 
 To me thou art a spectre, shade of grief ! 
 
 With black remembrances my soul 's o'ercast ; 
 To me thou art a palm with wither'd leaf, 
 
 Burnt by the lightning, bow'd beneath the blast. 
 I, wandering bard, proscribed perchance my doom 
 
 In the bier's dust nor name, nor glory know ; 
 With useless toil my brow 's consumed in gloom ; 
 
 Of her I loved, dark dwelling-place below. 
 Whom I was robb'd of, angel from above. 
 Cursed be thy name, thy soil, as was my love. 
 
348 JOSE ZORKILLA. 
 
 There rest^ aye, in thy loftiness, 
 
 To shame the plain around; 
 Warderless castle, matron lone. 
 
 In whom no beauty 's found. 
 At thee time laughs, thy towers o'erthrown, 
 
 ScornM by thy vassals, by thy Lord 
 Deserted, rest, black skeleton ! 
 
 Stain of the vale's green sward. 
 
 Priestless hermitage of Castille, 
 
 On thee no banners wave ; 
 Unblazon'd gate, thy pointed vaults 
 
 No more their weight can save : 
 Thou hast no soldier on thy heights, 
 
 No echo in thy halls. 
 And rank weeds festering grow uncheck'd 
 
 Beneath thy mouldering walls. 
 
 Chieftain dead in a foreign land. 
 
 Forgotten of thy race. 
 While storm-torn fragments from thy brow 
 
 Are scatter'd o'er thy place ; 
 And men pass careless at thy feet. 
 
 Nor seek thy tale to find ; 
 Because thy history is not read. 
 
 Thy name 's not in their mind. 
 
JOSE ZORRILLA. 349 
 
 But thou hast one, who in a luckless hour 
 
 Inscribed another's name on thy worn stone : 
 'T was Ij and that my deep relentless shame 
 
 Eemains with thee alone. 
 When my lips named that name, they play'd me false ; 
 
 When my hands graved it, 't was a like deceit ; 
 Now it exists not ; in time's impious course 
 
 'T was swept beneath his feet. 
 
 And that celestial name, 
 
 To time at length a prey, 
 A woihan for my sin. 
 
 For a seraph snatch' d away ; 
 The hurricane of life 
 
 Has left me, loved one, worse 
 For my eternal grief, 
 
 In pledge as of a curse. 
 Thy name ne'er from my thoughts to part. 
 Nor thy love ever from my heart. 
 
350 ■ JOSE ZOEBILLA. 
 
 THE WARNING. 
 
 Yesterday the morning's light 
 Shone on thy window crystal bright, 
 And lightsome breezes floating there 
 Gave richest perfumes to the air. 
 Which the gay flowers had lent to them, 
 AU scatter'd from the unequal stem. 
 
 The nightingale had bathed his wing 
 Beneath the neighbouring murmuring spring ; 
 And birds, and flowers, and streamlets gay, 
 Seem'd to salute the new-born day ; 
 And in requital of the light, 
 Their grateful harmony unite. 
 
 The sun was bright, the sky serene. 
 The garden fresh and pleasant seen ; 
 Life was delight, and thou, sweet maid. 
 No blush of shame thy charms betray'd ; 
 For innocence ruled o'er thy breast. 
 Alike thy waking and thy rest. 
 
JOSE ZORHILLA. 351 
 
 Maiden^ or angel upon earth. 
 
 Thy laugh, and song of gentle mirth, 
 
 In heaven were surely heard j thine eyes 
 
 Were stars, and like sweet melodies 
 
 Thy wandering tones ; thy breath perfume, 
 
 And dawn-like thy complexion's bloom. 
 
 As phantoms then thou didst not find 
 The hours pass heavy on thy mind, 
 A poet, under Love's decree, 
 Sang melancholy songs to thee ; 
 And of his griefs the voice they lend 
 Thou didst not, maiden, comprehend. 
 
 Poor maiden, now what change has come 
 O'er that glad brow and youthful bloom ? 
 Forgotten flower, thy leaves are sere. 
 Thy fruitless blossoms dried appear ; 
 Thy powerless stem all broken, low, 
 May to the sim no colours show. 
 
 ! dark-eyed maid of ill-starr'd birth, 
 
 Why earnest thou on this evil earth ? 
 
 Rose amid tangled briars born. 
 
 What waits thee from the world but scorn ? 
 
 A blasting breath around thee, see. 
 
 Thy bloom is gone, who '11 ask for thee f 
 
352 JOSE ZOKRILLA. 
 
 Return, my angel, to thy sphere. 
 Before the world shall see thee here : 
 The joys of earth are cursed and brief, 
 Buy them not with eternal grief ! 
 Heaven is alone, my soul, secure 
 The mansion for an angel pure. 
 
 MEDITATION. 
 
 Upon the obscure and lonely tomb, 
 Beneath the yeUow evening's gloom, 
 To offer up to Heaven I come. 
 
 For her I loved, my prayer ! 
 Upon the marble bow'd my head. 
 Around my knees the moist herbs spread, 
 The wild flowers bend beneath my tread. 
 
 That deck the thicket there. 
 
 Far from the world, and pleasures vain. 
 From earth my frenzied thoughts to gain. 
 And read in characters yet plain 
 
 Names of the long since past ; 
 There by the gilded lamp alone. 
 That waves above the altar stone. 
 As by the wandering breezes moan, 
 
 A light 's upon me cast. 
 
JOSE ZORRILLA. 
 
 Perchance some bird will pause its flight 
 Upon the funeral cypress height, 
 Warbling the absence of the light, 
 
 As sorrowing for its loss ; 
 Or takes leave of the day's bright power, 
 From the high window of the tower. 
 Or skims, where dark the cupolas lower. 
 
 On the gigantic cross. 
 
 With eyes immersed in tears, around 
 I watch it silent from the ground. 
 Until it startled flies the sound 
 
 The harsh bolts creaking gave ; 
 A funeral smile salutes me dread, 
 The only dweller with the dead. 
 Lends me a hard and rough hand, led 
 
 To ope another grave. 
 
 353 
 
 Pardon, God 1 the worldly thought. 
 
 Nor mark it midst my prayer 
 Grant it to pass, with evil fraught. 
 As die the river's murmurings brought 
 Upon the breezy air. 
 
 Why does a worldly image rise 
 
 As if my prayer to stain ? 
 
 2 a 
 
354 JOSE ZORRILLA. 
 
 Perctance in evil shadow's guise^ 
 Which may when by the morrow flies 
 Sign of a curse remain. 
 
 Why has my mind been doomed to dream 
 
 A phantom loveliness ? 
 To see those charms transparent gleam, 
 That brow in tranquil light supreme, 
 And neck's peculiar grace ? 
 
 Not heighten'd its enchantments shine 
 
 By pomp or worldly glow ; 
 I only see that form recline 
 In tears, before some sacred shrine, 
 Or castle walls below. 
 
 Like a forgotten offering lone, 
 
 In ruin'd temple laid ; 
 Upon the carved and time-worn stone, 
 Where fell it by the rough wind thrown, 
 So bent beneath the shade. 
 
 With such a picture in my mind, 
 
 Such name upon my ear. 
 Before my God the place to find, 
 Where the forgotten are consigned, 
 
 I come, and bow down here. 
 
JOSE ZORRILLA. 
 
 With eyes all vaguely motionless, 
 
 Perhaps my wanderings view 
 The dead, with horror and distress. 
 As, roused up in their resting-place. 
 
 They look their dark walls through. 
 
 'T was not to muse I hither came 
 Of nothingness my part ; 
 
 Nor of my God, hut of a name, 
 
 That deep in characters of flame 
 Is written on my heart. 
 
 Pardon, God ! the worldly thought, 
 
 Nor mark it midst my prayer ; 
 Grant it to pass, with evil fraught, 
 As die the river's murmurings brought 
 Upon the breezy air. 
 
 355 
 
 2a3 
 
NOTE S. 
 
 1. Page 3. " Gaspar Melchor de Jovellanos." 
 
 This name (pronounced Hovellianos) was formerly written as 
 two distinct names, Jove Llanos, as it is still by several members 
 of the family, one, an Advocate, at present at Madrid, and another 
 the Spanish Consul at Jamaica. 
 
 2. Page 3. "An able and distinguished writer," &c. 
 
 Antonio Alcala Galiano, author also of the able article in the 
 Foreign Quarterly Review on Jovellanos, afterwards mentioned. 
 He was born at Cadiz, in 1799, the son of a distinguished officer 
 in the Spanish navy, who was killed at Trafalgar. In his youth, 
 Alcala Galiano studied the English language so assiduously as to 
 receive much benefit from his knowledge of it when he had to 
 take refuge in London, on the various political changes that took 
 place in Spain. He then wrote much for the Westminster and' 
 Foreign Quarterly Reviews, as well as other publications, and was 
 subsequently named one of the Professors of Languages in the 
 London University. Having returned to Spain, on the death of 
 Ferdinand VIL, he was appointed a Minister of State, with the 
 Senor Isturitz, and has held, at various times, several high offices 
 in the government. In the Cortes he was considered one of the 
 most able orators of his time, having been put on a rivalry with 
 Martinez de la Rosa and Arguelles. He has published a few 
 poems, and contributed several valuable papers for the different 
 learned societies of Madrid, besides having written much for the 
 
358 NOTES. 
 
 periodicals, according to the continental system for public men 
 seeking to disseminate their opinions. His principal work as an 
 author is a ' History of Spain.' Ferrer del Rio says of him, that 
 " he writes Spanish with an English idiom, and though he puts his 
 name to a history of Spain, it seems a translation from the language 
 of Byron." Few foreigners have ever obtained so complete a know- 
 ledge of the English language ; in fact his writings in the several 
 reviews might be pointed out as compositions which would do 
 credit to our own best writers. As an instance of his knowledge 
 of the state of literature in England, we may quote a few observa- 
 tions from an article bearing his name in the first number of the 
 Madrid Review. He says, " The Bible and the Plays of Shake- 
 speare, if they may be named together without profanation, are 
 the two works which have most influence on the thoughts of the 
 English ;" adding, that "classical literature is there better culti- 
 vated than in France, or at least cultivated with more profound 
 knowledge," deducing the conclusion, "that the English drama 
 is consequently radically different from the French." 
 
 3. Page 11. " Bermudez, his biographer." 
 
 This industrious writer was bom at Gijon, in 1 749, and died at 
 Cadiz in 1829. He may be termed the Vasari of Spain, as the 
 historian of the artists of his country. His two biographical 
 works, the one on her painters, the other on her architects, are a 
 rich mine of materials. The former was published in six volumes 
 8vo, in 1800 : the latter, in four volumes 4to, was almost the 
 last work on which he was engaged, and did not appear till 1829. 
 Besides these, he was the author of various other publications on 
 the principal edifices in Seville, and had completed a ' History of 
 the Roman Antiquities in Spain ;' a ' General History of Painting;' 
 a work on 'Architecture,' and other pieces, which yet remain un- 
 edited. As a fellow-townsman, as well as an artist of considerable 
 genius, he was much assisted by Jovellanos, who, when Minister 
 of State, gave him a valuable appointment at Madrid under the 
 government. When that eminent individual fell, his friends had 
 
NOTES. 359 
 
 to suffer also, and Cean Bermudez, deprived of his appointment, 
 had to return to Seville, where he instituted a school for drawing. 
 It was no doubt under the feelings of regret, occasioned by the 
 reflection of having his friends involved in his misfortunes, that 
 Jovellanos wrote to him the Epistle selected for translation' in this 
 work. 
 
 4. Page 16. " Merit of first bringing into favour." 
 
 See Hermosilla, ' Juicio Critico de los principales Poetas Espa- 
 fioles de la ultima era,' vol. i. p. 11. 
 
 5. Page 18. "Epistle to Cean Bermudez." 
 
 From Works of Jovellanos, Mellado's edition, vol. iv. p. 226. 
 
 6. Page 30. " To Galatea's Bird." 
 From the same, p. 369. 
 
 7. Page 32. "To Enarda.— I." 
 
 From the same, p. 368. In submission to the recommendations 
 of several friends to give the original of at least part or the whole 
 of some one poem of each author, from whose works the transla- 
 tions have been made, selections of such as the English students 
 of Spanish literature would probably most desire, are offered for 
 their comparison. 
 
 Rinen me bella Enarda 
 Los mozos y los viejos, 
 Por que tal vez jugando 
 Te escribo dulces versos. 
 
 Debiera un magistrado 
 (Susurran) mas severo, 
 De las livianas Musas 
 Huir el vil comercio. 
 
 Que mal el tiempo gastas ! 
 Vredican otros, — pero 
 Por mas que todos rinan 
 Tengo de escribir versos. 
 
360 NOTES. 
 
 Quiero loar de Enai'da 
 El peregrino ingenio 
 Al son tie mi zampona 
 
 Y en bien medidos metros. 
 Quiero de su hermosura 
 Encaramar al cielo 
 
 Las altas perfecciones ; 
 De su semblante quiero 
 Cantar el dulce hechizo 
 
 Y con pineel maestro 
 Pintar su frente hermosa 
 Sus traviesos ojuelos, 
 
 El carmin de sus labios. 
 La nieve de su cuello ; 
 
 Y vayanse ^ la . . . . al roUo 
 Los Catonianos cefios 
 
 Las frentes an-ugadas 
 
 Y adustos sobrecejos, 
 Que Enai'da sera siempre 
 Celebrada en mis versos, 
 
 8. Page 33. " To Enarda.— II." 
 
 From Works of Jovellanos, vol. iv. p. 364. 
 
 9. Page 46. " Epistle to Domingo de Iriarte." 
 
 From Works of Tomas Iriarte, 1805, vol. ii. p. 56. 
 
 Domingo Iriarte was subsequently much engaged in the diplo- 
 matic service of Spain, and signed the treaty of peace vfith France 
 of 1 795, as Plenipotentiary, along with the celebrated M. Bar- 
 thflemy. . 
 
 10. Page 50. "But now the confines of," &c. 
 
 The following is the original of this passage : — 
 
 Mas ya dexar te miro 
 Los confines Germanos, 
 Y el politico giro 
 Seguir hasta los illtimos Britanos. 
 Desde luego la corte populosa 
 Cuyas murallas bafia 
 La corriente anchurosa 
 Del Tkmesis, la imkgen te presenta 
 
NOTES. 361 
 
 De una nacion en todo bien extrana : 
 
 Nacion en otros siglos no opulenta. 
 
 Hoi feliz por su industria, y siempre esenta : 
 
 Nacion tan liberal como ambiciosa ; 
 
 Flematica y activa ; 
 
 Ingenua, pero adusta; 
 
 Humana, pero altiva; 
 
 Y en la causa que abraza, iniqua 6 justa 
 Violenta defensora, 
 
 Del riesgo y del temor despreciadora. 
 
 Alii sera preciso que te asombres 
 
 De ver (qual no habras visto en parte alguna) 
 
 Obrar y hablar con libertad los hombres. 
 
 Admiiaras la rapida fortuna 
 
 Que alii logra el valor y la eloqiiencia, 
 
 Sin que ni el oro, ni la ilustre cuna 
 
 Roben el premio al merito y la ciencia. 
 
 Adverteras el numeroso enxambre 
 
 De diligentes y habiles Isleiios 
 
 Que ban procurado, del comercio Dueiios 
 
 No conoeer la ociosidad ni el hambre ; 
 
 Ocupados en utiles inventos 
 
 En fabrieas, caminos, arsenales, 
 
 Escuelas, academias, hospitales, 
 
 Libros, experimentos, 
 
 Y estudios de las Artes liberates. 
 Alii sabras, en fin, a quanto alcanza 
 La sabia educacion, y el acertado 
 Metodo de patriotica enseiianza. 
 La privada ambicion bien dirigida 
 Al ptiblico provecho del Estado ; 
 La justa reoompensa y acogida 
 
 En que fundan las Letras su esperanza, 
 
 Y el desvelo de un provide Gobiemo 
 
 Que al bien aspira, y Ji un renombre etemo. 
 
 This Epistle is addressed to his brother, as the reader may ob- 
 serve, in the second person singular, vphich, in Spanish, has a tone 
 of more familiarity than in English, and understanding it so in- 
 tended, I have altered it, in the translation, into our colloquial 
 form of the second person plural. 
 
 The above extract is the same in his printed works of both edi- 
 tions ; but I have in my possession a collection of his manuscripts. 
 
362 NOTES. 
 
 among which is a copy of this Epistle, with several variations, less 
 flattering to England. Had he lived to superintend the second 
 edition, these variations might probahly have been adopted in it. 
 They are not, however, of any material variance, but they seem to 
 me to show that his eulogium had not been favourably received in 
 some quarters, and that he had therefore thought it prudent to 
 soften it in preparing for another edition. The publisher of the 
 edition of 1 805 does not seem to have been aware of these manu- 
 scripts, nor indeed to have taken the trouble of doing more for 
 Iriarte's memory than merely to reprint the first edition, without 
 even any biographical or critical notice of him or his writings, as 
 he might well have done, Iriarte having been then deceased four- 
 teen years. 
 
 For another eloquent and encomiastic description of English 
 usages and institutions, the student of Spanish literature would 
 do well to read a work, published in London in 1834, by the 
 Marques de Miraflores, 'Apuntes historico-criticos para escribir 
 la Historia de la Revolucion de Espana.' This distinguished 
 nobleman was born the 23rd December, 1792, at Madrid, and 
 succeeded to the honours and vast property of his ancient house 
 in 1809, on the death of his elder brother, during the campaign 
 of that year. He has been much engaged in public affairs, having 
 held various offices in the state. He has been twice Ambassador 
 to England ; the last time. Ambassador Extraordinary on the coro- 
 nation of Her Majesty Queen Victoria. The Marques hasvmtten 
 several works on political subjects, of which the one above-men- 
 tioQcd is particularly deserving of study. 
 
 11. Page 52. " Saying as Seneca has said of yore." 
 
 Stet quicumque volet potens 
 Aula; culmine lubrico : 
 Me dulcis saturet quies. 
 Obscure positus loco 
 Leni perfruar otio. 
 Nullis notus Quiritibus 
 /Etas per taciturn fluat. 
 
NOTES. 363 
 
 Sic cum transierint mei 
 NuUo cum strepitu dies, 
 iPlebeius moriar senex. 
 Illi mors gravis incubat 
 Qui notus nimis omnibus 
 Iguotus moritur sibi. 
 
 Thyestes, Act II. The critical reader will observe, that the 
 translation into English has been made from the Spanish rather 
 than the Latin. 
 
 12. Page 53. "Fables." 
 
 The Fables translated are numbered respectively III., VIII., 
 XI., LIII. and LIV., in the original collection. The two 
 first. III. and VIII., having been given by Bouterwek as speci- 
 mens of Iriarte's style, without any translation, I took them for 
 my first essays, and had already versified them, before finding 
 Roscoe had done the same also in his translation of Sismondi, 
 and it was subsequently to that I became aware of other similar 
 versions. Having, however, made those translations, I have, not- 
 withstanding the others, allowed them to remain in this work. 
 The fable of the Two Rabbits has been selected as particularly 
 noticed by Martinez de la Rosa, and the others almost without 
 cause of peculiar preference. The last one contains an old but 
 good lesson, which cannot be too frequently and earnestly re- 
 peated : — 
 
 Ego nee studium sine divite vena 
 
 Nee rude quid prosit video ingenium, alterius sic 
 
 Altera poscit opem res et conjurat amice. 
 
 13. Page 64. " Iglesias and Gonzalez." 
 
 Diego Gonzalez was born at Ciudad Rodrigo in 1 733, and died 
 at Madrid, 1 794. Jose Iglesias de la Casa was born at Salamanca 
 in 1 753, and died there in 1 79 1 . His poems were first published 
 seven years after his death, and have been several times reprinted. 
 The best edition is that of Barcelona, 1820, from which the one 
 of Paris, 1821, was taken. The poems of Gonzalez also were first 
 published after his death, and have been several times reprinted. 
 
364 NOTES. 
 
 Both wrote very pleasing verses, and are deservedly popular in 
 Spain. 
 
 14. Page 69. "It was for his detractors," &c. 
 
 riermosilla, author of a work, ' Juicio Critico de los principales 
 Poetas Espanoles de la ultima era,' published after his death, 
 Paris 1840, gives in it, as Mr. Ticknor pithily observes, " a criti- 
 cism of the poems of Melendez so severe that I find it difficult to 
 explain its motive ; " at the same time that he gives " an unreason- 
 ably laudatory criticism of L, Moratin's works." Hermosilla 
 appears to have been a man of considerable learning, but Uttle 
 judgement. His criticisms are generally worthless, and the only 
 excuse for him, with regard to his book, is, that he did not publish 
 it. With regard to Melendez, taking every opportunity to depre- 
 ciate his merits, he is constantly found constrained to acknowledge 
 them, and sometimes even in contradiction to himself. Thus, 
 having several times intimated, as at p. 31, that the erotic effu- 
 sions of Melendez only were praiseworthy, he says, at p. 297, 
 when speaking of his Epistles, that they are " his best composi- 
 tions ; thoughts, language, style, tone and versification, all in 
 general are good," In another part he censures Melendez for 
 his poems addressed to different ladies, especially some to ' Fanny,' 
 who appears to have been au Englishwoman ; and yet those 
 epistles, addressed to her, on the death of her husband, are among 
 the purest and most elegant specimens that can be pointed out of 
 consolation to a mourner. It is but justice to his editor, Salva, 
 to, say, that he has expressed his dissent from these criticisms, 
 though he thought proper to publish the work. 
 
 15. Page 73. " The Duke de Frias." 
 
 This estimable nobleman, who died in 1850, was descended 
 from the Counts of Haro, one of the three great famiUes of Spain. 
 He was the munificent friend of literary men, and in the case of 
 Melendez extended his protection to the dead, having taken much 
 personal trouble to have his remains removed from the common 
 
NOTES. 365 
 
 burying-ground to a vault, where they might not afterwards be 
 disturbed. He also wrote verses occasionally, of which have been 
 preserved, by Del Rio, a 'Sonnet to the Duke of Wellington,' and 
 by Ochoa, an ' Elegy on the Death of his Duchess,' whose virtues 
 will be found hereafter commemorated by Martinez de la Rosa. 
 
 16. Page 1&. "Best edition, that by Salvel." 
 
 In taking the edition of 1 820 for the text, Salva, in his edition, 
 has exercised much judgement in giving some of the poems as 
 they were originally published, rather than as Melendez afterwards 
 had left them, weakened by over-correction. 
 
 Salva was in early life distinguished for learning and study, 
 having been, when only twenty years of age, named Professor of 
 Greek in the University of Alcala de Henares. On the French 
 invasion he returned to his native city Valencia, and engaged in 
 trade as a bookseller, in which occupation he continued in London, 
 when obliged to emigrate hither in 1823, in consequence of his 
 having joined in the political events of the times. He had been, 
 during those events. Deputy from Valencia, and Secretary to the 
 Cortes. In 1830 he transferred his house to Paris, where he con- 
 tinued his pursuits, publishing many valuable works of his own 
 compilation, as a Grammar and Dictionary of the Spanish lan- 
 guage, as well as editing and superintending the publication of 
 many other standard works. He closed his useful life, in his 
 native city, in 1850. 
 
 17. Page 77. "Juvenilities." 
 
 Works of Melendez, Salva's Edition, vol. i. p. 39. 
 
 This piece was also taken for translation from Bouterwek, when 
 first entering on a study of Spanish literature. From Bouterwek 
 it was copied by Sismondi, when borrowing, as he did largely, 
 from that compiler ; but Mr. Roscoe has not given a translation 
 of this, as he probably found it difficult to do so satisfactorily. It 
 is in fact almost as difficult to translate Melendez as it is to trans- 
 late Anacreon, their peculiar simplicity and grace being so nearly 
 allied. 
 
366 NOTES. 
 
 18. Page 79. "The Timid Lover." 
 
 Works of Melendez, ibid, p. 263. 
 
 This poem having been particularly mentioned by Martinez de 
 la Rosa as favourably characteristic of the style of the author, 
 may be considered best to be selected as an exemplification of it. 
 It is what is termed a Letrillia. 
 
 El Amantb timido. 
 
 En la pena aguda 
 Que me hace sufrir 
 El Amor tirano 
 Desde que te vi 
 
 Mil veces su alivio 
 Te voy a pedir, 
 
 Y luego, aldeana. 
 Que Uego ante ti, 
 
 Si quiero atreverme 
 No s6 que decir. 
 
 Las voces me faltan 
 
 Y mi fi-enesi 
 Con miseros ayes 
 Las cuida suplir 
 
 Pero el dios que aleve 
 Se burla de mi 
 Cuanto ansio mas tierno 
 Mis labios abrir 
 
 Se quiero atreverme 
 
 No se que decir. 
 
 Sus fuegos entonces 
 Empieza si sentir 
 Tan vivos el alma 
 Que pienso morir. 
 
 Mis Ikgrimas corren. 
 Mi agudo gemir 
 Tu peeho sensible 
 Conmueve, y al fin 
 
 Si quiero atreverme 
 
 No se que decir. 
 
 No lo sfe, temblando 
 Si per descubrir 
 Con loca esperanza 
 
NOTES. 367 
 
 Mi amor infeliz, 
 
 Tu lado por siempve 
 Tendre ya que huir : 
 Sellandome el miedo 
 La boca : y asi 
 
 Si quiero atreverme 
 
 No se que decir. 
 
 Ay ! si tu, adorada, 
 Pudieras oir 
 Mis hondos suspires 
 Yo fuera feliz. 
 
 Yo, Filis, lo fuera 
 Mas, triste de mi ! 
 Que timido al verte 
 Burlarme y reir. 
 
 Si quiero atreverme 
 
 No se que decir. 
 
 1 9. Page 81. "My Village Life." 
 
 This and the two following poems are taken from those at pages 
 94, 110 and 64 of the first volume of the Works of Melendez 
 Valdes ; the Disdainful Shepherdess from the one at p. 62 of 
 vol. ii. 
 
 20. Page 95. " Merits of their national dramas." 
 
 For an excellent criticism on the Spanish drama, see the article 
 in the twenty-fifth volume of the Quarterly Review. 
 
 21. Page 104. "There, says his biographer," &c. 
 
 In the sketch prefixed to the edition by Rivadeiieyra, from 
 which the two poems following are taken, at pages 581 and 582. 
 The one to Jovellanos has been justly praised by Mr. Ticknor as 
 one of his best, and from it we may in preference extract the com- 
 mencement, as an exemplification of his style. 
 
 Si, la pura amistad, que en dulce nudo 
 Nuestras almas unid, durable existe 
 Jovino ilustre, y ni la ausencia larga 
 Ni la distancia, ni interpuestos monies 
 Y proceloso mar que suena roeo, 
 De mi memoria apartaran tu idea. , 
 
368 NOTES. 
 
 Duro sileneio k mi carifio impuso 
 El son de Marte, que suspende ahora 
 La paz, la dulce paz. S6 que en obscura 
 Deliciosa quietud, contento vives, 
 Siempre animado de incansable celo 
 For el piiblico bien ; de las virtudes 
 
 Y del talento protector y amigo. 
 Estos que formo de primor desnudos, 
 
 No castigados de tu docta lima, 
 Faciles versos, la verdad te anuncien 
 De mi constante fe ; y el cielo en tanto 
 Vuelvame presto la ocasion de verte 
 
 Y renovar en familiar discurso 
 Cuanto a mi vista presento del orbe 
 La varia eseena. De mi patria orilla 
 A las que el Sena turbulento bafia, 
 Tenido en sangre, del audaz Britano 
 Dueiio del mar, al aterido Belga, 
 
 Del Rin profuudo k las nevades cumbres 
 
 Del Apenino, y la que en humo ardiente 
 
 Cubre y ceniza a Napoles canora. 
 
 Pueblos, naciones, visite distintas 
 
 Util sciencia adquiri, que nunca ensena 
 
 Docta leccion en retirada estancia, 
 
 Que alii no ves la diferencia suma 
 
 Que el clima, el culto, la opinion, las artes. 
 
 Las leyes causan. Hallarasla solo 
 
 Si al hombre estudias en el hombre mismo. 
 
 22. Page 113. "Juan Bautista de Arriaza." 
 
 This poet's name is pronounced Arriatha ; the two poems 
 selected for translation are taken, the first from p. 60 of Book 
 III. of his works, edition of 1829. 'The Parting, or the Young 
 Sailor's Farewell,' from ibid., Book I. p. 77. 
 
 The eighth stanza, beginning in the translation, ' With venal 
 aid of hate assists,' is in the original — 
 
 Que de ministros vendes a su encono, 
 Anglia infecunda ! de las nieblas trono, 
 
 Campos que el sol no mira. 
 Que en sonrisa falsa. Flora reviste 
 De esteril verde, en que la flor es triste, 
 
 Y Amor sin gloria espira. 
 
NOTES. 369 
 
 Which stanza is thus translated by Maury : — 
 
 Combien te sied le mal, Angleterre infeconde, 
 Amante de vapeurs, jet& oil I'oeil du monde 
 
 Te regarde si peu ! 
 Champs oil la brume arrose une oiseuse verdui'e. 
 Oil Flore est sans gaiete, I'automne sans parure, 
 
 L' Amour sans traits de feu ! 
 
 Of thirty-three stanzas in the original, Maury has only taken 
 fifteen for his translation, and of ' The Parting ' he has only taken 
 eighteen out of twenty-five. The four concluding stanzas are in 
 the original — 
 
 Crisol de adversidad elaro y seguro 
 Vuestro valor probo sublime y pure, 
 
 O Marinos Hispanos ! 
 Broquel fue de la patria vuestra vida 
 Que al fin vengada y siempre defendida 
 
 Serk per vuestras manos. 
 
 Rinda al Leon y al Aguila Neptuno 
 El braze tutelar, con que importuno 
 
 Y esclavo al Anglia cierra : 
 Y ella OS vera desde las altas popas 
 Lanzar torrentes de invencibles tropas 
 
 Sobre su infausta tierra. 
 
 Basteos, en tanto, el lilgubre tributo 
 De su muerte Adalid doblando el luto 
 
 Del Tkmesis umbrio. 
 Que, si, Uenos de honrosas cicatrices 
 Se OS ve, para ocasiones mas feliees 
 
 Reservar vuestro brio. 
 
 Sois cual leon, que en Libico desierto 
 Con garra atroz, del cazador experto 
 
 Rompio asechanza astuta ; 
 Que no inglorioso, aunque sangriento y laso 
 Temido si, se vuelve paso k paso 
 
 A su arenosa gruta. 
 
 23. Page 145. " Described by Humboldt." 
 
 Political Essg,y on New Spain, Book II. chapter 5. 
 
 2b 
 
370 NOTES. 
 
 24. Page 145. "So popular a writer as Larra." 
 
 Mariano Josh de Larra was born at Madrid, 24th March, 1809. 
 His father had joined the French army as a medical officer, and 
 after the peace went to France, taking his son with him, where he 
 forgot his native language, so that he had to learn it as a novice 
 on his return to Spain. It is not improbable that his education 
 in that country, where also he passed some time subsequently, 
 gave Larra's mind that tendency for scepticism and perverted 
 feeling which led to his miserable end. From his earliest years 
 he showed great aptitude for learning, and had studied the Greek, 
 English and Italian languages, before he went to Valladolid to 
 prepare for the profession of the law. After a short residence 
 there, he went to Valencia on some disappointment he suffered, 
 which, to one of his temperament, seemed a greater misfortune 
 than what perhaps any other person would have considered it. 
 At Valencia he obtained employment in a public office, which, 
 however, did not suit his taste, and having then married, he re- 
 turned to Madrid and determined to write for the public. His 
 first efforts were not successful, and have not been subsequently 
 reprinted with his works, but after a short time he began writing 
 a series of essays on passing events, under the signature of Figaro, 
 which at once attained great popularity. He also wrote several 
 plays and a few poems, which, as written by Figaro, were favour- 
 ably received. But the essays, under that title, were the founda- 
 tion of his popularity. They were in the style of our essajdsts of 
 the reign of Queen Anne, containing criticisms, and sketches of 
 manners and characters, written in a style of great ease and ele- 
 gance, marked with much wit and humour, as well as vigour. 
 These works have been very many times reprinted in Spain, and 
 also in France and South America. The student who wishes to 
 form a correct style in learning Spanish, cannot do better than 
 take Larra for a model. By his writings he had attained a re- 
 spectable place in literary society, and it was understood that his 
 fortunes were thereby also in a state of competence. He was, 
 however, possessed of an ill-regulated mind and headstrong pas- 
 
NOTES. 
 
 371 
 
 sions, so that, as it seems intimated, baffled in some object of un- 
 lawful desire, he put an end to his existence by a pistol shot the 
 13th February, 1837. 
 
 In his review of Quintana's Life of Las Casas, he unreservedly 
 subscribes to all the sentiments therein expressed. 
 
 25. Page 160. "From the proud castled poop," &c. 
 
 Se alz6 el Breton en el soberbio alcazar 
 Que corona su indomito navio ; 
 Y ufauo con su gloria y poderio 
 AUi estan, exclamo. 
 
 26. Page 161. "Conquerors of winds and waves." 
 
 sus nadantes proras 
 
 Del viento y de las ondas vencedoras. 
 
 27. Page 163. "And Alcala, Churruca, also ye!" 
 
 Of those who fell at Trafalgar, the names of Alcala and Churruca 
 seem to be remembered vrith peculiar affection. The latter is re- 
 ferred to by Arriaza also, and seems to have been an officer of 
 great skill and bravery in his profession, as well as of most amiable 
 qualities in private life. Alcala was an officer of very superior at- 
 tainments. He was author of a learned Treatise on taking Obser- 
 vations of Longitude and Latitude at Sea, published at Madrid, 
 1796. With the copy of this work in my possession, there is 
 boimd up an unedited treatise of his original manuscript, ' On the 
 Trigonometrical Calculation of the Height of Mountains.' He 
 has already been referred to in Note 2. 
 
 The Spanish navy is at the present day much distinguished for 
 the superior attainments and character of the officers, as well as 
 in former years. In addition to the poet Arriaza, they have to 
 boast of the late learned Navarrete, one of the most eminent and 
 industrious writers of our times, principally on scientific subjects 
 connected vpith his profession, geography, hydrography, and voy- 
 ages, though in various biographical works he has extended his 
 
 2b2 
 
372 NOTES. 
 
 labours to the memory of poets and others, as well as the naval 
 heroes of his country : see his memoir in Ochoa, vol. ii. p. 586, 
 copied from one by the Bishop of Astorga. 
 
 28. Page 164. "Yet fell ye not, ye generous squadrons." 
 
 No empero sin venganza y sin estrago, 
 
 Generoso escuadron alii caiste : 
 
 Tambien brotando k rios 
 
 La sangre Inglesa inunda sus navios. 
 
 Tambien Albion pasmada 
 
 Los montes de cad&,veres contempla 
 
 HoiTendo peso k su soberbia armada. 
 
 Tambien Nelson alii. Terrible sombra. 
 
 No esperes, no, cuando mi voz te nombra 
 
 Que vil insulte k tu postrer suspiro ; 
 
 Ingles te aborreci, y heroe te admii'o. 
 
 Ob, golpe ! oh, suerte ! El Tkmesis aguarda 
 
 De las naves cautivas 
 
 El confuso tropel, y ya en idea 
 
 Goza el aplauso y los sonoros vivas 
 
 Que al vencedor se dan. Ob suerte ! El puerto 
 
 Solo le ver^ entrar pklido y yerto : 
 
 Ejemplo gi'ande a la arrogancia humana, 
 
 Digno bolocausto a la afliccion Hispana. 
 
 The two poems from Quintana are at pages 1 6 and 93 respect- 
 ively of the fourth edition of his works, published in 1825. 
 
 29. Page 170. "The Conde de Toreno." 
 
 This able and enlightened statesman was born at Oviedo in 
 1 786, and died at Paris in 1845. His work, on the ' Rising, War, 
 and Revolution of Spain,' is one well deserving of the fame it has 
 attained, having been translated into all the principal languages of 
 Europe. 
 
 30. Page 170. " The celebrated Pacheco." 
 
 Bom at Ecija, near Seville, in 1808, he came to Madrid in 1833, 
 and was admitted an Advocate in the courts of law, but has been 
 since engaged actively in conducting various publications, princi- 
 
NOTES. 373 
 
 pally of a political character. He has been several times chosen 
 member of the legislature, and had to undertake his share of 
 public duties, but he has declined office, and in his whole public 
 life shown a freedom from ambition, remarkable, as Del Rio inti- 
 mates, from the contrast it presents with the conduct of other 
 men of far inferior abilities. He has announced ' A History of 
 the Regency of Queen Christina,' of which he has published a 
 prehminary volume, comprising a detail of antecedent events. He 
 has also written various plays and poems, but not of such a cha- 
 racter as to be worthy of his fame as a public speaker and jour- 
 nalist. His hfe of Martinez de la Rosa, given in a publication 
 entitled 'Galeria de Espafioles celebres contemporaneos, 1842,' 
 (which work has now extended to many volumes, including per- 
 sons of distinction in all ranks of life,) is very pleasingly written, 
 and has been taken as the principal authority in this compilation. 
 
 31. Page 176. "Rights of the Basque people." 
 
 For a just statement of these rights, see the late Earl of Carnar- 
 von's ' Portugal and Galicia,' vol. ii. 
 
 32. Page 180. " Observation may apply to English verse." 
 Our best poets, and MUton especially, afPord many exemplifica- 
 tions of this practice. 
 
 O'er many a frozen, many a fiery alp. 
 
 Rocks, caves, lakes, fens, -bogs, dens and shades of death 
 
 Perverse, aU monstrous, all prodigious things 
 Abominable, inutterable and worse. 
 
 Many of our syllables also are in effect double syllables, as in the 
 words brave, grave, clave, &c., as singers often have to regret, 
 causing them, on that account, to slur over them. But these 
 rules are only a continuation of Quinctilian's maxim, " Optime de 
 ilia judicant aures. Qusedam arte tradi non possunt." 
 
 33. Page 181. " The Roman friend," &c. 
 
 See note 23 to the Fourth Canto of Childe Harold. 
 
374 NOTES. 
 
 34. Page 183. "I saw upon the shady Thames.^ 
 
 Vi en el Tflmesis umbrio 
 Cien y cien naves cargadas 
 
 De riqueza ; 
 Vi su inmenso poderio 
 Sus artes tan celebradas 
 
 Su grandeza. 
 
 Mas el ^nima afligida 
 Mil suspiros exhalaba 
 
 Y ayes mil ; 
 
 Y ver la orilla florida 
 
 Del manso Dauro anhelaba 
 
 Y del Genii. 
 
 Vi de la soberbia corte 
 Las damas engalauadas 
 
 Muy vistosas ; 
 Vi las bellezas del norte 
 De blanca nieve formadas 
 
 Y de rosas. 
 
 Sus ojos de azul del cielo, 
 De oro puro parecia 
 
 Su cabello ; 
 Bajo transparente velo 
 Turgente el seno se via 
 
 Blanco y bello. 
 
 Mas que valen los brocades 
 Las sedas y pedreria 
 
 De la ciudad ? 
 Que los rostros sonrosados 
 La blanoura y gallardia 
 
 Nilabeldad? 
 
 Con mostrarse mi zagala, 
 De bianco lino vestida, 
 
 Fresca y pura, 
 Condena la inutil gala 
 Y se esconde confundida 
 
 La hermosura. 
 
NOTES. - 375 
 
 Do hallar en climas helados 
 Sus negros ojos graciosos, 
 
 Que son ftiego ? 
 Ora me miren airados 
 Ora roben carinosos 
 
 Mi sosiego. 
 
 Do la negra caballera 
 Que al ebano se aventaja? 
 
 Y el pie leva 
 Que al triscai- per la pradera 
 Ni las tiernas flores aja, 
 
 Ni aun las mueve ? 
 
 DonceUas las del Genii 
 Vuestra tez eseurecida 
 
 No trocara 
 Per los rostros de marfil 
 Que Albion envanecida 
 
 Me mostrara. 
 
 Padre Dauro ! manso rio, 
 De las arenas doradas, 
 
 Dignate oir 
 Los votos del peebo mio, 
 Y en tus margenes sagradas 
 
 Logre morir ! 
 
 Works of Martinez de la Rosa, edition of Barcelona, 1838, vol. iv. 
 p. 1. The other translations are taken from the same, pages 113, 
 104, 48 and 34 respectively. 
 
 In the prologue, he enters on the discussion, so common a few 
 years since, as to the relative merits of what were called the Clas- 
 sical and Romantic schools of poetry, which discussion, it is to he 
 hoped, may now be considered at an end. The pretensions of 
 different writers, who affected to range themselves under one or 
 other of these denominations, were in fact generally only the de- 
 vices of mediocrity to shelter their deficiencies. Those who write 
 spontaneously from the true inspiration of genius, will never sub- 
 mit to the shackles of any system, and for all writers the wisest 
 
376 NOTES. 
 
 aim is to seek the clearest style of expressing those thoughts 
 which they have to convey. As Martinez de la Rosa has well 
 observed in this prologue, " I do not remember any one subhme 
 passage, in whatever language it may be, that is not expressed 
 with the utmost simplicity; and without this most essential 
 quality, they cannot excite in the mind that lively and instan- 
 taneous impression which distinguishes them." 
 
 35. Page 184. "The light foot that never stirs," &c. 
 
 An Andalusian poet may be excused entering into hyperbolical 
 praise of his countrywomen, but we find an English traveller 
 almost as hyperbolical in praise of them also. " It is beyond the 
 power of language to describe those slow and surpassingly grace- 
 ful movements which accompany every step of the Andalusa ; her 
 every attitude is so flowing, at the same time so unforced, that 
 she seems upborne by some invisible power that renders her inde- 
 pendent of the classically moulded foot she presses so lightly on 
 the ground." — Murray's Cities and Wilds of Andalusia. 
 
 36. Page 216. "His biographer. Pastor Diaz," &c. 
 
 In the work already mentioned, 'Galeria de Espafloles con- 
 temporaneos,' under his own superintendence, and from which the 
 notices in this compilation are principally taken. Pastor Diaz 
 was born at Vivero in Galicia, in the year 1811, and was educated 
 at Alcala de Henares. Having been admitted an Advocate in the 
 courts of law, he engaged, in 1833, in the public service, and has 
 held various ofiices under the government in the provinces. In 
 1847 he published a volume of poems, of which two, — one, ' The 
 Black Butterfly,' and the other, an ' Ode to the Mocn,' — Ochoa 
 declares, in his opinion, " two of the most beautiful pieces that 
 have been written for many years in Spain." Disagreeing very 
 much with this opinion, it is only quoted in token of the estima- 
 tion in which Pastor Diaz is held among his countiymen. (Ochoa, 
 vol. ii. p. 628.) 
 
NOTES. 377 
 
 37. Page 216. " The advantages he enjoyed there." 
 
 In his poem of the ' Moro Esposito,' the Duke has inserted an 
 interesting episode referring to his residence in Malta, "whose 
 good and honest inhabitants he found under the dominion of the 
 most wealthy, free, enlightened, noble and powerful nation that 
 the sun admires from the zodiac." (Book VI.) In the notes he de- 
 tails the particulars tinder which he arrived there, acknowledging 
 gratefully the hospitality he had received. 
 
 38. Page 222. " Pedro, surnamed the Cruel." 
 
 This name is pronounced Ped-ro. The true character of the 
 monarch is yet a disputed question, and has only within the last 
 year been offered as a subject for inquiry by the Spanish Academy. 
 The learned Llorente, in his ' Historical Notices,' vol. v., has, I 
 think, clearly shovm that Pedro was no more deserving of the 
 epithet peculiarly than others of his age, including his half-brother 
 and successor, by whose hand he fell, in retributive justice for the 
 death of their other brother Fadrique. The legend of this prince's 
 death has been variously given, and thus Salvador Bermudez de 
 Castro, who has also a poem on the subject, takes some diiferent 
 details to those repeated by the Duke de Rivas. The traditions 
 of the people have handed down Don Pedro's memory more 
 favourably, and, perhaps, more justly, than the historians of the 
 time, whose accounts no doubt were tinctured as darkly as they 
 could be, partly to please the reigning monarch, and partly be- 
 cause Don Pedro had not been so submissive to priestly rule as 
 they had desired. 
 
 39. Page 227. "' Yet, ah ! those lovely bowers along," &c. 
 
 Mas, ay ! aquellos pensiles 
 No he pisado uu solo dia 
 Sin ver (suefios de mi mente !) 
 La sombra de la Padilla, 
 
 Lanzondo un houdo gemido 
 Cruzar leve ante mi vista. 
 
378 NOTES. 
 
 Como un vapor, como un humo 
 Que entre los krboles gira : 
 
 Ni entre en aquellos salones 
 Sin figur&.rseme erguida 
 Del fundador la fantasma 
 En helada sangre tinta ; 
 
 Ni en vestibulo oscuro 
 El que tiene en la cornisa 
 De los reyes los retratos. 
 El que en coluuas estriba, 
 
 Al que adoman azulejos 
 Abajo, y esmalte arriba 
 El que muestra en cada muro 
 Un rico balcon, y encima 
 
 El hondo arteson dorado 
 Que lo corona y atrista, 
 Sin ver en tierra un cadaver. 
 Aun en las losas se mira 
 Una tenaz maneha oscui-a 
 Ni las edades limpian ! 
 Sangre ! sangre t oh, cielos, cuantos 
 Sin saber que lo es, la pisan ! 
 
 This romance was originally printed with the ' More Esposito,' 
 Paris 1834, vol. ii. p. 451. It was subsequently included among 
 the 'Romances Historicos,' Madrid 1841, p. 19. The Alcazar 
 of Seville has been described by so many travellers that it is unne- 
 cessary to add to their accounts of it, or to the graphic details of 
 the romance. The stain on the floor may remind the reader of the 
 legends of Holyrood and the Alhambra, as well as of other places. 
 
 40. Page 233. " Darting round fierce looks," &c. 
 
 This description of anger, as again at p. 241, seems a favourite 
 one with the Duke, as well as other poets ; thus Virgil — 
 
 Totoque ardentis ab ore 
 Scintillse absistunt, oculis micat acribus ignis. 
 
 41. Page 234. "The crackling of his arms and knees." 
 
 From the peculiarity of this formation, the king was recognized 
 
NOTES. 379 
 
 by an old woman who had witnessed his killing a man he had met 
 in a night rencontre in the street opposite her house, and she 
 having given evidence to that eifect, he ordered his statue to be 
 beheaded, and so placed in the street in memorial of the sentence 
 against himself. 
 
 42. Page 236. 
 
 " And more than Tello madly hates. 
 And more than Henry too." 
 
 The two brothers of Fadrique, of whom Henry was his successor 
 on the throne, after he had kUled Don Pedro in fight by his own 
 hand. In another romance, the Duke de Rivas describes this 
 " fratricide," and represents that Don Pedro had the advantage 
 at first, but that the page of the other came to his master's 
 assistance, and attacking Don Pedro from behind, diverted his at- 
 tention so as to enable him to give the King the death-wound. 
 From the accounts handed down to us, it is clear that Don Pedro 
 had sufficient grounds for suspecting treason from the brothers, 
 which occasioned his animosity against them and their adherents, 
 for which they afterwards blackened his memory. 
 
 43. Page 259. " Meagre soup bouillie." 
 
 In the original, Gazpacho, " the name of a dish universal in and 
 peculiar to Spain. It is a sort of cold soup, made of bread, pot- 
 herbs, oil and water. Its materials are easily come by, and its 
 concoction requires no skill." Mr, W. G. Clark has taken this 
 name for the title of his Uvely ' Sketches of Spain,' London 1850. 
 
 44. Page 260. "Whene'er Don Juan," &c. 
 
 Siempre que tiene una broma 
 
 EI sefior don Juan me olvida 
 Como si estuviera en Roma ; 
 
 Y a un entierro me convida 
 Para matarme de pena ! 
 
 Sea enhorabuena. 
 
380 NOTES. 
 
 Despues de melindres mil 
 Canta Celestina el duo 
 Que le han puesto en atril, 
 
 Y aunque canta como un buho 
 Todos la Uaman Sii-ena. 
 
 Sea enhorabuena. 
 
 Cien abejas sin reposo 
 
 Labrando k poriia est^n 
 El dulce panal sabroso. 
 
 Ay ! que un z&,ngano holgazan 
 Se ha de tragar la colmena ! 
 Sea enhorabuena. 
 
 El hombre h. su semejante 
 
 Mueve guerra furibundo, 
 Cual si no fuera bastante 
 
 Para despoblar el mundo 
 El escuadron de Avicena. 
 Sea enhorabuena. 
 
 Hay en Espana usureros 
 Hay esbirros k montones, 
 
 Y chalanes y venteros, 
 
 Y dicen que los ladrones 
 Estan en Sierra Morena ! 
 
 Sea enhorabuena. 
 
 En vano k tu puerta, Conde, 
 
 Llegan los pobres desnudos. 
 Que el perro solo responde, 
 
 Y gastas dos mil escudos 
 En un baile y una cena ! 
 
 Sea enhorabuena. 
 
 Basta por hoy de sermon. 
 
 Aqui mi pluma suspendo 
 Hasta mejor ocasion. 
 
 Si el vicio en vano reprendo 
 
 Y escribo sobre la arena. 
 
 Sea enhorabuena. 
 
 The selections from Breton de los Herreros are taken from the 
 edition of 1831, at pages 61, 63 and 71 respectively. 
 
NOTES. 381 
 
 45. Page 269. " The celebrated Lista." 
 
 This celebrated writer was bom at Seville in 1775, and in early- 
 life adopted the ecclesiastical profession, having therein principally- 
 dedicated himself to the education of youth, in which he has been 
 eminently successful. He has written a continuation of Mariana's 
 ' History of Spain,' and translated from the French Segur's ' Uni- 
 versal History,' besides several mathematical and other elementary 
 works. In 1822 he published a volume of poems, of which a 
 second edition has been since published, highly praised by the 
 different -writers -who have treated of modern Spanish literature. 
 They are however avowedly of the classical school, and their 
 greatest merit must be supposed to consist in their elegance of 
 expression. His critical writings are numerous and valuable. 
 
 46. Page 271. "Twelve out of th« nineteen stanzas," 
 
 The stanzas 6, 9, 10, 11, 16 and 17 seem to be of his addition, 
 and it must be acknowledged that they are in no respect inferior 
 to the others. One stanza in Pindemonte he has not taken into 
 his version. 
 
 47. Page 272. " Part of his first volume is taken up with 
 
 imitations." 
 
 Before observing that this part had been so expressed at the 
 beginning, I made a translation of one small piece, which may 
 give an idea of the others. 
 
 En el Album de una Senorita. 
 
 Cual suele en m^rmol sepulcral escrito 
 Un nombre detener al pasagero, 
 Pueda en aquesta pkgina mi nombre 
 Fijar tus ojos, ay ! por los que muero. 
 
 Miralo, cuaudo ya de ti apartado. 
 No te pide mi amor mas recompensa; 
 De mi te acuerda como muerte y piensa 
 Que aqui mi corazou queda euterrado. 
 
383 NOTES. 
 
 In a Lady's Album. 
 
 As on sepulchral marble writ 
 
 A name to stay the passer-by. 
 So let my name on this page meet 
 
 Thine eyes, for which, alas ! I die. 
 Look on it when I am far from thee ; 
 
 My love asks no retmn more dear ; 
 As of one dead remember me. 
 
 And think my heart is buried here. 
 
 It was only on translating the last line that I recognized them 
 as Lord Byron's. 
 
 Written in an Album. 
 
 As o'er the cold sepulchral stone 
 
 Some name arrests the passer-by. 
 Thus when thou view'st this page alone 
 
 May mine attract thy pensive eye. 
 And when by thee that name is read 
 
 Perchance in some succeeding year. 
 Reflect on me as on the dead. 
 
 And think my heart is buried here. 
 
 48. Page 275. " Sonnet, Dedication," &c. 
 
 A MI Esposa. 
 
 Cuaudo en mis venas fervidas ardia 
 La fiera juventud, en mis canciones 
 El tormentoso afan de mis pasiones 
 
 Con dolorosas Islgrimas vertia. 
 
 Hoy k ti las dedico, Esposa mia, 
 Cuando el amor mas libre de ilusiones 
 Inflama nuestros puros corazones, 
 Y sereno y de paz me luce el dia. 
 
 Asi perdido en turbulentos mares 
 Misero navegante al cielo implora, 
 Cuando le aqueja la tormenta grave ; 
 
 Y del naufragio libre, en los altares 
 Consagra fiel k la Deidad que adora 
 Las htimedas reliquias de su nave. 
 
 This sonnet, and the two following translations, are taken re- 
 spectively from pages 8, 18 and 46 of the first volume of the 
 
NOTES. 383 
 
 Toluca edition. The imitation of Lord Byron is at page 83^ of 
 the same. The Odes to ' Poesy ' and to ' Night ' are at pages 13 
 and 72 of the second volume. 
 
 49. Page 282. " Milton elevated all beyond." 
 
 Y Milton mas que todos elevado 
 
 A su angel flero de diamante armado. 
 
 50. Page 305. " Jose de Espronceda." 
 
 This name is to be pronounced Esprontheda. The translations, 
 taken from the original poems, may be found in the Paris edition 
 of 1848, at pages 49, 58, 73 and 79 respectively. The one trans- 
 lated, ' The Condemned to Die,' El Eeo de Muerte, literally, ' The 
 Guilty of Death,' has the signification given to this phrase by our 
 translators of the New Testament, and it may be necessary to ex- 
 plain that the refrain "Your alms for prayers," &c., is in the 
 original merely " To do good for the soul of him who is about to 
 be executed." 
 
 Para hacer bien al alma 
 
 Del que van a ajusticiar ! 
 
 In Spain, when a criminal is about to be executed, it is the cus- 
 tom for the Brothers of the religious order De la Humanidad, to 
 go about the public ways, in their peculiar garb, with salvers for 
 receiving alms for masses to be said for him, repeating words to 
 the effect above given. 
 
 51. Page 315. " Sail on, my swift one, never fear." 
 
 Navega, velero mio. 
 
 Sin temor. 
 Que ni enemigo navio, 
 Ni tormenta, ni bonanza, 
 Tu rumbo k torcer alcanza 
 Ni k sujetar tu valor. 
 
 Veinte presos 
 
 Hemes hecho 
 
 A despecho 
 
 Del Ingles, 
 
384 NOTES. 
 
 Y han rendido 
 Sus pendones 
 Cien naciones 
 A mis pi6s. 
 Que es mi barco mi tesoro, 
 Que es mi Dios la libertad, 
 Mi ley la fuerza y el viento, 
 Mi {Inica patria la mar. 
 
 Alia muevan feroz guerra 
 
 Ciegos reyes 
 Por un palmo mas de tierra ; 
 Que yo tengo aqui por mio 
 Cuanto abarca el mar bravio 
 A quien nadie impuso leyes. 
 
 Y no hay playa 
 Sea cual quiera 
 Ni bandera 
 
 De esplendor 
 Que no sienta 
 Mi dereclio 
 
 Y de pecho 
 A mi valor. 
 
 Que es mi barco mi tesoro . . 
 
 A la voz de ' bai'co viene ! ' 
 
 Es de ver 
 Como vira, y se previeue 
 A todo trapo k escapar ; 
 Que yo soy el rey del mar 
 
 Y mi furia es de temer. 
 
 En las presas 
 Yo divido 
 Lo cogido 
 Por igual : 
 Solo quiero 
 Por riqueza 
 La belleza 
 Sin rival 
 Que es mi barco mi tesoro . . , 
 
 Sentenciado estoy k muerte ! 
 
 Yo me rio ; 
 No me abandone la suerte, 
 
 Y al mismo que me condena 
 
NOTES. 385 
 
 Colgarfe de alguna entena 
 Quizk en su proprio navio. 
 
 Y si caigo 
 Que es la vida? 
 Por perdida 
 Ya la di, 
 Cuando el yugo 
 Del esclavo 
 Como un bravo 
 Saeudi. 
 
 Que es mi barco mi tesoro .... 
 
 Son mi mlisica mejor 
 
 Aquilones ; 
 El estrepito y temblor 
 De los cables sacudidos, 
 Del negro mar los bramidos, 
 Y el rugir de mis canones ; 
 
 Y del trueno 
 Al son violento, 
 
 Y del vieuto 
 Al rebramar, 
 Yo me duermo 
 Sosegado, 
 Arrullado 
 
 Por el mar. 
 Que es mi barco mi tesoro. 
 Que es mi Dios la libertad, 
 Mi ley la fuerza y el viento. 
 Mi iinica patria la mar. 
 
 52. Page 323. " Jos& Zorrilla." 
 
 The name of this eminently great poet is to be pronounced as 
 Thorrillia ; the translations made from his works are of the poems 
 at pages 62, 99, 34, 97, 102, 28 and 65, respectively, of the first 
 volume, as stated in the memoir, pubhshed at Madrid in 1837. 
 The headings, for the sake of distinction, have been given some- 
 what differently from the originals, where they are generally only 
 entitled 'Oriental,' or 'A Romance;' and the piece named 'The 
 Warning ' is but part of a longer poem, the conclusion of which 
 is not in the same good taste as the beginning. All the other 
 
 2c 
 
386 NOTES. 
 
 selections translated in this work, of the diiferent authors, have 
 been given fully. 
 
 53. Page 347. " The Tower of Munion." 
 
 This tower is a shapeless ruin, the remains of an ancient castle 
 in the plain of Arlanza near Burgos. The history of the castle is 
 unknown, further than that Don Fernan Gonzalez assembled there, 
 on one occasion, the Grandees of Castille, during his wars with 
 the Moors. 
 
 .54. Page 352. "Meditation." 
 
 La Meditacion. 
 
 Sobre ignorada tumba solitaria, 
 A la luz amarilla de la tarde, 
 Vengo £l ofrecer al eielo mi plegaria 
 
 Per la muger que am&. 
 Apoyada en el marmol mi cabeza, 
 Sobre la btimeda yerba la rodilla. 
 La parda flor que esmalta la maleza 
 
 Humillo con mi pi6. 
 
 Aqui, lejos del mundo y sus placeres, 
 Levanto mis deliiios de la tierra, 
 
 Y leo en agrupados caracteres 
 
 Nombres que ya no son ; 
 
 Y la dorada l^mpara que brilla 
 
 Y al soplo oscila de la brisa eirante, 
 Colgada ante el altar en la capilla 
 
 Alumbra mi oracion. 
 
 Acaso un ave su volai- detiene 
 Del filnebre cipres entre las ramas 
 Que a lamentar con sus gorjeos viene 
 La ausencia de la luz : 
 
 Y se despide del albor del dia 
 Desde una alta ventana de la torre 
 O trepa de la cilpula sombria 
 
 A la gigante cruz. 
 
NOTES. 387 
 
 Anegados en lagrimas los ojos 
 
 Yo la contemplo inmovil desde el suelo 
 
 Hasta que el rechinar de los cerrojos 
 
 La hace atvirdida huir. 
 La funeral sonrisa me saluda' 
 Del solo ser que con los muertos vive, 
 Y me presta su mano kspera y ruda 
 
 Que im f feretro va El abrir. 
 
 Perdon ! no escuclies Dios mio 
 
 Mi terrenal pensamiento ! 
 Deja que se pierda impio 
 Como el mm'muUo de un rio 
 
 Entre los pliegues del viento. 
 
 For que una imagen mundana 
 
 Viene a manchar mi oracion ? 
 
 Es una sombra profana 
 
 Que tal vez sera manana 
 
 Signo de mi maldicion. 
 
 For que ha soiiada mi mente 
 
 Ese fantasma tan bello ? 
 
 Con esa tez transparente 
 
 Sobre la trauquila frente 
 
 Y sobre el desnudo cuello. 
 
 Que en vez de aumentar su encanto 
 Con pompa y mundano brillo, 
 
 Se muestra anegada en Uanto 
 
 Al pie de altar sacrosanto 
 
 O al pie de pardo Castillo. 
 
 Como una ofrenda olvidada 
 En templo que se arruino 
 
 Y en la piedra cincelada 
 
 Que en su caida encontro 
 
 La mece el viento colgada. 
 
 Con su retrato en la mente. 
 
 Con su nombre en el oido, 
 Vengo a prosternar mi frente 
 Ante el Dios omnipotente 
 
 En la mansion del olvido. 
 
388 NOTES. 
 
 Mi crimen acaso ven 
 
 Con turbios ojos inciertos, 
 Y me abominan los muertos, 
 Alzando la hedionda sien 
 
 De los sepulcros abiertos. 
 
 Cuando estas tumbaa visito, 
 
 No es la nada en que naci, 
 No es un Dios lo que medito, 
 Es un nombre que estk escrito 
 Con fuego dentro de mi. 
 
 Perdon ! no eseucbes Dios mio 
 
 Mi terrenal pensamiento ! 
 Deja que se pierda impio 
 Como el murmuUo de un rio, 
 
 Entre los pliegues del viento. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 PRINTED BY RICHARD TAYLOR, 
 RED LION COURT, FLEET STREET. 
 
Romantic Towers of the Past — The Alcazar in Segovia. 
 
'i 
 
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